Folly to Be Wise

by Avocado

Severus had to disagree with Dumbledore. There was never a good time to encounter a former lover for whom one had betrayed the Dark Lord. It was worse, still, to encounter a lover one had tried to feed to a dementor. Unfortunately, Sirius Black was both.

2. Part I

Part I.

Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade,
Ah, fields belov'd in vain,
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!

---

24 June 1995

Black's Animagus form was sitting square in the middle of the corridor when Snape closed the infirmary door behind him. Severus paused, sneered at the beast, then circled around to continue in his path. He'd moved two paces further before Black's voice brought him up short.

"Wait, Snape."

"Some of us have places to be, Black. You're one, as I recall." Dumbledore had just ordered Black to alert Lupin and the rest of the old members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Black's response was low and menacing. "This won't take long."

He felt a prickling between his shoulder blades. Severus turned, facing Black. He'd been too busy in the infirmary to study the other man. Still a mess. Black's hair hung in tangles below his shoulders. He was still gaunt and pale, a poor imitation of his younger self. The aquiline nose, the grey eyes-- those remained. Severus met and held Black's eyes. The rage radiating from Black almost knocked him flat.

With hindsight, he knew that Black had never been completely stable before Azkaban. The emotions washing off of him indicated Black's hold on sanity now was slim indeed.

Black's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak.

"Get on with it, Black."

Black pursed his lips. "You're a Death Eater."

Severus let out his breath in an exasperated huff. "And what gave you the first clue? The fact that I said I was? Of course I am."

Black took two steps forward. He was too close; Severus wanted to step back; instead, he squared his shoulders and held his position. "I wouldn't be so flip, Snape." There was a growl underneath Black's ruined voice. "You were assigned to spy on me."

What does he expect me to say-- "oh, no, Sirius. I wanted you; I betrayed the Dark Lord for you"? Better anything but that. "Oh, very good. And you've not even had help."

Black's lips drew back. The words came through clenched teeth. "Must have had quite a laugh, then. 'Sirius Black's a poof. Begs me to fuck him.'"

Severus snorted. "You left out the part where you set your wards to allow me access and let me tie you up. That was far more amusing."

Black's face turned white; he took a step back. Severus felt a rush of satisfaction. "How did you ever get Dumbledore to trust you?" Black said.

"You may take that up with him." Severus narrowed his eyes. "Are we done here? I have somewhere else to be."

"We're done." Black's lips were twisted in a sneer.

"Good." He turned on his heel . He'd moved only a few paces before Black spoke again.

"Snape, tell Harry and I swear I will kill you." The words were quiet, but Severus heard them very clearly.

He stopped and looked back. "Afraid Potter will reject you for it?" He laughed, a single bark. "Potter and I don't exchange confidences. I've no desire to have others know the depths of degradation I've been subjected to." He turned his head forward and walked on, feeling the burn of Black's eyes against his back. It was a relief when he turned the first corner.

---

Severus did not pause to gather his mask and robe on his way out of the castle. He walked swiftly through the corridors and out past the crowds of the still-milling, still-confused spectators. They'd gone so quickly from the Tri-Wizard Tournament to his own personal nightmare.

The buzz of conversation obscured his passage. He made it to the edge of Hogwarts' Apparition wards, stopped. The first rule of keeping secrets is never appearing as if you have anything to hide.

Still, he paused a few crucial minutes, trying to regain his composure. Encountering Black again-- Retaining my life depends on retaining control.

He was playing a very delicate game. He had to strictly control the thoughts the Dark Lord could access. Strong emotion would open the door. And this-- facing Black was worse than the Cruciatus Curse, worse than the knowledge that he might die today.

He took a few deep breaths, waiting until his mind stilled. Focus.

Years of practise in Occlumency had trained Severus to hold his thoughts in layers: on top, a barrier that could be penetrated by a Legilimens, but not without effort; below it, a layer of thoughts he was willing to allow Voldemort to read; below that, another barrier; and finally, the few thoughts and memories he needed to conceal. By keeping the concealed layer deliberately small, Severus hoped to convince Voldemort of his honesty.

Calmer now, he pressed his lips together. It was the only sign of terror he allowed himself. He took his wand, and, touching it to his robed left arm, Apparated.

---

The cold slide of Apparition cemented his calm.

Severus hadn't expected to reappear in the graveyard Potter had described-- the site of Voldemort's resurrection. After Potter's escape, Voldemort and his supporters would have fled.

Sheer malevolence washed over Severus. "Severus Snape. I wasn't expecting you."

The voice was familiar. The face was not. With the strict control he'd spent his life perfecting, he forced himself to remain in place. Voldemort's new body faced him-- worse than the Potter brat had described: slitted red eyes, pale face, flattened nose. He sat in an old chair, wooden back nicked and gouged where Severus saw it over Voldemort's shoulders. It should have made Voldemort less frightening; it didn't. Peter Pettigrew lurked behind him, smiling with narrow-eyed eagerness. Severus' eyes caught and held on Pettigrew's silver hand. All true, all of it-- not that he'd doubted Potter's word.

Severus felt his stomach twist. Only now did he risk a quick glance at his surroundings-- the rough boards forming the walls gaped in places, letting in the fading light. The floor was dirt. The room was empty save for the chair, Voldemort, and Pettigrew.

He steeled himself to ignore Pettigrew's presence. He knelt on the floor. Head down, he crawled forward until he reached Voldemort's feet, until he could touch the sweep of his robe above the floor. Severus reached out slowly, caught the hem, brought it to his lips.

"So, Severus, you have returned."

"Yes, Master."

"How very interesting." He revised his opinion of Voldemort's voice. It sounded much the same, but for the lack of humanity. Voldemort's voice was lightly amused as he cast the spell: "Crucio."

Blinding, excruciating pain ripped through his joints, his muscles-- agony tore through his brain. And then, as suddenly as the pain began, blessed relief.

He was still on the floor, but now lay on his right side, curled tightly in a fetal position. He felt the afterimage of pain threading through his muscles; he felt wetness against his cheeks. Hit with the Cruciatus Curse, facing Voldemort, a hairsbreadth from death-- it was oddly worse to know that Pettigrew had seen him cry. "You were tardy in returning, Severus. I thought you had deserted me."

Severus licked his lips. "No, Master." His voice was harsh with screaming.

"Where is Crouch?"

Severus shuddered. "Dead, Master."

"Is he. A loss. How very interesting." No grief, no anger-- they might have been discussing the price of Fizzing Whizzbees. No, not that. Don't think of Dumbledore. "Look at me."

His Occlumency would hold against Voldemort now or not at all. He sat up, fighting past stiff muscles. He turned his head up, meeting those red, red eyes. He focused the image of Crouch's death firmly in his mind: Fudge, the dementor, the kiss.

"Describe it. Tell the truth."

Severus passed the first stage. It didn't mean he could relax. "He returned Potter to the school after Potter's escape. It was," he licked at his lips again, "out of character for the role of Mad-Eye Moody. Dumbledore knew, then. We went in, captured him. Dumbledore questioned him under Veritaserum-- "

"And you made no attempt to prevent it?"

Severus would have lowered his head, but he knew he had to hold Voldemort's gaze. "I did not know, Master. Moody-- Crouch-- had threatened to expose me several times. He had searched my office. I did not know he was your agent; all I knew was that Dumbledore believed he was not Moody. If you had contacted me--" He felt the slimy press of Voldemort's mind against his own. He continued the layering of his thoughts, trying to reinforce the impression of honesty.

"Hmm. I see. And how much does Dumbledore know?"

His head hurt. "All that Crouch knew, Master."

Voldemort's red eyes narrowed. Severus almost expected him to start hissing. "I fail to see what service you have provided me, Severus. Dumbledore is privy to my secrets, and my most trusted servant is dead." There was a slight movement out of the corner of Severus' eye. Pettigrew. Hidden beneath several layers of thoughts, Severus felt malicious amusement-- That's right, Pettigrew; cutting off your own hand doesn't make you "most trusted."

"Master, I could not prevent Crouch revealing all to Dumbledore. I could have prevented his death."

"And you did not. Why?" Voldemort shifted in his chair, leaning forward.

Severus tightened his jaw. "I felt it to be the best service I could provide, Master. I could not have helped him escape. Without Crouch to give evidence, the Minister of Magic has only Dumbledore's word that you have returned. The Minister has always suspected Dumbledore was trying to undermine him. If anything, this will be further inducement for the Minister to deny your return and officially suppress all rumors. He will undermine Dumbledore at every turn in the name of protecting his own position. It was simplicity itself to convince the Minister to bring a dementor to protect him from Crouch. One or two words in his ear as we walked to the castle-- the Kiss was performed immediately."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. It was a long time before he spoke. "Ah. Interesting. But you have always been very clever, Severus. I admire your ability to think on your feet."

Severus didn't allow himself to question the statement. He repeated his assurance. "I felt it to be the best service I could provide, Master, given the alternatives."

Voldemort drummed his fingers against his knee. "And I'm certain that you have similar explanations for your earlier attempts to interfere with my efforts, Severus?"

The explanation of Crouch's death had been devised on the fly. He'd had years to concoct the other excuses. "Master, if you had only contacted me. I always learned of your plans afterward. I did not know Quirrell was your instrument. I erred; I thought you were dead. I assumed he was working solely for himself; I saw no reason to let Quirrell have the Stone. The diary? Again, Master, I did not know. Lucius did not know."

Voldemort's voice was considering. "I see. And your return now-- is it on Dumbledore's orders?"

"Of course, Master."

Voldemort's lips curved up. "He still believes you loyal to him." His head tilted. In a conversational tone, he asked, "Are you?"

Severus felt his hands tense. He forced them to lie flat against the dirt floor. "Again, Master, I thought it in your best interests. Dumbledore trusts me. By waiting until he gave the order, I retain that trust. I may return to Hogwarts-- watch him-- join his organisation-- report to you. I thought it best to keep that option open to you."

Voldemort's fingers twitched against his leg. His lips parted, showing teeth. "You have certainly shown initiative, Severus."

"He's lying," Pettigrew said, whine coming through the sharp tone. "He must be."

So intent was he on Voldemort, Severus had nearly forgotten Pettigrew. However, the accusation was the break Severus had wanted; it forced the question. "Master, you know I am not."

Voldemort raised a hand. "Wormtail, Severus cannot lie to me." He pursed his lips. "You have done well, Severus," he said slowly. "But there are still more lacks on your part. For four years now, you have had easy access to Harry Potter. And yet, he is still alive. You have much to explain."

This, again, he had been prepared for. He began the explanation, keeping his thoughts under strict control.

In the end, even Pettigrew seemed to believe it.

---

His mouth was dry, his head was throbbing, and his throat ached when he was done with his explanations. Voldemort had demanded a full report of Dumbledore's activities. Severus had given it, all the while conscious of Voldemort's mind pressing against his.

Voldemort pressed his lips together. "Does Dumbledore know why I yet live, Severus?"

Severus shook his head slowly. This was the one direct lie he had to tell; all others had been careful edits of the truth. "No, Master, I did not tell him."

The press of Voldemort's mind was strong against his. Voldemort was silent as his mind probed against the careful layer of Severus' thoughts. At last, Severus felt him withdrawing. "Ah."

"Master, I've told you all I know," his voice cracked on the words. "What do you wish of me?"

Voldemort turned his head to the side, thinking. It had the air of a cobra, preparing to strike. "Dumbledore will be collecting the Order of the Phoenix"-- his voice mocked the name-- "and he trusts you. Your position is too valuable to lose."

Severus licked at his lips; his tongue was so dry it made little impact. "They will expect me to have intelligence to convey."

Voldemort smiled. "You will convey only what I tell you to convey, Severus."

Severus nodded. The movement increased the ache in his head.

"And you will convey the results of your spying on his little group-- all of your results-- to me."

Severus nodded again. "Of course, Master."

"For now, you may return to Hogwarts. Watch Dumbledore. Watch his foolish Order. I will have further instructions for you on the boy and on Dumbledore. Await my summons."

Severus rose, muscles sore from the Cruciatus Curse and stiff from hours of sitting on the floor. He managed a bow, then turned and walked away. He felt Voldemort's eyes on his back and the trailing fingers of awareness brushing against his brain. He held his thoughts in layers until he'd walked out of the shack. The door closed behind him, leaving him facing dawn and unidentified woods. Dawn-- God, so long...

He Apparated back to Hogsmeade.

He reappeared outside the Hog's Head.

Severus started for the door, then stopped and sagged against the wall. Not yet. Once he entered the tavern, Aberforth would summon the headmaster. Then he would have another report to deliver, and the game would begin in earnest.

He'd survived. It should have been a relief.

His head ached. His mind was slick with Voldemort's touch. His muscles ached-- hell, my bones ache. The better he succeeded in playing the loyal servant, the worse his role would become.

He laughed shortly. It was a sad commentary when suffering was the best outcome.

Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix were little improvement. He shook his head, thinking of the Unbreakable Vow-- loyalty to Dumbledore-- obedience. Severus had never considered himself an idealist; he'd not changed sides in the name of the greater good. He'd not even followed his friends-- every friend I cherish would happily execute me for treason to the Dark Lord. He'd not changed sides out of guilt. He'd not even changed sides because he thought Dumbledore's side would win. In the end, he'd changed sides out of misguided passion for Sirius Black.

It had earned him nothing. He'd sentenced himself to playing the double agent for no more reason than misguided nobility. Nobility? Call it stupidity instead.

Whatever stupidity had possessed him, he'd thrown his lot in with Dumbledore. He would die for it; they all would. The Potter brat had little chance of defeating Voldemort. The best Severus could hope for from the others on "his side" was neutrality. They were none of them his friends.

Severus dragged himself away from the wall, muscles screaming in pain.

Thinking made it no better. It was best to move on-- best to face Aberforth's glares, best to face Dumbledore's useless sympathy.

The door was unlocked; the common room was empty. Aberforth Dumbledore was wiping down the bar. None of it surprised him. Aberforth paused-- looked up with a glare, followed by a brief nod. Severus' mouth quirked; he wished it hadn't. Even his cheeks hurt.

"You call him yet?" Aberforth said. His voice was low.

No greeting; Aberforth was another on Severus' list of "not friends." "No."

"Huh." Aberforth wiped at the bar a few more times, then let the cloth drop. He moved a few paces to the left, then reached under the bar. A gesture, and a silver glowing shape took form: four legs, bearded. It was so vividly realistic Severus expected to hear it baa. It moved swiftly through the wall.

Severus feared no one. He prided himself on being a cause of terror. He'd never asked-- and never commented on-- Aberforth Dumbledore's Patronus. Asking might earn an answer. Instead-- "Same room?"

Aberforth nodded.

Severus walked across the room and struggled up the stairs. He walked to the end of the hall and pushed open the door. He stepped in, closed it behind him. There was a single bed against the wall to his right, coverlet showing the visible lumps of the too-old mattress. To his left, the wall was dominated by a tall oak wardrobe; the doors were plain, visibly gouged with age. Next to the wardrobe, there was a chair that matched those in the Hog's Head's common room. Opposite him, a small, grimy window looked down on the street below.

He looked for a moment at the bed and at a hard chair in the corner. He would have killed to lie in the bed, lumps, rough bedding, and all. He took the chair instead. He felt the back digging into his shoulder blades. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

All too soon, he heard a muffled crack. He kept his eyes closed.

A few minutes, and he heard the creak of the hallway floorboards, and the sound of approaching footsteps. He heard the clatter as the doorknob turned, and the soft creak of the hinges as the door opened, then closed. More footsteps followed.

Surrendering, he opened his eyes.

Dumbledore sat on the edge of the bed watching him. The blue eyes cut through him as keenly as Voldemort's red ones had done. With the gaze came the force of Dumbledore's Legilimency. Severus' headache surged.

Dumbledore's words were mild. "Severus, I'm glad to see you unharmed."

"Headmaster." "Unharmed" is such a strong word. "Alive" is more accurate. The thought must have transferred; Dumbledore flinched.

"He believed you, then."

"Not entirely, no."

"Severus--" He heard apprehension in Dumbledore's voice. He was Dumbledore's pet spy-- in essence, a tool. He didn't delude himself otherwise.

Severus did not bother to guard his tongue. "He will watch me. He will watch all of us. Me, perhaps a bit more closely. He knows you sent me there. He will have specific information to pass to you, and he will expect me to do it. Other information he will expect me not to give you. And, as I am not trusted, still other information he will not share at all."

"It is a dangerous role."

Severus shook his head. "And you require someone to fill it."

"I wish there were something I could do to make it easier for you." Dumbledore's voice was filled with concern. Severus was tired enough he almost believed it.

Death would make it easier. "I know."

"I need to know the rest. What he asked you-- what you told him."

Severus gave a single ironic snort. His head hurt; his muscles ached. His throat was raw and dry. His brain might as well have been boiled. He couldn't have managed the simplest of potions-- even holding a knife was beyond his motor control. Great price; no reward..

He went through it all: Cruciatus Curse, Pettigrew, Voldemort's Legilimency prying at his mind. He went through it once, then twice, then a third time, reciting every word Voldemort had spoken, detailing every expression, every gesture. Dumbledore questioned him closely-- picking at details. Finally, he sighed.

"I am sorry, Severus, to keep at this so long."

His eyes burned. His sinuses felt scraped clean. He spoke in a hoarse whisper, now.

"I know you are exhausted"-- the sort of phrase which came with a caveat-- "but thank you for taking the time to describe it. I'll let you rest, but you need to know what has passed."

Severus waved a weary hand.

"I've heard from Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, and the others I sent Sirius to contact. I am gratified by their willingness to assist. Still, it is not enough. I had hoped Fudge could be persuaded--"

Severus snorted. "There was little chance of that." He frowned when his voice cracked on the words.

"Very little. I know. But it was worth the effort, and I thank you for making the attempt." Much good it did me. "In the interim, we have few allies-- only those who remain from before-- perhaps a few others we can persuade of the threat. And we have you."

Severus' mouth twisted. "And do you trust them with your life?"

Dumbledore sighed. "With my life? Yes." Of course. "With yours, no." Severus' muscles tensed. "I have reason to trust you. Aberforth, I can rely on. The others-- I would like to trust them, Severus. I would like to trust my staff. We need them all-- we need more than that. But I trusted Peter Pettigrew. I trusted him too far. We cannot take that risk again. So, before you report to them, you will report to me. In my absence, you may rely upon Aberforth. You are too valuable to lose."

Severus' throat tightened. He drew in a painful breath. Secrets within secrets. He couldn't claim he'd not agreed; he had.

"This is a difficult role, Severus. I have absolute faith in your ability to play it."

Severus closed his eyes. Darkness helped the pain. What to feel? Flattered? Perhaps. In truth, he felt as if he'd plunged to the bottom of a well-- trapped, alone, no way out. "What else?"

Dumbledore's voice came as if from far away. "Sirius Black has volunteered his family house as a meeting place for the Order." Severus' eyes snapped open. "It has advantages. It's unplottable, and possesses every defense his ancestors could devise. With the Secret Keeper charm, it should be impenetrable."

Severus shook his head. He remembered the house; he'd visited Regulus there.

He'd found Regulus' body there.

"And how far do you trust Sirius Black?" The confrontation in the hallway-- it seemed days ago, now-- sprang to mind. "He's best not entrusted with secrets. His mind is too open."

Dumbledore's lips pursed. His voice was chiding. "Occlumency is not everything, Severus. I trust Sirius as much as I can trust any man not sworn to me. He would never willingly betray me-- and he would never willingly betray Harry Potter."

"Ah."

"That's enough for now, my boy. Come back to school when you've rested. I need to return before my absence is noted." Dumbledore rose. He met Severus' eyes; Severus shied away from the sympathy he read there. Dumbledore seemed about to speak, then didn't. He walked across the room, opened the door, and walked out. The door swung to behind him.

Severus sat for a few minutes more, then fought his way out of the chair. He took the necessary pace over to the bed and fell upon it, drawing his knees against his chest. The cheap cotton scratched against his cheek. He had scarcely the time to note it before he fell asleep.

---

1 July 1995

The first Order meeting went exactly as poorly as Severus had expected. The power of pessimism-- or realism. Severus had very deliberately arrived at the last possible moment.

He stared up, watching as 12 Grimmauld Place formed itself before his waiting eyes. It was in the older part of Mayfair, and should have been reddish brick. Instead, the brick was blackened-- with soot, grime, or, most likely, by deliberate design. I'm sure one of them decided the Blacks had to live in a black house.

He mounted the steps; knocked.

The door was opened by a house-elf, emaciated, bent.

"Please enter, Master Snape," it said.

He stepped forward past it. As the door closed, sinking him in the unlit gloom, he heard, "Mistress liked you, nasty little half-blood that you are."

He froze a moment, then moved on. He remembered this house-elf-- it had once been saner, but no less contemptuous. "Where are they, Kreacher?"

"This way. Kreacher will show you to Master, yes he will. Mistress would cry to see what the filthy boy is doing to her house, yes she would." Kreacher conducted him through the hall-- had it always been so dark?-- and gestured at a door.

Severus heard the buzz of conversation behind the closed door. He opened it and stepped into the room.

The conversation died. Ah. My welcome.

They sat around the table-- Molly and Arthur Weasley, Dumbledore, Fletcher, Moody, Lupin, Black, Arabella Figg, Minerva McGonagall, and two others he remembered from his classes-- Kingsley Shacklebolt and a Metamorphmagus who could only be Nymphadora Tonks. Where's Aberforth?

Lupin rose from the table and approached him, holding out his hand. "Severus."

Severus eyed the outstretched hand, letting it hang as long as he dared. He forced himself to reach out and take it. He felt his lips pull back in a sneer. "Lupin."

"Let me introduce you."

Severus glanced around the room. "Not necessary, Lupin. I am familiar with everyone here. I do believe they're all familiar with me."

"Wotcher, Professor Snape," said Nymphadora Tonks; her hand lifted in a weak wave. Her hair was a shade of orange that caused his eyes to bleed. He remembered her vividly-- and not just for her changing features-- she had been one of the few Gryffindors to voluntarily endure seven years of his Potions courses.

Moody glared in his general direction. Artificial eye and all, it might have worked, but Severus' eyes caught on Moody's uneven haircut. His lips twitched. Yes, hard to be intimidated when I've seen Moody trussed up and without the lot of his accoutrements. So much for "Constant Vigilance!"

"Well, well. The bat has arrived. Aren't you concerned about emerging from your dungeons? The sunlight might turn you to dust." It was Black, of course. His voice was still blasted, too broken to manage the lazy drawl the insult demanded.

Still, it was firmer ground. "Speaking of being afraid to emerge, may I assume you'll be spending the rest of the year in this house, Black? I may not be a vampire, but I guarantee the Ministry is aching for the opportunity to convert you into a mindless zombie. Well, not that 'mindless' is much of a change for you."

Black's eyes narrowed and he half-rose out of his chair.

Severus was intent on him. He could see the others out of the corner of his eye, but they scarcely impinged upon his consciousness.

The sound of a throat clearing jerked his attention back. "Severus, now that you're here, we can begin." He found himself meeting Dumbledore's eyes.

He pressed his lips together and made his way to the open seat between Tonks and Fletcher.

"Let's begin."

Moody asked about Aberforth; Dumbledore professed ignorance. Severus cut off the Weasleys' attempt to babble about the Potters and the Longbottoms and their dire fates; Black apparently couldn't decide whether to be grateful or infuriated.

It was a motley crew. As the meeting wore on, Severus felt progressively less hopeful and grew more silent. The meeting itself told him nothing new, and he amused himself by covertly watching his compatriots. Much discussion centered about the wretched Potter boy. Should they set up watches?

Severus tuned out the discussion and tried, instead, to decode the reasons the others had joined Dumbledore's Order.

Minerva McGonagall fancied herself a legendary heroine-- a modern day Boadicea, perhaps. That explained her presence. She was twittering on about how the Potter brat needed protecting.

Arabella Figg was being soothing. Apparently she'd been watching the boy for years. The woman smelled of cats. McGonagall gave her an open smile-- here kitty, kitty. He was almost ashamed of himself for thinking it.

Molly Weasley was all in favour of protecting Potter. In fact, she's all in favour of smothering him. Not that I wouldn't approve. He doubted the Weasleys would be of much use in the battle unless the Order had a dire need for fertility charms.

Black expressed a desire to let Potter alone. Molly Weasley glared at him. Spare us from Potter's coddling would-be parents.

Lupin tried to soothe both parties. What a shock.

He'd been asked a question; he did a quick mental replay. "If you must set a watch, do it in pairs. I cannot be involved. No, Black, spare me your idiocy. Do you think the Dark Lord would not know it if you set me to watch him? What do you hope to accomplish?"

Tonks said she'd be happy to do a shift-- even suggested teaming up with "Remus." There was a hitch in her voice as she said the name. That makes that clear. Severus glanced over at Lupin-- very controlled, but just a hint-- So.

Moody growled. Not that he didn't think the boy should be protected, but the focus should be on crushing Death Eaters. And would you really like to take me on, Moody? I wonder.

Fletcher was willing to put in a watch, though he thought he could go it alone. Just concerned that a second watcher will interfere with his black market activities. The Dark Lord would string him up by his thumbs; I'd like to watch.

Shacklebolt was silent. He agreed to provide a watch, but contributed nothing else to the discussion. Why him? Was he Moody's protegé?

The discussion dragged on for over an hour, working out shifts. Then another hour-- on recruiting, the next meeting time. They finished with everyone's Patronus charm (Arabella Figg excepted), so they could identify each other's sendings. Dumbledore's phoenix. Tonks' eagle. Lupin's rooster-- fond of sunrise, are you, wolf? Black's hippogriff-- trust Black to choose something ridiculously huge. Moody's mongoose-- symbolic, that. McGonagall's tabby cat-- proud of ourselves, aren't we?. Molly Weasley's shrew-- appropriate. Arthur Weasley's rabbit-- even more so. Fletcher, after a few grumbles, produced a magpie. Thinking of his long ago sorting ceremony, Severus produced his serpent. He glared at Black, silently daring the comment. It didn't come. The expression says it all, really.

Dumbledore dismissed them. Severus waited as the others filed out, not wanting to be caught in conversation. Only Black remained. Severus made a motion to rise.

"Hold on, Snape. I want to talk to you."

"I can't imagine why I would care what you want," Severus said, but he sank back down into his seat. "What, then?"

Black drummed his fingers against the tabletop. "Kreacher says you used to run tame around here."

Severus shrugged, leaning back in a deliberate show of nochalance. "An exaggeration. I was here a few times at the invitation of your brother."

"Close enough." Black's grey eyes were intent on him. "He says you were here the day Regulus died."

Severus stiffened. "I suppose I was, yes."

Black leaned back, exhaling explosively. "Did you kill him?"

Well, that was direct. "He was dead when I found him."

"Was he really?" Black's eyes narrowed.

Stop trying to menace me; I have faced down the Dark Lord. You've got nothing on him. "It is of little moment to me what you believe, Black. It is not to say I wouldn't have killed him had he been alive when I arrived. I would have. But he was already dead."

"Why?"

Severus shook his head. Why on earth does it matter now? "I assume someone else killed him. Your cousin Bellatrix, perhaps. She seemed to enjoy that."

Black slammed both fists to the table. "No, I mean why would you have killed him? You put enough effort into cultivating him."

Severus snorted. "Cultivating him? Herbology, Black? No. Regulus betrayed the Dark Lord, as you are apparently unaware. I'm uncertain what he did, but we were sent out in force after him. I was sent here as we were... friends... of a sort. I would have killed him, but I didn't have the opportunity."

Black's eyes opened wide. "He betrayed Voldemort?"

"Quite. Over his head, one presumes." Severus had never known why Regulus had done it; betraying Voldemort was the height of stupidity. I should know.

Black's expression changed. "Why do you think it was Bella?"

Severus shrugged. "She would have earned favour for it."

"So that's why you--" Black stopped, pressed his lips together.

He might as well have said it. Black was thinking it in vivid detail. Severus answered. "That's why I met you in the bar. I wanted to find out what you knew-- when you'd last seen him."

Black's eyes shut. His head tilted back. He whispered, "God, but I am an idiot."

Severus sneered. "Oh, I've never disputed that, Black," he breathed.

The fury exploded in Black's mind; Severus was almost knocked flat by the force of it. "Get out," Black snapped.

"With pleasure." Severus rose, turned, and swept out the door. He ignored Kreacher's dire mutters as he swept past the house-elf, out to the street, and Apparated back to his dreary house in Halifax.

Subsequent Order meetings were much the same-- dull, seemingly endless. They were also hostile, at least for Severus. Moody glared. Molly Weasley protested vocally whenever he opened his mouth. Of course, she did the same to Black. As for Black, he and Severus either pointedly ignored each other or exchanged insults. Lupin looked over the both of them mildly in a near-flawless imitation of Dumbledore.

The only real change in circumstance was that Black was increasingly likely to smell of Firewhiskey, and that he had to dodge the obnoxious Weasley children and, shortly thereafter, the Granger girl as well. He took particular delight in the destruction of Extendable Ears-- we have the Weasleys to thank, no doubt. That few others even noticed the Ears did not bode well for the future of the Order as a secret organisation.

The tedious-- yet tense-- Order meetings alternated with Death Eater summons. At those, he saw old friends. He used every trick of Occlumency to guard his thoughts. At times, the Dark Lord used an excuse to strike him with the Cruciatus Curse. Voldemort never succeeded in penetrating Severus' mental barriers; Severus prided himself on it.

As for the rest, he knew only the current main objective-- freeing the captive Death Eaters from Azkaban. Voldemort was intent on it. He wanted his loyal Death Eaters.

Severus wanted them, too-- preferably drawn and quartered. Seeing Bellatrix Lestrange die was one of Severus' great ambitions. She'd been by far one of the most devoted and powerful of Voldemort's supporters. She was also a powerful Legilimens and Occlumens-- the Dark Lord's protegée. He had no desire to dodge a second Legilimens.

---

6 August 1995

The early-August dementor attack on Potter shocked everyone.

Severus learned about it after the fact, when the Potter boy was already ensconced at Grimmauld Place.

The rest of the Order didn't evince much belief at his insistence that the Death Eaters were as shocked as they. The way Moody's artificial eye moved said Severus had best watch his step.

"Look, I'm not saying one isn't responsible. It could very well be a secret plot of Pettigrew's," Severus said. Black winced. Lupin's face turned very still. "I am saying that it is not the current focus, and the Dark Lord is unlikely to countenance anything that draws attention to the dementors and Azkaban.

"As for other operations, as expected, the Dark Lord is sending envoys to the giants, the werewolves, the vampires--" Severus gestured on the map, pointing at separate areas. "If you wish to counter his influence, you will have to work at it, and work very seriously at it. The Ministry has not been a friend to any of them, and your usual brand of do-gooder rhetoric will not do it. You'll have to offer them some concessions."

Shacklebolt broke in. "We don't have the authority to promise them anything, Snape."

"No, well, the Dark Lord does. Find a way to gain some, or you will be facing them."

"He's right, you know," Lupin said. "The werewolves are bitter and angry. I've made little headway."

And, again, more wrangling. More talk. More whinging about their helplessness in the face of better-organised evil.

Severus shut his mouth as the Order talked about representation. At least the Potter brat is here; saves them the trouble of guarding him. Lupin, to the werewolves again, directed to spout more do-gooder rhetoric. Hagrid had already been sent to the giants-- hard to imagine what his pitch would be-- "help the Order... have strange pets?" The vampires-- Shacklebolt? Moody? The discussion went back and forth.

"I'll go," Black said.

A storm of protest rose-- everyone concurred that Black's suggestion was completely unsuitable. Black crossed his arms over his chest, looking sullen.

And so it went; they finally decided on Moody. No one else could be spared.

Severus' private meetings with Dumbledore were more productive. Dumbledore believed his intelligence. Dumbledore knew that for some reason the dementors had gone after Harry Potter, and, against all reason, Voldemort had not sent them.

Severus thought it was one of his fellow Death Eaters trying to curry favour-- MacNair, perhaps, or Pettigrew, presuming he could manage it. Dumbledore thought it was the Ministry.

Just what this war needs-- a third side.

---

29 August 1995

Severus got an excellent example of the "third side" a few weeks later.

It was unheard of for Dumbledore to hold faculty meetings prior to start of term. All the standard instructors knew each other perfectly well. As for temporary faculty-- also known as the latest Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor-- there was no particular need to even learn the name.

Whomever it was would be in and then gone without leaving any sort of lasting impression.

Besides, they all had so little time blessedly free of students. Still, here they sat, three days before the Hogwarts Express was to arrive. Flitwick was grumbling that his much anticipated beach holiday had been cut short. Severus tried very hard not to picture his coworker in a bathing costume.

They sat there, in the Great Hall, looking at Dumbledore, waiting.

"After last year's events, I thought we should discuss how best to arrange matters this year. Hufflepuff in particular may suffer the loss of Hogwarts' champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Several of our students may have chosen not to return in the wake of events."

Severus looked over at Sprout. Her brows drew close; her lips pressed together. "I've heard little of that," she protested.

Dumbledore shook his head. "It is something we would be best advised to prepare for."

McGonagall frowned. "Most parents surely realise that students are as safe at Hogwarts as anywhere-- if not safer."

"Yes, because students have thus far been dying in droves outside Hogwarts," Severus said.

Sprout gasped. Flitwick said, "Here, now." Trelawney trilled something about the Grim. Binns apparently hadn't even noticed the conversation.

McGonagall glared at Severus. "That was uncalled for, Severus," she snapped, crossing her arms before her chest.

Dumbledore sighed. "It was not well phrased, perhaps, but he is correct. And, despite rumors of what actually happened, the Ministry has put about that Cedric Diggory died in a tragic accident, perhaps caused by the carelessness of Harry Potter. I am certain I am not alone in hearing them."

Hard to miss them when they appear in every Daily Prophet. Still, it wasn't enough to explain the reason why they'd been summoned. They'd faced a similar dilemma after the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. He stared at Dumbledore, waiting.

Dumbledore braided and unbraided his fingers. Something is very wrong. "There is one thing more. Cornelius Fudge has been so good as to lend us a member of his staff to be our new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. The Minister also informs me that she may be evaluating our curriculum. It has been a long time since it has been reviewed, and it may not accurately reflect the standards tested in OWLs and NEWTs.

"I've had the privilege of making the acquaintance of Miss Umbridge. We met at a Ministry inquiry into unauthorised underage use of magic. I'm certain you recall coverage of Mr Potter's use of the Patronus charm. In any case, Miss Umbridge is a woman of undoubted conviction. I hope you will all render her every assistance."

Severus provided his own mental translation. Hogwarts has been assigned a narrow-minded Ministry spy who will do her damndest to make our lives miserable. Watch out.

Severus glanced covertly around the room. Most of the other instructors were quickly reaching the same conclusion he had. Good Hagrid's still out; he'd take it at face value.

"They can't do that." McGonagall was practically spitting.

"There, there. I'm certain Miss Lumber will do nicely," said Binns. Not that you'll recall one way or another.

Trelawney rolled her eyes back into her head, waving her arms before her. Hooch dodged neatly out of the way. Flitwick, her other neighbour, was happily short enough that her flailing arms passed above his head. Wait for it... She spoke in a wavering voice. "I see grim, grim days ahead." Score one for the old fraud.

The candlelight glinted off Dumbledore's spectacles. "I'm certain you will all want to make preparations for Miss Umbridge's arrival. Her able assistance is, of course, welcome."

Severus provided another mental translation. Figure the hell out how you're going to avoid her and do it fast. He wondered how bad it could possibly be, then banished the thought as an ill omen.

---

1 September 1995

The woman was a toad.

She was fat and squat and spoke in a high little-girl voice.

As a Ministry appointee, she would be worse than Dumbledore's usual complement of Defence Against the Dark Arts instructors. By which Severus meant she would be worse than useless.

He'd not watched her during the sorting, too intent on who was to be inducted into Slytherin. He'd directed more than a few glares at the Weasley twins at the Gryffindor table, who continued in their usual habit of hissing Slytherin first-years. He'd directed another glare or two in the direction of Potter and his compatriots on general principles. He'd smiled at the official naming of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson as the Slytherin prefects. That over, he watched his new colleague closely. When she rose and interrupted Dumbledore's welcoming speech, he knew that Dolores Umbridge would be worse than anything he'd imagined.

He felt his mouth pulling up into his practised Welcoming Feast sneer. He suppressed it. The Ministry already had sufficient reason to watch him; he hardly needed to provide another.

And the toad continued to speak. Not that the idiot children had learned anything over the past several years (well, perhaps from Lupin who was at least marginally competent), but they'd learn even less this year. Misinformation was clearly the order of the day.

Yes-- that's the philosophy: if you don't teach them, they won't need to know.

And yet she continued. The students weren't listening either. More fool they. Severus wasn't "listening," but, then, he understood her very well.

If anything, Dolores Umbridge posed a greater threat to his well-being than even Voldemort. He applauded lazily as she finally wound up her speech.

The upside was that Umbridge would probably be crushed incidentally.

He hoped he could watch.

Or, if he happened to be standing next to Voldemort at the time, perhaps he could take care of her himself. Even Dumbledore wouldn't object.

Much.

In the meantime, it was going to be a long term.

---

2 September 1995

The first day of classes began with Severus' first session with the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-years.

He opened the classroom door to the sound of chatter and laughter. He lifted his chin and swept in, letting the door fall closed behind him. As he passed each row of tables, all of the children fell silent behind the sweep of his robe.

Reaching the front, he turned smoothly on his heel. He gave them all a practised glare, scanning each row, locking his eyes for a fraction of a second on each student. As his eyes hit, each student stiffened-- still in his seat.

The right corner of his mouth curved up in satisfaction as his eyes reached the last student.

He spoke softly; they were straining to hear him as he went through the roll call. By the next day, he would remember all of their names.

Roll done, he began his welcome speech, still whispering. "You are here today for your first introduction to the art of potionmaking. Potions calls for exactitude-- learning to understand the ingredients, the motions, the subtle art that weds them together. Your wands are as nothing here. I can teach you brews of far more power than you have ever imagined-- tinctures of life and death, love and hate, luck and misery." He glared around the classroom again. Most were terrified; others fascinated. "And the lot of you are undoubtedly fool enough to think shiny wands are true magic." Many Ravenclaw eyes narrowed-- Good. He'd targeted the speech for them. They were always among his best students, with their love of knowledge for knowledge's sake.

Severus had come to Hogwarts as an escape-- a way to avoid the monotony of brewing Potions that any dunderhead could brew, a way out of his mother's house, a way out from under Voldemort's thumb. He'd never considered the teaching itself as anything but a burden to endure.

But he'd always wanted power-- craved it. This was power. And he'd learned no one could give him power-- it was something he had to create. Power is something you take.

---

With start of term, Severus began taking long walks by the lake. He took them on random days, at random times of day, and carefully staggered lengths. He caught Umbridge following him as covertly as her short legs could manage. He ignored her. After a few walks, she seemed to decide he simply liked to walk.

The other professors appeared to have devoted less time to avoiding Umbridge's observation, despite the advance warning. McGonagall could be seen to stomp through the corridors with Umbridge talking at her. Flitwick and Sprout were actually attempting to be friendly. Binns and Trelawney inhabited planes too disconnected from reality to be wary. Sinistra simply avoided Umbridge whenever possible.

It was not long before Umbridge's observations and evaluations began. Severus watched with some amusement the results of Umbridge's evaluation of the other instructors. McGonagall, in particular, had been incensed.

Hagrid still hadn't returned. Severus couldn't help anticipating Hagrid's first encounter with Umbridge-- he held out some hope that one of Hagrid's disastrous pets would eat her alive.

In the meantime, Potter managed to get himself assigned repeated detentions with Umbridge-- more than he'd ever earned from Severus-- Quite an accomplishment.

Yet, no summons from Voldemort came. The walks were still a useful way to escape for rare Order meetings, but his sudden isolation from his main source of useful intelligence frightened him. Of course, it could simply be that Voldemort knew he would have a difficult time escaping Hogwarts, particularly with the detestable Umbridge present. Still, he wondered. What was he missing?

Draco Malfoy actually stayed after class one Monday and followed Severus back to his office to complain about Umbridge. "Sir, we're not learning anything. She won't let us use our wands."

"I fail to see what you want me to do about that, Draco."

Draco widened his grey eyes, and Severus casually skimmed his mind. I think not, Draco. I have some sense of self-preservation. "You could teach us, sir. My father says you're very skilled." I'm certain he does. They'd never have accepted me otherwise.

"I think not, Draco. I'm certain you have the wits to understand why." Think, boy. You're a Slytherin. You understand politics-- power-- control.

"My father could--"

Severus shook his head. "Your father will do nothing, Draco. Nor will I. Neither of us is interested in Ministry scrutiny."

"We could just set up practises--" Draco looked up beseechingly.

Sometimes, I think he's as thick as Potter. "I'd hardly recommend it. Might I suggest that crossing Dolores Umbridge is exceedingly unwise."

Draco's smile dropped away. For the first time, he appeared to be seriously considering what Severus had said. Good, boy. That's it. Think for once. God knows you've been parroting Lucius for years. If you keep it up, you won't like where it leads you.

---

7 October 1995

After teaching fourteen years, classes tended to blur together. From time to time, he had a standout student (usually, they stood out due to their sheer awfulness), which made the lessons marginally more interesting (or significantly more dangerous, depending).

Today, however, he had the toad.

And, not only the toad, but the fifth year Gryffindor/Slytherin double Potions class.

The presence of the toad made Severus long for the presence of Gilderoy Lockhart-- ego, incompetence, midgets, and all. In fact, he would have gladly exchanged a student (preferrably Neville Longbottom) to have Lockhart teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts instead of Umbridge.

Whatever else Lockhart had done, Severus had been spared his presence while in his own classroom.

Not so the toad, who was observing her class with her version of special "hem hem" noises and "helpful" suggestions on how to make his lessons as useless as hers. She'd probably prefer me teaching them to boil water. On the other hand, boiling water might conceivably be a weapon, especially in Longbottom's hands, so perhaps not.

Having endured a double lesson of her scrutiny, he had to face the questions-- questions to which any Ministry official with half a brain obviously knew the answers: wasn't he teaching potions a bit too powerful to the students; how long had he been teaching at Hogwarts; did he apply for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position; why didn't Dumbledore award it to him? She was clearly displeased with his terse responses.

Severus doubted she'd be happier if he elaborated. As he spoke entirely truthful answers, he imagined her toad face gasping in amphibious shock at somewhat more sensational ones. He kept the monologue running in his head. It kept him from tearing her head off. Of dubious benefit.

"My class is very advanced. Some of them might even be competent. Based on what I hear of your courses, competence is a concept you're unfamiliar with.

"I've been teaching at Hogwarts since a bit after I betrayed the Dark Lord. Why, yes, I do consistently apply for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. I can't imagine anyone more qualified to speak on the Dark Arts than myself, though I suppose the Dark Lord might manage it.

"The headmaster doesn't let me teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, first, because I might find the freedom to cast Dark Arts spells too tempting. I certainly find them extremely tempting at this moment. Second, he doesn't let me teach it because the position is cursed. Since he won't hire me, he selects whomever I recommend for the position. I've recently selected those whom I would most enjoy seeing meet with an accident by the end of term. Gilderoy Lockhart's problems were particularly entertaining. I borrow the headmaster's Pensieve to watch them on particularly trying days. I realise I had nothing to do with your appointment, Madam, but I expect to celebrate whatever accident or series of accidents befalls you.

"The Ministry would like to understand my background? Excellent. I amuse myself inventing Dark Arts spells. I'm a sadist, and part of the Dark Lord's attraction was the idea of inflicting exquisite tortures on my enemies. Would you like a demonstration? I don't appreciate the way you're encroaching on my carefully cultivated reputation as the most despised teacher in the history of Hogwarts."

If he imagined her bleeding from a thousand cuts, even the best of men could hardly condemn him.

And, if he gave Potter no marks on his latest Potions disaster-- should have been paying attention, Potter-- it was no more than the twit deserved. It was all Potter's fault he was here in the first place, attempting to be polite to the idiot woman. Well, Potter's fault and Black's fault. Unfortunately, he couldn't deduct points from Sirius Black.

He assigned Potter an essay to make up for it.

---

12 October 1995

The rest of October and November were much the same-- added Educational Decrees from Dolores Umbridge, wailing and gnashing of teeth from the other instructors. Severus himself had learned to look upon the latest encroachments with an ironic eye. As long as Umbridge stayed out of his classroom, he would keep his mouth firmly shut. He'd had years of practise keeping his own counsel.

Voldemort still hadn't summoned him. The Order members still didn't trust him.

Potter remained irritating, Granger remained pedestrian, and Neville Longbottom remained explosive. If the Slytherin students had come up with a way around Umbridge's incompetence, they had wisely kept it well out of his sight.

Potter and Granger's little club, however, was the subject of much discussion at a mid-October Order Meeting-- only Dumbledore, Fletcher, Lupin, Tonks, Severus, and Black himself had made the meeting-- McGonagall was distracting Umbridge, Moody was off conversing with the vampires, and Shacklebolt was busy. Fletcher's report of a meeting at the Hog's Head was garbled, but Severus had already heard a similar report from Dumbledore, courtesy of Aberforth.

He had the same thoughts with the second report as the first, as Fletcher wended his rambling way through recounting the tale. The Slytherins are at least smart enough not to get involved-- not, I'm certain, that they were invited.

Black's chair was leaned back, resting on two legs. He let it fall forward and grinned as Fletcher wound up his tale. "James would have been proud. They asked me about meeting places, you know."

Lupin shook his head, but he was smiling, too. "You shouldn't have encouraged them, Sirius. If she catches them--"

Severus snorted. "If she catches them, they'll be expelled. And she will catch them."

Black's eyes narrowed. His voice was menacing. "Because you're going to turn them in, I take it."

Severus narrowed his eyes to slits. "No, because they understand next to nothing about concealment. A society this large-- three houses-- meeting openly in Hogsmeade--"

Black barked a laugh. "You're just miffed they didn't let Slytherins in."

Severus shook his head. Fool. "Slytherin has its own plans. Would you care to place a bet which group will last out the year in secret? I'd be thrilled to take your money off your hands."

"Yes, you would be. You never had much, did you?"

Lupin gasped.

Severus flinched. He pressed his lips tightly together and clenched his fists, then forced both to smooth out. That was the one area they'd always avoided striking. Apparently that agreement no longer existed. "Not like your money has done you much good, Black," he said quietly.

The room fell silent. Black frowned, looked down at the tabletop, then met Severus' eyes. Guilt radiated from him. Realised you went too far, did you?

Tonks cleared her throat. Her voice rang with false cheer as she spoke. "Hey, they could use the practise."

"Indeed they could." Dumbledore's voice was serious. Severus looked over at Dumbledore, still tense from Black's last insult. Black's always been able to get under my skin. Dumbledore gave him a quick smile, then looked over at Lupin. "Remus, have you been making any progress with the werewolves?"

Lupin began detailing his failures to convince any of the werewolves that eating humans in service of Voldemort was not in their long-term interest.

Severus looked down at the table, quiet the rest of the meeting. The lack of communication with Voldemort and the other Death Eaters had left him little to report. He hated this. He had one role to play for the Order, and he was completely unable to play it.

He left quietly after the meeting, returning to Hogwarts and continuing his walk along the lake before going inside.

---

2 November 1995

Over the next month, he fell to the usual rounds of lessons and detentions. The Gryffindor-organised Defence Against the Dark Arts practise had managed to keep out of Umbridge's sights. The Slytherins also had remained undetected-- even by Severus. Admittedly, he hadn't searched.

All was as well as could be expected in a world where Voldemort was active and Dolores Umbridge was at Hogwarts. And, in the normal progression of things, that meant Quidditch.

Severus himself had never been much of a fan of sport. Oh, he was competent-- competence was necessary. He had worked very hard to achieve competence after his first appalling experience on a broom.

But Severus was by no means obsessed. McGonagall was obsessed-- she'd assigned no homework to the Gryffindors the week before the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match, and given the Slytherins a double workload. It was therefore only justice that Severus had booked the Quidditch pitch for his team's practise as often as he could manage. Had anyone commented on the fact that he'd started booking the pitch a month before the match while McGonagall's homework games had only begun the week before the match, he would have countered with the claim that it was the only proper response for McGonagall's known Quidditch obsession.

No one took him to task.

When the Slytherin players took to hexing Gryffindor players in the corridors, it was somewhat more difficult to ignore. While publicly claiming that Alicia Spinnet had blinded herself with her own Hair-Thickening Charm, Severus privately took the Slytherin Keeper to task for performing a hex in the library in front of witnesses. "Aren't you familiar with subtlety?" he demanded, glaring at Miles Bletchley.

Bletchley sat in Severus' office, watching him rather sheepishly across the desk. He grinned. "Good hex though, wasn't it, sir?"

"Yes, yes, very effective." Severus shook his head, pulling absently at his hair. "But remember, subtlety. Getting our Keeper kicked off the team won't help us."

"Right, sir." Bletchley nodded.

"Dismissed," Severus said. Bletchley rose, then walked out, shutting the door behind him. Good thing I don't have a pathological need for the Quidditch cup, he thought, staring at the closed door.

Intimidation tactics were thenceforth carried on in the time-honoured fashion of insults and veiled threats. Severus breathed a sigh of relief.

Early November, and the day of the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin finally arrived. The Slytherins were excited; Severus, of course, retained his usual clinical disinterest. He certainly hadn't allowed himself to laugh when he overheard Pansy Parkinson teaching the Slytherins to sing "Weasley is Our King" in the Slytherin common room.

Odd how obsessed the students can be with such a silly sport, he thought, winding his Slytherin scarf about his neck and pulling a green and silver flag out of his trunk. As always, he was the first instructor to arrive for the Quidditch match. Have to be. Who knows when someone might strike at Potter again. He waited for everyone else to find seats, then stared intently at Hooch, waiting for her to blow the whistle and release the balls. He heard the Slytherins singing faintly in the background.

The match itself progressed with the usual rancour and the commenting with its usual partisanship.

The song itself was inspired. Severus could tell precisely when McGonagall first made out the lyrics. She hissed loudly, then said, "Severus, what is that?"

He glanced briefly over at her, then locked his eyes on the game. "A song, I believe." Weasley appeared to be having trouble sitting on his broom. Even Potter was looking outraged, staring first at the Slytherin stands, then at Weasley. It's a chance-- a palpable chance. Get the damned Snitch, Draco!

"You know what I mean, Severus! It's mean-spirited. You Slytherins, always cheating--"

He shot another glance in her direction. "Oh, it's definitely not against the rules. My team has studied the rulebook very carefully." Good, good. They've scored on Weasley. Where is that Snitch, Draco? Potter won't stay distracted forever.

His forecast proved true; Potter was paying attention to the game again, circling the pitch. Another score against Weasley, excellent.

"It's poor sportsmanship--" McGonagall cut herself off this time.

Severus was watching. Both Seekers had sighted the Snitch, sprinting across the pitch in pursuit. Draco, come on. Move! He drew in his breath. No! Damn it! Potter had outreached Draco again, scooping up the Snitch and holding it aloft, triumphant.

McGonagall cheered. "Glad to see the better team won, Severus."

He narrowed his eyes. "Really."

Crabbe struck a Bludger, and it spun directly for Potter, striking him in the back and knocking him to the ground. "Foul!" McGonagall screamed. "I hope you discipline them severely for this, Severus."

"I'm certain it was an accident," he said. Subtlety, damn it! He clutched at his green and silver flag. The wooden pole broke in his hand.

Hooch was blowing her whistle; both teams were landing. Some of the Gryffindor players had rushed to help Potter to his feet. All hail the conquering hero. Draco Malfoy had moved closer, saying something. The Gryffindor team was all drawing closer to Potter now. The Weasley twins were now very still, staring in Draco's direction, others on the team holding their arms. What's Draco saying?

Potter and one of the twins were running across the pitch toward Draco; Potter hit Draco hard in the stomach, knocking him flat. Potter knelt atop the felled boy, striking him again and again. Severus lunged to his feet, vaguely aware of McGonagall joining him in a sprint off the stands to the Quidditch pitch. God, what--

Madam Hooch screamed, and Potter was knocked back. Impediment Jinx, one part of Severus' mind catalogued as he continued to run forward. Madam Hooch continued to scream at the Gryffindor team. Potter and the rest of the team filed off the field, and McGonagall changed course, leaving him to run to the pitch alone. Reaching Draco at last, Severus stared down at him. His lip was huge, eye already turning black, and he clutched at his ribs, gasping.

"What the hell did you say, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco moaned. "Nothing much. He just went mad, sir."

Severus stared at him again. He knew Draco was lying; he could see the entire scene clearly in the boy's mind. It was nothing Severus might not hint at himself to wind Potter up, but Draco should have known better.

"You're a fool." Draco gave him a shocked look. Severus shook his head. "Mobilicorpus."

Time enough to discuss Draco's stupidity after seeing him to the hospital wing.

He gave Draco a thorough scolding as Pomfrey bandaged his ribs. She removed the swelling from his lip and would have gone after the blackening eye if Severus had not told her to leave it. As they left the hospital wing, Draco said, "But, sir, he'll pay more in the end."

Spare us, please. "Oh, he will. But do consider the cost you yourself have paid before you declare victory. Consider it very carefully. And, for the love of God, keep your head down."

He left Draco at the entrance to the Slytherin common room. It was very shortly afterward that he heard of Umbridge's added punishment-- banning Potter and the Weasley twins from Quidditch for life. Severus knew full well why she'd done it. As a strike, it was priceless. Umbridge detested Harry Potter-- so did Severus, for that matter. Umbridge had also been infuriated by McGonagall overriding her in reforming the Gryffindor Quidditch team. In one blow, Umbridge had struck them both. Draco Malfoy was lucky this time that Umbridge had such desirable targets. In the future, he might not be so fortunate.

---

19 December 1995

The first indication Severus had that something was wrong was at breakfast.

It was the last full day before the students started Christmas holidays. Severus was looking forward to the freedom from juggling students; Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, dodging the Ministry, and dealing with Voldemort and the Death Eaters provided a full schedule without adding students and teaching.

Well. Not that the Dark Lord has summoned me since start of term. It was only a pity in that he'd put so much effort into cultivating a habit of daily walks around the Hogwarts grounds at random times in order to conceal summons that had never come.

He reminded himself there was still one last day of teaching to get through, and a day when he'd be hard-pressed to get much effort out of any of his students.

His glanced around the Great Hall, starting with the Slytherin table. They were already acting as if holidays had begun; Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were pulling apart a Christmas cracker. The resulting pop produced a bird with red and green checked feathers. It circled them to general laughter. At least I don't have any of them today. I might be forced to take points.

He moved from the Slytherin table to the Ravenclaw table-- down to the end where the first-years were gathered. They were his first class of the day. Several were opening presents, coloured wrapping sailing about. Granted, most presents appeared to be books, but the recipients were bouncing in their seats. Severus winced.

Next was the Hufflepuff table; the third years were his last class of the day. It was hardly a shock to see Christmas crackers and flying shreds of paper from them.

Last, he looked at the Gryffindors. He had the Gryffindor fifth-years as his second class of the day. The Longbottom boy had a smut on his cheek, ribbon strewn by his breakfast. He was tossing some glittering ball up in the air in front of him. Wait for it... It was only a few throws before he missed a catch and it fell smack into his breakfast.

Severus looked away, scanning automatically for his second least favourite student. It took a few passes the length of the table before Severus realised that Potter was missing. He frowned, looking again. Potter's compatriot, Ron Weasley, was also absent from the Gryffindor table. He'd then registered the less welcome absence of Fred and George Weasley. God knows what they're up to. Having the Weasley twins out of sight frequently meant unpleasant pranks in Slytherin's immediate future. Another scan, and he realised the Weasley girl was missing as well. Granger, however, was eating breakfast, chewing viciously at her toast.

Potter and Weasley might have easily missed breakfast-- they're hardly stellar examples of responsibility-- but having so many missing meant something odd.

He looked again; Potter and Weasley shared with Finnigan, Thomas, and Longbottom. Finnigan and Thomas were whispering to one another. The wretched Longbottom boy was practically bouncing in his chair, leaning toward them; his glittering ball was apparently forgotten in a pile of eggs.

Severus heard the familiar "hem hem's" behind him, glanced briefly in the direction of Hogwarts' resident High Inquisitor. As always, he'd chosen his seat at the staff table carefully on the opposite side of Dumbledore to Umbridge. Severus tried to stay out of her way-- Out of sight, out of mind. Umbridge's toad face was crunched up in a scowl; her fork tapped against the edge of her plate.

So, the toad's annoyed, is she? Severus wished far worse fates on Dolores Umbridge on an hourly basis. Annoyance was risky, however-- Umbridge was petty and vindictive, and she was always willing to dipense her retribution as widely as possible.

He glanced at his fellow teachers. Whom had it been this time?

Trelawney wasn't present-- she'd made a point of avoiding meals since her negative evaluation. More sense than I thought she had.

Flitwick looked oblivious, as did Sprout. Both were chattering to their usual neighbours. In fact, everyone looked uninvolved except--

Yes. McGonagall's nose was lifted slightly, her lips pressed together. She was looking very deliberately away from Umbridge. You have thought she'd learnt last time. McGonagall had traded a fleeting victory over Umbridge for a loss of nearly half her Quidditch team, including her star player. Severus hadn't mourned the fall of Gryffindor's Quidditch team, but he was very conscious that he might have just as easily become Umbridge's target. Umbridge was petty and small-minded, and she clearly enjoyed having power to play with.

Severus frowned. Better McGonagall than me. He looked away before he drew their attention.

On their path back to his plate, Severus' eyes crossed Dumbledore's, and he realised Dumbledore had been watching him. He deliberately met the headmaster's eyes. Dumbledore's mind was pushing toward his; Severus took the invitation, using Legilimency to scan Dumbledore's surface thoughts.

The images were very clear-- he saw a clock face, hands marking eight o'clock. It was followed by an image of himself sitting in a chair he recognised very well: the upstairs room at the Hog's Head. No other images followed, and he pulled smoothly out of Dumbledore's mind.

Severus nodded his agreement. Dumbledore gave a barely perceptible nod in return, and Severus turned his attention back to his breakfast.

The rest of the day gave him some sense of what had happened.

He'd surprised the first-year Ravenclaws with an exam. He took vindictive glee in the resultant glares. They left the class still grumbling.

The Gryffindor fifth-years, by contrast, he assigned a simple potion-- a review of the Draught of Peace they'd made the first day of term. Potter and Weasley were still absent. Trust them to find a way to fail the potion twice.

He spent most of the lesson sitting behind his desk, staring broodingly out at the class. In between the usual whispers about Severus and generalised cruelty, other whispers made it to the front of the room.

"A snake?" "Harry said it bit Mr Weasley." "How do you know?" "Seamus said." "How does Seamus know?" "He was there." "What does Hermione say?" "She wasn't there." "Yeah, but what does she say?"

Severus glanced at Granger, but her face was still and tight. She went through her potionmaking in her usual methodical fashion. Her motions were a little stiffer than usual. He had little trouble identifying the cause.

"Silence," he snapped, and the whispers were quiet for a few minutes before re-emerging. Very interesting.

The whispers continued the rest of the day; Severus heard whispers about snakes and Potter from the third-year Hufflepuffs as they worked in groups to try to modify a simple healing potion for greater strength.

Umbrdige intercepted Severus after supper. He'd just exited the Great Hall when he heard her high, sugary voice behind him. "Oh, Severus, wait."

Damn it. He stopped, but did not turn around. He heard her puffing behind him, then she moved around in front of him, face red. A few hairs hung loose about her face. "Professor Snape, has Professor McGonagall spoken to you?"

Severus looked down his nose at her. "Certainly Professor McGonagall has spoken to me on many subjects at many times in the past."

Umbridge's eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed flat. An edge of irritation lurked in her girlish voice. "I mean, Professor Snape, has Professor McGonagall spoken to you today regarding Harry Potter?"

He gave a deliberately impatient sigh, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his foot. "Of course not. I cannot imagine why Potter would be of the slightest interest to me." He tilted his head to the side, and drew his brows together in a considering frown. "However, I would have appreciated an explanation as to why he was not in my Potions class today."

Umbridge growled. She stamped her right foot. "They've removed him from the school; I'm certain they have. I would have got to Dumbledore's office if McGonagall hadn't deliberately delayed me in the corridor. I don't know what Dumbledore thinks he's doing, but--" she broke off suddenly, mouth snapping closed.

Realised you said more than you ought, I take it? He twisted his mouth into a frown. "I've no earthly idea what you're talking about." He started to step to his left to go around her. "If that is all--"

Her right arm stretched out toward him. He stopped, but stayed carefully out of her range. "Professor Snape, is Harry Potter prone to fits and hallucinations?"

Severus gave her a supercilious look. "I am certain that anything making Potter the cynosure of all eyes would appeal to the boy. As you must certainly be aware, Potter is arrogant and joys in being the center of attention."

She leaned forward, whispering urgently, "But have you heard--"

He cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I've heard nothing of it. And you cannot imagine me as any sort of confidant."

She frowned, her gaze unfocusing. She gave a slow nod, then a more definite one. Her eyes focused on him once more. "Thank you, Professor Snape." Her smile was broad and unconvincing. "You may go."

Precisely whom do you think you are? He gave her the barest inclination of his head, then circled around her and headed for his office. He had the Ravenclaws' exams to mark before he used the opportunity of his evening walk to meet Dumbledore in Hogsmeade.

Walking down the stairs to his office, he tried to banish Umbridge's ridiculous face from his mind. He despised the woman. Pettiness aside, Umbridge and the Ministry were proving unwitting allies of Voldemort. With their desperate desire to catch Dumbledore in an attempt to undermine Fudge, they were making Severus' life more dangerous on a daily basis.

It took an hour to mark the Ravenclaws' exams. Unusually for the class, very few students had achieved a passing mark. Severus sighed; setting an exam the last day of term seemed more of a punishment for him than for the students.

He checked the time-- a quarter to seven. He piled the examinations neatly, put away his quill and ink, and left, locking his office behind him.

His walk out to the grounds, around the lake, and to Hogsmeade was unmolested. He had apparently allayed any suspicions Umbridge might have had.

After her review of my teaching, she also seems to have picked me as a likely ally against Dumbledore. He suspected he could credit Dumbledore's refusal to give him the Defence Against the Dark Arts position for Umbridge's approval despite his past activities. Well, that and Lucius.

The common room was as full as it got for the Hog's Head; about half of the tables were full. Most people clumped in the shadows, hoods concealing their faces. Aberforth gave him a slight nod; despite a few glances in his direction, the others did not acknowledge him. It was typical of Aberforth's clientele.

Severus walked across the common room, then out and up the stairs.

He walked to the end of the hall, opened the door, and walked in. The room was faintly lit. He checked his watch-- five minutes to eight.

He sat down on the chair to wait.

He gave a quick glance to his watch when the door shrieked open-- eight sharp. Dumbledore walked in, shut the door behind him. Dumbledore nodded a greeting, then moved silently over and sat on the bed. The springs creaked under his weight.

Dumbledore sighed. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers and resting his elbows on his knees. "I assume you've heard, Severus?"

Severus shrugged. "Some. The Potter boy, Arthur Weasley, a snake, some sort of dream or hallucination." He paused, frowned. "Umbridge was inquisitive," he added.

Dumbledore tugged at his beard. "I had hoped, but-- there's no real hope of keeping it secret. Harry apparently had a vision. Arthur was searching the files at the Ministry on Order business; he was there alone, late at night. I don't know how Voldemort knew where he was, but he must have discovered Arthur's presence, known he was alone and isolated, and taken the opportunity to eliminate him. In Harry's vision, he was within the mind of Voldemort's snake when it attacked Arthur."

Severus narrowed his eyes. He had assumed that Potter had been talking to snakes-- That produced enough of a problem the last time he did it. He had also assumed the visions were invented out of whole cloth to disguise some sort of intelligence from another source. "Why would Potter have been within the snake?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes were piercing. "It's where Voldemort was."

Severus leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling while he considered the possible implications. Spiderwebs. Does Aberforth clean anything? He dismissed the tangent. He looked back down at Dumbledore. The only explanations Severus could muster did not please him. He started to speak, stopped. "I'd no idea there was any link."

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. He seemed to be considering his words. "Harry always got warnings of a sort. Feelings. A sense of Voldemort's presence."

Severus snorted. You can do better than that, Headmaster. You should have told me. "Visions aren't 'feelings,'" Severus said. If you'd told me about the feelings, I might have been able to do something. Not for a moment did Severus entertain the idea that Dumbledore hadn't told him about Potter's feelings because Dumbledore hadn't known. No one but Potter had ever survived the killing curse, but Avada Kedavra was no reason for the creation of any link between Voldemort and Potter.

Dumbledore sighed, closing his eyes. "No. They are not." He paused, drew in his breath. "I have a terrible suspicion... but, I need you to find out what you can."

"The Dark Lord has not summoned me in months, Headmaster." Much use I am if I cannot get any intelligence out of the Death Eaters.

"I know, Severus. If I am correct, Voldemort will almost certainly summon you soon. If I am wrong, well, there may always be another explanation. Perhaps you can learn something from Lucius."

Severus closed his eyes, considering. And what do you think Lucius will know? He opened them again. "Does the Dark Lord know about the link?"

Dumbledore shook his head again. "I think he did not. I think that now he is probably aware. But I do not know, Severus. I do not know."

Severus let out his breath at once. "I will endeavour to find out." He rose, made a move toward the door. He stopped, turned back. "What about Potter?"

"Harry will be staying with Sirius Black until start of term. He should be safe enough there."

You trust Black to protect him? Severus did not speak the thought aloud. Dumbledore had always credited Sirius Black with more intelligence and skill than he truly possessed. Instead, Severus gave a sharp nod. "I'd best get back before Umbridge gets suspicious."

"Of course."

Severus turned and left the room.

---

20 December 1995

The majority of students decamped the next day for Christmas holidays. Severus spent the morning helping frantic first-years find all of those items they urgently needed to take home for Christmas, but had inexplicably misplaced. The Slytherin prefects were similarly occupied; Pansy Parkinson looked particularly harried when she finally threw her trunk aboard the Hogwarts Express.

Severus stood outside, watching as the doors closed on the Hogwarts Express. The whistle blew.

He breathed his usual sigh of relief, amplified by the fact that Dolores Umbridge was also departing for Christmas holidays. Apparently the Ministry functions urgently required her presence. Good riddance.

The departure of his students brought such a bright spot to Severus' day that it was unsurprising that the Dark Mark began to burn as the Hogwarts Express was pulling away. Timing is everything.

He scowled and began shuffling his thoughts into order. He walked swiftly to the edge of Hogwarts' anti-Apparition wards. Reaching them, he touched his wand to his burning arm and Apparated.

New place, he thought, glancing quickly around. He recognised it as the second floor library in Malfoy Manor. Books with leather bindings and gold-stamped titles lined the walls. As he recalled, neither Lucius nor Narcissa had read most of them. They probably don't know what most of them even are. The lighting was bright. The floor was covered in a Persian carpet that he conservatively estimated at twice his annual salary. Artistically worn brown leather chairs were placed in front of the fireplace; a landscape hung above it. A fire burned in the grate.

Voldemort stood facing the fire, his back to Severus. His skin was maggot-pale above his deep red robes.

"Very swift of you, Severus. How gratifying." Voldemort spoke without turning around, voice even and emotionless.

Severus licked at his lips. "Master." At least Wormtail isn't here this time.

Voldemort's pale hand lifted, waved to indicate the leather chairs behind him. "Sit down."

Severus took a pace to the left, seating himself in a brown leather armchair. The leather was cool and smooth to the touch; in the part of his brain toting costs, he reckoned it at two months' salary. He slid his left hand to the front of the armrest, rubbing at the nailheads there. Voldemort's presence made Lucius and Narcissa's position clear. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, Severus allowed himself to be surprised that Lucius was willing to take the risk-- not only could Voldemort's presence destroy him, but dropping the manor's anti-Apparition wards to allow Voldemort to summon his Death Eaters could easily lead to Ministry infiltration.

At length, Voldemort turned to face him. Bright light did nothing to make Voldemort's new body less frightening. His eyes glowed red above an oddly truncated nose. Grey-white skin stretched across the bones of his face. He did not speak.

Without entirely intending it, Severus found himself saying, "Master, you've not summoned me in several months."

Voldemort's head inclined; the movement seemed mechanical, each inch a separate motion. "I have not, Severus. You cannot assist in the current enterprises. You are best placed where you are."

As far as Severus knew, the only "current enterprise" was freeing the captive Death Eaters from Azkaban. He assumed that Voldemort's efforts to recruit the nonhuman races were continuing. However, he had no specifics of either plan. "If I have no news to report, they may choose to exclude me from their counsels."

Voldemort laughed; the sound was hollow. "Come, Severus. They would be fools to exclude you. Dumbledore's allies are pathetic. Without the support of the Ministry, he has precious few of any power. Several are useless agents; they cannot go out in public without attracting notice-- the werewolf, Black, Fletcher, and Moody. You are Dumbledore's only powerful ally; he would be loath to discard you."

Severus did not entirely disagree with Voldemort's assessment of his fellow Order members. "Reluctant, yes, but I, too, cannot be useful to them in public, Master."

"Ah." Voldemort's lipless mouth pressed tightly closed. "I shall consider it."

Severus rubbed at the arm of his chair again, waiting quietly for Voldemort to continue.

The red eyes fixed on him, and he felt the expected pressure against his mind. "Severus, a very interesting thing happened not two days ago." Voldemort's right hand lifted, the odd bony fingers rubbing against his chin. "Explain."

Voldemort's mind remained linked with his, sifting through the images his mind produced as he replied. Well, this answers the question about whether the Dark Lord is aware. "I know only what I was told, Master. Dumbledore said that the Potter boy has had 'feelings' -- intimations of your reactions. For whatever reason, two days ago, he dreamt he was in the mind of Nagini as she attacked Arthur Weasley." He allowed irritation to colour his voice as he allowed memories of Potter's defiant expressions to pass through his mind. "He carried on about his prophetic abilities, as anyone might expect of the self-centered brat."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed; his mind slid through Severus'. "Go back. What happened after the dream?"

Careful. Severus said, "I gather Potter persuaded McGonagall to take him to speak with Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was convinced the vision was authentic. They alerted others, found Weasley near death, and took him to St Mungo's."

"So." The sibilant was drawn out. Voldemort's lipless mouth twitched. "And I suppose you will tell me you were completely unaware of these 'feelings,' Severus?"

Voldemort's mind suddenly pushed hard. Severus set his chin. "Yes, I was, Master. So was Dumbledore, from what he told me." Severus was telling the whole truth for once; that would make it particularly ironic if Voldemort decided to punish him with the Cruciatus Curse.

Voldemort's mind retreated. His head inclined once more, that strange stilted movement. "Has the boy seen anything else?"

Severus pursed his lips. Oh, probably. "If so, Dumbledore has not told me."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Would he?"

Severus frowned, pretending to consider. Clearly not. "I think he would, yes. But, if the Potter boy has not told Dumbledore, Master..."

Voldemort lifted his right hand, rested it on the mantel. "Surely the boy would not keep it a secret."

Severus snorted. He shook his head. "Of course he would, Master."

"I shall have to see what to make of this." He smiled. "It may be that this mischance can be turned to advantage."

Severus steadied his mind. Dumbledore would want to know-- and, thus, he had to make the attempt to ask-- "Master, why was Potter able--"

Voldemort's red eyes flashed. He turned on his heel and began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. Severus assumed Voldemort wasn't going to answer, but, after a few circuits, Voldemort looked in his direction and began to speak. "It is a considerable irony, Severus. The effect was not as I'd planned." His right hand gestured, indicating his body. He kept pacing. "I had intended it to be different. The snake was not the perfect vessel, but speed was of the essence. I needed a vessel before I arrived. And I had the perfect inspiration-- I would ensure my immortality with one blow. I would destroy the boy, and, with his death, create another vessel in the Mudblood woman." He laughed.

"In some ways, this outcome is superior, Severus, far superior. It was not without its cost, but there is irony in the knowledge that Potter cannot destroy me-- his life itself ensures my immortality. So, you see, Severus, the boy sees his 'visions' because he contains a part of my soul-- a small part. The snake contains another. I had thought the piece so tightly sealed within the boy that he was unaware of it. It seems I was incorrect. This gives me an opportunity to use, you see." Voldemort stopped, turned to face Severus, and laughed again. "So, you see, Severus," he whispered, "it is wise that you did not choose to abandon me after all."

Severus had thought that feeling the blood drain out of one's face was pure literary hyperbole. He no longer did. His face was cold, lips numb with shock. He forced himself to speak. "The boy is a Horcrux."

Voldemort nodded, eyes fixed on him. He felt the touch of Voldemort's mind against his own. Maintaining the barriers in his mind was abruptly difficult. His surface thoughts were simple shock, and Voldemort did not push, seeming satisfied with Severus' reaction.

Severus had known that Voldemort had at least one Horcrux; Voldemort had told the Death Eaters of that aspect of his plan. Severus had not known there was more than one; Dumbledore had conjectured it, but-- "How many others--?"

Voldemort shook his head slowly. "That is information you do not need to know, Severus. And do not dare to share this with Dumbledore-- not until I give you leave. You've said Dumbledore is unaware of my Horcruxes. He must uncover them, soon enough. I harbor no delusions that all of my Death Eaters are as loyal and secretive as you are, Severus. Dumbledore will learn. However, these particular tidbits-- I want to be there when Dumbledore learns the truth, Severus. I want to watch when he learns that there is no way for him to defeat me-- none. I want to be there when all his hopes of victory fade into dust."

Severus shuddered in his seat, watching Voldemort. Voldemort eyes were glowing.

Voldemort smiled, a slow revelation of his teeth. "And now, my spy, I give you leave to return to Hogwarts."

Still under Voldemort's eyes, Severus rose to his feet and Apparated away.

Severus spent a few hours walking, considering, before making his way to the Hog's Head. What Voldemort said was very likely the truth. Harry Potter contained a piece of Voldemort's soul-- the reason for the link, and Voldemort's perfect hedge against the prophecy. Dumbledore would have to know.

It was late enough when he arrived at the pub that the common room was empty, save for Aberforth's expected presence behind the bar. Aberforth sent off his Patronus in a moment; the silver goat slipped through the pub walls.

Severus nodded before continuing upstairs to wait. He gave a dubious glance at the bed and settled in the chair.

A few minutes later, Dumbledore had barely closed the door before Severus said, "The boy's a Horcrux, Headmaster."

Dumbledore winced. He sat down on the bed, lacing his fingers. He seemed to consider before continuing. "We knew that there had to be more than the diary, Severus. I had wondered-- well." He closed his eyes briefly, shook his head. His eyes reopened.

Severus shook his head. Hours of walking had not eliminated his feelings of hopelessness. He rose, pacing the length of the room. Severus had read everything there was to read about Horcruxes in Voldemort's library and his own. All of them spoke of the importance of choosing an enduring vessel-- something resistant to deterioration. "I would never have imagined he would choose living vessels. They're too fragile." And yet, from Voldemort's words, living vessels were precisely what he had chosen.

"We never stopped to consider, Severus, how many there might be. I assume the snake--"

"No. We had not. And, for Nagini, yes, he said enough..." Severus felt slightly sick. Horcruxes were easy enough to destroy-- under normal circumstances, all that was required was destruction of the vessel itself. How we destroy the vessel in this case... Severus had to admire the masterstroke. Voldemort had turned his prophesied enemy into the perfect protector: they could not destroy Voldemort without destroying the severed pieces of his soul. And they could not destroy Voldemort's severed soul without destroying the only person who could kill Voldemort. He continued his pacing. "What do we do?"

"I'd hoped it was nothing more than a curse scar." He sighed again. "Do you believe it is possible to remove it?"

Severus laughed. "Remove it? Horcruxes are rare enough, Headmaster. The magic is seldom used, and, even then, seldom works. As for the objects-- why remove the soul when you can simply destroy the vessel? I have no idea whether it is possible to remove it."

"There's more I've not told you." There always is. "Sirius sent to tell me that Harry felt as if he wanted to attack me."

Severus understood the implication quite well. Either Voldemort could control the boy directly, or the piece of Voldemort's soul was infiltrating Potter's mind. Severus stopped in front of the chair, sank down into it. "So."

Dumbledore nodded. "Voldemort knows of the link. Now that he does, he can use it to read Harry's thoughts, perhaps even to control him. For that reason alone... Severus--" Dumbledore broke off, looked down.

"Yes?" I'm not going to like it.

"I need you to train Harry in Occlumency."

"He can't learn it." Severus responded before thinking. He felt heat rising in his cheeks. It made perfect sense to train Potter in Occlumency-- the boy had to learn to isolate himself. If not, the piece of soul he bore might one day possess him. Even were that not a danger, the link between the boy and Voldemort could be used to control or manipulate Potter the same way Voldemort had used the snake. He looked at Dumbledore, who was regarding him seriously.

"So quick to declare it, Severus? You're one of my best teachers."

Severus felt briefly warm at the praise. "Potter doesn't have that kind of focus." Potter had no focus whatsoever. Occlumency might possibly offer a defense, but Severus felt a sick certainty that it was a useless enterprise.

Dumbledore stared at him, blue eyes hard. "Try." Severus felt the force of the order.

Severus flinched. "He won't learn from me, anyway. It should be you."

Dumbledore's voice was chiding. "It cannot be me, or you must know I would. I know you don't care for the boy, Severus--"

It hardly matters whether I do or don't. "If the Dark Lord can possess him--"

Dumbledore nodded. "I know. If he can, then we cannot use you as a spy. And yet, I feel we have no choice. Harry is more valuable than any of us."

You mean he is more valuable than me. It hardly came as a surprise. "I will, Headmaster."

Dumbledore sighed; his shoulders slumped. "Thank you, Severus." He smiled faintly. "I'll write you a letter-- ease the path, if I can."

Severus nodded. Anything to help matters along; reluctant wouldn't even begin to describe Potter's reaction, and it would never occur to Potter that Severus was equally reluctant. "Of course, Headmaster."

"You'll need to let him know." Dumbledore drew in a breath, shook his head. He looked down at his hands. "No, wait. I will leave you both to enjoy your Christmas holidays. You may start instructing him when he returns to Hogwarts."

Severus felt his stomach sink. It didn't feel like a reprieve. "All right. I'll tell him-- before he leaves Grimmauld Place."

"Thank you, Severus."

---

25 December 1995

Severus spent Christmas at Hogwarts, as usual. Someone always needed to be around for those children who had stayed over Christmas.

He opened his standard short list of presents-- garish socks from Dumbledore, a rare and expensive Dark Arts manual from Lucius and Narcissa.

His mother had moved to Italy many years before. He wondered if she still lived there. As always, she had sent nothing.

---

26 December 1995

Boxing Day was occupied with another usual event-- Lucius and Narcissa's Boxing Day party.

For politeness' sake, Severus Apparated outside the manor grounds, then walked the slow half-mile to the Manor itself. He was met at the door by one of the Malfoys' house-elves, clothed in a tea towel, cringing before him.

Severus knew full well why Lucius insisted on these celebrations. In small part, Lucius used them to cement his influence at the Ministry of Magic. Every year, the Minister of Magic was invited, along with any of those at the Ministry that Lucius had chosen to favour with his regard. In larger part, however, Lucius held these Boxing Day events for the same reason he did everything else.

Lucius had taken to the concept of being Lord of the Manor with gusto-- by which Severus meant that he'd read too many historical novels. Severus wasn't entirely certain whose character Lucius had adopted, but, knowing the man, Severus was certain some brilliant and ominous villain had lived in a manor house, worn long bound back in a queue, and carried a malacca cane. This character was probably also known for his aristocratic drawl. Lucius was, after all, the consummate phony, and Severus could discern no other reason for Lucius' collection of these foibles.

In any case, Lucius had apparently read somewhere that the lord and lady of the manor were required to provide boxes of handmade biscuits to all of their dependents. As Severus vaguely recalled, the actual standard was that the family was to produce the biscuits itself, then distribute them by hand to the tenants. Being Lucius, he had broadly defined dependents as anyone he wished to have dependent upon him, and he decided dependence could better be ensured by an exclusive party. As for the biscuits themselves, Severus had no illusions about the identities of the bakers.

The portion of the tradition where the lord and lady of the manor gave their servants gifts and a holiday on Boxing Day had apparently escaped Lucius entirely, Severus thought, looking at the still-cringing house-elf.

Severus came every year because he liked the ladyfingers. The roast turkey and Christmas pudding were not half-bad either.

Severus could have done without the dancing and requisite game of charades.

He let the house-elf conduct him to the ballroom, where the noise of the other guests met him.

He glanced around the ballroom; this year, Lucius had invited fewer Ministry officials and more Death Eaters. Fudge was in the midst of a crowd, chest puffed out as he blustered. Severus caught sight of Fenrir Greyback listening intently. I doubt Fudge has any clue who he's talking to.

Lucius and Narcissa stood just inside the doors. Narcissa wore green silk robes, plainly and elegantly cut. Lucius wore green velvet-- with just slightly too much embroidery, and slightly too much decoration. Severus smiled and greeted them both, thanking them for the gift of the Dark Arts manual.

"Of course." Narcissa gave him a cool smile.

Lucius gave a stiff nod. "We thought you would particularly enjoy it."

"I do, yes." He inclined his head. "How are you both? I know Draco, particularly, was looking forward to returning home for Christmas."

"Quite well, Severus." Lucius met his eyes; in them, he saw flashes of Voldemort, holding court throughout Malfoy Manor. The images came with a tangle of mixed pleasure and resentment. Not entirely happy about giving over your house, are you?

"We always enjoy having family home for Christmas," Narcissa said; her voice shook slightly on the word "family."

And with that, Severus understood why Lucius and Narcissa had allowed themselves to be so tightly tied to Voldemort this time-- allowed him in their house, invited Death Eaters to their gatherings. It was all for Narcissa's sister Bellatrix, the mad murderous bitch. Until the Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban, Voldemort held Narcissa in the palm of his hand; holding Narcissa, he also held Lucius. "I understand," he said. This was an opportunity to position himself closer to them; he would take it. He chose his words carefully-- words they wanted to hear. "It is so difficult to have family absent over Christmas." It was an easy lie.

Narcissa's blue eyes glittered with the faint shine of tears. She swallowed, then produced a faint smile.

Lucius cleared his throat, and Severus looked back at him. "Quite so." His eyes narrowed. Severus wondered if Lucius had recognised the falseness in his sympathy. It seemed not, however, as Lucius continued. "Some family, however, is never quite absent enough."

Severus' brows drew together.

Lucius gave a sharp laugh. "Didn't Draco tell you? The Potter brat had a large black dog with him at King's Cross."

"No, he didn't." You fool, Black. Couldn't resist the prank and your precious godson, could you?

"If I see him again, I'll hardly be so sympathetic. Do tell him so."

Severus pressed his lips tight. "You must be aware I've little interest in conversing with dumb animals."

"Indeed. You have all our sympathies." He smiled. "Now, Severus, we've monopolised you long enough. Mingle. Enjoy."

Severus inclined his head, murmured farewells, and moved into the ballroom, scanning the other guests.

Draco was apparently participating in the festivities this year. He, Pansy Parkinson, and Theodore Nott were clustered in a corner. Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Blaise Zabini had also apparently been invited. Their parents were present as well; Zabini's beautiful mother was laughing with another guest, her hand gracefully moving to rest against his arm. Next victim, I take it.

He moved in the direction of the refreshments table, selecting three biscuits and a cup of mulled wine. The Malfoy house-elves produced truly superior ladyfingers, year after year.

A few hours later, they moved on to dinner, then to charades.

Draco and his classmates looked pained as the adults giggled over charades, then moved on to Sardines. As the evening wore on, the rest of the guests drank increasingly greater quantities of alcohol. More than half would probably be too drunk to Apparate home.

Severus made his excuses after eleven, then walked back across the grounds to return to Hogwarts. He'd learned only one thing of value-- that Sirius Black was still as irresponsible as he'd always been. Fool.

---

9 January 1996

It was his thirty-fifth birthday. Severus doubted anyone even realised, save perhaps for the headmaster. His mother had never cared much and still did not. After Severus' father's departure, they'd ceased celebrating. Birthday celebrations were among the things she'd decreed not worth bothering with.

Not that Severus cared, of course.

Still, the history of his birthday was not an auspicious one. It was on his birthday, after all, that he'd taken the Dark Mark.

He sat alone in his rooms at Hogwarts.

He'd bought himself a bottle of Firewhiskey to mark the occasion. The Headmaster would no doubt disapprove.

He rolled back his sleeve, staring at the Mark as he filled his glass.

Severus threw it back, slamming the glass back to the tabletop.

A variant of the Proteus Charm. He lifted his right hand, traced the Mark with his index finger. A particularly ugly variant, at that.

He'd enjoyed the years it had been invisible. He'd always known it was there, seared into his flesh. The memory had remained, even when he couldn't see it. Now it was always visible, sometimes faint and grey, ready to pulse and burn red with summoning.

His mouth twisted. He jerked his right hand away from his arm and glared at the Mark before shaking his sleeve down to cover it.

He poured another glass of Firewhiskey and threw it back, then capped the bottle. He already regretted the impulse that had led him to purchase it. His lips drew back into a sneer.

Sirius Black had smelled faintly of Firewhiskey at every Order meeting they'd had since moving headquarters into the Black house.

Severus rose and dragged a book randomly from the shelf. It hardly mattered what it was. He flipped it open and began to read. A few minutes later, he replaced it in his lap, looking around blankly.

Time was running out; Christmas holidays were nearly at an end. He had two days left before he had to go to Grimmauld Place to speak to Potter about Occlumency lessons. As the end of Christmas holidays had drawn closer, he'd grown more and more irritable at the thought.

He had no choice in the matter, of course.

Potter would undoubtedly tell Sirius Black all about Occlumency. It was a very short hop from Occlumency to Legilimency, especially given that Severus would use Legilimency to train Potter. And from the realisation that Severus was a Legilimens...

Black's mind had always been so open-- so easy to read. His thoughts and feelings practically shone through him; it had been blinding. Severus had never encountered a mind so lacking in natural shields.

Severus had spent much of their brief affair scanning Black's mind. He'd started when he'd first encountered Black, drunk, sitting in a bar. He'd searched for memories of Regulus, and found none more recent than Hogwarts. He'd continued rifling through Black's mind throughout the course of their unexpected affair. He'd told himself he was searching Black's mind for information on Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix-- some brilliant piece of intelligence he could deliver to Voldemort. Instead, he'd searched through Black's fantasies, then fulfilled them, one after another.

Instead of passing information onto Voldemort, Severus had found himself hiding his relationship with Black in the deepest recesses of his mind. It had been his first experiment in shielding something from Voldemort using Occlumency.

He'd been stunned when Black was locked in Azkaban, blamed for betraying the Potters to Voldemort. Severus had concluded the transparency that had fascinated him was nothing but a mask; he'd grown to despise both Black and himself for it.

And now he'd learnt that the transparency might have been-- was probably-- real. Black was still easy to read. Severus could hardly avoid reading him at Order meetings.

Instead of lust and fantasies, now all Severus found was fury.

Whatever Severus' conclusions about Black, it was very easy to see that Black despised Severus. Severus had felt the searing hatred washing off of Black when Dumbledore had forced them to shake hands in the Hospital Wing after Diggory's death.

I hardly expected otherwise. I wanted him fed to the dementors.

In some ways, having read Black's fantasies seemed no worse. But Black won't see it that way.

I don't care. I hope it hurts. He closed his eyes. He could still picture Black kneeling before him on the floor, mouth wrapped around his cock-- Black's eyes locked on his, mouth sliding up and down. He remembered the joy in Black's grey eyes when he had said, "I'm to be godfather." He remembered that last night, the slow and gentle sex. He remembered his mouth locked on Black's, their tongues twisting together.

He remembered himself, sending an owl to request a meeting with Dumbledore. He'd thought himself so desperately in love. He felt sick.

Please, God. Don't ask me why I did it-- any of it.

---

11 January 1996

The sick feeling reappeared two days later as Severus arrived in front of the Black house, Dumbledore's letter tucked in his robes. He walked up, opened the door, and stalked in. He had hoped to encounter Molly Weasley, or even Potter himself. Anyone, in short, who could bring Potter to him with a minimum of fuss.

He walked into the kitchen, Molly Weasley's accustomed realm. She was not present. Unfortunately, Black was. He was seated at the table, his chair leant back on two legs. His hands were braced against the edge. He looked up when Severus entered, grey eyes narrowed.

So much for a minimum of fuss.

"What're you doing here, Snape?" Black asked. His voice was low, edges slightly rounded. He's been drinking again.

"Black, have you seen Molly Weasley?" Severus asked.

Black's lips pressed flat together. "You didn't answer my question. Why're you here?"

No help for it. "I need to speak to Potter."

Black's eyes narrowed to slits. He was already radiating aggression. "Why? Harry doesn't like you; you don't like him."

Severus' shoulders tensed. He'd forgotten how quickly he could lose his composure in Black's presence. He forced himself to relax. "Headmaster's orders."

"Dumbledore's giving you free rein to bother Harry? I think not." Black started up from his seat at the table.

Severus very deliberately held his ground. "Oh, sit down, Black."

The door creaked open. Severus' eyes darted over, catching Molly Weasley standing there with her mouth slightly open. Thank God. "Tell Mr Potter to join us, please."

Her mouth closed. She looked between the two of them, then nodded. "Of course." She turned, door creaking closed behind her.

Black's mouth was open, his arm raised-- it seemed a futile gesture to prevent Molly Weasley's departure. He dropped his arm. Severus was subjected to the full force of Black's glare. The grey eyes locked on his, filled with distaste.

It was only surprising when he recalled how much Black had wanted him, once, and how much he had wanted Black in return. He deliberately sat down at the table across from Black.

Black's mouth twisted. "Let's see those orders."

"They're written to Potter."

"I want to see them."

Severus pulled them out of a pocket, tossed them across the table. Black reached, picked them up. Severus watched as Black flipped them open and read them. He'd enough time to see the confusion crossing Black's face-- questions crowding behind his eyes, almost eclipsing the force of his projected distaste. Black's mouth fell open, and Severus wondered which question it would be. Then the door opened, the boy walked in. Black visibly relaxed.

Potter was no better at holding in strong emotion than Black. He'd often felt the boy's hatred beating at him across the classroom. Now he had two sources in the same room. Severus told the boy to sit.

That simple statement sufficed to set Black off.

Severus attempted to hold his temper, but he quickly found himself striking back at Black with a series of barbed comments. Black's still damned easy to read. Severus took satisfaction in each flare of temper he provoked. He forced himself to deliver the explanation and instruction to Potter. Having said it, he tried to leave.

Black's voice called after him. It brought Severus to a halt, and he spun. From that point on, it was all downhill. They tossed insults and threats back and forth. Black might have spoken in the guise of defending Potter from Severus, but Severus was not fooled. This debate had nothing to do with Potter or his father. Black was spoiling for a fight. Abruptly, Severus wanted to give it to him.

Severus could tell the instant Black forgot Potter's presence. Every emotion had turned to pure hatred. Clarity is a beautiful thing. Black was moving-- out, around the table to within inches of Severus' face. Black held his wand tightly; Severus pulled his from his pocket.

Black was issuing a threat now, and Severus met it with one of his own. He was scarcely aware of what either of them said-- Black accused him of being Lucius' lapdog; he threw Lucius' recognition of Black's Animagus form at King's Cross back in his teeth. The words were meaningless, he was intent on the emotions-- the chance, finally, to rip into Black. A few more verbal blows, striking deep: Black hated to be thought a coward, so Severus threw the accusation at him. Black's arm lifted; Severus could anticipate the spell on his lips and prepared his counter.

There was a loud yell-- the boy-- Severus vaguely registered his attempt to come between them.

Black had lost all semblance of control. He was yelling, and Severus continued goading him. Good. Do it. But now, the atmosphere was changing. Severus felt a surge of desire, and he felt a matching surge breaking through Black's fury.

Well, well.

The boy was trying to calm them, but he had little idea of what history he stood athwart. Severus wanted to shove Black hard against the wall, witness be damned. Black licked at his lips, meeting Severus' eyes.

Severus' lips parted. This changes things. It changes them completely.

Abruptly, Arthur's voice came, breaking the moment. With him, he brought the rest of the Weasleys, Hermione Granger, and it was lost. The crowd of arrivals were chattering on, catching the tension in the room, drawing the right-- and wrong-- conclusions.

Severus felt nothing more strongly than regret. He dropped his wand, tucked it into his robe. He forced his face to adopt a superior sneer. He almost lost the look when he met Black's eyes again. Black's face had assumed an arrogant superiority, but he still radiated frustrated desire. Severus drew in a breath and turned to leave. Reaching the door, he turned back, finally remembering why he'd come. He reiterated the date and time of Potter's first Occlumency lesson, turned again, and strode quickly out of the house.

The Occlumency was the least of it. Whatever he'd thought-- whatever he'd said. Whatever was between himself and Sirius Black, it was by no means over.

He would be back.

---