A/N: Wow, 10 reviews in such a short time! A huge "thank you" to all of you for taking the time to let me know your opinion; I do hope that I'll be able to show myself worthy of so much attention (and praise). I'd like to reply to some of your reviews, but I am afraid my replies are rather lengthy, too long to put them in front of the actual chapter, as a matter of fact. Thus I have placed my replies at the bottom. That way you won't have to scroll down forever to get to the story. I apologize for the first chapter being so short – I wanted to go on and on, but it did make a lot of sense to end the chapter where I ended it. (Result: no Hermione, no Draco, in fact no anybody but Snape and Snape himself)

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter nevertheless and let me know what you think of it. Please feel free to voice your (constructive) criticism or to point out any inconsistencies you come along – I want this story to be good after all and I can only improve through your feedback. And now... enjoy!

Insanely yours,

Pace

Chapter revised: 2005-12-01

Inspiration: 'No Regrets' by Robbie Williams

Matchmaker

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.
Find me a find; Catch me a catch.
Matchmaker, matchmaker, look through your book
and make me the perfect match.

- From "Fiddler on the Roof" (musical)

Chapter 1 – No regrets

Twilight, darkness' vanguard, had conquered light's fortresses once again, and divided the sky into orange-golden, red and purple segments that would eventually fade into a warm hue of blue, announcing night's victory. The illustrious castle of Hogwarts stood pitch black against the colourful sky like a silhouette, seeming unreal and fantastic, yet truly picturesque at the same time.

The castle's chambers were bathed in shadows and random rays of golden light here and there that held the promise of life. No candles were lit, no fireplaces were burning. The castle was empty; void of the infectious liveliness usually residing there during the school year. The corridors were yearning for the hustle bustle of students hurrying from one class to the next, eagerly awaiting the return of the ever-prominent background noises that filled the castle with life, turning it into more than just a construction of stone, wood and magic.

A man was walking through those dead silent corridors now, his eyes sweeping out of habit over some of the darker corners that were popular hiding places for young couples in love. His steps made no sound as he moved across the corridor in a way that his students would always remember as a sort of "creepy sweeping" or "foreboding glide". His eyes fell onto the statue of a one-eyed witch and he bristled slightly, picking up his pace. Soon he arrived at a landing that oddly enough had neither a balcony nor stairs connecting it to one of the lower levels. He sighed, sounding irritated and tapped his foot, quietly commanding: "Come here."

A soft rumbling could be heard and a magnificent marble staircase connected to the landing from the left. He smirked and descended the stairs, making his way towards the castle's dungeons, following first this corridor, then that aisle, walking down another flight of stairs, seemingly popping up at random. His surroundings got cooler and darker; the dungeons of Hogwarts had never been the most cheerful of places, yet it did have a certain charm and warmth which – in his opinion – the Ravenclaw wing and the Gryffindor tower seemed to lack more so than the Huffelpuff habitat. The man eventually stopped at a portrait, showing a forest clearing with a lake in broad daylight – looking horribly misplaced in the dark, gloomy dungeons. He examined the picture for a moment then called out for its occupant, examining his hands as he waited for her to answer his call.

After a while a beautiful woman stepped into the picture, her face flushed and her chest heaving (he was fairly sure it wasn't from her haste to meet him but rather from other exercises she had indulged in).

"Password?" she asked, smiling slightly and he answered "Chimera," keeping his voice calm and neutral.

The woman nodded and the portrait swung open, admitting Severus Snape into his living quarters. He heard the portrait close the passage behind him and noticed that Lilaea, the guardian, had settled into another picture of a clearing (sans lake this time) that hung just over his fireplace. He knew that she expected him to tell her something - preferably what course of action he would take now that he was no longer useful to the order; his days as a spy were over – he had personally seen to that – and to his own surprise it didn't feel as good as he had thought it would.

He moved around the room, discarding his cloak and robes and flicked his wand lazily towards the small kitchenette, where his teapot poured him a steaming cup of tea while a plate filled itself with random snacks. He groaned softly as he worked the kinks out of his neck, his gaze dropping onto a turned over picture frame. Picking it up he stared at the image it held blankly, then set it back down so that the photograph would once again face the wooden shelf it had rested on.

"Still not enough," he murmured to himself, turning away.

The teacup and the plate had floated into his living room, settling down on a small table next to a rather old looking armchair, in which Severus now took seat, guiding the tea cup to his lips to take a cautious sip, all the while ignoring the woman in the painting who seemed to be dying of curiosity.

Her clear blue eyes followed his every move, darting to his lips to catch every word her ears might not be able to pick up. She coughed softly to attract his attention. Severus picked up his spoon to stir the tea once then took a sip of it.

"Nymphs are very curious by nature," the woman finally sputtered and Snape smiled against his tea cup.

"Oh?" he said, feigning surprise.

"Yes," the woman said with empathy. He took another sip of tea. "Nymphs always need to know what's going on," she continued and Severus Snape inclined his head slightly to show he understood, all the while smiling against the warm china pressed against his lips. The nymph gave him a mock-angry glare then suddenly turned away, making a sound that sounded much like 'hmpht'.

"Tell me when you're done acting like Dumbledore," she huffed. Snape froze and then shook his head.

"I told Lucius that I'm a spy," he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The nymph whipped around.

"You did what!" she all but yelled.

"I told him that I'm a spy for the Order of the Phoenix," Severus repeated, his voice just as calm as before. The nymph looked at him in disbelief. "I offered him to join the order, too," he continued, his voice taking a distant ring as he remembered Lucius last words yet again.

"The day I join forces with Dumbledore is the day my son declares his undying love for a mudblood!"

"Does Dumbledore know about that?" the nymph asked and Severus nodded his head yes.

"Well, Severus, I can definitely understand where you are coming from. Of course your decision to… confess has made this whole affair much more difficult for us. Voldemort will surely be trying to search you out once he hears of your betrayal. You might have to go into hiding…"

"I won't hide."

"You…"

"I won't hide, headmaster."

"I… understand. How did Mr. Malfoy react to your confession?"

"He sent me my way."

"Nothing else?"

"… Nothing else."

"And what are you going to do now?" the nymph interrogated. Severus' head snapped up as if surprised to find her still there.

He lowered his gaze to his cup for a moment, pondering his reply. What could he do now that he was no longer a useful spy for the order? How would he be of any assistance in the upcoming war?

Snape shuddered slightly. "I think I will go to sleep. Goodnight, Lilaea," he said and set the cup down, having totally forgotten about the untouched plate of food, and rose from his chair to step into his bedroom, closing the door behind himself.

"You really need some help with your communication skills," Lilaea muttered.

ooo

Severus Snape did go to bed immediately, however, sleep did not come. His head was spinning with thoughts and none of them held still long enough for him to grasp and contemplate it. Severus hated it when his mind took a part-time job as a merry-go-round; where was the cool logic he always prided himself on having? Probably ripping off the tickets of a few thoughts that were standing in line for the next round.

Eventually he heaved himself out of bed, somewhat annoyed, and lit a candle. If sleep had no intentions of coming to him, who was he to refuse a perfectly good night of thinking? His mind went back to the conversation he had had with Dumbledore earlier that evening.

The old headmaster had voiced neither disappointment nor criticism when Snape had told him about his confession to Lucius Malfoy (unlike Minerva McGonagall, who saw fit to break into an annoying rant about responsibility and loyalty – when would that woman learn that he was no longer a student of hers but a grown man and a professor to boot) and his decision to step down from the perilous position of a spy. Of course that resulted in one major drawback – namely not knowing what their enemy was up to – but Severus firmly believed that there was no longer a need for his spying services. Ironically, it had been the Dark Lord himself – eager to not let Snape escape his clutches again – that had made a spy rather superfluous by setting up a tight, two-year-plan.

Voldemort had sensed scepticism and fear among his followers; fear not of him but of the boy who was prophesied to be his downfall. Despite Harry Potter's poor performance at the Department of Mysteries a few weeks ago, the Death Eaters were openly wondering whether it was absolutely necessary for the Dark Lord to defeat the boy-who-lived in person or whether perhaps death by the hands of a loyal servant, such as Bellatrix Lestrange or Lucius Malfoy, wouldn't be just as victorious for them.

Truth was that the incidents of Voldemort's rebirth (particularly the most peculiar behaviour of his wand when duelling Potter) hadn't been forgotten; in fact, most Death Eaters doubted that the Dark Lord would be capable of taking on Harry Potter (but no one was stupid enough to say that out loud). Not for lack of will or trying, oh no, more so for lack of equipment: what use was a powerful wand if it refused to obey when you needed it the most? And of course there was the fact that none of them knew what precisely Harry Potter was capable of.

After some extensive research (Mr. Ollivander would never know how much he had helped their cause) Voldemort had realized that not only his wand was the figurative brother of Potter's, but that the boy had just about the same potential as he had had during his time at Hogwarts. That thought alone had put the Death Eaters even more on edge. Some had been on the verge of demanding that he would leave Potter to them, but he wouldn't have any of that.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had always been an ambitious person, thriving just as much on power as on competition. Harry Potter, though he had been only a baby with no political intentions to speak off, had dared to delay his ascend to power by refusing to die, costing him now 15 valuable years in which he could have ruled not only Great Britain but the world. Such offence clearly demanded that he put Potter back into his place – personally!

Eventually, however, he had given in to his servants wishes (although 15 years ago that would have been unheard of) and signed a magical contract that permitted him to seek out Potter only after he had finished his 7th year at Hogwarts. This was where Snape came – supposedly – into play. As Potions Master he had not only the chance to spy on Dumbledore but also to find out how 'gifted' Potter truly was – not only by means of copying his file (although the Dark Lord had voiced his desire to see that and the boy's criminal record – for a good laugh) but also by the use of various spells.

Waiting to take on Potter until after he finished school had also other benefits. The current 6th year of Slytherins was all too eager to join him and most of their parents that were already in his services encouraged this decision, however, they had a point when claiming that it wouldn't hurt for them to finish their scholar education first.

The Dark Lord was well aware that this argument was born from the wish to keep their children safe as long as possible, but, as the he had grudgingly admitted, he himself had been able to enjoy a full 7 years of schooling under Dumbledore (even if he had only been another teacher back then) and one had to hand it to the old fool: under his reign the school sure had produced its fair share of exceptionally skilled wizards and witches that might have otherwise ended up being 'average' at best.

It also meant two years of Death Eater training for those that had just finished Hogwarts and a respectable year of training for those that would finish next year. Voldemort was painfully aware that he would need more than just a handful of capable wizards to seize power. Of course the giants were now his allies and yes, he was looking forward to sending the Dementors into battle but with the ministry aware of his return and Aurors constantly on the lookout for him and his minions, Voldemort felt that some good old-fashioned spell work might just be able to tip the scales in his favour. Such was the 'great' plan of He-who-must-not-be-named.

Severus shook his head. Now, in his dimly lit bedroom with his bare feet touching the cool stone floor and the candle light casting dancing shadows over the walls, that plan sounded utterly ridiculous but a few weeks ago, when they had been in the Dark Lord's lair those very words had sounded deadly and brilliant, almost ingenious. With a sudden pang of guilt he realized that it had always been like that.

Hearing the words from the Dark Lord himself had made them seem so right. When the Dark Lord said that all muggle-born witches and wizards (Severus had long since stopped using the term 'mudbloods') should be eliminated, then he was right. Even now Snape still felt an odd righteousness when listening to the Dark Lord planning to raid a muggle village. They deserved to die, to suffer – just the way he had suffered, just the way he had died, slowly, by their hands. It was right! It was fair! It was the way things were supposed to be - at least when the Dark Lord proclaimed it. Later on, Severus would wake up and be horrified of what he had done.

It was somewhat as if he were drunk; drunk on the feeling of having found his spot in life; drunk on the sensation of being in control; drunk on the knowledge that he was worthy. He had acquired himself a position that no one could take away from him. Not his father, not James Potter, not Sirius Black, no mudblood, no muggle; no one could take that position away from him as long as he sided with the Dark Lord. But after the high, reality came crashing back down on him, crushing him with its weight and brutally beating him to the ground. And then the after-effects of his little trip would settle in – no hang-over potion would ever be able to make those endurable – and he would feel disgusted with himself, even more unworthy and even more lost in life than before.

He would stand in front of his mirror and look himself dead in the eye, only to find that he couldn't stand the sight of the man before him, let alone hold eye-contact. How pathetic was a man that couldn't even hold eye-contact with his own reflection?

Serving the Dark Lord had had one crucial benefit, however, which Severus hadn't wanted to give up for a long time. Even after he had realized that the road he was following only let to an early grave and how much he actually wanted to live – despite of not having a firm spot in life to call his own – he hadn't been willing to let got of it. For the first time, Severus Snape had been in the company of people without feeling lonely, hadn't been shunned. He had – tentatively at first – made 'friends'. Never had he thought he would live to see the day where he would enter a room and feel welcomed.

Severus' mind led him back to Malfoy Manor. He realized that telling Lucius the truth had been a mistake – friendship or no friendship, he had endangered everything the order had worked so hard on achieving and to his own astonishment he found that, at one point, he had been well aware of that. Nevertheless he had ignored the tiny voice that had tried to stop him. His logical mind took a break from the ticket line to analyze what he had done.

Strangely enough, when the gravity of his actions finally caught up with him, he didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. He knew he should be regretting his actions, but he didn't. No regret. It amazed him to no end and for a while, he just sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the flickering shadows until suddenly realization dawned on him and he felt himself smiling, no longer astonished at his own lack of guilty emotions, because suddenly it was absolutely clear to him that he couldn't have done anything else but confess to his friend. It had been his last chance to attempt to avoid the (now sadly) unavoidable. The next time they met, they would face off as enemies.

By now, Lucius Malfoy would be safely hidden somewhere. He had allowed himself the luxury of a last meal with his family and closest friends. Although 'friend' was more like it – except Severus and the Malfoy's there hadn't been anyone else present.

Narcissa Malfoy had done her best to appear cheerful, to keep up the façade of the perfect hostess, but no matter how hard she tried, Severus had recognized the panicked expression in her eyes, had noticed the slight shaking of her hands as she passed him the bread, her eyes darting to her husband every few seconds to ensure the he was still sitting in his seat.

Lucius on the other hand had been calm and collected. He looked every bit the adventurer who would leave his cosy home to hunt some hidden treasure in a far away place somewhere out there and was literally soaking up the feeling of being surrounded by his loved ones – not a single thought wasted on how this was the last time they had a chance to sit together like this or when they would have such a chance again ever.

And Draco? It had pained Snape to see the boy so torn between admiration and longing. Of course, Draco Malfoy was prone to follow into his father's footsteps. All his life he had been taught that there was no greater pleasure than serving under the Dark Lord. The power the he had been told to crave – which he did crave – he would obtain through servitude.

"The day I join forces with Dumbledore is the day my son declares his undying love for a mudblood!"

He got to his feet and started pacing the room. He still wasn't willing to give up this friendship! He would find a way to force Lucius Malfoy to join the order. He simply had to.

Not many people knew that – although cold on the outside – the Malfoy's were in fact a loving family like any other; they simply chose not to display their love for another in public. No one ever saw the Queen of England give her two grandsons a hug in public or even kiss them motherly, there was always that air of polite indifference around them and Snape knew that the Malfoy's were very much the same – the lack of public display didn't mean that there was no love in the family. He knew though that Lucius found it highly amusing to hear people's opinion on his family life – whether it was the audacious idea that he enjoyed manhandling his wife and son or something as far fetched as Narcissa being not his wife but in fact his illegitimate child which he had married to cover his slip-up and had then impregnated to keep the blood-line pure; the more outrageous the theories were, the better (even the Malfoy family enjoyed a good laugh every now and then).

And then, suddenly, it was all perfectly clear. Lucius himself had said it. A mudblood, a muggle-born witch; Draco in love with a muggle-born witch, no longer able to follow his father into the services of the Dark Lord and Lucius unable to obey that one command that stood between his only child and certain death.

Severus strode out of his bedroom and headed straight for his desk as the flames in his fireplace sprung to live.

"'s it already time 'o get up?" Lilaea asked sleepily, but received no answer. She yawned, stretching luxuriously and then peered at Snape curiously. "What are you doing?" she asked the potions master as he began to jot down a list.