Disclaimer: Characters are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling

Author's note: This story takes place when Snape is much younger; he is already involved with the Death Eaters, but something has happened to make him have serious second thoughts about this involvement. Truth be told, as the author, I don't know what the incident was, but I do know that it was something that affected Snape in a very personal way, though it probably wouldn't have hurt his standing as a Death Eater if he hadn't shortly thereafter chosen to disappear with loads of potentially dangerous information. Anywho, I think that's all the context you need to know, I hope you enjoy this story – thanks for reading, and please review :0)

Severus was hiding on the train. Through the window he could see fragments of landscape and architecture flitting by in deep dusk. Besides this there was an ugly hole in the clouds that cast a sickly yellow light over the edges of things in an unsettling manner. Because of its dismal glow, the murky silhouettes of the evening appeared especially dreary: it was a bit like being trapped in one of Goya's black paintings. Severus looked away from the window and down at his book. He tried to read but the sentences kept winding and twisting out of his comprehension; syllables coiled and stretched like the segmented bodies of centipedes, forcing him to read the same words over and over again. The book slid out of his hands and onto his lap, he set it down somewhere nearby. He was so bored and so tired. His body longed for sleep. It clawed at him for rest, threatened him with waves of terrible heat, followed by moments of unbelievable cold; moments when all the hot tap water in the world could not relieve the frozen ache in his stiff fingers.

Just now he was having one such cold spell. Having slept six hours in the last 72, his instincts warned him that he was on shaky ground for now his eyes were closed. Thus, he was much more likely to fall asleep, and if he fell asleep, he would be vulnerable. Even with the cover of the muggle transportation system, he was still vulnerable. Severus willed himself to open his eyes. The sickly hole in the sky remained, though it has become more ragged and ceased to give off any significant light. He didn't want to see anymore; he shut his eyes and surrendered to sleep, slumping where he sat as it smashed into him like a wave-wall.

Upon waking from what had been a nauseated slumber, Severus was colder than before and his head ached immensely. He groaned groggily and began to rub his forehead in various places to east the pain. Someone was sitting beside him and reading his book. Slowly, through a series of thick, crumpled thoughts, Severus approached the realization that this person was Albus Dumbledore. What! Severus's heart began to pound heavily in his chest with frightening speed. He was caught. He was found. He could hardly breathe. Red and black blotches swarmed over his vision; he was about to faint. While attempting to look outwardly calm, Severus doubled over until his head was about level with his ankles. Don't panic – There's my untied bootlace – There's a hardened wad of gum on the floor – You'll be all right. Don't panic. Don't panic. Gradually the blotches subsided and Severus sat up normally. The most desirable course of action, he decided, was to ignore Dumbledore's presence for as long as possible.

To the surprise of Severus, Dumbledore did not try to start a conversation. Instead he sat and read quietly, seemingly oblivious. Taking in the elegant cut of Dumbledore's muggle coat, which looked very expensive and very warm, Severus glowered inwardly, telling himself that although Dumbledore's skill with pushing people into situations of his own design probably accounted for a great deal of his success, there was something brutally predatory about cornering a sleep-deprived man on the run and taking his only book. This self-righteous bastard is not getting anything from me, Severus thought bracingly. He considered his options: Dumbledore had come to make some kind of deal with him, to take advantage of his desperate situation; Dumbledore was there to give him some condescending advice about the merits of turning himself in since Dumbledore seemed to get off on such conversations; or perhaps Dumbledore was there to kill him because the sixth and seventh year averages had gone down ten percent at Hogwarts, largely due to the Death Eater drug trafficking he had recently pioneered. Severus didn't want to cut a deal and he didn't want to turn himself in. He wanted to be safe. He was sick and bored of hiding, but it was the only way he knew how to hold on to any measure of safety. He longed to fall asleep knowing it wouldn't end in disaster, and to stop having to feel like a wounded animal trailing blood every time he threw away a ticket stub, but to feel safe it had to be on his own terms; relying on others for protection these days was a sure way to die young. The train slowed to a halt. Here it comes, thought Severus, and he steeled himself against the expected assault.

"Thank-you, Mr. Snape, for allowing me to read your book even after you woke up from your nap. It was a good read and I appreciate your unsolicited courtesy," said Dumbledore politely. He handed Severus the book and walked away. Severus sat holding it, running his fingers up and down the spine for a moment in agitation as he realized Dumbledore wasn't going to say anything more to him. He suddenly felt helplessly disappointed. A numb misery crept into his marrow. He wasn't safe. He couldn't make himself safe by ignoring Dumbledore.

As he rushed off the train he wondered if it was a trap. Dressing up like Dumbledore and snatching a fellow's book wasn't difficult, and was always likely to provoke some kind of reaction. Yet if it was a Death Eater in disguise, why had he been left alive? What if he had dreamed the whole encounter? Something dark jumped at him from the corner of his eye and he twitched away, only to discover that whatever it was—real or imagined—it had disappeared. Severus wasn't thinking straight; his head reeled painfully and his heart started to heave again.

Then he spotted the retreating figure of Dumbledore and without a second thought, ran towards him. When he was close enough, he managed to catch Dumbledore's attention; the old man's eyes lit up a little upon recognizing Severus. "I didn't think you were going to get off at this station, Mr. Snape," he said pleasantly.

"Sir, please, I'm sure you've probably heard about the ugly business I fell into a few months ago…"

Dumbledore nodded, "I have in fact heard some interesting things. What can I do for you?"

"Do for me?" Severus was taken aback. "You were the one who sought me out – Snuck up on me while I was sleeping, and took my only book. What can I do for you? What are you playing at? What do you want from me?"

For a moment Dumbledore said nothing but peered at Severus with a pitying expression, then he said, very gently, "Severus, I don't want anything from you."

Severus hesitated, failed to reply; could not reply. He suddenly felt too repulsive and pathetic to make eye contact. Instead he looked at the ground, hardly daring to believe what was being offered to him. He wanted to say something but all the words he tried to conjure died in his throat. Then Dumbledore shrugged and broke their silence, saying, "very well, if that's all, Mr. Snape, I'll be on my way".

"Wait."

"Yes, Severus?"

"Oh Christ, you don't know how hard this is going to be for me to say."