Ladies & Gentlemen, I give you ... Albus Dumbledore! But you're not going to like it, because this is where the Dumbledore-bashing comes in. But someone has to save Severus and Remus, and he's the only one with a phoenix on hand. Anyway...

Chapter 4

Returnings

Albus Dumbledore sat in the air, trying to ignore the terrorized anxiety clawing through him. What if he was too late? What if they were already ... ? What the hell had gone so wrong! The plan had been to secure Severus a position as a trusted Death Eater, not secure him a death sentance!

Yet there was no doubt in his mind that the boy had been telling the truth. Once Draco had gotten over the fact that he was dead, and realised exactly who he was sharing the afterlife with, the boy had launched at him. By turns horrified, tearful, striken, accusing, and furious, the blonde child had revealed to him the trap, the carefully layered deception that had resulted in Albus' murder, Severus' renewed public enslavement, and Draco's own death, orchestrated to come by Muggle hands during a raid. A muggle wielding a shotgun. The pureblood seemed particularly digusted with that, but even with all his years of breeding for that hatred, Draco was still far more concerned by the fate of his teacher, to his eyes the only one who had at least tried to help him. And perhaps he had a point. Which was why Albus was sitting as a ghost in this tree, waiting for a sign of his children.

Beside him Fawkes trilled uneasily, as the sounds of battle erupted in the forest around them. Albus stirred. It was them! His boys were out there fighting for their lives, and from the sound of things, fighting hard. Despite his worry, he couldn't help the swell of pride within him. There could be no doubting the capability of the pair. Even Severus had acknowledged Remus' resourcefulness and courage, although he had phrased the comment to sound as disparaging as possible. But that was only his way. As for the potions master himself... well, save perhaps Harry, Albus knew of no braver soul. He had faced years of pain without flinching, without faltering.

And that, perhaps, was what worried Albus the most. Had Severus known this was coming, and made no move to stop it? Had he saved Albus the long slow torment of death, only at the cost of himself?

In truth, he had no way of knowing. As an Occlumens, Severus was impenetrable, and no-one ever got through his shielding. In all his years, facing two Dark Lords, fighting unnumbered foes, he had never encountered a mind to match that of the dour spy. Where others erected walls to protect their minds, Severus used mirrors, misleadings, shields, dreams and imagined memories, connected by no logical system that an outsider could decipher. The invader became lost amid the mind-boggling confusion, unable to locate one stream of thought, one memory. His mind was a maze to which only he had the key.

Most had no idea of this. When they tried to explain how Severus had gotten his trust, they assumed that Albus had performed a leglimens charm, not knowing that he couldn't have scratched the surface of such shields. Alastor, of course, had far more varied theories. But even he hadn't come close to the truth.

The truth that Severus had sold himself, body and soul, to Albus. They didn't know. They hadn't been there as the Death Eater, only barely in his twenties, had entered his office and calmly offered him a portion of his slave bond. They hadn't seen the cool black eyes appraise him as the young man, as if discussing a potion preparation, laid out the macabre ritual step by step, after learning the method during Lucius' partial transfer to Tom. They hadn't felt the numb horror as the powers and controls of a master, the potential problems of a three-pronged slave bond were laid out for him.

He trusted Severus with his life, with his death, with the future beyond the war, because how could he not? How could he deny the strength of will, the courage, to offer yourself up completely to right a wrong you had never comitted? No, he had to save Severus. He had to find a way to allow the man the rest of his life.

A sudden hush distracted him from his thoughts. The sounds of battle died, but so did all others. An unnatural silence descended. Beside him, Fawkes shifted in agitation, rocking forward aggressively. It was a stance he had come to recognize during Harry's third year. The phoenix had sensed the presence of Dementors.

'Oh no! No! I will not lose them to that. I wil not let those creatures have my boys. Fawkes!' But the firebird was already airborne, swooping just above tree level towards the dark building rising out of the forest. But there was no way they would reach it in time. Despair rose to trap Albus, who in this raw spirit form was especially vunerable. Even Fawkes was having difficulties.

Despair and shame dragged him down. Do you really want to watch his death, slave master? Do you really want to see the damage you've done? Do you think he'll welcome the sight of you in his last moments? Think what you've done, old man. Think of the horror you've allowed to take place. Albus sank down, spirit hands to spirit ears in a futile effort to block the thoughts that stemmed from inside himself. Think of the duty that you forced on him. Think of his pain that you saw and ignored. Think of the hate that you allowed to be fostered against him. Slave master? Yes. No different from the others. You...

And then, suddenly as they had come, the black thoughts receded. Almost weeping with relief, Albus Dumbledore raised his head to watch in awe as the phoenix, joyfully singing, soared above the treetops, linked in glorious dance with a stunning silver hawk, bladed wings slicing the air with a predator's fierce power. The sounds of ground movement only barely distracted him, until he saw the man-wolf, clutching a tattered dark form to his chest, running low and powerful beneath the partnered birds. And he was himself again, an old ghost filled with concern for a dying friend.

He darted forward. 'Remus! To me! Follow me!' The wolfish head snapped up, raw aggression first, replaced by shock, fading to determination and recognition of need. The long stride didn't falter, almost carrying the werewolf through the ghost, before Albus spun and glided ahead. And so they fled - ghost leading werewolf, werewolf cradling comrade, while above them, gold and silver paired, flew the phoenix and the soul-beast of Severus Snape.

Almost an hour later, in a clearing deep into the forest, they stopped. Remus laid Severus gently down, allowing Albus near him, while the birds settled overhead.

Albus stared down at his spy, his slave, his beloved friend. The black eyes were closed, the haggard face a still white mask, eerily peaceful. Only the barest whisper of breath passed the blued lips. The torn and tattered robes, soaked with blood, showed the skeletal, abused body beneath. Physically, Severus was no more than a ruin. But Albus felt the fierce gaze of the soul-bird on his back, the spirit of a Patronus created at the moment of death from the memories of all the creator held dear, that held the life-force and hope of continued existence. He was awed that Severus had managed to create one, for a soul-beast was an incredibly powerful ancient magic. It acted like a Horcrux, in a way, but instead of splitting the soul, it manifest it in physical form, separate from the body but linked to it, preserving the life of the creator. The creature in the tree behind him was none other than the soul of Severus Snape made manifest.

'Oh, dark child,' he whispered, tearful pride in his voice. 'My fierce, valiant one. You'll not be conquered, will you? Not even by death. You'll fight us all, fight the world, until its very end. Severus, you have to survive. You have to see the difference you've made. You'll get your chance to fight them, I promise. Fawkes?'

The phoenix settled by Severus' head, trilling gently. The firebird gracefully parted the dying man's lips with its beak, so that as the tears came, they rolled down it like drops of molten silver, into his mouth. Albus and Remus retreated respectfully, watching as the glow of healing spread. They were somewhat disturbed by the sight of a broken rib visibly realigning itself. It was painfully obvious that the spy had been starved, as well as everything else.

The healing took a long time, too long. The damage was phenomenal. Severus should have been dead hours ago. His body's resistance was beyond belief. And it would have to resist a little longer, it seemed. Fawkes pulled back, exhausted, without being able to do more that barely close the outer wounds. The internal damage had simply been too great, taking almost all the phoenix had. Greatly saddened by such evidence of maltreatment, Albus moved to comfort his weary familiar.

Before he could, the soul-beast moved between them. The hawk rubbed beaks with Fawkes in gratitude, then settled on Severus' chest. Staring fiercely at Dumbledore, the silver beast sank slowly into its body. For a moment, a silver glow surrounded the man, then that too faded. Albus moved to his phoenix, stroking his head with one ghostly hand as he watched Severus concernedly. Remus moved in, reaching carefully down with a clawed hand to touch the still face. At once, the eyes blinked open, staring blankly upwards. The man-wolf jerked back. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Severus blinked.

'Albus?' he ground out, voice hoarse. 'I'm here.' 'What the hell do you think you're doing, old man? So much for the next great adventure!' He turned his head to glare. Albus smiled benignly, then, unable to help himself, he burst into laughter. Severus continued to glare at him, and Remus looked confused, but he couldn't stop. All his fear, all his pent worry, vanished with that sarcastic retort. Severus was himself, bad-tempered and snarky as always. It seemed he would let nothing stop him, nothing change him. Complete in himself, aloof and self-sustaining as the hawk his soul became.

'Oh, my boy, I couldn't just leave you, after all you've done for us. You've time left this side of the veil, and I had to be sure you availed of it. You've life left to live, and people awaiting your return...' He stopped as Severus surged upwards, anger in his eyes, and fear. 'Who! Who are you talking about? What do you mean? There's no-one!' Albus looked at him in shock. 'Severus, you musn't think that! You've helped so many, so much. There are those who still trust you, I'm sure of it. At the very least, Remus and I trust you. You must believe that!' Confused, he watched the flicker of emotions, concern, relief, calculation, that crossed the other's face. Had things really been so bad for him that he believed he had no-one? Of course, slave master. Don't you remember their hate, their mistrust that you did nothing to remedy? Didn't you engineer it to be so, so that you could be the only one he could turn to? To keep him from betraying you the way he did his other masters? # No! No, I'm not like that # he thought desperately.

Suddenly he gasped, as his gaze flickered across Severus' bared forearm, his left, the one that had borne the Dark Mark. Now ,though, no sign of the evil brand could be seen, and there wasn't enough left of the sleeve to hide it, which meant...

'Severus!' The younger man's gaze swung to him. 'Your arm, Severus. The Mark! It's...' Severus looked down at the bared limb, free of the brand that had marred it for the better part of twenty years. Cautiously, he felt the arm, muttering under his breath. The skin seemed to shimmer beneath his fingers, then it returned to normal, still smooth and unmarked. The three of them stared at it. Quietly, Severus murmured to himself 'Two down, two thirds free.' Albus stared. If Voldemort had disowned him, and Albus himself were dead... 'Severus! Lucius is dead! I saw him. I know this. It's not two masters down. It's three! You're free, Severus, fully free!

Why didn't he react? Granted, Albus highly doubted that Severus Snape would ever jump for joy, no matter what the situation, but you'd think he'd at least acknowledge freedom from twenty six years of slavery. Obviously concerned, Remus moved in and touched Severus gently on the shoulder. To the surprise of all present, the spy leaned back into the werewolf, seeking comfort. His eyes closed wearily. 'You are sure?' Albus nodded. 'Of course I'm sure!' Severus swallowed. 'You know I have been loyal? There is no need to trick me into following you?' Striken, Albus stared at him. 'Severus, I would never...never hurt you that way. He's dead. Really. You are finally free, to...to make your own choices. I...we...no-one will force you again. I swear to you!'

Severus nodded, eyes still closed. Cautiously, he reached up and wrapped a hand around Remus' claw. He gave a sweet, lilting trill, and Fawkes, wrapping Albus in warm wings, settled them both on the man-wolf's shoulder. Fawkes shouldn't have been able to hold a ghost, ans Severus certainly shouldn't have been able to speak phoenix, but it seemed there was a lot Albus didn't know about either of them.

They waited in stillness, for what, Albus was unsure. Then Severus' eyes opened, curiously reflective, and suddenly, with a sensation similar to that of a portkey, the forest around them disappeared, to be replaced by a more familiar one. To one side, the lake glinted, reflecting the lights of the castle. Hogwarts.