CHAPTER 11
Man With a Plan
It had been a week since Kingsley Shacklebolt had revealed his plan to lure Death Eaters into a trap using Snape as bait.
The more Snape thought about it, the more sense it made, although he was reluctant to admit it. At first he had been furious at Kingsley's presumption in asking such a thing of him. After broaching the subject, Kingsley had been treated to a display of temper the likes of which he had rarely had the dubious honor of witnessing. By the time he finally left Grimmauld Place, even his hearty spirits were drooping. He was convinced that Snape would never agree to participate in the scheme.
That was, indeed, Snape's first reaction. And after further thought, his second reaction as well. The whole idea was preposterous. Kingsley was a naïve idiot. And to think the man was head of the Auror Division!
However, at odd moments over the next few days the idea came back to him, like a remnant of an old nightmare that wouldn't quite go away. The longer he thought about it, the more possibilities he began to see. Could such a plan really work? He wanted to believe it was possible, but it seemed entirely too simple a plan, too good to be true.
It wasn't often that Snape allowed himself to fantasize about what his life could be like once the specter of Voldemort was no longer looming somewhere in his rather vague future. Most of the time he had to make a conscious effort to not think about Voldemort or wonder when and how he would finally get around to punishing Snape. Especially the "how". During the time Snape had been a loyal Death Eater he had seen enough of Voldemort's evil deeds firsthand to have a fairly accurate idea of what lay in store for him, too, eventually. It really didn't bear thinking about, so he had taken a fatalistic approach to his end: whatever would happen, would happen. He had no control over it. As he had told Professor Lovejoy, he really didn't think he had much of his "future" left.
But now he wondered. Kingsley's plan might not be a great idea; it could end in complete disaster--for Snape, anyway, should he agree to participate, which so far he had not. The one thing about it that did appeal to him was that it meant an end to his waiting. It meant taking some sort of definite action toward his final confrontation with Voldemort. Why should he wait for the Dark Lord to come looking for him--why not the other way round?
He told himself it was a foolish plan. The chance of success was small. Who was he, to think himself so important to Voldemort or the remaining Death Eaters that they would risk capture just to get their hands on him?
He wondered what Trillium would say when she heard about the plan. She had barely spoken to him for weeks now; Snape missed her terribly, but he had no intention of allowing himself to imagine a future with her. He supposed she had accepted his reasoning, since she certainly never went out of her way to be near him any more--a fact which was not lost on the other staff. Dumbledore was the only one brave enough--or foolhardy enough--to mention it.
"Afternoon, Severus," he said, coming upon Snape one day in a corridor overlooking the courtyard. "Lovely day." Snape appeared lost in thought, intent upon something in the courtyard. Dumbledore followed his gaze to where Professor Lovejoy was receiving instruction from Hagrid on how to properly balance a hawk upon her gloved wrist. She had a delighted expression on her face and the frosty air had turned her cheeks a becoming shade of pink.
"Ah," said Dumbledore, watching Snape out of the corner of his eye, "I see Hagrid is teaching Trillium the art of hawking. I haven't had an opportunity to speak to her lately--have you, Severus?"
Snape, jarred out of his daydream by the direct question, looked at Dumbledore suspiciously. "Er--what? Spoken to--" he stammered. He glanced back out at the courtyard. "Er--no, I haven't. Was I...supposed to?"
"Oh no, no. I just noticed that there seemed to be a certain, shall we say, distance between you these days," Dumbledore said. Guileless blue eyes looked at Snape. "Such a pity. Ah, well." He motioned to the scene outside. "She and Hagrid certainly seem to get on like a house on fire, don't they?"
Snape stared at him. "Hagrid?" he croaked. He looked out to where Hagrid was bent down to hear what Professor Lovejoy was saying. They both seemed quite animated. The watery winter sunshine brought out red highlights in her hair. How lovely she looked. Hagrid seemed to think so, too, if the idiotic grin on his face was anything to go by. But--Hagrid and Trillium Lovejoy? Surely not. He laughed unconvincingly.
"You will have your little joke, Headmaster," he said weakly.
Dumbledore earnestly looked him in the eye. "Severus. You must realize that some chances are given to us only once. The trick is to recognize these opportunities when they come along. It seems to me you are about to receive a second chance of your own, if you have the sense to grasp it." He glanced out at the courtyard again, then turned his mild gaze on Snape. "Sometimes we have to know when to make our own second chances--and have the courage to do so. Eh, Severus?" His hand touched Snape's shoulder lightly, then he walked down the corridor. He glanced back for just a moment, a twinkle in his eye, before disappearing round the corner.
Snape was left to watch alone as Hagrid and Professor Lovejoy moved off toward the lake, both of their heads turned skyward to look for the returning hawk. They made an incongruous couple--Hagrid so large and Professor Lovejoy so petite--but they obviously neither noticed nor cared.
While not seriously believing there was any romantic attachment between Hagrid and Professor Lovejoy--and well aware of Dumbledore's propensity for interfering and matchmaking--Snape was alarmed to feel a sort of burning sensation round his heart. Or...maybe it was more like a giant fist squeezing his chest. Either way, it was most unpleasant. He knew very well it couldn't be jealousy; Trillium Lovejoy did not belong to him and was free to spend time with whomever she wanted. If that was Hagrid, then, as ridiculous as it was--so be it. If she couldn't see what a fool she was making of herself, throwing herself at the gamekeeper--and in front of the entire school, at that--well, it was no business of his. Just because he, Snape, couldn't understand what she could possibly see in someone like Hagrid--
Come to that, what did she see in Hagrid? Oh, all right--he was friendly enough. But really. So was--well, no. He himself wasn't actually very friendly, Snape supposed. But regardless of that, hadn't she said she hoped to pursue a relationship with him? Now here she was, not a month later, making sheep's eyes at some other man. How would she feel if she knew Snape might soon be risking his very life--that, soon, she might never see him again?
He walked slowly down the corridor, wallowing in the mental image of himself as a hero. Of Trillium receiving word of his death at the hands of Voldemort and sobbing over his lifeless body. "Severus," she would cry. "Severus, my love, don't leave me. Severus!"
"Severus--Severus, are you listening to me?" It was Madam Pomfrey, walking at his side. Where on earth had she popped up from--and what was she saying? Snape stopped abruptly. She was looking at him strangely.
"Are--are you all right, Severus?" she asked hesitantly. "You seem a bit distracted."
"No," he said curtly. "Did you want something?"
Undaunted by his rudeness, Madam Pomfrey repeated patiently, "I said, have you given any thought to this week's joint Potions and Healing class? I had a few ideas--perhaps we could discuss them, if you have a moment?" She was a bit dismayed. Why was it that whenever she had anything to discuss with Snape, his attention seemed to be miles away? It seemed a bit unfair when she was trying so hard to make this joint teaching venture a success. She was beginning to think it would prove to be one of the few ideas Albus had had that didn't work out.
With some effort, Snape summoned a smile and gestured toward the staff lounge. "By all means," he said. "Didn't you say something about the students each giving an oral presentation?" She had mentioned something like that a while back--hadn't she?
Apparently she had, because she looked gratified that he actually had been paying attention and even remembered one of her suggestions.
"Yes, I think it might do them some good," she said as they entered the lounge. "Don't you agree? Public speaking is often so very difficult for them at first."
"Excellent idea, Poppy," Snape said, trying to look interested as he followed her inside. "I take it you have some specific ideas on how to approach this?" He prepared to pay attention as Madam Pomfrey launched into an enthusiastic explanation of her plan for their shared classes, making a valiant attempt to banish Trillium Lovejoy from his thoughts for at least a few blasted minutes.
But he couldn't help wondering what she and Hagrid were doing while he was wasting time with Poppy Pomfrey in the staff lounge. Where were they? Were they together? Was she actually seeing Hagrid? Had she dismissed Snape so easily? The lounge was quite warm, and soon he was daydreaming again, floating on the gentle stream of Madam Pomfrey's voice.
That worthy personage now sat regarding him with deep disgust. Really. Why did she even bother? She had stopped speaking several minutes ago when she realized Snape was getting a rather glazed look about the eyes. She sat and waited to see how long it would take him to realize she was no longer speaking. Finally, seeing no change on his part, she threw up her hands in exasperation, gathered up her papers, and stormed out of the room.
The sound of the door slamming behind her recalled Snape to his surroundings. "What?" he said, startled. He looked round at Madam Pomfrey--but she wasn't there. He sat alone in the deserted staff room. He winced, knowing he had probably hurt her feelings. He supposed he should do something by way of apology. He sighed. Drat women and their dratted confusing feelings. What was a man supposed to do with them? Glumly he admitted that not letting his mind wander when one of them was talking to him might be a start. He dragged himself to his feet, grimly determined to hear Poppy out even if it killed him. Or she did.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Arthur Weasley looked up at a tap on his office doorway to see Kingsley Shacklebolt standing there.
"Ah, Kingsley! Come in, come in," he said genially. "Just looking over this little tool kit Harry gave me for Christmas." He showed Kingsley a neat leather zip-case that held an assortment of screwdrivers, wrenches, and pliers in a range of sizes, lingering in particular over the very small ones. "Brilliant, eh? A Muggle can fix anything at all if he has one of these." He ran an admiring finger over a small crescent wrench and then, with obvious reluctance, zipped the case shut. "Now then, what can I do for you?"
Kingsley smiled. He genuinely liked Arthur Weasley, whose fascination with Muggle artifacts was rather fun to watch. Kingsley had no idea what use he'd find for the tool kit, but no doubt Weasley would think of something. Had he been a Muggle, he would be the kind of man who was forever tinkering in his tool shed or garage--an inventor, perhaps. He had somehow landed in a job that was perfect for him and obviously relished every new discovery he made about the Muggle world.
"I've come to ask whether you can attend a meeting--you and Molly--tomorrow evening," Kingsley said. "A very important meeting at Number Twelve."
"What? Oh--Number Twelve, you say? Tomorrow, eh? Yes, I should think we can make it." Mr Weasley lowered his voice. "Is it about--you know--The Plan?" He waggled his eyebrows significantly.
"Ssh. Yes. But let's not discuss it here," Kingsley said. "See you tomorrow, then." He sketched a brief salute and was gone.
Mr Weasley hurriedly wrote a note to his wife, which he sent off via Ministry owl, to give her a little advance warning of the next evening's plans. He also mentioned that he might be a bit late getting home tonight as he had a new set of Muggle artifacts to catalog. Then he unzipped the tool kit again and, rummaging in his desk, he drew out a small box of metal screws. Rubbing his hands together gleefully, he looked about his office for something upon which to try his new toys.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
On Friday night Grimmauld Place came to life once again. Molly, Arthur, and Bill Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Mundungus Fletcher, and Snape sat around the scarred kitchen table of Number Twelve--the Order of the Phoenix, together again. Tonight an extra person was in attendance. Professor Lovejoy had been invited by Dumbledore to join the group, as he felt her Auror experience might be useful to Kingsley's plan.
"Well, Kingsley," said Arthur Weasley, "why don't you explain your idea so everyone can hear the details? We all need to know what this plan is if we're to carry it out."
"Of course," Kingsley replied. "As you know, the whole point is to take as many Death Eaters as possible out of circulation. It might even be possible to get You-Know-Who himself, if luck is with us."
"Wait just a moment," Snape interrupted. " 'Get' the Dark Lord? Just how do you think you're going to 'get' him?"
"Aye, an' wot would you do wiv 'im ef you got 'im?" chimed in Mundungus. "Ain't as if yeh can just slap a pair o' gyves on 'im an' throw 'im in Azkaban, is it? 'E's a tricky one, 'e is."
Dumbledore looked around the table and then held up his hands to quell the loud buzz that followed.
"I'm afraid Mundungus is right," he said. "Although this plan may be admirably suited to the capture of some of the Death Eaters, it seems highly unlikely that Voldemort will be caught in any trap of our hasty devising. The Death Eaters do of course possess some powers, but they are not, after all, as proficient as their master when it comes to divining the thoughts and intentions of others--if, indeed, any have capability with Legilimency at all. And aside from all else, we must remember the prophecy." He watched the others' faces as his meaning sank in.
"I see that you understand me. Yes, there is every chance that Harry will have to face Voldemort alone, without protection or interference from any of us. That is something we do not yet know. I do think, however, that we should direct our efforts toward the Death Eaters. After all, it would be something of a blow to Voldemort, no matter how powerful he is, to be robbed of his laborers."
Kingsley nodded. "You're right, Albus. No sense getting in over our heads. Right, then. I'll explain the bare bones of the plan, and you lot feel free to poke holes in it, make suggestions, tell me what you think. Then we can flesh it out a bit, fill in the gaps, and there you have it." He clapped his hands together and began to pace back and forth along one side of the table.
"So. We want to set a trap for the Death Eaters. And how do we do that, you ask? They surely know that WE know all these killings are their doing, and they'll be expecting some kind of reaction from the Ministry. So they'll be on their guard. We have to make them let down their guard. Ah, but how?"
Everyone on the opposite side of the table watched, semi-hypnotized, as he paced. Mrs Weasley grabbed his wrist as he turned to start another lap.
"For goodness' sake, Kingsley," she exclaimed. "Sit down! I can't keep twisting my neck to look at you."
"Sorry, Molly," he apologized, and returned to the head of the table. "So what, you may well ask, would allow a Death Eater to feel secure and not suspect some tricky business was in the offing?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Anyone?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "Get on with it, man," he snapped. "This isn't a classroom. If you've got something to say, then say it."
Kingsley continued, unabashed. "Why--another Death Eater, of course." They all looked at him blankly.
"A--another Death Eater?" asked Mrs Weasley. "What do you mean, another one?" She looked around the table, sure that the others must be as confused as she was, and realized that all eyes were directed at Snape. She gasped.
"Severus? Now see here, Kingsley. Just what does this plan of yours entail? I don't like the sound of it. How exactly is Severus involved?" Snape flicked his gaze at her, his expression unreadable. Professor Lovejoy looked alarmed, but withheld comment.
"Well, if I might answer a question with a question," began Kingsley, "what do the Death Eaters hate above all else? What makes thoughts of vengeance go round in their evil little brains? You all know the answer. You were looking right at it just now." There was an uncomfortable silence, Snape finally broke.
"A traitor," he said quietly. "A Death Eater who's betrayed his master and gone over to the other side." He looked each of the others in the eye as he spoke, lingering on Professor Lovejoy for a moment and moving on. "Not only that, but a spy as well. Really, it's just about as bad as it can get." The ghost of a smile flitted briefly across his face.
"Exactly!" Kingsley was nearly hopping with enthusiasm. "They'll want him dead! Any one of them would be honored to be the favored one who presents You-Know-Who with Severus Snape." He beamed.
Professor McGonagall hid a smile; it didn't seem an appropriate time for a display of levity. She accidentally caught Dumbledore's eye, however, and saw a distinct twinkle.
"Very well, Kingsley," she said. "What exactly is this plan of yours? What assurance can you give us that Severus won't end up sacrificing himself in vain?"
Professor Lovejoy turned to look at her. "Sacrificing himself? Whatever do you mean?" She gave an awkward little laugh. "Why, you almost make it sound as if Severus plans to--to let them--" She broke off as understanding dawned. "You can't," she whispered. "You can't ask that of him."
Kingsley's face was grave. "Oh no, my dear. I agree, absolutely. But you see, I didn't ask. Severus volunteered."
Snape fidgeted, uneasy at being the focus of everyone's attention. He glanced at Professor Lovejoy's stricken face. She sat frozen in place and stared at him, her head moving slowly back and forth in a silent denial of what she was hearing.
Finally, Tonks broke the silence.
"I think I see where you're going with this, Kingsley," she said briskly, moving on and forcing everyone else to pay attention in order to not miss anything. "So--how are you going to do it? You can't exactly send out invitations, can you?" A few people chuckled weakly, but the awkwardness remained.
Dumbledore rose. "If I may, Kingsley?" The younger man bowed gracefully.
"I see it as going something like this," Dumbledore began. "Stop me if I go wrong. As you all know, when Voldemort wants to summon his servants he does so by way of the Dark Mark that he has inflicted on each of them." He motioned to Snape, who grudgingly held up his arm so the mark was clearly visible to everyone, then quickly pulled the sleeve of his robe back over it.
Dumbledore continued. "Severus still bears Voldemort's mark and, I believe, is fully aware of each summons that goes out." He looked back at Snape questioningly and received a curt nod in reply.
"When all is in readiness, we will simply await Voldemort's next summons--and Severus, with the rest of the Death Eaters, will answer it." He looked calmly at all the sagging jaws around him and hastened to add by way of clarification, "Oh, not as a Death Eater, of course, but as a spy. A spy who will unfortunately be caught and most likely taken before Voldemort." He looked at Kingsley. "Is that roughly the plan?"
"But--but that's no plan!" cried Professor Lovejoy in dismay. "Sending Severus straight to Voldemort so he can be tortured and killed? How does that accomplish anything?" She took a deep breath that sounded more like a sob and said tightly, "It makes no sense at all. Why would you even suggest such a thing?"
Mr Weasley patted her hand. "There, there, now. Let Albus finish, my dear." He smiled encouragingly at her. "That's hardly the whole plan, eh, Albus?"
Dumbledore looked kindly at Professor Lovejoy. "No, indeed," he said. "Severus will answer Voldemort's call, but he won't be alone, Trillium. Far from it. I daresay the entire Order will lend whatever aid we can. And of course, Kingsley's Aurors will be there too."
Professor Lovejoy sat up straighter. "I'm going, too," she said determinedly. Snape's eyes flew to her face; she stared back defiantly. Dumbledore looked at her consideringly.
"Ah--well, as to that, I'm not sure it would be in either of your best interests for you to be present," he said. When he saw she was about to protest, he continued quickly. "I am aware that the two of you have formed--er--something of an attachment to each other," he said delicately. Snape looked outraged at this intrusion on his privacy. Professor Lovejoy blushed and lowered her eyes.
"I fear an excess of personal feelings for each other may affect this mission adversely," Dumbledore went on. "We all are Severus' friends--" Snape looked slightly taken aback by this idea-- "but save for yourself, Trillium, I think I can say with some certainty that none of us is in love with him." Mundungus gave an outright guffaw at this, and both Lupin and Mr Weasley shook with suppressed laughter. Dumbledore allowed Snape to twist in the wind for a moment longer, then he held up his hands for silence.
"The point I am laboring to make, unfortunately at Severus and Trillium's expense," he said apologetically, "is that clear heads will be needed for this operation. An excess of emotion--any emotion, be it good or bad--clouds the intellect and creates an element of risk."
He looked at Professor Lovejoy. "When you were with Kingsley's Auror Division I heard very good things about you, Trillium," he said. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. You work well under pressure, and I understand you can be depended upon in a crisis. But you've never had someone you love standing between you and an object that must be destroyed. Do you think you can do what you have to do with regard to the Death Eaters and not be influenced by whatever may be happening to Severus?"
Professor Lovejoy swallowed hard and looked at Snape. He looked back, his dark eyes shuttered. She lifted her chin. "Yes," she said. "I can."
Dumbledore regarded her a moment longer as if weighing her answer, then sat down and folded his hands neatly on the table in front of him.
"Well, then," he said, "it looks like we do indeed have a plan. We need only decide who else to include in our work force--Kingsley, you should handle that, they're your Aurors--and wait for Voldemort's summons."
"But how will we know what to do in time to act on it?" asked Tonks.
"And how will we know where we're to go?" asked Mrs Weasley.
Dumbledore smiled. "As to the first question," he replied, "Hermione Granger devised a rather ingenious little charm last year which she has kindly shared with me. She applied it to tokens that students in Harry's defense class carried with them. When a time was set for the group's next meeting, the tokens would become very warm to the touch in order to attract the owner's attention, and the date and time of the next meeting was displayed on them. I should like to take a page out of her book and do something similar this time. I'll send your tokens by owl tomorrow."
He looked over the tops of his half-moon spectacles at Mrs Weasley. "As for the answer to your question," he said, "I believe knowledge of the meeting location is imparted to the Death Eaters at the time they are summoned--is that not so, Severus?" Snape nodded. "We can include that information on the tokens," Dumbledore finished.
Lupin looked somewhat doubtful. "Do you really think something like this will work, Albus?" he asked. "It all seems rather...far-fetched, somehow. Much too simple, for one thing."
"I do not know whether it will work, Remus," replied Dumbledore. "But certainly something must be tried, and soon. This killing can not be allowed to continue. Better we take the offensive now than wait for Voldemort to turn this into a wholesale massacre. Don't forget, he is busy amassing an army as we speak. Any steps we can take to lessen his effectiveness and influence now should be taken--before it is too late."
They sat there, minds filled with dreadful visions of the evil that Voldemort intended to inflict on the world. The enormity of it all--the repercussions for both the magic and non-magic worlds, and the sheer evil that drove Voldemort--was, quite simply, staggering to consider.
A log popped loudly in the fireplace, startling the company out of their private ruminations.
"Are we finished?" asked Mrs Weasley. "My goodness, just look at the time! Albus, we must be going. Arthur and I will be ready when we're needed." There were various sounds of assent from around the table. Mr Weasley slung his muffler around his neck and drew on his heavy cloak. Others followed suit. One by one they Disapparated until only Dumbledore, Snape, and Professor Lovejoy remained. Dumbledore looked at the other two and chuckled.
"It's been a very long time since I played gooseberry," he teased. "I suppose you two can manage without a chaperone?" Without waiting for an answer, he got to his feet and pulled on a pair of fluorescent green mittens. Snape jerked his head at them.
"Tonks?" he asked.
Dumbledore laughed ruefully. "I'm afraid so. Her knitting technique improves daily; unfortunately one can't say the same for her sense of--er--color." He grimaced comically. "Ah, well. At least I'll be visible if I accidentally sink into a snowdrift, eh?" With a cheery fluorescent-green wave, he Disapparated.
Professor Lovejoy remained seated at the table, appearing lost in thought. Finally Snape said brusquely, "Well? Are you intending to stay here all night?" She looked up.
"Oh--no. No, I'm not. Are you?"
He shrugged. "It's the weekend--no classes tomorrow. I was considering it." He didn't sound in the least as if he were hinting that she should stay.
"Oh. Do you want me to go?"
Well, that was blunt enough, he thought. Did he want her to leave? He allowed himself to envision the possibilities if she stayed--and forced himself to admit that they were impossible. So much time passed as he sat there lost in his own thoughts and desires that Professor Lovejoy finally assumed his silence to mean assent. With a tiny sigh she stood and reluctantly began pulling her gloves on.
Her sudden movement caught Snape's eye, and before he could stop himself he blurted out, "No."
She froze, hardly daring to hope. "No, what?"
Snape, feeling at a bit of a disadvantage while seated, rose to put them at more equal levels.
"No, I don't want you to go." He saw hope leap into her eyes and said quickly, "I think you should go. I can give you fifty reasons why you should leave right now. But...I can only give you one reason to stay."
Professor Lovejoy stood there, knowing he was right and she really should go while he was giving her the chance. But she wanted so very badly to hear what that one reason was.
"Tell me," she said very softly. The decision had to be his--she wouldn't have him saying she had talked him into anything.
He held out his hand, silently asking her to come to him. "You know why," he said just as softly. She put her own hands behind her back, out of his reach, and shook her head wordlessly. His lips twitched. Her eyebrows rose. Suddenly he laughed.
"Making me work for it, Trillium?" he asked. He walked around to her side of the table and pulled her hands from behind her, planting a warm kiss in each palm, his eyes fixed firmly on hers.
"I want you to stay because I love you," he said. "And I miss you. And--there may not be all that much time left to us." A shadow crossed her face and he brought his hand up to smooth it away. "Now that we have an actual plan in place, I suppose it could happen at any time. I don't imagine we'll have much warning." He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "I'm beginning to see how much time I've wasted already--now that I know so little is left."
"I'm glad you feel that way," Professor Lovejoy said, and couldn't help adding, "It's about time." But she smiled when she said it.
"Trillium, I don't know what will happen to me," he said slowly. "I imagine Voldemort wants me dead, but he may torture me into insanity instead, thinking I'll suffer more that way. Or--who knows, maybe nothing all that bad will happen. Maybe the Aurors will win the day and we'll all live to go home afterward. Whatever happens, I want no doubt in your mind that here--now--I do love you. Once we leave here I don't know if I'll have another chance to tell you. So, no--I don't want you to go."
"Then," she said, "I'll stay, of course."