Graihagh was lying in bed with a steamy novella and a bowl of pork scratchings when Remus knocked on the door.

"Be right there!" she called, flinging the book aside and running to the door. She'd been on edge for three days, waiting for him.

"Good to see you," she said as Remus stepped into the room. She hadn't seen him in a few weeks, but he looked as well as ever, his hair combed and parted to the side and his robes clean and pressed. "Are you and Tonks well?"

"Well, Tonks is in good health," said Remus, but something in his voice told her this good health was merely physical.

"We've been worried about her father, to be honest," he went on, anticipating Graihagh's next question. "It's been a few weeks and we haven't heard a thing, not even a patronus. He's Muggle-born," he added, in response to Graihagh's questioning look. "So he's been on the run."

Graihagh understood only too well how Tonks was feeling-the constant worry, the horrifying images of what might've happened, what might be happening at that very moment.

"It's just sick isn't it? All of this."

"I know."

"Are we making any progress at all?"

Remus let out a long, resigned sigh. "I've no bloody clue."

Neither of them said anything to this, because there was nothing left to say. They could only muddle through as best they could.

"Oh. Right. Your Wolfsbane," said Graihagh, snapping back to the present. She walked over to her workspace and pulled the bottle off the shelf, along with something else.

"What's this?" said Remus, examining the dark blue liquid.

"It's a powerful antidote. For airborne poisons." Graihagh fixed her eyes on his, telling him as much as she could without words. Remus' eyes widened slightly and he tucked it into his pocket with a care that told her he'd understood her warning.

He shifted on his feet and she sensed that he was keen to go, but she didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt about keeping him. This might be her only chance.

"I was wondering if I could ask a favour of you?"

"Of course," said Remus, adjusting his traveling cloak.

"Could you take me to the camp? Or if you tell me where it is, I could go myself."

Remus considered her a moment. "No, I could come with you. I meant to stop by soon, anyway."

"I appreciate it," said Graihagh, grabbing bottles off the shelves and tucking them into a valise. Ten bottles of Wolfsbane, plus a few other potions they might need.

The day was overcast but Graihagh hadn't been outside in so long the sun hurt her eyes. The hills around the camp were brushed with green, the trees feathered with buds, the air thrumming with bird calls. But in Graihagh's head it was still winter.

Milo clapped her on the back and ushered her inside the tent, which was the same as last time, with the floral print sofa and the threadbare carpet, plates and shoes and Quidditch magazines lying about. Milo liked to organise his closets for fun so the mess must've been Fynn's, and she wondered if the two of them ever bickered about it, the way she and Milo had done. The thought made her strangely...something. Not jealous, exactly. Nostalgic for a life she couldn't get back.

Fynn was on the sofa, tucking a fiddle into its case.

"I didn't know you played," said Graihagh as she sat down in the chair opposite, flinging an old pair of socks off the cushion.

"I've been playing about ten years now," said Fynn, snapping the case shut. "I was just practising, I'm a bit rusty."

Milo sat down next to them, so close their legs were nearly touching, though he kept his hands at his sides."All that hard work has paid off. I can almost tell your playing apart from a kneazle in heat."

Fynn blushed and threw a pillow at his head. "You'd better watch it. Someday when my Celtic punk band gets going they're going to interview me for the WWN, and I'm going to break down crying and tell everybody how Milo Selwyn never believed in me-" Milo was grinning now, threatening Fynn with the pillow. Fynn laughed and dodged it-"but I stuck with it anyway, just to prove him wrong."

Graihagh looked from one to the other and tried not to smirk. If those two weren't flirting she was a Pygmy Puff.

"That's amazing though, seriously," she said. "I wish I could play an instrument."

"Cheers," said Fynn, and when they met her gaze she knew they understood her words as an attempt to make amends. Milo caught her eye and she could read his thoughts. Thanks for not being a twat this time.

"So how are things going here?" she said, looking from one to the other.

Milo shrugged. "The usual. We've run a bit low on food so we've been getting the gardens ready. We're just having a break now."

"That reminds me," said Graihagh, bending down to open the valise. "I've got something for you." She pulled out the bottles of potion, about twenty in all, and set them on the rickety coffee table.

"Ah, just in time," said Fynn. "There's a full moon next week. I'll see to it that everyone gets some."

"Great," said Graihagh, barely aware she'd said anything. Now was the time to ask, and she wasn't sure she could go through with it. If something went wrong, if anything happened to them, it'd be her fault; and yet she couldn't put Severus in danger, or leave Remus and Tonks and their child to die. She wondered if Severus ever felt this way, stuck between two deadly outcomes, forced to choose.

"Graihagh?" said Fynn, and she started a little.

"Sorry, did you say something?"

"I was just wondering if you'd like something to drink. Wine, beer, tea?"

"A beer would be great, thanks."

Fynn went to the tiny kitchen and came back with two bottles of elderberry ale and an Irn-Bru for Milo, a type of Muggle fizzy drink. She wondered where they'd gotten it.

Milo asked after Remus and Aberforth, but Graihagh's mind wasn't on the conversation, and he knew it.

"What's wrong?"

Graihagh clutched her bottle in both hands. "How would you feel about going on a mission? A potentially dangerous mission?"

Milo glanced at Fynn. "What would this involve, exactly?"

Graihagh searched the tent, in case there was someone else around, one of their friends or something. "We're alone?"

"Other than the fifty people we've trapped in the loo, yes."

"Cheers, you cunt. Anyway, if I tell you something, you promise not to tell anyone? I mean it. This has to stay a secret."

"Of course," said Milo, and Fynn nodded.

"The Death Eaters-hold on, do either of you know how to do an Imperturbable Charm?"

Milo picked up his wand and waved it at the door. He didn't even need to say the incantation aloud.

"The Death Eaters are going after Remus. They've developed some sort of a weapon that can release airborne poison. Like, extraordinarily toxic poison. I think they're planning to attack his whole village."

"Oh my God," muttered Fynn. Milo was confused, disbelieving.

"But-how do you know-"

"I have an inside source," said Graihagh. "And the thing is he-I mean, this person-cannot risk losing their cover. I've got an antidote but if the whole village survives the attack it's going to look suspicious."

"But then-"

"We need to get rid of the weapon before they use it."

Milo played his bottle between his hands and Fynn leaned back, staring at the wall opposite, lost in thought.

"You know," they said slowly, with a glance at Milo, "if we did get hold of it I don't reckon it'd look too suspicious. Everyone thinks we're nutters anyway, they'd just assume we wanted it for ourselves, wouldn't they?"

Graihagh had hoped they'd suggest something like this, but there was a problem. A huge one.

"Won't they come after you, though?"

"We're well-protected here, I think. We've got protective spells round the whole camp, Greyback and his lot haven't been able to get in for ages. And if we have to move, well...there are worse things." Fynn looked at Milo, who was tapping his fingers against the bottle, his forehead creased. "What d'you reckon, Mils?"

Milo wasn't one to hurry his decisions, but there was a quiet intensity about him that told Graihagh he'd already made up his mind.

"I think we should do it."

Graihagh set her bottle down and crossed her arms over her chest, her breath constricted. Now that they'd agreed to the plan there was nothing standing between the three of them and lord only knew how many Death Eaters and she didn't see how they'd ever do it and what if something happened before she had a chance to tell Severus how she felt...

"What if we asked some of the others at the camp to help us?" said Fynn, cutting across her thoughts. "We don't need tell them why, exactly."

Graihagh was too worked-up to think straight, but she didn't see why not. They'd need all the help they could get.

"Yeah," she said, her voice sharper than she'd intended.

"Something wrong?" said Milo.

"I'm fine," said Graihagh, trying to draw a deep breath.

"Come on," said Milo, who knew her well enough to know she wasn't the slightest bit fine. "Let's get you outside."

Milo knew what he was doing; the open spaces and the cool damp air didn't calm her, exactly, but her chest was less constricted, her thoughts less frantic.

She walked with them to a large field at the edge of the camp, where about a dozen people were working, making long furrows in the soil with hoes and rakes. Most used magic, but a few worked with their hands. Graihagh supposed they were like her, that they needed to move, needed the feel of the wood in their hands and the soil under their feet. Needed to put a bit of themselves in the things they grew. They looked up as Milo and Fynn passed, pausing a moment in their work to say hello.

The three of them walked the perimeter awhile, then Milo excused himself to speak Remus. Graihagh had a sneaking suspicion he'd left her with Fynn on purpose, so they could talk awhile, but she didn't mind too much.

"So do you grow all your own food, then?" said Graihagh as they passed what looked like a strawberry patch.

"Not all of it," said Fynn. "Sometimes we'll forage, or we'll put in shares with a local farm. But we do grow a fair bit."

"Must be a lot of work."

"Well, the work's not so bad, but-too many vegetables, you know? I'd sell my soul for some cheese, chips and gravy."

"Oh God, don't remind me," said Graihagh, who'd been nursing a desperate craving for the last six months.

"Tell you what, how about the first thing we do when we get back to Douglas is go and get some? You and me and Milo?"

Graihagh smiled. Fynn's mother was a Muggle and aside from the rigid gender binary, which they found rather baffling, Fynn was comfortable in the Muggle world; it wasn't a stretch to imagine the two of them sitting in the Terrace Chippy, taking the piss out of Milo for not knowing how credit cards work. Just so long as they avoided the full moon.

"Deal."

Fynn held out a warm sweaty hand and Graihagh shook it.

"So have you heard from your family at all?" she said when they let go. This wasn't the most tactful question. Fynn's family could've been attacked for all she knew, but she needed some idea of what was going on.

"They owled few weeks ago. They said it's been quiet there."

"So no attacks?"

"Not that I know of."

Graihagh's eyes watered, she was so relieved. They walked in silence awhile, past a few larger tents she supposed were common spaces.

"Milo seems happier lately," she said.

Fynn was looking straight ahead, but she thought they smiled slightly. "Things were sort of rough on him at first, to be honest, but now it's like I'm seeing a whole new side to him, you know? I love that we get to spend so much time together."

Graihagh gave them a sideways glance. "You sound like you care about him a lot."

"A whole lot." Fynn stopped to watch a rabbit scarper through the trees. "I've been in love with him since we met."

They said it fast, a bit giddy, like they'd been bursting to tell someone. Graihagh didn't know what to think. This shouldn't have been a surprise, really; she'd seen the way they looked at Milo, the way they brightened when he walked into a room. But hearing it out loud was a bit of a shock, just the same. She said the only thing she could think of, even though she already knew the answer.

"Does he know?"

Fynn stared straight ahead, hands in their pockets, face flushed. "Not really, no. I know he needs time to get to know someone first, and, I don't know. I don't want to ruin what we have, d'you know what I mean?"

Graihagh refrained from rolling her eyes, but it took a lot of willpower. She'd never known anyone as oblivious as Milo and Fynn, unless maybe it was Severus I've-kissed-you-twice-but-it-doesn't-mean-anything Snape.

"I know about his parents," Fynn went on. "How they'd leave him by himself and take dangerous potions. And I saw what he went through at school."

Graihagh shot them a sideways glance. She was afraid of what she'd see, but they didn't seem angry, and anyway, they couldn't have meant the botched attack, they'd already left by then.

"Did you know him? When you were at school?"

"No, but I saw what people did to him. I wish I'd done more to help."

They walked along the edge of the camp, towards the medical tent, not far from where she'd sat with Remus all those months ago. She remembered what he'd said about Fynn, how they'd had a hard time of it at school.

"Were things difficult for you?"

Fynn shrugged. "Bit."

"Did people know...?"

"One of my friends figured it out my first year. She went and told everyone about it."

Graihagh had heard whispers of werewolves at school, but she'd assumed it was just a rumour, something made up to scare the first-years, like the Chimaeras that supposedly prowled the grounds after curfew. "So everyone knew?"

"Dumbledore kept it quiet as much as he could, but everyone in my year avoided me except the other Hufflepuffs. I never really knew if it was because they didn't care, or if they just didn't think it was true."

The two of them were on the other side of the camp now, towards the river and their tent. They picked up their pace; a light rain was falling.

"I'm sorry Fynn, that's shit."

Fynn shrugged again. "It was a long time ago."

"Remus said you were friends."

Fynn glanced towards the field, where Remus was talking with Milo and a few others. "Yeah, Dumbledore introduced us my first day. He helped me out, took care of me after we transformed. I had it so bad for him, you wouldn't believe."

Graihagh pictured Remus the way he might've been when he was a teenager, quiet, troubled, gentle-and-yet-reckless. Just like Milo. She could see why Fynn had fallen for them.

They cut across the camp, making their way towards the fields. "His friends were alright too. This one girl, Lily, she was Head Girl so she had a lot of clout. She used to stop the others giving me a hard time."

Graihagh slowed her pace. Lily. She'd heard that name before. Slughorn used to get drunk and cry over her, said she was his favourite student, and Severus...Severus had called her Lily, once, she couldn't quite remember...when he'd been freezing, she thought, and half out of his mind. She'd meant something to him, she was sure of that. But whether it was the same Lily that Fynn had known, she had no idea.

"Are you still in touch with her? Lily?"

"No," said Fynn. "She died a long time ago."

Graihagh lengthened her strides to catch up with Fynn. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"But you must've heard about her. She was Harry Potter's mother."

Harry Potter's mother...so she must've died when the war ended.

The same day she'd caught Severus crying in his office.

She froze in her tracks.

"Everything alright?" said Fynn.

"I...yeah. I'm fine, I was just thinking about something.'

They'd nearly reached the fields; they could hear the others talking. Graihagh could barely think she was so excited, but she forced herself to stay present, act like nothing had happened. There was nothing she could do about it now, no one she could tell, and Severus himself would probably just deny it.

"I'm glad we got a chance to talk," she said, when they'd stopped walking.

"Me too."

Milo and Remus stopped their conversation and greeted them.

"I should probably get going, if you'd like to come back with me," said Remus.

Graihagh was in no hurry to leave, but she knew Fynn and Milo had work to do.

"Sure."

She hugged Milo, and then Fynn. "I'll be in touch," she said, with a significant look.

She Apparated to the hidden room alongside Remus and went back to the hidden room, too keyed-up to sit still.

She'd known he'd been a Death Eater during the first war, she'd even asked him about it once.

Do you regret it? Being a Death Eater?

He'd looked her straight in the eye when he'd answered.

Yes. I regret it.

She believed him then and she believed him now. But something wasn't adding up. Why was he so afraid of the Order?

She stayed awake for hours that night, thinking it over.


Snape shouldn't have been staring into the Pensieve. There was a fat stack of paperwork waiting to be sorted, a budget to review, Skiving Snackboxes to be given to the elves, so the students could avoid the Carrows a time or two. And then there was Miss Parkinson, who'd been spending more and more time with Alecto. You could be great, she'd say. No one appreciates you like we do. The same things they'd said to him, and the thing was, they'd meant it.

He plunged head-first into the Pensieve and they all disappeared.

This wasn't a happy memory. Not this time. This was something else.

The school looked so similar that the small differences were jarring. Students crowded the halls, wearing the same uniforms, but they weren't the same students that trudged through the halls now; they laughed and talked loudly and carried on like their biggest fear was a bit of acne or a failed exam. Like everything was normal. The staff were all younger, happier. There were a few faces he'd forgotten.

His twelve-year-old self walked side-by-side with Lily down a first-floor corridor on their way to the library, something they did together a few times a week in those days, one of the few times they could be together alone, on their own terms. He wasn't the best flier, he wasn't handsome or charming or anything like that, but he could answer any question she threw at him. He could show her spells she'd never seen.

They took a table at the far corner, beside a high mullioned window. Snape's younger self sat facing the door, his wand at the ready.

Lily opened her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook and now Snape's younger self was on the edge of his seat, face eager, gesturing wildly with his hands. Launching into an explanation on some complex spell, no doubt. Lily watched him, smiling.

Snape left them there and sauntered over to a table near the front where Potter, Black, Lupin and Wormtail were sitting, making as much noise as they could get away with, except for Lupin, who was bent over Wormtail's essay, making corrections, by the looks of it. Snape sincerely regretted that Potter and Black couldn't feel his fist against their faces, but no matter. He wouldn't sink to their level.

Potter pulled out a handful of treacle tarts and passed them around.

"Been in the kitchens, then?" said Black through a mouthful.

Potter gave him a wry smirk that was as familiar on him as his glasses, but that, strangely enough, Snape couldn't remember seeing on his son. "No, I fancied doing a bit of baking and I made them myself up in the dormitory."

Black grinned and smacked the back of his head. "Twat."

"Prat."

Wormtail's eyes darted around the library like the filthy little rodent he was. "Won't Pince chuck you out if she sees?"

"Only swots actually want to be in the library," said Black, licking a bit of treacle off his fingers. He clapped Lupin on the back. "No offense, mate."

Lupin shrugged and frowned down at the essay and Snape felt something...not sympathy, surely. That would be absurd.

"Speaking of swots," said Potter, nodding to the back table where his younger self and Lily were sitting. "Snivellus." He pulled a silvery sheet of fabric out of his pocket and put his fingers to his lips.

"Why don't you just leave him alone for once?" muttered Lupin.

Black and Potter exchanged incredulous looks. He's barking. "Since when do you care about that greasy-haired freak?"

"Don't call him that," said Lupin, even more quietly.

Potter's eyes widened as he realised what he'd said. "Oh-I didn't mean it like that, mate. You're worth a hundred of him."

Lupin's face relaxed as Potter slipped the cloak over his head and vanished. He bent back down over his parchment with the air of someone determined to ignore what was happening.

Snape remembered all too well what happened next. How Potter had snuck up behind him and thrown pencils and spitballs at his head until he shot up out of his chair screaming bloody murder and had to be dragged out of the library by Madam Pince. How Lily had been mortified-how could he make such a dreadful scene in front of everyone and oh God what would her friends say?

He had no wish to see any of it again. He returned to his office.

He'd gone into the Pensieve hoping to get angry, to hate Potter's son, to numb himself to his death. Now his thoughts were a jumbled mess.

Corlett was waiting for him at exactly half-past twelve, their new system to keep him from having to wait in the alley too long. Everything was quiet at the castle-the students were still in their classes and he'd ordered the elves to Apparate to him if Alecto or Miss Parkinson or any of the others got up to anything-but still, he was on edge, like a bomb was ticking down and he didn't know where it was.

Corlett smiled when he walked in but didn't say much, and Snape followed her up the stairs in silence. He didn't know what to expect. They'd never really resolved anything, or put a label on what they were, if they even were anything, and he didn't have a clue what was going on-what sorts of things did people do when they became a couple? Not that that's what they were. Not at all. He'd made that perfectly clear.

She tapped her wand to the wall and he followed her into her room.

"So," she said, closing the door behind them. Her slightly too-loud voice made him wonder if she was nervous too. "How've you been?"

"The same as always," said Snape, because it would've been a tad melodramatic to tell her he was hanging by a fingernail at the edge of a precipice. He reached into his pocket and handed her a jar of purple and white flowers, used in anti-depressant potions. "I picked some crocus this morning."

He hadn't had any particular reason for walking the grounds that day. He just felt like being outside, that was all, and he just happened to see some crocus poking up out of the grass. He picked it for her on a whim; it was easier than ordering it, anyway. All through breakfast he sat there like a fool picturing the way she'd smile with her whole face, her eyes bright, mouth slightly open, showing a hint of her white-but-not-quite-straight-teeth.

And she did.

"Severus, that's so thoughtful. Thank you." She held the jar up to her face and examined the crocus flowers, her eyes blurred through the glass. He thought she'd set it down at her work table to use later, but she bent down to put it on her nightstand, right where she slept. His face was hot in spite of himself.

"I miss making potions with you," she said when she'd stood up. "I've never known anyone who was better."

Snape was rather chuffed by this, but he didn't have a clue how to respond. What on earth was a person supposed to say in these situations? Yes, I know? He'd sound as stupid as Lockhart. He reached up to scratch his ear. "Yes. Well."

Corlett reached into a burlap bag beside her work table and pulled out a handful of leafy green plants. "Here, want to cut up these Valerian roots with me?"

Snape draped his traveling cloak on the chair and stood next to her. As long as the students were in class, they were safe from the worst kinds of attacks. The elves would take care of the rest.

She handed Snape a knife and they worked in comfortable silence, no sound but their metal knives tapping against the wood and the trickle of water from the leaky roof. His duties as headmaster kept him so busy he rarely had time to make potions anymore, and he hadn't realised just how much he'd missed it. How good it felt. How motions came so naturally, from muscle memory, in that hypnotic flow that left him so content.

He scooped up a handful of roots and as he dropped them into a wooden bowl his eyes rested on a jar of wild carrot seed, something only used in contraceptive potions.

He couldn't wrap his head around this. She couldn't have wanted to-she must've been making it for someone else, that was it, selling it down at the bar. Something like that would need a Ministry seal, normally but there were some who wouldn't care if it was cheap enough.

Corlett reached for the bowl and she froze with her hand half over it, eyes darting from Snape to the jar. He started and snatched his hand away, making the bowl thunk against the table. They spoke at the same time.

"It looks like-"

"So have you-"

"Go ahead," said Snape.

Corlett dropped her roots into the bowl and picked up her knife. She'd rolled the sleeves of her robes up to her elbows, and the muscles on her forearms were taut as she pressed the roots to the table and sliced. She looked strong enough to pin him down.

"Severus?"

He snapped to attention and found Corlett smiling at him in a way that plainly said she'd caught him staring. He didn't know how he felt about this; there was no use pretending he wasn't attracted to her, at least a little, and yet he didn't have to be so bloody obvious about it. She'd only get her hopes up, and there was no hope in this.

"I was just wondering if you've heard any more about the attack."

Snape picked up another handful of plants. "No."

Corlett wiped a bit of dirt off her knife. "I've talked to my friends and they're willing to help, if you need them."

"Would these friends be members of the Order?"

Corlett stiffened and lowered her eyes as though unnerved that he knew. "Not exactly," she said. She dropped a few more roots into the bowl. "You remember Milo Selwyn?"

"Yes," said Snape.

"Well, he and another friend of ours sort of ended up at a werewolf camp. They reckon they can count on about ten others to come and help."

Snape didn't have a clue how Milo Selwyn could've ended up at a werewolf camp, but thought it best not to ask. He didn't really see what help they could be, unless they were planning to attack at the full moon or something.

"We shall see," he said. He set his knife down and fixed her with a sharp look. "You're not still thinking of going with them?"

Corlett sliced up another root, looking pensive. "I don't know. I feel like I should. I mean, someone has to be neutralise the poison."

"They can give it to you after. There's no reason for you to go."

"I know but...if something happened to them and I wasn't there..."

"Don't be so noble, Corlett, you're a Slytherin. Self-preservation is one of our greatest strengths."

"So's loyalty. In fact-" She set down her knife and stared at him, right into his eyes, like she was doing Legilimency. "I think a true Slytherin would do anything for their friends."

He didn't like the way she looked at him. As though she knew something.

She leaned forward, her mouth slightly open, on the verge of saying something. Snape hid his hands up his sleeves and braced himself for the thing he thought it might've been (how could she have known?), but after a second or two she turned back to the table, scooping up a pile leaves and bits of root and dropping them into a wooden bin.

"We haven't made any definite plans as of yet," said Snape, just to say something. "We might not need any assistance."

"That would be alright with me, I won't lie," said Corlett, wiping down the work table. She set the rag down and leaned in towards him. "Thanks for your help, Severus, this was fun."

Snape murmured something in reply and they stood beside each other a moment. He wasn't sure what to do. The mood didn't seem right for a kiss, and anyway, he wasn't sure he should. He'd found it so hard to stop last time.

She tapped his sleeve. "Come here."

He followed her over to the terranium, and she reached into a wooden bin beside the wall. "Here," she said, handing him an apple core. "D'you want to feed him?"

Snape lowered the apple core into the terranium and they watched as the millipede completely ignored them and wandered aimlessly about.

"He has a mind of his own," said Corlett.

"You call that pitiful collection of brain cells a mind?"

"Don't even start Severus, I know you're a hopeless animal lover."

"That's what you think."

"Your cat curls up with you at night, doesn't he."

Snape stood up straighter and made a mock indignant face. "In the armchair. He likes his space."

She smiled, brushing her fingers against the back of his hand, and he opened it to her, lacing his fingers through hers and pressing down. Her skin was dry and callused, typical potioneer.

The millipede seemed to realise there was food in his terranium and wandered over to the apple core.

"My mother used to feed strays out the front door," said Snape, staring down at the millipede.

"Did you help her?"

"Sometimes."

Corlett squeezed his hand. "Was your cat a stray? Paracelcus?"

"I assume so, he was filthy enough. He started following me down Knockturn Alley one day. Wouldn't leave me alone."

"He knew you'd spoil him rotten, that's why."

Snape made a dismissive noise, but he was only teasing her, and she knew it.

Corlett stared into the terranium. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"How personal?"

She rocked on her feet a bit, her hand sweaty. Very personal.

"Did you ever lose anyone close to you?"

He kept his expression blank. "No."

"So...you never lost any friends during the war?"

She knew something. He slackened his grip on his hand but managed to keep his voice cool. "I lost a few acquaintances. No one I cared for especially."

She was so quiet he knew she didn't believe him. "Look, I know it's hard to talk about these things-"

"Then why are you asking?"

"I don't know. I just wondered."

Well. Now who was lying?

Corlett let go of his hand. "Why are you doing this? Why are you helping all the people who are supposed to be your enemies?"

Snape bristled at this. He'd put up a boundary between them and she'd tested it, skirted around it, chipped away at it. But she always knew when to stop. Now here she was, knocking it down with a sledgehammer.

"Why are you asking so many questions?"

"Oh, I don't know, it couldn't be because I want to get to know you better."

Snape scowled. She had some nerve accusing him of keeping things in, when she was no better herself. There was plenty she wasn't telling him.

"I've already told you enough," he said. He snatched his traveling cloak from the chair back and draped it over his shoulders. "I need to get back to the castle."

"You'll let me know about the attack, won't you?"

"I don't know."

Corlett let out a frustrated sigh, but he left the room before she could say anything.


The castle was filled with that purposeful, alert silence it always had when classes were in session, the electric whir of a thousand dull brains trying to work at once. Snape patrolled the corridors but everything was calm, just a few students skulking about a first-floor corridors and stuffing thick coloured chews into their mouths to stop their nosebleeds. One of them gasped audibly as Snape passed, but he passed in silence, smirking slightly at the thought of their incredulous faces if they knew he'd ordered those nosebleed nougats. Those incorrigible Weasleys had neither blown their heads off nor wound up utter failures. Life was full of surprises.

He went back to his office until dinner, then another walk round the castle, something he'd been doing every night for the last few months.

He stayed out until well after curfew, but the corridors were empty and still. He turned in around midnight, stopping by his desk first to see if any letters had come.

There were two, one in tall, elegant writing he recognised immediately as Narcissa's, the other unmarked. He slit open the unmarked envelope and pulled out a folded-up bit of parchment.

Half past midnight, Thursday, village of Thaxted.

He knew exactly what this was. Strange, that Bellatrix should put it in writing. She was arrogant, to be sure, but arrogant enough to risk it falling into the wrong hands? He slit open the second envelope.

My dear Severus,

I hope this letter finds you well. I imagine your duties as Headmaster are taking up a considerable amount of your time and attention, but I've no doubt you are the best man for the job, and know that the wizarding community holds you in the highest esteem.

Snape was somewhere between flattered and impatient for her to get to the bloody point.

Lucius and I are well as always. I have decided to take a brief holiday for my health. If you wish to reach me, I will be staying near the lighthouse at Dunnet Head. I do enjoy the sunrise there.

Yours & c.

Of all the times to leave the castle, morning was probably the least dangerous. Longbottom would be in his dormitory, or heading down to breakfast with his friends, surrounded by teachers. He retired to his bedroom and set the alarm for 6 am.

Narcissa was standing beside the lighthouse on a cliff overlooking the sea, silhouetted against the sunrise, her gauzy robes rippling in the wind. The sight was so peaceful that for awhile Snape just there stood and watched.

Narcissa turned her head to him and beckoned him over, a hand in the inside pocket of her robes. He'd just reached her when she raised her wand and pointed it straight to his chest.

Snape raised his own without thinking. "Stup-"

"Wait!" called Narcissa. "I just want to be sure it's really you."

Snape went quiet but he kept his wand to her chest.

"Who designed the dress robes I was wearing the last time we went to the theatre?"

Snape lowered his wand in incredulity. "How the bloody hell do you expect me to remember that?"

Narcissa adjusted her sleeve, looking ruffled, but there was a trace of a smile on her lips. "Fair enough. What was Lucius' favourite production?"

"Macbeth: The Musical," said Snape without missing a beat.

Narcissa lowered her wand and arched an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you going to ask me something?"

"There's no need. You're the only one who would use your wardrobe as a security question."

Narcissa shot him an annoyed look but it was only in jest; her eyes were good-natured. She gestured to a chequered blanket she'd laid on the ground beside her, with a wicker basket on top.

"Such hospitality, Narcissa," said Snape as they sat down, wondering who in their right mind would believe she'd invited him to a remote clifftop at six-thirty in the morning for a leisurely breakfast.

"Bellatrix still thinks we're lovers," said Narcissa, with a hint of a smirk. "I don't think I was followed," she added, anticipating his next question. "But I thought it best to give the impression, just in case."

She caught his eye and smiled slightly, a nod to their old inside joke, when they'd turned Bellatrix's taunts about Spinner's End an elaborate performance, dancing together at parties and whispering together in the drawing room while Lucius looked on and pretended to be suspicious. Snape thought they'd carry on with it at the Christmas party, but she hadn't wanted much to do with him then, or at any of their recent meetings. He didn't know what could have changed, that she was so willing to get along with him now. Was she that desperate to save Andromeda?

Narcissa raised her wand and swept it over the cliffside. The sun had risen over the sea, orange light sparkling across the water.

"Homenium Revelio. " Nothing. She raised it again. " Muffliato." She raked her eyes over the clifftop one more time and turned back to him, her face strained and anxious, her expression changed so completely she might've taken a potion. "Have you got an antidote for that poison?"

Snape started at this, but Narcissa had no way of knowing for sure; she was just going on a hunch, the same way he had.

"Yes."

"Oh, I almost forgot. Here." She moved in closer and shoved a croissant in his face. "Take a bite."

Snape stared at it like it was covered in mould. "Is this really necessary?"

"Just in case."

Snape sighed and ate the croissant out of Narcissa's hands as she pressed his mouth to his ear. She'd have made a decent spy.

"It's Wednesday morning, Severus. Half past one."

This wasn't what he'd been told. Something wasn't adding up.

"I got a message saying it was Thursday, half past midnight."

Narcissa's eyes widened in comprehension, his alarm mirrored in her face. "But why...?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? She doesn't trust us."

"She trusts you rather more than she used to," said Narcissa, her voice barely above a whisper despite the Muffliato. "She was attempting to trap you with that Veritaserum. I'm sorry I didn't do more to warn you, but you know I couldn't with her there. But she mustn't have. She's spoken well of you ever since."

Snape traced his mouth with a finger. "Did she mean for you to hear the date of the attack?"

"She told me herself, if that's what you mean."

The sun was higher now, the sky light blue. Snape finished his croissant-Narcissa had mercifully snatched her hand away- and stared out at the sea below the cliff face.

"It could be that it's you she doesn't trust," he said. "You must admit, that the poison should nearly fall into the hands of the Order was suspcious-"

"I still don't know how that happened. Warrington told me she knew Occlumency-"

"Not even the best Occlumens can fool the Dark Lord. Anyway, it's more likely that the false date is the nearer one, since you'd hear about the attack after it happened, and it would be too late to stop it at that point."

"Why must you always make so much sense, Severus?" muttered Narcissa. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Well, this changes everything."

Snape had a sudden, horrible suspicion that she'd meant him to take the fall, but that was neither here nor there; they had a different problem now. He would've have taken the fall anyway, after Andromeda and her family miraculously survived the attack.

"Not necessarily."

Narcissa looked up at him, her fingers still pressed to her face. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning."

"The werewolf has a few friends desperate to come to his assistance," said Snape, praying she wouldn't ask too many questions. "We could persuade Bellatrix to get Greyback involved, get the werewolves to do the work. Everyone would assume he was the one responsible for the leak."

Narcissa stared out to sea, her lips pursed, brows knitted. Snape wasn't sure she liked the plan, she didn't trust werewolves any more than anyone else did, but their options were slim.

"But how do we persuade Bellatrix? There's simply no way I could Confund her. I doubt even you could."

"Confund one of the others then. Or Greyback himself. Even with protection, such a weapon is risky. I doubt Bellatrix would object to letting someone handle it for her."

"Perhaps," said Narcissa, but she looked doubtful.

The silence was loud with unspoken questions. Why did Narcissa trust him, after months of being distant? Was it a trap, an elaborate ruse? Was Bellatrix waiting somewhere, ready to drag him in front of the Dark Lord with evidence of his treachery?

"Draco came to me after the Christmas party with a most intriguing story," said Narcissa, pulling out a piece of toast. "He said you saved one of the Muggle women."

Snape reached into the basket for another croissant and kept his expression neutral. "And?"

"I can't really say I was surprised."

"And what do you mean by that?"

Narcissa spread a thoughtful bit of caviar on her toast and chewed a moment. "I always sensed reluctance in you. Even during the first war. I knew you weren't entirely happy about the Dark Lord's return."

"Does anyone else know about what happened at Christmas?"

"No. And strangely enough Draco seems to have completely forgotten about it."

She gave him a sideways look but Snape kept his expression blank.

"Anyway," Narcissa went on. "I knew that if anyone could help me with this, it's you."

"I'm surprised you'd even want to."

Narcissa crumpled what was left of her toast between her fingers and let it fall to the blanket, barely aware that she was doing it. "I care little for her. That doesn't mean I want her dead."

Snape's instinct told him she cared for Andromeda more than she liked to admit, but he kept this to himself. "A bit risky, don't you think?"

"Lucius and I discussed that. We have plans to leave the country with Draco if..." she glanced around the clifftop. "If we can get away. Though of course we'd rather not. We don't have enough gold in our offshore accounts to hire any servants and can you imagine me in off-the-rack robes in some ghastly American shop, searching for magical mess remover? I'd rather throw myself off this cliff."

Snape barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "You know you can count on me to assist you?"

Narcissa nodded. "Here," she said, dipping a strawberry in whipped cream and handing it to him. "Feed this to me and pretend I said something witty and amusing."

Snape stuffed the strawberry into her mouth. "Why do I get the impression you're that you enjoy making me look like an idiot?"

Narcissa wiped a bit of whipped cream off her nose. "It's cheap entertainment."

"I suppose we may as well do the thing properly," said Snape, slathering a strawberry in whipped cream and poking her in the face. To anyone watching they looked like a pair of hopeless flirts, but Snape had never really thought of her that way, attractive as she was. She was devoted to Lucius, and anyway, she wasn't—how did one put it? His type? Whatever that meant.

"You absolute beast, Severus," she said, half irritated, half-amused. "Now my skin will be oily." She wiped her face with a linen napkin.

Snape smirked and checked his watch. Half-past seven. Most of the students would be up and heading to breakfast. "I should be getting back to the school."

"Of course. I won't keep you."

Snape stood up and wiped croissant crumbs off his robes.

"Severus," said Narcissa. Snape stopped wiping and looked at her. "Do you suppose we'll win?"

Her words took a long time to reach him, as though they'd come to him from some great distance. Only slowly did he realise that, whatever her misgivings, they were on opposite sides of a war.

"I think it likely." This was a lie, meant to reassure her. But Potter's task was so hopeless, the Order so outnumbered, he was starting to believe it.

Narcissa nodded, and Snape walked right up to the edge of the cliff, the northernmost point on in mainland Britain. The same cliff he'd nearly jumped that summer night a million years ago. Something had kept him going then. Something more than just his promise to Dumbledore or his duty to Lily. Something he'd only just begun to understand.


Snape walked up and down the corridors without seeing a thing, checking his watch every five minutes. Three hours had passed since curfew, and the corridors were quiet.

He always got keyed-up before a battle, but it was more of a nervous excitement than anything. This numb, sick-stomach fear was something he hadn't known since the Dark Lord came back.

He'd stopped by the hidden room the day before and given Corlett the date, but only because he had to; if he could've contacted young Selwyn and his friends without her he would have. He'd warned her not to go, that she'd be up against magic she couldn't even imagine, but given her track record for doing what other people told her, he had no reason to be optimistic. Damn her stubbornness. He couldn't lose her. Not that he needed her or anything. Not that he loved her. He just...he couldn't really explain it. He'd been so abrupt with her, so irritable. He couldn't stand the thought that it might be the last time he spoke to her.

He checked his watch. Midnight. He popped in his office for his traveling cloak.

"Is it tonight, Severus?" said Dumbledore, alert and alarmed.

Snape worked the silver serpent fastening. "Yes."

"Whatever happens, my dear man, you must not lose your cover-"

"I know," snapped Snape. "I have a plan."

He tipped the Felix Felicis into his mouth and left the office without a backwards glance at him.


A/N: Thanks so much PearlM21 and Guest for the reviews! So glad you like this story (and yeah Graihagh's taste in animals is weird for sure lmao. She and Snape are a lot alike that way!)