"I'm compromised," Severus had murmured to Albus the night before, as he pushed his half-empty plate away at dinner. "Consider this your only warning." Something had shifted in Severus' expression, and Sirius - several seats up, between Hagrid and Sinistra - had looked up, nose wrinkled as if he'd smelled something unpleasant. "I owe you that much." And then he'd left.

Albus had known something was wrong; Severus had been aloof - even by his standards - over the holidays, and in a rather foul mood since term resumed. Albus had put it down to a combination of returning to school and Sirius getting the Defence position, and given him a bit of time and distance to adjust. Only he hadn't adjusted, or mellowed, and Albus had had complaints from the other all of the other teachers - except, oddly enough, from Sirius - and from parents, and from students as well. An unacceptable amount, in fact, and while being compromised absolutely did not excuse his behaviour, it certainly went a way toward explaining it. Albus rather wished the problem had been Sirius; if it had, he could have settled the entire thing with a disappointed look and a few chiding comments. This, on the other hand...

Suffice to say, Albus was too troubled to sleep well that night; Severus had long ago turned away from Voldemort and his beliefs, and Albus had never doubted that, still didn't doubt that, but if Severus was compromised…

And he must be - Severus would not have bothered to warn him otherwise. Dramatic as Severus could be, this was not something he'd overplay.

The question was... how?

Severus had fooled Voldemort for almost two years during the war, whilst constantly in his presence, and with Voldemort at his full strength. While all evidence seemed to suggest that Voldemort was regaining that strength, but he was still - thankfully - nowhere near what he had been, nor was Severus anywhere near him. In the years since Voldemort's downfall and especially in recent years where he'd been making himself known again, Albus and Severus had made plans to alleviate whatever doubts Voldemort would have about his loyalty. There would be doubts, after all; Severus had lived at Hogwarts under Albus' eye for years now, and the last contact he had had with his former lord - at least as far as Albus was aware - had been three years ago, when Voldemort tried to frame him for an attempt on the Philosopher's Stone. He'd have to be a fool not to question Severus' loyalty after that, and unfortunately for everyone, Tom had never been a fool.

But if Severus had, somehow been in contact with Voldemort and caught out as Albus' spy, surely he'd be dead. The only reason he wouldn't be, would be if he'd been convincing in his repentance, and even then Voldemort would not let him off so easily. He'd need a way to ensure Severus' renewed loyalty, and somehow, he'd found one. Something that Severus valued more than his own life, which Severus had always been prepared to risk for the cause. Something that Severus valued more than his own beliefs. Something that Severus valued more than Albus' trust and respect, which he'd painstakingly earned over the past fifteen years and, Albus knew he was genuinely pleased to have, though his sharp tongue and general lack of tolerance for what he deemed Albus' eccentricities made it seem otherwise.

And, most surprisingly, something that Severus valued more than Lily Potter, and the promises he'd made to protect her son after her death.

Lily Potter had shaped Severus' actions for almost all of his life, even after she herself was gone. It seemed impossible, that there could be something more important to Severus than that, than her, but there must be, because he was compromised.

Albus would very much have liked to ask Severus about it, but that wasn't an option, not yet; in Severus' mind they were on opposite sides again - the warning had made that clear - and so Severus would not confide in him, would not indulge his questions. Albus needed an answer, first, an explanation for how this had happened, and then a plan.

The answer came not long after: Draco.

It had to be. It was almost embarrassingly obvious, but also not; it couldn't be a threat against the boy, because Draco - in Gryffindor, close to Harry - was an opportunity that Voldemort would try to exploit rather than destroy. Albus had known years ago, when talk about getting the younger Malfoy into Gryffindor first started, that being in Gryffindor would make him valuable and therefore safe. Severus' lessons would also give him some ability to protect himself, but when that was no longer an option, Albus had always expected Draco would follow in the steps of Sirius Black and run away to live with a Potter. Severus had had concerns back when the lessons began that they were creating a weapon for the Voldemort to abuse, but Dumbledore had never worried. The boy had Severus as an influence, would have Potter as a friend… Since meeting Draco when he started at Hogwarts, Albus had had even less cause to worry; the boy was Gryffindor through and through, and beyond that decent.

But if Severus was compromised, something must have gone wrong, somewhere. Had Draco changed his mind on his own, or had he been pressured into it, by either his family or by Voldemort himself? And what had happened between him and Severus that Draco would not trust Severus when he had surely tried to reason him away from Voldemort's side? And, if Severus had changed his allegiance to better protect Draco, had it been a decision he'd made for himself, or had Draco or one of the Malfoys pushed him into it?

It was over these things that Albus was musing when one of his silver instruments informed him he was about to have a visitor, and Albus paused his pacing to glance at the clock in surprise; it was almost six in the morning.

"Enter," he called, and the door swung open to admit a tired-looking Harry. Had he had another dream, perhaps? "Harry," Albus said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Padfoot gave me the password," Harry said. "I hope you don't mind-"

"Not at all." Albus went to sit at his desk and gestured for Harry to do the same.

"I… Er… had a dream," Harry said.

Albus nodded, mind already flicking through possibilities - discussions about the Tournament, a failed plan, or, Merlin-forbid, a successful one - and asked, "Will Sirius be joining us?"

"No," Harry said. "I spoke to him this morning, and he's sorting things with Robards and Scrimgeour now." Albus nodded again, but was surprised; while their relationship was greatly improved from where it had been following Sirius' trial, Albus still felt Sirius usually only trusted him out of either necessity, or lack of better options. This, though, trusting Albus to deal with Harry alone, was… something. And, likewise, that Harry was here alone meant Sirius trusted Harry to handle himself, which Harry was, of course, perfectly capable of, but rarely had the chance to demonstrate if Sirius had any say in the matter. Whatever matter Sirius was discussing with Robards and Scrimgeour must be a significant one if it had taken precedent.

"I… he- Voldemort I mean… was sending Wormtail to Godric's Hollow."

"Godric's Hollow," Albus repeated, surprised; Voldemort had lost so much there that he's surely be reluctant to acknowledge the place unless there was very, very good reason, and he doubted Peter Pettigrew felt any more fondly about it. "Did he say why?"

"No," Harry said. "It was… weird, actually. They were in the room with Voldemort's chair and the fireplace, and Wormtail asked where he was going this time, and Voldemort told him Godric's Hollow. That was it. And he wasn't angry, or excited like he normally is, he was… I dunno, frustrated."

"Peculiar," Albus murmured. "Very peculiar indeed-"

Harry's breathing cut off sharply and his hand flew to his scar, face scrunching up. Albus was on his feet in an instant, leaning over the desk to put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Harry?" he said, and was ignored. "Harry?"

"He's happy," Harry said, voice strained and distant, and Albus knew he wasn't really there, not yet, but marvelled that he had the presence of mind to speak, to explain despite that. "Really, really happy. It worked." He winced, then blinked, expression easing slightly and looked up at Albus, eyes tired and green and thoughtful, like he was already trying to make sense of it all. "Something worked." He rubbed his forehead, frowning, and Albus sat again.

They were both silent for a few moments, and then, thinking aloud, Albus murmured, "Perhaps he still seeks the Elder Wand." Harry's eyes darted to the pocket of Albus' dressing gown.

"But- the wand's- it's not there…"

"No," Albus agreed. Harry was silent, waiting with unusual patience for Albus to elaborate. Albus favoured him with a weak smile. "The wand has ties to Godric's Hollow."

"What ties?" Harry asked, because he was Harry, so of course he'd ask. He had no obligation to explain, he knew that, knew Harry wouldn't press if he chose not to. But, Albus had also learned that Harry liked both answers and the truth - and had a tendency to know and then investigate if he didn't get both - and he knew that Harry's trust ought not be taken for granted; keeping it was far more important than his reluctance to bring up painful memories, and his shame.

"The brother of the wand's supposed original owner is buried there," Albus said. Harry nodded, but said nothing. After a moment of waiting on Albus' part that confirmed the boy knew there was more to be said, he continued, "And its two most recent owners both lived there once, which, I daresay is the part that holds the most interest to Voldemort."

"You lived in Godric's Hollow?" Harry asked. Albus inclined his head, seeing not the office, but his brother and sister, and the charming young neighbour who'd visited Bathilda Bagshot- "And… so did whoever had the wand before you?"

"Once," Albus said. "Once, a long, long time ago." Harry practically exuded curiosity, but Albus had explained as much as he thought he needed to and would not be saying any more on the matter. The boy could draw his own conclusions, or perhaps learn the answers through Voldemort when he inevitably uncovered the truth. And it seemed Harry knew he wouldn't be elaborating, because he nodded slowly.

"Sir… is it likely that whatever's at Godric's Hollow could give away where the wand is now?"

"Undoubtedly."

"What's there?" Harry asked. "Can we hide it, or-"

"Nothing tangible," Albus said. He stood and went to rub his hand along the soft, warm feathers on Fawkes' neck. He glanced back toward his desk and and smiled slightly at the confused look on Harry's face. "Memories, Harry," he said, and Harry's expression cleared.

"Memories can be hidden," Harry said, "or taken." It wasn't a question. It was a statement, almost a suggestion.

"They can," Albus agreed. He sighed. "But these should not be." Fawkes nibbled at one of his fingers - a comforting gesture.

"Even if they lead Voldemort to the wand?"

"Even if they do," Albus murmured. He kept one hand on a crooning Fawkes, while the other drew the Elder Wand from the pocket of his dressing gown. "Forgetting would be equally terrible, I fear."


"Stop looking at me like that," Fleur said, throwing herself down into the spare seat in Remus' office and folding her arms.

"Like what?" Remus asked, but he knew full well what she meant; he had his Prefect Lupin face on, the disappointed one that had once been able to get even James and Sirius to behave. He followed her inside more sedately, and closed the door, then took a seat at his desk. Dora blew him a kiss from inside a picture frame, and in the frame next to it, Stella smiled gummily; Dora was sending him photographs of their daughter almost daily, but when he portkeyed back to England on the weekends, it still took him aback how quickly she was growing. Photo-Harry and Sirius were in a third frame. Harry spoke no French at all, and never bothered to listen to his conversations, but photo-Sirius knew a bit and would sometimes nod along, or laugh, or shake his head. At the moment, though, both were watching Stella with rather doting grins on their faces, and clearly not listening at all.

"LIke that!" she said, waving a hand at his face. "Do you want an apology?"

"I don't," Remus said, tearing his eyes away from the photographs of his family and back to his student, "but I think someone else might be due one." Fleur's lip curled.

"I won't," she said. "She had it coming-"

"And so did Miss Alphonse, Mr Levesque, Mr Tremont, Miss Castille, and Mr Pruitt, I suppose?"

"Yes," she said angrily. "They did!"

"You're not a cruel person, Fleur," Remus said, "but you've been behaving a bit like one."

"They deserved it," she said, "all of them. They're the cruel ones, and if I'm behaving like one, it's only in retaliation. You- you know how horrible humans can be to people like us-"

"I do," Remus said mildly. They'd had a number of conversations about this over the last few years., after all "And, as I've told you before, oftentimes, it comes from a place of fear. They see me and they see a monster, someone dangerous. And frankly, they're right to, because on full moons I don't have control over what I become. You, on the on the other hand-"

"I can't help what I am any more than you can," she said, scowling.

"No," Remus said. "But you can help using what you are to make a fool out of your classmates. I know you can't help turning heads-"

"I can't," she said despairingly.

"-or making people a bit-" He made a gesture. "-dazed, but I also know anything that has a bigger effect than that is deliberate on your part." She had the grace to smell guilty. "And using what you are, what you can do, as a weapon… well, you're giving them even more reason to fear you." And she had tried to make herself a weapon; gone were the oversized, baggy uniforms she'd been hiding in last year. The uniform she'd shown up in at the start of the term had been short and tight enough that Madam Maxime had written home to the Delacours. Her current uniform was better, but still toed the line.

"They don't fear me," she sneered, and her tone made it rather clear that she wished they would.

"I daresay Mr Levesque does," Remus countered. The poor boy carried an extra pair of trousers with him and wouldn't be in the same room as Fleur anymore without flushing and racing out. Fleur looked smug, then caught Remus' disapproving look and sighed.

"I just want them to like me for me," she said. "Or dislike me for me. I don't care which, as long as the reasons aren't to do with my face, or my figure."

"Perhaps if you show them the real you there'd be more of a chance of that happening," Remus said. She narrowed her eyes at him. "I can't speak much from experience there - usually appearance isn't what I'm judged for."

"How does your Dora do it?" Fleur asked. "She must have the same problem, surely?" Her eyes were on Dora's photograph; Dora knew enough French to know she was being talked about, and was doing silly things with her hair and nose.

"I think she has the opposite problem," Remus said. "She looks so different so often that you have to like her or dislike her for who she is." Fleur sighed. "Some advice, if I may?"

"You know you may," she muttered.

"Stop this," Remus said, more gently than before, "before you become what they accuse you of being. Your blood's a part of you, like lycanthropy's a part of me, but it's not all there is to you. It's taken me a long time to work that out, and I still forget from time to time, but you're much cleverer than I am, so perhaps you'll remember better." He smiled at her and she smiled back. He glanced at his watch. "I've got a lesson in five minutes, so you're free to go."

"I'm not in trouble?" she asked hopefully.

"No, you are," Remus said, and she sighed but seemed unsurprised. "You'll have detention tomorrow night. Monsieur Motte's got a couple of others scheduled already, so you can join them." Fleur looked resigned rather than angry or disappointed. "Now, unless there's anything else-"

"Yes," Fleur said. "There- I was wondering if you could give me extra Defence lessons."

"Why?" Remus asked. "Monsieur Motte's more than capable of getting you through your final year - he's been doing this a lot longer than I have-"

"You're a better teacher than he is," she said, and Remus grimaced. "And it's less about my final year, and more about the Triwizard Tournament."

"You're going to enter?" Remus asked.

"Of course," Fleur said, frowning. "Why wouldn't I?"

"And what would you want covered in these lessons?" Remus asked. She gave him a radiant smile and he smiled slightly back. "I haven't agreed yet, Fleur-" Though they both knew he probably would. "-I'd like to know what you think I can teach you that won't be covered in your curriculum this year, or that you're not already learning. You're already in the Duelling Club and I'm nowhere near as qualified as Madame Pinard-"

"I've been reading about previous Tournaments," she said, "and there are always magical creatures used in the tasks. They're your specialty, are they not?" She gave him a look that was equal parts hopeful and expectant.

"I suppose they are," Remus said.


"You wish to speak with me?" Severus asked, folding his arms.

"Severus," Dumbledore said genially, looking up from a letter with Fudge's signature on it.. "I do, yes. Sit." Severus did not sit, and remembered his own irritation when he had given Draco the same instruction and been ignored. If Dumbledore was irritated, though, he did not show it, just smiled slightly as if Severus had done something amusing.

"Well?" Severus asked impatiently. "I don't have all night, Dumbledore." He wanted to be anywhere but here, knew that Dumbledore would want to talk about the warning Severus had given him at dinner the night before, and Severus did not want to discuss that at all.

"Do you know what these are?" Dumbledore asked, gesturing to a pile of papers on one side of his desk.

"Should I?"

"Complaints, Severus," Dumbledore said mildly. "From students, and parents, and some of your colleagues as well."

"That's nothing new," Severus said. It was no secret that he was not popular or well liked at Hogwarts. It did not bother him - he had never made any effort to be either.

"The number is. Your mood this term has not gone unnoticed, Severus."

"Consider me chastened," Severus said sarcastically, and started toward the door.

"I'm not finished," Dumbledore said, in that same, mild tone. He did not move from his chair, or even raise his voice, but there was something that stopped Severus all the same. "I understand you've had a lot on your mind." Dumbledore was gentler now.

"You don't know the half of it," Severus said. There was no point in lying, not about this, and this was a harmless truth, one that said much without giving anything away. Dumbledore seemed both surprised and pleased by his response though.

"I have some insight, I think," he said.

"Of course you do," Severus said, unsurprised. "But you can keep it to yourself-"

"I could," Dumbledore agreed, "but I have no intention of doing so."

"Then share it with someone else," Severus said, "because-"

"Draco has not gone dark, Severus," Dumbledore said, so calmly, and with such confidence that Severus could only stare. He kept his face impassive with some effort, and waited. "Sit," Dumbledore said gently.

Severus shook his head jerkily, but made no attempt to leave or move. This was not a conversation he had ever intended to have with the Headmaster. He'd spend the last few days steeling himself to break away from the Headmaster's influence, to close his mind and expressions to the man, to withdraw, to limit all contact. The problem - which he was only realising now and far, far too late - was that despite all that, despite the fact that they were now on opposing sides, he still trusted Dumbledore, and so he'd been lazy, been too relaxed, and now he'd given himself away.

He should have been annoyed with himself, annoyed with Dumbledore, but he wasn't; for the first time in months, Severus felt hope. Not much of it, but it was something.

"I'm listening," Severus said.

"I spoke to Harry this morning-"

Just like that, Severus' hope crumbled into something bitter.

"You're basing your judgement on Potter?" There was anger now, too. These days, there wasn't anyone he hated quite as much as Potter.

"I am," Dumbledore replied. "He said Draco's perfectly fine, that he's not worried-"

"Potter is not a good judge of-"

"I believe he is," Dumbledore said calmly. "I trust his intuition, and his… instincts."

"Look how well James Potter's intuition served him," Severus snapped. "He trusted the wrong friend too, and-"

"Harry is not James, Severus," Albus said, with surprising patience; they'd had this conversation several times before, though this was the first time for several years. "He was raised by Sirius-"

"Who didn't see through Pettigrew either, in case you've forgotten-"

"And he has lived with that," Dumbledore said, speaking over the top of him, "and learned from it, and passed that lesson on. Harry will not make the same mistake."

"He already has," Severus said.

"I disagree." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, waiting.

"What of my judgement, then?" he asked. "You think Potter can read my godson better than I can, Dumbledore? You've not been privy to any of the conversations between us, you've not spoken to Narcissa and Lucius, as I have, you've not interacted with him as I have, and yet you're willing to disregard all of that because a fourteen year old boy said otherwise." Severus curled his lip and spun, heading back toward the door.

"Draco learned to lie from you, Severus-"

"And whose fault was that?" Severus wheeled around again, something in him snapping and then words were coming out before he could stop them: "I warned you back then, and you had me do it anyway, and now he's joined the other side-"

"I was under the impression you were a part of that side again, now," Dumbledore said, arching an eyebrow. Severus snarled at him.

"We've given them the perfect weapon to use against-"

"Draco is a boy, not a weapon," Dumbledore said.

"He'll be whatever the Dark Lord wants him to be," Severus snapped, and he was too far gone now to simply leave, or to try to twist the conversation. He had intended to part amicably with Dumbledore, respectfully, but now he just wanted him to hurt, to feel guilty, to question himself, as Severus did. "You had me do this, had me train him despite my reservations, and for nothing; Potter-" The name was like acid in his mouth. "-wasn't good enough to make him want to choose our side-"

"Enough," Dumbledore said, looking angry for the first time. It was not a hot anger, like Severus', but a frosty one. "Harry is as much to blame for any choices Draco makes, as Lily was for those you made. Which is to say, not at all."

"Well it's certainly not on Draco," Severus said. "He's been a puppet from the beginning, with your hands and Narcissa's and mine on his strings, and-"

"I should hope you see your godson as more than that," Dumbledore said, voice still cold; he seemed as displeased by the idea of Draco as an object as he had been by Severus insulting Potter. It was incredibly - surprisingly - effective at calming Severus.

"Of course I do," Severus said, anger draining away. He was left feeling empty, and tired. "Draco is- everything." And oh, what it cost to admit it aloud, especially now with things as they were. "And after everything I've done to make him different, to ensure he doesn't make the same mistakes as I did, he's following the same path. Even if he does change his mind, as I did, the damage he could do before then… if he's anything like I was-"

"Draco is not like you," Dumbledore said. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "If anything, he reminds me of a young Sirius."

"They are nothing alike." Dumbledore said nothing, just looked at him with amusement until Severus scowled. "And everyone believed Black to be guilty of murdering the Potters, believed he was the Dark Lord's right hand man. It wasn't true, but it was believed. Why is it so hard to believe that of Draco?"

"Because Draco has you, Severus," Dumbledore said, and there was suddenly a lump in Severus' throat.

"It isn't enough," Severus said, unable to look at him. "I know my godson. Potter's been fooled-"

"Or you have," Dumbledore said. "You taught him to lie, Severus, and that puts you at a significant disadvantage; to have made any progress, he has had to get very good at lying to you."

"He has no reason to," Severus said, shaking his head. He refused to believe it, refused to hope, but Dumbledore's words were taking root somewhere deep inside him, against his will. Surely it wasn't possible, surely... "He… trusts me, so he's honest." Why wouldn't he be? Severus had never given Draco reason to doubt him. It all came back to that; despite Draco's surprising declaration of allegiance, despite the fact that Severus struggled to believe he could turn so easily on his little pack of Gryffindors, there was no reason for Draco to have lied and so there was no reason it should not be the truth.

"As you are with him? He knows where your true allegiance lies?"

"I've hinted at it. Not subtly." But Draco didn't know. Couldn't know, or he'd have been more squirrelly about his desire to join the Dark Lord.

"But have you told him outright?"

Telling him outright was an enormous risk. But, if Dumbledore was right, then Severus would tell the truth and Draco would return the favour. If Severus told the truth and Draco really did intend to follow the Dark Lord, then perhaps Severus could talk him out of it. Perhaps Severus could change his mind… Or, perhaps Draco would announce Severus was a traitor; whether he did so deliberately or through a slip of the tongue or mind was irrelevant; the outcome would be the same, and a decidedly bad for Severus, which was why he'd not attempted to do so before now.

"Of course not." Severus shook his head again, trying to shake the thoughts that were building inside it.

"Perhaps you should," Dumbledore said.