Author's note: I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Guest: Thank you! I'm especially glad that you enjoyed the interaction with Trelawney. It was fun to get Snape's famous scathing wit in there again. I feel like the previous couple chapters were kind of downers, for the most part, with the massacres and torture (not that the themes of death, prejudice, and so on lend themselves to light and fluffy). Yes, it was Nagini keeping Voldy alive in mutilated baby form, she would have been the only horcrux left. The last chapter was comparable to the length of most of the chapters in Headmaster Snape, but definitely shorter than the chapters before it, a little over half the length, mostly because I was trying to fit so much into the first four, with the seven years at Hogwarts. I think most of them now will range from 1,000-2,000 words in length… I'm going to contradict myself now: This one is a bit longer—it's an exception. I think that there will be two chapters after this before we start on the events of Philosopher's Stone. Yes, this is turning out to be an extremely long prologue...

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 542-544 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows while writing this. (That book has taken up permanent residence on my easy-access/currently-reading shelf since I started writing Headmaster Snape, haha.)

Regret

"Two babies were born at the end of July."

A few of the Death Eaters exchanged glances, wondering where this was going. They hadn't been told yet of what Severus had discovered; the Dark Lord had been sitting on that information for months.

Severus resisted the urge to smirk, to gloat, broadcasting that he already knew something, that for once, he had the inside information. The Dark Lord had been very pleased to have been made aware of the prophecy—less pleased about not having it in its entirety, but Severus was willing to forget about that part.

"I have spent nearly three months observing and considering what to do about the situation"—the Dark Lord didn't seem to be in a hurry to enlighten them as to what the situation actually was—"and I've decided to put an end to it before it can begin."

"My lord, please, what would you like us to do?"

It was Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black. She was the "somewhat unhinged" sister of Narcissa, whom Lucius had once mentioned to Severus by letter, a long time ago, back when Lucius and Narcissa had just begun their courtship. Although Bellatrix was married to Rodolphus Lestrange, it was blatantly obviously that she had eyes for only the Dark Lord. It was also obvious—to everyone except her, it seemed—that while the Dark Lord appreciated that she worshipped the ground he walked on, the feeling was unrequited.

"There is a prophecy," the Dark Lord continued, as though Bellatrix hadn't spoken. "The prophecy foretold a child born to two who have 'thrice defied' me, 'born as the seventh month dies,' one who will supposedly have the power to best me."

"There is nobody who can best you, my lord," Bellatrix denied vehemently, "not now and not ever. You are the greatest wizard in history, second to nobody."

"I am the greatest wizard in history. But Bella," he added, with condescension in his voice, "is it not best to circumvent potential problems, no matter how minute the potential?"

She backtracked immediately. "Of course, my lord, of course it is. You are right, as always."

Severus wondered how Rodolphus could sit there with such indifference; Bellatrix's display made him want to vomit, and he wasn't married to the woman. He could see why she and Lucius didn't get along.

"Please tell us, my lord, who is this child? What would you like us to do?"

"I will be the one to take care of him. You needn't concern yourselves," the Dark Lord said, with an arrogant toss of his head. "As for the child, there are two candidates." He seemed determined to draw out his explanation as long as possible. He enjoyed making them wait. "Both the Potters and the Longbottoms welcomed a baby boy into their respective families, the Potters on the thirty-first and the Longbottoms on the thirtieth, but after thinking it over with utmost care, I have decided that the Potters are a bigger threat."

Before he could accidentally act on his rising panic, Severus slammed up his mental shields so fast that his ears seemed to ring.

The Potters? No. No.

James Potter had become an Auror after graduating Hogwarts, and at some point during that time, he had gotten married. Severus had heard about it through the grapevine. Potter's wife was Lily Evans.

It was an old wound, one that had never completely healed or stopped hurting. While Severus was good at ignoring it, it was still there: He still felt guilty about calling Lily the M word—though he had gotten over his bitterness at the rejected apologies, coming to the conclusion that he wouldn't have forgiven him either—and he still wished that he were part of her life, and it still made him angry that Potter had won her over.

When he'd heard about their engagement, his first reaction had been jealousy, thinking that it should have been him. Potter wasn't good enough for Lily—and then a voice in the back of his head whispered, Neither are you. He'd hastily quashed all of the inner turmoil that had arisen from the news.

Most of the time, Severus succeeded in forgetting that he cared about Lily—that he loved her, which he would admit only to himself—but like the wound from his adolescence, the feeling never went away.

The Dark Lord, he knew, wouldn't just walk in, kill the baby, and leave. That was not his style. No, he would go after all of them, after Lily. Of course, with her there was double incentive: She was the boy's mother, and she was a muggle-born. And Lily, unless she had gotten a personality transplant, would die in a heartbeat if it meant protecting her family. She had always been like that, quick to defend those she truly cared about, regardless of how much it hurt her; to his knowledge, she had never ceased trying to make amends with that awful sister of hers, even after Petunia had rejected her for being a witch, something that Severus knew Lily had shed many tears over.

The Dark Lord was still discussing the prophecy, but Severus didn't hear a word of it. Even with the Occlumency, he his mind was too busy with its frantic whirring to pay attention to the meeting, and on top of that, there was a terrible, twisting sensation like a knife in his gut.

Oh god… Lily….

The Dark Lord was going to kill her, and it would be his fault.

Severus had almost backed out, he was so nervous. True, he had been the one to ask Albus Dumbledore to meet him here, but he felt no shortage of fear about how the meeting would go if Dumbledore actually agreed. As it turned out, Dumbledore had, although it was possible that the Headmaster was only coming to kill him.

For Lily, he reminded himself sternly, because the least you can do is not be the coward that Black always accused you of being. Merlin knows you never did anything else for her.

Taking Severus by surprise, there was a blinding flash of white light, and then his wand flew out of his hand. He had gotten too caught up in his thoughts. He was lucky that it had only been a Disarming spell, although that wasn't exactly comforting.

"Don't kill me!" he shouted desperately, dropping to his knees and raising his arms in surrender.

"That was not my intention," came the reply.

Any sound of Dumbledore Apparating had been drowned out by the sound of the wind in the branches—the unsympathetic weather was apropos for this meeting—and now he stood in front of Severus with his robes swirling around him. His face was illuminated in the light cast by his wand from below. It gave him a menacing look. That wasn't comforting, either.

"Well, Severus?" he asked, his voice colder than the October night air, maybe even colder than frostbite. "What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"

Severus winced as the name sent burning pain down his left forearm, where the Mark was located. He didn't think he would ever get used to that. "No," he stammered, "no message, I'm here on my own account!" He wrung his hands together. "I- I come with a warning- no, a request, please…."

He winced again when Dumbledore flicked his wand, but the other wizard only quieted the howling wind; although leaves and branches still flew through the air, silence fell around them.

"What request could a Death Eater make of me?"

"The- the prophecy… the prediction… Trelawney…" Severus cursed himself inwardly. The words were coming out all wrong, and at this rate, Dumbledore would strike him dead within the next five seconds.

Maybe he'd see Lily in the afterlife.

"Ah, yes." If it was possible, Dumbledore's voice grew even colder. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"

"Everything, everything I heard," he confessed. "That is why- it is the reason- he thinks it means Lily Evans!" He refused to think of her as Lily Potter.

"The prophecy did not refer to a woman. It spoke of a boy born at the end of July-"

"You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down, kill them all."

Dumbledore looked at him shrewdly. "If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"

"I have."

The memory of the Dark Lord's amused face flashed through his mind. His master had made mockery of his affection for Lily, saying, "So you want the Mudblood for yourself, do you? Pretty thing? Wondering if her beauty will be enhanced by her screams?" But he'd then said, "I'll see what I can do," and that was enough for Severus.

"I have asked him-"

"You disgust me." The contempt in Dumbledore's voice made Severus recoil. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

Severus felt like he had been paralyzed by those piercing blue eyes, like the intensity of the other wizard's stare was a spell in itself, preventing him from looking away. He found that he did not have a defence, for what Dumbledore said was absolutely true, and arguing his innocence was not the reason he was there.

"Hide them all, then," he said finally, brokenly. "Keep her—them—safe. Please."

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"In- in return?"

He gaped at the Headmaster for a moment. It wasn't surprising for Dumbledore to demand a fee—between being raised by Tobias and being sorted into Slytherin House, Severus was no stranger to the philosophy "nothing is free"—but he hadn't gotten that far. All he'd been concerned about was staying alive long enough to make his request and hopefully have it granted.

He came up with the best answer he could. Although a dangerous one, something that he would never say under any other circumstance, for it left the terms of service wide open for the other party to manipulate, it was truthful: "Anything."

"I have heard some rather unsavoury rumours about your activities since graduating Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, fingers intertwined, elbows resting atop the desk.

The last time Severus been in this office was the night he'd snuck down the tunnel below the Whomping Willow. He felt ten times more uncomfortable now than he had then.

"I can't- I mean, I don't know what you've heard, but I- I probably can't deny any of it," he admitted. The wizarding world was engaged in a full-scale war now, and he had done plenty of "unsavoury" things.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out, and he closed it again, feeling frustrated and foolish. He was having all sorts of linguistic difficulties tonight.

"Whatever you wish to say, Severus, you had best just say it." Dumbledore sounded tired.

After multiple, unsuccessful attempts at speaking, he finally confessed in a near whisper, "This isn't what I thought it would be."

"What isn't?" The old man was determined to make this as hard as possible for him, apparently.

"Being a Death Eater!" His voice rose. "The Dark Lord was charismatic and- and he promised us things, like- like power, and..." There was a long pause. "Acceptance. Belonging."

"I see. And you have found none of those?"

"No," said Severus, succinctly and miserably. Upon Dumbledore's silence and expectant expression, he elaborated, "We have to do whatever he says, and if we fail, he tortures us; the Death Eaters aren't friends, they're at each other's throats all the time, all trying to impress the Dark Lord; and there's this rabid obsession with blood purity. If I had- I didn't realize…." He let the words trail away without finishing the last thought.

"You are not a blood purist then?"

"No. I don't like muggles, but they don't"—Tobias came to mind—"usually they don't hurt us… they're all right, I guess."

"You didn't realize what it was really about when you joined." Dumbledore easily filled in what Severus had left unsaid. "The signs, though, were surely there, were they not?"

Severus looked away, squirmed slightly in his seat, and didn't reply.

"They were." The coldness was back. "You saw the signs, you simply chose to ignore them because it suited you—you chose to be blind."

When Severus still did not answer, Dumbledore asked, "Was it worth it?"

That got a scowl. "No," the young Potions Master said, meeting Dumbledore's eyes again, "it bloody well wasn't! That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"It isn't, actually," Dumbledore corrected, with infuriating calm. "If that were your reason for contacting me, you would have done so sooner; I do not think it took very long for regret to settle in.

"Seeing as you brought it up, tell me: Why are you here now?"

A prolonged silence followed the question.

"Because… this- this is… it matters to me. It's- personal."

Dumbledore took his time studying Severus's face. Whatever he found, it must have been satisfactory, for he gave a slow nod. Then he said, "You claimed that you would do anything for me, if I protected the Potters, yes?" He waited for confirmation, as though he hadn't been there himself.

"Yes," Severus said, putting as much conviction as possible into his voice. "I meant it."

"Good." Dumbledore sat back in his chair and peered at Severus over his half-moon spectacles. "Then you will have no objection to make when I ask you to spy on Lord Voldemort."