Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Justice's Fee

Harry's jaw dropped. His eyes flashed back and forth between his aunt, standing rigidly with cold hatred in her eyes, and Snape, who again was expressionless, though his face slowly and steadily gaining a red color.

"Ex-…excuse me?"

"God, what has Harry done to anger You?" Fred asked from behind Snape. "Is there some sin we know naught of?"

"Shut up, Weasley," Snape snapped without turning around. "And believe me, Potter, the fact that you are related to her is sickening to me."

"Really," Petunia spat. "I thought it was my dirty blood that was sickening to you."

"I apologize," Dumbledore said placidly, as Hestia, Emmeline, Sturgis, and Mundungus filed or tripped into St. Mungo's lobby. "I know this matter is very important to you both, but we have something more pressing to the present to attend to right now."

"Yes, sir," Petunia muttered sullenly, and Snape nodded.

As Kingsley and McGonagall joined the circle, Dumbledore moved and beckoned Harry to join them. With a nod and a gesture of his hand Fred, George, and Luna were also invited.

"Might we have privacy?" Dumbledore asked, addressing the Welcome Witch.

"There's a Room of Requirement right through those doors, sir," she said, pointing to another set of double doors.

"Thank you."

Harry glanced at Fred, who shrugged his confusion, as they followed Dumbledore into the Room of Requirement. As the last person entered, the doors shut and then disappeared. A suddenly formed vent became the only source of air in the windowless room.

"As you all know," Dumbledore said, turning to the congregation, "12 Grimmauld Place was attacked earlier this evening. We have lost three people: Paul and Helen Granger, and Bill Weasley."

Tonks gasped. Bill had been three years her senior at Hogwarts.

"Molly, Arthur, Ron, and Ginny Weasley are all injured, as is Hermione Granger. Harry was attacked, but escaped unharmed, with his aunt."

"Good," Moody growled. "Less dead than injured. Better than the first war."

"Minerva had brought to my attention only recently that there may be a spy amongst us," Dumbledore continued. "Naturally, I did not want to believe this, but the fate of the Order comes before my own personal wishful thinking. I removed the Fidelius Charm. And the Black house has been destroyed. My suspicions were confirmed."

"But that means—" Remus started.

"Yes. Someone betrayed our whereabouts. Standing in this room is a Death Eater spy."

Harry's eyes went immediately to Snape, as did Petunia's. Their eye remained locked on Snape's face, searching for a twitch of muscle or gleam of eye that would mark him as the traitor. They were treated to a grimace. Petunia chewed the inside of her bottom lip and turned back to Dumbledore. Harry redirected his gaze as well.

"I ask, I fear futilely, that the person who betrayed us come forward.

There was no movement, except for the flicker of accusing and furious eyes.

"It's my misfortune to have inducted or trained superb Occlumensi," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "To search your minds would be folly. So, I adjourn this meeting. And, I'm saddened to say, I will be watching all of you."

Nobody moved. Nobody seemed to know if leaving was the right thing to do.

"You're excused, you know," Dumbledore said with a faint smile. "If you'll pardon me, I must attend to socks."

A confused look swept over the Order's collective faces. Dumbledore nodded his head good-bye and turned, making towards the newly formed double doors.

A dim memory ignited in Harry's brain. Five years ago. The Mirror of Erised. "I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks. One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

"Professor, wait!" Harry called, jogging after Dumbledore. "I think I know something—about socks."

Even more confused eyes were cast upon him, but Harry ignored them and chased after the headmaster.

"Again, I must give you credit. You have a special knack for finding out about things you really needn't or shouldn't. So tell me, Harry, how did you come across my wife?"

"I was wandering around the gift shop and I…kinda ran into her. Some lady told me her story."

"Ah. That gossipmonger nurse of hers," Dumbledore guessed, though there was no anger in his voice. "I suppose you know why she is here?"

"He got her…Voldemort did."

Dumbledore fell silent for a good length of the trip up the stairs. He startled Harry when he spoke again.

"I met her in August of 1937. She was knitting socks, hoping to send them to wizard friends in China for distribution—war with the Japanese had broken out, and they do say to keep one's feet dry if one wants to live through a war. As a result, I dubbed her "Socks". I suppose you could say we hit it off directly. To be frank, Harry, I adored her, complete with her daughter from a previous disastrous non-marital relationship."

"You have a stepdaughter?"

Dumbledore nodded. "My wife's maiden name was McGonagall. You can fathom who her daughter is."

"Professor McGonagall is your stepdaughter?"

"Yes. Well, as it went, I joined the Allies in the Second World War. We continued to court when I came home on furlough, and after I defeated Grindelwald in 1945, I came home and married her. I taught at Hogwarts; she was a seamstress. We together founded the Order when Voldemort rose to power in 1970. But then, nine years later, Voldemort discovered where we were hidden. Only she was home when he attacked. He…tortured her, attempting to get information about me. I had tutored her in Occlumency, and the torture was so terrible that it became perfectly ingrained in her mind, and it proved impossible to draw information from her using the Imperius Curse. Finding her useless, he was about to kill her when I arrived and forced him off. I daresay, Harry, that the incident could well be the reason why he is so afraid of me."

Dumbledore fell silent once more. Harry was caught in a whirlwind of hatred for Voldemort and a mixture of pity for and pride in Dumbledore.

"Someone betrayed us," Dumbledore said suddenly.

"Betcha it was Wormtail," Harry said bitterly, remembering his own hatred. Pettigrew had been partly responsible for the deaths of James, Lilly, and even Sirius, his own friends. What qualms would he possibly have about killing the Headmaster's wife?

"I do not think so," Dumbledore said. "Betraying my wife is one thing that I would put past him."

"Why?"

"Because Wormtail, unlike Voldemort, understands love."

Harry opened his mouth to question further, but cut himself off as he realized they had approached the doorway to the top floor.

"Betimes my wife remembers me," Dumbledore said, peering through the foggy round windows on the door. "I'm afraid I most desperately need her to recognize me now."

"Sir, do you want me to leave?"

"If you wouldn't mind, yes."

Halfway down the stairs Harry turned and looked back. Dumbledore was still standing at the doorway, hands clasped tightly behind his back.