See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.

Apologies for such a late update. First, I lost the use of my computer for several days, and then I was stuck on the dialogue in this chapter... (still not satisfied with the characterisation, frankly...), and I was going to change it all over again. Then I thought about the fact that the last chapter had been posted a week ago, so I decided to post this. Sorry for the lateness.

Chapter 6

Albus woke slowly, painfully. His mind was muddled, and even as he tried to remember what had happened when he and Severus had destroyed the Horcrux, the memories flitted in front of his grasping thoughts, and then darted away.

"Albus?"

He opened his eyes. Severus had propped him up into a sitting position against the wall, and was looking at him with his usual inscrutable black eyes. "Are you all right? The Horcrux was destroyed."

He nodded. "I remember that." His voice was a little scratchy, and Severus handed him a flask of water. Albus finally stood up. "What time is it?"

"Three o'clock in the morning," was Severus's response. He put an arm around Albus's shoulders and supported him as they made their way to the door. Severus stopped when he reached the doorway and murmured a word. The fireplace in Albus's main office suddenly filled with fire, and Albus involuntarily smiled faintly as the fiery warmth caressed his slightly aching bones. I really am getting old, he thought to himself as they both sat down in the chairs again. "Only five more Horcruxes to go," he said, more to himself than to Severus.

"Which one do you want to retrieve next?" Severus asked. Albus looked up and saw his sharp black eyes watching him steadily.

"I was thinking of the locket," he replied tiredly, and summoned a sherbet lemon, which dropped in his lap. The corners of Severus's mouth twitched with amusement. Then his mouth turned down into a frown. "Locket? When?"

"Not before the school year starts," said Albus. "And… I was considering the idea of telling Harry about the Horcruxes."

Severus was silent. Then he said, in a strained tone of voice, "And so the Dark Lord shall pick his brain clean, is that what you want?"

But Albus had already anticipated Severus's caustic response, and was shaking his head. "No, no," he was saying. "I will be teaching him Occlumency before I tell him."

"Well then, I do believe I offer my thanks for taking that brat off my hands."

Albus sent Severus a look that, he reflected, was not exactly quite up to his usual standards of sternness. "Severus, now, you must admit that Harry isn't spoiled."

"Yes, well, he expects all his friends and wonderful caretakers to flock about him. I wouldn't be surprised if he were disappointed that he wasn't made Gryffindor prefect, although Weasley is no better. Gryffindors don't make very good prefects, unless you count Percy Weasley, and he should have been a Slytherin, if it weren't for his idiotic family tradition. By the way, have you spoken to him lately about events in the Ministry?"

Albus nodded. "Yes, I did, the last time I visited the Ministry. I admit, I was pleasantly astonished that he could manage to keep his position even with Cornelius's resignation—"

"Another reason why he should have been in Slytherin—"

"But it seems that Minister Scrimgeour, despite his best efforts, seems to be greatly more interested in appearing to capture Death Eaters than actually capturing them. Did you hear about how the Ministry arrested Stan Shunpike and put him in Azkaban for some idle gossip?"

"Shunpike, the Knight Bus conductor? Brainless Gryffindor, as always."

"Severus," said Albus chidingly.

"What's the matter? He was a Gryffindor in school, a glory seeker like all the rest, I might add, and he is brainless."

"You shouldn't speak of people that way."

"My reputation as a nasty professor and Death Eater requires it, and anyway, I've noticed that you haven't said anything to argue for the presence of brains in Shunpike's head."

Albus neatly side-stepped the issue, and instead he said, "Only because it wouldn't change your opinion. And really now, you shouldn't underestimate people."

Severus shot him a sudden, piercing glance and said, "Nor should we underestimate consequences."

The old headmaster could already hear the implicit meaning in his words. "Severus," he started with the tone of one who has said the same thing over and over again, "you know what you need to do."

"Don't bother," Severus said sourly. "Of course, you would know everything. Everything will be fine in the end, I'm sure." There was something Albus found undefinable in his voice, something resigned and bitter. Sensing that they were beginning to tread upon potentially explosive verbal grounds, he quickly asked, "By the way, Severus, do you have your Defence syllabus prepared? I was wondering what you intended for the students this year."

"Hexes," came his swift reply. "Curses. Shields. None of that ridiculous twaddle that Umbridge had. And the students must start on non-verbal spells. That is what is needed in duels."

"Well, that is much better than Dolores's plans." Albus could not help but smile slightly at that.

"And I want to begin on the Patronus Charm with fourth years and up."

"Fourth years—? Isn't that rather early? It would be very difficult for them."

"Difficult for them, perhaps, but not so difficult for a Dementor to feast on them. This is war, Albus."

Albus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If only," he said musingly to himself, "I had managed to stop Tom when he was young…"

Severus said, "There's no point in saying if only, Albus. We need to work with what we have and what we do." His eyes slid past Albus, gazing distractedly at nothing in particular, as though he was conversing with someone else.

"I know that, Severus. But still…" Albus looked back at Severus. "Do you know, when he first came to Hogwarts, Tom was quite a lot like you?"

"Should I be insulted by this, or delighted at the compliment?"

Albus laughed. "Oh now, that wasn't an insult. He was very inquisitive, very curious, excelled in his magic. Although sometimes, I think a glimpse of what he was to become showed through." He stared pensively into the fire. "He was… uncommonly ruthless, I suppose. He wouldn't let anyone try and order him about. Of course, the professors back then—most of us were dazzled by him. Amazingly charming—he knew exactly how to approach people."

Severus said, "By manipulating their emotions, you mean."

"Well, yes, and that was what made me uneasy. I remember that I kept thinking, all the time, that he was too charming, too wonderful to be real. But Armando Dippet lauded him like nothing else—we all expected great things of him, to change the world."

The Order spy gave a contemptuous laugh. "Tom Riddle, changing the world? Yes, I suppose you could say that, if killing quite a lot of people is changing the world. What a great thing that is, I'm sure."

Albus sighed. "A terrible thing as well. And now… we, the others, must check him, keep him off and defeat him. I think that is a great thing as well, Severus."

Their eyes met, bright tired blue and dark shadowed black, and in that moment, they both acknowledged the other and the work of several decades, and it was a salute of mutual respect.

oOo

During his time at Hogwarts, a schoolboy named Tom Riddle had done extensive research into his ancestry, tracing it all the way back to the famed wizard Salazar Slytherin. Not only had he discovered a basilisk and a chamber, he had found the location of a number of other holdings that Slytherin had kept secret from all others. Now, as Lord Voldemort was preparing another bid for control of the wizarding world, those secret holdings became singularly appropriate for his base of operations.

Castellum Serpens was located in a place which he never revealed to his followers. It was built much in the style of a fort, and the Dark Lord had appropriated the entrance hall for his own usage. It was a place darkened with the shadows thrown by weakly flickering torchlights, and which felt dank and stifling. But then again, the Dark Lord was not fond of bright, cheery things.

He sat on the high dais, listening to Bellatrix Lestrange. His long, spidery fingers were spread out on one of the arms, and his red eyes followed his follower's movements critically even as he listened and contemplated her words.

"My nephew Draco Malfoy has received your command, my Lord," Bellatrix was saying, her wasted faced shining fervently under the faint light. "He is eager to do as you wish and carry out your orders."

The Dark Lord paused, and said bitingly, "You say, Bellatrix, that he is eager to do it. But can he?" He fingered his long yew and phoenix feather wand almost lovingly (except that, of course, he did not love anything, or so one Albus Dumbledore said. He did love one thing in his own twisted way, and that was power, power over others.).

The dark-haired woman said quickly, "Of course he can, my Lord. He is a Malfoy by name, but Black blood runs in his veins, and we have never been known to shirk from duty." The words rang out in a jarring, cacophonous way, flinging themselves around the hall.

"Indeed, or perhaps. I am sure that he will not follow the way of his other relatives—" the Dark Lord began dangerously.

"They are not Blacks, my Lord!" cried Bellatrix, her voice a little defensive at the Black family's black sheep—or white sheep, in a way. "The Black family does not allow cowards and blood traitors!"

The Dark Lord thought of Regulus and Sirius Black, and he said ominously, his voice laced with venom, "Then see to it that you never do again, Bellatrix. Make your nephew ready for what I want of him." He thought of Regulus and Sirius Black, and his magic flared with anger.

Bellatrix sensed the anger. She knelt down again before him, and said, her voice iron-hard with coldness, "My Lord, I will make sure that he does what he must, or he will die doing so."

And that, thought the Dark Lord as he dismissed her and Bellatrix bowed subserviently before leaving, is what I want of him. That fool Lucius Malfoy, such a fool to be caught.

And if Draco Malfoy is to attempt to kill Albus Dumbledore, it is no matter if he might succeed—he will still die in Hogwarts. The others, those Mudbloods and traitors to true magic—they will kill him in the end. And slippery Lucius—he will know exactly how my wrath is incurred, and how I will punish him for failure.

The doors opened again, and the Dark Lord looked at the Death Eater entering the hall. The hooded figure pushed back his hood, revealing black hair, black eyes, a sharp, keen countenance. He bowed to him, keeping his head down deferentially.

The Dark Lord leaned forward. "You may look up, Severus," he said.

Severus Snape, his spy in Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, straightened and looked at him with a lowered face. "My Lord," he said, the usual requirement for the beginning of a meeting. The Dark Lord scrutinised him, as he always did—people could never be trusted, but spies especially. But Severus Snape's face was still and submissive. He smiled with dark satisfaction. "South Africa seems to have been rather amenable to you, I see," he said, still watching Severus's face.

"Yes, my Lord."

"What did you encounter there of use?"

Severus made another quick deferential nod, and withdrew a sheaf of parchment and a box of potions vials from his robes. "My Lord," he began, "many of the potions were of little use to you. However, the Polish witch Halina Laczniczki gave a certain lecture on pain potions. Thus I determined it to be my duty to research those she mentioned. My Lord." He held out the objects in his hand.

The Dark Lord took them and set it to one side. He could look at them later. Now, he had to turn his attention to Severus's principal job—that of spying. "What of Dumbledore and the Order?"

"I have not heard any plans as of yet, my Lord," said Severus. "However, I must inform you that Dumbledore has given me the Defence position." His face was blank.

There was a pause. The Dark Lord leaned forward, his red eyes glittering with undeniable amusement. Now, what shall I do about that jinx? No matter, the Potions professor will just have to leave somehow. Or perhaps… He nodded. "Indeed," he said. "Well, that is a most interesting development. Who has the Potions position?"

"The old professor, Horace Slughorn."

Fifty or so odd years ago, Slytherin student Tom Riddle would have laughed contemptuously at the mention of Horace Slughorn. During his years at Hogwarts, he had been the favourite of Slughorn's Slug Club, but he had secretly despised Slughorn, who he felt had no ambition whatsoever. His respect, whatever of it that he had had in the first place, had utterly disappeared over the years as Slughorn had failed to realise anything that he had been planning. Even when he had casually inquired about Horcruxes, Slughorn had obligingly told him what they were and how they were made.

The Dark Lord sat back in his chair and tried hard not to smirk in front of the Death Eater. After all, he felt, smirks were not what a Dark Lord should do, especially in front of his subordinates. Instead, he said, "Horace Slughorn… So he is back at Hogwarts? How… informative."

Severus remained respectfully silent.

He returned his attention to his spy. "Is that all to report?"

"Yes, my Lord. I am sorry there is nothing more of note, but I have only just returned."

"I should think," said the Dark Lord rather frigidly, "that several days is plenty of time to gather information, Severus. I admit, I am highly disappointed." He passed his eyes over Severus for a moment, and then he flicked out his wand nonchalantly, and said, "Crucio."

There was something about pain that was strikingly satisfying, the Dark Lord reflected as Severus crumpled to his knees, gritting his teeth under the Cruciatus curse. However, he lifted it after only around ten seconds. Severus was a valuable Death Eater, after all, and he appreciated his intelligence. It wouldn't do to put him under the curse for too long. The Dark Lord thought of the Longbottoms, and smiled a cruel smile, his momentary annoyance sated by the thought of the blood traitors' demise at the hands of the Lestranges and Bartemius Crouch Junior.

Severus rose again, trying to stand still and not shake with the faint tremors that usually accompanied the casting of the Cruciatus curse. The Dark Lord surveyed him one final time, and then he said curtly, "I have invested Draco Malfoy with your old task."

Black eyes met his red eyes; Severus said, "Pardon, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord looked at him lazily, from under his half-closed eyes. "I am sure you recall that originally, in 1981, you were to take a position at Hogwarts. I was dissatisfied that you were only able to procure the Potions position—I had specifically wanted the Defence position. You were to bide your time, and then kill Dumbledore at the end of the year." He paused, then added, "Thus fulfilling the curse on the position as well." And he smiled darkly, although his thoughts were tempered with a bit of vitriol and anger. If only that Potter brat had not interfered…

"Yes, my Lord, I do."

"Good. It has come to my attention that Draco Malfoy is eager to prove himself to me and restore his family name—considering Lucius's failure this summer at the Ministry, he has ample reason to do so. I have transferred your original task to him. He is to kill Albus Dumbledore sometime during his school year. This is a test of his loyalty and ability. You will not hinder him in his efforts. Do what you must."

"I have no reason to hinder him, my Lord," replied Severus. "As you will it."

"As I will it," agreed the Dark Lord mockingly. "Return to Hogwarts, Severus. I will expect a fuller report next time."

"My Lord." Severus bowed and retreated from the hall.

The Dark Lord carefully watched him all the way until the spy had left through the doors, and then he stood up and stepped down from the dais. He walked around the chair and into the shadows, up to the wall. There, a large map of the United Kingdom was attached to the cold stones.

Potter's birthday is in a few days. What shall I give him as my present to him? And he laughed, a low, darkly amused laugh. Happy birthday, Potter. What family shall I attack for you?

oOo

A hooded woman, not in Death Eater robes, accosted Bellatrix Lestrange in the corridor while another Death Eater had gone in. "What did he say?" she demanded almost hysterically. "What did the Dark Lord say?"

Bellatrix shot the woman an almost proud glance. "He was sceptical of Draco's abilities," she replied haughtily. "I assured him he was perfectly capable and that I would help him succeed."

"Bella!" cried the woman. Her hood fell back, revealing beautiful, delicate features, the planes of her face slanting up to high cheekbones; light blonde hair pulled back into an elaborate chignon at the nape of her graceful neck; shining, almond-shaped blue eyes. At present, the blue eyes were watering and beginning to spill with tears. "But he can't!"

Bellatrix was already shaking her head even as Narcissa was speaking. "This is your chance to redeem the Malfoy name, Cissy!" she said in exasperation. "Lucius failed him—when Draco kills the Muggle-lover Dumbledore, then the Dark Lord will be pleased."

"When! When? It's if! He won't be able to do it, he's far too young, he can't—"

"He's a Black and a Malfoy," interrupted Bellatrix. "He will." Her voice was flat and it brooked no argument. "I'll make sure of it, Cissy, I will. He will succeed."

"And die while doing so!"

"Cissy," said Bellatrix, "so the Dark Lord doesn't matter to you?"

"No, of course he matters, but Draco can't do it, Bella, you know that yourself! It's just punishment for Lucius's failure, Draco will die, they won't care about him, they'll kill him!" Narcissa felt as though she was going to pieces. Oh Merlin, Bella, it's my son we're talking about, it's my son! Lucius is gone, and now he'll die too, and Bella, how can you let him die! The last phrase was a soundless wail, but her eyes pleaded quietly, desperately.

Bellatrix wiped away the tears tracking their way down Narcissa's face with a handkerchief. "Narcissa," she said impatiently, "I'll train Draco. I'll train him so he can do it, and he will! The Dark Lord has spoken, and we will not defy him."

Narcissa leaned against the stone wall, her whole body feeling numb and cold with fear for her son. "Very well," she said, her voice coming out small and tiredly. "Very well. But Draco can't die, Bella, he's my only son…"

"I know," said Bella. She watched Narcissa for a moment longer, and then she said, "Yaxley is waiting for me, I must go." She turned on her heel and left, dark hair flying out behind her, leaving Narcissa standing by herself and terribly alone.

She did not know exactly how long she was standing there, lost in her thoughts and fear and hurt, when another voice said, sardonically, "Has one of your plots gone awry, Narcissa?"

Narcissa whirled around, startled and involuntarily stiffening at the realisation that someone had snuck up on her without her knowing. At first she did not recognise the man who stood before him, but as her eyes travelled over his short black hair, emotionless dark eyes, and his striking face, she blinked, and said, her voice faltering slightly, "Oh, Severus, it's you. The Dark Lord called you, then?"

"Yes." The reply was short, curt, and cold. He watched her for a moment, before saying, "He also told me about the honour he had given to Draco."

Narcissa's heart seemed to seize up and gasp. "Yes, it's an honour," she said quickly. "Then—then he'll be able to make the Dark Lord happy, he'll please him, and Lucius will be forgiven for his failure."

"I don't think that's what you think," said Severus, his eyes dangerous and calculating. He smiled at her, but it was not a particularly nice smile. It was assessing and weighing her desires and motivations, and evaluating how they would affect her actions. Why, Narcissa thought, a little fear worming its way into her heart, does Severus have to be such a Slytherin? Why does he have to be so observant?

Then she abruptly remembered that Severus was an accomplished Legilimens as well as an Occlumens, and quickly averted her eyes so that they were resting on the piece of stone wall next to Severus's head.

But Severus obviously noticed. The ends of his mouth curved up in a vaguely amused smirk. "Am I that ugly to you, Narcissa?" he asked.

"No, no, you're not ugly, Severus. It's only—" Narcissa did not know why she did what she did, but then again, perhaps it was because Severus was one of Draco's professors—she gripped his arm tight and led him into the shadowed corners. "Draco can't do it," she whispered, feeling her eyes beginning to water again—oh Merlin, this was ridiculous, having her lose her Black bred composure in front of a half-blood!

"I know he can't," Severus replied in that smirking, infuriating way of his. "He isn't ruthless enough. He's too involved in his petty rivalries; he can't actually murder anyone."

"You think so too?" Any other time, Narcissa would have been cautious, but this was not any other usual time. "Couldn't you do it for him? At least spare him that much—"

"Narcissa." Severus's voice was icy, cold, and Narcissa felt the shifts of magic around them, pooling and hovering near Severus, ready to do his bidding. He was angry. "Should I risk my cover for his sake? The Dark Lord does not approve of that. And my information is much more important. Draco will have to learn how to do it, or die in the attempt."

Oh yes, Severus was being cold. Narcissa felt a tear make its trail down her face, and she quickly turned it away, so that Severus wouldn't see it. "He's your student," she said, her voice oddly detached, because she knew that Severus wasn't really listening to her words. "You're his teacher. You have a duty to him…"

"I have a higher duty, Narcissa."

"To the Dark Lord, yes," Narcissa replied. She took up the bitterness that rose in her soul, and sealed it away into the part of herself that festered with anger and resentment against the Dark Lord for ruining their family like this. Lucius in jail, Draco to be killed. Secretly, a bitter, dark part of her whispered, He isn't exalting us purebloods, he's destroying us. Why couldn't things have stayed the way they used to be?

Severus was silent. Then he suddenly said, "Narcissa, I cannot promise anything to you, but I will do my best to keep Draco alive, if that makes you feel any better."

An overwhelming wave of relief swept over Narcissa. Severus was considered by Dumbledore to be trustworthy, he placed stock in Severus, if he stepped in for Draco and said a few words—

My son will be alive. Her magic threatened to spill out with barely concealed relief. But her eyes narrowed—Severus Snape did not have favours to give, only agreements—and she said, "What do you require in return?"

"I hear," Severus said, cocking his dark head to one side, "that the Malfoy manor has a library with a very extensive collection of manuscripts, many of which are very rare editions." He flashed her another smirk.

Books? Severus, I'll give all the books in there to you, as long as Draco stays safe. She nodded; said in a more composed tone, "I might invite you over to the manor sometime, since you have expressed such an interest in our library. Some of it might help you with your research."

"I am glad that we have come to a mutual understanding," said Severus. Nodding to her, he stepped around her and walked off, his black robes billowing behind him.

Narcissa lay her head against the wall. I will have to teach Draco how to be careful this year, she thought to herself. He must stay alive.

oOo

Over the course of two years at the Ministry of Magic—more specifically, working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, then the Minister's inner circle—it was well known that Percy Ignatius Weasley had the regular habit of going to the Ministry library and archives every day during the lunch break. Invariably, the librarian (forty-six years old, former Ravenclaw, wore a golden pince-nez and a grey wig) would look up at that time to see a redheaded man with tortoise shell glasses walk in and take a seat. His seat was always near the back of the library, where most people would not be able to see him unless they were actively searching for him. He always sat at the same table, the same chair, next to the same bookshelf containing the entire series of Hogwarts, a History editions through the ages. He always left after fifteen minutes, off to get some lunch. The librarian, a kindly woman by the name of Mrs Doten, assumed that Percy Weasley must be an extremely academic type of worker, considering he was always browsing through the books and skimming through them.

To the contrary, Percy Weasley was not so much an academic type of worker as he was a very dedicated one, although only two other people knew his actual status of "work."

Percy Weasley was a spy.

He was a very good one.

He sat in the back of the library, pretending to glance through an old copy of the Ministry election results dating from 1846. In reality, he was expanding his awareness of his surroundings, using his Legilimency skills to gently skim over the surfaces of others' minds.

Ah, there's Turnpike again. What is he reading about—the preparation of pickles? And—oh, good Merlin—

He hastily skipped over the mind of Maxwell Lannister, who was discreetly peeking at a copy of a rather more indiscreet type of magazine. Trying to ignore the disturbing images that he had seen, his Legilimency scan suddenly came to an abrupt halt as it bounced off an Occlumency shield, which seemed to fluidly accommodate the probe before launching it back at him with a surprising speed.

Percy winced at the impact. This was a contact day, then. The last contact day had been nearly a month and a half ago. Pity his contact had to be so irritable at times…

He got up from his chair and leisurely made his way over to the bookshelf with the editions of the venerated Hogwarts, a History. Slipping between that bookshelf and another, he ambled up to a block of books on Ministry procedures for filing legal claims. He took one of the books off the shelves and opened it, setting the spine of the book against the bookshelf. Conveniently enough, his visual line of sight happened to go right through the vacancy left by the book, across an aisle, to another vacancy at an angle, where another pair of eyes flickered up to meet his.

Hello, Professor, Percy said to Professor Severus Snape.

Weasley. Yep, Snape was definitely annoyed today. Percy thought he had a good inkling as to why. The day happened to be the thirty-first of July, which also happened to be the birthday of Harry James Potter, a certain Boy-Who-Lived. No wonder Snape was irritable.

Wait, he usually was anyway. Percy wondered how he was supposed to categorise Snape's levels of irritability. Number one, the highest level of hell. Number two, the middle level of hell. Number three, the lowest level of hell… No, he was being too hard on the professor. Considering the fact that he had to spend so much time around immature children…

How's your day been, Professor? Percy asked, a note of mischief underlying his words.

The reply came in words that, if spoken, would have been in the form of a scowl and a glare. Very funny, I'm sure, Weasley. You're taunting me, just because you've managed to escape the brats. By brats, he meant his brothers, no doubt. What has Scrimgeour been up to again?

The Minister, Percy began—he had the sort of malicious satisfaction at going off on long tangents and watching people get confused and bored—issued an order yesterday putting Ministry Aurors on guard around Hogwarts—

I already know that, Weasley, snapped Snape (Alliteration, thought Percy). I live there, you dimwit! Don't bother with the public stuff, get to what we need to know!

Percy sighed. Sometimes he thought that last year had really been more interesting. Of course, he had had to fight the desire to cast a Silencing charm on his superior Dolores Umbridge at times, but it had almost been thrilling. He had warned Dumbledore about Cornelius Fudge coming to arrest him—that was how the venerable Hogwarts headmaster had known and been prepared for it, and Percy had even gone so far as to tweak the team a bit. Beckett Sumner, one of the two Aurors in the former Minister's personal guard (the other being Derek Dawlish), had unexpectedly been struck with a strain of the stomach virus, happening to fortunately recover after only a few hours. Thus, the Junior Undersecretary to the British Minister of Magic had hurriedly—and randomly, of course—chosen Kingsley Shacklebolt as a temporary replacement. Dumbledore had been highly amused at Percy's machinations.

Weasley, came Snape, sneering, you're no James Bond yet. Stop broadcasting your thoughts and say something substantial.

James Bond? Percy wondered. But he cleared his head of his miscellaneous thoughts, looked across the aisle. Scrimgeour doesn't like Dumbledore, he said plainly. He thinks he's mucking around in the Ministry, and he resents that. He's also rather insecure, because, considering that Voldemort's back, and this is within his first few months as Minister—I've been assuring him that he can do a good job, of course.

Undoubtedly, he can, muttered Snape. As soon as he stops going after idiots like Shunpike. Haven't you managed to direct his attention toward any of the hideouts I gave you?

Look here now, Percy said, I can't out and out say to him, "By the way, Minister, Fenrir Greyback has many of his werewolves in this particular forest, and so and so should be arrested." He's just more worried about looking like he's doing the best he can, to boost public morale.

He shouldn't just boost it, grumbled Snape. He needs to actually do something, Weasley.

Oh, so now you're blaming me. Brilliant.

You seem to have misheard, Weasley. I was complaining about Scrimgeour, Snape said.

Percy replied, Well, there's no use complaining, Professor, so we need to do something as well.

Typically Gryffindor.

You always say I'm more Slytherin, don't you?

You originally intended to be Minister of Magic…

Percy grinned. I think it's a lot more fun pulling strings in the background.

Fun?

Yes, fun, Professor.

Very well, then. Percy felt a sadistic edge to Snape's words. Then you can check out these specific books for me. History, to be exact. History of dark magic—to be more precise, Dark wizards and their experiments.

Er… why? Percy asked, puzzled. And why do I have to do it? Couldn't you just check out the books?

Because, Snape replied, my library records will show what I am borrowing. On the other hand, you being the Junior Undersecretary means that your records are on the highest clearance. And since I am a supposedly former Death Eater, the Ministry would be suspicious if they were to see what I was borrowing.

Fine, fine, muttered Percy. Can I ask why these books specifically?

It has something to do with lycanthropy.

Pardon?

At the Potions convention I went to, one of the participants there spoke to me about the Wolfsbane potion—its usefulness evidently expires after a period of use. It seems that the potion's effectiveness wears off as the lycanthropy gets used to it. Also, it seems that the lycanthropy has a soul of its own. Snape's voice was vaguely distasteful.

A soul of its own? Percy resisted the urge to take off his glasses and polish the lenses, an action he usually did when confronted with another huge problem. So it's alive?

Not only alive, said Snape, but it looks as though the lycanthropy was formed from experimenting with Dark magic. That is why I'm researching all these books—there must be some written record of Dark experimentation.

Good Merlin, thought Percy. He placed the opened book on the bookshelf and took off his glasses, proceeding to polish the lens ferociously with the sleeves of his slim Ministry robes. Well, good luck to you, Professor.

If you're half so clever as you think you are, you can research it too, and we can see what useless theories you will come up with.

Percy smiled to himself. Amidst all the insults, he had sensed the vague compliment—that Snape, at least, was willing to have Percy work on the problem as well.

Mm-hmm. Is that all for today?

Yes.

Snape stepped back from the other shelf, and seemed ready to turn and go, when Percy suddenly, quickly asked, How's my family?

Your family?

Yeah, my family. Are they all right?

Snape grunted. Your parents and siblings continue to be disappointed that you refuse to reconcile with them. They are surprised and astonished that you doggedly cling to the Minister, when it is obvious that Fudge was wrong. Ron and Ginevra Weasley are openly annoyed with you, the wretched twins have sworn to take revenge, and the elder two mutter about how you were always too thick to see the truth.

That's flattering, Percy said, his voice dripping sarcasm. The annoying thing about being a spy, reflected Percy, was that no-one else was ever allowed to know.

Meanwhile, I assume that as soon as I get back to headquarters, they will be having a huge, ridiculous birthday party for Potter, where he will be inundated by gifts and cake.

Percy grinned. Oh dear, Professor Snape, are you jealous of Harry's party?

His only response was a mental sneer, as Snape turned around and stalked away, a book tucked under his arm to preserve his cover of browsing through the bookshelves.

oOo

"Castellum Serpens": castellum is Latin, literally for "fortified village," and Serpens is a constellation in the shape of a snake.

The "as you will it" exchange is from Nomad1's Conspiracy of Silence.

The quip about Percy Weasley being a very good spy is taken verbatim from Samvimes's International Relations.

Turnpike and the preparation of pickles come from Tess's The Diary of Gregory J. Turnpike.

Some people may be surprised by my characterisation of Percy Weasley, but I believe that there is quite a bit of evidence in OotP that he is a Ministry spy. First, considering that Shacklebolt is head of the Black manhunt, why would he be with Fudge to arrest Dumbledore—unless someone had arranged it all before. And Dumbledore seemed to be expecting it… Also, Percy's letter to Ron can be construed as a warning. He couldn't very well say right out to Ron what he meant, what with Umbridge opening the students' mail. And to be honest, the idea of him being a secret spy is much more exciting...

Sorry for the late update, and please review!

Talriga