See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.

Sorry about the nearly week long wait. I'm sad to say that I didn't make it into the finals of the piano competition this weekend... but I've consoled myself with the fact that I happened to beat one of the three finalists in another (!) piano competition the weekend before, when I was the winner.

And now, without further ado, let me present:

Chapter 8

For the students of Hogwarts, the Forbidden Forest was an enigma. The very name seemed to whisper of secrets and hidden intrigues. Forbidden, Albus Dumbledore said every year at the start-of-year feast. Forbidden to students. Forbidden, and that was the rule, the law.

Severus Snape was much more familiar with the Forest than most. He took regular forays amidst the trees, although he was never one to admire the scenery. For him, the Forest was usually just a road, a path to an isolated clearing where he would then raise his wand (juniper and dragon heartstring, eleven inches, very intense and formidable, Ollivander had said to an eleven year old Severus) and Apparate to the Dark Lord's side. Otherwise, he gathered rare potions ingredients, those that grew in the Forest and were rarely found at the apothecary.

Tonight, he felt much more at leisure, as he walked in the quiet night. Occasionally, there was the rustle of leaves as a faint night breeze whistled through the tree branches, which made strange shadows upon the ground. The darkness was there, of course, the calm, mysterious, unknowledgeable darkness, forming in dusk and night and pitch dark black—but Severus was not one who minded that. He had been in darkness for nearly all of his life—it was his native land, in a way that the bright light of ridiculous laughter and outright silliness had never been.

He moved through the brush quietly. He felt the slight lessening of pressure between his shoulder blades as he stepped out of the boundaries of Hogwarts's wards. Hogwarts murmured, We're outside the wards now, Severus. Be careful.

I have been careful for more than half my life, responded Severus, subvocalising the words in his throat. I do not see why this should be any different. He came to the edge of a moonlit clearing, and looked about.

Nothing's ever the same, was Hogwarts's reply, and then the castle retreated from the forefront of Severus's mind, to return and devote her attention to the safety of those within her.

Severus heard the crackle of twigs, and calmly turned around. A young centaur stood behind him; curly, tangled brown hair framed his square jawed face, and piercing black eyes passed over him, methodically and slowly. "Severus Snape," he said, and even though he spoke the words quietly, the greeting was clear and ringing in the night air. "I am Fionn. Lahir Cahadhwy asked me to take you to him, so the two of you may speak." He fell silent, and watched him.

The Potions Master simply nodded and stepped forward. He had learned over time that the centaurs had their own way of speaking, of calm, careful words and cool thoughts and expressions that said more than actual words. Some people (such as Dolores Umbridge, Severus thought nastily) took that as proof that centaurs were slow-witted and dull, unable to say anything other than brief sentences about the planets and stars. That was a perception which was utterly false.

He knew, also, that his situation was rare—perhaps even one of a kind. The centaurs who lived near the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, like Bane and Magorian and Firenze (or at least, he once had done so), those that Rubeus Hagrid, as part of his job as groundskeeper, knew and recognised—those were the ones who were actually assigned the job to guard the centaurs from human interference. They spoke in riddles, in annoyingly cryptic circles around and around and around, flaunting their distaste for human beings as much as some humans flaunted their distaste for them. They were so experienced at doing their job so that the Centaur Liaison Office at the Ministry had become the most well known place for Ministry workers whose careers had come to a stop. For a human to be allowed to meet with the Lahir—well, Severus wondered if anyone else even knew who the centaur leader was, or even the name of his position.

He ducked under a low hanging branch and idly brushed a leaf off of the right sleeve of his black robes. In front of him, Fionn's trotting began to slow down, and finally he halted and stepped to the side. "Go," he said. "The Lahir is waiting for you." He backed away into the dark shadows, before turning around and cantering off.

Severus stepped into a pool of moonlight shining upon the forest floor. Amongst the gnarled, older trees and soft grass, he saw Lahir Cahadhwy. He stood there, watching Severus levelly with his light grey eyes. For a moment, he reminded Severus of a marble statue, half in and half out of the shadows. Then the muscles in his body rippled as he moved forward, and said, in perfect English, "Severus Snape."

"Lahir Cahadhwy," Severus replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. He had dealt often enough with the Lahir as the Dark Lord's prisoner once before; he could do it with the Lahir free in the Forbidden Forest.

Lahir Cahadhwy lowered his head slightly, in a small nod. He angled his head to the side, and then said, "Yes. Mars is bright tonight."

Severus knew that Cahadhwy did not mean it in the literal sense; any half-wit, even an idiotic Ministry drone, would have known what he meant. The red light of war, he thought, and the green light of Avada Kedavra. Green and red makes dead. He suppressed a grim smile. Green and red makes dead… "It will become bright for a very long time," he answered. "And it will shine more brightly than before."

The faintest trace of a ghostly smile appeared on Cahadhwy's face. "Ah, yes," he said, "but what do you consider your before, Professor? Which set of memories do you refer to?"

Severus raised his head. "Both."

Cahadhwy gave him a slanted look. "Red Mars," he murmured. "So prevalent." He turned sharply to the side. "Come," he said.

Severus walked over to him and stood next to Cahadhwy. They both stood there, staring deep into the Forest. "You want us to fight," Cahadhwy said suddenly.

"What else would I have come for?" Severus asked. "I want it, of course. I do not demand it, I ask it."

"And do we have any choice?" said Cahadhwy abruptly, swinging around to look at Severus. "We have been ignored and belittled by the Ministry, and the Umbridge woman called us half-breeds, although we are neither human nor horse, we are centaurs and we all are magical, more so than you humans. The Dark Lord ignores us as well—he did not attack us at all throughout his first rise years ago."

"You saw my memories," Severus countered. "He destroyed the Forest, he ruined it so no-one could live in it. You saw what became of yourself."

"And lower ourselves to fighting with humans?"

"Lower?" said Severus. "I was never aware that there was a higher or a lower."

Cahadhwy eyed him for a moment, and then he smiled. "You are a clever one, Professor," he said. "You catch up quickly."

"I have had plenty of years of experience," Severus said truthfully. Well, not quite truthfully—he had spoken with the other Lahir Cahadhwy for only half a year before the Lahir had finally been killed, the last of the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest. But he had had years to at least think about it.

"And there was no need for you to ask," said the Lahir promptly. "You knew, already, that I would have said yes."

"Yes."

"And what shall you do when the Forest—not Hogwarts, but this forest, which is our home and we love with our hearts and souls—what shall you do when the Forest is attacked?"

"I will aid you. The castle will as well."

Cahadhwy nodded again; Severus had evidently passed his test, full of twists and turns. Severus had heard the trap in his words. If he had said, "I will defend the Forest," he would have subconsciously assumed that the centaurs could not defend without him. By the promise of aid, he gave help when the centaurs needed it, and not more than they needed. The centaurs, after all, were fiercely proud beings. Their words, Severus had long ago recognised, hid more than they appeared to acknowledge. Theirs was a swift, silent sword fight he fully appreciated—the subtle insinuations, the sudden, almost Gryffindor in a way blunt statements that caught others off guard. The feints and the thrusts.

"Very well," said Cahadhwy. "And one more thing, Professor. There is something the Forest hates in here. Let out your magic, and you will know what I feel. That is the last task I want you to do, as part of our agreement—to rid the forest of that which is slowly poisoning it."

Within Severus's mind, a vague sense of suspicion sprang into being. Severus looked down at himself and drew in a sharp, quick breath. "As you ask," he said delicately, and once again slowly relaxed the shields around his magic. It rushed out in a breathlessly joyful way, the by now familiar black flames flying towards the ground, rustling the fallen leaves, and making little patterns on the forest floor.

"Your magic sings," said Lahir Cahadhwy, and Severus looked sharply at the centaur leader to see him with a curious expression on his face. "It has been imprisoned for a long time."

"I know it has," Severus said. "But it was necessary."

"Necessary," said Cahadhwy. "Anything can be necessary, once you want it enough. You would prefer not to let your magic free, because otherwise you might have the possibility of losing control, and you do not like that, do you, Professor?"

If anyone had been watching the two figures, they might have noticed the slight stiffening of Severus's jaw, the way his eyes stared in a strained way straight ahead. But Severus knew that he would not lie, not lie to an ally. He said, "No, I do not." I do not like losing control, he thought, and that is the truth. If I lost control of myself, if I did not watch my every move and check anything that might mark me as contrary to a Death Eater, I would be dead by now.

But you still struggle, said Hogwarts suddenly, and Severus nearly started in surprise. The castle continued, How can you live, if you lock away a part of yourself?

I have lived well enough for decades, said Severus.

The Lahir had been silent for a while, but now he turned his head to say to Severus, in the centaur language, that which tasted of moonbeams and subtle shadings on the tongue, You have your magic, whether you like it or not. Let it out—I ask it of you, as one ally asks another.

Severus sighed, and released the pressure he still had left on his shields. His magic rose like a glittering black fire, bathing the trees in its darkly brilliant glow. It spread outward, like water spilling out of an overfilling cup and continuing to flow and flow and flow—

And then his magic cried, and cringed away from something. Even as the question came to Severus's mind as to what that something was (but he already knew the answer, don't I? he thought to himself), he could already guess as to why.

The flames had fetched up against a taint, a vile poison that seemed to bleed with a sense which Severus could only describe as wrongness. Just as nature hated to flow from low to high, pushing itself beyond its limits, and he hated the lies that he always said and flawlessly executed (so much that sometimes he could not tell the difference from the truth, because at that very moment, his lie would be truth to him), so the Forest and magic and everything else hated the wrongness. It felt oddly familiar, Severus thought, and then he remembered a ring, and his notes, and a memory—not of the time he lived in now, but a time that was years in the future, and which he never wanted to happen, not to him again, not to anyone else—and knew why.

"I feel it," he said, and wasn't surprised to see that Lahir Cahadhwy did not ask what it was that he felt. The Lahir remained silent. The centaurs had always felt it there, lingering on the edges of their consciousness, its malice and bitterness poisoning the air around them. Severus wondered why no-one else had ever felt it before, and then a thought came to him, so stunning and yet at the same time he knew it was true: I have more magic, more than Albus. That's why I sense it. The centaurs were one with the Forest, they knew innately, their magic knew innately. It was the wizards and witches who were too busy with their lives, who ignored the signs from the Forest and carried on with their lives. What would they think, thought Severus, if they knew a part of the Dark Lord rested so close to Hogwarts? The Dark Lord must think it most ironic. How could Albus have not known? How could Hogwarts have not known?

The castle spoke up in his mind, bristling slightly. My magical awareness only extends as far as the wards, and then down to Hogsmeade, she said defensively. Outside of that, I can feel nothing. I am not there, I cannot feel anything in the deeper parts of the Forest.

I'm not blaming you, said Severus quickly. But then—Merlin, then it needs to be destroyed—

No! Severus was taken aback at Hogwarts's vehemence in the words. You only know what it is, you don't know how to destroy it!

Albus and I destroyed the ring—

Tom Riddle, said Hogwarts, and her voice was all at once angry and sorrowful—angry that one of her former students had turned against her and what she stood for, and sorrowful that it had happened in the first place. He learned so much twisted, corrupted magic—you know he put different safeguards around his Horcruxes, and you don't know what he did for this. Remember Albus's hand?

Severus was ominously silent. Fine, as you wish, he said finally. But to have it so close to here, right next to you—

Don't you think I hate it now too? Now that I know what lies so close to me? retorted Hogwarts. But will you act like a foolhardy idiot?

Gryffindor?

No, just an idiot in general. Severus could practically hear Hogwarts fuming. You are being foolish, if you get killed, who will know what is coming—

She fell silent.

What is it? Severus asked quickly. A feeling of uneasiness was rising in his throat, and he tried to swallow down the bile that was threatening to overcome him. What is it? he asked more urgently.

When the castle finally answered, it was more of a strangled cry than it was a coherent sentence. Death Eaters. And Dementors, she replied. Dementors—in Hogsmeade. Oh… she trailed off.

Severus looked down sharply at his left forearm. Although his robes covered his skin, he could still feel the very faint soreness, and now he knew why the Dark Lord had called his followers tonight. And it is Potter's birthday as well, he realised. The Dark Lord has always had a different sense of celebration than that of others.

He raised his head to look at Lahir Cahadhwy, who was watching him steadily. "Lahir," said Severus, his voice unwavering, "The village of Hogsmeade is under attack."

Cahadhwy nodded. "Yes."

Severus watched him carefully. Cahadhwy moved forward slowly and looked at Severus. "We hold true to our agreements," he said. "We will be there."

Severus's eyes lingered on the centaur leader for a moment longer, as though confirming Cahadhwy's words, and then he was turning and running off through the forest, to the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

oOo

As soon as Beckett had pulled his head out of the fire, Kingsley Shacklebolt came tumbling out, his robes slightly askew. "Where's the others?" Kingsley asked.

"Follow me," Beckett answered, and ran over to one of the many doors lining the corridor. He opened it hastily and hurried in.

Beckett's eyes flew quickly over the many Aurors already gathered. All of their faces were grim, their expressions tense. They were all dressed in the trademark dark blue robes of an Auror, short sleeves halfway to the wrist. They stood in groups of five—it was one of the types of fighting formations for the Aurors: five in a circle, facing outward, called the open battle formation. They knew each other's quirks, tendencies, habits, and utilised them to the best of their ability when fighting.

As Kingsley rushed over to Squad Eight, Beckett took his place in Squad Seven. This room was the debriefing room, and the room was completely silent as Head Auror Gawain Robards's voice rang out, amplified by the Sonorus charm.

"Aurors," said Gawain, his words brisk and efficient. He was a good Head, Beckett thought. "Hogsmeade is being attacked by Death Eaters and Dementors from this direction." He pointed his wand at the wall and a map of the vicinity of Hogsmeade appeared. He flicked his wand again, and a myriad of black and grey dots blinked into existence on the map. Beckett scanned the map thoroughly. The dots were approaching Hogsmeade rapidly, the magical village sandwiched between the attacking forces and the Forbidden Forest. Gawain spoke again, "I know this is usually open battle, but considering the Dementors, change to dementor formation."

The Aurors hastily reassembled themselves. Beckett cursed himself for being able to cast the Patronus charm very well, and went to one of the lines in the front, Line Two. Those bloody Dementors… he scowled and tightened his grip on his wand. Of course, all Aurors were required to be able to perform the Patronus charm, but still…

"Line One and Two, stationed near the Forbidden Forest—that's where most of the Dementors are. Three and Four, at the Three Broomsticks. Five and Six, at the beginning of the path up to Hogwarts. Everyone else, we're going by the Hog's Head. Portkeys to the side, Aurors. Good luck."

In a smooth movement, every Auror in the room surrounded a series of Portkeys. "Activate!" was the combined cry, and then Beckett was near the Forbidden Forest and he could feel the coldness. He turned to see the Dementors floating off towards to Hogsmeade—no, no, they're supposed to stay here, they can't get to the village, they'll finish it off—and suddenly the flash of black robes—

"Avada Kedavra!"

Beckett nearly stumbled and ducked out of the way of a sizzling Killing Curse, which struck a tree behind him, charring the bark. He returned the favour with a gasped, "Suffauc!"

The Suffocating spell was neatly blocked by the masked Death Eater's Protego shield, although he narrowly dodged one of Owen Zanar's hexes. Beckett fell back and quickly ran an eye over his situation: about fifteen Death Eaters surrounding the ten Aurors. He felt a brief burst of frustration in his heart. Great, we're outnumbered and we have the Dementors out for us…

Next to him, Kingsley Shacklebolt shouted, "Stupefy!" Beckett grabbed him by the shoulder and quickly jerked him out of the path of "Fresnan!" Kingsley coughed as the blue light brushed against his right sleeve, and as he swung around, Beckett saw that ice crystals hung from the cloth, the results of a barely missed Freezing Curse.

"Thanks, Beckett," said Kingsley, scrambling to maintain his balance. They both turned as one to a Death Eater approaching behind Jacqueline Asterbury and roared, "Stupefy!"

As the two jets of red light struck the Death Eater in the chest and he crumpled to the ground, Jacqueline, seemingly undisturbed by the fracas, shot off a succession of hexes at another masked figure, who was hit in the shoulder by one of them and staggered in pain.

Beckett made a quick mental count—two Death Eaters down, he noted—and then his eyes rested on an twitching bundle of blue cloth, Edward Bates lying on the ground, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood from a gash in his leg which reached all the way to the cold white bone, and he thought, one Auror down. He gave a savage twist to his wand, and his non-verbal Expelliarmus rushed toward another one of the Death Eaters, who stepped out of the way and yelled in a slightly accented voice, "Cytan!"

Beckett snapped out, "Protego!" and the mild Cutting Curse bounced off his shield, slashing into another tree nearby.

"We've got to get to Hogsmeade!" Owen screamed over the furious spell casting. "The Dementors—my god, the Dementors, they'll swamp them if we don't get them off!"

The fight was drawing closer to the village. Over the heads of his opponents, Beckett could see a fire burning, and shadowy figures darting from building to building. The Death Eaters, backing away from the small group of Aurors, suddenly surged forward in a concentrated effort that left Daisy Faune motionless on the ground and Jeffrey Kuge bleeding from a multitude of cuts on his chest. He stumbled several steps, and then collapsed. His blood spurted upon the ground, staining the grass dark crimson.

Three Death Eaters down, three Aurors down. We're even.

As he fired off another "Stupefy!" at a Death Eater, Beckett had the sinking feeling that they would not fare well in this encounter. There simply weren't enough Aurors to combat the fifty or so Death Eaters that had attacked Hogsmeade. Then his train of thought was abruptly cut off as a "Crucio!" struck him in the stomach, and he screamed.

There could be no coherent thoughts under a Cruciatus Curse, except perhaps wishing for the pain to stop. Beckett crumpled under the pain which the body felt, the signals running to his mind, to where he felt only the knives, stabbing and slicing and breaking through his skin and the hotness madness pain pain pain that never ends, will never end, and it is all he knows and feels and he screams screams screams and his mind will explode—

He lay gasping on the ground, his ribs aching and his mind still inwardly moaning. A shadow fell across him, and he looked up and saw Jacqueline Asterbury, her light brown hair falling across her face as she turned and deflected a curse that would only have prolonged the torture. "Confundo!" she snapped with a flick of her wand, and the Death Eater lurched slightly in confusion before Jacqueline finished him off with a "Stupefy!"

Four Death Eaters down, four Aurors down. I'm down.

He knew that he couldn't get up, even if he was trying his best. Frissons of pain still shook his body, and his face twisted into a ugly grimace. As the fighting momentarily shifted away from them, Jacqueline knelt down—her eyes still darting around, ready for any suspicious movement—and put her hand on Beckett's chest. "Beckett," she said fiercely, "you stay here. Don't bother, we'll take care of the others, you don't need to strain yourself."

A gasp escaped his throat, ragged from screaming. Beckett looked past her kneeling body, saw the others still fighting. Eleven Death Eaters, six Aurors. How can we fight that many—

And then a loud, ringing twang sliced through the air and he saw a Death Eater falling to the ground, his eyes still wide in surprise, an arrow protruding from his heart. Then there was the drumming sound of hooves, and he turned his head slightly, and he was stunned.

A group of centaurs, their bows held ready with arrows fitted, were charging down on the Death Eaters. Their faces were emotionless, still and without expression. But they galloped towards the Death Eaters, their bows directed at them, and the Death Eaters, also surprised, turned and, without fully thinking, fled the centaurs, the centaurs who never ever participated in battles between the Death Eaters and the Aurors, but who now were.

And they were gone, leaving behind a group of tired Aurors who knew that they should be chasing the Dementors, yet could not do it—not yet…

Kingsley Shacklebolt got up and walked wearily over to Jacqueline and him, the others doubling back to help the wounded—and gather the dead. Beckett remembered blonde haired Daisy Faune, face down in the dirt, her long curls in disarray around her cold body. He wondered if Edward Bates and Jeffrey Kuge were all right.

"I wonder why the centaurs came?" Jacqueline muttered in a quizzical tone, her blue eyes following the path the denizens of the Forbidden Forest had taken. "They've never intervened in battles before…" Her breath came in slow, tiring gasps.

"Who knows?" Kingsley said; then shrugged; finally, frowned in vague consternation.

"Who—" Beckett's voice felt strangely raw and ragged to his own ears. Despite Jacqueline's better efforts, he managed to struggle and sit up. "The casualties?" he croaked. The casualties. He winced inwardly at the emotionless way he had said it. The casualties. Now they'd be nothing more than numbers, and people would never remember that they had once been alive, and laughed, and spoke, and loved, and hated, and cried—and fought.

Kingsley's face was bleak and a little bitter with anger. "Daisy and Jeff," he said harshly. "That damned Fudge, it's all his fault! If we only had more Aurors—but he halted the training program a few years back, and we haven't had a single new Auror since the class of 1994."

"Not just Fudge," said Jacqueline. "Damn them all." Her voice was more tired than furious. "You-Know-Who. The Death Eaters. And Scrimgeour, he doesn't understand, cooped up behind his desk and everything. He's not one of us anymore, he doesn't understand—"

She broke off abruptly, her usually glowing face paling to the colour of ivory—to the expression of fear. And Beckett felt the cool breeze, the wintry chill. And he heard his worst memories in his mind.

The Death Eaters had gone, sprinting off down to Hogsmeade, chased by the centaurs. But their allies had not simply retreated. The hooded Dementors came again, their ragged coverings fluttering with the cold, their long skeletal fingers reaching out towards the Aurors.

Kingsley whirled around, his wand pointed straight at the former guards of Azkaban. "Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, and a silver kingfisher flew out of the tip of his wand. But it was a little hazy and unclear, disappearing within the minute.

Beckett could feel the coldness, the fear coming over him. "Jacqueline," he said. "The Dementors…" His fingers curled around his wand, and he shivered.

Jacqueline cast the Patronus charm, her hand shaking slightly, but her large hare dissipated quickly as well. There were too many Dementors, Beckett realised. Too many, many more than they had ever encountered at Azkaban. "Expecto Patronum," he whispered weakly.

His jackal Patronus did not even so much as materialise.

"Beckett! Where's Alix?"

"Alix? I don't know, Mum—"

His mother looked out through the window, and screamed, her mouth open with horror.

Beckett saw his younger sister, four years old and never to be older, and would see it for the rest of his life. Lying face down in the nearby pond, her dark brown hair floating out around her in a wet aureole, her body limp and unresponding—

"Expecto Patronum," Jacqueline and Kingsley said together. Except it was more of a desperate moan instead of an incantation, and they were both down, crumpling under the onslaught of memories, those that were the worst…

Daisy Faune's body was on the ground, and rivulets of blood flowed freely from Jeffrey Kuge, who was crumpled and bent over, gasping for breath, and Beckett tore his eyes away, could not look on his friends' bodies without leaning down to try and help them, and so he did not look at them at all—

The black dots appeared in front of Beckett's eyes. "Expecto—" he croaked. "Expec—"

Someone behind him roared, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

And Beckett saw black fire, and then there was only darkness.

oOo

Severus had fully expected his usual silver cobra to unfold from the tip of his wand and drive away the Dementors—he could do this, he reasoned, especially since he couldn't sense any Death Eaters nearby who would be able to see him doing so.

He forgot about why he was now able to sense a Death Eater, if there or not, and about his magic, still rising in gleaming jet black layers around him.

Instead, he thought of Hogwarts, and of Albus, and how he was alive, and that here, in this place and time, the Order was still fighting, and of how the Dark Lord had not yet won.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Black fire erupted—not from his wand, he would later realise—but from his own body, streaming towards the Dementors, who, if it were possible for Dementors to wheel about sharply on their nonexistent feet, did so and fled.

The fire screamed, a piercing cry of triumph and victory, and now Severus saw that it was not a cobra, it was a black phoenix, a silver mist around it outlining the bird against the sky, fiery flames spreading out for its wings and tail feathers, and glowing silver orbs for eyes. It swooped down on the Dementors, its claws outstretched—

And there was an audible, keening wail as its talons dug into them, and a hazy blackness seemed to form around them, before they simply… dissipated into the air, even as vague white shapes rose from the spot where they had been, and drifted off.

The phoenix cried again, its head swinging around fluidly to meet Severus's startled black eyes with its own shining silver ones, before it raced across the sky towards Hogsmeade, a gleaming, ethereal comet which dove into the fray.

In the frozen seconds that followed, Severus suddenly heard a weak voice. "What—who—"

He looked over at the fallen Aurors, and saw Kingsley Shacklebolt, raising his head and gazing straight at him.

In that moment, Severus thought, No, Albus can't find out about this, he'll ask me about it, and I'll have to tell him, and he'll know that I killed him—

Stupefy, he murmured in his mind, and the red light struck Kingsley Shacklebolt in the chest. The black Auror crumpled to the ground again.

Did he see me?

No, said Hogwarts abruptly. It was dark. He could not see you.

Severus turned and darted back into the Forbidden Forest, low hanging branches tearing at him. Several minutes later, he emerged back onto Hogwarts grounds, brushing away some crinkled leaves that had attached themselves to his robes.

He managed to make his way down to his rooms without a single person seeing him—thank Merlin for that—and collapsed into one of his chairs. "What happened?" he said aloud, somewhat dazed. "My Patronus—"

Your magic, said the castle. It was free. And you had it under control—you asked it to get rid of the Dementors, and it did.

Got rid of the Dementors?

Didn't you realise that? They were made out of wild magic, and your magic simply destroyed them.

I did that. Severus's words were more stunned than they were affirmative to Hogwarts's statement.

Your magic is twice that of a normal wizard, and you had let it go, you let it outside your shields. You had the power to do so. I do not think it would have happened if you had kept your magic bound.

Oh, Severus said silently. I—I thought it would be normal. My Patronus—it was a cobra—

Normal? Not anymore. How could it be, especially after what you have been through?

Severus shivered. Albus's death? he asked. He knew that he had not cast the Patronus Charm after the headmaster's death, because he had never been in the close vicinity near Dementors—he had stayed in Castellum Serpens and done research at the Dark Lord's bidding. He had not thought—that it could change—

Yes. Of course it would change.

Severus said tersely, Yes. And he began to rebuild his shields around his magic. After the end of the attack, there would be an Order meeting, and he would have to be there and listen. His magic seemed unhappy as he pulled it back from having it meander around his rooms, but it sulkily acquiesced to his control, in the manner of a sullen baby put back into its crib.

I must be more careful, thought Severus. I did not think about what it could do—

Now I have to, or otherwise I will attract attention, from everyone in the Order and the Dark Lord, and the Order members will be suspicious of me—if they aren't already—and the Dark Lord's attention—it does not necessarily mean his attention is beneficial.

And Severus brought another shield down firmly, caging his magic.

oOo

It was in the early hours of morning, August first.

"Kingsley, I hope that the Aurors are all right."

"They're fine," said Kingsley curtly. The Order was gathered around the long table in 12 Grimmauld Place, most of the members watching him and Nymphadora Tonks with anxious concern. "Of course, never mind the fact that some are dead."

To his right, Tonks put her hand on his right arm soothingly, and picked up where he had left off. Her hair was dark brown, her eyes dark blue, and her eyebrows were drawn downward in thought, giving her a very serious look at odds with her bubbly personality. "Gawain Robards called us in," she began quietly. "We Portkeyed to Hogsmeade—I was part of the team at the Three Broomsticks." She closed her eyes briefly. Albus eyed her with concern.

Tonks opened her eyes again. They were black. "It was utter pandemonium," she said. "Practically the moment we got there, they were firing at us. One of the Death Eaters was setting people on fire. I remember Summoning a girl to me, out of the way of a Killing Curse. Just in time. She barely made it. And then—" She shook her head. "Just fighting," she said. "Kingsley…"

"Two of the Aurors with me were killed," Kingsley added. "And then the centaurs came."

Albus sat up straighter. He'd already heard some confusing accounts about what had happened at Hogsmeade from some of the Order members as they slowly straggled back to headquarters, all a jumble about centaurs and a black phoenix. "Yes, the centaurs," he said quietly. "What happened?"

"They came," said Kingsley heavily. "And they drove the Death Eaters away, all the way down into Hogsmeade. I don't know why—"

Farther down the table, Remus Lupin shifted in his seat. "It could have been because they were near the Forbidden Forest," he offered hesitantly. "I mean, since it's their home…"

Alastor Moody snorted. "Don't be ridiculous," he barked. "If that was why, then a lot more Ministry representatives would be traumatised than there are. And they don't involve themselves in conflicts like ours—they don't care."

"Well, maybe they do now—"

"Bollocks. There's definitely something more to this."

"Alastor," Albus said. "Please. We need to get the facts straight about what actually happened at Hogsmeade. Kingsley, please continue."

"All right. The centaurs were shooting at the Death Eaters with bow and arrows, getting them away. Well, I went back a bit to get the other Aurors—"

Moody interrupted, "When you should have been chasing after the Dementors?"

Albus saw Kingsley bristle slightly. "We couldn't see them yet," he said defensively. "Besides, not like we could have done much about it anyway, considering what happened afterwards. Because the Dementors came back towards us—there were too many, there were never that many at Azkaban. I mean, our Auror training did require us to perform a corporeal Patronus, but there were so many Dementors…" He shivered. "None of us could do it," he admitted. "I suppose that's something the Department will have to work on, summoning up stronger Patronii, but anyhow… none of us could do it. We blacked out, all of us." He reached with his left hand up to his ear, and absent mindedly tugged at his golden hoop earring.

"And…" Albus prompted as kindly as he could.

Kingsley was frowning to himself. "The next thing I remember," he said, "is hearing the Patronus Charm—in a sort of muddled way, you know—and looking up and seeing this… black fire flying overhead. I couldn't make out what it was, and I looked around and I saw this person, standing some ways off. I think it was a man—when he said 'Expecto Patronum,' his voice sounded like a man's voice—but, well, you can never be certain. And I—well, my mind wasn't too clear at that moment. I said something—" He furrowed his brow, trying to recall the night's events. "I think it was asking him what the fire was, or who he was, and he didn't reply. And then he Stupefied me. And that's all."

Albus nodded, and turned his attention to Tonks. "Tonks?" he asked patiently. "You were down in Hogsmeade. If you could…"

For the first time througout that night, a small smile appeared on Tonks's face. "Oh yes, I remember," she said, almost grinning. "That black fire Kingsley talked about—it was a huge black phoenix. There was a sort of silvery mist around it, so I suppose it was a Patronus in a way, except it was black. And it sort of swooped down upon the Death Eaters, and blocked their view of us, so we managed to get in a few good curses when that happened, even though we were shocked as hell. And then it flew towards us and past us…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes still open, visualising what had happened.

She blinked suddenly, and continued, "There were Dementors behind us, that's why. Kingsley, I don't think you saw this, but, good Merlin, that was no ordinary Patronus. It didn't drive the Dementors away—it ripped them apart. I think—I think the phoenix killed them. It tore them to pieces."

Bill Weasley sputtered a little. "Kill Dementors?" he asked incredulously. "Is that even possible?"

Tonks looked a little annoyed. "That's what I think happened," she said, her voice a little hard. "Why can't that be true?"

"Tonks," Albus interrupted gently, "I have my Pensieve with me." He had thought that perhaps it might be of use in piecing together the fight, and had brought it along with him. With a flick of his wand, a cabinet opened and his silver Pensieve hovered in the air, slowly coming over to the table and setting itself down with an audible clunk. "Perhaps you might show us, instead."

The young Auror nodded, and brought the tip of her wand to her right temple. A thin drop of what looked like liquid silver appeared at the tip, and she held it over the Pensieve, watching as it fell into the misty depths of the basin. "There," she said seriously. "There you go."

A mist rose up from the surface of the Pensieve, solidifying so that it showed a group of Dementors, floating slowly forward—and then, abruptly, a screech sounded, and a flaming black phoenix drove straight into them. As the Order watched, shocked into silence, the blackened tatters of the Dementors' coverings fell apart, and pearly white vapours rose from their remnants.

"What are those?" Hestia Jones asked haltingly.

Albus rested his elbows on the table top and steepled his fingers together. "They appear to be souls," he said thoughtfully, as the white mist finally dispersed and faded. Behind them, the black phoenix soared upward again, black flames still streaming from it. He looked at the faces of the Order members sitting at the long rectangular table.

All of them were full of astonishment, eyes set upon Tonks's memory playing out above the Pensieve. All of them, except—

Severus, who sat a few chairs down, looking flatly at the Pensieve memory. His face was impassive, black eyes shuttered like the shutters of a window in a long abandoned house. He shifted slightly in his chair, and as Albus discreetly observed him, a wedge of shadow fell over his face, obscuring the upper half of his face. But Albus noticed that his mouth was thinned and his lips pressed together tightly, the only sign of emotion Severus showed. He thought, Strange. Severus seems to be worried about this.

"Severus?" he said, and blinked when Severus made a small start in his seat. "You told me the Dark Lord summoned all of his followers right after that. Did he say anything…?"

Severus seemed to recover his composure, and shook his head. "Besides flying into a rage, no, he knew nothing about the centaurs or the phoenix. Although now he is swearing he will kill whoever called up the phoenix and destroyed his allies. He did not spend much time on that, only a few minutes to rant at us and then order us to go away." He spoke succinctly and flatly.

"Well, then, whoever that person is, I think I like him," Alastor grumbled, his magical eye resting on Severus with blatant suspicion. "If your information is correct, that is. You didn't know about the attack, I'm assuming." The tone of his voice implied that he was sure Severus had known.

Severus did not say anything.

Instead, he stared down at the table and the wood grains. Albus had the strange feeling that he was not really looking at it, though—his eyes were unseeing. In any case… "Alastor," he said chidingly, "Severus has always been proved correct with his spying…"

"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater," growled Alastor again.

Remus Lupin frowned. "Really, now, that's being too extreme," he said.

Albus expected Severus to make an acidic retort, but he did not say anything.

Albus suppressed the urge to sigh and put his head in his hands wearily. What could I tell you about him, Alastor? he thought silently to himself. What do you mean by him once being a Death Eater? He was working against Lord Voldemort long before he became a Death Eater, and I could show you all the evidence, except then his life would be at risk, and then I could not forgive myself if he were killed because I told. Sometimes he wanted to tell, to allay the suspicions that would always fall upon Severus, but then there was the chance that the information would get to the Dark Lord, and then he would know just how long Severus had been working against him and spying against him, and then Severus would die. So, instead, Albus said patiently, with the manner of voice which said that he had said the same words many times over, "Alastor, please."

The rest of the table was silent as well, and Albus could feel the most of their sentiments being directed against Severus. "Alastor," he said, his voice stronger and firmer, "do not question Severus's loyalties. He has proven himself time and time again." He saw in the faces of the others that they were unconvinced, that they would still continue to watch him carefully, but that they would not say their suspicions out loud like Moody always did, in deference to Albus's authority. So he said, "I trust him with my life."

Almost idly, his gaze wandered momentarily to Severus's face, silent and unyielding, and he was surprised to see Severus's eyes closed, as though trying to block out some unwanted memory.

Alastor snorted. "Fine, then," he said harshly. "Have it your way, Albus."

Albus hated to end the meeting on such a sour note, but it had to be done. The others needed to get their sleep. He watched Alastor critically for a moment longer, and then nodded. "This meeting is adjourned," he said, rising to his feet. "Thank you for coming, everyone."

As the Order members began to file out of the room, Albus walked over to Severus. "I'm sorry," he murmured in a low voice. "I'm very sorry, about everyone suspecting you like this. I'm sorry." Sorry was not enough, he felt, but it was all he could say.

Severus said, his voice devoid of any nuance in tone, "So—you trust me with your life?"

"Of course I do." You are thinking of Draco Malfoy's task, aren't you, Severus? Don't worry, death comes when it does. We do what we have to do, and if I have to die…

Severus closed his eyes, then opened them and looked tiredly at Albus. "Yes," he said distantly. "You always have. I appreciate it." He turned abruptly on his heel, nodded once to Albus, and walked through the doorway, leaving Albus watching him with concern in his bright blue eyes.

Then Albus Dumbledore sighed, still brooding, and began to put away his Pensieve.

oOo

The phrase "green and red makes dead" comes from a rhyme.

"Suffauc" and "Fresnan" came about after fiddling with Latin words and roots. "Cytan" is "cut" in Old English.

Wait a moment, you ask. How did Snape know where LV's Horcruxes were? And what about Wang Qin and Ming-yue's work on the lycanthropy? ... That'll be in Chapter 9.

Thanks to all my reviewers, and especially to Akimekura Amura and FireChildSlytherin5, for their consistent reviews, and to duj, for her much appreciated concrit.

I see from my Stats page that there are some people with this story on favorites/alert lists who haven't yet reviewed... (coughs delicately) Like all other fanfic authors, I welcome reviews (as long as they aren't flames, of course)... So please review.

Talriga