Of all the slime pits to choose for headquarters…

Snape sank his left incisor into his lower lip with the same precision he used when slicing boomslang skin. He had about the same amount of practice at each. In Snape's experience, few things checked unwanted hasty words like the threat of puncturing skin. Dumbledore stood by his side, surveying the front stoop of Number 12 Grimmauld Place with obvious complacent satisfaction. Severus closed his eyes to roll them undetected. Telling his employer and leader that he disapproved of the headquarters was simply not good strategy.

"It's perfect."

Well done, Severus. Snape did his best to force his features into something resembling agreement as Dumbledore turned to him, still nodding at his own statement. The grimace didn't fool the older wizard, but Snape hadn't exactly expected it to. He offered his most logical objection.

"The street is a busy one. Even the densest muggles are likely to become suspicious when people start appearing and disappearing between Number 11 and Number 13."

Dumbledore smiled. "Indeed, Severus? I would have thought better of your ingenuity than that."

The incisor bit deeper into the sensitive flesh of his lip, reminding him to keep his mouth shut. Unfortunately, Dumbledore's willingness to be criticized made it all too easy to override his caution. "Think less of my manners, then, and don't expect me to stay a moment longer than necessary under Black's roof."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened for an instant, then softened just as suddenly. "It was not he who betrayed the Potters, Severus. You know that now."

Yes, but that was only the last in a long line of offenses to be laid at Sirius Black's door – quite literally, in this case. And twelve years of anger were hard to dissipate on the simple word of another. Severus nodded stiffly and followed Dumbledore up the walk.

The door opened a split second after Dumbledore rang the bell. The raucous screech of a woman's voice greeted them even as Remus Lupin motioned them inside.

'Traitors! Trespassers! Besmirching my name, filthy wretches! Soiling the carpet just with your presence, you scum!"

"Sorry about that," Lupin tossed over his shoulder as he hurried to a portrait hanging a few feet away. The dour woman in the picture was the one doing the screeching. "We're going to have to find another way to announce our presence. Old Mrs. Black here doesn't take kindly to the new company her son is keeping."

"New company!" the portrait shrieked. "That traitor has been no son of mine for years – ever since he went into Gryffindor and met the other blood traitors." The portrait seemed to have calmed down as she talked, but suddenly her voice jumped an octave as Lupin struggled to close the curtain. "Werewolves and blood traitors and criminals. What next? Mudbloods in my house?"

Severus flinched before he could stop himself. "Don't use that word!" He bit out, scowling at the portrait.

"A hand, if you please, Severus?" Lupin asked between pants, still wrestling with one half of the curtain. "We've already discovered it takes two of us to get her to be quiet."

Snape grasped the other side of the curtains, relishing her look of outrage as he jerked it over her face. At least now he knew where Black had gotten his sharp tongue. As the diatribe faded behind the heavy material, he got a chance to look about the hallway. He had not been far wrong in his estimation from the street. The Black family manor was in shambles. A layer of dirt coated everything with a gray tinge and the air stank of mold and decay. It was almost a triumph to behold.

"Are the other members here already, Remus?" Dumbledore asked as the portrait quieted down.

"Most of them. Moody said he might be late because he didn't want to arrive with a crowd, and I don't think Kingsley Shacklebolt can be here until much later, so we'd best start without him."

They followed Lupin into the kitchen, where the filth had at least been combatted to a reasonable level. The room was crowded with the Order of the Phoenix. Snape nodded curtly to Arthur Weasley on his right as Dumbledore warmly shook hands with Lupin, and Minerva McGonagall on his left. There were several other people further back in the kitchen, but Severus had no interest in speaking to any of them. Somewhere back there was Black himself, and the moment of their meeting again could be postponed to doomsday, as far as Snape was concerned.

He edged into the room, finding an empty space by the fireplace where he could lean against the wall undetected. His eyes darted about, picking up impressions, details of the gathering. He could store some up as innocuous memories to grant to Voldemort. There was little tension in the air, he noticed, at least not between those gathered. Quite a change from the Death Eater meetings were everyone seemed determined to take down his or her neighbor. There were platters of bread and cheese, and what appeared to be a few jugs of pumpkin juice on the long wooden table. The smells of a savory stew came from the other end of the room. Severus suspected Molly Weasley's hand. His stomach tightened. Oh no, Severus. You will not be eating under Sirius Black's roof.

On the end of the table closest to him, a wand lay forgotten by a tray of goblets emblazoned with the Black family crest. His gaze sharpened on the object, impatient at whoever had been so foolish as to leave their wand. It wasn't as if they were all enjoying Black's filthy hospitality for a little holiday.

The irritation faded as he took in more of the details. It was unusually crafted. Verawood. He realized, recognizing the deep green tint of the wood. It was etched with the Celtic knot around the grip, the dark brown of the interior wood showing through. Who in the Order would own one such as this? It was a substantial wand, 14 inches, by Snape's estimate, and verawood was not light. He knew because he had once…

Snape all but started forward from the wall, every nerve suddenly alive to his surroundings. The last time he had seen a verawood wand, it had been in the hands of a woman now dead because of Voldemort - and himself. His punishment, the Dark Lord had called her execution. Snape forced himself to look around, ascertain no one was watching before easing forward for a closer look. This wand was a veritable twin to the one she had carried.

His hesitant reach for the grip was interrupted as Mad-Eye Moody stumped into the room.

"Sorry to be late, but no sense in letting punctuality get in the way of good sense!" The man's gruff bellow drew all attention to the doorway, and the side of the room where Snape stood, inches from the wand. His magic eye rolled over Snape inquisitively, but moved on. "Are we eating first or talking business?"

There was a general hubbub as everyone attempted to give their opinion. Snape waited until it had calmed down before speaking. "Would it not be advisable to discuss Order business when we are still hungry enough to be attentive?"

The laugh that circled the room set Snape's teeth on edge. He despised being laughed at as much as he had as a teenager. Dumbledore motioned everyone to sit, taking his place at the head of the table, near where the wand lay, tantalizing him. It would have been better to simply decline to eat and give himself a chance to examine it while everyone else was occupied. Snape edged onto a seat, keeping his body tense.

"First of all, I'd like to thank Sirius for allowing us to use his home as headquarters for the Order," Dumbledore began.

A quick burst of applause, punctuated by a few cheers, and Sirius stood up to take a mock bow. Snape curled his lip and looked away. His eye fell on the wand again, and he risked a quick scan of those at the table. None of them seemed to be the sort to have an heirloom wand as this undoubtedly was. The current Ollivander didn't bother with verawood. His eye rested on Sirius for a split-second. Yes, the Blacks seemed the type, but he couldn't see his parents entrusting an antique to their madcap disappointment of a son. Perhaps not.

Dumbledore had continued speaking, and Snape forced himself to leave off his wonderings to pay attention.

"… there has been no word yet from Hagrid and Madame Maxime. I expect a message sometime within the next week as to whether or not they have made successful contact. Has anyone else found any recruits?"

Moody grunted. "There's a young Auror that might do. Nymphadora Tonks. She's a Metamorphmagus, perfect for any kind of undercover work. She'd be devoted to the cause, and that's certain."

"And yet you sound uncertain, Alastor," Dumbledore interrupted, his tone not quite interrogative.

"Well, she's a bit of a clumsy young thing. I've been working with her and there's been improvement, but… she's got a long way to go from here."

"Weren't we all a bit young the last time around?" Sirius interjected. "I say bring in as much young blood as we can!"

So much young blood will be spilt? Severus sneered again. Black had not changed since fifth year. If anything, his time in Azkaban seemed to have enhanced his devil-may-care heedlessness.

Dumbledore seemed to be searching the table for someone. "I recruited a mediwitch only yesterday, and I thought she was here…"

"She's been trying to find that house elf for the last few hours – wanted the keys to a potions cabinet upstairs," Molly Weasley volunteered.

"Could you go fetch her, please?" Dumbledore requested. As Molly stood, he turned back to Alastor. "Are there any other Aurors we can count on?"

"Not likely," Moody growled. "That idiot Fudge has gotten to the lot of them, save Shacklebolt and this young Tonks. He's convinced anything you say is an attempt to bring down the ministry, Albus."

"The Dark Lord is recruiting aggressively within the ministry," Severus volunteered calmly, rather enjoying the shift in the mood of the room. Tension, and a certain element of fear now shrouded the gathering. "He's planning on infiltrating throughout the offices, so a takeover can be accomplished with less fuss and outcry."

"All the offices?" Arthur Weasley asked tensely.

Yes, you would worry about that, wouldn't you? With your precious boy in the Minister's pocket? Severus turned down the table to where Arthur sat. "That is the Dark Lord's plan – and it would seem the minister is playing right into his hands."

Arthur paled. Sirius rolled his eyes and proceeded to stretch, his expression plainly telling Snape he had no intention of being awed by any information he might bring. Snape let his guard down for a moment, letting the glittering hatred shine through his eyes. Black noticed, and retaliated with an exaggerated yawn.

"What else can you tell us, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, his tone clearly telling the two culprits that their silent skirmish had not gone undetected.

"The Death Eaters have been commissioned to recruit a new army –"

"There's a surprise," Black interjected.

"- and several bands have been sent out to find and dispose of the traitors who walked free," Snape finished silkily.

"Are you in any danger, Severus?" It was Lupin's voice, sounding almost as if he cared.

Snape glanced at Dumbledore and tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. "That is always a possibility. For the moment, however, I am unaware of any assassins sent my way."

"Are they plannin' on using assassins like before, or will it really be an all-out war?"

Moody sounded excited by either prospect. Severus overcame an urge to Apparate far away from this house of lunacy and never return.

"At the moment, Voldemort is purging his ranks and making plans to move on the ministry."

Molly Weasley was coming back with the new recruit. Snape rolled his eyes, hoping Dumbledore would not make him repeat everything for the benefit of some grandmotherly mediwitch who couldn't withstand Dumbledore's charms. At least, that's who he pictured being foolish enough to agree to join the Order.

"He is most displeased that Potter escaped him in the cemetery," Snape continued, ignoring Molly's gasp from the doorway. She tsked on her way to her seat, leaving the newcomer a few steps behind in the hallway. "The boy's death remains high on his list of aims, though he himself will not actively move against Potter until school begins, unless he can find…"

The words faded from his mind as if he had never conceived of them. He blinked, trying to tear his eyes away from the witch in the doorway. Her auburn hair was back in a rather severe bun, but her face had lost none of the fiery, eager intelligence he remembered. By sheer instinct, his face stayed almost unmoved as his heart all but ceased beating. She looked as if she had run into an Impedimenta and was on her feet by sheer force of will.

"Ah, yes, Miss Shannon," Dumbledore exclaimed, motioning her into the room. "For those who have yet to meet her, this is our new mediwitch."

She blinked and shook her head slightly as if to reorient herself to the scene. A smile appeared as if she had ordered it there. The absurd notion that he was gazing upon an Inferius was quickly discarded, but Snape found it hard to trust his eyes. Twelve years, she had been dead.

"Erm, Miss Shannon, are you acquainted with Severus Snape, our Potions Master?" Dumbledore asked as it slowly became apparent that the two were trying not to stare at each other. "You were in school at the same time, were you not?"

She seemed to recover herself, an almost defiant glint coming into her eye. "Indeed, Headmaster. I was merely surprised to see him here, for the last time I saw him, he was most dedicated Death Eater in Voldemort's service."

Author's Note: Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! I am having so much fun writing this. Hope you enjoy reading it.