Many thanks to the amazing FawkesyLady. She's an awesome beta.

Also, please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts. They make me type faster.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully for Alice. She cleaned her entire house top to bottom to burn off excess energy, with BBC Radio 2 playing in the background. The three o'clock news caught her attention, reporting that a bridge had suddenly collapsed in West London. A spokesman for the Metropolitan Police was giving a statement,

'...Local authorities are on high alert after this morning's disastrous events. The was no evidence of an explosion, and records pulled from public works show that engineers did a thorough inspection two months ago and found the bridge to be in good condition. Ensuring the safety of the British public is our top priority, and the Metropolitan Police Investigators will be working closely with the government to determine the reason for the collapse, and to find and punish the culprits. We currently cannot rule out the possibility of the IRA's involvement.'

Intrigued, she padded closer to the radio, cradling a load of dirty washing in her arms. 'Shite!' She gasped as she listened to the testimonies of survivors, reporters and eyewitnesses, several of whom claimed to have seen an unnatural red shimmer climbing up the bridge minutes before it fell into the river.

'There something sinister going on here. There is no chance in Dante's nine circles that this is merely mass delusion,' she muttered to herself as the news ended and music began to play.

Alice's thoughts ground to a full stop as the floor in front of her arrested her attention. She had already gone over the kitchen floor and bathroom with a wet mop, and thought the floors done. Heat crept up her neck and cheeks with flames of feminine rage, the likes of which were not seen in these walls since her Gran last reigned over the household. The subject of her ire were large, dusty footprints crossing the ceramic tile of the front entry-hall. She never used the front door: there could be only one explanation.

'That poisonous bunch-backed toad!' She shrieked as she ran to grab a bucket of warm soapy water and a cloth. Falling on her knees, she began scrubbing the kitchen floor in small, quick circles, ensuring that no outside dirt remained in her little sterile bubble of a house. By the time she was done, her knees were red and raw, and her trousers were soaked in grey, sudsy water. 'I don't spend my days keeping this house habitable just so HE can come in and leave dirty footprints all over the floor!' She fumed as she emptied the bucket into the sink. Really, the man was a bastard, an inconsiderate tosser whose slovenly ways threatened to destroy the remaining threads of Alice's sanity. 'I swear, if he ever dares to keep his shoes on in this house I'll hex his bollocks off and affix them to his gigantic nose with a fucking permanent sticking charm!'

She paused, and felt her fury drain away, only to be replaced by a wave of malicious humour. The young witch tipped over laughing, her arms around her middle as her mind conjured the image of Professor Snape's beetle-black eyes, peering over a phallic nose with two hairy bollocks jiggling about as he lisped, 'I can teaf you how to bottle fame, bwew glowy, and even put a stopper in death - if you awen't as big a bunsh of dunderheadths as I uthually haf to teaf!'

Alice gasped, trying to catch her breath, and covered her mouth with one hand, her form still shaking with mirth. 'Dumbledore won't know which end he is talking out of…' She dissolved into a fresh set of giggles, and her abdominal muscles began to protest. 'As if that's any different than usual!'

She grasped the countertop for balance, snickering uncontrollably between taking deep, calming breaths. Her face was red, and her eyes glittered with glee as she imagined presenting the idea to the Fred and George. They would love it - perhaps they could even come up with a potion that would do just that! The perfect punishment for the affront that incensed Alice so profoundly.

'That grumpy, old, sour-faced git wouldn't know a perfect potion if it punched him in the face!' She asserted firmly, remembering how Snape insulted her potion-making skills. 'Adequate', she enunciated slowly and clearly, in a mockingly high-pitched tone. 'Adequate, my arse!'

If the ruddy bat only knew what she kept in the shed, he wouldn't even dream of using the word 'adequate'. But he couldn't know.

Her good humour left her as quickly as it appeared, and Alice sunk down and sat cross-legged, leaning her head against the washing machine. The Headmaster had made it very clear that if word got out of the Essence's existence, the effects would be ominous concoction, if completed, would provide the Light with a substantial advantage in the war effort. Its safety at this crucial time could not be compromised in any way.

Realising just how much was depending on her silence and her efforts, Alice rubbed her temples with her fingertips. She couldn't fuck this up, not now. But Dumbledore wasn't helping either. The emotional blackmail and the constant, ever-increasing pressure were beginning to break her resolve to do her bit for the Order. She wondered just how much she could give before her body, or her mind gave up?

She was safe for as long as she was useful, but she had no illusions that this would last. The second her task was complete, she would be left to fend for herself - just another pawn in Dumbledore's game - sacrificed, if need be, for the 'Greater Good'.

Dumbledore was not a kind man by any stretch of imagination, and Alice had seen straight through the slightly dotty, grandfatherly persona. Everyone around her worshipped the de-facto leader of the wizarding world, but did anybody else see him for what he was - a callous, cold-hearted warlord? It was obvious that Harry Potter and the entire Weasley clan had swallowed the act, hook line and sinker.

Alice was certain that Dumbledore had even managed to deceive Severus Snape. She had always thought that there was more to the surly whoreson of a potions master, and she found that his presence was strangely comforting, and not entirely… unwelcome. Alice could not deny the lure of those penetrating, onyx eyes, which sparkled with dreamy intelligence. Whenever he was near, she found herself subconsciously gravitating towards the dark wizard, watching his every move. She was fascinated by the precise movements of his long, elegant fingers. The sight of his tall, whip-thin frame walking through a crowd made her eyes glad. The dramatic flare of his robes as he paced at the front of the class surely sent flights of angels into song, or so she imagined.

A small voice at the back of her head acknowledged the all-encompassing sense of masculine strength that emanated from the man. Alice imagined a life where he was her partner in all things, the two of them supporting each other through what must be dark times ahead. A warmth blossomed in her chest as she meditated on how perhaps she could ease his troubles in turn. Who looked out for Severus Snape, if not she?

The piercing sound of an annoying advertising jingle on the radio snapped her out of her reverie, and the witch scrambled to rise from the floor, shaking off her discordant feelings. Her bum and back were numb, and her knees made a cracking sound as she rose to her full height. She might have fancied her Professor's sexy arse, but nothing could change the fact that he was an condescending asshole, an arrogant twat AND an ugly bugger to boot.

Lips drawn firmly into a thin line, the young witch drew herself together, refocusing her anger on its proper target. She needed to change out of these dirty clothes, so she stomped up the staircase loud enough that she fancied that Snape might be able to hear her, wherever the git lived. Unable to contain herself, she shouted, "ADEQUATE IS WHAT YOU KEEP IN YOUR TROUSERS!" For good measure, she slammed her bedroom door shut with a satisfying bang, which in turn caused dust to shower down from the plaster ceiling onto her erstwhile spotless hallway floor.

Severus walked briskly towards Dumbledore's office. After he came to a halt in front of the stone Gargoyle, cleared his throat and gave the password. 'Curly Wurly', he uttered in clipped tones. He often wondered why the Headmaster insisted on setting such undignified passwords - was it simply that the old codger loved his confectionery so much, or was he doing it just to annoy him specifically?

Severus pushed this benign mystery to the side, and turned his mind to his plan of attack as he ascended the spiral staircase. He had a report to give and a lie to invent in order to keep the Dark Lord off his back.

The door opened before Severus had a chance to knock, and Dumbledore's calm, deep voice came floating from the centre of the room. 'Ah, Severus! Come in, my boy, I was wondering where you were!'

'Forgive me, Albus,' Severus replied, 'But I had something to attend to this morning.'

'That's quite alright, dear boy, quite alright. Come, sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?' Albus raised one bushy brow invitingly as he gathered the filigree tea set which rested on a nearby table.

Severus nodded as he took his usual place in a winged chair by the fireplace. Stretching his legs in front of him, he leaned back and folded his hands on his stomach, watching from beneath hooded eyes as Albus busied himself with preparing the tea, his movements artful and exaggerated. Really, the old man had a liking for theatrics, not unlike the Dark Lord himself.

He noticed that a small fire danced merrily in the grate. It might have been the middle of Summer, but the Scottish Highlands were relatively chilly, and Severus found himself staring into the dancing flames, as though they held the answers to all the questions in the universe.

'And there you go,' proclaimed Albus as he handed over a dainty china cup adorned with hideous pink cabbage roses. Severus eyed the proffered cup for a moment, remembering the brew he was forced to endure earlier at Crowley's, best described as dirty water, all tannin and no tea. He schooled his expression to one of polite acceptance. 'Thank you.'

Albus knew how to make the perfect cup of tea. Severus took a small, cautious sip, sampling the beverage before giving a small hum of approval. 'Excellent as always, Headmaster,' he offered with a slight bow of his head.

Dumbledore chuckled cordially before gesturing to a crystal bowl on the tray. 'Lemon drop?' He asked, and when Severus politely declined, he shrugged and popped one in his mouth, his expression one of sheer bliss.

The two men exchanged pleasantries for a while, discussing the weather and the local gossip. Albus excitedly gave an account of a recent fight between two drunken wizards at the Three Broomsticks, describing in detail how Madam Rosmerta broke up the brawl with her bare hands, and led the two offenders out of her pub by their ears. Severus was impressed, but not surprised - the feisty barmaid took no nonsense, and was not above using physical or magical force to ensure that her customers behaved. He himself had been on the receiving end of the woman's wrath plenty of times in his youth. He hung his head forward, allowing his fair to obscure the faint blush which spread across his cheeks as he remembered that one time when Rosmerta kicked him out of the pub, her ample bosom heaving in annoyance. Oh, what a glorious sight it was!

The sound of Albus clearing his throat shook him out of his reverie. Bosoms, ample or no, would have to wait, for they had matters of much greater importance to discuss.

'He's getting more vicious by the minute. I need to bring him something - anything, Albus!'

All of the tone of passionate supplication drained out of his voice now, replaced by a detached matter-of-fact monotone. 'I barely survived my last Summons. He made me the centrepiece for the evening's festivities. The Dark Lord will not be so merciful if I fail him again.'

'We'll find a way to keep you safe, Severus.' The older man promised in a placating tone, and Severus ground his molars, sick and tired of empty platitudes. He willingly risked life and limb on a daily basis, and brought valuable intelligence. Surely his usefulness commanded that Dumbledore take thought for his spy's safety, lest he lose all they worked for?

'Did Tom say anything about his plans?' Albus pressed, and Severus shook his head dejectedly. Dumbledore's lack of concern for his wellbeing was to be expected, but the abrupt change of subject still stung.

'Nothing new, as far as I know. I am not exactly… his favourite confidante right now, Albus. He is planning to launch a series of attacks in the Muggle world soon, but I don't know any specifics. The Dark Lord… has not included me in his inner council meetings for some weeks now.'

Dumbledore reclined in his chair and stroked his long, silver beard, deep in thought. After a moment, the old wizard stood and paced to the back of his office, towards a collection of strange, delicate instruments set upon a collection of benches of all shapes and sizes. He took his time observing a mysterious, spidery contraption from a variety of angles, nodding and humming pensively. Finally, he poked the apparatus with his wand, eliciting a high-pitched, buzzing sound. Albus turned around, and indicated for Severus to come nearer.

The two wizards engaged in a heated discussion, and after an hour, they believed they had come up with a plan which would satisfy Voldemort's desire for information, and keep Severus alive in the process. The lie was elaborate, but the plan was solid, and Dumbledore had no doubt that the younger man could spin it in a way that would give them an advantage without compromising his own safety.

Ready to set their latest plan into motion, Severus gave a small, formal bow and turned to leave, but Dumbledore stopped him by raising his hand. 'Oh, just one more thing, Severus,' the Headmaster began innocently, and the younger wizard turned back to quirk a questioning brow at his employer.

'It has come to my attention that you have ran into Miss Alice Crowley,' Albus' eyes twinkled like diamonds at the younger wizard froze momentarily, then shot him with a milk-curdling glare.

The visibly vexed Potions Master spat out, 'I have indeed, Headmaster, though I assure you that I took no pleasure from those… unfortunate encounters. The girl is ill-tempered, brash and disobedient, and I was sadly mistaken in my assumption that she is somehow different from the rest of your precious Gryffindors. What I fail to understand is why you would ever think to suggest that she stay in Spinner's End!'

Blatantly disregarding the spy's tirade, Dumbledore popped a lemon drop in his mouth. He gifted Severus with another blinding twinkle as he replied liltingly, 'Well, I'm glad to hear you're getting along. Miss Crowley is indeed a lovely witch, although perhaps a little awkward.'

At Severus' contemptuous snort, the Headmaster's lips stretched into a sly smile. Cocking his head to the side and pinning the man with a pointed look, Albus asked, 'You won't mind popping in to check up on her every now and then, will you?'

'Albus…' Severus' silky voice lowered to a dangerous growl, and he clenched his fists at his sides, his narrowed eyes glowering at the older man with unadulterated menace. He knew the Headmaster long enough to know that the old man was not being deliberately obtuse, but was doing an extraordinary job at deliberately playing on his nerves.

'Now now, no need to get so flustered, dear boy. Miss Crowley's excellent potions keep Poppy happy…'

'... they are indeed very well made,' Severus interjected grudgingly, 'but - '

'And if I may be so honest, you could do with a friend, Severus.' Dumbledore finished, and flinched when the Potions Master rose to his full height and roared,

'I HAVE NOT, AND WILL NOT, BECOME FRIENDS WITH THAT DUNDERHEADED… CRETIN WHO CAN'T EVEN BREW ADEQUATE TEA!'

Dumbledore turned his back on the seething Severus to hide the chuckle that bubbled beneath the surface, threatening to erupt into a hissy fit of giggles at any minute. He pretended to cough into his sleeve to cover up his amusement.

'Of course not, of course not, Severus… but I still insist that you keep an eye on her. The poor thing…'

Before Albus had a chance to finish his sentence, the fireplace roared with green flames, and the head of the Minister for Magic appeared in the grate.

'Albus! Emergency session in the Wizengamot chambers! Giants have attacked in West London! Come immediately!'

The Headmaster gave a sharp nod, and the Minister's head disappeared.

'Stay safe, Severus.' Dumbledore shot as a way of dismissal before grabbing his cloak and rushing to grab his cloak. He cast a glance over his shoulder in Severus' direction and nodded, before stepping into the fireplace and disappearing into the Ministry in a roaring wall of green flames.

Severus turned on his heel and exited the office, slamming the door behind him. He needed a fag.