12th August 2011 – Belleek, Northern Ireland (United Kingdom)

Severus Snape was not a man people would say had any sort of moral problem with the act of killing another human being. He had been such a person once, briefly, as a boy – but even that had not lasted.

Severus had killed before. He had killed dozens of times personally, that he knew, and he bore the responsibility for many other deaths. He did not even regret causing them, precisely; once he had been young and charged with foolish ideology, and then he had killed to survive.

But he would regret any deaths he caused tonight, and he understand perfectly well the reason why. The other times had been against suitable opponents – in the main. As far as Severus knew Britain alone in the wizarding world maintained any kind of standing army.

Armies had been unthinkable since the Statute of Secrecy, but even before then wizards simply hadn't needed armies. The wizards of Britain nominally owed allegiance to the Muggle Queen regardless of any practical separation between their worlds, and then the Statute of Secrecy meant that war between wizarding realms would be extremely impractical.

It would inevitably lead to a breach in the Statute, but aside from that concern – even if Severus thought that the most important concern – what organised nation of wizards would want to wage a bloody and dangerous war against other wizards? What use was land and territory – meaningless with the existence of wizardspace – if acquiring it cost wizard lives?

Wars for centuries had been largely civil wars, wars of domestic terrorism or the odd Goblin Rebellion. Those could be better contained by the nation involved than a war between two nations, and the international community would overlook a nation's internal problems for quite some time.

The Dark Lord had proven that again and again: in Albania no fuss had been made until the problem spilled over to the surrounding polities, and it had disappeared when the Dark Lord returned with his horde to Britain to wage war against his own Ministry.

It was not a secret that Severus Snape thought wizarding governments in general useless, but that was a view shared by many: they had been forced upon the populace as a reaction to Muggles and Muggle science and prejudice, and had gradually but continuously grown in power – yet not in efficiency or fairness - ever since.

"I am reminded of another night, long ago now, when we stood in this very place, old friend," said a masked and hooded figure from behind Severus. Lucius. Masks would be worn this night – a unique mask for every Death Eater, moulded around the face but stripped of all major identifying features. Some masks had ornamentation, decorative runes and the like, but Lucius wore a crisp, unblemished white mask, as did Severus.

"I should think this will end differently," he replied smoothly.

That last affair had been an unmitigated disaster – the Dark Lord had eventually given up his ambitions for Ireland, at least during the First War. A unified British Isles would not result from his victory over Britain, no matter how hard he had tried.

In Ireland he fought not only the Order of the Phoenix, Britain's Aurors and the Irish security forces but the entirety of the Irish wizarding population as well. It hadn't been prudent then – or even during his Second Rise – to invade Ireland.

Then they did not have the advantage of numbers, and their Lord had not been so ruthless and focused in his strategy. He had preferred to kill wizards only rarely, when they had directly defied him, but he had killed the mudbloods indiscriminately.

The small Muggle town of Belleek – which straddled the moronic border the Muggles had created on the island – contained within it a small enclave of Irish wizards. They had built their little village into a folded wizardspace around the Muggle town, and the Muggles had simply built around and on top of it. Irish wizards had done something similar with the Hill of Tara and built a city there, surrounding it with a powerful Centenary Ward which had never been broken.

Augur Alley had no such powerful protection and housed mainly mudbloods and mudblood lineages. The Dark Lord had identified it as a suitable target for extraction to a new community, and as a place which could serve as a lesson to the frightened purebloods hidden in Tara.

As always the Muggles would bear the brunt of the attack. They would be used to draw out the braver, more defiant, wizards. The remainder of the population would be divided and left where they were, under occupation, or moved to a new community, after the Death Eater teams had completed the night's action.

An old style raid, except this time carried out under the auspices of the British Ministry of Magic. Any Muggle involvement would be left out of the next morning's papers, of course, and the civilians defending the wizarding village would be recast as enemy soldiers sent from Tara.

The whole affair left rather a bad taste in Severus's mouth, although he would deny it should anyone ever think to ask him.

"Oh, most certainly," said Lucius.

No doubt the man relished the opportunity to exercise his more specialist knowledge. Although… Lucius was Minister for Magic now: he could very well enjoy his new role, and envision a future in which he was not beholden to the Dark Lord, should such a future find a means to occur. An interesting thought.

Interesting in the abstract as a hypothetical but useless, as Severus considered Lucius to be one of the more irredeemable Death Eaters. He had gleefully orchestrated the Children's Massacre with Thorfin Rowle, and had carried out the Glasgow Flayings alone.

Severus fought the urge to curl his lip in distaste. Even when he had been a Death Eater in truth as well as in name he hadn't any appetite for anything involving children or defenceless Muggle women: he had fought and killed skilled and talented opponents. He killed people who tried to match him, and few people had tried to match him who didn't stand a good chance of winning.

He'd had that sort of reputation, by mask if not by name.

Perhaps the presence of Draco would improve Malfoy the Elder's comportment over the course of the raid, but Severus doubted that it would. Draco had excelled in the Death Eaters, once Dumbledore had died and the Potter boy had been proclaimed dead. He had stood on a precipice once, his future able to go in one of two directions.

And then one of those had disappeared, and he had made his peace with that. The same thing had happened all across Britain. The Unspeakables held responsibility for the current situation, but Severus could see no other faction able to resolve the entire affair. They had orchestrated events so that this would be so, using the power of prophecy and the turmoil in the wizarding world to gain the allegiance of Harry Potter in addition to the furtherance of their own aims and survival past the war.

Dumbledore had done much the same thing, although he had done it with much more love, and although Severus had never been a sentimental man he understood the power and the magic of love. Love did not and could not absolve one of one's sins, but it did and could influence how one's sins were perceived.

"The others are late," said Severus after the silence had gone on too long. He didn't find it uncomfortable but to let the conversation lapse would be remiss of him, given the nature of his and Lucius's relationship as friends—which they were even though Severus felt disgusted at much of what the other man was and did.

"Pressing business, I'm sure," said Lucius, although the tone indicated he felt otherwise.

He would be right, of course – any kind of business Bellatrix had could never be called pressing, as the woman had gone mad after decades in Azkaban and nothing much remained save the vicious, bloodthirsty shell of the witch she once was.

The Carrows would no doubt be engaged in some foul sort of incest, if one believed the rumours. Severus wasn't sure that he did, but then… some rumours did have substance, and these were not so difficult to believe.

Soon enough however the other Death Eaters of the Inner Circle – new and old, veterans of the First War and the Second – Apparated into the area.

He had wavered in one decision this night, and one only: that he should not tell the Order of the raid. Not through loyalty to the Dark Lord but through preservation of his position and role as a spy. Until now he had not known whether those present would be only the Marked Death Eaters, those of the Inner Circle. In such a situation it would be impossible to forewarn anyone, given that none save Severus could be linked with such a group.

Severus gripped his wand.

"We must be swift," he snapped at the new arrivals. "We use the Muggles as bait to draw out the mudbloods, and even then we kill only those who resist. No exceptions. The Dark Lord made it clear."

Then he Apparated down into the Muggle town proper.

12th August 2011 – Belleek

The Muggle town of Belleek had erupted into chaos. Severus had Stunned several of the Muggle Aurors who had, in a display of tremendous ignorance and stupidity, arrived to restore order to the town.

Futile, ultimately – Severus had saved them from death at the hands of the more extreme and bloodthirsty of the Death Eaters in attendance however, and so at least they would not die a pointless death tonight.

Severus hadn't done much fighting at all, though he made sure to appear as though he had done – he had participated in the wanton destruction and vandalism, had masked his stunners with a curse of his own invention – but he had not killed.

He would kill, though. There was no other choice when fighting against wizards, and although none of the denizens of Augur Alley had emerged to fight yet, they would do so soon enough. Some of them would attempt to fight him, and if they did not flee upon the realisation that they were outmatched he would be required to kill them.

Such was war and the life of a spy.

The Death Eaters had occupied one small section of the Muggle town, and had unleashed the full force of their destructive and vicious capabilities upon it. The streets were strewn with fire and rubble as blasting curses and bludgeoning hexes had brought down many of the residences, revealing the screaming and fearful Muggles inside. Severus had watched dispassionately as Lucius Malfoy flayed one Muggle woman in front of her children and made her tear herself limb from limb.

He had watched without expression as Caractacus Rowle commanded a group of Muggle children to beat their own parents to death, and again as the mad bitch Lestrange cavorted in a sickening pool of blood and viscera.

Perhaps the only Death Eater who hadn't yet killed, other than Snape, was Evan Rosier, and even then not through any kind of ethical or moral choice. Rosier preferred psychological torture, and that Severus hadn't seen him in quite some time was more than somewhat concerning.

The man had inflicted terrors and trauma upon masses of the population during the First War, and had only escaped Azkaban by leaping madly to his death. The bastard hadn't died of course, instead turning up again to serve the Dark Lord in Albania. Severus still didn't know how he had done that.

He noted that Draco had killed with a ruthless efficiency, not stopping to torture or maim or taunt, but moving swiftly. He had caused more than his share of commotion.

But death and destruction were very much the tone of the evening. Even as a Death Eater Severus had never revelled in this.

It was base, animalistic, and ultimately pointless. There was honour and glory and power in combat with a worthy opponent – raping Muggles and crucifixion of children had never been interests of his.

None of the night's chaos would make the morning papers. The Obliviators likely stood in waiting, ready to move at Lucius's first word.

But perhaps the wizards of Ireland would talk, if they ever left the illusory safety of their homes. If the bait did not work an assault on the town proper would begin. As much as he looked forward to anything he did in his role as a Death Eater, Severus did at least look forward to fighting a skilled opponent that night.

The wizards of Ireland were brutal, and the witches like furious sidhe from old days. It had been so ever since the Irish Court had voted against unification with the British Ministry all those years ago. That in addition to the Irish propensity to squeeze out infant after infant – it was almost as if the whole island teemed with forgotten Weasleys – meant the probability of encountering a worthy opponent would be vastly higher in Ireland than on the big island.

After all, in Britain the worthy opponents had been driven underground, killed, or operated within the Death Eater hierarchy.

Threads and strings and scraps of magic infused the air all around him. Even the feeblest first-year would be able to feel the brute force of the magic, if not its cadence and nuances.

Severus Snape was not a feeble first-year, however, and nor was he an average, middling wizard. He could account for the presences of each and every Death Eater – not all could be identified by name in such a way, but he could identify most.

Lesser wizards would have never noticed the quiet addition to the chaotic magical environment around the town, but Severus Snape had noticed.

So the wizards – one of them at least – had at last emerged from their retreat. He would make this swift, if they let him.

If they didn't his position could not be compromised. Not now, not after decades of careful, desperate survival.

He snarled, and moved to meet this new arrival with a swirl of his robes.

12th August 2011 – Sanctuary, Large Meeting Room

"You know what's ironic?" said Ron over a fork full of mashed potatoes which he jabbed towards Harry enthusiastically to drive home his point, "You're basically a textbook Dark Lord now. It's brilliant!" he exclaimed to the general discomfort of most in the room.

Everyone resident in Sanctuary was at the dinner, even though many of them hadn't attended the briefings of the Order before it. That meant Harry had met even the children, who were also in attendance.

"I can appreciate irony as much as the next wizard," said Ron defensively as Susan fretted and whispered something to him.

Harry decided to laugh.

"Nice one, mate." It wasn't even untrue – textbooks defined Dark Lords as being those wizards or witches with powerful magic, unafraid to use Dark magic, who wished to bring down existing political structures and impose a new order.

Harry wasn't attempting to do it to put himself in power – he would have preferred to deal with the whole Voldemort thing before he'd been ruling Britain for a decade and thus constituted the political orthodoxy – but he could also see where Ron was coming from.

It was also sort of funny, if one shared Harry's sense of humour. He'd been worried he'd turn out to be a Dark Lord a few times, and then it seemed he'd become one accidentally whilst not doing anything particularly Dark or Lordly.

"He is right," supplied Luna, sat at the end of the table near a man Harry could swear had been a Gryffindor in his year but whose name totally escaped him, and Harry could tell that she wanted to continue.

"Pass the chicken please," interjected Molly sternly. "Charlotte, don't eat with your mouth open!"

Charlotte, one of the newer Weasley children whose parentage Harry couldn't quite work out and didn't remember from before, immediately grimaced and closed her mouth.

"You mentioned you were teaching again Minerva?" asked Remus in the momentary silence that followed.

"Indeed, the … School Board has agreed that I can teach the students Transfiguration magic when their school term resumes," replied the elderly Scottish witch, her tone slightly wistful.

Harry didn't blame her – the school on Avalon wasn't Hogwarts, but it would be a fine change from Sanctuary, and a return to something which the older woman had loved. Harry didn't think she'd have spent so long teaching at Hogwarts if she didn't simply love teaching.

"Will you be teaching at Hogwarts, Ms McGonagall?" asked one of the older children – a brown-haired, brown eyed child Harry couldn't reasonably link to anyone particular.

"No, I shall be teaching at the Avalon School of Magic," corrected Minerva. "It is a delightful place, though not so large or grand as Hogwarts."

"You've wounded me, Professor," said Harry lightly. "I built half of it!"

"You built a school?" said Fred.

"I built the other half," added Neville.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"No you didn't, you made the seventh years do it!"

Neville grinned.

"I organised the seventh years and delegated tasks to them," said Neville.

"They only built the new bits," insisted Luna. "There was a school on Avalon for ages."

"We made it bigger," said Harry. "Put in the rooms and stuff like that."

"It's where the Muggleborns we saved will go to school," explained Hermione. "If… if the war drags on and you have any children who need to go," she said, looking awkwardly up and down the long table, "they can attend, too."

Harry had a thought.

"If you wanted to come to Avalon anyway I think we could swing that."

"Er, yeah, thanks mate," said Ron. "Oi, Kingsley, that's not what you do with potatoes!" he said, distracted by a furiously ginger four-year old whose potatoes were all down his front.

That idea hadn't gone down well, Harry gathered.

Sensing that the conversation would go on regardless, Harry turned back to his dinner.

12th August 2011 – Belleek, Augur Alley

Severus had all but abandoned the Muggle part of the town. The entrance to Augur Alley was nestled between two nondescript Muggle houses which were anything but mundane – as Severus approached he could feel ancient magic attempting to open the way for him, a wizard.

It wouldn't work, since the locals had no doubt activated the scant protective wards Severus felt coiled around the whole area. He could not enter until the wards fell, or until he forced his way in.

It would possible if he had the time and inclination to do so, but he didn't. In truth he wished this ill-advised raid hadn't ever been carried out, at least not by him. This was not work for the Inner Circle, and yet… and yet that was precisely why the Inner Circle had been given this task.

It was a reminder that no matter how far the Dark Lord carried them – any of them, including Lucius Malfoy – he could at his own discretion merely stop. They were his servants, his followers, and not the other way around. There were no allowances. No compromises. The Dark Lord occasionally granted favours or gifts, but the price was as it had always been: the Death Eaters were his until the day that they died…. If even that would truly free them.

Some amongst the Death Eaters had no doubt forgotten that. Even those who had been Marked could stand to learn the lesson again and again, for far too few of them truly remembered it.

A split second before the spell hit him Severus called up a Shield Charm, and then whirled around in a billow of robes to meet his opponent.

In momentary shock – because surely the woman in front of him was not and could not be Lily Evans – Severus was caught with a cutting hex across his left arm. He snarled.

"Reducto!" he said, aiming the curse just past her head. It missed of course, but then, that had been the point.

He sidestepped another of her curses and flung several of his own back at her, circling around the young woman to catch a better look. She was not Lily Evans, of course – merely a woman of similar appearance, and far younger than Lily would have been.

A trick of magic, fatigue and battle-frenzy, Severus decided.

"Pyro maxima!" declared the Irish witch. A torrent of flame erupted from her wand and lit up the air itself, consuming everything in a ten foot radius. Severus quickly applied a Flame-Freezing Charm and rolled out of the way, grimacing at how the detritus that had once been a Muggle dwelling clung to his robes.

"Mulco!" he said, aiming for the building behind the witch. If he'd calculated right it would fall atop her and she would need to leave herself open to attack in order to escape.

She didn't bother with a defence, instead flinging herself bodily at him and dropping him to the ground. She sat atop him, wand pointed at his face.

"Don't fucken' move," she snarled at him. "I should kill you right now…"

Severus sneered, and took the opportunity her moment's indecision left him.

"Legilimens!" he said, and flung a cascade of pointed, barbed memories at her. He invaded her mind and pushed her off him.

Severus got to his feed and banished himself from the poor young woman's now-fragile mind.

"Incarcer—" he began, but found himself downed by a swift and powerful kick to the temple.

12th August 2011 – Sanctuary

Hermione had never been able to shake that feeling that she didn't belong. She hadn't been able to feel at home in the Muggle world, and then she'd found out she was a witch, but she didn't quite feel like she'd belonged. How could she when a not insignificant proportion of the population did not agree that she should be allowed to learn magic, and others insisted that she was actively attempting to destroy an entire people's ancient culture?

Tonight, at dinner with the Order of the Phoenix – not that it was the Order she remembered, not exactly – Hermione didn't feel as if she belonged.

She understood fully and completely why she didn't belong here at this moment. She had been gone for close to a decade ensconced within what had been, if she were to be truly honest, the safe haven of Avalon. She had been traumatised at times, but everyone not on the island had no doubt experienced worse. She was an interloper now, truly, and not because of her blood status, or because she was too clever and vocal about her opinions. These people had fought together. Some of them had died. They had lived and loved and died and married, and the first of a new generation had been born.

All while she'd been sat on Avalon, nose in a book, fruitlessly attempting to avoid a prophecy she knew would come true, one way or another. What did she have, exactly? 'Wit beyond measure', perhaps, if by wit one meant knowledge painstakingly gleaned from centuries-old parchment.

Did she even want children? She'd always assumed she would eventually, and would have them with Ron – Hermione glanced at his oldest, one of the twins, and then grabbed the salt to deflect attention from her staring – but that was no longer an option.

She had far too much left to do for children to happen any time soon, of course, but it would be something she wanted some day…

Feeling rather antisocial Hermione decided to tune back in to whatever conversation happening around her sounded most interesting.

"So Hermione, what interesting Unspeakable magic have you learned in your time away?" asked Remus, taking note of her change in attention. She knew of course what she wanted to say, but she stopped moments before saying it to consider what sort of answer would please him.

Much of it was supposed to be secret, after all, and then there were the things she'd learnt but hadn't wanted to, and then again the things she'd learnt but had hated herself for learning. Knowledge was power, and the power of knowledge against an enemy like Voldemort was worth ten powerful witches.

"Well," she said, wrinkling her nose and adopting a tone most present were familiar with, "most of it is Unspeakable, of course." She paused only to acknowledge the nods from those following the conversation – Ron included. "I can fold wizardspace inside wizardspace; I've got it up to four layers now, but Unspeakable Thistlespur says that any more than that would be impossible because of Knifetongue's Second Law."

"Knifetongue was a goblin," she continued. "She calculated the layering pattern required for folding wizardspaces inside wizardspaces, but concluded that five would be impossible because of how the planes of the magic intersect."

"Fascinating," said Remus in a tone which suggested he did in fact find her trivia fascinating. Always so polite, Remus – he would pretend that she was the most interesting dinner guest in the world when she was even boring herself. "I imagine the arithmantic approximation of the conceptual space is quite complex, but more necessary than ever," he continued. "I was never all that good with planes, myself."

"They are difficult," agreed Hermione.

"That big brute of a man mentioned you knew a great deal of the Dark Lady's foul magic," said Minerva casually. It wasn't a question, obviously. Hermione assumed she was meant to expound upon the nature of Valmira's corrupted women's magic, but she hardly felt as if that made an appropriate dinner topic… even in such dubious company as a band of war criminal terrorists.

"It's ancient women's magic," she said simply. "The same sort of thing your mother would have taught you – charms to ease the aches and pains of pregnancy, potions to quicken the womb, the typical sort of thing we usually call 'women's magic'. Except she's corrupted and twisted it, turned it into something else, and she's discovered deeper, probably older, forms of the magic. The islanders have a more developed form of it than I've been able to find in books and literature, so I was able to learn the principles from them. I think I understand the ways in which the Dark Lady has corrupted and twisted the magic, but I don't feel like they're an appropriate dinner topic." She frowned.

"I quite agree," said Minerva softly, no doubt possessing some piece of family knowledge Hermione didn't have. Not that she needed it – Hermione thought she understood how to go about the kind of foul magic Valmira practised, enough that she could recreate the other woman's steps if she ever wanted to.

"It is rather difficult to find something to talk about at dinner when one is a member of a subversive terrorist organisation, isn't it?" said Remus cheerfully. "We could talk about how tomorrow night I will turn into a dangerous, slavering beast!" he declared.

"How—can anyone here brew Wolfsbane?" asked Hermione, glancing up and down the table. Even if someone could, the ingredients would be difficult to procure and expensive…

"Susan is a more than satisfactory potioneer," said Remus.

"To Susan!" came a toast from down the table. One of the twins had gotten a little bit drunk and had started rounds of toasts some time ago. They rarely involved the majority of dinner participants – although now that Hermione was paying attention again she saw that Molly had Switched the main out for dessert – but did cause occasional spots of noise and exuberance.

Everything almost felt normal again and Hermione felt as if she belonged, almost.

12th August 2011 – Augur Alley

Severus came to groggily, and painfully – he hadn't really thought to protect himself from simple Muggle brawling, after all. He'd been whisked away somewhere probably considered secret and safe by the defending wizards. It was a sensible move to make, all things considered, if the man they had apprehended was someone other than Severus Snape.

He assumed he didn't have his wand. He wouldn't have allowed himself to retain his wand, and it would not do to assume these wizards were complete morons.

A small, dark room. The cellar of a house, perhaps. He cast his gaze about the small room although could discern nothing of any value from it. It had been decorated so as to bear nothing in the way of distinctive features or markings, its walls all painted the same dull off-white. A dim magical light filled the room.

He could hear a vague, half-whispered argument from behind the far wall. Severus assumed that meant it served as a portal, an entryway, into his holding cell, and that his captors were arguing about what precisely they should do with him. His lip curled.

It was a waste of time. The longer they delayed evacuation the greater the possibility of their capture. Indeed, at this point Severus thought it more an inevitability that they be captured eventually.

"You should've let me kill the fucker!" half-shouted the woman from before, the one he had duelled.

"Not that one. He isn't a real Death Eater."

Curious, thought Severus, but disappointing. Sad, almost.

He would have to kill every person in the building. His cover had to be maintained—except… he had recognised that voice, hadn't he? Where from?

"He's wearing a mask and has a fucking Dark Mark! He lives with the mad fucker in his castle!"

"If this man had wanted you dead, Moira, you would be dead. He's a spelldancer. So calm down and let me see him."

Severus steeled himself. Wandless magic was not a casual art, and it was something he found difficult at the best of times. His position had been compromised, however, which meant he needed to neutralise the threat before it became a threat.

Soon enough a doorway materialised out of the wall opposite him and in stepped Moira, wand pointed between his eyes. He sneered at her and then frowned at the next figure through the door.

Greengrass the elder, not the younger – Daphne, he remembered. She looked much different than she had last he saw her, but then she had been a schoolgirl still, not… not whatever it was she currently did. He felt a wildness from all around her, a swirling miasma that promised freedom, pleasure and pain. It was a wildness he knew and respected, a wildness of the Dark and of ancient and primal magic.

Miss Greengrass had certainly dabbled in some interesting arts since they had last met. Severus couldn't say he was surprised, not after the monumentally Gryffindorish stunt she had pulled with the Court of Fools and then again training with bloody Potter for the Triwizard Tournament.

"Hello, Professor," she said. "Or should I say Headmaster? Don't try to kill us," she added as if it were an afterthought. "You won't be able to. It isn't necessary in any case. We're not here to hurt you. I know all about you and what you do. I think I'm one of only a handful of people who truly know – and that's okay. I'm on your side."

"How can you know that?" she continued. "You can't. I don't mean to say I've joined your Order – could you imagine that, a Dark witch like myself? But I'm not my sister – I'll tell you now, she's a major source of disappointment in my life. I've been Watching you for a while now. Moira joined me recently."

The elder Greengrass girl had never joined the Death Eaters but had also never openly defied the Dark Lord by refusing to do so – she had simply never been available to ask, not through family connections or otherwise. She would be working to achieve her own goals regardless whose allegiance she claimed, that much Severus knew. Slytherins all did that, and Daphne Greengrass was nothing if not an exemplary Slytherin.

Her connections to the Court of Fools alone made her dangerous, and that was discounting the magical oddities Severus could detect. Young Daphne had become a powerful, dangerous witch. It would not do for Severus to forget that, to misremember her as a young student with great potential.

She had more than reached it, in his estimations.

"What do you want?" he demanded, though he knew he wasn't in any sort of situation to demand a thing.

"I need you to pass along a message to the Order of the Phoenix."

"What sort, and for what reason?" he asked, intrigued. It would be dangerous but he could pass the information along, assuming he made it out of the current situation safely and with an effective explanation of his activities, and it was interesting enough to take on the risk.

"I need to set up a meeting with Harry Potter."

12th August 2011 – Sanctuary

Most of the children had gone to bed by the late hour, but Luna had actually disappointed at that rather than relieved. She liked children. Their minds were so open to wonder and mystery, and to magic – children really were the easiest people to teach some of the less intuitive magics. And they usually said the most delightful things.

But the children had all gone to bed now, and the only people left in the room were the adults, and not even all of those had remained. Luna knew they could have gone back to Avalon a while ago, but she also knew that none of them really wanted to. It was more home than Sanctuary ever could be, but they hadn't left it in so long, and most of these people were friends and family.

Luna had been sat next to Daniel Roberts, a Gryffindor Muggleborn in the same year as Harry and the others. She didn't think Harry had ever really spoken to the boy – there had been fifteen Gryffindor boys in Harry's year, but Luna had never seen Harry interact with anyone not in his own smaller dorm. He'd been rather myopic in that regard, but then – he had always been rather busy, with one thing or another. He had his friends and his problems, so it was understandable. But Luna's only friends had been among the overlooked and forgotten, the students whose families weren't famous or even magical at all; the students who didn't care that some of the Purebloods looked down on her family because of her father's eccentricity… Daniel had been one of those, since he had been a wonderfully average Muggle-born student whose name barely any of the purebloods or halfbloods remembered. Hermione's experience of Hogwarts hadn't been every Muggleborn's – she was exceptional, and friends with Weasleys, Potters and Longbottoms. That mattered even if it shouldn't.

"I was worried you'd been killed," admitted Dan. It had taken four tankards of moonshine to get him to say it, but Luna wasn't surprised he'd gotten there eventually. Dan had joined the Order just before Dumbledore's death and the resultant downwards spiral of Britain. They'd been friends before then, though – Luna had vouched for him. He'd believed her about Wrackspurts and Nargles, even when most people hadn't. She had been wrong of course, although so had everyone else.

That had been satisfying to discover.

"I worried the same thing about you," Luna replied honestly. She hadn't allowed her anxiety to cripple her, or for it to impede her goals, but it had been there. She'd been sad. She'd cried twice before she could truly internalise her philosophy.

"So you're an Unspeakable now." It wasn't a question but Luna nodded anyway. "How does that… work? The Ministry doesn't even have a Department of Mysteries anymore."

Luna smiled.

"The Unspeakables predate the Ministry of Magic," she said. She was erring close to Speaking that which should be Unspeakable, but the oathpact would prevent her from saying anything too revealing. She just needed to trust it. "I can't say a lot about it. It's Unspeakable. We were aligned with the Ministry for a very long time."

"Until You-Know-Who came back," finished Dan. "Now you're…?"

"Aligned with any who oppose the current regime." That answer was the simplest answer, but also the best answer as far as Luna was concerned. The Unspeakables had no preference for Light or Dark wizards, purebloods or muggleborns, even in times of peace. Now the criteria for alliance had been greatly reduced – a desire to overthrow Voldemort was now the major deciding factor. Perhaps that was too loose.

"I found out the truth about Nargles and Wrackspurts," she said, smiling. "You're not going to believe me when I tell you!"

It was easy enough to fall into old patterns, even after so long. It was comforting, but also comfortable – she wasn't Looney Lovegood anymore. Not completely. She was someone even better.

But sometimes old hats felt nicer than new ones.

12th August 2011 – Augur Alley

Severus couldn't really say he was surprised at Greengrass's demand to see Potter. Their alliance had been interesting enough at Hogwarts – Greengrass had effectively staged a coup in Slytherin House, building up support from a significant proportion of its students before aligning herself very publicly to Potter.

It had all been political posturing at the time, games played by children about to become adults. No doubt games that would have set the stage for years to come – Hogwarts was practically a microcosm of wider Wizarding Britain, even if only half of all its students came through there.

What was that old adage, again? 'Some women weep for handsome princes. Others raise armies and win them kingdoms.' His mother had been full of wisdom such as that. Severus had always assumed she'd taught such wisdoms to him through lack of a daughter, though he had never fully accepted her words.

They had been largely irrelevant.

However, the Dark Lord had returned and the entire country was set on a new path. The games of children had fallen to the wayside.

"How did you ascertain my role as a spy?" he dared, sidestepping the question for now. There were more pressing concerns.

"Your Occlumency is still unrivalled, Headmaster," said Daphne. "Don't worry about that. I'm a proficient Legilimens, true, but I'm not that good. I told you. I've been Watching you. Since just after Potter disappeared."

A non-answer. Severus tried again.

"This information is contained within my head, and the heads of three others. There has been minimal interaction between myself and any member of the Order of the Phoenix since the War. How did you come by it?"

Greengrass rolled her eyes.

"Will you get my message to Potter or won't you? I don't need you for this. I wanted you for this. I have other options available to me. I was prepared to give you back your wand," said the young woman, "but maybe now I shan't."

"I will get your message to Potter. Are we still in Belleek? We must evacuate quickly, and you must give me my wand."

Severus did not have time to argue with a woman twenty years his junior. Nor the energy, really – he wasn't only by any stretch, though closer to a century than not, but he had expended a great deal of energy already that night.

He would need that which remained to successfully curb Rosier, the elder Malfoy, and the Rowles when he returned to the fray. There would no doubt be a second Children's Massacre as a result of the night's activities, but Severus would see that it did not become more than that. It so easily could, given the proclivities of those mad Death Eaters who had been released from Azkaban… and whatever dark force was responsible for Evan Rosier.

"Do you have a time or a place? A message, perhaps, to entice our delayed hero?"

Severus couldn't very well risk passing a message to the Order if it merely read 'Daphne Greengrass desires a meeting with Harry Potter', after all.

"For a man without a wand you're giving us a lot of lip," warned Moira menacingly, her wand still levelled between his eyes. The woman hadn't attended Hogwarts – he would have remembered her – but surely would have Sorted Gryffindor or Hufflepuff if she had. She had clearly failed to understand the nature of the interaction playing out in front of her.

Daphne held the power here. This was a power play, a reminder that Severus didn't have his wand and that he had only one piece of leverage – the ability to fulfil the younger woman's request, and that wasn't enough. It was part posturing, part threat. But Severus was in no real kind of danger. They could trade barbs easily.

"Tell them I know where something Potter wants might be hidden. I want to help him, and the Unspeakables. We'll meet at Carousel August 16th." Vague and cryptic, but then it was a message intended to make sense to Potter and not anyone else. Severus only hoped the girl's trust in the boy was fairly placed, if her message relied on interactions they had had long ago. Severus doubted he would remember.

But then… Carousel. Both Greengrass and Potter had completed every single challenge set out for them by the Court of Fools. Both had been named Harlequins, both had been showered in glory. Carousel was obviously a place of the Court, perhaps the place of the Court, despite the travelling circus they presented to the world as the Court of Fools.

It was no such thing as a mere circus.

"I will see it done. If you would return my wand and banish my chains?"

Daphne waved her wand easily, and then lazily offered Severus's own wand back to him. He clutched it eagerly, and immediately Moira tensed.

Foolish woman. He wouldn't move against her now, not unless to preserve his cover. She should realise that.

"I would advise you both to leave. The Dark Lord will not respond well to failure tonight. Thus, there shall be no failure."

Understanding the facts of the matter, Daphne nodded.

"This house is rigged to collapse after I Apparate out. Pretend you killed the dead wizards they'll find."

With that, Severus Apparated away.