Chapter 37

Better the Devil You Know

"Harry Potter."

Severus Snape stared up at the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore with uncomprehending eyes, mouth agape in shock. Many others in the Great Hall had similar befuddled expressions splashed across their faces, for no one could quite believe the Goblet of Fire had just spat out a fourth Champion's name. There was no wild applause, glowing adulation or hearty shouts of encouragement as there had been when the other three Champions has been announced; instead, an angry buzzing began to grow within the Hall; students were standing up on their respective benches, craning their necks to get a better look at Harry as the young boy sat frozen in his seat.

Snape slowly peeled his eyes away from Dumbledore and joined the rest of the Hall in staring directly at Harry Potter – how small the boy looked with his shoulders slouched over, as Harry tried to round himself into a ball and disappear into the ground. Finally, Harry got a slight push from one of his friends and stumbled nervously to his feet. The young Gryffindor kept his eyes glued to the floor as he slowly trudged up to the front of the Hall, received curt instructions from Dumbledore and then headed off to a smaller room located past the end of the staff table, where the other Champions were patiently waiting.

Ludo Bagman was out of his seat like a shot and headed quickly after Harry, while the rest of the Head Table seemed to be in a state of petrification – no one seemed able to quite comprehend what had just happened. Dumbledore finally gave a quick shake of his head and headed off, followed immediately by Bartemius Crouch, Igor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape.

Snape quietly closed the door to the small alcove, cutting off the angry shouts that had started to emanate from the Hall, and hung back in the shadows of the room, trying to get control of his swirling emotions. Heated arguments had begun to erupt from all sides of the room – Dumbledore was main focus of the animosity, being accused of trickery and deception by the foreign delegates.

This Potter was unbelievable, such an impetuous attitude, just like his scumbag father – does the boy's arrogance know no bounds?! This unhealthy obsession with garnering undue attention has reached new heights! And forget flouting Hogwarts' rules, he was now disregarding international magical sanctions by entering his name into the Goblet! He's going to get himself hurt, or even killed, chasing fleeting fame and glory! He'll ruin all I've sworn to protect! And how in seven hells did he manage to become named a Champion?

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here —"

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair.

Always taking the boy's side in every situation, no matter the facts! He's become too close to the boy, become too attached and involved – the Headmaster can no longer separate emotion from reason where Harry is concerned!

The argument raged on between all the assembled parties – anger and frustration plainly evident on the faces of the foreign emissaries, quiet confusion coming from Bagman and Crouch, and concern for Harry carried in the strained words of McGonagall.

One of these people must be the culprit for this madness, I'm sure of it…a cold finger crawled up Snape's spine – he turned and spied Moody slowing closing the door behind him.

Snape closed his eyes and tried to let the swirling emotions in the room settle over him, he could sense deception in the room. He only heard bits and pieces of the arguments that followed as he intensely focused on everyone.

Karkaroff and Maxime continued to protest and suggest that Dumbledore had hoodwinked everyone to double Hogwarts' chances at winning – their anger and frustration appeared genuine.

Bagman bounced nervously from toe to toe, attempting to calm everyone down while also trying to contain his excitement at such a spectacular twist of fate – the buffoon could not comprehend the peril Harry was now in. Snape noticed there was something wrong with Crouch – the man clearly was not feeling well.

Moody forcefully pushed the theory that someone was trying to get Harry killed and strongly insinuated the perpetrator was Karkaroff, and all the while his blue eye kept darting towards Crouch – Snape couldn't being to understand the emotions coming forth from that crazy, paranoid maniac.

Dumbledore eventually had the last word, deeming the tournament must go on due to the binding magic performed by the Goblet – Snape could only sense a pervasive gloom about the Headmaster, a persistent emotion that had been a constant companion as of late.

Snape tried to make eye contact, but none in the room would keep eye contact for more than a few, fleeting seconds. Something was not right, there was a strange hungry excitement floating in the air, along with the expected emotions of anger and confusion. Snape tasted dark magic in the room, but couldn't place the source. He debated voicing his concerns to the room, but eventually decided to hold his tongue.

After Crouch doled out instructions to the Champions, most of the aggrieved parties left, leaving Snape in the room with Dumbledore, Moody, McGonagall and Bagman.

Dumbledore turned to Bagman, "Ludo could you give me and my staff a moment? I'll meet you up in my office for a quick nightcap."

"Right-o old fellow! And once again, I'd like to thank you and your staff for being so accommodating. This new twist will definitely shake things up! I must send off an owl to the Prophet at once!"

Bagman bounced out of the room, happy as a lark.

"Severus, Alastor, did you see anything unusual near the Goblet last night?" Dumbledore asked in earnest.

"I didn't notice a thing Headmaster," Snape replied.

"That's cause you bloody well fell asleep when you should've been keeping watch!" Moody bellowed.

"It's irrelevant," intervened McGonagall. "No one but a powerful wizard could have crossed the Age Line and fooled the Goblet. Such a wizard surely would've taken great pains to conceal himself thoroughly from any prying eyes."

"He wouldn't have escaped detection on my watch!"

"That's quite enough Alastor!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "My Age Line only prevented youngsters from crossing – anyone over the age of 17 could have freely passed across…but tricking the Goblet is another matter entirely. I fear that Alastor's theory makes quite a bit of sense and, if we assume it to be true, the ramifications are troubling…quite troubling indeed."

"You think someone confounded the Goblet in order to put Harry in harm's way?" asked McGonagall.

"Confusing the Goblet into how many schools were entered and then submitted the boy's name as the only entrant under a fourth school, that's exactly what I would've done," said Moody. He gave a nasty grimace and turned to glare at Snap, pointing towards the potions master with an exaggerated wave.

"You think I submitted the boy's name? You jumped up, crackpot–"

"That's quite enough Severus, no one in this room is under any suspicion whatsoever – you all have my complete faith and trust."

Both Moody and Snape gave snorts of disbelief, but remained silent. McGonagall opened her mouth, but decided to keep quiet as well.

"Minerva, would you be so kind as to fetch Hagrid for me?" When McGonagall had left, Dumbledore turned to Moody, "Alastor I'll come see you when I've seen Ludo off."

"What're you going to speak with Snape about?"

Dumbledore did not answer, but instead continued to politely smile at the new DADA professor. After a minute, Moody gave a guttural snarl and limped out of the room.

Dumbledore turned to his sullen faced potions mater, still slinking in the shadows, "Could you pick up on anything? What did you sense in the room?"

"Anger, frustration, indignation, hate…"

"And?"

"I cannot say for sure, I couldn't make eye contact with anyone for long, too much anger swirling about the room, it felt like a smoldering powder keg in here."

"Stop dancing around it, say what you mean. Tell me Severus."

"I sensed a nervous excitement bouncing around the room, dark magic was in the air, I'm certain."

Dumbledore looked at Snape, weighing his words with a measured stare. He then soundlessly swept out of the room, leaving Snape alone with only his worries and doubts to keep him company.

I must have been an awful person, a terrible bully, or some kind of evil psychopath in a previous life. Maybe I killed an innocent and this life is penance?

All kinds of awful thoughts were running through Harry Potter's mind as he trudged down from the Gryffindor tower and headed towards the school dungeons. When he had learned of his magical blood and the related place he had earned at Hogwarts, it had been the happiest day of his young life. The poor treatment he had been subjected to as a child had been worth it – he would have the opportunity to become a powerful wizard and leave his adoptive family in the dust. But for all the wonder, happiness and feeling of belonging Hogwarts had initially given him, he now felt more alone than he ever had before. Thank god for Hermoine or I would've run away by now.

Harry turned a corner and heard a whizzing sound – he looked up and got smacked in the face by a small, round badge. His glasses clattered to the floor, along with the badge, as Harry stumbled backwards. He looked down, but could only see blurry, glowing green words flashing brightly upon a round metallic face. Harry raised his fingers to his forehead and could feel hot, sticky blood starting to seep from a small cut. He clumsily felt along the floor for his glasses, put them on and then stood up in a flash, his wand pointed forward – but the hallway was deserted.

I didn't ask to be Champion! What was Dumbledore playing at? If the tourny really was so dangerous, then why can't I just gracefully bow out? Why am I being forced to compete? Everyone is so stupid, thinking I submitted my name! How could I have tricked the Goblet? If anything, people should be mad at Dumbledore…or the Ministry, for allowing this to happen to me!

Harry bit down the urge to cry and soldiered ahead, vowing to rip the head off of whoever put his name in that godforsaken Goblet.

Five stories below Harry, Severus Snape sat behind an ugly maple-wood desk. The desk had been commissioned for a famous potioner almost a hundred years ago and had been a magnificent piece of work back then, but now it was chipped and nicked all over, injuries sustained over the years by the many potions students that studied in the dungeon. Wooden snakes were ornately carved along its four sturdy legs and a green gilded paint covered its writing surface.

"Ow!"

Snape looked up from the syllabus resting in his lap and narrowed his eyes at the clumsy red head sitting behind one of the many desks in the dungeon classroom. Ronald Weasley was sucking on his right index finger, a thin metal knife in his left sported a little bit of blood at its sharp tip. The inept oaf was managing to bungle even the simplest of tasks – Snape felt as though he was the one suffering an unjust detention, being forced to supervise such an incompetent buffoon. And people believed being of pure blood made one an amazing wizard, Weasley was doing everything in his power to dispel that notion.

Snape's thoughts drifted from Ron to the boy's friend, Hermoine Granger. The truth was she was the one playing on the potions master's mind this evening, not the clumsy red clown. Snape had strived to follow Dumbledore's advice, was trying to control his emotions and teach with a heavy, but even hand – but the caustic insult had sprouted from his lips as naturally as breathing. Last he heard the child was still in the hospital wing with unnaturally large teeth.

Why do these students bring out the worst in me? Pathetic, I can't even control my emotions around insignificant children…what will happen when I must master my emotions in front of…

The door to the dungeon slid open with a bang and in trounced the bespectacled prince of Hogwarts, with a scowl and a large bruise ripening on his forehead. Thoughts of Granger, steadying his conscience, and controlling his emotions melted away at the sight of Potter – Snape only saw the snide and arrogant face of James Potter and felt his insides freeze over.

Snape swept up from his desk like an angry bat and descended on Harry like an angry black cloud.

"Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence."

"I came right away, but…"

"But what," Snape barked as his eyes flicked to the angry welt on Harry's forehead. "Forgot how to walk? Bumped your head while rushing to your next interview and autograph session with your legions of fans? Take a seat next to the red headed dullard and watch me closely. I won't explain again what I want from you over the next two hours."

Snape walked quickly over to the desk next to Ron's and started his demonstration of pickling rats' brains without any preamble. He reached into a metallic canister and pulled out a limp rat – the wretched creature was alive but completely sedated. Snape picked up a silver fillet knife sitting on a desk and deftly twirled it in his long pale fingers.

"Please watch closely, as this is the most human way to remove the brain," Snape instructed as he slid the knife gently into the base of the rat's neck and twisted, eliciting a sickening crunch. Snape then slid the knife up around the rat's skull, creating a warped equator around the creature's head. He then gradually peeled apart the rodent's skull and gently removed the tiny brain, quickly dropping the grey matter into a jar of pickling solution and sealing it tight.

Harry was pink in the face after the demonstration, fighting back the strong urge to gag and retch all over the floor. Snape gave him a cold stare, "Follow my instructions explicitly and we shall have no problems. If you've done it correctly, the brains should maintain their faint pink hue. If you are careless, the brains will curdle and turn all manner of colors." Snape then gestured to Ron's desk, which was covered in blood and manhandled, multi-colored brains, "In that case, the brains will be useless to me and your detention will be extended."

"Why can't we just use our wands…sir?"

"Because I'm the potions master for Hogwarts and you're a snot nosed attention seeking punk, any other questions? No? Good."

Snape noticed how the normally inseparable friends were not making eye contact with each other and opened his mouth to fire off another insult, but decided instead to head back to his desk with an irritated sigh. He plopped down into a leather backed chair and propped his feet up onto the old desk, a sheaf of papers nestled on his lap.

Snape dropped his eyes back to his syllabus, but soon set it aside and began to read the day's copy of the Daily Prophet. The front page of the most widely circulated wizarding newspaper in Britain held a large vivid picture of Harry flying around the Hogwarts' campus, with a roaring headline proclaiming him the youngest champion in history. Madness! Does no one realize the insanity of having a child compete? Have people forgotten the students who had perished in prior tournaments?

Snape scanned the article, his pulse rising with each word. When he was finished, he had worked himself into an angry lather, but he wasn't sure if he was mad at Harry, Dumbledore or Rita Skeeter. Snape snuck a sideways glance at Harry, disgusted with himself so never being able to control his emotions around the boy.

Harry's face was frowned in concentration as he struggled to carefully drop a stringy brain into a jar – gristle and blood and sinewy membrane caked his hands and the front of his robes.

The headstrong fool cannot even properly butcher a rat, yet I actually entertained the idea that the child himself had been able to hoodwink the Goblet?! No, it wasn't Harry but who? Why this elaborate plan goddamnit? The whole charade seemed so unnecessary!

Why tangle with Dumbledore's line and enter the boy, why risk detection when the Goblet was being closely watched? Why this convoluted farce if someone had been able to penetrate the Hogwarts' defenses, why not just attack the boy?

Snape thoughts carried him from the dungeon and out to the Forbidden Forest, where the fearsome dragons waiting for the child and his young competitors. The ancient flying lizards of forgotten lore, even muggles knew about dragons for Snape remembered reading about them in a muggle book when he was a child. They were dangerous and unpredictable beasts, soaring stallions that could never truly be broken and bent to the will of man or wizard, but Dumbledore had been supremely confident no harm would befall any of the champions. But what if one of the beasts got loose, broke free from its magical shackles and set its frustrations and anger loose upon the crowd? Even the great Dumbledore could not overpower a fully grown dragon. Madness!

Snape had glimpsed the dragons a few times deep within the Forbidden Forest, roaring and struggling within their holding pen, the school's worst kept secret he thought as he snorted in derision. He had not seen anyone else skulking around that night – but there was no doubt in his mind that the other champions would all know well beforehand the obstacle that faced them for the first task. Both Igor and Maxine were not known for their penchant for following the rules, and that boy Cedric was no fool, he would discover the secret as well if he had any sense at all.

Snape stood and began circling the boys like a hungry shark, inspecting their work with keen eyes and unspoken threats. Snape's dark eyes flicked over Harry – the boy would never believe it coming from me – he would be wary, expecting some type of trick. Maybe an anonymous note? No, the child would have to see the beasts with his own eyes to truly believe, to fully understand the danger that awaited him.

"Weasley, if you crush and destroy another speck of brains, I swear I'll make you eat it!"

Ron's already red faced turned an even darker shade of crimson, and he bent even lower to the desk in concentration. Snape continued to slowly float around the dungeon classroom, turning the problem over in his mind. Of course Dumbledore has bristled at his suggestion to tell Harry, sprouted on and on about honor and maintaining the integrity of the tournament. It was if he was blind as to how the real world operated. The only thing integrity and honesty got you in a city of thieves and steals was stone cold dead.

Maybe I could give this red headed buffoon another detention tomorrow night, and then mention the dragons in an offhand way. These two are thick as thieves, as soon as the detention was over, he'd scamper back to the Gryffindor common room and tell Harry. It could work…

Snape winced as he watched Ron clumsily slice through another rat and shred the valuable organs contained within. No, the red head is a complete ignoramus – living, breathing proof of the folly that was the concept of pure blood superiority. I'll have to mention it in front of the smart one, Granger. She would be clever enough to realize the importance of my words. Was she out of the hospital wing by now? I wonder…

The half-breed oaf knew all about the flying lizards, he would not stop yammering on and on about them during dinner. I could plant the idea in his pea sized brain, mention how important it was that Harry knew about, that it would be of paramount importance…the half-giant would be so easy to twist…

Severus Snape strode quietly through the Forbidden Forest, the crisp autumn air refreshing on his pale face and greasy hair. He loved this time of year, when it was just cold enough to don a light traveling cloak, yet warm enough to not send one scurrying for an indoor hearth.

Sunlight poked through the tree tops, dappling his black traveling cloak and giving him a gentle finger of warmth. The green of the forest was turning gold and russet, turning the forest into a kaleidoscope of colors, and leaves crunched underneath his foot, giving satisfying crunches that echoed throughout the forest.

Despite his stoic demeanor, Snape's gut was a mass of tightly coiled worms that made him nauseous, as they all scrambled to untangle themselves deep within him. He had a trickle of sweat on his brow despite the fall chill and his palms were clammy to the touch. He hated himself for the doubt and worry that tugged at him – is this how a father feels when his son is about to compete in a big game?

Snape could hear the screams and yells floating in the air and getting louder, could see a large elongated shadow covering the forest ground ahead of him. Snape stepped through a thick copse of trees and out into a clear meadow – in front of him stood a towering grand stand shaped in a semi-circle and facing a large open field. Rocks, small trees and dirt trenches lined the field and in the center was a small, sunken pit and a cluster of large dragon eggs. Across the field and opposite the stands stood a large pavilion tent made of white canvas and lacquered leather.

Dumbledore and a few Ministry of Magic employees had magicked the grand stand to the meadow a few hours earlier. The stands were packed to the brim with students, dignitaries, and magic folk of all ilk – there was a nervous excitement in the air, as there always is before a large spectacle that promised wild entertainment, with a hint of violence.

The stands were decked out in vibrant and splendid colors, banners hung everywhere supporting the four school champions – there was a massive silk badger prowling the stands and billowing in the wind, striped in canary yellow and jet black; large fireworks were twirling high into the sky and exploding into bright lions with scarlet manes and golden fur; a few students from the Durmstrang contingent were manipulating a massive kite over the stands, in the shape of the school's famous golden double-headed eagle; the Beauxbatons supporters was sending golden wands high into the sky, which then shimmered and dissolved into star bursts of yellow and gold flames.

Beverage and food vendors strolled up and down the aisles, hawking their treats amongst the raucous crowd – butter beer, chocolate frogs and other Honeyduke delights were flying back and forth in haphazard tosses. Hogwarts' teachers and Ministry officials prowled the stands with scowls, trying to maintain some semblance of order and control. Snape should have been among them helping to keep the audience safe, but he was in no mood to play policeman to this crowd of fools.

Snape spied the white marble row of seats in the center of the stands – the distinguished seats of the Triwizard judges. This whole spectacle was a motley circus and there sat the smug ringleaders…who was more ignorant? The excited crowd who wanted to watch children tempt fate against fire breathers, or the judges who orchestrated this spectacle and are allowing it to happen? Someone wanted Harry in this dangerous tournament, someone wanted…

Snape's thoughts came to a screeching halt, as a brilliant blue flame cut through the field like a powerful laser. The crowd fell silent for a stunned second and then erupted as one in a ferocious roar as a large dragon was being led onto the field. The dragon was thirty feet tall with bluish silver scales that shone like gilded armor in the sunlight. It walked upright on two powerful hind legs, for its front legs were small and stubby. Razor sharp talons lined its claws and when it roared one could see row after row of serrated teeth. Its eyes were sunken pits of bright blue, with small dark pupils that shone of power and hate.

The dragon was being led to the sunken pit in the center of the field by a group of wizards, each one holding long metal chains that were attached to various parts of the dragon. The wizards were tugging and pulling the stubborn dragon along, inching their way slowly across the field. The longest chain was attached to a large ribbed metal collar wrapped around the dragon's scaly neck and was pulled by a fierce looking wizard. He was short and stocky, with muscled arms and a freckled face. His fingers were callused and blistered and fire red hair stood atop his square head.

The dragon continued to twist and pull away from the wizards, until it finally got a glimpse of the eggs nestled low in the sunken pit. Once it spied those treasures, it opened its maw wide, gave a piercing shriek and stumbled towards the pit. The wizards had to dive out of the way as the dragon came roaring at them, and soon only the red headed wizard was left holding on as the dragon closed in on the precious eggs. The crowd roared in delight as the dragon settled over the eggs, its massive wings spreading over its body to cover them.

The wings appeared to be made of a thin stringy membrane, much lighter and less armored than the scales that covered the rest of the dragon's body. Snape knew that despite its stretchy appearance, the skin that lined wings was stronger than steel and a much coveted substance throughout the wizarding world.

The red headed wizard finally relinquished his hold on the metal chain and scampered away to his colleagues. He then turned and brandished his wand at the dragon, magicking away the metal chains wrapped around it. Released of its manacles, the dragon raised its head to the sky and let loose a long stream of blue flames that kissed the sky – the flames reached the golden double-headed eagle kite floating in the sky and turned it to ash, much to the screaming delight of the watching crowd.

Snape did not envy the champion that was picked to face the Swedish Short-Snout dragon, for this one seemed completely wild and uncontrollable. He gave one last sweeping look to the rowdy crowd and headed back into the forest, he was done for the day and had no interest in watching mere children compete with dragons.

For a fleeting second a perverse idea popped into his head and Snape wished that grievous harm or even death fell upon one of the champions or to someone in the watching crowd. That would show them, prove my point of how dangerous and unnecessary this whole spectacle was!

A few yards into the forest, Snape heard Dumbledore's magnified voice and then the thunder of the crowd as Cedric Diggory's name was announced – the Hogwarts' prefect was in for quite a battle. The sounds of the crowd and the roar of the dragon slowly faded as he pushed further into the forest and headed back towards the school castle.

After some time the trees began to thin out and he thought he could see the outline of Hagrid's hut through the leaves when his foot caught in a tree root and he fell to the ground, scratching his hands as they slammed into the ground. When Snape looked back, there was no tree root staring at him, only the disfigured smile of Alastor Moody.

"Watch your step Snape," the former Auror growled. "The forest is dark and full of terrors."

"What're you doing here?" Snape barked as he got to his feet. "Following me during the day now?"

"I like to keep a close watch on dark wizards, especially ones that slipped away from me during the war. There's a dark empty cell waiting for you across the sea."

Snape tried to control the heat rising to his face and darted his eyes all around him, trying to ferret out any other traps. He slowly slipped his wand from his sleeve into his hand, and took a measured look at Moody. The man was a walking billboard to the horrors of war – long healed scars lined his weathered face, his broken mouth permanently twisted into an awful rictus of a smile.

"I will not stand for this constant abuse any longer…"

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape's hand spasmed in pain as his wand shot out from his hand and sailed away into the forest underbrush.

"Assaulting a teacher on school grounds?! You've gone too far this time Mad-Eye! You presume too…"

Moody flicked his wand and Snape's mouth filled with pink soap bubbles, simultaneously gagging him and transporting him back to the torments of his teenage years in one fell swoop. How could he know?!

Snape fell to his knees and reached into his mouth to scoop out the bubbles, but they continued to multiply in a soapy mess. He fell to the ground and reached his hand out towards his fallen wand, but it never came flying to his rescue.

The foamy discharge in his mouth began to choke him and his lungs screamed for relief, he soon he became light headed as yellow stars popped brightly at the corners of his vision. Just as the yawning blackness threatened to consume him whole, the bubbles vanished and he greedily gulped in the precious autumn air that flowed into his lungs. His chest heaved mightily as he rolled onto his back, spasming viciously into a coughing fit, fighting to push out the soapy remnants stuck in his throat.

Snape finally regained his control of his body and stared up at the sunlight peeking through the forest top. A dark shadow crept over him and soon he was gazing up at an ugly scarred face that appeared to be made of worn wood rather than human skin. Moody's beady black eye gazed down upon him as his vivid blue one swirled excitedly around in circles.

"I presume what?"

Snape felt red heat rise to his face, but just as quickly it began to recede back into the far recesses of his mind. He felt himself shutting down and going blank, aware of the vulnerable position he was in and not wanting to provoke the angry bear standing over him.

"I'll have your job for this. By next week you'll be sent packing to your grimy house, back to battling trashcans and other imagined dangers."

Moody lifted his wooden leg and dropped it brusquely onto Snape's chest. "Is that so?" Moody pressed down hard even harder, threatening to snap a rib. "You think you can drive me outta here? Gonna run along to Dumbledore and admit I got the drop on you, ask him for a protection like a little school girl?"

Moody smiled, a queer lopsided smirk that could have curled milk. He leaned farther over Snape with his whole body, but the pale face continued to stare at him with no trace of emotion. Moody swung his foot off Snape and kneeled low, his ugly face grinning twistedly. Snape could taste the bitterness in the old Auror's breath, but did not flinch away.

"Do you know which wizards I hate the most Snake? The ones I hate more than the wizards who killed my friends, even more than the wizards who tried to kill me?"

Moody leaned in closer, his mouth inches from Snape's ear, his blue whizzing eye spinning so fast it became a bluish blur.

"I hate the ones who turned traitor, the weak turncoats, the wizards who deserted their brothers and sisters when they were needed most. The dark wizards rotting in Azkaban? I have no quarrel with them, foolish and pathetic as they are to have gotten caught and stay locked up. At least they owned up to what they are, acknowledged their allegiance in front of the world, accepted their fate without compromise. I can respect that. But the ones that slipped away, the ones that turned tail and jumped ship…"

Moody was shaking now, crazy wrath etched on his face, slaver dripping sloppily from his slanted mouth. "They're the ones that keep me up night. And they're the ones who should be the most afraid…but not from me, from the coming storm of retribution."

Snape turned his to face his grotesque colleague, his locked down emotions beginning to stir within the hatches he had buried them under. "What did you say?"

"Be afraid Severus, be very afraid. He's coming, I can feel it."

"Who?"

"The Dark Lord."

Snape screamed out in fright and rolled to his side, clutching his left forearm. It burned, I swear it, my mark burned! He rolled up his cloak and stared at his forearm – upon pale white skin sat a very faded black tattoo, looking harmless as ever. Snape rubbed at the mark, but it was no clearer than a thin film of misty dew resting on his skin after a swim.

Snape rolled to his feet, pointing an accusing finger, "How the f–"

Snape never finished his accusation, his sharp biting scream catching in his throat.

Moody had disappeared without a sound, leaving Snape alone with the brisk autumn air, falling tree leaves dappled with sunlight and a knot of fear slowly coiling around his black heart.