Chapter 39

All Roads Lead to Rome

The world was a swirling mist, a changing landscape of grey and black. The colors gusted back and forth, windswept and swollen. When the fog lifted, Albus Dumbledore stood silently in Severus Snape's bedroom, nestled deep within the labyrinth of the Hogwarts' dungeons. The Headmaster looked around the drab sleeping quarters and a little shiver skated along his spine – the cramped room reminded him of a stone cell on a lonely island he had visited many moons ago.

There were no windows down in the dungeons and the bedroom was a deep black, the darkness was cloying. The walls were lined with neat stacks of texts and tomes, along with a variety of potions and rare ingredients. On a far wall hung a shiny set of silver blades – Dumbledore had a sneaking suspicion that Snape did always use them for cutting up ginger roots.

A sniffling sound drew Dumbledore's attention to his left – Snape lay in a narrow stone bed, wrapped up tight in a thick woven blanket. His skin glistened like ice and his lips were a slight shade of blue, his breath turned to mist as it left him and it was no wonder, the room was freezing. Dumbledore recalled reading in a Muggle book some years ago about seasonal affective disorder and he pondered whether or not to demand Snape start spending more time in the sun.

Suddenly, the office became aglow in a blinking green light, pulsing soundlessly throughout the room. Dumbledore looked up and down the confined space, but could not find the source of the flashing light. When he turned back around, Snape was standing right in front of him, inches from his face, their noses almost touching.

Snape wore a long grey nightshirt, rough spun wool with green silk threads embroidered on the sleeves. Dumbledore could see the puffs of his cold breath, the whiteness of his pale skin…a pallid ghost stood before, a Slytherin ghost, more skeletal than human, haunting the deep dark dungeons. I wonder when my potions master last had a proper meal.

Even though Snape was inches from Dumbledore's face, he looked right through the Headmaster – no acknowledgment or alarm registered at finding a stranger keeping a silent vigil over him while he slept. Snape looked around at the flashing green light and his face darkened into a deep scowl.

A loud banging sounded outside, a startling thud that echoed every few seconds…moments later the room was filled with a loud screeching wail. It sounded like garbled screech, loud clamoring in an alien tongue.

Snape sprinted right through Dumbledore as if the Headmaster were made of fumes and was into his adjoining private office in a flash. Dumbledore floated out of the bedroom, past the cluttered office and followed Snape into a dungeon corridor.

Snape flew through dark halls and past empty classrooms, headed resolutely towards wailing scream. Suddenly he skidded to a halt, clutching a stich in his side, his heavy panting drowned out by the incessant wailing. Dumbledore stood quietly as he watched Snape poke a finger to his dungeon office door, a puzzled look etched across his face as the door swung inward. The office torches were lit and a cupboard door was ajar.

As Snape was about to enter his office, the wailing stopped abruptly and the silence was replaced by a loud yell, "PEEVES!" Snape slammed his office door shut and waved his wand behind his as he sprinted off again.

Dumbledore continued to float along and entered an open hall with a narrow staircase – he watched as Snape argued with Filch, watched as Moody appeared and berated them both, watched as Snape stalked off in an angry huff, his face purple with anger, with Filch quietly following him.

The corners of the hall started to blur, yet Dumbledore lingered, watching intently as Moody slowly turned over a golden egg in his gnarled hands. Dumbledore frowned as Moody began to ascend the empty staircase, his wooden peg making his gait an exaggerated limp, clunk, clunk, clunk.

The staircase began to dissolve in a whirling haze, yet Dumbledore remained as Moody slowly limped up the stairs, and just as the hall was consumed by swirling shadows, he heard Moody grumble "Potter" and a diffident voice reply from nowhere…

The shadows darkened and then melted away, leaving Dumbledore beneath the green cover of the Forbidden Forest, within a copse of oak trees overlooking the Great Lake. He looked around and realized uncomfortably that he'd never been in this part of the forest before – it's unsettling how much of the school campus I've yet to explore.

Snape stood next to him, his beady black eyes staring intently through the foliage. Dumbledore peered alongside him, through a gap in the trees – he spied the frothy surface the Great Lake, screaming crowds from a huge grandstand on a distant shore, fireworks exploding over the castle, bright blues mixed with gold and ruby red.

After a few moments, Harry Potter burst forth from the icy lake with two motionless shapes floating next to him. The boy must have been freezing, his clothes stuck to him as if they were part of skin and beads of ice cold water clung his skin like stubborn tiny snails. Dumbledore beamed a great big toothy smile, the kind of grin a man would bear when his son or grandson had done something worthy of remembrance.

"Looks like you were wrong old boy, Harry's more than capable of holding his own in these tasks, despite his youth and inexperience," Dumbledore blurted out, forgetting where he was. He turned to Snape with a knowing smirk, but the potions master did not turn to him.

Instead Snape pulled away from the trees and leaned down to a knee, terror and relief written on his face. He covered his eyes with a shaking hand and whispered a quiet prayer. When the potions master started to softly cry, Dumbledore decided he had lingered too long. He waved his arms and the copse of trees rippled gently and turned into wavy shadows, enclosing Dumbledore in a watercolor world of grey and black…

Dumbledore now found himself in a fourth year potions class, standing in a corner of a gloomy dungeon room, the air thick with hot steam from bubbling hot cauldrons. All of the students were bent over their sweltering potions, completely engrossed in their work, save for one student seated right in front of Snape's silver and green desk.

Harry's jaw was clenched and his face was turning all shades of red. The young Gryffindor was shooting daggers of hate towards the potions master, and had gone way past the point of necessity in angrily grinding his scarab beetles into a fine powder with a worn mortar and pestle.

Dumbledore walked towards the front of the room with his long green robes billowing about him, yet none of the students seemed to notice, even Snape and Harry seemed unawares as the tall figure approached and stopped right beside them. The tension between teacher and student was uncomfortably palpable, more saccharine the suffocating steam clouds floating around the classroom.

Snape's eyes flashed scarlet with anger and he plunged his hand inside his black robes with such speed that Dumbledore thought the professor might curse Harry right there and then. But a wand did not appear in Snape's hand when he removed it from his robes, instead, he held a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion.

"Do you know what this is, Potter?" Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously again.

"No," said Harry, with complete honesty this time.

"It is Veritaserum — a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear," said Snape viciously. "Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might just find that my hand slips" — he shook the crystal bottle slightly — "right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then, Potter . . . then we'll find out whether you've been in my office or not."

Dumbledore bristled with indignation as he saw a trusted man of his threaten a student, yet queerly appreciated the unadulterated and honest glimpse into this private, guarded moment. He was about to waves his arms again, wanted to leave this disgusting interaction, when a knock on the dungeon door stayed his hands.

"Enter," said Snape in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape's desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.

"We need to talk," said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a rather poor ventriloquist.

"I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

"I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."

"After the lesson," Snape snapped.

Karkaroff looked extremely worried, and Snape looked angry. Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class.

"What's so urgent?" he heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff.

"This," said Karkaroff…

Dumbledore swallowed down alarm as he saw the Dark Mark clearly etched on Karkaroff's inner forearm. The snake's face was gleaming, the fangs bared whole, a forked tongue flicking back forth, tasting the air…the classroom began to shake and thunder, the air began to shiver, and moments later Dumbledore found himself floating through the air and gently landing back onto the carpeted floor of his circular office.

Dumbledore looked up from his watery reflection in the Pensieve and turned to the pale skinny stick slouched in one of his office's plush arm chairs. Snape sagged low in the chair, with his hands folded in his lap and his eyes closed.

"Once again, I thank you for allowing me to be privy to your private memories, troubling as some of them were."

Snape made no motion to acknowledge the Headmaster.

"And I agree, it's as I've feared for the last thirteen years; Lord Vold–, sorry, the Dark Lord's return is soon at hand. We've much to discuss. Severus…are you listening to me?"

Snape began to softly snore, his head lolling to one side.

"I met with you as soon as I could Severus. I'd other matters to attend to, important international matters. I saw you as quickly as I possibly could." Dumbledore stared down his spectacles at Snape, disappointed and tired. He then glanced towards one of the portraits lining his office and gave its occupant a quick wink. "You're behaving like a child, it's no wonder Moody's able to walk all over you."

Snape's eyes snapped open, an angry snake who'd been poked with a sharp stick. "That rotten piece of driftwood does not walk all over me, I follow your misguided instructions of turning the other cheek!" Snape stood up, quick as a cat. "And if you think –"

"Oh, so you were listening to me?"

"This isn't a game Dumbledore. Moody's running amok! Something rotten resides in the castle, you're being played for a fool! Winds of change are coming!"

"I know."

"Your continued favoritism towards Moody is disgusting, one of a million mistakes you're making! You've now witnessed for yourself his contemptuous behavior, his threats, his…his…"

"Calm yourself Severus, or you'll drop dead of heart attack."

"Like you care…"

"We both know I very much do, but Moody's here at my behest, he's doing me a personal favor; I can hardly throw him out now. He's…eccentric, yes, but still effective at what he does. And as you very well know, the DADA post is not exactly the most coveted position in the wizarding world right now…especially considering the fate of the last three who held the post."

"I will gladly take over the position."

"You're far too valuable to me to allow that."

"Moody's not the long term answer…there's something wrong with him."

Dumbledore turned away to gaze at the beautiful grandfather clock resting in the corner of his office. It was framed in Arabic gold and inlaid with shining diamonds. The numbers on its face were composed of emeralds, rubies and sapphires. It was ostentatious, unlike anything else in the office, yet he was loathe to part with it, a gift from a thankful wizard many years ago. It represented the precious gift of time, something Dumbledore knew was slipping away from him, something that even his powerful magic could not slow down.

"We're short on time and I've no interest in wasting another second on Professor Moody. Can you handle what he throws at you or do you really need me to get involved?"

Snape did not respond, instead, he slumped back down into the leather armchair and turned towards an open window with a petulant shake of his head.

"Now then, we must begin to plan for the Dark Lord's imminent return."

"How has he survived? How can he come back? How can I help you if I don't know everything?"

"All poignant questions, but the answers will be suited at another time Severus. Tonight, I wish to speak about Harry."

"He's reckless, and terribly sneaky as you've just seen. If that little runt had been honest with us from the beginning, we would've caught the Dark Lord when he was just a broken spirit, we would've found the Chamber much sooner than we did and we certainly would've caught Black and Pettigrew. Don't you realize this? He's headstrong, a loose cannon, and you're enabling him. The child has made everything much worse since you allowed him to come here!"

"He has goodness in him, true courage Severus. More than he has any right to have."

"You're overlooking all his shortcomings, glossing over his many faults."

"Faults like any other child. I could easily say you're overlooking all his redeeming qualities. What would you have me do? Lock him away in a room and never let him experience life? Force him into everlasting detentions? I believe you're doing a good enough job of that yourself."

"His arrogance will be his downfall – like father like son, the past is doomed to repeat itself. The boy never thinks, only acts. He has courage and valor, yes, but most of the dead men I've known had the same, the ones still breathing were much more…wise."

"The hat does not make mistakes, it felt daring and strength in the boy, loyalty above all else."

"Ah hah! Always playing favorites towards your damned house."

"What about his recent performance in the second task? You didn't find his actions commendable?"

Snape stared pointedly at Dumbledore, red embarrassment flushing his cheeks. "He was a fool, wasting precious time saving another, who I might had, was never in any real danger anyway. None of the other Champions strayed from the stated instructions."

"Don't you see why disobeying me and the other judges was admirable? Can't you see the loyalty and respect he has the potential to command from others? The inspiration he can be for the wizarding world? Do you now see the power in loving another, in caring for others?"

"I did love another!"

"Yes, I know, I've never forgotten. It's important to save the memory that is her son, but it's just as important for us to consider other innocents as well. You could learn something from Harry."

"Learn? From a mere child? It's insulting of how little you still think of me, of my abilities!" Snape rose from his chair and moved towards the door.

"Severus wait! There's still much to discuss!" But the only reply Dumbledore received was a slammed office door.

The man's an old fool, he's going to lead us all into disaster. Snape was lost in angry musing as he glided down the spiral staircase – he imagined painful and terrible retribution for Moody…dreamt of Dumbledore begging his forgiveness as he stood triumphant in a field of golden grass…"POTTER!"

Harry skidded to a halt and looked around. Snape had just emerged from the hidden staircase behind the stone gargoyle. The wall was sliding shut behind him even as he beckoned Harry back toward him.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

"I need to see Professor Dumbledore!" said Harry, running back up the corridor and skidding to a standstill in front of Snape instead.

"It's Mr. Crouch . . . he's just turned up . . . he's in the forest . . . he's asking —"

"What is this rubbish?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering. "What are you talking about?"

"Mr. Crouch!" Harry shouted. "From the Ministry! He's ill or something — he's in the forest, he wants to see Dumbledore! Just give me the password up to —"

"The headmaster is busy, Potter," said Snape, his thin mouth curling into an unpleasant smile.

"I've got to tell Dumbledore!" Harry yelled.

"Didn't you hear me, Potter?"

Harry could tell Snape was thoroughly enjoying himself, denying Harry the thing he wanted when he was so panicky.

"Look," said Harry angrily, "Crouch isn't right — he's — he's out of his mind — he says he wants to warn —"

The stone wall behind Snape slid open. Dumbledore was standing there, wearing long green robes and a mildly curious expression.

"Is there a problem?" he said, looking between Harry and Snape.

"Professor!" Harry said, sidestepping Snape before Snape could speak, "Mr. Crouch is here — he's down in the forest, he wants to speak to you!"

Harry expected Dumbledore to ask questions, but to his relief, Dumbledore did nothing of the sort.

"Lead the way," he said promptly, and he swept off along the corridor behind Harry, leaving Snape standing next to the gargoyle and looking twice as ugly.

Snape watched the tall wizard and young boy disappear down a school corridor, trying to puzzle out what he had just head. Potter cold be an attention seeking louse, but the boy had not been lying, Snape was convinced of the veracity of his rantings when he looked into those deep green eyes. There were other terrors in the Forbidden Forest tonight besides Hagrid's creatures, but Harry would be in no real danger with Dumbledore by his side.

Barty Crouch, here at Hogwarts, wandering about the Forbidden Forest? Snape ran through all the possibilities in his head, trying to ferret out what in the world would bring Crouch to Hogwarts without alerting Dumbledore first. This was connected to the Dark Lord, connected to Potter, connected to the Triwizard Tournament…but how? Someone in the castle was the missing link…

Snape hated not knowing, not being in control. The older he got, the more he realized that information, not wealth or strength, was the true key to power. He felt toothless, back to his days as a student, and the feeling disgusted him. Back to Spinner's End, a pillow over his head, an alcohol soaked voice laughing, his chest heaving and constricting…Snape opened his eyes and found himself lying on the floor. My headaches are getting worse…

Snape removed a small vial from his robes and drank, long and deep. He stood up, shook off his self-loathing and decided to follow the pair into the forest – Dumbledore might need another wand on hand tonight. But as Snape took a step forward, a silvery white shadow floated towards him, brightening the dark hallway outside Dumbledore's office.

Snape's wand instantly appeared in his hand, ready to strike, but he lowered when the shadow revealed itself to be a snowy white phoenix. Its feathers were a gentle white, its plume made of silver and wisps. It stopped and floated in front of him, flapping its silver wings like a giant hummingbird. Its mouth yawned open and Dumbledore's voice sounded low from within.

"Krum stunned. Karkaroff furious. No sign of Crouch. Find Minerva and come to the Forbidden Forest. Now."

Snape slowly digested the message as the silver white phoenix melted into the air. He then broke into a dead sprint, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

As Snape raced to the Gryffindor tower he could never have known that at the exact moment, Barty Crouch Jr. was burying his dead father in Hagrid's garden, and the dark spectre that was Lord Voldemort was teaching Wormtail a very painful lesson.