The meeting had been..usual, at the least. Instead of torturing muggles, well, the Dark Lords had taken to punish all Death Eaters for their foolish and unnecessary mistakes on urgent and important missions which could put the lord in critical danger of being found. Quoted straight from the Dark Lord himself. And he, ah, he specifically had made fatal mistakes both on the sides of the war. Sighing, he assessed the damage from he was leaning against a tree in the forbidden forest. Usually he would go straight to Grimmuald Place and the Order meeting, seeing as he was too late already. But he was also too injured, and headed to his quarters to heal himself. Nobody should know. Nobody knows and it should be kept that way.

"It's been what- 5 hours, Albus! How can you still trust that man? He might be on Voldemort's side!" Moody grumbled. He had just woken up from a 3 hour nap. The rest of the Order except Minerva, Albus and him had already left for bed 2 hours ago. Mad-Eye unfortunately had fallen asleep in his chair and was suffering a bad back and neck pain. He stretched and yawned.

Minerva was actually having second-thoughts about the Potions Master. He had never been so late to an Order meeting, especially ones held after he had been called. She knew it wasn't good for her doubt him, but she couldn't help. She felt a crack in her trust and respect for the man.

Albus had clear concern written all over his face and anxiousness swam in his eyes like a lost boat in the Pacific. Of course he would be worried about Severus, she thought. She can't help wondering if he was doubting Snape too. Just a 2 more hours and dawn would break.

"Albus, can I ask something, if you don't mind?" Asked Moody.

"Of course, Alastor. Go on." Albus smiled, the grandfatherly warmth wiping out the concern from his eyes for a moment.

"Why are we still waiting? Most of the Order has already gone to sleep. You can leave a note for him if comes, and hold the meeting tomorrow morning. It's summer vacation, anyways."

"Hmm…you might be correct, Alastor. What do you think, Minerva?"

"Oh, it's perfectly okay with me. Even I'm pretty drowsy." The Transfiguration professor blinked sleepily.

"Fine, then." The headmaster said, getting up. "Accio!" He summoned a quill and parchment and wrote a short message:

Severus, my boy;

I am worried about you. You did not return on time and are very late. Because of this, the meeting has been scheduled tomorrow morning, as we are very sleepy. Meet us here after breakfast.

Sincerely,

The old man.

"Old man? He doesn't even respect you!" Moody scoffed.

"Silence, Alastor. It's just the same as we call you Mad-Eye." Minerva was getting tired of his bitching.

"Fine." Moody grumbled and the three left to sleep.

For some reason, he was afraid. He knows he shouldn't be, but he was afraid. And this time, it wasn't the Dark Lord. It was Albus. He was afraid that he might have lost some trust in his spy, disappointed-

Oh shut it.

Hesitantly, he cast a tempus and went to slither between the numbers 11 and 13. He had hurriedly wrapped up his wounds and they were bleeding, nothing much that he can't handle, from apparating. Dawn was about to break and gulped down his anxiety, putting up his Occlumency shields. He wondered if they were still waiting for him. Black must be asleep, that lazy mutt.

He entered the house as quietly as a stray cat, and found a note on the kitchen counter. As his eyes scanned the note, he felt anger replace the bubbling anxiety. He had stayed awake for many nights, injured and trembling, yet he still came to the meetings. They postponed the meeting just because they were sleepy! He could've attended his wounds better and they won't have torn if he hadn't apparated. He will have to do so again, and his could only hope that his wounds don't become worse. He went outside the wards, closed his eyes…focus, you idiot!

He landed on his back on the books scattered in his bedroom. Turns out even he was exhausted and Magic wanted to rest. Feeling something wet, he stood up and noticed the precious books stained red. This had happened many, many, times before. He even had created a spell. It only cleared away the blood, and the ink is untouched. He had also presented it to the Dark Lord to clear evidence, but unfortunately he liked to leave traces that people were tortured here. He got the Cruciatus as a reward.

"Sanguiit!" (sanguis+abiit = blood+gone)

He watched in satisfaction as the all the blood was cleaned away from the books. He undressed and looked at his wounds. Vulunera Sanentur would not help him this time.