Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the oft-called Savior of the wizarding world, the one whose shoulders carried the hopes of so many, sat numb at the kitchen table at 12 Grimmauld Place, staring at nothing. His eyes did not blink as his mind tried to grasp the significance of what Minerva McGonagall had just read.He was not alone in his silence. Remus Lupin sat at the head of the table, head buried in his aging hands. Harry's year-mate, Hermione Granger, was staring at the document, face looking betrayed by something she had always held very deep within herself.

Or by someone.

The document that everyone in the Order of the Phoenix held in their gazes lay on the table's surface, its narrow, loopy writing very clearly stating its contents, with no question as to what each individual word was trying to say. Vast amounts of the loopy writing were devoted to the effort against the evilest creature known to wizarding kind. Equal amounts were directed towards the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, instructing her of the many ways that the school could be kept open. It stressed the need to keep Hogwarts open for any who needed her in these dark times, that the idea that help would always be given to those who ask for it, no matter the faculty.

"It can't be true," Molly Weasley murmured, voice numb, for the third time since the last paragraph had been read. "It can't be."

"I'm afraid," McGonagall said wearily, taking off her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose, "that it is. However much we may argue, Professor Dumbledore made his wishes quite clear. We will simply have to accept them…"

Harry stopped listening to the other's voices, paying more attention to his memories of the last six and a half years.

He remembered the steely look in the Headmaster's eyes when Harry had questioned him…

I would trust Professor Snape with my life.

…has never been accused of any Dark activity since. No more has Professor Snape.

How the injured Headmaster had insisted for the Head of Slytherin over Madame Pomfrey. How he would entertain no doubts on the man's faithfulness to the Order or his loyalties. At great personal risk…

Slowly the pieces began to set themselves in his mind. At that moment, he wished for a pensieve of his own, to be able to move all the pieces around, like an old-fashion jigsaw puzzle on a tabletop.

…he would not want immediately to kill the person who reached his island.

Had it not been … for my own prodigious skill and for Professor Snape's timely action when I returned to Hogwarts…

It is…Professor Snape whom I need…Severus, I need Severus…

On that final night, how the greatest wizard of the age had begged Snape, not for his life, Harry Potter now realized with sorrow.

For his death.

Snape had hesitated. He had almost balked completely atop the tower. Had, now that Harry put it together correctly, done so once already. That one day…

I jus' heard Snape sayin' Dumbledore took too much for granted…Dumbledore told him flat out he'd agreed ter do it and that was all there was to it.

"All so Snape would be the closest to Voldemort," he whispered to the silent room. "Killer of Dumbledore, honored above all. To get the information needed to destroy him and his followers. His most trusted servant, the one he wouldn't dream would betray him."

Severus Snape sank back onto the pillows on the small bed, eyes closing in exhaustion. He barely moved as Draco Malfoy finished bandaging the last of his wounds, making sure the poultice was in place before wrapping the crushed hands firmly in linens. Opening his pain-clouded eyes enough to see the goblet that the young Slytherin held to his lips, he drank the pain-number without protestation. He let his eyes slip closed as his former student softly blew out half the candles in the room, closing the door behind him.

Severus Snape dwelled within his memories, unwittingly in the same that Potter was contemplating. The arguments with the headmaster, how Albus said Severus needed to kill the headmaster so that the spy would be firmly entrenched in the Inner fold. The wizened old man had said that this would guarantee a place by the Dark Lord's side.

I don't think he meant as a cursing target, he thought morbidly to himself.

Wormtail was higher now in favor and rank than the killer of Albus Dumbledore. The Dark Lord had not been pleased to find out that another had cheated Draco of the kill. Rarely did this bother him in the past, but the wizard's methods and reasoning were becoming murkier by the week. Something that had pleased him in the past no longer was acceptable, sometimes severely punished. Much to Severus's downfall.

He hadn't been permanently hurt. He'd be able to stand in a day or two without aid, albeit not as steady as he would like. Without Madame Pomfrey's expert aid, however, he'd been unable to do much but allow Draco to tend his former Head of House's wounds. The potion master kept enough vials stocked to last until he was up to brewing them again, so long as Wormtail didn't start helping himself to anything on the shelves.

That had stung his pride, even after 3 hours of curses, including Unforgivables, and maltreatment. Having to look after Wormtail without hurting the rat. Any hurts that he could prove, Snape would receive thrice over.

He didn't need this right now, he thought to himself as the potions began to pull him into unconsciousness. One side was more than enough for a price on his head. He didn’t need both of them offering top galleon for it.

Harry looked around at the small gathering, eyes sober. "We can't let anyone know this. The search will have to continue for him, just as it did for Sirius."

Kingsley nodded. "It will be hard."

"But not impossible," Tonks added. "Dawlish is in charge of the manhunt this time. Scrimgeour won't be blindsided as easily as Fudge was."

Hermione snorted. "You just have to know how to blinker him, that's all. Give him one thing to focus on, and you can slip something passed easily enough."

"Like what?" Harry asked, while Ron said, "Huh?"

"Like you, Harry." Hermione smiled slightly, ignoring Ron. "If he thinks he's got a chance at getting the Chosen One in his camp, Kingsley and Tonks should be able to slip a few wrong tips into the investigation."

"Sending Dawlish in the wrong direction, which gives Snape a bit of a break. Something I think he's in need of," Tonks added.

She had everyone's attention now. "Tonks?" Remus asked, "what do you mean?"

"I thought Dawlish mentioned only catching a glimpse of him once this month," Moody muttered. "How much more of a break does the traitor need?"

Tonks glared at Moody, but answered Remus's question. "He was only seen once for sure, but I don't think he's been promoted in the ranks. The Death Eaters were hitting him as much as they were going after our people." She shook her head sadly. "If he was in between them and an Auror, then they'd hit him to knock him out of the way and some of those curses were not quick healing ones."

"They wouldn't be attacking Snape if he was in favor. Most aren’t that stupid."

"Greyback is, if there is any hint of weakness. He'd take out any competition as soon as it showed any weakness." Remus's voice was tight with emotions he wouldn't voice. "But the others? I can't see them risking themselves unless…"

"…unless Albus was wrong, that killing him would take Snape out of the inner circle and out of favor." Minerva shivered. "An approved target that they could lash out at in between meets."

"Dumbledore couldn't be wrong about this. The one that killed Dumbledore would be handing you-know-who a great victory, not a problem. He'd be thanked, not ridiculed," Arthur was saying as Harry remembered something he didn't want to:

Naturally I do, but as I have already proven to you, I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being - forgive me - rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger.

Harry feared that maybe this was a very good example of one.

Harry dropped his head to the book in front of him, eyes closed in frustration. He'd been trying to read this chapter on Rowena Ravenclaw for the last half-hour, with little luck. The low candlelight and the wonderful meal that Mrs. Weasley had made were conspiring to put him to sleep.

Of course, Ron snoring in the armchair across from him wasn't exactly encouraging him to stay awake.

"Any luck?" Ginny asked, sitting down beside him.

"This thing must have been written by Binns, it's so mind-numbing." Harry stretched his arms over his head and sat up straight. "What're you doing up? It's past 2."

"Why're you up?"

Ginny continued to stare at him as Harry avoided the question. "Any word from Tonks yet?"

"You'd get it first, being in front of the door." Ginny settled herself down comfortably in a chair before announcing:

"I know about the Horcruxes."

Harry didn't move, eyes still staring at the page of scribbles done by some long-dead distant relation of the founder. Ginny seemed content to wait in silence while he dragged his eyes up to stare at her, mouth slightly open.

"I know about the Horcruxes, Harry," she repeated slowly.

"Ginny, who…" Harry cleared his throat and tried again. "How did you…"

Ginny raised her eyebrows and very patiently spelled it out for him. "Fred and George are my brothers. I learned things from them. I had to, to keep any secrets from them. You don't put an Imperturbable charm on your door at night."

Harry was still stunned, but after a moment, he asked, "You pieced it together from snatched heard from under our bedroom door?"

Ginny smiled.

Harry frowned, then glanced over at the snoring 7th year. "Ron caved, didn't he?"

Ginny kept on smiling at him, slightly smug.

"You're not helping with this, Ginny," he said in a normal voice; they'd been keeping their voices low to keep from waking her brother up. Harry didn't care now, and closed the book with a loud thud, which managed to jolt Ron awake. "It's too dangerous."

"Wha's dangerous?" Ron yawned.

"You telling Ginny about the Horcruxes," Harry snapped.

Ron blinked. "I didn't…oh…yeah…" He had the grace to look sheepish. "You think she gave me a choice? Besides, Hermione explained it her."

"She thought you could use the help." Ginny nudged the large book. "Another pair of eyes."

"Another life to worry about," Harry murmured, but so Ginny couldn't hear. They'd fought over the summer too many times over it. In the end, Harry stopped bringing the topic up, and Ginny assumed she'd won.

A knock on the back kitchen door alerted them to Tonks' arrival. After an exchange of passwords that Mr. Weasley insisted they use, Tonks settled at the table nursing a warm cup of coffee.

"It's settled," she announced, looking at Harry. "Tomorrow afternoon, the Aurors will ambush a group of holed-up Death Eaters. You, Hermione and Ron can Apparate in 2 miles away. There's an abandoned set of sheds there. Kingsley will herd them toward you and let Dawlish rescue the kiddies."

Harry winced. "Don't like that part, much," he said, rubbing his neck self-consciously.

Tonks smirked a bit. "Best we could do, mate. Remember Moody's idea?"

Harry shuddered, but he couldn't help the faint blush in his cheeks. "Yeah." Coughing, he managed, "Tomorrow then."

Severus sat perched on the edge of the bed, banishing empty bottles back to the workrooms down in the dungeons, where they would be cleaned and sterilized before being used again. He shook his head at the last of the creams he'd tried to use to cure the wounded flesh -- to no avail.

"Severus, you mustn't blame yourself," Albus said softly, pulling his sleeve down over the cursed left hand, hiding it from view. Behind him, the large picture window was open to the summer day, with the strange mist that had been growing steadily all week.

Fawkes chirped from his 'nest' at the opposite side of the large canopy bed. The phoenix had gathered an amazing collection of throw-cushions, hats, small blankets, and various trinkets as a nest on his master's bed. The colours almost rivaled the Headmaster's own dressing gown that he had on, a collage of blue moons, yellow stars, gray clouds and glowing moons. At the moment, Fawkes was staring at the younger man, and making himself more comfortable in the midst of the jumble.

"Who else am I to blame, Headmaster? I am suppose to be --"

"Severus," Albus quietly interrupted, good hand raised to forestall any complaints, "I did not ask you to cure this. Nothing will, my good man. I asked merely for you to treat it and, if possible, arrest its progress. Even Fawkes' tears had little effect." He smiled gently. "Do not put blame where it is not due."

Severus grimaced, but did not comment. He made his way toward the large ironbound door. "You should let the potions work before leaving, Headmaster," he said, not meeting the other's eyes. "The Restorative Draught especially needs --"

"Severus."

Dumbledore waited until the other man met his gaze. When he was sure that he had the potion master's full attention, he motioned him to step closer. After a long moment, Snape came up to the head of the large bed and knelt down, so the injured headmaster, while being propped up, was at eye level and not craning his neck.

"Severus, I have been in this world for almost one hundred and fifty years. A respectable age for any wizard and one that I did not expect to reach unscathed, or even at all during some points of my travels. I have led a rich life, filled with every emotion under the stars."

Albus smiled wistfully. "My travels are coming into the last few leagues, and I do not doubt that I will not see peaceful times again. The time is coming where a new age of wizards and witches will have to take up the reins of our world."

He looked into Snape's dread-filled black eyes. "But not quite yet. I'm not out of lemon drops, after all."

The assembled Death Eaters began to break into groups as Voldemort Disapparated from the meeting site. Those that had been given immediate tasks left with barely a word to anyone; the Dark Lord had been know to return shortly after dismissal to make sure that none were too lax in their duties. Those that stood high in favor at the moment could linger, making private wagers on who would be first to report back with success, or amusing themselves in other, less bland ways.

Severus Snape's glance took in all the assembled members, assessing which way was closest for him to leave the Riddle House and start on the lengthy list his master had given him to make. Some of the poisons were high-maintenance, meaning he couldn't let Draco help. The slightest mistake, a missed ingredient, a slow stir instead of fast, and the fumes would kill the both of them before they realized their mistake.

The siblings, Amycus and Alecto, were arguing in the south corner of the wide hall, drawing attention to themselves and away from the ill-favored Potions Master. Slowly, as if looking at the disturbance as well, Severus made his way toward the far exit, privately wondering whether he'd make it out without anyone being the wiser. The tactic had worked several times before.

Perhaps he had used it too often of late. Greyback immediately cut of his escape with a snarl, while another Death Eater, still robed and masked, ground out, "Colloportus!"

The door that he'd been aiming for no longer an option, Snape began to back away from the wolf. He'd known the half-breed didn't like him, but until recently the wolf had been unable to do anything about it. Now, with the favors shifting…

"Not leaving already, Snape?" Fenrir rasped, smirking. He lunged forward, catching the man's shoulder in his iron grip. "We don't get to see you all that much anymore."

Crabbe and Goyle senior ambled forward, their dim brains registering the impending conflict quickly. With Lucius still in Azkaban, the two thugs had been without a great deal of fun or exercise. Bellatrix moved away from the throne where she had been lounging beside. The siblings voices had gone quiet, a sure sign that Snape's chances of getting away from this quickly were slim.

"I have important work to do, Greyback, which I dare say you know about, being so close to the Dark Lord." Snape wrenched his shoulder out of the wolf's grip.

"Unlike us?" Amycus sneered, while his sister simpered behind him. "Is that what you meant?"

Too late, Severus realized his mistake. He still couldn't put these rejects from normal humans in their place. The Dark Lord would hear of it and would, in turn, punish him for thinking himself better than the little half-blood that he was. Nevertheless, he tried to smooth the other's feelings. "Amycus, our lord has greater things for you and your sister, I am sure, that I am not privy to."

It seemed to work; the siblings agreed with him and backed off a bit. With a bow, he turned toward the now-opened door.

The first punch landed low on his back and side, right into the kidney. Twisting on his feet, trying to stay upright, Goyle's large fist rammed into the corner of his jaw, knocking him flat on the hardwood floor.

Clearing the stars from his eyes, he slowly started to rise to his feet. He'd almost made it, too. The curse from behind curled him back onto the floor. His scream almost overpowered Bellatrix Lestrange's laughter. 

With a loud crack, Snape apparated straight to the study of his private lab. He stood shaking slightly for a moment or two, allowing the pent-up adrenaline out of his system. When he could trust himself not to curse the first thing he saw, he opened his eyes to the dim-lit room.

In the lab itself, he could hear Draco going about making another of the simpler potions. After the events of the past June, the boy had been in his care, Narcissa realizing that the boy could not be found at Malfoy Manor. The Ministry had bounties out for both of their heads, never mind the fact that the boy hadn't killed the Headmaster, that it was --

An empty beaker across the room shattered explosively on the desk as Snape looked at it. He collapsed in a chair, ignoring the broken glass and the abrupt silence from the other rooms. He dropped his head into his bloody hands and tried to gather himself together. He had to keep his emotions in check, or there was no point in trying to brew today. Contrary to what many believed, wild magic didn't always end when a wizard gained full control of his wanded abilities. Sometimes the person could deliberately try to teach themselves to unleash it, although the magic often decided when it was going to appear, and when it wasn't. That was the main reason why most Light wizards didn't bother with it.

Snape had been fascinated with the idea as a student, and by 6th year had been able to call up the ability more and more often. When he'd tried to use it in a fight against Black and Potter, however, he learned the other drawback-- time. It simply took too much uninterrupted time to get the power to come forward and do what he needed. He could, if he practiced enough, levitate objects to him, light small fires, and even shatter glassware if given the right incentives, but practically it was useless to him.

And so he abandoned the idea in favor of easier spells and hexes, curses and vile potions, many of which were his own devising. The idea did not want to be abandoned, however. The gifts he had worked out often decided when to arise, throwing his spells out of control and making anything he brewed several times stronger than anticipated. Occlumency had been the only thing to stop the powers from manifesting, and he had, with typical relish, dived into the obscure branch of magic. When his control faltered, due to emotions or because of certain potions, he could become a danger to himself and anyone around him.

Trying to distract himself from where those thoughts might lead him to, he absently fixed the beaker and placed it on the tabletop once more. He pulled the list out of the inside pocket of his robes, ignoring the spots of his own blood that dotted the page, and began to mentally plan out which he would attempt first and where he was going to get the ingredients for the sizes that the Dark Lord was asking for.

Harry and Ron leaned against the old shed’s wall, Ron lightly dozing and Harry deep in thought. Hermione kept a watch through a crack in the boards, waiting for a sign that the Aurors were starting their attack, and studiously avoiding Ron.

Harry let his eyes close, trusting Hermione to pull his attention away from his thoughts when the time came. She’d been quite insistent that she come along. Harry didn’t have a problem with that, had actually assumed she would be, like Ron. Ron, however, had had a few words to the contrary. He didn’t think she should be there with them, but when both Hermione and Ginny had pounced on that and demanded he explain himself, he’d only sputtered.

Harry thought he knew what Ron was going to say, and had to admit that Ron was showing some signs of survival by not saying, because you’re a girl. Hermione was the only reason that they’d gotten as far in their lives as they had, without being killed or expelled. Year one of their adventures at Hogwarts would have ended very differently with her help with the Philosopher’s Stone, let alone the basilisk, Lockheart, Lupin, Sirius, etc.

He’d kept silent during the argument, sitting beside a fuming Ginny, with books scattered all across the large table at the Burrow. The girls knew where he stood, and Ron asked for it whenever he got all over-protective of Hermione. It was sort of sweet, Tonks had explained to him once over the summer, but it was annoying as anything.

At least, Harry thought with a sigh, Ginny hadn’t asked to come along. She’d said that she would stay behind and continue looking for the Horcruxs in the books at Grimmald Place. Some of Sirius’s book might have more, she’d explained, being the Dark material it was.

“Remind me again,” Ron grumbled, pulling Harry’s attention back to the moment, “why we are out here looking for the murderous git?” Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron’s ineptness, but let Harry answer. It was his idea to be doing this, after all.

Raising his head, Harry looked at his friend’s faces; Hermione’s resolution and Ron’s sceptical. Choosing his words carefully, he said slowly, “I need to make sure Tonks and Kingsley are right.” He paused, looking out at the slowly lightening sky. “Because if they are, then a lot of Dumbledore’s plans are useless now.”

The burning of the Dark Mark jolted Snape out of the half-doze he'd fallen into. The poison he was working on still had 47 minutes left to simmer by itself before either of them had to do anything to it. He'd wanted to have at least this one done before the next meet, but the Dark Lord was not going to wait.

As another wave of pain doubled him over, he shook Draco awake. With a few words, and pointing at the large forbidden tome left out open to the correct page on his desk, the potions master left to answer the call.

Pre-dawn light coated the countryside around Snape and the half dozen extra Death Eaters that were waiting for the Aurors. Rookwood had let slip in Knockturn Alley that there was going to be a meeting of Death Eaters there this afternoon. He'd known about the green Auror standing behind the shop door, and had counted on the newbie to run screaming home to his superiors.

By all accounts, he had. The dark wizard catchers were out in force this morning two miles away, near an abandoned stand of Muggle buildings. They were a noisy lot, Snape mused to himself, off to one side of the group. Bella had been eyeing him, no doubt wondering why their master had chosen the traitor to come along. Snape was wondering the same thing…

…until he caught sight of the two Aurors who were supposedly in charge: Dawlish, Fudge's henchman, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. The female that came up on Shacklebolt's opposite side had to be Tonks, pink hair blazing in the light.

Moving to Lestrange's side, he bowed slightly and whispered, "Order members."

Her eyes lit up. "Where?" A grin appeared when he pointed out the two newer members of the Order of the Phoenix, still standing out in the open…no. Severus shook his head. They didn't want to be seen, surely. Targets? Diversions?

The leaders of the light side began to move out, toward the hidden Death Eaters, rendering the question moot.

Like so many other times, Severus found himself ducking, dancing around, jumping and generally lacking any grace on the field of battle. The Slytherin was disgusted with the battle in general and its location in particular. Dueling was dignified, this was not. Dueling was in a clean, indoor environment. This was in a field, with holes in the ground that could lame a horse, not to mention a man, and mud. Above many things in his life, Severus Snape valued his dignity. This mess suited him as well as the dress that dratted dunderhead had put his image into back at Hogwarts for a cheap laugh to dispel a boggart with.;

At least in the last war he'd known which side he was on. Fight the Ministry, the Muggle-loving fools and the Mudbloods. There had been targets aplenty. Now, with his mixed loyalties, he couldn't just kill with abandon. Part of him longed for the olden days.

Nostalgia would kill him; a curse from his own allies - now wasn't that a stretch of the word - crashed into his shoulder, spinning him to the ground. Bella's high-pitched laugh sounded in his ears as he struggled to his feet, wincing when he put weight onto the limb. He staggered slightly, leaning on the old shed to keep his feet. The Auror she had presumably been aiming at dodged another curse and ran off. How fortunate for you…

His eyes, following the doomed Auror, watched as twin Cruciatus curses cut him down, compliments of the siblings. He also saw someone else, moving from hiding spot to sparse shelter.

Potter.

Of all the lectures he'd endured from the Headmaster over the boy's six years of magical mischief training, he'd kept hearing the same thing from the old man: Keep Harry Safe. The boy had made it bloody difficult, starting right from the Sorting. The Invisibility Cloak hadn't made his job any easier, nor the map, nor any of the hundreds of excuses the old Headmaster had made for the golden trio. Now the idiot was purposely trying to kill him via a heart attack and a nervous breakdown.

Lurching away from the building, hoping to draw attention away from the approaching figure, he came around the corner, and got hit full-force with a jet of red light from a masked figure. Collapsing inside the doorway, blood oozing down the side of his face, he vaguely wondered if he had a concussion, a simple stunner, or a cracked skull.

He was beginning to wonder if he even cared.

The pensieve sat on its shelf with a small card beside it. Harry Potter sat in the same chair that he had sat in when he and Dumbledore had gone through Tom Riddle's life. McGonagall had told him at Bill's wedding that Dumbledore's portrait had woken up and instructed her to give the pensieve to the young man.

Now the portrait was dozing, but Harry didn't quiet believe that. Mustering up the nerve to walk across the room, Harry knelt down on the carpet in front of the stone basin and opened the parchment.

Harry,

It has come to my attention that we will not finish together all the memories that you need to be shown. The remaining memories in the pensieve I want you to view with Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, as they can help you in the task that we discussed.

I would ask, however, that the last two memories I have left for you not be shared until after Voldemort has been destroyed.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry blinked back tears, trying to focus on the two small bottles behind the basin. He knew he had to see those two memories before the others and before he showed the other memories to his friends.

The first, he wasn't surprised to learn, had the fight between the Headmaster and Snape. How Snape was trying of his role, how it was getting harder to deceive the Dark Lord and Draco wasn't helping any. It ended with the line that Hagrid had overheard.

The second memory was the one that Harry wished with all his heart wasn't true. After dismissing Harry, Dumbledore pulled out a handful of Floo powder and called Snape through the network. Snape glanced around the room, noting the cleaned-off desk and the general neatness of things in the normally semi-chaotic shelves. The defense teacher gaze took in the traveling cloak and he paled to eggshell whiteness.

"You plan to go through with this?" he asked, his voice steady. "After all the conflicting evidence I have brought you."

"I believe the cave is hiding the next Horcrux. If you recall, there was such doubt about the ring, Severus." The headmaster reached out toward the Slytherin's shoulder. "Severus, I must ask--"

The younger man shrugged off the hand and stalked to the window, looking out onto the grounds. "You're still taking the boy?" he growled.

"He needs field experience," Albus sighed, obviously repeating a long-standing argument. "Memories can only so much. Actions are sometimes the only solution."

With a whirl of robes, he turned on the old man. "And if I refuse?" he snarled, face twisting. "If I refuse this task?"

Albus shook his head. "You will not survive the night." He added, softly, "As I will not the summer."

All anger faded from the other's face. "What," he whispered, "are you saying?"

Throwing on his cloak, Albus motioned to his maimed side. "The poison is spreading a little faster than I thought. So, my boy, I will say it again: I prefer the thought of my death meaning something. If it comes to my life or yours, Severus…"

The defense teacher's slumped shoulders and averted gaze gave the headmaster the answer. He glanced back before he closed the door to see the young man's hand reach out and lift a lid on his desk, and shiver when he gazed upon the empty lemon drop jar.

As the injured were carried away to be sent to St. Mungo's, Harry quietly sought out Kingsley Shacklebolt. He spotted the experienced Auror talking with Tonks, her bubble-gum hair returned now to its usual brilliance. With a gesture, Harry walked over to a demolished stump where a towering oak had been standing that morning.

After a moment, Kingsley came up behind him, surveying the damage. Talking low, he pointed to several large scorch marks, and asked, "You saw it?"

Harry nodded, looking at the marks. "They must have hit him a half dozen times." He gestured aimlessly at the next tree over. "I didn’t recognize the last one that Bellatrix threw."

"Bone breaker curse. Nasty one to get hit in the head with, cracks the plates but doesn't shatter them."

Harry shuddered slightly. "Any idea where he's being looked after? He can't go to St. Mungo's anymore."

Kingsley nodded, and stepped up beside him. Harry felt a hand slip something flat into his pocket before Kingsley leaned in close. "Portkey," he muttered. "If you find him, that'll take him back to the little shack he's been calling home since last July. We've been keeping an eye on him." The Order, his eyes said.

Harry walked farther along the tree's trunk. "You don't think he Apparated out of here?"

Kingsley snorted. "Not with that, he didn't. Probably not even conscious. Holed up somewhere--"

"Dawlish," Harry muttered under his breath.

"-- the spell's radius," Kingsley continued smoothly as the other Auror came within hearing range. "We are lucky that it hit the tree and not you or Hermione."

"Potter, you're not allowed on the battlefield! This is a Ministry matter," Dawlish announced, arms crossed, wand held at the ready.

"I was part of the group they attacked. I didn’t have a choice in the matter," Potter snapped at him, earning a glare. It didn't bother him; Snape did them much better over a cauldron full of pink froth than this man ever could.

"I'm going to find my belongings, then I'll be out of your way," Harry continued, making eye contact with Dawlish briefly. Nodding to Kingsley, he said, "Thanks for explaining that spell to me."

"You're welcome, Harry. Just remember, we were lucky."

Harry agreed with him and strode away. 

Harry moved in and out of the sheds, glancing inside each one. He moved steadily away from Dawlish's gaze, until the Auror was called away to investigate something one of his underlings had found.

Immediately, Harry ducked into the shed he knew the injured man had fallen into. Waiting for his eyes to adjust, he watched as ramshackle walls focused into being, along with rusty farm equipment and paint cans stacked against one wall. Glancing down, Harry could see the thin trail of blood, mere droplets that he would have missed if he didn’t know they were there. Scuffmarks showed that the Slytherin had dragged himself away from the open doorway to the far wall.

He looked like a drop of the night sky that hadn't left with the dawn light, so formless was he upon the ground. His cloak covered him completely, hiding him from boot-tip to mask, wary even in shock of being discovered. A casual glance inside would not have realized that a man lay underneath that shadow.

Harry knew better; moving forward slowly, Harry kept both eyes on the injured man. Knowing that even all the man had endured the former Head of Slytherin was still very deadly, even when two steps from death's door.

Wand out, he cast a whispered diagnostic spell. The results were as Kingsley had predicted: cracked plates, as well as several broken ribs and internal bruising. Dragging it down lower, he noticed the swelling in one foot due to a fractured ankle. No doubt thanks to that lovely little dripping jinx, he thought to himself.

With a glance at the door behind him, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope Kingsley had slipped inside. Glancing inside to make sure that everything was in order, he moved a corner of the cloak and placed it within an inch of Snape's hand. It gave a slight twitch before returning to stillness. Harry nodded to himself, replaced the cloak the way it was before muttering an energy spell. The spell was a weaker cousin of the Enervate charm, only giving the person a slight boost in energy from the caster for a very short time. It would wake him up enough to hopeful use the Portkey.

Standing, he stepped away from Snape, still keeping his eyes on the slowly stirring figure. Pulling his cloak out of his bag, where it had been all along, he turned and made his way out of the shack, to see Dawlish searching amongst the sheds as well.

Potter ducked around one building, coming up to a larger two-storied shed. Dawlish was only two buildings away when Harry quietly vanished a plank in the wall, slipping inside the shed and exiting through the main door, less that twenty feet from where Dawlish had just turned the corner.

Shaking out of the dust from his cloak, Harry swung it around his shoulders, fastening the clasp as the Auror stalked up to him. He looked up, an idle look on his face, brushing a leaf from the shoulder. "Is the clean-up all finished, Mr. Dawlish?" he inquired politely.

"You were told to leave, Potter," the Auror hissed, standing right in front of Harry. The man was still several inches taller than Harry, and seemed to be trying to intimidate him.

Smiling slightly, that smile that always bothered the new Minister for Magic, he said pleasantly, "And I am, now that I found my cloak and gloves. Good day to you, sir," he added, overtop the faint crack in the distance of someone either Disapparating or being Portkeyed away.

Dawlish sneered and brushed past him into the shed where Harry had just exited. With a smile, he left the field to return to Order Headquarters.

It was the jolt of landing that made Severus Snape realized that the ring in the envelope was a Portkey. He barely realized who it was in front of him in that cursed shack that was two breaths from falling on him. He had been waiting for any number of curses or physical punishments, not for any correspondence. So, slightly confused and consciousness fading, he had slipped his hand inside, brushing against the folded parchment and the hardness of the plain ring.

Now the world refused to stay in his vision, try as he might to keep his surroundings into focus. He knew was on an incline, his head higher that than his throbbing ankle. The ring was still in his hand, along with the parchment, gripped convulsively with the jolt. The air was dank, and had he more strength, he would have gagging on the Muggle stench.

It occurred to him when the world slipped into focus once more that he actually recognized the mud he was lying on, and the stream that was gurgling past his feet.

Draco Malfoy's voice, from higher above him, stilled his musings of where he was. He felt vaguely annoyed that the boy had left Spinners End, but it didn’t last very long. The youngest Malfoy was down beside him, looking over him with wide eyes as he conjured a stretcher.

It was only then that Snape began to wonder how badly he was hurt. 

The smells of potions…damp poultices on his face…murmured spells…he was drifting easily on the sensations, not taking in much of anything else. The hard mattress instead of mud, pillows behind his head. Draco's voice, sometimes close, sometimes far away…it didn’t matter, though.

At times, he would open his eyes, blurred images resolving themselves for a few moments for his perusal. The fire in the grate, burning ever so bright… the candles spaced around the room…bottles on the bedside tables…

…but the light would become too much, and his eyes would close again. The voices with him would tell him when this drifting was done, when he had to leave this state of restfulness and awaken. Now, though, Draco's tones were smooth, calming, not harried as if they were in battle, or the Dark Lord's presence.

Only when the other came in the room did his tones sharpen, though quietly, never realizing how sharp Severus's ears had always been. The other voice, though, always seemed pleased with his condition…happy to see the wounds when Draco changed the bandages…almost crowing…

Wormtail. The other voice was Wormtail. All at once, the past few sessions of voices registered within his mind, playing out. The miscreant that had been foisted on him had been threatening Draco with going to the Dark Lord with the idea that he had prevented the capture of Potter, that the parchment he had been found with proved that his loyalties still lay with the light side. Never mind that Lucius was due to be freed from Azkaban soon, and would broke no threats to his only son from a lowly Gryffindor traitor.

"I should be the one to tell our master," the man was cackling, as Severus's eyes slowly opened.

The candles flickered beside him…

"Tell him what?" Draco scoffed, Malfoy arrogance in his every syllable. "That the Potter brat is delusional? Last I checked, he already knew that."

"It is a clear as the ink that they still believe to be one of their own!"

The fire in the grate flared wickedly, spitting out sparks onto the flagstones.

"The Dark Lord rewards the killing of traitors!" the little rat screamed as he brandished his wand.

Draco brought his own up, mouth a firm line.

Wormtail's left sleeve, from cuff to shoulder, burst into flames. Shrieking, he frantically ran from the room, alternately beating his arm with his silver hand and trying to tear his shirt off. The two Slytherins could hear his screams as he ran into the kitchen, and the higher pitch squealing when water did nothing to arrest the flames.

Draco closed the door, muting the noise. He turned around, facing his former Head of House. With an eyebrow raised, he tucked his wand away, unused.

Smirking slightly, Severus closed his eyes and slipped back into restful sleep, only dimly aware that Draco had pulled another blanket over him.

The trees were covered in a thick layer of their winter whites, barren branches heavy with their burdens of flakes. No wind disturbed the crystalline lacework amongst the stands of trees, upper branches meshing together to form a great tapestry to Nature's winter wizards, lit only by the flickering light of the sickle moon that peered between the drifting masses of clouds.

Shadows outlined the great work, floating downward past the canopy, a few spots making the journey to the snowy carpet; outline of a mouse's tracks, out for one last seed-hunt before retiring; outline of a owl's wing-print, out for one last mouse-hunt before retiring.

Flakes began to drift again from the covered sky, catching upon laden branch and bush, on forest floor and on the woolen shoulders that stood between two ancient oaks. The shoulders held many such flakes, one more now and again reuniting with its fellows from the clouds. Still, the flakes did not disappear, merely built another layer upon the shoulders, a few select landing on the hood and caught in the two front strands that fell outside the hood's protection.

As the person had of the only man who had ever accepted him. With one curse, no matter the orders, the fights, and in the end the pleading that had passed into memories, it was over. The blue eyes, so knowledgeable, would never again twinkle in merriment after winning a trivial argument, or when he conceded some minor point to his Potions Master only to trap him later with some burst of Gryffindor logic. No more arguments, discussions, or --

-- or, he admitted to himself, the friendship that had grown between the two men. That a spy and the savior to the Wizarding world over fifty years ago would enjoy their little spats never ceased to baffle the Slytherin, who, by training and inclination, always saw everything first how it would affect him.

As this parchment in his hands affected him. One simple sentence that if Lucius had ever laid eyes on, would have been a prolonged death sentence for Snape. (Pity that Wormtail had such a … forgetful… memory.) The sentence a hallmark of the old wizard's entire belief in people, even in Slytherins. The parchment that even the snow respected and kept clear of…

…as they avoided the Potion Master's shadow, his green cloak pulled tight against the chill. He stood under the sweeping bows of an older tree on the clearing's edge which blocked both the snow and the infrequent light from above, casting his face into deep shadows. Those shadows had swallowed his approach upon the older man, so deep in thought that he had not heard his approach apparently. It surprised him.

It disturbed him.

By all his memories, his own and those given, the only times that one could sneak up on the Slytherin was when he was either unconscious in the nurse's care, or after the Dementors had come too close. Even under an Invisibility Cloak, the man had been able to almost exactly point him out.

So it worried the Boy-who-lived that he could be standing not ten feet away for over 20 minutes, and the other not notice him until he spoke.

"You will find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

Harry didn't miss the flinch those words evoked or the twist around to face him, shock quickly hid behind the sneering mask.

It was a mask, now, Harry saw. A well-worn mask that hid many things: resignation, pride, fear, determination, iron-will, resolve, pain, and something Snape couldn't dare to allow himself--

--hope.

Harry held out one hand palm up slightly, offering, accepting.

"And to those who need it," he added softly. 

The silence of a winter's night

brings memories I hold inside;

remembering a blue moonlight

upon the fallen snow.

Enya "Amid the falling snow", Amarantine