An Issue Of Trust

I was amazed at how many people had spoken these words. Hell, they’d even left my lips on occasions: ‘Dumbledore trusts him.’ They stood for a lot, validated your existence and lifted your status. Got you out of a fair amount of trouble too, away from that metaphorical creek we have all navigated without that much needed paddle. And most people forget the names of some of those others who could fall into that category; Quirrell, Fudge, Mad-Eye…well, not exactly Mad-Eye, but the point is still valid. But sometimes they remember, sometimes they look back with disbelief at how often Albus can get it wrong. And sometimes they find themselves losing trust in him too, and the same words become twisted into a condemnation and accusation.

They are the words a man must learn to hide behind.

Chapter 1: A Reason To Doubt.

‘You have proven yourself loyal in the past, but the past is not now. Do not give me reason to doubt you, Severus.’

Do not give me reason, a phrase that contained so many hidden meanings. And threats. There were always a fair few of them to be found in any sentence that fell from his lips. To ignore the potential threat was to all but hand yourself over, which was never pleasant. Any other man might have shuddered at the thought, but this was Snape and only the faintest of flashes passed behind his eyes to indicate his discomfort.

Casting such thoughts from his mind, Snape picked up his pace, the stones ringing sharply beneath his boots as the words refused to be banished, tickling at the back of his mind. Some people had no right knowing so much, had no right assuming so much, especially when the assumption involved him, and even more so when it hit so close to the truth. The truth was useful, you would never hear him say otherwise. There was nothing better for hiding behind, no better guise for the words he wrapped so easily in it. But it was not to be used as a weapon, to be brandished so bluntly, so honestly and with no disguise and no hidden depths. The real truth was something to be guarded, not thrown disregarding into the world for anyone to see.

The mask fit snugly over his face. It wasn’t uncomfortable anymore; he had grown somewhat attached to it over time, wearing it as a second skin. And with a whiteness so close to that of his own it blended perfectly, becoming more than just a mask and almost a part of him, smoothing his face and his features into something that was only a semblance of who he was. It wasn’t just a mask you could hide behind, it was a mask you could live behind, and thinking of it as such made wearing it all the easier.

The room was dark, which was no surprise, all in the name of an impossible anonymity. No follower was to know the name of the one who stood beside him. And in theory it all worked seamlessly, until reality appeared and twisted its arm behind its back before giving it a sharp kick. Some people couldn’t be hidden by a mask, couldn’t be concealed by the darkness and the robes. They knew each other, some more than others and not always everyone, but they knew enough. Enough so that when you met outside this room, unprotected and defenceless, you held the others hand slightly longer than the handshake necessarily required and the gaze went deeper than was strictly necessary. And with that person you would forever associate the screams you had heard, a whole variety in pitch and intensity for the connoisseur to appreciate and the weak to shy from. You were known amongst each other by your victim’s last breath.

But still you behaved as though it were otherwise, you maintained the façade of ignorance out of tradition, and stored everything you knew for future reference, for future bargaining. It was an endless struggle for superiority, to gain the upper hand through bribery and blackmail and simply knowing more than the other.

Do not give me reason to doubt you.

Well there was always at least one person with something to hold over him, who knew so much more about him when he struggled to find enough pieces about the other to form even a portion of his lifetime. It was hardly surprising given the choices he had made though: they demanded mistrust at least in private, no matter how unshakeable it appeared in public, for it would do no good for your followers to know you ever wavered, ever doubted.

‘Kneel.’

It was a voice you believed should be cold and merciless, but instead it rang richly from the walls, making it that much easier to obey as he sank subserviently down, all other thoughts leaving. He had been dwelling on them for too long, long enough to cause suspicion if the Dark Lord were to realise how they plagued him and tormented him.

Reason to doubt.

When there could be no reason. His position relied upon the utmost trust, the utmost belief of where his loyalties lay. He would not betray them.

‘Another family falls, another potential enemy is struck down.’ Snape could feel the figure next to him relax with a loud sigh as the Dark Lord surveyed the room, scarlet eyes bright in the darkness. ‘And yet I have achieved nothing.’ The same sickly sweet tones, but with an edge that spoke of blood and death and unimaginable pain. ‘Every day you kill, every day the Mudbloods and the Muggle-lovers fall to my power, yet I have achieved nothing. The Dark Mark hangs in the sky, but it is not enough. It will not hand me the world.’ Voldemort smiled, his thin lips curling slightly at the corners as he slowly paced through the ranks, his ranks. ‘You waste your time on the small and insignificant when they will not remain so for much longer, when they are not the ones who will provide the ultimate threat.’ It was true; in the thousands they had slaughtered not one carried a name worth remembering, had held a status worth dying for. They were picking off the weak whilst the strong grew stronger. ‘You will bring down the Order, you will destroy the Ministry.’ The voice filled with passion, with loathing as his eyes flashed gleefully. ‘You will strike at the very heart of their resistance and watch as it crumbles.’

‘But My Lord!’ The voice was hesitant, and with good reason, feeble in the silence that engulfed the room. ‘Surely there is only one we need bring down?’ Snape smiled mercilessly to himself that such a pathetic voice could make such an astute statement, that the fury pulsing from his Master was not aimed at him.

‘You would bring me Harry Potter?’ Such lightness, such deceit in a voice so hypnotising. ‘You would place his lifeless body before me in the knowledge that someone so insignificant, so eternally,’ he spat the words hatefully, ‘lucky could never be my equal, my adversary.’

‘It would be my greatest honour.’ Still pathetic, but with a coat of grease that allowed it to slide ingratiatingly.

‘And then the world would slowly crumble; without its protector it would have no other choice, and we shall remain to pick up the pieces, to rebuild the way it was always intended.’

‘Yes, My Lord.’

‘No.’ A couple jumped, those who could not yet read the subtle signs and were not expecting it. ‘I will not inherit a broken world, I will not have handed to me something I should be able to take for myself. History will not record me that way.’ The arrogance of someone who had failed to grasp one simple point: It didn’t matter how he took the world, once it was his so became the history that surrounded it. The truth can be found in the man in power, and history would be his to write however he saw fit. Snape would have smiled had those eyes not turned to rest on him, sifting through his mind. Anyone with basic knowledge of Legilimens could have stopped that attack, but it would not have been the wisest course of action. The trick was to hide only that which needed to remain so, and that was the challenge, to separate your memories, your entire life into two distinct places. ‘He trusts you?’

‘Implicitly, My Lord.’

‘Then you shall be the means by which that old fool will fall.’

‘I will not fail you.’

‘Of that you had better hope.’

-oOOo-

The fire spat and flared in the hearth, sparks landing on the heavy carpet nearby and dying instantly with a small hiss and wisp of smoke as Snape stepped through, mask clutched to point of destruction in an iron grip. It was his only concession to the anger he felt, his face impassive as the fire continued to flare behind him, casting a soft glow across the walls.

‘Severus, I know you have returned.’

Of course the Headmaster knew; when was there anything he did not know? Severus turned slowly to greet the ghostly face hovering in his fireplace. ‘I trust all went well.’

‘All went…. as expected. I will join you in your office shortly.’ He turned away from the fireplace sharply, not waiting for a response or acknowledgement. He was not in the mood for riddles or incessant hinting, vague comments or any of the other annoying habits of speech the Headmaster possessed in abundance. Nor could he stomach tea, or a single one of the thousands of lemon flavoured sweets and snacks Dumbledore thrived upon. Were he any other man, Snape would swear that his sweet tooth would be his ultimate undoing, as he chuckled emptily; Dumbledore, the greatest Wizard known to the Wizarding World felled by a Lemon Sherbet. An obviously most evil and malevolent Lemon Sherbet, but a Lemon Sherbet nonetheless. Reluctantly he moved away from the heat of the fire. He never realised how cold the other place was until he returned and remembered what it was to feel warmth, but wearing these robes in the castle felt wrong, as though the building itself were emanating its disapproval. Despite the almost complete lack of difference, he always felt more comfortable once he was wearing his teaching robes, more able to deal with whatever might be thrown at him. A different weapon for a different place.

-oOOo-

 ‘Boy,’ Vernon bellowed through the locked door. ‘You’d better be up already. I will not have you making us late.’

He was up, and dressed in a dark blue sweater that almost hung to his knees. He was still short, there was no escaping it, and the only thing that gave him cause to hate it was when his cousin looked down on him with those little piggy eyes.

‘I’m up, I’ll be out in a minute,’ he replied tiredly through the door, for once locked only from his side. The array of padlocks still hung down the outside of the door, and his uncle was not above waving the keys threateningly in front of his face whenever he was displeased, which was often. And Harry never pushed it too far, keenly aware that such freedom was not something to be squandered.

‘And stop moping,’ Vernon finished for good measure as his heavy footsteps could be heard on the staircase. Harry sighed as he thrust his wand into the waistband of his jeans with complete disregard for the safety of his buttocks. He filled Hedwig’s bowl generously as he stroked her soft feathers, smiling when she nipped his fingers and stretched her wings. ‘Did you write to your friends?’ Vernon asked from the bottom of the stairs as Harry closed the door behind him. That one man could put such venom into such a simple statement was impressive, even rivalling on Snape who always managed to pronounce even just his name as though the words themselves were poisoning him. Harry turned to meet his angry gaze.

‘Yes, Hedwig only just returned. She’s in her cage.’ Vernon bristled with annoyance, as though deprived of a golden opportunity to berate him.

‘Good,’ he managed to reply. ‘I won’t have that creature destroying the house whilst we’re out.’ Harry opened his mouth to point out the only creature in the house likely to do that was Dudley in one of his tantrums, but thought the better of it. Besides, he had a favour to ask. He followed his uncle dutifully to the car where his aunt and Dudley were waiting impatiently, Dudley throwing him a look of pure contempt as he slid into the seat next to him.

‘I still don’t see why he has to come,’ he whined, shifting his incredible bulk slightly and trying to loosen the seat belt that stretched around his large stomach. Harry pulled a disgusted face as Dudley glared at him.

‘Because I said he does,’ Vernon grunted as Petunia fished in her handbag, producing a large paper bag that filled the car with a sickly sweet smell as she proffered it to her son.

‘Don’t get upset Diddikins,’ she crooned. ‘He won’t ruin your day, I promise.’

‘Then lock him back in his room,’ Dudley demanded as the car backed out the driveway and Vernon hit the brakes a touch too hard, jerking the car to the stop.

‘How about another present, will that make up for it?’ he bribed tersely, grinding the car into first gear as the road moved slowly past them.

‘No,’ Dudley started to shout, looking desperately out the back window at the hastily retreating house. ‘I don’t want him or his freakishness anywhere near me.’ Harry smiled to himself as Dudley worked himself up. ‘What if he does it again?’ Harry rolled his eyes at his cousin, wishing he had been the cause of his new found irrational fear. But there was never a Dementor around when you needed one.

‘He won’t do anything, will you boy?’ Vernon said threateningly, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.

‘No,’ Harry replied with all the false sincerity he could muster, grinning at Dudley so no one else could see. Dudley emitted a petrified little squeak before hollering at the top of his lungs.

‘I want to go home!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Vernon said shortly. ‘We were lucky to get tickets at such short notice, and you’ve been dying to go.’

‘I want to go home, now!’ Dudley screamed, throwing off his seat belt and fumbling with the door handle as Petunia shrieked with fear for the life of her precious son. A minute later the car had turned round and was heading at a leisurely pace back towards Privet Drive. Vernon pulled into the driveway in stony silence as Petunia helped a sobbing Dudley from his seat, a motherly arm placed gently over his enormous shaking shoulder.

‘I hope you’re happy, boy,’ Vernon growled as Harry slammed the door behind him. ‘You ruined the day, and after all the trouble we went too so you could come along.’ Harry didn’t bother to catch him out on the obvious lie; Vernon was turning a very pretty shade of red.

‘S’not my fault,’ he said sullenly.

‘Yes it is, you and your freakishness.’ His uncle was continuing on autopilot now, taken over by weeks of pent up rage. ‘We should never have allowed you back in the house.’

‘I didn’t do anything to Dudley,’ Harry said indignantly. ‘And you didn’t have to take me back, it’s not like this is the only place I can go.’

‘Yes it is,’ Vernon announced triumphantly. ‘Else you wouldn’t be here. Or perhaps you’re not as well loved as you thought. So, what did you do to make even the freaks abandon you, kill someone?’

Harry saw red.

-oOOo-

‘Severus, how good of you to join me,’ Dumbledore gestured to an empty seat, a pot of gently steaming tea appearing on his desktop much to Snape’s disappointment. He found himself entranced as he watched the Headmaster pour two full cups, adding enough sugar for five to his own before gesturing to Snape for the other. He took it reluctantly, sipping the weak brown liquid as Dumbledore settled himself behind his desk. ‘What news do you have?’

‘Nothing you did not expect,’ Snape said smoothly. ‘The Dark Lord is quite determined, and it is not just Potter he has set his sights upon.’ Dumbledore smiled faintly, like a small child who got the attention of his parents by breaking something very valuable.

‘You can use his name Severus,’ he commented absently. ‘The world will not fall apart simply because you use the word Voldemort.’

‘Of course,’ Snape said flatly. ‘Voldemort is determined, but has not yet given any indication of his plans or intentions. Beyond for certain individuals to find themselves slightly less alive than they currently appear to be.’ Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at the increasing sarcasm as Snape found himself hiding behind his cup of tea.

‘Then perhaps, in light of this, there is something you could do for me,’ Dumbledore watched as Snape struggled to swallow his mouthful and regain his composure. ‘I would like for you to collect Harry from his relatives and take him to Grimmauld Place.’

Snape nearly spat out his tea.

‘What?’

‘He cannot travel alone.’

‘But surely there is a more sensible choice,’ Snape tried to reason. ‘Someone less likely to attract attention.’

‘You are by far the most…qualified. And there is no one else I can spare.’

‘The Dark Lord -’ Snape paused and corrected himself. ‘Voldemort watches the house, he will know if it is I who collects the boy.’

‘Yet no doubt he would realise how foolish it would be to expect you to take Harry from under my very nose.’ It was true, but the Dark Lord was not necessarily known for his reasonable nature. But then again, neither was Dumbledore. Snape would be the one going, it was final. ‘Cheer up, my dear boy.’ Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as Snape glowered in gracious defeat. ‘All will turn out for the best, you’ll see.’ Snape forced a grimace of agreement as he sipped at the last of his tea.

‘When is he to be collected?’

‘This afternoon, and do try to be nice to the Muggles.’

‘Naturally.’ Snape replaced the now empty cup onto the tray, which disappeared seconds later. ‘I take it there will be someone at Grimmauld Place waiting for him?’

‘I believe Remus will be present tonight,’ Snape couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering to the sky outside. ‘You must admit, with your potion there will be no safer protector. The Weasleys will arrive in the morning.’

‘I have work of my own to attend to this evening.’

‘There will be no need for you to remain,’ Dumbledore assured the Potions Master. ‘I simply require Harry to be delivered safely.’

‘How would you suggest I reach the boy, the house is extremely well warded,’ especially against people like me, Snape thought to himself. No matter how he looked at it, the Dark Mark he bore separated him and added all sorts of little extra difficulties.

‘It will not be a problem,’ Dumbledore reassured him. ‘Although you might do well to Apparate somewhere out of sight and away from the house.’

‘Surely his relatives are aware of the existence of magic?’ Snape said incredulously. ‘I would not have thought any Muggle could be that oblivious, and it is Potter we are talking about here.’

‘They are indeed aware,’ the Headmaster said gravely, steepling his fingers. ‘However they are not the most understanding of people.’ Snape nodded; he had met plenty of frightened Muggles before. ‘Be careful,’ Dumbledore added as Snape reached for the door. He nodded grimly, robes swishing behind him as he descended the stone staircase.

-oOOo-

‘I want that garden perfect,’ Vernon roared from the open doorway to where Harry was knelt on the grass. ‘Don’t think you’re coming inside until it is.’ Harry sighed deeply. It had been his own fault for losing his temper, and he hadn’t seriously expected the threat of Alastor Moody would allow him to get away with anything. His uncle had limits, and Harry had done his best not to push them too far, to get through the summer as quickly and painlessly as was possible.

The sun was too hot on the back of his neck, which was already painfully red, the back of his scratchy t-shirt not helping his discomfort. And without gloves his hands were sore, marked from the occasional stinging nettle he had to pull out that was now lying in a small pile next to him. Muttering to himself had helped at first, but there were only so many curses he knew and eventually the anger towards his uncle had petered out. He could have had the job finished in a few minutes with magic, but the potential wrath of Vernon was only beaten by the every increasing threat of the Ministry. He was not liked within its walls, even the return of Voldemort being brought to light was not enough to undo the damage of the previous year. Bad feelings hung around and the rumours were not about to be dispelled.

Pulling a particularly stubborn weed viciously from the ground, Harry sat back on his legs, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his discarded sweater. He had wanted to watch the news tonight, and possibly even make a phone call, but there was no chance of that now. He’d be lucky if his dinner had just gone cold. Glancing nervously at the window from which he knew his uncle would be sure to check on him regularly he leant back towards the flowerbed. He’d have to get the hose out too, with no rain in weeks the soil was dry and the plants starting to wilt, yet something else for which he would be blamed. But the sun was too high at the moment, which left just him and the weeds, most of which God had been good enough to bless with a sting.

He barely noticed the shadow that spread slowly across his, engrossed in his own thoughts as his hands worked of their own accord, but there was no missing the voice.

-oOOo-

Snape had been in many Muggle towns and villages, but rarely one that seemed so uniform. It took a special kind of person to live in this sort of environment and repetitiveness, where every house was identical to the one next door and each driveway supported a car that if not the same to every other, was at least doing a pretty good job of imitation. He knew that Arabella Figg lived in one of them, and wondered how she could bear it. Perhaps the Squib in her found a way to cope, but he had at least expected something small that would set her house apart from all the others. No such luck though, he was greeted simply by rows and rows or perfect lawns and spotless automobiles that seemed to challenge him for being new.

The only concession that there was a difference was a small number of each door, as he glared at the small number two in front of him. Logic dictated that four would not be far away, but Muggles seemed to have put a whole lot more thought and variety into numbering their streets than he would have thought possible. Only someone completely ignorant could be inventive enough to make the smallest thing so complicated. However, after a couple of paces up the road he soon realised the numbers were unnecessary. There was no mistaking the head of hair across the road, and no one else would be stupid enough to leave their wand sticking so obviously from the back of their trousers. Adjusting his robes he stepped across the street, until his shadow stretched across most of the garden. He wondered briefly about the terrible sunburn he could all ready see on the boy, but dismissed the thought just as quickly by dint of not particularly caring. And since Potter seemed oblivious to his presence he cleared his throat.

‘Need I tell you how many things you are doing wrong at this very moment, Potter?’

The boy jumped, which was always a good start, before wiping his dusty hands on the faded and oversized jeans he was wearing. He opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly insolent when a short, fat man burst through the front door, his face a deep shade of red.

‘No, get off. I will not have another one of you freaks on my property.’

It was not what he had expected, and certainly not the kind of comment he expected from a scared Muggle. Once again, Snape got the impression that Dumbledore hadn’t told him the whole story, but was momentarily distracted by the fact that the man seemed to be looking down on him. It was not a situation he was willing to allow to continue. Pulling himself up to his full and impressive height Snape turned the full force of his personality on Vernon. He had to give the man credit: he was stupid enough not to back down.

‘If you would kindly repeat what you just called me.’ His voice was icy.

‘You heard me!’ Vernon roared. ‘I will not have you freaks thinking you can just turn up whenever you like. It’s bad enough you leaving the boy here.’ Snape turned to where Harry had turned a shade of red almost equivalent to that of his uncle, although it was based more on embarrassment than anger, raising one eyebrow questioningly as the smallest smirk played on his lips.

‘I said get off my property,’ Vernon spluttered again, although it was with slightly less vehemence than he had managed in the previous attempt. ‘Or are you deaf as well as stupid?’ It was a mark to the fact that Gryffindors were not as eternally ignorant as Snape believed when he felt Harry take a couple of smart steps backwards.

‘Potter will be coming with me.’ Harry didn’t look any happier with this than his overweight excuse for a relation did, obviously torn between which of the two he wanted to win the stand off. In the end he settled for crossing his arms with the air of someone who was willing to wait and see. ‘You have five minutes to collect your belongings,’ Snape snarled in Harry’s vague direction. Evidently his presence inspired greater obedience than the relatives managed to achieve, since Harry immediately sidled towards the door, sliding past the impressive bulk blocking the entrance. His uncle was too engrossed with the professor to pay him much heed, so Harry took the stairs to his room two at a time, throwing the door open so that it crashed against the far wall, causing Hedwig to jump.

‘Looks like we’re going, girl,’ he muttered apprehensively, pulling his heavy trunk out the cupboard and wincing when it dropped the couple of inches to the floor with a loud and reverberating thud. Haphazardly throwing back the few books he had removed, he then gathered the letters that were scattered across his desk. On the most part, they consisted of Ron’s scratchy scribble, not made any more legible by the speed and excitement with which his friend normally wrote. Most didn’t even contain more than a few lines, and the more thoughtful might have waited to at least fill a piece of parchment before sending it. But Ron, it seemed, had taken to the habit of writing anything and everything of any remote interest that happened and reaching for the nearest owl. Fortunately, it was normally Pig who got the honour of the long journey, and the excitable owl had quickly become as frequent a resident as Hedwig. The few times Errol had attempted the flight he had taken up lodgings and refused to move for a week, his head stuck pathetically under his wing. Harry had prodded him a few times with a pencil to make sure he was still alive, and then let him be.

After kicking the hefty trunk towards the door, Harry opened Hedwig’s cage. ‘It might be easier if you met me there,’ he said appreciatively, running a finger down the soft feathers on her chest. ‘I don’t think we’ll have the best company for the trip.’ Hedwig just hooted softly in agreement, spreading her wings and leaving an empty cage behind her. Jamming it under his arm, Harry proceeded to drag the trunk towards the stairs.

‘…This coming from a lowly Muggle.’ Harry heard the words floating up to the landing before he had even left his room. He pulled more frantically at his trunk, but it refused to slide across the vulgar floral carpet at any speed greater than agonisingly slowly.

‘…You’re all good for nothing…’ The trunk finally pivoted over the top step, and Harry felt his grip slipping on the handle in his hurry, the insults continuing to pass between the two standing below him. In any other circumstance it might have been amusing, but Harry was painfully aware that, no matter the outcome, he was now destined to spend time in the company of someone who not only hated him, but was also in a stinking bad mood because of him. They had to be separated, preferably before either his uncle got cursed, or Snape received a detailed description of everything that was wrong with his kind. Harry attempted to glare his rebellious trunk into submission, since he was sure he had been able to lift the stupid thing, just about, in previous years. He mentally blamed Hermione for its increase in weight. It wouldn’t surprise him to discover she had secretly been slipping in extra books. Gritting his teeth, he braced it against his back to get a better hold, the sharp corner digging painfully between his shoulder blades.

‘…Impure, nothing but a waste of air…’ Reaching gingerly for his wand with one hand, and slowing the progress of his now eagerly sliding trunk with the other, Harry heard a familiar snort of anger from his uncle. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw Vernon’s hand curling round the side of the door, obviously making to slam it in the Potion Master’s face. And he did - or at least he tried to - the door coming to a bone jarring halt midway through its arc as a flash of red stopped it in its tracks. ‘How dare you!’ Snape roared, wand hovering in the air between the two. Harry dropped all pretences of saving his trunk and earning, if not his aunt’s approval, then at least not her outright scorn. He leapt down the stairs so that it slid down behind him uncontrolled, almost taking out his feet.

‘Sir, no!’ Harry jumped in front of the aimed wand as Vernon almost fell backwards in fear, shying away as Snape looked at Harry with detestation.

‘Finally ready, are we then, Potter?’ he managed to growl.

‘Yes, sir,’ Harry answered sullenly, gesturing to where his trunk had landed at the bottom of the stairs, taking a sizeable chunk out of the banister. Snape snorted with indifference, turning on his heel and stalking past the garden as Harry stepped around his cowering uncle to retrieve it, heaving it through the doorway and down the path to where Snape had finally stopped, tapping his foot with impatience.

‘I would have thought you’d be slightly more excited to be leaving,’ Snape muttered with all the patience of an irate hippogriff, barely waiting for Harry to catch up before pacing down the street again. ‘What is keeping you so long?’ he snapped intolerantly when Harry immediately lagged behind again, fixing him with a patented I’m-better-than-you-why-must-I-waste-my-precious-time-in-your-presence? glare.

‘It’s heavy,’ Harry muttered, biting his tongue on the many additional comments he wanted to make. Snape sighed heavily and wearily, no doubt at the immense aggravation of all things Potter, pointing his wand and firing a shrinking charm at the dropped object. When it was no more than the size of a fist he stopped, eyebrows raised as he looked expectantly at Harry.

‘I will have no further excuses,’ he snarled, sweeping round as Harry bent down to retrieve the tiny trunk before running to catch up. Even then, he struggled to keep up with the professor’s long stride, breaking into sporadic moments of a half-running, half-jumping movement to prevent getting left behind. He scowled to himself, an act that mirrored Snape, who was concentrating furiously on the road ahead of him.

‘How are we getting back?’ he finally asked, but there was no response. Chewing over the idea of repeating himself, Harry instead asked the only other question that had been plaguing him. ‘You wouldn’t have cursed my uncle, would you?’

‘And if I had?’ Snape’s tone was short. ‘You are in no position to question my actions, Potter. Or need I remind you of some of yours?’ Harry glowered to himself, face heating up slightly again as he stared at his feet. ‘Besides,’ Snape continued with rather more malice in his voice, ‘I would not be the first to curse a member of that terrible family.’ Snape looked down on Harry’s worried face, his own twisting as he realised exactly what Potter was thinking. ‘I would not have hurt them,’ he snapped angrily, furious that the boy could even think such a thing.

‘You did say he was unworthy of the very air he breathed,’ Harry pointed out with a hastily added, ‘sir.’

‘I never said I particularly liked Muggles,’ Snape sighed with exasperation. ‘But, for the most part, I don’t want to see them all killed either.’ He paused for a moment considering what he had just said as his lips curled upwards slightly. ‘Although there are always exceptions.’ Harry didn’t comment.

‘How are we getting back, sir?’ Harry changed the subject quickly. He didn’t particularly want this trip to wind up as some sort of insight into the workings of Snape’s mind: mainly he just wanted to get through it alive and, if at all possible, unscathed.

‘Floo Network.’ Harry waited to see if any further information would be offered. It quickly became apparent that it would not.

‘I didn’t think there was a connected fireplace near here.’ Snape rolled his eyes, crossing the street without warning.

‘Normally there is not, nor would there ever be, but for the purposes of today, there is one fireplace that will do.’ Harry cheered slightly when he approached the familiar garden of Arabella Figg. The permeating smell of cats actually seemed quite appealing if it would get him away from Privet Drive while spending the shortest amount of time in Snape’s company that was possible. He would have bathed in it. The doorbell rang cheerfully inside the house as Harry waited, Snape’s scowl deepening as he heard the lock sliding behind the door. Apparently his distaste spread to Squibs, as Harry could see his eyebrows rising distastefully at the woman who greeted them.

‘Harry!’ she exclaimed, pulling him bodily into the house as Snape followed, carefully positioning himself as far away from anything solid as was possible. If he could have floated, Harry was sure he would be doing so right now. ‘How have you been?’

‘Fine,’ Harry started to reply, just to find himself cut off by an impatient snort.

‘This is not the time for pleasantries.’ Snape’s voice cut smoothly through the conversation. ‘The Floo Network is only accessible for a short period of time, and anything we can do to further shorten it is only prudent.’ He looked meaningfully at Arabella, who nodded dismissively.

‘Yes yes, we all know…death, destruction, Death Eaters and approaching doom. Don’t you ever get tired of expecting the worst?’ She chuckled to Harry as Snape seethed, her fingers grasping his arm with remarkable strength for her seeming frailness and steering him inarguably down the hallway.

‘It is only sensible to prepare for the worst, to ensure there are no nasty surprises.’ The last part of the comment was aimed more specifically at Harry, who found himself still being dragged towards to kitchen despite Snape’s protests.

‘There is always time for a cup of tea.’ Harry couldn’t be sure if Arabella actually heard Snape’s groan of despair, or if she just ignored it. She released Harry’s arm, nodding towards a stool that he perched himself on warily, unsure if it was naturally such a revolting colour or actually made out of the cat hairs it resembled. ‘After all, a cup of tea never hurt anyone.’ Judging by the noises coming from Snape, he heartily disagreed with that comment.

‘We must be leaving,’ he instructed as Arabella lifted a dainty china teapot covered in daisies. ‘Now.’ He folded his arms imperiously, glaring at her, daring her to argue.

‘Tch tch.’ Arabella shook her head, placing the teapot carefully back on the tray. ‘Far be it from me to keep you from your obviously most important duties.’ She smiled at Harry as Snape swept, uninvited, towards the living room. That Harry hung behind and took a moment to help her, after she was inexplicably overcome by a bout of unexpected weakness, only served to incense the Potions Master further. ‘I take it you brought your own Floo Powder? Never had the need to keep any myself.’ Snape nodded curtly at the woman’s increasingly cheery voice, pulling a small bag from his robes and gesturing for Harry. Emptying a handful he cleared his throat impatiently as Harry stepped into the fireplace.

‘It was nice to see you again, Mrs. Figg,’ he said politely, ignoring Snape’s continuing pointed coughs before raising his hand and throwing the powder with a shouted ‘Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!’

-oOOo-

The kitchen was empty as Harry fell through the flames, hand reaching out to grab a nearby chair and stop himself from falling on his rear end. Fortunately for what was left of his pride, he had regained his sense of balance before Snape appeared behind him.

‘Give me your trunk,’ he commanded. Harry quickly pulled the small object from his pocket and placed it on the floor. It had barely reached full size again before the Potions Master was stalking across the room. ‘Professor Lupin will watch over you tonight,’ he said dismissively.

‘Professor Lupin is here?’ Harry brightened again instantly, looking round the abandoned kitchen. The Order had obviously been busy, as the table was littered with plates and glasses. If someone hadn’t even enchanted them clean, then they must have left in a rush, and since Kreacher insisted on being as useless as always, there was no one else to do so. Snape noticed his wandering attention, treating him to a snide smile.

‘Feel free to clean up, although should you have more pressing things to do, I’m sure it can wait until Mrs Weasley arrives in the morning,’ he commented sarcastically.

‘Will Ron be coming too?’ Harry’s constant noise was really beginning to wear on Snape.

‘Unfortunately,’ he grimaced. ‘After all, we’re already sheltering one out of control teenager, why not another?’ Harry frowned at the comment but said nothing. ‘I trust you know where your room is?’

‘Can I speak to Professor Lupin?’

‘It would not be advisable.’ Snape nodded in the direction of the window as Harry stepped closer, twitching the curtain a side and looking up into the cloudless sky where the full moon hung eerily. ‘He will know you have arrived, but I suggest you stay away from the Master Bedroom.’

‘But I thought, with the potion…’ Harry looked round the empty room dejectedly. The prospect of an evening to himself was not as appealing as it had first sounded. He could hear the taunts of approaching boredom already. Cleaning was almost sounding like fun.

‘He is still a werewolf,’ Snape commented with no hidden amount of distaste. ‘Not some family pet you can throw a ball for.’ Apparently the thought amused him, as the corners of his lips curled slightly in a smirk. ‘He will not appreciate the company.’ Harry crossed his arms sullenly, not mentioning the fact that it had been the company of Sirius and his father that had kept him sane for all those years. ‘Do not even think about it.’ Harry looked up in faint surprise, creasing his forehead as Snape glowered down at him. ‘Not only were your father and Black exceedingly reckless, but they were Animagi. Illegal Animagi.’ Snape couldn’t resist the extra dig. ‘You are not. To a werewolf, there is a great deal of difference.’ Harry shrugged.

‘I won’t go there, sir.’ Snape doubted the truth in the statement. After all, Harry had happily gone chasing after a troll without a second thought, and then he had gallivanted off looking for the Chamber of Secrets. He had searched for a convicted murderer without batting an eyelid, and to top it all off he had broken into the Ministry. Snape could only be thankful that he had no friends to drag along with him this time, although he wasn’t so sure thankful was the right word. Accidents would befall reckless Gryffindors, and they always seemed to involve more effort to clear up on his part than he was comfortable with. The world wouldn’t miss another Potter-loving hero worshipper, but he could do without the extra paperwork.

‘See that you don’t.’ He made to leave. Too much time spent in the company of the boy gave him itchy fingers. Be they to curse or strangle he wasn’t sure, but he settled on the fact that either would do.

‘Is there anything to eat?’ Harry questioned before Snape could even have the door open, with a little more hope than he guessed the boy had intended.

‘Don’t tell me those Muggles don’t even feed you.’ Were Snape a bitter man, he might have taken considerable joy in the realisation it was true, Harry’s angry glare telling him all he needed to know.

‘You didn’t exactly give me a chance to grab something before we left,’ Harry lied, meeting Snape’s mirthless smirk with a challenging stare of his own.

‘You will find plenty to eat in the cupboards,’ Snape informed him shortly. ‘If you could refrain from burning down the house, I am sure it would be appreciated by all.’ He made for the door once again, this time managing to wrap his hand around the handle and turn it a full rotation before that annoying voice stopped him once again.

‘How am I supposed to cook it?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Cook it,’ Harry repeated. ‘I doubt Mrs. Black had time for anything so Muggle as electricity, and I can’t use magic outside Hogwarts.’ The last comment was made with the kind of know-it-all tone Snape expected more from Granger. Clearly too much time with the girl was rubbing off on Potter in the wrong ways. He still refused to study, but picked up on her more irritating character traits. The grin was all his though, watching as Snape made his way towards the ancient oven, muttering to himself about house elves and work that was beneath him. The pot hit the stove with a loud clang that caused Harry to wince as Snape muttered an incantation he would rather no one else knew that he knew. Thick soup poured from the end of his wand; the portion not exactly generous but enough to shut Harry up, which was all Snape was really concerned with at this point. The bowl hit the table with enough force to crack it, but that did not happen, much to Harry’s surprise.

‘Now, if you have finished wasting my time,’ Snape’s voice clipped icily, ‘I have other places to be.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Harry tried to hide the snicker but failed as Snape’s eyes narrowed and glinted.

‘Be grateful we are not at school.’ Snape reached for the door handle one final time, relieved to finally have the door open and no more inane questions and requests to further annoy him. ‘But as it is, I do not have the time to deal with your consistent insolence.’ Harry engrossed himself in the contents of his bowl, tearing a chunk of bread as though it were the most interesting experience in the world. Only when the door slammed shut did he risk a quick glance up, eyes flickering beneath the thick fringe that obscured most of his vision.

The soup was gone too quickly, and as he had feared boredom soon followed. The house had changed very little since he last visited. Sure the rooms seemed a little cleaner, but it was only so long he could spend admiring the grime free state of the walls. He counted the stairs, but apparently they had fixed themselves at fourteen and seemed reluctant to grow any new ones, so he counted the floorboards. He then compared the count in each room, only to find them depressingly similar and certainly not different enough to warrant any hidden rooms or passageways. It seemed the Black family was remarkably dull when it came to dungeons or secret chambers, and Harry could feel his faith in pureblood traditions slipping. With the house lacking in shrines to Muggle torture, he resorted to a tried and true method of entertainment: seeing how long he could balance on one leg. Hermione would have been proud, what with the pile of unread books he still had sitting in his trunk. Nevertheless he was taking the time to finish what was sure to be a valuable endeavour. Imagine if Voldemort captured him tomorrow and he didn’t know how long he could balance for…the idea was unthinkable.

When his right leg ached from all the hopping round the room, he shifted to his left, only to be rewarded with significantly less success and a bruised shin. It was whilst he was sat uncomfortably on the floor rubbing some life back into his legs that the thought struck.

Buckbeak.

He wasn’t the best company, but given his severe lack of choices, Harry was willing to accept the conversational ability of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Jumping to his feet, he took the stairs two at a time, skidding to a halt at the top as he threw open the first door. It was empty, but at least he was being momentarily entertained through looking. He didn’t dwell on the thought that the house only boasted a total of four bedrooms, and he had reduced the list of possible hideouts to two.

Well, one. Buckbeak may have resided in the Master bedroom last year, but he doubted even a hippogriff would be willing to spend a night in the same room as a werewolf. But when the third door opened to yet another disappointing array of nothingness, he began to question that assumption. After all, Snape himself had said that whilst a werewolf didn’t appreciate the company of a person, other animals were normally fine. Okay, so they hadn’t been his exact words, but the meaning was clear enough. And it wasn’t fair for Buckbeak to be cooped up all the time.

Harry made his decision and reached for the door handle.

The room was shrouded in darkness, a damp smell hanging in the air as Harry gingerly pushed the door open, trying to draw as little sound from the worn hinges as was possible. He paused, running a hand down the length of his arm to try and stop the tiny hairs that had risen from itching. The smell had hit him full force by now, musty in a way that reminded him of the Forbidden Forest, but all he could make out were vague shadows, occasionally lengthened by the headlights of a car driving past outside. He stepped carefully through the gap, eyes squinting as he looked around the room. He could just about make out the frame of the large four poster bed as he moved hesitantly forward, hand outstretched in front of him for fear of hitting something unexpected. He stopped only when he felt the smooth wood beneath his fingers, his night vision having finally asserted itself as he took another glance around the room. There was no Buckbeak. However, there appeared to be no wolf either. He mused for a moment on the possibility that Snape had gotten it wrong. After all, Remus normally preferred the Shrieking Shack during the full moon. But that would mean he, Harry, was alone in the house, and he doubted Dumbledore would allow even the chance of that to occur.

He suddenly realised the sheets on the bed were rustling slightly, his hand jumping from where it had been resting as though unexpectedly bitten. The bed itself was a mass of shadows, the dark bed sheets making it almost impossible to distinguish whether there was something there or not until the dimness shifted. Harry had always thought Sirius had been almost ridiculously large for a dog, but he had been a puppy compared to the thing that sprawled across the duvet in front of him. And Sirius had somehow managed to help control it? Harry froze as the oversized head lifted slightly, eyes glinting amidst the dark fur that surrounded them, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the shirt that clung uncomfortably to his back, feet sticking slightly to the rough wood floor. Hesitantly, he took a single step backwards, eyes locked as the beast followed his every move. It was Remus, he reminded himself forcefully, and Harry repeated the name over and over in his head even as he swallowed loudly, his throat dry as his feet shuffled beneath him. Remus, Remus, Remus. Still the wolf gave no signs of moving, head turning slowly and lethargically as Harry continued to back away, not breaking the gaze as he fumbled behind him for the door handle, pulling the door open desperately and all but falling through.

Feeling as though he hadn’t taken a breath in an eternity, Harry shakily cursed himself. It had been yet another stupid, stupid idea he had run into head first. Shame battled briefly for dominance over his fear, winning easily as his stomach clenched at the thought of having to face his professor in the morning. Lupin would not have wanted Harry to see him like that, and he only hoped he hadn’t completely destroyed their friendship. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he stood in silence for a moment, contemplating what would happen now. He didn’t want to move, as though the act of moving itself would make everything that had just happened unchangeable. Moving would mean accepting that time was continuing to pass, whereas whilst he was frozen to the spot he could almost believe time too had frozen with him, and he really, really wanted that to be true.

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. What was done was done, there was no changing it. He just had to hope his apology would be enough come the morning. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he made towards the stairs, his legs at least having stopped trembling. He still felt sick with guilt though, guilt that stuck to the back of his throat as he cringed at his own stupidity, tasting bile.

His room was painfully silent as he slipped into his most disgusting pair of brown pyjamas, placing his glasses carefully on the small bedside table. Sliding under the sheets, he shivered at the surprising chill that had settled on the room, pulling the duvet under his chin and wrapping it tightly round his body. He stared unblinking at the ceiling for some time, the room so much larger with him as its only occupant, and not helped by the blur through which he had to view it. And sleep seemed a long way away as he shifted uncomfortably, punching his pillow a couple of times in an attempt to make it more comfortable. Still his body refused to drop off as he swung violently from side to side, clenching his teeth at his rising annoyance. Screwing his eyes closed he made a conscious effort to slow his breathing, listening carefully to the sound that accompanied the slow rise and fall of his chest. Slowly the rest of him seemed to take the hint and relax, the lines leaving his face as his head slumped gradually to the side.

The house remained silent, the shallow sounds of Harry’s gentle breathing lost amidst all the empty rooms. And when the front door swung slowly open, that sound too was swallowed, the faintest of breezes filtering out before they reached the end of the hallway. The door clicked shut quietly as soft footsteps made their way up the stairs, each one carefully placed so as to make as little noise as possible, robes brushing past the wooden banister with a soothing swish. The bedroom door swung inwards as the footsteps entered, still quiet yet purposeful. Harry did not so much as twitch as hands reached into the recesses of robes and pulled out a long, thin chain with a tiny grating noise. And when the cold chain was placed skilfully around his neck, he flinched only slightly, lost in his dreams as the figure slowly retreated.

‘He’s gone.’ Remus looked tired, dark circles lining his eyes, a splash of colour on his otherwise ashen face. He winced, shifting his position awkwardly on the seat he had fallen into mere seconds previously. Anxiety compounded the exhaustion he had battled to get here, and his hands clenched the chair’s arms with seemingly more force than the small movement should have necessitated. He was used to it though, being barely good for nothing for the first few hours after the change, and he quickly subsided again with muffled groan of both discomfort and distress. ‘The house is empty.’

‘And you didn’t hear him?’ Dumbledore looked fearful, almost confused. It was not a pleasant expression to have to witness on the Headmaster.

Remus glanced up guiltily at the question, grateful there was no disbelief or accusation in Dumbledore’s tone, since he felt fully capable of supplying himself with adequate amounts of either emotion. He had known the second he awoke - fully human and oddly distanced from sensation - that Harry was not in the house. It hurt deeply that it had taken almost an hour for him to care. His hands knotted together for a moment before resting with forced casualness on his lap. ‘I was drugged.’ If the statement shocked him, Dumbledore did not show it, stepping away from Remus and turning towards the fireplace, throwing in a handful of powder so that the fire spat and flared green.

‘Severus,’ he commanded as a face appeared in the flames, scowling at the interruption. Even the distance of the Floo was not enough to curb the hostility contained within the expression upon spotting the werewolf. Snape wasn’t given the opportunity to speak, however, as Dumbledore sharply continued with uncharacteristic curtness. ‘If you could join us for a moment, please, it is quite urgent.’ The flash of surprise, what was almost unease at the abrupt demand, was brushed from his face instantly as though it had never been there. Snape just disappeared again, mere seconds passing before he finally stepped fully through the fire, dusting the ash from his robes and greeting Lupin with barely a nod.

‘I trust this is important,’ he said effortlessly and without bothering to conceal his annoyance, knowing it would be ignored anyway. ‘I am reaching a very delicate stage in my brewing, and would hate to see an entire month’s work destroyed.’ He looked pointedly at Lupin, ensuring the nature of his work was known, if not specifically stated. He also managed to convey that there was a list of various things he could be doing that were of significantly more importance than preventing, what he considered to be, nothing more that a little lunar discomfort, but it was hardly surprising. No one could manage to get an entire life story into a single look quite as effectively as Severus Snape.

‘I fear it is already too late for such worries,’ Dumbledore said smoothly, his expression one of complete neutrality as he sank down into his seat, hands splayed on his desk as he regarded Snape over the rims of his glasses. Snape, for his part, managed to bite his tongue against a defensive retort. In all his years, Remus had never before met someone so consistently and unfalteringly vicious in the face of displeasure, and even distrust. Not that Dumbledore had ever shown himself to be distrustful of Severus, since his approval of the man had been widely vocalised, but that point seemed neither here nor there. Snape responded to the smallest of nuances, be they self perceived or not, with a contemptuous challenge no one else would have dared. It was as if he grew tired of waiting for the world to condemn him and was instead helping to prove it right, encouraging everyone to get on with it. Remus found himself wondering, briefly, how the Potions Master had managed to survive so long in the presence of Voldemort. He doubted the Dark Lord spoke fluent Snape. ‘Tell me, does anyone else, beyond yourself, have access to your work whilst it is in preparation?’ His gaze was calm as he watched Snape unfalteringly.

‘My private labs are sealed, as you well know,’ Snape replied flatly, crossing his arms across his chest and meeting the stare with an equal one of his own. ‘I doubt even the most determined of students could find their way through. However, a member of staff, should they feel the need to visit my rooms whilst I myself am not present -’ his voice had taken on a deeply menacing quality at the prospect that this situation would ever have need to arise ‘- would probably not find it beyond their skills. As always, there are exceptions.’ Dumbledore nodded slowly, some of his usual warmth seeping back into his posture in a way that helped Snape uncoil from his stiff bearing. At the very least, common sense prevailed long enough to permit him to continue with a little less scorn. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘The last batch of Wolfsbane you brewed was tainted.’

The comment bought the full force of Snape’s impressively limitless disparagement back into play. ‘Impossible,’ he declared resolutely, sniffing with distaste at the accusation, his head held high and entire body so stiff it appeared immovable. ‘I have made it so many times I could do so in my sleep, and still produce a more effective and worthwhile concoction than most self-proclaimed ‘Potions Masters’ in the country.’

Dumbledore nodded in tired understanding. ‘Yet, nevertheless, the dose Remus took last night had an unfortunate, and most unwelcome, side effect of being a rather potent tranquilliser.’ Plainly Snape had tired of trying to drag a reaction from beneath the depths of the Headmaster’s serene appearance. Instead he snorted in disbelief, head snapping round violently to glare down at the werewolf with unrestrained resentment. Remus met the hatred with all the composed disinterest he could muster in his fatigue, and resisted the urge to curl in on himself, knowing that at least half of what was coming was probably going to be true. Severus was good at cutting to the quick.

‘I hardly see how you can blame me for his inability to follow the simple instructions I gave him on the use of the potion. It would not be the first time a brainless and selfish oversight on his part placed a student in potential danger.’ Snape smirked cruelly at Remus’ palpable guilt. ‘Tell me, Albus, how many children must nearly die before you will admit he is more of a liability than an asset?’

‘Oh yes,’ Remus countered with a vehemence that surprised even himself, unable to remain quiet. He was playing into Snape’s hands, he knew, by rising to the bait, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Whatever the potion had done to him had yet to shake clear of his head, and he had to mentally remind himself that Harry was probably somewhere in trouble whilst he was bickering like a five year old. ‘Because I would have struggled to get ‘make sure you swallow the lot’ right.’

Snape visibly bristled. ‘There was nothing wrong with the potion,’ he reiterated forcefully. ‘I would have known if there was.’ It was almost as if they were playing a game of pass the blame, with Harry’s life at stake. Groaning to himself, Remus placed his head in his hands and screwed his eyes shut, momentarily channelling all his limited energy into overcoming the horribly remote sensation he still felt swathed in. When he looked up again, Dumbledore was watching him with concern.

‘I do not believe a single member of the faculty would poison another…’ Dumbledore had barely managed to finish the sentence before Snape rounded back on him, eyes flashing.

‘No, you do not appear to have heard me,’ he ground out from between teeth clenched almost as tightly as his hands. Remus felt a momentary stab of pity for the man, who walked such a dangerous line between light and dark on the wisps of shadows, the man who somehow saw the personal defence of himself as a weakness, who would sooner be condemned by the truth of his words than he would risk being doubted. ‘It would not have mattered had someone managed to get past the wards on my rooms. I handed the potion to Lupin myself. I watched him swallow the damn thing. Were anything wrong with it, I would have known instantly!’

‘Of course, Severus,’ Dumbledore’s tone was far from placating, and Snape frowned angrily at having his vocation and skill doubted. Something in the words appeared to calm him though, as he lost some of the tenseness from around his eyes. ‘I would have believed no less. However the question still remains as to how.’

‘Perhaps something he ate.’ Snape glared back down at Remus, who shrugged in the indication that that could well be true.

‘Molly prepared a meal before she left, perhaps you would like to speak to her also?’ He suggested it with a worn smile, since Snape had reached quickly and without preamble to grab a handful of Floo powder before Remus had even given him the idea. He threw it unceremoniously into the flames, and his lips formed halfway around the instruction ‘Grimmauld Place’.

‘You might have more success with the Burrow,’ Dumbledore intervened solemnly, as Snape snarled.

‘Typical,’ he muttered, powder slipping between his fingers and onto the floor, grains skittering around his feet in a pattern of waves and swirls. ‘What Potter wants Potter gets. The Weasleys are fully aware that their wards are not strong enough to provide adequate protection. She should have known better than to take him back there, no matter how much the little brat whined.’

It was probably the quietness of the declaration that stopped Severus’ rant more completely than anything else could have managed: ‘Harry is not with them,’ Dumbledore said gravely, his eyes blank as he met the now livid gaze.

‘You left him alone?’ Snape gasped incredulously, almost hopefully, as though he couldn’t really believe it himself. Dumbledore wasn’t perfect, but he certainly wasn’t a fool.

‘Not exactly.’ Remus was glad the Headmaster was the one to have to speak and explain. He wasn’t sure when Snape became someone he dreaded giving bad news too, especially news involving Harry, but he had. Enlightening Sirius of everything that had happened to his godson had been hell enough, but not once had Remus ever conceived he would get anything but chilling, vengeful glee from the Potions Master at the prospect of disaster befalling a Potter. If recounting the horrors of Harry’s school years so far had taught him anything, however, it was that Harry was still alive, in large part, thanks to the repeated intervention of Severus Snape. He doubted the man put his life on the line so frequently for someone he hated so passionately, just to see it thrown back in his face by carelessness and ignorance on the part of his colleagues. ‘Remus woke this morning to find the house empty.’

Remus buckled slightly under the force of the glower Snape swung back to fix upon him. ‘I think I may have scared him somewhat,’ he admitted guiltily, lifting his eyes from the floor and smiling nervously. ‘He came into my room last night…’ Remus realised his mistake a second too late, having momentarily forgotten the infinite propensity of the man to pin the blame for everything and anything that happened on a Potter as soon as was physically possible.

‘Bloody typical,’ Snape had interrupted furiously, gesturing wildly with a wide, sweeping movement that had the remains of the clutched Floo powder flying from his hand. ‘I knew it was a terrible idea from the very start.’ A number of portraits muttered vague objections at the light rain of dust that assaulted them, to which Snape was oblivious. His finger jabbed accusingly towards the Headmaster, punctuating his every word. ‘The boy has no discipline and no self-control. I most expressly forbade him from doing such a thing…’ He trailed off as Dumbledore smiled ever so slightly, before the worry returned and the years once again piled upon his face. Snape was no more used to seeing the expression on the old man than Remus himself. If anything he looked even more disconcerted by it.

‘Severus, you really do have something to learn about children.’ Snape scowled, but there was little heart left in it. ‘Do you think this is why he has disappeared?’

Lupin shrugged in response, instantly regretting it as his shoulder muscles clenched painfully, but still finding himself reluctant to use anything as final as words. ‘Harry has never struck me as the sort to run away simply because he is scared,’ he managed to offer, despite the fact that the admission left few alternatives. Snape just snorted derisively at the statement, rolling his eyes at the obviousness of what the werewolf had just, in his infinite wisdom, declared.

‘I’m surprised he didn’t try to cuddle up next to you. His own personal teddy bear.’

‘Not that I would have caused him any harm, your potion saw to that,’ Remus riled immediately, reawakening Snape’s own irritation.

‘I would like to think it would have seen to that anyway, given the entire point of its existence!’

With some effort, Remus managed to bite down on his overwhelming need to say something, anything, in return. They didn’t need to fight and squabble: they needed to glean even the remotest idea of what had happened. They needed to summon the Order - they needed to find Harry!

‘Did you hear anyone enter the house?’ Dumbledore asked softly, giving Remus a moment of silence as he wracked his memory. Did he remember hearing anyone?

‘No, I was completely out of it.’ No matter how much he probed and concentrated, he recalled very little beyond the feeling of heaviness that was somehow, at the same time, incredibly soft and pleasant. He hadn’t wanted to lose the sensation, which was why it had taken such an unforgivable time for him to report the disappearance, and probably the whole point of it. He didn’t take much consolation in the fact that it would most likely have held him down if he had tried. ‘Barely even heard Harry until he was pretty much right on top of me.’

‘And you didn’t think to call for help?’ Snape sneered, still itching for the argument it was taking Remus every bit of his willpower to avoid.

‘Naturally, because as an unconscious werewolf, my means of communication were innumerable.’

Remus hadn’t meant for it to sound as an accusation, but he had the horrible suspicion that it had. He knew, with no doubt, that Snape had not drugged him, be it intentionally or by mistake. The former even felt the less likely of the two, and Snape never brewed with anything but absolute precision. Snape seemed at a loss for how to reply though, his expression cold and unforgiving. ‘You should never have been left alone to look after him,’ he snarled after a second, in a way that left Remus uneasy with the notion he had just lost something important.

‘It is too late for what should have been done,’ Dumbledore said sadly.

The comment didn’t appease Snape. It anything it made him angrier. ‘Surely you must have some means of locating the boy?’ He sounded sceptical, and it was hardly surprising. Remus remembered all too well the panic and sheer dread he had felt when Harry disappeared at the end of the Tri-wizard Tournament. Regardless of his own opinions on personal space and privacy, he would have quite happily slapped any number of charms and wards on Harry, with or without his consent, simply so he, Remus, never had to feel that way again. ‘I find it hard to believe he isn’t crawling with tracking spells, considering some of the escapades he has pulled in the past.’

‘Indeed he is,’ Dumbledore said with a confirming nod. ‘And I have checked each and every one repeatedly. He is not to be found.’

‘Could the Dark Lord be blocking them?’

‘It is possible,’ Dumbledore conceded after some thought, ‘but unlikely he could have identified each and every one, if any.’ It would have been arrogance in anyone else. ‘They are keyed directly to myself so that only I may be aware of their presence.’

‘They are obviously malfunctioning then,’ Snape stated hotly.

‘They are not.’

‘Then perhaps you have a better idea as to what happened to the boy, and why it is that the greatest wizard known to the world cannot accomplish even a simple tracking spell?’ Snape’s eyebrows rose challengingly, and even Remus was sitting forward more attentively in anticipation of the answer.

‘I do not have one.’

-oOOo-

Harry awoke with a jump, the air in the room unbearably hot and stifling as he gasped for a breath that felt as though it was burning his throat and lungs. The taste of the stale air left his tongue feeling gritty as he kicked the sheets to the bottom of the bed and swung his legs over the side. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead, which was damp with perspiration, grimacing in mild disgust. It wasn’t that he never woke sweaty, sticky and smelling, quite frankly, like he hadn’t bathed in a week. Normally, however, it followed a particularly bad nightmare, and Voldemort had been wonderfully quiet on that front for a while. Reaching for his glasses, he fumbled on the empty nightstand, finally opening his eyes properly and blearily looking down. His feet had landed in a thin layer of dust and grime that caused him to cough as it tickled the back of his throat from where he had disturbed it. The table was in no better condition, and his glasses remained stubbornly and absolutely not there.

Standing gingerly, Harry moved carefully across the room, shivering at the feeling of dust gathering between his toes and clinging to his pyjamas. He pulled on the door, muttering obscenities under his breath when it refused to move. Once again grabbing the handle, which was now slippery from his clammy hands, he braced his foot against the wall and pulled harder, feeling it stick for a second before giving way to the dark hallway beyond.

Leaning round the frame, he felt something cold slide against his chest, causing him to jump at the unfamiliar sensation. Reaching beneath his pyjama top, Harry pulled on a thin gold chain he didn’t recognize. It certainly wasn’t his; the Dursleys would never have allowed something like that to fall or stay in his possession. He hadn’t left Hogwarts with it either. There was something familiar about it too, as he flicked the small pendant that hung from a simple hoop, and watched it spin gently. It was cracked; no doubt he had rolled onto it during his sleep, which had never been particularly peaceful at the best of times. His sleep-fogged brain hoped the owner would understand. Tucking it back beneath his shirt he made a mental note to ask the first Order member he came across about it.

Making his way tentatively towards the Master bedroom, Harry knocked nervously on the door, the hollow rapping sound seeming far too loud in the stillness of the wide hallway. It was early morning now, and though not completely light, he guessed it was light enough.

‘Professor Lupin?’ he called carefully through the dark wood, his hand hovering above the handle for a second. After the night before, the thought of barging straight in was rather unappealing. Still, he knew the change was painful. He had been told about it enough times. And the professor was probably tired, he reasoned, and it wouldn’t be fair to disturb him if he hadn’t already woken. He could just peek in and have a quick look, for his own peace of mind, to make sure Lupin was still here and not in need of urgent medical attention.

The door offered more resistance than the one to his room had, as he pushed against it. It refused to budge an inch until he put his shoulder to it and heaved, and even then it only opened a crack. Still, a crack was enough for him to see that the room beyond was empty and had been for quite some time. It looked in even worse condition than his had.

Harry couldn’t help the wave of anger, as the first thought his drowsy mind could conjure struck him. ‘Bloody House-Elf,’ he muttered to himself, since no one looked to be around to comment on his use of language. ‘Years of not cleaning a thing, he probably thinks it’s just hilarious.’ He pitched his voice high and mocking. ‘Look at all the idiots running round cleaning up after me, snap.’ Harry snapped his fingers in time with his rambling, his feet purposely kicking up a new cloud of dust in his frustration. Everyone had spent so much time turning the place into something that could almost pass for a home, even in Sirius’ eyes - and he had hated the damn place! But now Sirius was dead, and the evil little snot of an Elf had probably charmed the whole lot back to how it was out of spite. To make it feel as if Sirius had never even come back, as the creature no doubt wished he hadn’t. ‘I’ll kill the ungrateful little bugger.’ Grimacing in disgust at the grime that now streaked across his hands Harry tried to wipe them on the cotton of his trousers, wishing he hadn’t left his shoes downstairs as his feet dragged on the stained floorboards.

The stairs creaked ominously beneath him, and Harry was reduced to clutching the rickety banister for all the limited support it had to offer. Gritting his teeth, he reminded himself that if he plummeted to his death there would be no one around to exact proper vengeance on Kreacher. He didn’t bother to hide his relief when he reached the bottom unscathed. Whilst technically Harry knew the Elf couldn’t harm him, he didn’t doubt that if Kreacher could get his slimy little brain round that problem his own life expectancy would be significantly reduced.

The kitchen was empty, cobwebs hanging from the corners as a Doxy soared past his ear and out the now open door. Drawing his wand at the memory of some of the more unpleasant things that had been removed from the house, Harry called for the House-Elf, his voice echoing unpleasantly around him.

‘Kreacher!’

Nothing.

He gave it a few moments before shouting again, louder and more aggressively, regardless of how Hermione would have chastised him had she heard, as he glared at the place in front of him where the Elf should have appeared.

‘Kreacher, get out here and fix this stupid mess now before I iron your hands for you!’

Still nothing, but at least it offered a potential explanation as to where Remus had disappeared too. Since everything that had happened, the stupid creature wasn’t supposed to be able to leave the house. If someone had broken him out, then Remus was probably the best bet to find him again. Sniff the traitorous little worm out and drag him back by his ears.

It didn’t explain why Harry was alone though, and the lack of company was quickly becoming uncomfortably oppressive. Surely Dumbledore would never have been so distracted by something as to forget to send a replacement babysitter along? Not that Harry felt he still needed a babysitter - and he was unwaveringly adamant - in any way, shape or form conceivable. In fact he found the whole concept quite insulting. But Dumbledore had always insisted, and a small and traitorous part of Harry’s mind commented that perhaps the Headmaster was right on this issue, given exactly what he was considering at that moment. There was still a pot of Floo powder on the mantelpiece, despite the fact it looked as though it hadn’t been used in a very long time.

Picking up the heavy and poorly made pot, he weighed the powder in his hands for a moment, thinking to himself, his fingers absently tracing the cracks in the clay. Surely the sensible thing to do would be to stay here? It was obvious really. After all, Dumbledore would never leave him in a situation like this willingly, and certainly not for long. And Snape had even told him that the Weasleys were expected that morning. He couldn’t really justify barging in on the Burrow early, uninvited and unexpected. Besides, it would be incredibly rude of him to interrupt their morning just because he felt a little uncomfortable and apprehensive about being left alone. They would just fuss over him excessively and worry more about him when he wasn’t with them. Not that they particularly needed a reason to worry more.

That, and there was also the fact that Dumbledore would probably never let him out again if he ever discovered that Harry had just up and gone off somewhere, especially after being so frequently told to stay put. He would find himself locked in the deepest cellar of Hogwarts before the day was out. Reaching out slowly, he placed the pot back in the ring of dust it had left behind, his fingers lingering on the rim. Leaving was not something he should be considering, even if it did feel wrong here, although Harry couldn’t quite put a finger on why.

But then again, Dumbledore would probably be able to find out exactly what it was that was so off about the place, beyond the sudden reappearance of several years worth of dirt. And Dumbledore had always encouraged him to trust his gut feelings, which were screaming at him to get away.

He made up his mind. Besides, Dumbledore couldn’t exactly complain about his leaving if Harry was planning on going to his very side - nor could Snape, for that matter, although he would probably try anyway.

The fire wasn’t lit though, and the hearth was stone cold, belying the fact that a fire had ever managed to lie there. Fortunately a few logs lay in the nearby wood box, discarded and disintegrating slightly around the grey and mouldy edges. Harry guessed he probably wasn’t the first person who had wanted to make a call and didn’t know how to either transfigure something or just zap the stuff out of thin air. He had thought he would wind up reduced to destroying furniture. He was still left with the problem of lighting it though, as nothing so Muggle as matches was to be found anywhere he dared to look. One of the nearest drawers had rattled alarmingly when he reached out towards it, and he didn’t fancy disturbing the nest of Doxies his previous errant encounter had no doubt come from. But then again, he had been left alone and unguarded for the first time in what felt like several years. If that didn’t warrant a minor breakage of the restriction of underage magic he couldn’t think of anything that did. Risking a muttered ‘Incendio’, the flames leapt to life, stirring up a rather foul smell as the dust surrounding it started to curl and crisp.

Throwing a handful of powder into the roaring flames he stepped carefully into them, glancing once again around the deserted kitchen before shouting ‘Hogwarts, Headmasters Office.’

He barely managed to jump out of the hearth in time, as the green spluttered for a moment before returning to its previous orange. Falling to the floor and wincing at his scorched foot, Harry stared at the fire in shock, unsure of what to do next. The Floo Network had never failed him before, and he doubted Dumbledore had warded his fireplace against the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived.

Suddenly he felt painfully edgy and surprisingly vulnerable. The house no longer felt safe, no longer felt like it had ever belonged to his godfather. The walls crept up around him and closed in on him, and he grabbed another handful of powder without thinking, throwing it desperately into the flames and barely taking a moment to consider his destination. He wanted, no, he needed to be around people. It seemed the next logical place he would be likely to run into at least one member of the Order, too, or at least someone he knew. Hesitantly, he stepped back into the flames, wincing at the pain in his foot as he clutched his wand and shouted, his voice shaking only slightly, ‘Diagon Alley.’

Harry was vaguely certain it was Flourish and Blotts in which he had just landed, with absolutely no grace or even a smidgeon of style as was becoming his custom. At least he had managed, with an assortment of wild, windmill-like arm movements, not to wind up flat on his rear end. He had hated the stupid Floo ever since his first disastrous attempt to navigate the overwhelming system had left him in less than desirable surroundings. He could feel the same unease creeping into his gut even now, as the shop seemed to bear a strikingly familiar quality to that of his brief, yet informative, visit to Knockturn Alley. Gone were the brightly packed shelves surrounded by the bustle of customers, the cheerful chatter of the storeowner as people queued up. It was only the familiar view outside the far window that gave any indication Harry had ever set foot in the place before.

Nevertheless, it was undoubtedly still a bookshop, despite the fact that its reputable status was being called heavily into question. The bookshelves towered above him, dustier almost than he was, what with the grime of the fireplace still clinging to the pyjamas he had forgotten to change out of and barely even realised what he was wearing. Cold and foreboding, the walkway between each was obscured by deep shadows, and a bell above the door jingling loudly at the other end of the aisle, as it was pulled open and two elderly women entered.

Ducking back into the shadows, Harry sat carefully on the edge of the fireplace, making sure he was out of the way enough not to find himself trampled should anyone else arrive. The rustling of pages above him was oddly disconcerting, and he drew his wand and held it uncertainly, unsure of exactly what he should do now. There was always the prospect of just Flooing straight back to Grimmauld Place, before anyone wandered over in his general direction and noticed him. All that awaited him there, though, was an awful lot of mess and absolutely no answers. And he was dying for answers now, answers to the innumerable questions that were passing through his head, each one fighting for attention and dominance.

Picking himself up, Harry dusted himself off as best as possible. His scorched foot still tingled unpleasantly, but he could not make out any serious injuries, even under the layer of filth currently serving as a fairly effective shoe. He was going to have to shower for years, and even then he still didn’t think he’d be truly clean. He thanked Merlin for small mercies at the sight of the sun streaming through the windows. At least he wasn’t going to freeze, although after the stifling air of the house, he felt a slight chill whenever a draft filtered past.

But then again, walking around barefooted in his most ghastly pyjamas, in the middle of Diagon Alley, wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous of things he had ever considered doing. He could almost see Rita Skeeter’s damning headline already. At any rate, wandering around Grimmauld Place had left his face so streaked with dirt he doubted his scar could be seen. There was nothing he could do about the hair though.

‘Oh, you poor dear!’

Harry turned around too quickly, losing his already tentative footing and wincing as his burnt skin scraped across the soiled carpet. Hobbling slightly, he raised his wand in what he hoped was a threatening manner.

It wasn’t.

‘Ethel, will you come see this,’ evidently not Ethel shouted over her shoulder, her voice travelling between the bookshelves towards a mass of grey muttering to itself, before turning back to look at him. She bore an expression Harry most frequently associated with Molly Weasley, when he had once again risked his life in unnecessarily dangerous circumstances and lived to tell about it. Oddly enough, it also reminded him of the way Arabella Figg tended to look at her cats. ‘You can put that down, love, I’m not about to curse you.’

Harry didn’t though. Somehow the thought of what he could see coming was no more appealing than the prospect of being cursed. There was a definite grandmotherly glint behind the eyes that were staring at him.

‘What have you found now then, Audrey?’ the second witch mumbled as she shuffled over, leaning on a gnarled walking stick, her face just as grey as the robes she was swathed in. Ignoring Harry’s wide-eyed expression, she looked him up and down, barely sparing his wand a second glance. ‘Well, you’d better come with us then,’ she said, sighing expansively and turning slowly to make her way towards the front desk, as though she didn’t believe the thought of running or disobeying would even occur to him.

It was occurring to Harry though, repeatedly and anxiously. He was turning the possibility over and over in his head, but every time he was coming up blank. Audrey now even had her arm in his, as if he were the one leading her. He felt a bit stupid as he realised his wand was still pointed at her face, and he lowered it slightly as a blush rose on his neck.

Before he knew it, he had been steered forcefully into a large armchair, which had seen better days. Several hundred of them. A cloud of dust enveloped him as he landed with a soft thud and the creaking of worn springs, a number of which were sticking through the cover and poking him unpleasantly every time he moved…or breathed. It must be a new form of torture, Harry decided with a grimace. Uncomfortable chair and unpleasant, unwashed old people smell. Not that he probably smelt much better. At least they weren’t trying to hug him, although it looked very much like it was only a matter of time as far as Audrey was concerned.

He had barely taken in his surroundings when Ethel was back in front of him, leaning over him, since he was now sitting down, and surveying him calculatingly. With a grunt she shrugged off one of her long cloaks, whisking it over her shoulders with surprising ease for someone who moved so slowly, and throwing it across his lap. ‘You ought to be more careful,’ she said softly. ‘But then again, you young do seem to think yourselves immortal. Just wait until you catch a cold though, and don’t come running to me for sympathy because it’ll be all your own fault, young man.’ Harry could only nod apologetically in reply, words failing him as Audrey reappeared from behind the counter, a steaming cup in her frail hands.

‘Poor lad.’ Harry winced at the familiarity with which she referred to him. ‘You look half starved. Get some of this in you.’ The mug was thrust forcefully into his hands, almost hot enough to burn as he lifted it to his nose and took a cautious sniff. Tomato, he thought to himself, even as above him, Audrey burst into peels of laughter. ‘Look at him; he thinks we’re going to poison him.’ The blush was back again full force as Ethel muttered something about ungrateful youth, and Harry took a hasty gulp before he caused more offence. After all, he mused, they certainly didn’t seem threatening. At least, not in a ‘hand-you-over-to-the-Dark-Lord-for-certain-death’ sort of way. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up a bit then, shall we?’

The comment was enough to finally loosen Harry’s tongue, since Audrey had pulled her wand and cast a warming charm over a bowl of water he hadn’t previously noticed. A coarse looking sponge floated menacingly on the surface, as Harry clutched the half empty mug of soup closer to his chest, like a shield. ‘No, really,’ he managed to splutter. ‘Thank you so much for this, but you needn’t worry yourselves on my account.’ He scooted backwards, regretting it as a particularly vicious spring embedded itself in his ribs. He yelped and jumped forward again, almost spilling the remains of his meal.

‘Nonsense,’ Ethel commanded scathingly from where she now sat behind the counter, small eyes fixed on him as she nursed her own cup, which Harry doubted contained soup. ‘You cannot go out looking like such a ragamuffin. Your parents would be horrified if they saw you.’ Harry opened his mouth to comment, but found himself cut off by a wet sponge being dragged across his face. He spluttered slightly, rubbing the soap from his eyes with the back of his hand.

‘Well, will you look,’ Audrey said with a grin. ‘We do have skin under here.’ Harry glowered, and tried to glare, but found himself once again stopped as his forehead was swiped. The water in the bowl was already turning a sickly brown as she wringed out the sponge, offering him another smile that quickly morphed into a look of horror. ‘Ethel,’ she gasped as Harry screwed his eyes shut in anticipation of what was to come. ‘Will you look at this?’ Harry risked a glance, opening one eye enough to make out Ethel, limping once again towards him. He could smell her breath, peppermints with a decidedly alcoholic background, as she leant across him and wiped the area around his scar clean with her thumb. ‘Have you ever seen anything like this?’

Ethel shook her head, and Audrey once again started fussing around him, comments such as poor boy and must have been terrible reaching his ears. He met Ethel’s gaze curiously, at a complete loss for words as to what to say to her. No one had ever failed to recognize his scar before, and whilst it was oddly refreshing that his name wasn’t already being shouted from the doorway, Harry was also left a little unsure as to how to explain it. Somehow, having to use the phrase ‘Saviour of the Wizarding World’ wasn’t overly alluring.

‘Are you going to explain it then?’ Harry just shrugged, feeling a little guilty for being so rude when they had both been so nice to him, if a little intimidating. ‘Are you sure?’ Ethel continued. ‘If you don’t, then I’m afraid you will leave me with no choice but to draw my own conclusions.’ A raised eyebrow had Harry reconsidering his answer, as he took a sip of his now cold soup to stall for time.

‘Could be a curse scar,’ Audrey called from where she was rummaging behind the counter. ‘Seen a fair few these last years, although nothing like that.’ Ethel looked questioningly to Harry, who shook his head emphatically and paid extra attention to the cloak across his legs. ‘None of them were so uniform though,’ Audrey continued, obviously oblivious to his answer. ‘I mean, remember old Robert when he came in a couple of months ago? Completely covered his back they did. Failed Shielding Charm my arse, I said.’ She straightened up with a slight clicking of her back, book tucked under her arm. ‘Excuse my language, love. But no, Robert got himself on the receiving end of a nasty curse there. He was just lucky it was some incompetent throwing it, instead of someone in power.’ Harry glanced inquisitively at her before lowering his gaze back to his lap. ‘Still, he returned the book, even though it was no use to him. Told him it wouldn’t be, but he insisted.’

‘S’not a curse scar,’ Harry mumbled.

‘What was that, dear? You’ll have to speak up. Hearing’s not what it used to be.’ Audrey was already deeply engrossed in the book.

‘He said it’s not a curse scar,’ Ethel repeated.

‘Really?’ Audrey looked rather crestfallen. ‘Oh well, I suppose you’d be the one to know if you’d avoided any life threatening curses recently. How did you get it then?’

Harry kept his gaze lowered and pulled the cloak more tightly round his shoulders. Then he resorted to old excuses. ‘Car accident.’

‘Car?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry replied nervously.

‘Funny, never heard of a car before.’ Audrey looked puzzled, summoning a large book from a nearby shelf.

‘Don’t worry yourself,’ Ethel interrupted her, a steely glint in her eyes as she straightened up, casting Harry an odd look. ‘It’s a Muggle thing.’

Audrey dropped the book she had been pouring through as if shocked. ‘Muggle!’ she exclaimed, looking warily to where Harry was sitting. ‘That must mean…’ The same hardness that was in her friends eyes had reached hers. ‘Were your parents Muggles, boy?’

‘My mum was Muggle-born,’ Harry offered helpfully as Audrey shrieked.

‘Mudblood!’ she shouted, pointing a shaking finger at him. ‘Spawn of Mudblood! I cannot believe we let you into our shop.’

‘Hey.’ Harry jumped up indignantly, feeling a little disoriented by the sudden turn the conversation had taken. ‘There was never any rule about this before, and even if there was, it’s a stupid rule. What’s wrong with Muggle-borns?’ Ethel’s gaze had become even stauncher as she spoke, in cool contrast to Audrey’s near hysterics.

‘I recommend you leave,’ she said coldly. ‘Now.’ Harry glared silently, dropping his empty mug onto the floor and pulling the loaned cloak from around his shoulders. ‘Keep it,’ Ethel said as the garment was held out to her.

Audrey was quivering slightly to one side now, as she pointed her wand at the door, causing it to throw itself open and hit the wall with a bang and a shudder. ‘Take it with you,’ she affirmed, as Harry stared at the cloak he was still holding out. ‘Tainted that it is now, we don’t want it here.’ She stared at the open door for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek in deliberation. ‘Perhaps we should call the authorities?’ she asked, almost nervously, as Harry wrapped the offending article back round his shoulders, the weight comforting.

‘No,’ Ethel stated. ‘They would ask questions, and we helped him.’

‘We didn’t know.’ It was a desperate whine.

‘It wouldn’t matter, and you know it. Let him go.’ She cast Harry another look, not as cold as the last one, but still far from friendly. ‘Someone else will find him, I’m sure.’ She raised a pointed eyebrow in his direction, and Harry sidled carefully past them both, the door within his reach as he turned and mumbled a hasty ‘thank you,’ before running into the street beyond.

The door slammed forcefully behind him, almost clipping the back of his heel as he leapt out of its way. Pulling his fringe down to cover his now clean scar, Harry wrapped himself up tightly in spite of the heat from the sun. He felt chilled to the bone after the presence of those two. Glancing up at the sign, he pondered over the faded lettering of the shop name, wondering if there was some kind of irony going on that he just wasn’t getting. It was nothing like the shop he had visited last summer, and the whole thing was becoming far too confusing. Stepping carefully across the street, he glanced in the window of the Owl Emporium. It looked a little tattier than he remembered, but otherwise exactly the same. Certainly no strange old woman came barrelling out the door after his apparently unclean blood. Cages of owls hooted happily at him at he passed by, and he stopped to stroke their soft feathers absently while his gaze followed the rest of the street.

Gringotts still dominated the place, the building tall and impressive, staring down at him in the same manner it had always done. Its stark white front looked a little out of place in comparison to the shabby shop fronts though. Harry realised, with some annoyance, that he was definitely thinking of going there, and that he didn’t have his key. He had left it in his trunk with all his other possessions, which he assumed were still in his room. Not that he remembered seeing them. But then again, he had been in too much of a rush to find Remus to really bother looking. Surely Gringotts had some other form of identification he could use. At the end of the day, if they didn’t accept this wretched scar as proof that he was the one entitled to the Potter vault, he doubted anything would work. And he desperately wanted something to wear, something other than hand-me-down pyjamas and the cloak of someone too disgusted by him to claim it back.

Despite his jumbled thoughts as he made his way slowly down the street, Harry couldn’t help but notice that Madam Malkins seemed to have inexorably disappeared. So had Florean Fortesques, the once cheery tables, with their coloured umbrellas, replaced by a large window that still managed to look grubby, regardless of its apparent newness and the garish display of robes inside. His instincts were telling him that to stop and inquire about places where he could purchase jeans and a t-shirt or two was a bad idea. Not that he had anything against wearing robes, but he had only ever worn them at school. The idea that he would wear them casually was a little odd, and even the thought of it made him feel overdressed.

No, he’d stick out like a sore thumb in jeans, but possibly not as much as he would have done in his rotten oversized night wear. Since he had taken the time to look around, he had noticed that even the low number of small children he had seen were wearing robes. It was something that left him suddenly and incredibly thankful for the cloak. It was too long, with the hem trailing awkwardly on the ground, and the extra weight was a burden in the still air, but it felt like the greatest present he had ever been given.

That was probably the onset of panic talking.

The paving slabs were gritty beneath his bare feet, and he had to be very careful walking through the throngs of people to avoid getting his toes accidentally stamped on. His heart beat painfully against his chest, his breathing gasping and erratic as he remembered the last words of the witch.

‘Someone else will find him.’

Had she known who he was all along? Had she been trying to lull him into a false sense of security? Harry didn’t think so; she had seemed just as shocked as her friend to discover who he was. Not who, but what he was.

Since when had having Muggle relatives meant anything to anyone beyond Voldemort and his stupid, idiotic, always-out-to-ruin-everything believers?

That thought almost had Harry slapping his own forehead. God, but he was stupid. There was no rule saying that nice old ladies, who fed him soup and insisted he clean himself up before going out, couldn’t be followers of Voldemort. Obviously not the kneeling, grovelling, bending to his every will kind of follower. They’d probably insist Voldemort washed his hands after a day’s hard slaughter before allowing him to sit at his throne, and even then, they’d be adamant that he show them to prove it.

But then again, he found it hard to believe that anyone who followed Voldemort, even if not as a direct servant, would not manage to recognize him, Harry Potter, upon sight and from at least fifty paces.

‘Someone else will find him.’

Harry had a horrible suspicion he did not want to be running into whoever this someone else was.

Picking up his pace, he dodged haphazardly between the growing crowds of people, keeping his head down and his eyes fixed firmly on the ground at his feet, unwilling to make eye contact for even a moment, even accidentally. He shivered slightly as a light breeze swept round his bare feet and tickled the back of his leg. His foot was starting to throb again, insistently and repeatedly as he ducked into a nearby alleyway, leaning against the wall and letting the edges of the cloak fall from his fingers. Lifting his foot into his hands he winced at the inflamed redness he saw, running a finger gently across it and hissing at the pain. Bloody typical, and he hadn’t a single healing charm in his repertoire. Hermione probably knew a handful already, and Harry vowed they would be the first things he would learn when he next saw her.

Leaning back against the wall, he stared at the slither of sky for a few moments, catching his breath and calming his thoughts. Things change, he scolded himself, and there was absolutely no reason for him to be getting himself so worked up because a measly store changed hands, even if the hands into which it had changed were horrible old women with stupid ideals hands.

What he should be getting worked up about was the fact that he’d been in Diagon Alley, unescorted, for over half an hour, with no owls demanding he return instantly and stop being so impulsive, and no Order members appearing to drag him back. Either Dumbledore’s wards were failing, or he was too distracted to realise that Harry was here. Neither one boded overly well for his immediate well-being.

It was a point well proven, as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably, causing him to rub them harshly, unable to suppress the shiver that trickled down his spine.

Harry recognized this feeling, unfortunately.

The alley seemed to fade around him in a way that was all too familiar, the shadows disappearing into the walls as he shivered again, cold, clammy hands tightening on his wand. The air thickened around him, pressing in on him as he struggled for breath, eyes darting behind him briefly to where the sounds of the street beyond still trickled unknowingly through, leaving only one conclusion.

They were after him.

Bugger.

The pair drifted in sight, cloaks swirling around them in spite of the deathly stillness surrounding him. Harry bit his tongue hard. Whilst the feeling didn’t exactly help to inspire happy memories, it did help to distract him from the echoes of a woman’s screaming.

Boy did his foot hurt.

Pushing it to the back of his mind Harry thought desperately of Ron and Hermione. He thought of Quidditch and Chocolate Frogs and racing brooms and Hedwig and all the things he loved, before pointing his wand with dramatic flair and shouting, ‘Expecto Patronum!’

The stag emerged from the tip of his wand in a blazing trail of light, hooves sparking on the stones as it leapt towards the creatures, antlers down and eyes glowing. It trotted victoriously back to Harry a few seconds later, pawing the ground with legs that flickered and shimmered before fading slowly.

Too soon.

Two more robes suddenly emerged, their rasping breathing filling the space around him as Harry jumped backwards, stumbling on the cloak and aiming the wand again, shouting even louder, the charm echoing round him in the narrow confines. He didn’t stay to watch this time, as the stag materialised again eagerly, instead scrabbling to find his feet and running back towards the familiar shops.

Harry almost barrelled into the first person he saw, spinning round and shouting a hasty apology before tearing onwards, ignoring the shocked and curious gazes that followed his desperate flight. He knew he couldn’t use the fireplace in the bookshop. Those ladies would probably invite the Dementors in after him, and then raise a toast to his death. But he didn’t know where else had one, apart from the odd shop in Knockturn Alley. He was already heading the wrong way for that too, and didn’t think turning back was the greatest of ideas, which just left him with the Leaky Cauldron.

Ducking around a young family, he limped onwards, the pain in his foot flaring as he saw the wall in the distance. Hopefully it didn’t require a password both ways, as Harry had no idea of the order of bricks you were supposed to tap, it having been years since he’d seen Hagrid last use them. He hadn’t even been paying attention at the time, what with everything else being so overwhelming and all.

Risking a glance over his shoulder, all he could make out was the backs of shoppers, seemingly unperturbed by his quick and unexpected sprint through the Alley, and the nature of the creatures chasing after him. They were still following him; he could feel them, like a dull throbbing in the back of his mind. What he didn’t understand, however, was why the rest of the street wasn’t also running away screaming.

Taking his eyes of the path ahead had been a bad idea.

He hit the person full speed, rebounding with a dull oof, and finding himself sprawled painfully on the pavement, cloak dropping from his shoulders and revealing the monstrosities he wore beneath. Trying to grab the corners with shaking fingers and drag it round his thin frame, Harry glanced shakily over his shoulder. His wand was still aimed through the folds of the gathered fabric as he struggled to his feet, mumbling to a pair of black buttoned boots that he was very sorry as his gaze trailed up slowly to see exactly who he had just run into.

It was Snape.

But then again, it wasn’t. Harry would never mistake the nose, for one thing; it was the single most distinctive part of the notorious profile. The robes were also instantly recognizable, billowing around the man as though charmed, and the hair was still as lank and greasy as Harry had always remembered it being. He didn’t remember it being so streaked with grey though, nor the eyes being so lined.

Snape, at least, had the courtesy to look just as stunned as he did.

‘Potter?’

It was barely a whisper, and Harry found a hand clenching painfully round the top of his arm, hauling him to his feet as he staggered. When he looked up again, the familiar glare was firmly back in place, as if daring him to suggest it had ever been anything else. ‘I should have figured,’ Snape sneered as Harry craned his neck to look fearfully over his shoulder at the approaching Dementors. ‘You always did insist on shouting your spells at the top of your lungs. You do realise volume has absolutely no effect on power, don’t you?’

Harry nodded absently, trying to worm out of the professor’s grip and wincing when the fingers tightened and pinched at his skin. ‘Dementors,’ he managed to gasp out, fumbling with his wand as Snape cast him a furious look.

‘Really, Potter? I never would have noticed. Thank you so very much for pointing them out.’ The creatures were practically on top of them now, as Harry stopped struggling for freedom and instead tried to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible, clinging weakly and not without a twinge of embarrassment to the professor’s robes. Snape cast Harry a look of vague disgust as the Dementors glided to a halt mere feet from where they stood. ‘Leave him,’ Snape commanded imperiously, raising his eyebrows and his own wand when the creatures made no move to leave. ‘He is mine.’ The words were hissed, and Snape placed a protective hand on the boy’s shoulder to emphasise the point, dismissing the creatures. They finally took notice of his instructions and glided back down the street.

The hand was removed swiftly, as though it had been burnt.

‘Get up, Potter,’ Snape commanded, as he pried Harry’s fingers loose.

Harry, for his part, just looked panicky and alarmed. He no more noticed Snape’s firm disentanglement than he did either the small puddle that had turned his cloak sodden, or the brief brush of another presence against his mind. ‘How come they listened to you?’

Snape whisked his liberated robes sharply out of reach. ‘This is neither the time nor place.’

‘Looks good enough to me.’ Harry backed off slightly as the face of the Potions Master descended and stopped inches from his own, black eyes glinting dangerously. He swallowed against the lump that had lodged in the back of his throat, the sound the instinctive motion provided rattling loud and hollow in his ears. If his flinching away hadn’t caused the slight smirk that now graced Snape’s features, hearing that noise of discomfort certainly had.

‘You will remember to whom you are speaking.’ Harry glowered, but made no move to argue as Snape straightened himself up, nodding his head towards the wall that marked the end of the alley and its only link to the Muggle world. ‘Follow me.’

Harry did so, shocked out of his daze by the coldness of the damp hem of his cloak when it slid down the back of his leg. His movements were hobbled slightly from his first step, as his foot continued to smart and send shooting flashes of pain up his leg, the ache emphasised by every dip and crevice in the paving stones. Fortunately, Snape had adopted an unhurried pace somewhat different to his usual sweeping stalk. He didn’t grace Harry with so much as a second glance, however, as they moved through the rapidly emptying street. And being adamantly and resolutely not stared at, Harry was quickly learning, was even worse to the usual sideways glances and outright gawking he suffered. Not that Harry felt everyone was avoiding him. No, there was no doubt it was the possibility of drawing Snape’s attention that people were doggedly steering clear of. Proximity just had the misfortune of dragging him along for the ride. He watched silently when they finally reached the end of the alley, and Snape raised his wand, tapping the tip against an incomprehensible order of bricks, before the wall parted slowly.

The Leaky Cauldron, at least, felt almost exactly the same as it always had, even if its appearance had subtly altered. Tables and chairs filled the warm room, and an elderly man bustled behind the bar, casting a nod of acknowledgement in Snape’s direction as he led Harry to a small nook concealed against the back wall. The only real difference Harry had been able to spot, in his brief glimpse around the place, was in the far corner, where the entrance to Muggle London had once resided. The entrance was still there. There could be no missing it, what with painfully poor job that had been done to bar it closed. Whoever had been responsible had apparently done the bare minimum to ensure no one could get in or out, and then had been reluctant to even step near it again. ‘Sit,’ Snape instructed, jolting Harry from his musings and gesturing to a hard wooden chair that Harry sunk into gratefully. ‘Do not move from this spot, I will be back shortly.’ Harry had absolutely no inclination to move anyway, despite the short demand. He slumped forwards, apathetically watching first the retreating pair of boots, and then those around him through his fringe.

Snape returned minutes later, extending his hand with a snarl. Somewhat unfocusedly, Harry reached out to take what turned out to be a small chunk of chocolate. He stared at it for several seconds, unable to process exactly what he was supposed to do with chocolate from Snape. ‘I doubt you respond any better to Dementors now than you did before,’ he clarified. If the weight of his stare alone hadn’t been enough to make Harry fidget uncomfortably, the wary edge to his voice would have done it. Snape still managed to make it sound as though Harry’s unease was the single greatest weakness you could find in a person, and Harry wasn’t in the mood to argue. He seized the brown lump gratefully and crammed it into his mouth, sighing contently at the warmth that spread. ‘Let me see your foot.’

‘Huh?’

‘You hurt yourself,’ Snape sighed irritably, and Harry once again heard the pressing wrongness in the tone that he couldn’t quite place. ‘I will heal it for you. Unless, of course, you are planning to martyr yourself further and refuse?’ The disdain and contempt were still there, and as abundant ever. They clearly identified the man before him as Severus Snape, inconsistencies in appearance aside. If he didn’t know any better, Harry might almost have almost thought Snape was pleased to see him. He shook his head at that idea, lifting the burnt foot and trying to ignore the look of disgust that filled Snape’s face. ‘A bath is in order too, I feel, as well as a change of clothes.’ Harry regarded him suspiciously.

‘I’ll be fine. I can change back at Grimmauld Place.’ Snape cocked an eyebrow, standing and pulling out the opposite seat in a single, fluid motion. He didn’t sit, instead just resting his hand on the cracked and splintered wood, watching Harry curiously.

‘Perhaps you can enlighten me as to why, exactly, you left?’

‘I was looking for Remus.’ Harry swallowed his mouthful reluctantly. The chocolate didn’t slide down easily any longer; instead it coated his throat thickly. He also got the impression he wasn’t answering quite the right question. ‘He wasn’t there when I woke up. I tried to get to Dumbledore, but the Floo wouldn’t let me. That’s how I burnt my foot.’ Snape crossed his arms, his expression unusually blank.

‘You were in Grimmauld Place?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Harry replied apprehensively.

‘And it was undamaged?’ Harry didn’t miss the undertones to that question.

‘For the most part.’

‘You woke up there?’

Harry swallowed again, hoping to ease the clogged feeling the sweet had left behind. ‘Where else would I wake up?’ He half hoped Snape would hear more than just ignorance in his reply, and actually offer him an answer in return. Contrary to Snape’s overwhelmingly obvious opinion, Harry was capable of adding two and two together. He was starting to frantically hope that this time he had come up with five.

‘There was nothing unusual?’

‘Well...’ Harry fished beneath his pyjamas, pulling on the golden chain, shivering at the feel of the slick links against his skin. ‘There was this.’ He pulled it over his neck, holding it out stiffly as Snape reached out slowly to claim it. He couldn’t help but fiddle nervously with the edge of his cloak as Snape held the offending item carefully between two fingers, his expression darkening as he gave the cracked glass a gentle flick. ‘What is it, sir?’ Snape regarded the item for another moment before turning back to Harry.

‘A Time-Turner, it would appear.’

Harry had had his suspicions. The damn thing had looked vaguely familiar; he just hadn’t been able to place it straight away. Hearing it verified didn’t make him feel much better. ‘But it looks different to the one Hermione had.’

‘Ah, yes, the illustrious Miss Granger,’ Snape sneered. ‘It is no surprise that you knew about that disaster just waiting to happen.’ Snape was staring at the Time-Turner again, his brow furrowed in confusion. ‘The reason it looks different, Potter, is because it is indeed so. Very different from your standard issue.’

‘How?’

Snape cast the object a look of awe tinged with apprehension. ‘Well, for one thing, it seems capable of breaking the laws of both magic and physics.’

Harry knew he had missed something fundamental. Hermione would probably have known. He wondered if he would even recognise her if she walked past. ‘You can tell that just by looking at it?’

‘Your presence here was also something of an immediate giveaway.’ It was Harry’s turn to look confused as Snape rolled his eyes in exasperation, clenching the thing carefully in his hand with no apparent intention of returning it. ‘It is gratifying to know it wasn’t only my lessons in which you refused to pay attention,’ he started derisively, earning himself a tired glare. ‘Look, Potter, I don’t claim to be an expert on the subject, but there are various rules all Time-Turners must obey.’

‘And what are they?’

‘Sir,’ Snape corrected with a sigh of defeat and annoyance, seeming to realise that there was no way he was going to get away from the subject without at least a half understood explanation. ‘Your friend used a Time-Turner throughout her third year, did she not?’

‘Yes.’ Harry looked wary at the shift of conversation. ‘Hermione used it so she could attend more than one lesson.’

‘Exactly. She would attend one lesson, and then use the Time-Turner and find herself once again at the beginning of said lesson.’

‘I guess so.’ Harry shrugged insolently and, if the way Snape’s hand twitched was any indication, almost earned himself a smack to the back of the head. But Snape did seem to be trying to explain what was going on, even if he wasn’t exactly making an attempt to hide his scathing contempt, so Harry figured the least he could do was have the decency to listen. ‘I never really asked her for the details.’

‘And yet you knew of its existence.’

‘Well, when Sirius…’ Harry clamped his hand over his mouth as Snape sneered.

‘Of course, I should have known Black came into it somehow,’ he said disdainfully. ‘Illegality aside though, I’m sure even your failing intellect has managed to spot the common denominator in all these experiences.’ Harry looked momentarily dumbfounded, an angry blush rising as Snape sighed in irritation. ‘Useless as ever, I see. Well, since we do not have the time for your brain to catch up with the rest of the world I shall enlighten you. The Time-Turner can only be used to travel backwards in time.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Think about it for a second.’ Snape was starting to sound a little angry. ‘The past already exists and is somewhere you have already been. You know it is there, and thusly travelling to it is no great task. But the future…’ He was staring once again at the necklace still hanging from his fingers, the charm at the end glinting in the candlelight. ‘The future is uncertain. There is nothing definite about it, and no certainty that it even exists. In fact, as far as the present is concerned, there is no future. Not yet. Do you understand?’

‘I think so.’

Snape looked doubtful. ‘Well, whether or not that is true is irrelevant. You are here, so obviously the theory has been somewhat disproved.’

‘Sir, what has happened?’

Snape glared at him, as though trying to prove he wasn’t actually real. What he expected of him Harry was a little unsure of, though. Possibly it was for him to melt through the floor. ‘What has happened,’ he said slowly and carefully, ‘is that you disappeared almost twenty three years ago.’ Harry opened his mouth to automatically disagree, but was pinned back into silence as the glare increased in fury. ‘However I would hazard a guess that this is not where you were intended to be.’

‘Because it was cracked.’

‘There is that,’ Snape agreed reluctantly to the observation, and Harry abruptly realised exactly what he had been missing in the man’s voice. He had heard it many times before in Dumbledore and so many others. It was the tone people used when they had to tell him something they knew he wouldn’t like, or want, to hear. ‘Along with the fact that I was not expecting you.’ There was a tense silence as Harry paused, seeming to weigh the comment before becoming ready to reply.

‘Expecting me? Why on earth would you be expecting me?’

-o00o-

Snape resisted the urge to close his eyes in the hope that the partial deprivation would lessen his growing headache. Or possibly just muffle the unease that was growing in light of the fact that something had, obviously, gone very wrong. He kept his gaze steadfastly on the boy before him, however, showing nothing of the trepidation that was raging as he kept his voice level. ‘Because I am one of only three people who remains aware that you ever existed.’

‘Pardon?’

It was, at least, a slightly more eloquent and controlled response than the one Snape had been expecting. He had envisioned temper tantrums and outraged explosions. It was these very expectations that had turned his intended frank admission into a mere allegation, in the hope the extra few seconds Harry took to understand what Snape was implying muted his reaction. ‘Do not worry yourself, Potter. Your sudden anonymity is only the consequence of years of hard work.’ Hard work, Snape silently considered, that would no doubt prove to hold somewhat flimsily in the face of what was sitting before him. He quickly calculated the odds of his surviving to the afternoon, and allowed the snide edge to his tone to remain for what little pleasure it gave him in the face of the answer. ‘You will be pleased to know that the Boy-Who-Lived was not so easily forgotten.’

‘Hard work?’ Harry swallowed heavily, and Snape could see the flash of fury lying just beneath the surface of his apparently calm demeanour. True fear seemed to be the only thing keeping it at bay, a solid and almost unbending resolve to deny the truth. ‘What did you do, kill everyone who had the misfortune to hear my name?’ Harry let out a choked chuckle. ‘Obviously not, since the streets seemed rather full for that to be true.’

Snape nodded in confirmation, his eyes hard as he regarded the boy; smaller than he remembered, as though the years had subconsciously stretched the boy’s otherwise diminutive proportions in his memory. ‘The majority of the population was simply Obliviated,’ he affirmed.

‘Majority?’ Snape could hardly have blamed Harry for allowing the fear to bleed through into his voice.

‘Yes.’ There was no emotion in his own as he continued. ‘However, those who knew you personally were killed.’ A heavy silence engulfed them both, Snape’s brief brush of Harry’s mind revealing nothing more than a half-hysterical realisation was that Granger wasn’t about to walk past, so Harry needn’t worry about not recognising her. The sheer inanity of the thought annoyed Snape immensely. The unnerved laughter that followed only added to the surge of irritation, but it was quickly overruled as the green eyes once again focused on him with accusation and sudden understanding. But then again, you could always trust a Potter to ignore the wider and infinitely more important problems in face of those that were personal, but effectively futile in the great scheme of things.

‘You knew me personally.’

Tears would probably have been better than that flat statement, although Snape doubted it would have been by much. ‘It is my responsibility to ensure this state of affairs continues.’ Perhaps blunt honesty would have been the best course. His dithering around the point seemed to have done no more than to add a fuse to an already volatile situation. Snape could hear a faint rumbling in the background, as the heat from the nearby fireplace increased, flames licking at the edge of the wall surrounding it. Across the room a set of candles burst spontaneously into flames that burnt too hot, the wax melting and dripping onto the floor in steady rivulets that fell clear onto the wood beneath before cooling to a dirty brown. The window by his shoulder was rattling steadily in its frame, metal grating against metal. ‘Potter,’ Snape hissed, his eyes glinting as the boy glared at him with outright hostility. ‘I would recommend you exercise some control. You are not three years old any longer, so act your age.’ A slight wind was picking up around him, nudging his hair as the remains of the destroyed candles exploded in a flash of blinding light. The walls almost seemed to be flexing outwards, trying to escape the thickening air of the room.

‘You work for him, don’t you?’ Harry spat the question, eyes bright, the unnatural light of the candles reflecting to make then appear almost inhuman. ‘His loyal servant, right?’ Snape merely raised an eyebrow and nodded, amending that his previous calculations regarding his survival may have been somewhat on the generous side. ‘How lucky that out of everyone I ever knew, you were the only one fortunate enough to survive.’

Years evidently hadn’t managed to blunt the extreme displeasure Snape felt at being judged so self-righteously by a Potter, as though their view and their opinions were the only ones of any importance or, more infuriatingly, any worth. ‘Do not condemn me for what you do not understand, boy,’ he snarled, baring his teeth in the dim light cast by the few remaining candles. ‘Did I not serve, you would be dead already.’

‘Right, because you are doing this to save my skin and not your own.’ The boy had the affront to scoff.

‘You ignorant little brat,’ Snape’s voice rose furiously, the shadows playing menacingly around him. The very thought of justifying himself turned his stomach, but until he figured how best to deal with the sudden shift in circumstances there was no choice. It was either that or have the insolent whelp topple everything in a fit of pique. ‘I did it at the bequest of Albus.’

‘I don’t know why Dumbledore ever trusted you then.’ Harry was on his feet now, glaring challengingly at his former professor. The room had at least stopped shaking, although Snape doubted it had less to do with control than it did sheer exhaustion. The boy was visibly trembling with the effort of remaining upright, hands jerking so that oversized sleeves of his cloak rippled spasmodically.

‘I see no reason why I should explain the actions of either myself, or the late Headmaster, to you.’ Snape tried to calm himself; shouting excessively at the boy would not help, no matter how much Harry deserved, or needed it. Sinking back into his seat Snape waited in vain for Harry to do the same, before it occurred to him that Harry had taken the words as the literal refusal they appeared to be. ‘However it is fairly obvious I will not get a moment’s peace until I do so,’ he reluctantly amended, quirking an eyebrow at the sullen boy, who remained silent and fuming. ‘I will take your shining disrespect as an indication you will listen.’

‘Is Dumbledore dead too?’ The voice was quiet now and oddly timid, and Snape could do nothing but incline is head in affirmation. Thinking back on it, even with the shield of all the years that had since passed, was still difficult.

‘He was struck down less than a year after you disappeared.’

‘How?’

‘Death Eaters found their way into the school.’ Harry’s eyes widened in alarm, and he hit the poorly stuffed cushion of the ancient seat behind him with a thud. ‘No one else was killed that night. Albus gave his life to protect the students.’ Snape wondered why he felt compelled to soften the story, and it felt odd that he should be able to summarise such an ominous evening so effectively in so few words. It certainly hadn’t seemed so simple at the time. Harry appeared to sink even deeper into the chair, his mouth pursed in a thin line.

‘The Order?’

‘Fell shortly after.’

‘And you’ve been working for Voldemort ever since?’ Snape gritted his teeth, refraining for further admonishing the boy for the use of the name. In this time and this place, it had more power than could be comprehended.

‘I was already deeply entrenched in his ranks at the time. I had not seen a member of the Order for many months.’ Harry opened his mouth to question, but closed it again, turning his head away from the man to stare unflinchingly at the panelled wall. What he had wanted to say would have been painfully obvious to anyone, with or without the added benefit of Legilimency. Snape bit back on his pride even further, in a way he had become painfully accustomed to over the years, in order to answer what the boy had not had the nerve to ask. He could have left it, he supposed, but had little doubt he would not come to regret doing so. ‘It was not a matter of choice. Albus was unwilling to believe you were truly dead. It was his last request to me, as he was certain no one else stood as great a chance of survival.’

‘He knew this would happen?’

‘He suspected. With you gone, it presented the Dark Lord with an unrivalled opportunity, one he leapt upon.’

‘So you’ve been waiting for me?’ A look of unguarded and unfounded hope passed across Harry’s face, and it spoke volumes to the poorly hidden distress that it should be aimed solely at him. Snape found himself shying from the sudden realisation that Harry was now keeping his considerable unease at bay with the unfounded belief that Snape held the immediate solution to the problem.

‘In a fashion. However, I was not so enamoured with the ideas Dumbledore clung to.’

‘You thought I was dead, too.’

‘At the time, there appeared no other plausible explanation.’

‘Yet you did it anyway? Joined the Dark Lord?’

‘I owed Albus a great deal, none of which is your concern, especially not in light of this event.’ Harry tried to stifle a yawn behind his hand and shivered in the confines of the cloak. ‘We still do not know how it is you came to be here.’ Snape prompted.

‘Apparently the impossible Time-Turner,’ Harry offered unhelpfully with a shrug as Snape narrowed his eyes at him.

‘Idiot boy, have you given absolutely no thought as to how the thing came to be around your neck in the first place?’ Harry at least had the decency to look startled. Musings on the past, however, kept his mind from dwelling on the present

‘Grimmauld Place was supposed to be safe!’ he exclaimed angrily.

‘Indeed, yet a follower managed to infiltrate.’

‘Dumbledore was Secret-Keeper though. No one would have dared tried to get it out of him.’

‘How incredibly insightful of you,’ Snape sneered habitually. He had left the confines of his chair and was pacing the small room in an attempt to vent his frustration and uncertainty on how to proceed. With so many possibilities, there was no way to know what future potential he would close off with an ill-thought action now.

‘A member of the Order wouldn’t have done this.’ Harry’s tone was defensive, his green eyes sparking as though daring Snape to challenge his statement. He had no desire to do so. The longer Potter wallowed in what had happened, the longer it would be before he started demanding to know what was going to happen.

‘Perhaps not willingly…’

‘The Imperius Curse?’ Harry suggested. Snape sighed in response, pulling the chair out once again and leaning back into it.

‘I do not know, Potter. It is yet another mystery, and a worrying one. That I would not be informed of such a plan is disturbing at best. That only luck brought you here now offers little comfort.’

‘Luck?’ Harry voiced indignantly. ‘How is this lucky? I didn’t stand a hope in hell of defeating Voldemort twenty odd years ago with Dumbledore and an army of Aurors to back me up. Now he’s had all that time to grow stronger and I have nothing.’

‘Yet in that annoyingly infallible way of yours, you have apparently managed to disrupt his plans anyway,’ Snape commented pointedly. ‘No doubt he is not expecting to have to face you for many years to come.’

‘Great, so I’ll have time to practise dying. Perhaps he’ll let me pick my favourite.’ Harry had curled up again, another yawn engulfing him as his head dropped to the side. The draught Snape had subtly interwoven into the chocolate had been mild, the amount almost non-existent. He hadn’t wanted Harry to notice the effect as anything beyond natural fatigue. For this reason its effect had been slow, and it had been further held off by the turbulent emotions of the boy. Snape had almost feared it would be negated completely, but it held even as he hooked his hands under the boy’s thin knees and hoisted him into his arms. He needed time to think and to consider, and quiet in which to do it.

Harry shifted slightly on the bed, squinting against the glaring sunlight that had pulled him reluctantly from his sleep. Rubbing blearily at his eyes, he reached blindly towards the side of the bed, hand groping for the bedside table and his glasses. Leaning forward, his outstretched hand met nothing but thin air where he expected solid wood to be, tipping him off balance as the mattress shifted unexpectedly and he slid from the cool sheets with a yelp.

‘Had I known entertainment was to be provided, I would have woken you sooner,’ Snape commented dryly from a chair in the shadowed corner of the room, the thin frames of the glasses resting between his long fingers, as Harry glared from his undignified position on the floor, rubbing his bruised back.

‘Were you sitting there all night?’ Harry pushed himself to his feet, snatching his glasses from the offering hand as Snape leant slowly backwards again, regarding him appraisingly and with no small degree of distaste, his lips pulled back in revulsion.

‘It was not my first choice, of that I can assure you. However, I was unwilling to risk having left and returning to find you gone and running loose. Especially given your penchant for attracting trouble.’ He gestured to the only other chair in the sparse room, over which a faded black robe was slung. ‘It would be more appropriate for you to wear that today, unless you feel those hideous garments are considered fashionable. I took the initiative and burnt that foul monstrosity of a cloak you must have picked up from somewhere.’

‘An old lady gave it to me.’ Harry scowled, feeling less than generous about Ethel’s reluctant act of assistance. ‘She worked in the book shop,’ he added as Snape cocked an eyebrow, evidently surprised at the venom behind his admission. ‘Refused to have it back once she discovered a Half-blood had touched it.’

‘It is good to see such fine traditions being upheld.’ Harry didn’t think it was possible for Snape to have sneered any more, but he did, apparently taking great satisfaction in it. The approval in his tone also seemed to be covering for something else Harry couldn’t quite place, but which made him distinctly uneasy. ‘The bathroom is through the door.’ Snape gestured absently to the far corner of the room, the slight wrinkling of his nose letting Harry know that the information was to be taken as a suggestion, not a mere courtesy. ‘Please do try to be quick, we have much to do today.’ He did no more than look thoughtful and thoroughly unaffected as Harry stomped across the room, snatching the robes with a fair degree of muttering and making sure to slam the door for maximum effect, so that it shuddered momentarily in its rotting frame.

The shower was refreshing, although Harry spent longer than was strictly necessary under the warm spray, trying to rid himself of the damp and greasy odour that clung to his skin. The fact he hadn’t theoretically washed in a good twenty odd years meant he was a little more vigorous with the soap than normal, and his skin was scrubbed a dark and tender pink by the time he emerged. The robes hung well enough, although they were slightly too long and threatened to trip him at any moment. He was getting used to ill-fitting clothes now though, and at least he looked a little less like a bedraggled outcast. Rubbing his hair with a spare towel until it was no longer dripping water down his back, Harry took a deep breath and prepared himself once again to face the world.

He had barely opened the door when something landed heavily by his feet, making him jump back automatically and frown. Looking down he saw a pair of dark, fur lined boots lying haphazardly in front of him, beguilingly innocent. He regarded them suspiciously until Snape rolled his eyes.

‘I Transfigured them, Potter. Wear them…unless you would rather continue bare foot?’

‘What from?’ Harry picked them up cautiously, holding them up for closer scrutiny.

‘A couple of rats I heard scurrying behind the skirting board.’ Snape sighed with annoyance as Harry dropped the items with a thud and a look of pure disgust. ‘Really, I would never have thought you so squeamish.’ Harry looked queasy at the thought, and seemed no closer to wearing the creations. ‘I Transfigured the pillows,’ Snape divulged impatiently, gesturing to the bed, which was now decidedly lacking in bedding. Harry still looked mistrustful. ‘Much as I am loath to admit it, but I do not possess the same skill as Minerva once did, so was forced to use something already closely related and potentially wearable. Were they once rats I have no doubt you would realise the second the tried to bite you, tempting though the prospect is.’ Harry, with evident reluctance, caved to the evidence that pointed to the unlikely fact that Snape was telling the truth. He sat heavily in the chair, pulling the boots over his feet and slowly looping the laces, his brow furrowed in concentration.

‘What happened to her?’ he eventually asked, with no doubt that Snape would know exactly whom he was referring to, the question having eaten at him until he could no longer not ask, but still dreaded hearing the answer all the same.

‘She was murdered.’ Snape was busy spelling the bed made, an activity that seemed slightly absurd for him. ‘As a well known member of the Order, it was not overly surprising.’

‘I guessed that,’ Harry continued, licking his lips nervously as his foot dropped to the floor and his hands wound around themselves convulsively. ‘But…how?’

‘Do you really want to know?’ Snape inquired lightly, focusing his attention as Harry nodded slowly. There was a brief silence in which Harry was certain the man was going to refuse to tell him, before a small smile slowly formed at the corner of Snape’s mouth and he spoke. ‘As it turns out, a cat does not, in fact, have nine lives. Barely even one.’ Harry was out of his seat in an instant, wand forgotten as he raised his hand, his clenched fist soaring towards the professor’s hooked nose. Long fingers encircled his thin wrist before he could connect, jarring as his momentum was suddenly halted. His other wrist was grasped before he had a chance to raise it, fingers pinching the soft skin painfully as he struggled against the taller man.

‘How dare you!’ he shouted, trying to pull himself free, his foot colliding with the hard bone of Snape’s shin, drawing not so much as a wince from the man. ‘She’s dead, and you’re laughing…’

‘Be quiet, you fool boy,’ Snape hissed, yanking him painfully by his arms so that he stumbled.

‘Don’t insult them!’

‘They are dead, and I doubt my words can cause them offence now,’ Snape said silkily, casting a furtive glance around the room. ‘However the walls have ears, and they are nearly always listening.’

‘You’re just a coward.’ He had stopped shouting, but still struggled desperately against the grip that showed no inclination of weakening.

‘And you are foolishly misguided by your refusal to see beyond your archaic Gryffindor nobilities.’ Harry was too blinded by overwhelming rage to listen.

‘What about Ron, what about Hermione?’ he spat accusingly, eyes flashing angrily as tiny drops of water flew from his still damp hair. He tried to summon the same rage that had threatened to spill downstairs the night before; tried to concentrate and throw it all in Snape’s ugly, greasy, taunting face, but it adamantly refused to even tingle, only serving to further infuriate him. ‘What horrible names are you willing to use on them now they can’t defend themselves?’

‘Blood traitors and Mudbloods,’ Snape snarled, renewing his grip as Harry howled and clawed again in rage, almost lifting him off his feet. ‘Are you so stubborn you will not even attempt to learn a lesson that could well save your life?’

‘Hermione is not a Mudblood!’

‘Was not, Potter, and you are mistaken.’ Snape narrowly avoided Harry’s flailing foot. ‘She lived a Mudblood, she died a Mudblood, and it is all history will remember her as. You would do well to think of her the same way, otherwise you will not survive to walk down the street.’ Harry snorted sceptically, trying to twist his wrists free as nails dug into the soft flesh on the underside.

‘Let me guess, not only do the walls have ears, but Legilimency is a required skill so not even my innermost thoughts are safe.’

‘Legilimency is all but a forgotten art,’ he said with an air of vague bitterness.

‘Then, if you don’t mind, I won’t think negatively of the best friends I have ever had and, as far as I am concerned, last heard from a couple of days ago.’ Harry glowered through narrowed eyes. Snape growled in the back of his throat at the defiance.

‘Since you are apparently unwilling to listen to anything I have to say, should I just deposit you in front of the Dark Lord now?’ He made a motion as though to throw Harry away from him, never actually releasing his hold so that Harry was forced to allow the violent shaking lest he wind up flat on his face. ‘No doubt you will find yourself there within minutes unless you actually shut up and listen to what I am trying to say.’ His black hair had fallen across his face, leaving his eyes hooded in shadows that only served to make them more intense in their annoyance. Harry felt a momentary stab of fear at the thought that Snape would Apparate them away that very instant.

‘The only thing I hear you saying is insults.’ Harry’s breath was fast and shallow as he glared challengingly.

‘Yes, and if you react this badly to a comment made by a stranger walking past you in the street, what exactly do you think will happen?’ Harry looked sullen as he ceased to struggle, his arms going lax as Snape continued to scowl at him meaningfully. ‘What do you think will happen the next time you encounter a Dementor?’

‘I’ll at least have some happy memories to focus on,’ Harry grouched as Snape released him, pushing him backwards slightly so that Harry rocked precariously on his heels for a moment as Snape rubbed his temples in frustration.

‘Are you incapable of figuring out anything? Do you have even the tiniest flicker of an instinct for survival?’

‘I don’t trust you,’ Harry replied flippantly, trying to massage some life back into his sore arms. ‘And I’d like to think you’d Obliviate anyone involved in any scene.’

‘Good,’ Snape exhaled in response to the first comment, some of the frustration fleeing the room, leaving behind a tentative layer of apprehension that was somehow even more constricting. ‘But you are mistaken. You may have no concept of self-preservation, but it is something with which I am acutely familiar, and I cannot afford to Obliviate every passer-by you happen to encounter, as it will not go unnoticed.’ He shouldn’t have expected any better from the man, really. Of course Snape believed him no better than some sort of delinquent, and incapable of walking down a street without causing a riot. ‘Just because it has fallen to me to protect your worthless life, it does not mean I am willing to sacrifice mine in the process.’ Harry gaped wordlessly at Snape’s emotionless response. ‘Now, do you know why the Dementors came after you?’

‘You know I don’t know,’ Harry sniped after regaining the use of his voice. His hands still throbbed miserably and his feelings towards the Potions Master were less than charitable, his fury having peaked to something beyond shouting and raving. ‘So why you don’t you stop asking stupid questions just to make yourself feel big, skip telling me how stupid I am, and explain the blatantly obvious thing I should have realised by now. In small words, if it makes you feel better.’

‘They know what you are.’ Harry looked panicked as Snape continued flatly, straightening the furniture their fight had disturbed and unmoved by his growing anxiety. He almost sounded as though he were reciting potions ingredients. ‘And I don’t mean something so complicated as the Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or anything of that nature. They know what you are on a much more basic level.’

‘A wizard who isn’t Dark?’ Harry offered with a nervous yet hopeful shrug.

‘A Half-blood.’ Snape needn’t have accompanied that with the look he did. Harry was only too aware of how much of a danger that was.

‘How do they know that?’

Snape straightened up and readjusted his robes as he spoke, smoothing them back down and brushing away the creases that had formed. ‘It is a Dementor’s most basic instinct to harvest the memories of a victim. The Dark Lord merely applied that skill into something much more useful, and much more specific. He taught them what to look for, and now they ensure the standards he spent so long achieving are maintained.’ If Harry didn’t know any better he’d have thought Snape looked pleased by it.

‘That sounds bloody nice, knowing that any moment now one of those things could start randomly sifting through your thoughts. Why aren’t the streets lit with Patronuses?’

‘The Patronus Charm is forbidden. It is generally established that if you have nothing to fear, you have no need to cast it. Its use is considered an admission of guilt.’ It was just the sort of thing he should have expected from Voldemort really. Another excuse to torment and subtly torture people, leaving them no choice but to submit completely and never fight back. ‘Have you calmed down sufficiently now?’ Harry nodded dourly at Snape’s dismissive tone. ‘Good; I had hoped you would be gracious enough to give me the opportunity to continue with my day at some point.’

He strode towards the door, holding it open and gesturing for Harry to leave ahead of him, obviously reluctant to allow him out of sight for a second. Once downstairs, Snape merely nodded to the man behind the bar, exchanging a few gold coins in tense silence before delving into a pocket of his robes and extracted a handful of extra silver, no doubt in compensation for the items that now adorned Harry’s feet. Looking once again towards the boarded door that had once led to Muggle London, Harry opened his mouth, a question hovering on the tip of his tongue before he bit down on it as he met Snape’s hard gaze and realised he should remain silent. He felt suddenly uncomfortably aware of the number of eyes following them across the room, and breathed a sigh of relief once they were out in the courtyard, as the bricks once again formed their familiar arch.

‘So everyone follows him now, do they?’ Harry peered down the street. Everyone looked normal enough, much the same as people had before his life had apparently been turned upside down. There was a certain shabbiness about everything though, a fact that seemed more important than it had the last time he noticed, all the colours having faded to a dull and lifeless mockery of what they had once been. Even the air felt old and musty, overused and stinking of Dementors.

‘Devoutly.’

‘No resistance, no questions?’

‘There are rumours,’ Snape commented.

‘Of?’

‘I suppose you could call it a resistance, of sorts.’ Snape looked thoughtful again, his gaze flickering sceptically down the street. ‘There is nothing so obvious as to outright defy the Dark Lord’s absolute rule. But there are those who have courage enough to speak against him in private.’ He glanced at Harry as though reading his mind. ‘You should not think so poorly of them for submitting so easily. You forget that they no longer have their figurehead-’ he flicked a finger towards Harry’s scar ‘-they no longer have the hope of an unlikely saviour.’ Harry shrugged in a way that indicated he believed they should have fought more; that they should have found their own things to fight for.

‘You don’t know who?’

‘I have my suspicions,’ Snape said with curious flatness.

‘I thought that was all that was needed now,’ Harry countered sarcastically. ‘Why haven’t you just started randomly torturing people until they confess?’

‘So that those orchestrating the whole thing can hear of it and move into even deeper hiding? They are not such a threat as to warrant such extreme measures. And besides, such behaviour could only indicate that the Dark Lord is less than secure on his throne.’

‘Ah, couldn’t have people thinking the almighty was worried now, could we?’ Snape didn’t deign to answer, instead increasing his pace and walking ahead stiffly with a practised blank look fixed, blocking all emotion from his expression. Harry scowled to himself before running to catch up.

‘When are you going to send me back?’ Snape looked as though Harry had just requested they share life stories over a mug of butterbeer, as his stomach clenched with sudden fear and nausea crept through his body, chilling and debilitating. ‘You are going to send me back, right?’ He was not yet willing to accept that everyone being dead meant he had no hope of ever seeing them again. Someone was damn well going to send him back.

‘That may not be possible,’ Snape ground out reluctantly, clearly expecting a scene.

‘I thought getting me here in the first place had the difficult part over and done with,’ he attempted to say with a light hearted joviality he certainly didn’t feel. Evidently Snape had tired of insulting him, since the reply was short and not huddled protectively amidst a range of colourful abuse.

‘Time-Turners are not that easy to acquire.’

‘Fix the old one,’ Harry suggested.

‘I have no doubt its purpose has been too completely warped for it to be of any further use.’

‘Can I have it back then?’ He suddenly felt painfully unprotected without it.

‘No.’ Harry looked surly, but refrained from commenting that since someone had put the blasted thing around his neck it was, by all rights, now his. Unless, of course, the actual owner fancied stepping forwards and laying claim to the ruddy thing.

‘There must be somewhere you can get one, though.’ He hated the desperate edge that threatened to crack his voice. He fought to make it accusatory instead. ‘I thought you were powerful here.’ Snape gave a weary sigh.

‘Potter, the people of this time are bloody grateful they are still permitted to carry wands.’ Snape sounded both bitter and thankful at the statement. Harry couldn’t imagine needing permission to carry, or even just possess, his own. It was just his. The idea of having it given to him, as a gift, as something he had to earn in such a way, twisted against his pride. ‘The Dark Lord is no fool, he knows his is accepted only grudgingly and under threat of torture and death, and has therefore banned most anything that could potentially be used against him. Time-Turners were one of the more obvious threats, and one of the first to go. Those that remain are closely guarded. My Master would know within minutes were one removed.’

‘I thought you were supposed to help me,’ Harry challenged. The Master comment had stung and left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Besides, anger was definitely a more comfortable and familiar feeling that the overwhelming sense of things slipping out of control.

‘I am.’

‘You’re not leaving many options open for defeating him.’

‘Currently my primary concern is making sure you live through to this afternoon,’ Snape snapped. ‘You would do well to concern yourself with only that for the minute.’ He stared at Harry meaningfully for a moment, as though turning over an idea in his head that he was hesitant to share. ‘Tell me, has your scar hurt at all since you awoke?’ Harry rubbed it curiously.

‘No.’

‘I am pleased, although I was reluctant to draw your attention to it. Try not to concentrate on it too much until we have established just how strong the connection remains.’ Abruptly Harry found his every thought centred solely on the fear that Voldemort could somehow feel him, could somehow sense a thread of life twining destructively around his perfectly created world. Swallowing heavily, he sought for the first distraction he could think of.

‘Who are they then?’

‘Must all your questions be this abstract?’

‘The three, the ones who remember me,’ Harry clarified.

‘Myself, and I am sure the Dark Lord made an obvious second even for you.’ Snape scanned to crowded street, noting the averted glances and hurried pace of those he passed. Harry couldn’t help but feel that he was overacting rather horribly about the walls having ears and all that tripe. From what he could see no one would be stupid enough to even attempt to overhear a conversation of his. ‘The third is Malfoy.’

‘Lucius?’ Harry didn’t sound surprised, more resigned.

‘Lucius Malfoy is still rotting in Azkaban, although I believe his mind is rather more fractured than you remember.’

‘Not Draco?’ he said in utter, horrified disbelief.

‘His father failed the Dark Lord on one too many occasions. You should feel ecstatic, Potter, since one of your last acts of heroism was to see him carted away to the island.’

‘He’s been there since the Ministry?’ Harry was amazed. ‘I figured Volde…’ he trailed off under Snape’s glare. ‘The Dark Lord would have freed him before the end of the holiday.’

‘If you believe the Dark Lord is above punishing even his closest followers for their continued failure then you are sorely mistaken.’ Harry had seen enough first hand to know that. ‘Besides, he had no need when Draco was more than willing to fill his father’s role.’

‘What?’ Snape would have been hard pushed not to hear the incredulity in his tone, and his smirk of amusement indicated that he had not only heard it, but considered Harry woefully ignorant as a result of it. Harry found it hard to believe that even Snape could have thought Malfoy anything more than a pathetic, snobbish coward.

Loftily, Snape took great pleasure in proving him wrong. ‘Draco took the Mark that summer. Before you disappeared, if it is of any interest to you.’

‘He was not even out of school. What use could he be?’

‘He was of much use,’ Snape sounded reluctant to continue, so Harry didn’t bother to even ask. ‘You of all people should know not to judge a person’s importance purely on his age.’ His comment was met with vague mumbling.

‘So where is he now?’

‘Do not worry yourself, we are not about to be running into him.’

‘I still want to know where he is.’

‘Then perhaps I should rephrase my previous statement.’ Snape halted his long strides to better lean over Harry. ‘We are not about to be running into him because I am not naïve or stupid enough to tell you where he is.’

‘The day I can’t handle a Malfoy…’

‘You could barely ‘handle’ his father,’ Snape jeered, pacing away again without warning. ‘How you didn’t wind up dead is beyond me. His son is no less proficient. You forget he is not the same boy you last saw a couple of months ago.’

‘Fine,’ Harry’s response was churlish as he stopped in the middle of the street and crossed his arms in a childish display of insolence. He had to raise his voice, as Snape was already a distance away. ‘Will you at least tell me where we’re going?’

Snape stalked back, his face thunderous. ‘You are going to take me to Grimmauld Place.’ There was no choice in the angry demand.

‘Take yourself.’

‘Remember your manners, Potter!’ Snape all but roared in the busy street, reaching the end of his admittedly short fuse. Still Harry just stared fiercely at him, adamantly refusing to budge an inch, even when fixed with the most hateful of glares.

‘Sorry, sir,’ he said without a trace of apology and a most infuriating smirk. ‘Why don’t you just take yourself?’ It was all the more mocking for the innocence with which he asked.

‘It became inaccessible to me quite some time ago, after Albus’ death.’ Snape hated admitting to any failure on his part, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder how one old house could remain so important for him to even hint at the possibility there was something he didn’t know. ‘I never did discover the identity of the replacement Secret-Keeper, and even if I had, communication would have been impossible.’

‘What makes you think I can still get there, then? Dumbledore was the last person to tell me.’

‘And you were the last person to set foot in the house.’ Snape clenched his teeth and refrained from slapping some sense into the annoying brat. ‘Humour an old man.’

‘Tell me where Malfoy is.’

Snape looked ready to curse. ‘Your life isn’t the only one on the line now, boy. There is no room for petty vendettas.’

‘Tell me.’

Snape lowered his voice to the threatening rumble. ‘Do not think anyone would dare question me were I to cast a certain Unforgivable on you here and now.’ He was sorely tempted.

‘Go for it then, and we’ll see how much nearer that gets you.’ Harry folded his arms defiantly, holding his head high. Snape glared at him for a moment, black eyes boring mercilessly through his head before he scowled, lowering his wand in defeat.

‘He is at Hogwarts.’

‘Why can’t I just Floo back?’

‘Because I will not risk attempting to travel somewhere I may or may not be permitted to enter.’ Snape was definitely reaching the end of his patience, his tone clipped and icy as he resorted to grabbing Harry round the top of his arm and dragging him bodily down the street, his feet stumbling beneath him as he fought to regain his balance.

‘What then?’

‘I will Apparate us to the street outside, and then we shall see.’ The remark was as dismissive as ever, a habit that was becoming increasingly irritating. Harry was fairly sure that at this point it would be less effort for Snape just to answer his questions straight away, instead of replying with the least possible number of syllables.

‘Where are we going now, then?’ Harry pressed, gesturing to the severe lack of Apparition. Even Snape’s glare was becoming drained in the face of his constant harassment.

‘Do you ever tire of asking that inane question? If you need to know what I am doing, I will tell you.’ Snape closed his eyes tiredly for a moment, no doubt anticipating the next round of questioning. He didn’t query his good fortune when none came, and continued as though Harry had caused him equal inconvenience with his silence. ‘It is a criminal offence to be caught Apparating into a Muggle area. There are, however, for those who know where to look, certain places less well protected from which we will be able to leave without detection.’ He pulled Harry into a narrow alley, stepping lightly over the rubbish that lined the ground beneath them before stalking ahead. When they reached a wall with no noticeable way of passing he stopped and held out his hand, prepared for Harry’s reaction to the gesture. ‘Rest assured this brings me no joy either. However, the more physical contact you allow, the less unpleasant the effects of this will be.’ Harry consented to the hand wrapping round his own, and the arm that pushed against the length of his. It didn’t prepare him for the feeling of being squashed down into a small ball of nothingness, or the sensation that his insides were trying to crawl out of his skin, as the world stretched and twisted around him. He staggered when they landed, automatically clinging for support until his equilibrium reasserted itself and he pulled away, blushing ferociously.

To his relief, the doorway to number twelve still stood exactly where he remembered it, as he stepped onto the overgrown path.

‘Potter.’ Snape’s sneer halted his steps. ‘Before you continue, would you be so good as to inform me?’

‘Huh?’

‘The house, Potter,’ Snape said unnecessarily slowly. ‘I assume you can see it, but I cannot. I would rather you enabled me to follow you before you disappear from my sight.’

‘It’s right there.’ Harry gestured widely, the sweep of his arm encompassing the two houses next door and a fairly wide patch of sky. It was apparently enough though, as Snape pushed impatiently ahead of him and opened the door, wand pointed down the musty hallway.

‘Fortunately for you, eloquence does not appear to be a requirement,’ he said with disdain, stepping across the threshold as Harry followed. He turned on him seconds after, barely giving Harry enough time to close the door, the small click of the lock lost to the Potion Master’s abrupt demands. ‘Did you search the house at all before leaving?’ Harry shook his head silently. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes!’ he declared hotly. ‘I just looked for Remus in his bedroom, then came straight down to the kitchen.’ Snape regarded him through narrowed eyes, obviously determined he was lying. Harry refused to meet his gaze though, leaving him with no choice but to reluctantly believe him.

‘You will stay in this very spot. You will not move and you will not speak. You will not do a single blessed thing until I tell you it is safe to do so.’ Snape stared unblinkingly at him, causing Harry to squirm slightly. ‘We do not know if the place has been compromised.’

‘Fine.’ Harry leant mulishly against the bare wall as Snape cast one final, disapproving look in his direction, before scaling the staircase. He heard a door open, footsteps above him circling rapidly and a muffled spell he couldn’t quite make out, before they moved away again. A second door opened as Harry sunk to the floor, fingers picking at the splintered floorboard in boredom and annoyance. He almost didn’t hear the faint click of the door closing again, as his eyes drifted up the stairs and tried vainly to see round corners. He wished Fred and George had gone out of their way to make some Extendable Eyes, even if the thought was kind of disgusting. Even a set of Extendable Ears would have done, since he could just about make out soft voices, muffled by the closed door. Moving slowly to his feet, Harry crossed the couple of paces to the foot of the stairs. The voices were still indiscernible, but there was no mistaking the angry tones of an argument. Lifting one foot, he gingerly tried the first step, lowering his weight slowly and relaxing at the silence that remained. Steadying himself with one hand on the railings, Harry stepped up again, the creaking wood making occasional protests beneath him. Half way up, he froze as the wood groaned ominously beneath him, but there was no break in the flow of heated words drifting down the staircase, so he let out the breath he had been holding and continued upwards.

The door to his room was ajar, no doubt the way he had left it. Harry didn’t recall seeing anything potentially threatening in it, but then again, he hadn’t really been paying very much attention. The door to the room Snape had already searched was also swinging open, as Harry edged past it, willing Snape not to come storming out into the corridor at that moment. The words were much clearer now as he approached the closed door, and it suddenly occurred to him with dismay that Snape could very well have charmed the thing to be inaccessible. Why he didn’t bother with a silencing charm whilst he was at it made Harry think it unlikely the thought had even crossed his professor’s mind. His hand closed round the cold door handle and he twisted.

‘You are a fool, old man,’ Snape’s voice was low as he raised his wand. ‘Incendio!’

Harry threw the door open, bursting through as it hit the wall behind with a loud bang, and staring aghast at Snape’s extended wand as the portrait burst into hungry flames. He spotted a flash of white disappearing off the edge of the crumbling canvas, the heat of the flames making his eyes water from the dry air as Snape rounded on him angrily. ‘Potter! I told you quite specifically to stay downstairs.’

‘Who was it?’ he asked desperately, voice frantic with worry. Snape paused for a second before answering.

‘Phineas Nigellus,’ he eventually replied, crossing his arms as Harry continued to stare at the dying flames.

‘But…why?’

‘He could not be trusted, especially given that he still has a portrait in Hogwarts.’ Harry’s eyes widened as he remembered the use to which Dumbledore had put the portrait, and at the thought of who now sat in his old Headmaster’s chair. ‘I could not risk him passing on information.’

Harry swallowed, his throat now parched and painful, seemingly made more so at the prospect of what he had to admit he had seen. ‘I think he ran away, just before your spell got him.’

‘What?’ Snape roared angrily.

‘I saw something running off the edge of the frame,’ Harry said nervously as Snape strode towards him.

‘Did he see you?’ Snape grabbed his shoulders, fingers pinching hard as Harry shook his head.

‘I don’t think so.’

Pushing Harry distastefully away, Snape snarled, ‘You are an idiot. Stay here, and I mean really stay here this time.’ He stalked past Harry, slamming the door behind him and muttering a few words before his footsteps retreated again. A couple of half hearted turns of the doorknob verified the locking charm Snape had used, not wanting to be caught unprepared a second time, and Harry fought back the uncomfortable mixture of helpless anger and shame. It was a couple of minutes before Snape returned and the door was opened. The man didn’t bother with niceties, his thin frame blocking the doorway as he glared imperiously down at Harry. ‘Will you finally listen to what I tell you?’ he demanded as Harry nodded resentfully. ‘Will you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘We shall have to wait and see if that is actually true, I suppose.’ Snape stepped out of the only exit, allowing Harry back out into the hallway. He kept his head down as he moved, his pride throbbing in tandem every step. ‘But rest assured, you will find yourself locked back in that damn room if I even suspect you of disobeying.’ Harry nodded mutely again, coughing reluctantly even as the action burnt his sore throat. He got no more than a jerk of the head for further instructions, and he trailed morosely back down the stairs as Snape stormed ahead and entered the kitchen. A glass of water was thrust tersely into his hands when he finally entered.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered, taking a couple of sips. A gentle tapping at the window caught him off guard as he jumped, slopping the cold liquid down the front of his robes. Snape merely rolled his eyes before opening the window, a large owl soaring in and perching itself on the back of a chair as Snape detached the large roll of paper from its leg.

‘It’s just my owl.’ Harry scowled as Snape smirked at his discomfort.

‘You’re still getting a newspaper?’ he questioned to cover his embarrassment at overreacting, as the large bird flew off into the bright sky and the window was slammed back into place with a crash.

‘Of course, although the idea of free press has become somewhat outdated.’ Snape stared at Harry’s perplexed expression, misreading the nature of the confusion. Harry had been worried purely about the appearance of the magical animal at a place supposed to be hidden. Harry wondered how bad things had been for Snape to automatically assume his question had been so much larger. ‘Life goes on Potter, what did you expect? A world devoted to endless torture and gesticulation? Enslaved millions spending their every waking minute grovelling and worshipping? Tithes and tributes, perhaps?’ It all sounded so ridiculous, made even more so by the fact that, yes, it was exactly what he had expected. ‘People still need food, and homes. They still need to be clothed. They still get ill or hurt and require medical attention. Children still need to learn, although the curriculum is naturally somewhat different to what you remember. The very basis of life has not changed; we would fall apart without it.’ A moment of silence followed, Snape’s voice becoming no more than a bitter undertone. ‘We very nearly did.’

‘Nearly did?’

Snape recovered himself admirably, sneer back in place as he looked down his nose at the table before him, apparently reluctant to look directly at Harry. ‘Power goes to ones head, and absolute power reduces all reason for anything beyond the most basic of instincts. People were starving and dying needlessly…well, more needlessly. The Dark Lord almost found himself with nothing and no one left to rule.’ Harry said nothing, simply gazed at the folded newspaper with blinkered eyes, moving slowly towards the door even as Snape pulled out a chair and banished the worst of the dust.

‘What are you going to do now then, sir?’ he asked with careful neutrality. Snape barely looked up.

‘I am going to sit in some well deserved peace and quiet for the first time in too long and think, since evidently I now need to be doing it for two.’

‘I’ll leave you alone, then.’ Harry got nothing more than a dismissive grunt in reply, as he closed the door quietly behind him.

-o00o-

The house hadn’t changed much since he’d last been in it. Even his usual chair still sat at its proper place around the table, although he supposed it had become someone else’s after time. It didn’t offer many clues as to what had happened in it though. It was too clean, once one looked past the accumulation of so many years’ dust and dirt, to have been abandoned in desperation. The beds were made and the sink empty. Even the chairs surrounding the table at which he now sat were ordered perfectly. Someone had taken the time to tidy before they left.

Thinking about it, it seemed logical to assume that the house had served less as a base of operations and more as a prison to those it was trying to protect in its last moments of use. And someone had definitely been the last to leave, and had left in the knowledge they would not be coming back.

Snape doubted the Fidelus Charm was still responsible for protecting the place, despite the initial similarities. For one thing, Potter’s pathetic attempt to inform him of its existence had been far from satisfactory to fulfilling the charm. More importantly though was the simple fact that Potter had most assuredly not been around when the last remaining resident fled, and therefore the passing on of the responsibility of the charm would have been impossible. The whole thing positively reeked of Albus’ influence. Elements of the Fidelus Charm amalgamated with your basic property protection wards, which allowed access only to the rightful owner, seemed the most likely conclusion, from what he could gather from the limited evidence. Not that it particularly mattered, since Snape doubted they would find the place stormed any time in the near future. Curiosity was an unpleasant thing, however, when there was little chance of a satisfactory answer.

A small fire in the littered hearth provided a source of warmth and an escape from the damp and musky smell that engulfed the house after being empty for so long. Rooting around in the drawers revealed a serviceable kettle, restored to all its former glory with a harsh cleaning spell. He had to use a spell to create water, since the plumbing gave an unholy wail when the tap was turned. Whilst he was quite capable of summoning tea, too many discussions with Albus over such a creation had led to an appreciation of the real thing. Hanging the kettle carefully over the flames he sank back into his seat again in quiet contemplation.

It had been only three days since the unaccountable disappearance of the Boy Who Lived, and Snape had never had the misfortune of seeing the Headmaster so truly frantic. Owls streamed through his window in and endless flurry of hope, the fireplace barely finding the time to cool before another would rush through, scarcely exchanging more than a couple of words before leaving once again to continue the fruitless search.

‘There is nothing, no trace of him whatsoever?’ Lupin shook his head, not finding it in himself to use anything as final as words in answer as Dumbledore turned his eyes to Snape, the pale blue for once faded and dull. ‘Severus, please tell me you have news?’

‘The Dark Lord does not have him.’ Albus sagged with relief into his chair, his entire body slumping forwards as he held his face in his hands. The man was defeated, his weakness exploited to its full potential.

‘How could we have failed him?’

‘He is not looking for him either.’ Dumbledore stiffened again at Snape’s flat words, exhaling heavily. ‘Lucius offered to lead the hunt upon discovering he was missing. He was rejected. Apparently Potter is ‘nowhere we are yet capable of going.’’

‘So he knows where Harry is, but can’t get to him?’ Lupin’s brow furrowed in deliberation before he thumped the desk in an uncharacteristic display of anger, tiny glass charms from unnamed objects rattling gently as Fawkes ruffled his feathers and crooned from his perch. ‘It doesn’t make any bloody sense!’ Dumbledore shook his head, whether in disagreement or complete and utter despair was anybody’s guess.

‘And Voldemort will tell you no more?’ The Headmaster met Snape’s flat gaze and held it for a couple of uncomfortable seconds, leaving Snape with a disquieting feeling of guilt he felt compelled to dispel.

‘He is not telling any of his servants any more than that. Apparently the joke is his, and his alone. At least for the time being.’ Dumbledore sat in contemplative silence for what seemed an eternity before speaking again, his words slow and weighted.

‘It causes me great distress to ask any more of you, Severus, but there is so much more than just your own life at risk.’ Snape refrained from pointing out that his life had been at risk for quite some time. ‘You must get closer. Whilst your information thus far has been invaluable, and instrumental in saving any number of lives, I’m afraid the occasional advanced warning of times and dates are no longer enough. We need to know what he is thinking.’ Snape nodded, his expression blank as he rose from his seat.

‘You understand it may be some time before I am able to return.’ Dumbledore at least refrained from the injustice of giving him the opportunity to back out.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t expected it. The Dark Lord was no fool when he accepted Snape back into his fold. Excuses had been given and listened too with a disturbing attentiveness, punishments had been doled out and the benefit of the doubt had been given to an extent. But the Dark Lord would not be taken for an idiot simply because he had been too free with his trust.

Therefore the information Snape had been given was always vague, to say the very least. He was given enough by the Dark Lord to satisfy Dumbledore that his position was secure, and he was given enough information by Dumbledore to ensure the Dark Lord believed he was gathering all the information he could. And all either one had ever ended up with was exactly what the other wanted them to know. Lives were saved, sometimes by sheer fluke alone, and sometimes through a misplaced dropped comment. But his usefulness was limited by both sides reluctance to risk more than they felt they could afford.

Whilst he was still actively working for Dumbledore, the information he supplied was effectively worth less than nothing. Whilst he was still working for Dumbledore, his life was apparently worth even less.

He still felt a wave of bitterness. Albus had only asked of him what needed to be done, but a part of him insisted that the old man had had no right to request he sacrifice his own safety, and eventually his whole future so completely. He had turned away from the Dark Lord, had sacrificed every shred of dignity he possessed and begged the old man for sanctuary, for safety. And it had been given. But nevertheless it remained true: Albus Dumbledore giveth, and Albus Dumbledore taketh away. He had gone because he knew he had too, but sometimes he felt that Albus had not completely understood all he had been requested to give up.

‘Severus,’ Dumbledore greeted warmly in spite of the cold air that spilt around them. ‘You are looking well. Much more so than your last visit.’ Snape merely nodded in reply. He did not need reminding of the circumstances of their last meeting

‘I have not much time. To cause any suspicion at this delicate stage would prove disastrous.’

‘I know, my boy.’ Snape winced at the familiarity, as a cold gust swept around them, the scent of the trees that gathered threateningly around them thick and cloying. ‘Which is why I fear this may be our last meeting, although I admit I will not miss this location.’ Snape barely spared the clearing a glance. The Forbidden Forest was unpleasant at the best of times, and this deep it boasted any number of concealed dangers.

‘It is not the most ideal of places, nevertheless it has sufficed.’

‘I have asked so much of you, more than I ever had any right to ask.’ It wasn’t going to stop him from asking more though, Snape realised with cold indifference. ‘You have repaid your debt ten times over.’ He placed a gentle hand on Snape’s stiff shoulder that did nothing to ease the tension. ‘But now I fear it is only a matter of time.’ He looked so very old and frail in the moonlight as he sighed, his head falling to stare sightlessly at the grass beneath his feet. ‘I had always believed we would find him. At the last minute if need be, but it appears the last minute is here and Harry is still not to be found.’ He waved Snape into silence before the tirade could launch itself free. ‘But I will not believe he is dead.’

‘Nowhere we are yet capable of going,’ Snape quoted with only a trace of his familiar sneer. ‘The afterlife, Albus, somewhere we cannot go. So much effort has been wasted searching for a boy who is dead when it could have been put too much better use. No wonder the Dark Lord is laughing!’

‘I understand your anger, but I will not believe it. I merely ask that you trust my judgement one last time. He will return.’

‘At this rate, he will have nothing left to return to!’

‘He will have something,’ Dumbledore said softly, his gaze piercing Snape meaningfully. He scowled not so much at the comment, but at the unspoken insinuation behind it. ‘You must not let Voldemort know of your treachery. There is no room left for moral objections or personal preferences. Harry will return, and I ask you to do what you must to ensure you are alive and well when he does so.’ Snape bit back on the sarcastic retort. He had already done what he must in order to remain standing to that day. And Albus had said it himself, the debt had been repaid several times over.

‘Very well.’ Snape tilted his head in acquiescence. It was the only option. ‘I wish you luck and good fortune, for I have no doubt you are going to need it.’

‘No more so than you.’

Sometimes Snape wondered if the old man had any idea what he asked of him, what he would be required to do to fulfil the wishes of a fool blind to the true nature of serving such darkness. He was fairly sure that had he know, he would have realised he was asking for far too much.

‘Let her speak.’ His Master’s voice rang in the still air of the room, the silencing charm lifted as Minerva looked hatefully across the room to where he stood, no longer masked but face to face and somehow all the more personal for it.

‘For what reason?’ Her voice was thick, blurred with heavy accent. ‘I have nothing to say to either you or the traitor.’ The Dark Lord merely smiled, drawing his wand with aching slowness.

‘Have it your way.’ The lazy blue line of the spell struck her in the chest, which started to shrink, her whole body forced into the transformation until a matted tabby crouched defensively in the circle. ‘Severus, the honour is yours.’ A glint of pleasure lit behind his eyes as he advanced on her, and his Master hissed in approval. He seized her matted fur from behind her neck, lifting her struggling form with ease and raising his wand.

‘What would you prefer, My Lord?’ His lips quirked slightly in anticipation.

‘You are always so inventive, Severus,’ the tones almost hissed. ‘So let us find out exactly how many ways there are to skin a cat.’

He had been caught up in his own thoughts for too long; had not noticed the eerie quiet that filled the House. Swearing to himself he pushed the chair back with a scrape, stalking towards the door and flinging it open.

‘Potter!’

It wouldn’t surprise him if the brat had taken the opportunity to disappear on some foolish act of stupidity or another. He had, after all, only endeavoured to drum the lesson into his abnormally thick skull three or four times. A quick charm revealed the front door had not been opened, though. Snape was about to check upstairs, in the unfounded hope that the boy had simply gone to sleep, when he noticed a small door under the stairs hanging ajar. Curling his fingers into the gap he pulled it fully open, the faint light of a wand creeping up the stairs as he ducked through the opening.

‘Potter?’ He was crouched on the dirty floor, wand held in a shaking hand and legs crossed, the space around him littered with innumerable old papers, some faded to a dull yellow and the edges curled with damp, some completely unreadable. His eyes were red, but his face blessedly dry, as he lifted the newspaper from his lap and held it up in the light so that the front page stood out clearly.

‘Albus Dumbledore Dead.’

‘It doesn’t say much,’ Harry offered as Snape quickly surveyed the cellar, resting it back in his lap as his finger trailed down the smudged and faded lines of text. ‘Death Eaters got into the school, but it doesn’t say how. Some sort of fight at the top of the Astronomy Tower, but with no witnesses…or at least none willing to talk to the Prophet, most of it seems to be a guess.’ He didn’t look up.

‘Draco,’ Snape offered, casting a quick Scourgify on the lowest step and sitting carefully so as not to disrupt the tense and unspoken truce momentarily in effect. ‘He got them into the school.’ Harry still didn’t look up from the page, but his eyes ceased their rapid scanning and were still behind his thick glasses. ‘No one was expecting it. It was his initiation, so to speak. His final act to prove his unwavering loyalty.’

‘Malfoy killed Dumbledore?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wouldn’t have thought he had it in him.’ Harry wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his robe and sniffed.

‘It was something of a surprise to all of us, Albus most of all, I believe. But you were no doubt aware of his ability to see the good in anyone.’ Harry smiled faintly before his forehead creased in thought.

‘You were there?’ Snape nodded tentatively. ‘Why didn’t you stop him?’

‘I didn’t realise either his intention, or his commitment. He had not shared his orders with me.’

‘His own Head of House?’

‘I was no longer a member of the faculty,’ Snape explained. ‘Albus believed I was more likely to earn the trust of the Dark Lord were I not so obviously torn between two Masters.’ Harry chuckled hollowly to himself. ‘It was the first time I had seen Draco in many months.’ It was the first time he had seen Albus since his final request.

‘Do you think it would have made much of a difference, if you had been around more?’ Harry said softly, as though unaware he was airing his thoughts aloud. ‘Could you have talked him out of it?’

‘Doubtful.’

‘He was always an evil little git. I take it that is how he managed to get his filthy little hands on Hogwarts.’

‘It was one of the reasons,’ Snape confirmed. ‘He had done much more by the time the school was conquered though.’ He seemed to sense Harry’s continuing disbelief. ‘Albus would have died anyway. I was sent to watch Draco, but others were sent to watch us.’

‘It must have been hard for you.’ Harry looked up and watched Snape intently as he spoke, voice laced with false concern that was as transparent as his motives. ‘Watching him murder Dumbledore? After all he did for you for all those years.’

‘I did only what he wanted of me,’ Snape replied flatly, refusing to rise to the bait as Harry shrugged, turning back to the paper.

‘Haven’t found anything ‘bout Ron or Hermione yet.’ He changed the subject with evident ease. ‘Haven’t actually found anything on any of the Weasleys.’

‘You won’t. I believe the paper stopped printing some time before they were caught.’

‘Did you?’ The anger flared again for a moment as Snape shook his head. ‘Good, because I wouldn’t forgive you for that, not ever…no matter what Dumbledore said.’ They sat in terse silence for several minutes, with only the rustle of crackling newspaper until Snape stood.

‘Is there anything else you wish to know?’ Harry shook his head steadfastly.

‘I’ve gotten enough of an idea from these, thanks.’

‘Very well. You may have another hour, but then we have places to be.’ Harry looked curious.

‘Where?’

‘To see if my suspicions are correct,’ Snape said thoughtfully as he made his way carefully back up the tiny, narrow stairs. ‘And perhaps find you another ally or two.’

‘Draco, what a pleasant surprise,’ Snape said scornfully as a thick hood was pulled back to reveal a head of white blond hair that shone in the candlelight. The rising aggravation he always felt in the presence of the younger man was kept valiantly from his voice, and he inclined his head slightly in greeting. ‘It has been some time.’

‘Come now, Severus, you can hardly blame me for that.’ As Draco had grown so the likeness to his father had gradually diminished, something for which Snape was infinitely grateful. He had more of his mother in his face now, his lines softer, although more attractive for it. He lacked the impressive stature of Lucius too, without the broad shoulders and towering height. Draco Malfoy was someone whose authority you could easily dismiss, and then live to regret doing so. ‘You have become so difficult to find of late, the rare occasions you do deign to appear spent hiding away in that potions lab of yours. I barely see you but as another masked face.’

‘I have been busy.’

There was a well-placed flicker of practised emotion, the smallest sigh as Draco shook his head in false sympathy and agreement, his movements easy and fluid as he matched Snape’s long strides down the empty hallway. ‘As have we all.’ The casual remark promised of any number of captivating and whimsical stories, available for the telling at the mere price of a question. It was a cost Snape considered far too high.

Transparent though Draco’s motives were, Snape saw little choice but to play into his hands regardless. Lucius had always extolled the virtues of subtle manipulation, but without his father’s guidance, Draco had developed a disquieting appreciation for palpable scheming, taking pleasure in the knowledge that people knew they were being manoeuvred, but were unable to stop it. ‘And how is the school?’ The topic would be raised sooner or later anyway, as Snape reclaimed at least a little footing in the discussion, steering the conversation towards the most expedient conclusion and carefully Occluding his mind. There were days when he regretted teaching the art of Legilimency to someone he had always known would not hesitate to use it as a weapon straight back against him, in smug thanks and appreciation for the gift. But Snape had spent most of his life in the company of one Malfoy or another, and had learnt to read their intentions through what they did not say and do.

‘Thriving.’ Draco looked pleased and excessively proud, with what Snape considered to be little reason. The school functioned smoothly enough, thanks to the strict rules and regulations enforced, and the Headmaster was now no more than a figurehead. The Dark Lord had stripped the position of any real power, and all that remained was whatever had been engrained into it simply by holding the same title once held by Dumbledore. Snape was fairly sure that once that name had faded into history, the position would be as meaningless as that held by any other vaunted ministry official. ‘Although it would be much more so if you were to consider returning.’

Snape’s back stiffened, regardless of the expected nature of the request. It was made frequently and loudly, seeming to lack only the stomped foot and tantrums that would not make a wholly startling accompaniment. Draco had jumped at the opportunity, when Hogwarts had been offered to him, realising early on that he had been mistaken and misled. The school had always been a fundamental symbol of prestige to him, but the Dark Lord did not share status any more than he did control. Dragging Snape down with him had since turned into an obsession. ‘Finding a Potions Master equal to your skill is proving impossible. Say you will not reduce me to suffering through another year of incompetence?’ The look of haughty self-assurance caused Snape to bite back a snarl as Draco smiled beseechingly, hopefulness etched across his elegant features.

‘I will not return to Hogwarts, Draco, no matter how much you beg and plead.’ His doorway was thankfully fast approaching, although Draco gave no indication of leaving. If Snape had thought the boy’s ego could use a little reducing whilst he was still at school, it was nothing compared to what it needed now. Faced with domination over so much more than just his fellow housemates, the younger Malfoy had risen to unfathomable heights within the circle of Death Eaters. His confidence was surprisingly easy to dent though, rising magnificently to combat anything that reminded him of what he did not yet have, and was unlikely to ever achieve. ‘However, if you are that desperate, you could always crawl to our Lord again. Beseech for me to be ordered into your service. I am sure he will once again deny you.’ Snape’s comment did not have the intended result. Malfoys hid their anger well, but not so well as it appeared Draco managed, a lazy grin spreading across his lips.

‘I would not be so sure.’ Draco’s words were tinged with a hint of expected victory to come, snide and obviously pleased for it. ‘Our Master is in surprisingly good spirits today.’

‘Then there must have been some fortuitous news indeed.’

‘You sound surprised; the news was not of your giving?’ His tone was far too innocent. Draco knew exactly what had improved the Dark Lords notoriously temperamental mood, or he at least wanted Snape to believe he did. Actual knowledge was probably not strictly necessary, given Draco’s increasingly complicated outlook. Often he simply wanted to know whether or not Snape himself was privy to every last word the Dark Lord spoke, and every last action the Dark Lord made, and it was not always for reasons of suspicion or doubt. No, sometimes Draco just wanted to further bolster his claims to importance, wanted to find out if there was something he could hold above Snape. He wanted to make sure there was nothing Snape knew that had been kept from him. Snape wondered if Draco realised how painfully obvious his fanaticism had made him. ‘I assumed, with your prolonged absence, that when you finally returned it would be with something of note.’ He simply couldn’t miss out on the final comment either, couldn’t resist not only inserting the knife, but also twisting it with vicious glee.

‘I have not been gone that long.’ Snape’s door towered before him, now feeling more like the entrance to a tomb than his sanctuary. It opened beneath his fingers and he entered, Draco following without invitation, as Snape had known he would. The elaborate cloak was removed, swishing through the still air as it swung across Draco’s shoulders and onto the largely unused stand. Against the faded and rotting wood it looked slightly larger than life, richer than should be possible. Or perhaps the extravagant tastes bequeathed from Lucius simply made Snape’s rooms look that bit shabbier.

‘It used to be that barely a day would go by where you wouldn’t be found stalking these very halls.’ Manners, along with finding themselves in second place, were unacceptable to a Malfoy, as Draco cast a disapproving look around the small room. Disgust was one of the few emotions the boy never bothered to try to hide. ‘We were of the impression that you had nowhere else to go.’

Snape almost closed his eyes in dismay, dreading the answer to the following question. ‘We?’

‘My mother has expressed the occasional enquiry as to your health.’ Snape openly rolled his eyes. Narcissa Malfoy was more of a curse these days than anything else, and he deeply regretted every moment his ability to avoid her proved inadequate. She blamed him for something, although Snape had never been absolutely certain as to what, and seemed intent on claiming back something equally intangible. Snape had his suspicions that he knew exactly what it was she wanted, however, and that he was shying away from the sheer enormity of what the woman had hoped to get from him. ‘It will be nice to finally have an answer for her.’

Snape’s reply was short and clipped, accompanied by the gentle clinking of glass as he poured himself a drink. ‘Tell her that her concern is misplaced, but appreciated.’ Draco smirked at the response before reclining onto the musty sofa, treating Snape to a dry chuckle that made his blood boil.

‘That disgusting stuff will be the death of you.’ There was a little too much hope in the sentence to maintain the façade of humour, or to allow even the smallest inkling of sincerity to remain in Draco’s following offer: ‘You are always most welcome at the manor.’ Snape wouldn’t have set one foot within the outermost wards of the manor at any cost.

‘Contrary to what is apparently popular opinion, I do have my own accommodation.’ Draco sniffed dismissively, managing to indicate that if the room in which he was forced to sit was any indication he pitied Snape for having so little. It was a gesture that pushed Snape into continuing. ‘Which is, as always, sufficient for my needs.’ He grimaced at how much it rang in his own ears like justification.

‘The school was your home for so long, though, and you should see it now.’ Snape didn’t want to see it now though, and besides, how much could stone walls and small children change? He certainly didn’t want to walk its halls again in some ridiculous parody of a time that should have been long forgotten. ‘It is all you remember and more.’

‘I will not go back.’ It was definitive, an absolute statement of complete irrefutability delivered in a tone that should have closed the discussion from all further debate.

‘You should not fear the past, Severus.’ The purposefully disrespectful use of his first name had Snape itching for his wand. But words seldom failed the Potions Master, and to curse now would mean victory of a sort for Draco, if something of a hollow one.

‘I fear nothing, you impudent brat.’ Draco visibly glowered at the mild insult, a remnant of his childhood. To be called such a thing as an adolescent had infuriated him no end, and to call him it as an adult had an equally desirable effect. It took the respect he craved and demanded, and slapped him round the face with it. It at least managed to shut him up. ‘I merely have no desire to return to a place whose walls I was forced to suffer within for untold years.’

‘I did not realise I was so unbearable in my youth,’ the younger Malfoy smirked.

‘You were, of course, the one small ray of hope in what was an otherwise dismal time.’ Snape looked derisively down his hooked nose at the figure still lounging on his furniture. ‘Do not try my patience.’

‘Your patience is the very essence of legends.’ Draco dismissed the warning with a regal wave of his hand, the gesture dissipating the mild threat as though it were no more than wisps of smoke hanging in the air. ‘If I did not try it to breakage simply by greeting you, then I would worry something was truly wrong.’

‘Get to the point, Draco, and get to it quickly.’ There was only so long Snape could stomach to play the game, despite the fact that Draco seemed willing to keep it up indefinitely. But sometimes the blunt approach was favourable. Sometimes one could fool a Malfoy into believing he was getting his own way. ‘The meeting with our Lord took longer than I anticipated, and I have other places I need to be.’ Draco raised a curious eyebrow, as though mentally traversing a very short list of all the places he believed Snape would likely frequent, and dismissing them all on the grounds that none required he keep to any sort of schedule. He opened his mouth, smiling slightly, as if delaying the Potions Master for as long as possible were an interesting challenge, but apparently decided against it. Crossing his arms he regarded his former professor with a calculating gaze.

‘I am not the only one to find your reluctance to return to the school odd.’ It was delivered as a jibe, but there was no mistaking the hints of warning. It was not the one Snape had been expecting. He didn’t doubt that it was something that had only been considered odd with a little encouragement and a carefully dropped remark or two. ‘Not so much as a visit since it was reopened? Our Master may have indulged you up until now, but his amusement is wearing thin.’ Draco sat forward slightly as he spoke, suspicion now evident, but masking something else. There was something far too hungry in the way Draco was staring. ‘Why does the place cause you such grief?’

‘It is none of your concern.’ That didn’t stop Draco from guessing though.

‘Barely a trace of that old fool Dumbledore remains to indicate he was ever there.’ To his benefit, Draco didn’t flinch as Severus spun angrily on him, eyes lit furiously as he hissed between gritted teeth.

‘Do not mention his name!’

‘Dumbledore?’ The grin was back again, only far more predatory in nature. ‘My, my, what has aggrieved you so? Tell me you do not regret his death, for that would be some secret to be keeping.’ Snape allowed a snort of disbelief at the accusations.

‘His death could not have come soon enough.’

‘Still cannot take a joke, can you? Rest assured your hatred of the man is well known, although the reason not.’ Snape could feel Draco pushing gently against the walls of his mind, searching for the answer only the Dark Lord had ever had the privilege of hearing. ‘You hate him more than our Master ever managed.’ Hate was an easy emotion though, one that often proved a lot easier to manifest and maintain than mere indifference.

Snape managed to force a reply despite his clenched jaw. ‘He betrayed me.’

‘Betrayed you?’ The sentence was accompanied with a low chuckle. ‘You forget yourself, Severus. You were the spy; it was you who betrayed him.’

‘It was no more than he deserved.’

‘How you do nurture your grudges.’

Trembling with rage, all thoughts and worries of appearances forgotten, Snape took a single step forwards. ‘Listen to me, you ignorant little whelp.’ Draco found himself staring down the end of a shaking wand, black eyes boring mercilessly into him. He fingered his own wand lightly, the gesture all the more menacing for its obvious innocuousness. It had Snape breathing harshly through his nose and reigning in his temper with the thought of how much he stood to lose with a single misplaced word spoken in anger. Draco had proven time and time again that he considered outright blackmail a valuable tool, and that Snape’s subservience to him would not be marred if it could only be achieved with its use. ‘I do not answer to you,’ he said softly, ‘and you would do well to desist in acting as though I should.’

‘It was merely friendly concern.’ The long fingers continued to hover over the light wood as though Snape’s own wand was a measly figment of Draco’s imagination. ‘Surely you cannot be that unfamiliar with it, despite your years of self imposed seclusion.’

‘Friendly concern?’ Severus couldn’t help the bark of laughter. ‘Why Draco, you must be losing your touch. Your true motives are far too obvious.’

‘As is your paranoia.’

‘You should be honoured by all our Lord gave you.’ Draco frowned wrathfully at the sudden sentiment, not daring to voice his disagreement whilst they remained within the walls of the Dark Lord’s domain. ‘Or did you have your mind set on something other than Hogwarts? Higher aspirations perhaps? Or does a Malfoy simply not like to ever feel as though he is being outdone?’ Draco scowled at Snape’s words.

‘I am hardly outdone,’ he scoffed, eyes darkening with contemplation, drifting from Snape to stare intently at the wooden arm of the seat. ‘Still, I am curious as to why the Dark Lord would value your contributions to the cause over mine.’

‘Managing to kill Dumbledore was hardly the accomplishment you would claim given that he appeared near death anyway,’ Snape tossed out casually. Draco did not take well to having his prime triumph so easily belittled.

‘And it would be uncharacteristically foolish of you to think that was all I have done.’

Snape raised a single eyebrow, challenging the blonde to name one other thing whilst saying, with feigned concern, as if trying to calm the boy, ‘second choice was no insult, Draco.’ Yes, it was still possible to disarm a Malfoy and throw their impeccable control off balance, as Draco growled in the back of his throat.

‘Your position should have been mine. I earned it, and I will have it yet.’

It wasn’t a surprising admission, but Snape still felt a pang of regret that he had taught Draco so poorly that he still didn’t realise they were fighting over mere scraps. ‘You really are a spoiled little brat.’

‘I’m not scared of you any more, and your contributions have been no less vaunted than mine.’

‘The Dark Lord will not assign me to Hogwarts,’ Snape declared with absolutely no doubt. ‘Neither to replace you, nor to work for you, as I am sure you would prefer. He does not rate the importance of the potions capabilities of the younger generation quite as highly as you.’ Snape lowered his wand, letting it hang loosely at his side. ‘This childish habit of yours to be the best is really rather tiresome, and you can endeavour to ram your non-existent authority down my throat as much as you like, it will not change things.’

‘You take too much for granted.’ Draco stood. With his casual aloofness lost, sitting on the low seat made him visibly uncomfortable. Snape fought not to step backwards and away from the sudden closeness the movement created. ‘Things change, Severus, the world moves on. There is always an opportunity to further oneself if one happens to know where to look.’

‘And then what?’ Snape scorned. ‘Say you do manage to remove me, what will there be left for you to achieve?’ Draco snarled to match Snape’s own, but did not say anything. ‘It seems you did manage to inherit a few things from your father. I’m sure he would be proud. He always did have a nose for sniffing out power. It was his weakness too; for once he found it he could never have enough.’ Snape let his voice drop. ‘So tell me, Draco Malfoy, what it is you truly want?’ He paused for effect, letting the question hang unanswered in the stale air. ‘Do you want to be the Dark Lord’s right hand man, at the very top of the ladder, with the entire world beneath you? Because we all know that no matter how you dress it up, the only thing you will ever be is a servant, because that is exactly what we are. For there will always be someone higher than you, always someone you have to bow before and obey unless you truly are idiotic enough to attempt to claim His position for yourself.’

‘I just need to be better than you.’ Said with such vengeful honesty that Snape felt a momentary stab of concern that was horribly unfamiliar. Draco continued to glare at him, the belief that he had suffered a terrible injustice radiating from his cold eyes. Snape didn’t doubt that the only reason the Killing Curse had not yet been thrown in his face was because Draco did still, for all his lauding, fear the Dark Lord’s wrath.

‘For now, perhaps you have managed to convince yourself it would be enough, but our Master knows you better even than I. He will not hesitate to remind you of your place.’ Fear flashed again behind the grey eyes, the ingrained fear stemming from attributed impossible powers that allowed the Dark Lord to see and hear everything. But no Malfoy feared for long, as a cruel smile once again twisted Draco’s deceivingly angelic appearance.

‘And what about you, Severus?’ Draco was mocking now, his voice soft and lilting in the quiet of the room. ‘The Dark Lord may know me better than you, but does he know you better than I?’

‘He knows my loyalty, which is all that matters.’ Draco didn’t look convinced, and Snape could hardly blame him. He was simply clutching at straws now. ‘He knows I am devoted to him, as opposed to simply being devoted to the position.’

‘You cannot lie to yourself forever,’ Draco smirked, stepping back elegantly and brushing his robes down with sharp jerks of his hands, as if shabbiness was a contamination he needed to free himself from. The blonde was in the much more familiar waters of blackmail now - a place Snape had hoped never to have to confront him - and that bit more comfortable for it. ‘But don’t worry, I won’t tell him your little secret. It’ll be much more fun when he finds out for himself. And he will.’ Snape’s knuckles were white around his wand. ‘He won’t forgive you quite so quickly a second time when he discovers he is being laughed at for being so easily deceived by a half-blood.’ Snape exhaled heavily, all the air leaving his lungs in one great rush. ‘Yes, Severus, I know all about that. The Snape family history isn’t as well hidden as you would like.’ Draco smiled again, bowing low with exaggeration as Snape narrowed his eyes. ‘I look forward to seeing you kept on your toes, and I won’t keep you from your oh-so-important engagements any longer.’

The door swung open again as the young Malfoy grasped his cloak, still chuckling to himself in amusement. And when the door slammed closed, with only the softly retreating footsteps to be heard, Snape felt none of the relief he had expected upon the eventual departure.