Severus Snape marched swiftly up the gravel lane, heeled boots clicking against the pebbles. The sun dipped just below the horizon and a red glaze settled over the landscape. The trees blew slightly, leaves rustling in the summer evening breeze. The warm air should have been comforting, and though the village in the background sat snugly nestled, a low hum of activity drifting up the hill from the lit windows, Snape had no time to appreciate it. His mask hung hidden beneath his traveling cloak and he gripped his wand tightly, his sense on high alert. Pain lingered in the mark on his left arm, pulling him towards the manor towering above the village.

Another cloaked figure appeared next to him, and with a twitch of his wand and sideways glance, he continued walking. Yaxley. Snape swallowed down the wave of disgust that rose in the pit of his stomach.

“This must be something big,” Yaxley said stiffly without turning his head.

“Indeed.”

“I haven’t felt a pull like this since his rebirth.”

Snape agreed with a rough sound in his throat and a nod and picked up his pace. The two reached the gates of the manor and Yaxley pressed a hand to the spiral lock holding it closed. The lock twitched for a moment and glowed orange. Snape smirked as a snake head poked out from the keyhole and bit Yaxley’s palm, which appeared to be stuck fast to the glowing metal. Yaxley let out a muffled noise of protest as the snake sniffed at the two blooming pools of blood on his palm. Slowly, the lock and snake dissolved and the gates creaked open. Yaxley spun to face Snape.

“You knew that would happen, didn’t you?” he demanded.

“Perhaps,” Snape said, pushing past Yaxley into the courtyard before them. With a swipe of his wand, his mask jumped to cover his face and his hood slid up over his greasy hair. The large wooden doors of the manor silently slid open and a trail of blue flame ran along the stone walls within, beckoning them inside and into the main sitting room. The room was dimly lit by a few flickering candles. A slightly red glow peeked around the edges of the dark velvet curtains that blocked the windows. The walls were covered in trophies: phoenix feathers, the gnarled leg of a long-dead diricawl, a collection of preserved eyes, swiveling slightly in individual glass cases filled with a greenish liquid. Along the back wall, a man with slits for eyes, a flat nose, and pearly white skin sat in a high-backed armchair twirling a wand between two slim fingers. A dozen other cloaked figures stood at attention in a semi circle facing the armchair, a few spaces left empty. As Yaxley and Snape entered, every masked faced turned to watch the newcomers, but Voldemort’s attention remained fixed on the length of wood spinning between his fingers. The two Death Eaters took their respective places in the formation, filling in the last two gaps. The whole room held a tense breath, and then Voldemort turned and seemed to notice his followers for the first time. A rubbery smile took over his face and with a wave of his wand, a table and fourteen chairs appeared.

“Please, my friends, be seated,” Voldemort purred, settling further into his chair as a massive snake curled its way up the leg. There was a rustling of cloaks as everyone sat, but the room remained otherwise silent. The moments passed slowly as Voldemort continued to smile and stroke Nagini.

“My lord-” Yaxley began, but cut off as his lips began to stitch together as if by an invisible seamstress, leaving a red criss-cross across his face where his mouth used to be.

“Patience, Yaxley,” Voldemort barked, his wand still pointed at the source of the outburst. The rest of the occupants sat stiffly, trying not to look at the bloody mess Yaxley’s mouth had become.

“My friends,” Voldemort shook his head slightly and seemed to correct himself, “My servants, we have been bested.”

A murmur ran around the table, but Voldemort held up a hand for silence.

“Yes, we have been bested in the past, but that ends tonight. Dumbledore has sealed off every access to the Potter boy during each summer and you- whom I thought were my most faithful and devoted servants- have failed me. You have failed to penetrate his protection, and you have allowed Dumbledore, that old fool, to best us.”

A shiver ran through the room as Voldemort’s accusing stare slid from face to face.

“I, however, have been able to penetrate these forces,” Voldemort allowed the significance of this statement to sink in, and even allowed a murmur of appreciation to filter through the room.

“Being a merciful lord, I will not punish you for your failures. On one condition.”

Here, Voldemort turned his attention directly to Severus Snape, who sat erect on his right.

“Severus, how is it that you have been unable to capture Harry Potter until now?”

Snape froze, unsure of where this question was leading.

“My Lord, I have failed you.”

“Yes, I have already made that clear, Severus. I want you to explain how it is that Dumbledore believes he has been able to keep young Harry from us each summer.”  

“Love, my lord,” Snape managed to say through the lump the formed in his throat, forcing a sneer to sweep across his face, “Dumbledore claims that Lily Potter’s love for her son has kept him safe in his relatives’ home.”

“Love,” Voldemort repeated thoughtfully, before allowing a high laugh to slip from his thin mouth. The figures around the table followed suit and chuckled darkly.

“Love- Dumbledore says- has saved him so far,” Voldemort drew his wand in a circle along the tabletop and a silver line followed the outline. From the outline, a silver-black bubble rose slowly. It remained calm for a moment, but soon the murky contents within began to spin and tumble rapidly, changing colors and whirring and hissing slightly, before settling on the image of a thin boy with a shock of black hair working in a small but well-pruned garden.

“This, my servants, is proof of the uselessness of Dumbledore’s love. I have penetrated that flimsy protection and have found Harry Potter’s home.”

The Death Eaters closest to the pearly bubble leaned in slightly as Potter picked up a pair of large Muggle pruning shears and began clipping at a hedge. Yaxley moaned pitifully as blood dripped down his neck and began to soak into the collar of his cloak.

“I will not punish you if successfully collect Potter,” Voldemort whispers slowly, “I have made it pathetically easy. Your marks will lead you. Failure is not an option.”

Toothy grins appeared and wands were pulled from sleeves. Yaxley’s mouth unstitched itself with a vaguely liquid sound.

“Go.”

With a swish of cloaks, the room emptied.

~*~

This swish of a cloak was all Albus Dumbledore heard before Severus Snape barged into his office slightly rumpled, out of breath, with his Death Eater mask hanging limply from his hand.

“Potter- Voldemort-muggles- past the wards-” The appearance of Dumbledore’s silver phoenix patronus cut Snape off. It hovered in front of Dumbledore for moment as he thought, gathered the names of those he needed in his head, and then it flew off through the solid wall.

“How many, Severus?” Dumbledore asked as Snape collected himself.

“Thirteen. There will be thirteen there to take Potter.”

Dumbledore’s heart clenched painfully. It was a bigger attack than he’d ever imagined, and he was not sure there were enough Order members available at the moment to rush to Harry’s aid. He stood up quickly, moving towards the fireplace.

“Let Poppy know that there may be injuries.”

“What-?” Snape sputtered, “If I don’t show up, the Dark Lord will be suspicious. He’s already suspicious!”

“Severus! I haven’t time to argue this with you. I may already be too late. Stay here and help Poppy.”

With that, the Headmaster disappeared in a haze of green flames. Snape looked on as the flames die down, and then sank heavily in a chair in front of the great oak desk. His hands shook as he realized that this may be the moment he has been dreading. He understood what the Headmaster did not say; if he joined the attack, he may be forced to fully play his part and fight Order members. But when he does not show up at all, the Dark Lord will be furious. The Dark Lord had hinted that he knew something incriminating about Snape at the last few meetings, and he made it clear earlier that those who failed today would be punished. Surely those who did not even participate would be punished severely.

Snape stood up quickly, striding towards the fireplace. If he left now, he might get there in time to be accounted for, to reduce suspicion. Yet, even as he reached for the floo powder on the mantle, he realized that even if he went now, there would still be suspicion. The others would ask why he hadn’t apparated directly to Potter’s along with then and the Dark Lord would want to know where he’d been in the interim. There would be no acceptable answer, and he would face the Dark Lord’s torture. Again. But thus is the life of a double agent.

~*~

Harry peered curiously around the corner of the house at number 4 Privet Drive, sure he’d heard the sound of a swishing cloak. With a sad shake of his head, he went back to watering the flower in the box outside the kitchen window. It had been so long since he’d heard any news from the Wizarding world that he began imagining the sounds of whizzing spells and trailing cloaks and the scraping of a moving staircase. What he wouldn’t do for just one letter, the hint of a whisper of the world outside of gardening and wandering the bleached Muggle neighborhood...

He may have grown up there, but Harry definitely did not feel that Privet Drive was his home. He missed Hogwarts. He felt itchy without magic and irritable without his friends, and he felt like he was sinking further into a vat of something foul and sticky every time he returned to his bedroom to find Hedwig still gone and no news. He desperately wanted to be able to talk to Sirius again, to ask him about the war that he knew was going on around him and to just sit and laugh with him again. His stomach churned painfully every time he thought about his Godfather’s untimely death. He’d spent most of his time alone this summer imagining different yet equally gruesome methods of death for Bellatrix Lestrange, and he wasn’t sure if he was more upset by the fact that he’d been able to think of some of the more extreme methods of torture, or by the fact that he knew he’d never have the gall the actually hurt another human being like that, even one as questionably human as Bellatrix.

As he picked up a pair of trimming shears to start on the hedges, he felt an odd tingling sensation creep up his spine. He felt like he was being watched. Harry spun around, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He moved quietly towards the garden shed and, feeling ridiculous, he whipped the door open and jabbed the shears in, hoping, perhaps foolishly, to surprise and spear any potential intruder lurking amongst the pots and trowels. He stabbed into air, and scratched the back of his head ruefully as he stared into the empty shed. This was getting absurd. Not only was this the fourth time this week that he felt like someone was watching his, but it was the third time he had attempted to assault his imaginary stalker.

“The heat must be getting to me,” Harry muttered.

Turning around, Harry took a step back towards the hedges and the world exploded into light.

Diving behind the shed, Harry watched in horror as a stream of cloaked figures apparated onto the yard. The house had been set afire and smoke was rising and trailing out the open kitchen window. Harry heard his aunt’s shrill scream and his uncle’s deep shout.

“Come on out, little Harry.”

Bellatrix Lestrange stood in the middle of the pack of intruders, some of whom had their wands trained on the house, increasing the size of the fire that was licking its way hungrily along the front of the house. Others began to march across the yard.

“There’s no way out of this,” Harry thought with a shudder. His heart was pounding so fiercely that he was sure the Death Eaters must be able to hear it.

“Search the house,” Bellatrix ordered, a lazy flick of her wand blasting the door off its hinges.

“Watch yourself, Bella,” a thin man near her said mockingly, “Our orders come from the Dark Lord only.”

“Do you wish the fail him, Dolohov?” Bellatrix pointed her wand loosely at him, “Because I will not hesitate if you stand in the way. Now, search the house.”

Harry listened, ears straining, as they crossed out of his line of sight. Think, Harry, think. His wand was locked inside the cupboard under the stairs. The Death Eaters had already begun to search the house, and he could hear their muffled shouts as they cat-called for him. A male voice that could’ve been either Dudley or Vernon, as Dudley’s voice had lowered in register significantly over the past year, shouted a stream of what sounded like expletives.

“Uncle Vernon”, Harry thought ruefully, “Only Uncle Vernon would yell like that at an attacker.”

Harry began to take a catalogue of his options, though they were quickly dwindling. His wand was locked in the cupboard and there was no way he’d be able to get in, find the key, unlock it, and still remain unseen, but Hedwig was in his bedroom. If he could get that far, he could send her off with a message...and then what? No message would arrive by owl in time to produce anything useful, and Dumbledore had conveniently left him without any other means of communication. He’d already smashed the mirror Sirus had given him, and besides, it was unlikely that anyone would have the other mirror.

Aunt Petunia’s high-pitched keening ripped through the air, followed by the sounds of laughing. Her screams left goose bumps along Harry’s skin and set his heart racing faster. He felt as if it might burst, crouched behind a shed, letting Death Eaters torture his Aunt. Some hero you are, Harry. He had no choice. He’d have to try and get his wand. Perhaps there was something in the shed that he could use to break into the cupboard. Harry peered around the corner of the shed again, and though there were intermittent bursts of light coming from the smoking house, the yard seemed to be deserted. With a deep breath, he sprinted around to the front of the shed and ripped the door open. His eyes raced around the small space and he braced himself on the door. Lawn mover. Not helpful. Fertilizer. Clay plant pots. Gardening gloves. Even less helpful. Then he saw the tree-branch pruning shears in the far corner. There was a chance they wouldn’t be strong enough to break through metal, but Harry had cut up some rather large fallen branches following a major thunderstorm last summer, and the lock on the cupboard was relatively small. They would have to work. Harry stepped in and pulled them off their hook on the wall.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Harry felt himself freeze instantly and begin to fall forward, stiff as a board. He landed face-first on the shears that had fallen from his outstretched hand and, with a sharp pain, one side of the open blades sliced into his cheek.

“Looking for a weapon, were we?” Bellatrix’s voice sang from somewhere behind him. “You really think you can harm witches and wizards with Muggle gardening supplies? Well, Harry, then I do believe that Hogwarts education is lacking a bit, isn’t it?”

Harry sucked in a harsh breath as Bellatrix grabbed his shoulder and flipped him onto his back. With her knees on the insides of his elbows, pressing the frozen outstretched limbs to the ground, she brought her face close enough to his that he could see every yellowed tooth as she grinned maniacally.

“You’re lucky, Harry.”

A guttural scream from Aunt Petunia was cut off abruptly.

“The Dark Lord is going to give you lessons.”

A deeper voice let out a howl of agony.

“Well,” Bellatrix paused, capturing a drop of the blood rolling sluggishly down Harry’s face with a long finger, “One lesson.”

The voice was joined by another equally pained wail.

“Oh yes. One important lesson in submission.” Bellatrix spat out, “Oh, you’ll give in to the Dark Lord, yes. He has put up with your defiance long enough, but it will end now. And he will let me take part in the...teaching.”

The sounds of Death Eaters shouting to each other, tossing what sounded like furniture about, pots and pans rattling on the floors, his relatives screaming...Harry felt himself begin to shake.

“Those imbeciles are searching for you, Harry. Giving your Muggle relatives a little lesson. But I knew you’d still be out here. And now you’re all mine to present to the Dark Lord. Crucio.”

Harry’s whole body felt as if it had burst into flame. He couldn’t see...couldn’t breath...couldn’t move. His organs felt as if they were rearranging themselves, making up for the writhing that his frozen body could not manage. And then it stopped abruptly. His chest heaved and his throat felt raw. Bellatrix lay on top of him, eyes open and unseeing.

“Harry!”

The warmth of Lupin’s familiar voice rushed over him as he scrambled to push Bellatrix’s limp body off of him. Lupin hauled Harry to his feet and began looking him over.

“Is-is she dead?” Harry asked nervously.

“No, just stunned,” Lupin said, turning Harry’s face to look at his split cheek, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, no, I’m fine, but my aunt and uncle-”

“The other Order members have gone into the house, Harry, but we’ve got to get you out of here.”

A blast of red light shot out of the house, shattering a window and grazing Harry’s head. The blast reverberated in his skull and he turned to see Lupin saying something and motioning for him to run, but he could hear only the ringing in his head and stumbled to follow. He felt off-balance, like the world was spinning, or at least had suddenly tilted slightly. One knee buckled and he pressed his hands to his head, hoping the scene would straighten out in a moment, but a large hand grabbed him firmly around the bicep and started half dragging, half carrying him. He struggled for a moment before he realized it was Lupin pulling him towards the street. A cutting curse grazed the werewolf’s robes, shredding the hem and sending scraps of cloth floating along behind them. Another cutting curse followed quickly behind the first, and Lupin spun around, Harry behind him now, and blocked it. The third missed, blasting into the ground next to them and throwing clods of dirt into the air.

Suddenly the silent fuzziness in Harry’s head vanished and his hearing came back full-force. The smoky air was rent with screams, the sizzling of curses, and the shattering of glass as yet another window burst outward. One Death Eater was hotly pursuing them, while three other were fighting to break through the Order members – Moody, Tonks, and Shacklebolt, by the looks of it- who were holding them off.

“Come on, Harry! Run!” Lupin’s voice was hoarse, and he shot a stunning spell behind him as they ran. The dull thud that followed told Harry that Remus had hit his target. With a burst of energy, Harry managed to sprint with Lupin towards the small park at the end of Privet Drive.

“Where are we going?” Harry shouted over the din of the battle behind them.

“Apparition point. The Death Eaters put up anti-apparition wards around the house.”

As they leapt over the threshold of the playground onto the wood chips, Lupin grabbed Harry and spun on the spot. The front stoop of Grimmauld place came up to meet Harry as he flopped face-first on the cement. Without a word, Lupin pulled Harry up and dragged him inside the house, slamming the door behind them. With a flick of his wand, Lupin’s patronus burst into being and disappeared through the door.

“That’s the high sign. The others will meet here now that they know I’ve got you.”

Harry nodded, or at least tried to, though he felt shaky all over, so it might not have been discernable. Lupin started down the hallway towards the kitchen, picking at the torn edge of his robes thoughtfully. Harry followed numbly and plopped down on a bench, head in hands. The others should be returning soon, Shacklebolt, Tonks, Moody, and any others. Hopefully no one would be injured. Hopefully no one else would be dead. Harry shuddered. Dead on his account. Again. He didn’t want to think about it.

“Let’s look at your cheek, Harry.” Lupin’s warm hands were on his face, but Harry’s eyes suddenly unfocused and Remus’ face floated in front of him in double. Harry felt something dab at the blood and he realized that the hole was deep, almost all the way through his cheek. He could almost poke his tongue through it. With the thought of seeing his tongue poking out of the side of his face, Harry’s world went dark.

~*~

When he next woke, he was lying on something soft, a wet cloth on his forehead and a bandage on his cheek. A few voices were speaking softly around him, and there were the sounds of shuffling and ripping. Harry slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the light, and took a moment to adjust.

“Oh, Harry, finally.” Lupin came over and took the cloth away, holding Harry’s chin and moving his head from side to side.

“I gave you a bit of Concussion Potion, but I want to have Pomfrey look at you. And at that cheek. I’m a little rusty on my healing spells.” Lupin scratched the back of his head and frowned.

“Everyone- did anyone-?” Harry couldn’t voice the question as panic rose in his throat.

Lupin paused sadly and hesitated for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he said softly, “But your aunt, uncle, and cousin were already dead when we got there. I’m so sorry.”

Tears prickled at the corners of Harry’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure what emotion they were from, or if they were simply from the swirling in his head. He nodded slightly and took a deep calming breath, letting the weight of Lupin’s hand on his shoulder ground him. Don’t think about it now. Don’t think about it.

“What about the Order members?” he finally managed to ask.

“Moody took a nasty cutting curse to the chest, but he’ll be fine. Arthur will be on bed rest for a few days, but he should be fine as well.”

Harry slumped in relief and cautiously probed the inside of his cheek. It felt raw, but his tongue no longer threatened to break through. Madame Pomfrey bustled into the room and walked straight towards the couch.

“Mr. Potter, how is it that you’re always injured? Never mind, dear, Remus tells me you’ve got a bit of a concussion, but that’s easily fixed.”

Pomfrey held Harry’s chin just as Lupin had and shined a light from her wand into his eyes. She hmm-ed softly.

“Stand up, Mr. Potter. Now follow my finger and touch it with your own...here....here...”

Madame Pomfrey led Harry, moving her finger in every direction and instructing him to touch his finger to hers, then back to his own nose, then back to her finger. The exercise made Harry nauseous.

“It’s quite a concussion, actually. No wonder you passed out.”

She moved on to undoing the bandage on Harry’s face and probing the cut lightly.

“This looks fine, actually,” she said, flashing Lupin a small smile, “I’m going to give you another dose of Concussion Potion and you’ll take one more in the morning, but I want you to stay in bed tomorrow. You’ll probably feel the need to sleep a lot anyway, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Here, she turned to Lupin.

“Remus, I expect you’ll make sure he follows my directions?”

“Of course, Poppy.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded her head briskly, handed Harry two small bottles of blue potion, and walked out.

Harry lay back on the couch, suddenly exhausted, and quickly fell asleep.

~*~

When Severus Snape cracked his tired eyes open, it was all he could do not to groan. The cold hard stone beneath him and the tingle of powerful magic nearby were sickeningly familiar. He snapped his eyes shut and took a quick catalogue of his current state. Damp robes, raging headache, sore chest. Satisfied that he did not seem to have sustained any dire injuries, he concentrated on keeping his breathing at the even tempo of unconsciousness. He remembered darkness closing in quickly as he was struck by a stunning spell, but where had he been? There was a fire...

Potter’s relatives’ house, yes. He had stepped out of the Dumbledore’s floo into Rosmerta’s and quickly apparated to Little Whinging. He had expected a commotion, but the scene that appeared before him was unexpected. The house looked as if it were about to collapse under the ministrations of a thick fire, heat radiating uncomfortably inside the bubble of privacy sitting tightly over the property. Thick smoke had already filed the air, and breathing was steadily becoming more and more difficult. Severus had taken a short breath, trying not to cough, and quickly assessed the situation. There were three Death Eaters down in the garden, judging by the piles of black robes and masks slumped against the grass. Mad-eye Moody was flinging himself about wildly, and he felled one more Death Eater as Severus had watched.

Out of the corner of his eye, Snape had seen Lupin dragging a confused-looking Potter towards the edge of the wards. Potter had a hand to his head and his eyes were unfocused. Lupin was struggling to keep the sluggish teen moving, and Amycus Carrow was closing the distance between them quickly, blasting the pair with cutting curses. Lupin spun around, shooting stunning spells behind himself and Potter until one felled Carrow. It seemed that none of the other Death Eaters had yet noticed Potter’s absence, too caught up in their individual battles with Order members.

A grotesque grunt of pain caught Severus’s attention, and he had watched as a large spot of blood grew from Moody’s chest. Dolohov stood over Moody as he stumbled, seemed to catch himself, and then fell to the ground. He lay there panting and cursing, trying to stand back up again, but it seemed that his body would not obey and his eyes rolled up into his head. Severus had taken a step out from the shadows, hoping to distract Dolohov, move him away from Moody.

“Come watch me kill him, Snape, now that you’ve finally shown up,” Dolohov said with a sneer, “I haven’t time to play with him as I’d like. You gave us quite a bit of trouble, you did,” he said, addressing the unconscious form and gracing it with a swift kick, “But I’ll have to be satisfied to simply watch you die and know I finally knocked the great Auror out of the game.”

As Dolohov had raised his arm to land the finishing blow and, wordlessly, Severus had disarmed him.

“What the-” Dolohov looked around, confused for a moment, until he saw his own wand in Severus’s outstretched hand. Severus remembered feeling a moment of sharp but fleeting panic as he scrambled for an excuse.

“Perhaps,” he began slowly, “the Dark Lord would like to play with this one himself. Perhaps we should leave him here now and bring him along once we’ve finished up. Tie him up nicely next to Potter.”

At Potter’s name, Dolohov had seemed to come to himself and the look on his face that clearly screamed his intent to curse Severus into oblivion loosened slightly.

“You had to bloody disarm me for that, Snape?” Dolohov stalked over to Severus, who let him rip his wand back. Severus regretted it an instant later. Dolohov quickly pressed his wand against Severus’s neck, and Severus could feel another wand pressing hard into his lower back.

“I saw that, Snapey,” Bellatrix’s whispered words made Severus’s skin crawl, “and I don’t believe that excuse for a second. The Dark Lord cares not about this nuisance and you know it.”

“What I know is not your concern, but you know that the Dark Lord enjoys doling out proper punishment,” Severus said, his throat irritatingly dry despite his silky tone, “Do you not want to please our Lord, Bella? Dolohov?”

“Nice try.”

Severus shook his head grimly, chastising himself for becoming too wrapped up in the memory. Dread slowly filled him, creeping along his body, as he realized he was naked. He heard soft rumblings and scratching from above, but it seemed he was otherwise alone. In the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Wonderful. He had been in these dungeons on a few previous occasions, although he had never found himself on this end of their facilities. The metal rings around his hands, he knew, were spelled to allow the prisoner to reach just short of whatever he was trying to obtain. Or scratch, as the case may be. His fingers wiggled helplessly a millimeter away from the raging itch on his admittedly overlarge nose. The dungeons were also spelled to stay just cold enough for discomfort and the air just moist enough to give the illusion of slight wetness.

Severus quickly went to work examining his surroundings. The dungeon had only one door with a barred window on the far wall. In the corner closest to him was a bucket and on the wall to his left stood a shudder-worthy array of painful looking instruments. No matter how hard Severus tried to convince himself that they were merely for show, merely there to frighten prisoners even before the physical torture began, he knew that the Dark Lord enjoyed dabbling with crude methods of torture, especially when he could have the captivated audience of Bellatrix or Lucius.

As if he’d heard his name in Severus’s head, Lucius Malfoy swiftly unlocked the dungeon door and stepped inside.

“Severus,” Lucius said stiffly, “You’re awake.”

“What’s the meaning of this, Lucius?”

“The meaning?” Lucius took a few strides closer, his shining cane striking the floor with each step, “Severus, what have you done? Is it true that you’ve betrayed our Lord?”

“Of course not,” Severus said, willing himself to forget about his current nudity, “This is all but a misunderstanding.”

Lucius paused suspiciously, thinking for a moment, and then sighed.

“Severus, you know as well as I do that there are no misunderstandings with the Dark Lord.”

“I will explain myself to him.”

The two men seemed to mull over this statement for a moment. Severus, for his part, wondered how exactly he was going to explain himself. He had no way of gauging what sort of treachery he had supposedly committed. Surely if the Dark Lord knew he was a spy, then his betrayal would have already been announced to the rest of the Death Eaters. Surely Lucius would be one of the first to know, one of the first to be interrogated himself for any potential involvement in the scheme, as he and Severus were thought to be close. But there had previously been whispers, even nods, from the Bellatrix, from Dolohov, and from the Dark Lord himself that suggested Severus was not as loyal as he made out to be.

Severus had always prided himself on his ability to read people, to make out their intentions from the slightest signs. The twitching of an eyebrow, the quirking of a lip, the clenching of a fist or shifting of weight; all signs he could discern and analyze in an instant. But the signs he was observing lately, the whispers and nods, were even less subtle than all of that, and yet far harder to explain. He had still be called to every meeting, been informed of new intelligence and plans that other Death Eaters did not have the so-called privilege of hearing, he was still given tasks as usual. He was let in on everything. But he had a feeling that everything wasn’t actually everything.

There was something in the way the others regarded him now, something in the way they regarded each other that suggested that there was something in the air. That something was whispering into their ears and poisoning other Death Eaters against him. Their bodies leaned unconsciously away from him, their heads turned just a fraction of a centimeter further in the opposite direction, and their stares lingered just a moment too long and a bit too suspiciously upon his face. He knew that something was afoot, but he could not tell how deadly it may be.

“You will be punished, regardless,” Malfoy said sadly, breaking the terse silence.

“I know.”

The door to the dungeon burst open once more, this time revealing the Dark Lord, Wormtail peeking out from behind his robes.

“Lucius,” Voldemort barked, “I do not recall asking you to check on the prisoner.”

“No, my Lord, but I thought I might-”

“Unless you wish to join him in shackles, you will remain silent.”

Lucius Malfoy’s mouth snapped shut audibly and he gave a low bow as he backed away.

Voldemort turned his attention to Severus, who, under the scrutiny of those red snake-like eyes, became painfully aware of his nakedness once more. Though the various possible circumstances of his imprisonment were swirling around in his head dizzily, he kept quiet, waiting for the Dark Lord to speak first. After a few painful minutes of observation, the Dark Lord seemed to gather his thoughts.

“Severus, I have heard a most interesting story,” he began slowly, “I have heard that you stopped Dolohov from killing an Auror, an especially pesky Auror at that.”

Severus kept still, merely blinking up at his accuser.

“Crucio.”

Severus knew only pain for a few moments as fire licked through his veins.         “I want an answer, Severus.”

“I did, my Lord,” Severus choked out, “I thought you might enjoy taking care of him yourself.”

“Really?” the Dark Lord caught Severus’s chin in one of his pale spindly hands and held it fast, “Thanks to you, he got away. Crucio.”

As the pain flared, and then stopped once more, Severus’s hands began to shake slightly of their own volition.

“Thanks to you,” the Dark Lord continued, “Harry Potter got away. He got away!”

The Dark Lord roared the last word, a bit of his spittle flying onto Severus’s face. He bared his teeth, and then seemed to calm himself. Potter’s safe!

“You always have an excuse, my friend. But your time is up. The only way the Order could have known about the attack was from someone in my inner circle. Do you know who gave them that information?” he whispered.

Severus began to shake his head.

“I know it was you,” the Dark Lord spat, “Oh yes, I’ve been watching you. I saw you hesitated before apparating from the Manor. You were the only one who hesitated.”

The Dark Lord laughed sharply and began to pace around the dungeon. Lucius, standing in the corner, stood stiffly, but his wide eyes flitted from his Lord to Severus and back again.

“You thought I’d never find out that you’ve been reporting back to Dumbledore, did you? You thought I didn’t know? Oh, I’ve known. I’ve known for a while now, Severus. I’ve been giving you false information, testing you.”

A shudder ran along Severus’s exposed back and he winced.

“How do you think I felt when I discovered Dumbledore’s little detection charms and eavesdropping spells littered around the empty field where I falsely told you I would be? Oh, they were well hidden, but I told only you that bit of planted information. Why would Dumbledore waste his time on a dead expanse of grass if not because you told him to go there?”

The Dark Lord crouched down next to Severus and pulled him closer by the hair so as to whisper in his ear.

“I have valued your services in that past, but I cannot tolerate disloyalty. I will not tolerate TREASON!”

The high-pitched shout echoed against the dank stone walls and, out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw even Lucius flinch slightly.

“Sectumsempra!”

Blinding pain seared through Severus’s chest as deep gashes appeared and began to bleed freely. He fell back onto the floor, blood already gargling in his throat.

“How does it feel, Severus, to have your own spell used against you? I’m going to kill you, Severus,” the Dark Lord laughed, “Crucio!”

Severus was on fire now, surely about to die. This had to be the end. And then the fiery pain stopped again, and he could once more feel the gaping strips of flesh on his chest and the wetness beneath him as he lay in the growing puddle of his own blood.

“Tut, tut, Severus, we can’t have you dieing on us just yet.”

The Dark Lord ran his wand along a few of the larger wounds and they each sealed with a hiss. One still remained open and bleeding.

“The Portkey!” Severus thought with a snap, “If I can just reach it...”

Severus took a steadying breath as he saw the Dark Lord raise his wand once more, and plunged his hand into the remaining wound, ripping it further open to allow his whole hand access. The pain of it made him gasp and choke, and he tried not to think about what he was doing as his fingers searched his chest cavity. The Dark Lord paused, as though unsure of what exactly he was seeing.

“Are we mad already, Snape? Is that all you can take? Crucio!”

The return of the fiery pain made Severus lose his concentration, and when the spell ended, he discovered that his hand had twitched with the pain and even further ripped open the wound. Something in the Dark Lord’s eyes changed.

“Are you searching for something?”

Before he could muster an answer, Severus felt his fingers brush a small, hard disc in his flesh, and he gripped it tightly. The Dark Lord saw the fist beneath his skin and the slight smile on Severus’s face now, but before he could lift his wand, Severus whispered the word “home” and felt a familiar tug at his navel.

~*~

Severus slammed onto the wood floor of his home in Spinner’s End, gasping in pain. Blood gargled in his throat, and his hand, jostled by the Portkey ride, had ripped out of his chest, which now sported a gaping hole just between his ribs. Blood was quickly pooling beneath him, and sharp pain stabbed him as he coughed weakly. He just needed to make it to the fireplace and floo for help...

With great effort, Severus managed to work his way onto all-fours. He gritted his teeth against the pain- a sharp throb that was working its way steadily through his chest. Blood dripped sickeningly onto the floor from his wound, and as he moved, air pushed slightly into the hole and he sucked in a hissing breath. It felt as if his innards were cooling and prickling in contact with the air. He cursed slightly under his breath as his shaky hands slid in his blood when he tried to motor himself forwards.

As he lowered his head, he thanked the stars that he was alone for this painful trek. He did not even want to imagine what he must look like- naked, crawling around on the floor like an animal in a puddle of blood, a large flap of skin hanging down from his abused chest...Stop thinking about it!

With a sharp readying breath that he immediately regretted, Severus slowly began sliding his heavily limbs along the wet floor towards the fireplace. One foot....two feet...his knees were aching with the effort, and though the fireplace was only about three meters away, it seemed as though there were miles still to go. Suppressing the urge to whimper like a wounded beast, Severus pushed himself to the opening of the hearth and, bracing his legs together to quell their shaking, he reached up with one arm and blindly began searching the mantle for the floo powder. His vision was faltering and the room spun rapidly. He almost cried in relief when his hand finally dipped into the pot of powder and he weakly threw a handful into the fire, shouting,

“Headmaster’s Office!”

Into the fire he threw the Portkey disc and watched it disappear into the green flames. The adrenaline that got him to the hearth now spent, he staggered to the side and slumped over. From the sofa behind him, he pulled a throw off of it and used it to cover himself. He had nearly succumbed to darkness when a purple-robed Dumbledore stepped frantically out of the fire and dropped down next to him.

“Oh, Severus...” Dumbledore summoned his Patronus and it galloped off a moment later.

“You’ll be alright, my boy,” Dumbledore took off his outer cloak and draped it carefully over Severus’s lower half, “Poppy will be ready for you back at Hogwarts, but I want to staunch some of this bleeding before to go.”

With a few chanted words, the tip of Dumbledore’s wand glowed a light blue, and he pressed it in an oval around the wound. Despite his gentleness, Severus flinched, feeling as though even the light touch were the stab of a knife. The blood within the bubble that had formed, however, slowed its steady march across Severus’s chest. It then halted altogether, though remained as a small pool around the wound.

“That should do for now,” Dumbledore muttered, “Accio Severus’s robes.”

The robes came bobbing down the far hall and into the sitting room. Dumbledore grabbed them with his good hand. Severus felt as though he would throw up and pass out at the same time, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a groan.

“Severus?” Dumbledore’s face was mere inches from his and, had he been feeling better, he would have barked at the man to back away, but he simply dipped his head slightly in what he hoped would look like a nod.

“Severus, I’m going to have to lift you now and carry you through the floo.”

Severus just grunted. Dumbledore quickly levitated him off the floor. The sensation was uncomfortable, but surprisingly not as painful as he would have imagined. It felt as if he were being cushioned by a thin line of air, one slightly too thin for even his thin body. His arms felt as if they were on the edge of the line of air, though they stayed firmly at his sides. Once he had risen to arm-level, Dumbledore ended the spell and Severus dropped into Dumbledore’s waiting arms. With a quick puff of floo powder, Dumbledore strode into the fire.

The next day, Severus sat in a bed in the hospital wing. He was bandaged, sore, and utterly irked. He wanted to go back to the sanctuary of his dungeons, out of the brightness and sterility of the hospital wing.

“Severus Snape!”

And out of the care of one Poppy Pomfrey.

“Did I not tell you that you should still be lying flat? You came in not twelve hours ago half-dead with your chest hanging open and I’m sure you think you’re ready to go gallivanting off across the country again, don’t you?”

“Do not treat me like some petulant child, Poppy. I feel much better already- yes, thanks to you- and I would like to go back down to my rooms now.”

“Would you, now? Well, let’s see you sit straight then, shall we?”

Severus sighed through his teeth and tried to push himself up farther, but the pain in his chest came sharply and knocked out any potential retorts. His arms shook trying to hold him up until Pomfrey came over and helped lower him back down flat on the bed.

“Just as I suspected,” she said without a trace of smugness, “Besides, the headmaster will be in to speak with you in less than an hour, so it would be most convenient for you to remain here.”

Pomfrey handed him a small vial of pain potion, which he down bitterly, and marched back off to her office.

Albus Dumbledore came gliding into the ward no less than fifteen minutes later, much to Severus’s chagrin.

“Ah, Severus! You are looking much better!”

“I am better, Headmaster. Let’s cut to the quick, shall we? I assume you want to know what happened?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dumbledore shook his head slowly, “I’m glad that our emergency Portkey worked out, but I had hoped you would never need to resort to that. Were you outright discovered?”

“I was. The Dark Lord had been giving me false information for the past few months and checking to see if you followed up on the leads I gave you,” Severus sighed and shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position in this uncomfortable conversation, “He took Potter’s safe escape as the final sign of my disloyalty. He was going to kill me.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment. Dumbledore patted Snape’s leg lightly and conjured a chair next to his bed.

“Your spying days are over now.”

The simple statement hit Severus in the gut. They were, weren’t they? He was no longer a double agent; he no longer had to live two different lives. What would he do now with this one life, this life as part of the Light? His life was his to live now, as it hadn’t been since he was seventeen.

“We must discuss what comes next, Severus.” Dumbledore’s voice close to him reminded Snape that his life was not entirely his own yet. It may never be. From the moment he had given himself over to one master, he had given up that part of his free will, and that part would never come back to him.

“I assumed I would continue teaching, Headmaster. Is there a complication?”

“In a sense, yes. This is, I suppose, a complication of my own making,” Dumbledore stared at Snape over the steeple of his fingers for a long moment. Finally Severus grew impatient.

“What sort of complication?”

“I think we should declare your death.”

The silence in the hospital wing following Dumbledore’s proclamation was deafening.

“My what?!”

“Your death, Severus. Let me explain.”

“Yes, please do, Headmaster, because if I am not mistaken, I am still very much alive.”

Dumbledore held up a hand for silence.

“I think it would be safest for you if Voldemort believed you were dead. You came here on the brink of death, Severus, so it is not such a stretch.”

“I’m not questioning the severity of my injuries, I’m questioning the sanity of this idea. You do realize that if the world presumes me dead, I have to stay hidden, correct?”

“Of course. That’s the plan. If Voldemort believes you are still alive, you will become a major target. Second only to myself and Mr. Potter, I do believe. You would not be safe outside of Hogwarts, and even I cannot ensure your complete safety within the castle once some of your specifically inclined house members find out about your position.”

“I believe I’m capable of protecting myself from a bunch of children, Albus.”

“I don’t doubt your abilities, Severus. I am just unwilling to doubt the craftiness of some of your students.”

“Where would I live then? Your master plan surely cannot involve locking me away until Potter somehow manages to destroy the Dark Lord. Goodness knows, that could take decades, and it would seem suspicious if a dead man returned to his old childhood home postmortem.”

“I would like you to live at Grimmauld Place. We would set up separate quarters for you, set up a private lab. You would have free-reign over the house, and you could leave under Polyjuice- with caution, of course.”

“Oh, free-reign over the house? How generous!” Severus wanted to spit. This whole plan was ridiculous. He’d lose his home, his job, his identity, for Merlin’s sake. But there was a spark of genius to the plan. He could live relatively free of fear of capture or assault. He could easily leave that wretched house disguised as someone else. Even if someone was suspicious of his true identity, they would be unlikely to guess that he was a supposedly dead man.

“As for a job, I would like to ask you to take the reigns for the Order from me. Or, at least, some of them. I am an old man, Severus, and I am not getting any younger. I need someone young and capable like yourself to start leading more of the effort. We would, as usual, require your extraordinary brewing skills, but under a false identity you would be a leader in much of the Order’s business outside of Headquarters.”

That was a surprise. Dumbledore, for all his compassion and his good-will, guarded his position as head of the Order both delicately and almost jealously. He was always willing to dole out assignments, but never to delegate broadly or without limit. There was the chance- a good chance, even- that the headmaster was simply making the job sound far more expansive than it actually would be. But it was tempting nonetheless. He would no longer be a slave to yet another master, but he could be a leader, and not just of children. A leader of some section of the war effort. Severus was not an overly ambitious individual, but this was the sort of offer the likes of which had never been offered to him before.

“Fine. Announce my untimely demise, but make it simple and dignified. I don’t want to read in the Daily Prophet that I fell into the lake and was eaten by the Giant Squid.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled just a bit too much for Severus’s liking at the decision.

“On second thought, I want to take part in the writing of this obituary. I don’t trust you one bit.”

~*~

Harry tapped his feet impatiently under the kitchen table. Remus had said he would be back at Grimmauld Place before midnight, and it was now six in the morning. It wasn’t even supposed to be a dangerous mission, just simple reconnaissance, as far as Harry had been told. Remus and the others had strict orders from Dumbledore to not take offensive action unless discovered and attacked first.

“But when is anything simple and according to plan?” Harry muttered under his breath.

Tired of the nervous waiting, Harry decided to get up and make breakfast. That way, when Remus returned and was perfectly fine, if a bit tired – because he was fine- there would have a meal ready for him. Harry found a carton of eggs and a sleeve of bread in the cupboard and a frying pan in the cabinet next to the stove and set to work. Sure, he could have just called Kreacher and had him cook something, but the thought of even being near the house elf still made Harry’s stomach turn and his blood boil. It was unforgivable! Sirius would still be alive if not for-

“If not for me,” Harry whispered sadly, shaking his head.

He didn’t want to think about Sirius, but he felt he ought to sometimes. Sirius wouldn’t want to just be forgotten, but it still hurt to think about him. He still relived it most nights; Sirius falling through the veil, Harry failing to curse Bellatrix, and sometimes Cedric’s deathly empty eyes would flash in for good measure. The Dursleys had flitted through his nightmare last night, screaming at him, asking why they had to die, too. Just in case Harry didn’t already feel guilty enough. Thinking about it made Harry lose his appetite, but he continued to cook, just hoping Remus would come home soon.

Remus finally blew in at eight, looking tired, as expected, and sporting a split lip. Harry had run to the front hall at the sound of the door opening, wand at the ready just for good measure.

“What happened? Why are you so late?” Harry winced. He sounded like someone’s mother, not that he had anything against Mrs. Weasley.

“Can I come in first?”

Harry stepped aside, realizing he’d been completely blocking Remus’ path to the kitchen.

“Yeah, sorry. What happened to your lip?”

Remus settled down onto a kitchen bench with a groan that made him sound decades older than he was. He put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples tiredly. Harry silently placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of him and waited, pushing his own cold eggs around on his plate.

“Everything was going just fine until Mundungus sneezed,” Remus shook his head sadly and sighed, “We had to move, find a new hiding place, and we got stuck waiting for the, erm, inhabitants, to leave before we could risk leaving.”

“Inhabitants?” Harry wheedled, hoping to get something more specific.

“You know I can’t tell you, Harry. Dumbledore’s orders”

“Right,” Harry said bitterly. That was always the answer. Dumbledore’s order. He was about ready to let everyone know just where they could stuff Dumbledore’s sodding orders. He’d only been staying at Grimmauld Place for two days now, but with the parade of Order members coming through the house following the so-called ‘Privet Drive Battle’, he’d heard that phrase more times that he cared to count. No one would tell him anything in any detail, just annoyingly generalized versions of events. How had they known to come and save him? Insider intelligence. Where was Dumbledore now? Taking care of some personal business. Why couldn’t he stay with the Weasleys? Dumbledore’s orders.

“Can you at least tell me how you split your lip?”

At this question, Lupin chuckled ruefully.

“Tripping. Fell flat on my face.”

Harry had to smile at that one even if he wasn’t sure he entirely believed it. Despite Remus’s constantly ruffled appearance, he somehow couldn’t imagine Remus face-first on the ground. Though, when he did try, he made sure to imagine Remus’s arms flailing on the way down, just for good measure.

Remus picked up the Daily Prophet that Harry had been too worried to read yet and slapped it open in front of his plate. His smile fell immediately.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Harry went around the table to read over Remus’s shoulder. A small article towards the bottom of the front page was headed, ‘Hogwarts Potions Master Found Dead’. Harry was speechless. Snape? Dead? Harry nudged Remus over a bit and sat down, the two of them reading the small print.

Hogwarts Potions Master Found Dead

By Nicolas Dingle

Early yesterday morning, Hogwarts Potions Master Severus Snape was found dead inside his home at Spinner’s End. Mr. Snape was found with severe wounds to his chest and appears to have bled to death. It is unclear what caused the fatal injuries, but there were no signs of a struggle, and therefore authorities believe a potions accident to be most likely. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, recently demoted from his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, found Mr. Snape after he missed a scheduled meeting to discuss lesson plans for the upcoming school year.

“Severus was a valued professor here and a wonderful friend. He will be dearly missed,” says Dumbledore.

A private funeral for Mr. Snape will be held at Spinner’s End tomorrow evening and a reception for his close friends will be held on the Hogwarts grounds.

Harry’s mouth felt uncommonly dry. He had never liked Snape-he had hated him, in fact- but he did not wish him dead. And to have bled to death in his own home? It sounded like a slow and painful way to die. “Close friends”? Did Snape have any friends? Harry was immediately ashamed of that train of thought. It was awful to think of a dead man that way.

“There’s something off about this,” Remus said, still staring down at the blip.

“What, why?”

“A potions accident? The Severus Snape I know is meticulous, obsessively so. I doubt he’s had a potions accident since he was in school himself,” Remus shook his head, “Something just doesn’t fit.”

“Well, it does say that the cause was unclear.”

“That makes this even more suspicious. I’m going to go talk to Dumbledore,” Remus said, standing up and gathering his cloak.

“Wait, Remus, you just got back!”

“I know Harry, but Snape was a member of the Order. I just need to ask Dumbledore a few questions.”

Remus went into the sitting room and floo-ed out, but came back a few minutes later with Dumbledore himself.

“Oh,” Harry said, jumping up off of the couch where he had been slumped reading the rest of the newspaper, “Hello, Professor.”

“Hello, Harry. I take it everything is going well?”

“Yes, sir. But,” Harry hesitated, “well, I read about Sna- I mean, Professor Snape this morning. He’s really...dead?”

“Ah, Harry, that’s why I’ve come here. I thought I’d talk to you and Remus together. The rest of the Order will hear this soon, but seeing as you two are most immediately affected, now seems appropriate.”

“I’m sorry, Albus, but what, exactly, is affecting us?”

“Severus will be.”

Harry and Remus shared a confused look. Dumbledore just smiled.

“That piece you two saw in the newspaper was one of my own creation, with Severus’s help, of course. Now, please don’t interrupt me boys. Severus is still recuperating at Hogwarts under Madame Pomfrey’s care, but he will be coming to live here tomorrow.”

“Coming to live-” Harry started, but Dumbledore cut him off.

“Please, Harry. Let me explain and then you may ask all the questions you’d like. As you know, Severus is a loyal member of the Order, but, as you may not know, Harry, Severus was also working as a double agent. He has been a member of Voldemort’s ranks and has been giving us vital insider information during these crucial times. He was the one who told us about the attack planned on your relatives’ home.”

Harry’s head was spinning with this information. Snape was a spy? There had always been rumors of Snape’s dark obsessions, and Harry, Ron and Hermione had certainly come up with enough theories about Snape’s evil-doing over the years, but this meant Snape must be a Death Eater. A fake Death Eater, but it meant he had the Dark Mark nonetheless. And he’d been reporting back to Dumbledore about Voldemort’s plans? That must have taken an incredible amount of cunning and courage, and to fool the world’s most evil wizard took a lot of skill.

“He was discovered, wasn’t he?” Remus asked with a sad sigh. Dumbledore ignored the interruption and simply inclined his head.

“Unfortunately, he was. He was tortured and managed to escape. He and I have decided that it would be safest for Voldemort to believe that he died from the injuries inflicted that night. This way, Severus can lead a life free of the constant threat of attack. Relatively speaking, of course. He will need to be disguised whenever he leaves this house, but he is willing to deal with the inconvenience. Now, Harry, I need you to swear to me that you won’t tell anyone about Severus.”

Harry opened his mouth to ask about Ron and Hermione, but Dumbledore seemed to read his mind.

“No, not even Miss Granger and Mister Weasley. It is imperative that Severus’s status remain a secret. Remus, I’ll need your word as well.”

“You have my word, Albus,” Remus said immediately.

“Harry?”

Both men turned to Harry, whose head was still spinning.

“Uh, yeah, I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Dumbledore smiled and patted Harry’s knee.   

“There’s a lad. Now, I’m going to go and set up Severus’s quarters. He’s going to have his own private potions lab here once I’m finished!”

Dumbledore stood with a flourish and headed out. A moment later he poked his head back into the sitting room, a familiar twinkle in his eye.

“Perhaps he’ll even help you with your summer work, Harry,” Dumbledore winked.

Harry couldn’t help but snort at that.

~*~

Severus Snape most certainly did not want to help Harry Potter with his summer work. In fact, he wanted to see Potter as little as possible over the next month and half until the brat went back to school. If possible, he’d like to forget that he was living with his least favorite student- and a werewolf to boot. Albus had conveniently forgotten to mention that Remus Lupin had all but moved into Grimmauld Place upon Potter’s arrival and was residing in the bedroom across the hall from Severus’s new quarters.

The new quarters were actually the only part of his current predicament that he was enjoying. They were larger than his quarters at Hogwarts and nicely, if plainly, furnished. He had a sitting room as the entrance to his quarters with a couch, two armchairs and a small tea table, behind which a bedroom with a large four-poster bed, a bath, a small study and a kitchenette could be found. Through a hidden door in the kitchenette was his personal potions lab. Even Severus had to admit that Dumbledore had really outdone himself on the lab. Severus looked forward to locking himself away in there and unpacking and organizing all of his ingredients, placing them in the brand new cupboards that lined the walls.

Almost better than the actual quarters was the fact that they were warded and password protected. Severus assigned one password to the door to the common hallway, and a second password to his lab door. One could never be too cautious, especially with a Marauder and the son of Marauder living in an uncomfortably close vicinity. Thankfully, both had been asleep when he and Dumbledore had arrived early that morning, and both remained asleep all the way through the tour of his quarters and the irritatingly long lecture from Albus about being gentle with Potter.

The only person Severus was going to be gentle with was himself. Though he refused to admit it to anyone, his chest still ached and throbbed when he moved around too much, and though he was looking forward to spending time in his lab, his massive new bed just called out to him too strongly to resist. With a half dose of Dreamless Sleep, Severus fell into a contented slumber, all thoughts of Potter and wolves pushed aside for the moment.

It wasn’t until noon that he finally woke up, and though he did not enjoy being seen as a lay-about, he had to admit that the extra few hours of sleep had done wonders for his chest. He dressed lazily and braced himself for what would come once he left his rooms. He wanted to ignore his fellow occupants entirely and go see Dumbledore again, demand that he begin delegating jobs to him, but the infuriating old man had ordered Severus to ‘rest and relax’ for the next two days. The whole concept seemed foreign and made Severus feel antsy and irritable. What was he supposed to do for two days other than brew or read? He supposed he could spend the time brewing batches of Polyjuice, which he would surely need a huge volume of during the coming months.

Right as he had resolved to do just that, his stomach rumbled loudly and insistently. With a sigh, he reluctantly made his way out into the hall. Breakfast- or lunch, as it would seem- would have to come first, and then he could brew. Much to his dismay, he ran into Potter on the stairs.

“Erm, Hello, Professor,” Potter managed to stutter, his eyes wide as saucers, “I didn’t know you’d come yet.”

“Well, I have. Now please cease blocking my path to the kitchen.”

“Right, sorry.”

With a strange look, Potter turned and headed down the stairs towards the kitchen, taking the steps two at a time in order to stay safely ahead of the Potions Master. Severus rolled his eyes and followed.

In the kitchen, Lupin stood at the stove humming and grilling what looked like two slices of bread.

“Remus? The Professor is here,” Potter said, approaching the werewolf, “and I think he’s hungry.”

“I can speak for myself, Potter.”

Lupin turned and flashed Severus a wary smile that was not returned and flipped the bread over in the pan.

“We’re having grilled cheese, if you’d like, Severus. Harry taught me to make it not a moment ago.”

Severus cocked an eyebrow and fixed Lupin with a glare.

“You want me to consume something that Potter has invented and that you are making for the very first time? I think I’ll pass on that wonderful opportunity to be your culinary guinea pig.”

Severus strode over to the cupboard, but found it disturbingly bare but for some eggs, milk, bread, and a few slices of cheese.

“I didn’t invent it, sir,” Potter said quietly from behind him, “It’s a pretty common Muggle food.”

Severus spun around and glared at Potter, who didn’t even flinch. He didn’t look defiant, surprisingly, just...curious. Curious and perhaps a bit apprehensive. He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans and t-shirt and looked far skinnier without the volume of his school robes about his person.

“Very well,” Severus said with a long sigh, “I assume the contents of this ‘grilled cheese’ are self-explanatory, yes? No nutritional value whatsoever in just cheese and bread, I assure you, but I’ll manage.”