CHAPTER 8

For Snape, the days following Harry's meeting with Dumbledore were agonizingly tense. The Death Eaters were called to the Dark Lord's side more than once, and a handful of his most trusted followers – including Snape – were randomly called upon multiple times throughout the week. As horrific as it was, Snape was usually somewhat grateful to be called upon, for being in the Dark Lord's presence usually garnered more information to pass on to the Order. However, this time around the snake bastard was especially vague with his followers – even the most trusted among them – which left Snape edgy and anxious.

However, even without corroboration, Snape knew there was only one person the Dark Lord would be concerned about enough to change his habits so drastically: his son. That suspicion alone was enough to drive him over the edge with worry.

But then there was Harry himself. Even though he didn't admit to anything, Snape could tell that his son was also anxious about something – and Snape knew his son well wnough by now to know that he was worried about something significant. But no matter how many times he asked, the boy would only admit to feeling unsettled by the newly reinstated Professor Slughorn.

"It's like I'm a piece of steak in front of a starved wolf," Harry admitted a few afternoons later as the two of them walked slowly around the lake in the vibrant light of the fading sun. Although swamped in class preparations, meetings with the headmaster, and encounters with the Dark Lord, Snape was aware that private moments with his son were quickly drawing to a close, and didn't intend to waste what little time he had left.

"It doesn't help that The Daily Prophet doesn't even use my name anymore," Harry continued bitterly as he lifted a small stone and hurled it into the water. "They just call me 'The Chosen One' these days. No pressure, right?"

Snape sighed as he squinted into the sunset. "Unfortunately, I don't believe the public's opinion of you will be changing anytime soon. But... that's not necessarily a bad thing. Your reputation can be used to your advantage, especially where Slughorn is concerned."

"Yeah, I know…" The boy sighed. When he fell silent for a long moment, Snape's instincts – honed by a lifetime of spying – told him there was more that he wasn't saying. He gazed down at his son's troubled features, but Harry refused to meet his eyes. Looking uncomfortable, the boy turned to stare at the setting sun glistening on the water.

"Harry–"

Snape was interrupted when a large, tawny owl swooped through the branches of the trees nearest them, dropping a rolled newspaper at their feet before soaring away over the dark lake.

A feeling of dread swept through his insides as he knelt to retrieve the paper, for an evening edition of The Daily Prophet was never a good sign. The paper crinkled in his hands as he unrolled it to read the front page. Seeing what was there, Snape's face hardened into a mask of fury, and he angrily crunched the moving pictures within his fists. Without a word, Snape left his son behind as he turned swiftly towards the castle. At that moment, his only thought was getting to Dumbledore's office as quickly as possible.

"Dad – what…?" Confused by his sudden rage, Harry hurried to catch him. He was forced to jog to keep up with his long, livid strides. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Snape didn't trust himself to speak, and instead flung the paper sideways into the teenager's chest. Uncrumpling it, Harry held the paper out in front of him and immediately stopped dead, and Snape left him behind once again.

A large picture of he and Dumbledore, obviously taken moments after the fight at the Ministry earlier in the summer, took up most of the front page. The look in Harry's eyes in that photo was… Chilling, Snape thought. His son's deadened gaze looked haunted and empty. Beside him, the normally unflappable headmaster looked concerned. He placed a protective arm around the boy and gently tugged him off the page, away from the hounding media, before the wizarding photo replayed itself.

More worrisome than the picture, however, was the bolded headline beneath it that read, "HARRY POTTER MISSING, FEARED DEAD!" And beneath that the subline, "After a summer of silence, devastation of family leaves the wizarding community in fear for the Chosen One's life – feature article by Rita Skeeter."

"Oh God," Snape heard his son breathe in horror behind him.

"Go to Gryffindor Tower!" he threw over his shoulder. "Do not leave until I come for you!" Without a word, Harry sprinted towards a staircase and disappeared into the gloom, and an icy chill stole over Snape.

If this news has already reached the public, then the Ministry is falling into the Dark Lord's hands faster than we anticipated, he thought in panic, quickening his pace towards the headmaster's reaching the stone gargoyle, he stepped onto the quiet, revolving staircase and was forced to closely examine the emotions driving him. No matter what he tried to tell himself, Snape knew that he was afraid – for his son, for his family… and for the first time since losing Harry's mother and things no longer mattered, for himself.

This summer had changed him. He now had so much to live for. And he was terrified at the thought of losing it… losing them.But the fact that he was feeling fear at all was what unnerved him most, for in the past it was his lack of fear that made him willing to do so much, and thus made him so valuable to the cause.

Finally reaching the door at the top of the stairs, Snape didn't bother knocking. But as he burst into the headmaster's office, the challenge he'd intended to make suddenly died on his tongue, the words fleeing him as swiftly as a wild bird released from a cage.

"Draco…?"

The boy looked haggard. Sitting in one of the chairs before the headmaster's desk, his normally straight and proud shoulders were hunched in defeat. Deep worry lines were gouged into his young face, and dark purple smudges beneath his eyes made his pale skin look skeletal and ghoulish. His limbs jumped in slight tremors, as if he'd recently been crucioed.

When Draco refused to meet his eyes, Snape looked to Dumbledore for answers.

"Mr. Malfoy has just come from his family's manor," the headmaster explained calmly. "It seems that Voldemort learned of Harry Potter's disappearance not long before Ms. Skeeter did, and apparently the news didn't sit well." Judging by Draco's current state, that is a massive understatement, Snape thought. Dumbledore continued, "Voldemort has correctly assumed that Ihad something to do with Mr. Potter's disappearance and is now rather upset. When he called Mr. Malfoy to his side and heard that he had not yet come up with a plan to kill me… Well…"

Although Snape knew the headmaster was aware of his own dire situation, he couldn't help the shock that swept through him at the man's nonchalance with his approaching mortality. Even Draco, who knew nothing of Dumbledore's current circumstances, raised his head and turned to eye the headmaster warily.

Snape gazed down upon the young man with speculative contemplation. "I'm assuming your presence here means that you've been unsuccessful at thinking of a suitable plan since being called upon by the Dark Lord."

"Of course, I haven't!" Draco snarled, launching himself from his chair and beginning to pace. "I... I need your help. I can't... It's impossible when… He's holding my mother hostage!" Pacing franticly, he unconsciously tugged at his hair before hissing, "The vile things he forces her to do… You have no idea what it's like, having a person you love in constant danger, right in front of your eyes – and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Snape's stomach lurched at the boy's words, and he had to struggle to keep an impassive face. I know that feeling all too well...

But Draco was in his own world, continuing to pace like a wild animal, caged and frightened out of his mind. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do! If I don't kill the headmaster, he'll murder my mother! But what am I…? How can I do anything when even he hasn't been able to?! When I told him... The Dark Lord, he..." The boy stopped and gazed at Snape with an unhinged, pleading look in his eyes. He could tell that Draco was near his breaking point. "I don't know if she'll survive this. Please, Professor... You must help me… Please!"

Chest heaving in panic, he flinched and spun around as Dumbledore gently touched his shoulder. "We will help you, Draco. Both of us. I give you my word that no harm will come to your mother."

After a moment Draco seemed to drain before their eyes, collapsing into his previous seat and holding his head heavily between his hands. Snape pulled the vials he always kept from inside the hidden breast pocket of his robes, getting Draco's attention with a light touch. The boy's eyes were rimmed with red when he grudgingly raised his head and met his gaze.

"What's that?" he asked, motioning to the small glass bottles with a haughty tilt of his chin. Snape couldn't tell if he was irritated or relieved to see a bit of Draco's normal arrogance returning.

"You're not the only one the Dark Lord punishes with the Cruciatus curse," he muttered. Arching a sardonic brow when Draco didn't move, he silkily asked, "You came here requesting my help, correct?" The boy only nodded. "Then I suggest you take them, Mr. Malfoy." He finally did so, albeit reluctantly, and Snape sank into the chair at his side.

A surreal feeling washed over him as he met the headmaster's gaze across the wide expanse of wooden desk. Both men accepted what they were there to do, but that didn't make the situation any easier – especially for Snape.

But Snape knew there was nothing for it, and schooled his features into a careful mask before he turned to Draco and asked, "I think I have an idea. Do you know what a Vanishing Cabinet is, Mr. Malfoy?"

. . . . .

The next morning Snape watched as Harry stood in the entrance hall beside the Granger girl and the youngest Weasley, the three talking softly amongst themselves since Hagrid had not yet arrived.

The article by the damned Skeeter woman had decidedly ruined the last summer that his son had left of his childhood, and it had been decided that the rest of Harry's friends would be sent home until the start of term. Strangely though, Dumbledore had given explicit instructions that the Golden Trio should not be separated, and Snape had been too busy with preparations for this morning's mission to pursue the subject.

Now, as he stuck to the shadows, Snape wondered why Dumbledore would be willing to put all three of them in such danger. Harry had no choice, as much as he hated to admit it. But the other two… it just didn't make sense. They could easily be ambushed during today's mission, possibly even captured by Death Eaters.

He put it from his mind, determined not to be distracted when his son's safety was at stake. At this moment, he could only speculate about Albus' machinations. However, he would definitely bring it up to the headmaster in the near future.

Bringing his focus back to the task at hand, he caught snippets of the teen's nervous, muttered conversation.

"The Daily Prophet said it looked as if he'd been dragged off," Granger murmured.

"What would they want with a wand maker?" Weasley asked, baffled.

"Whatever it is, I don't think it's good," Harry responded with a steely look. "People came from all over the world to purchase wands from Ollivander. He's the best there is."

"Neville may have been one of his last customers." Granger chewed her lip nervously. "He bought his new wand the day before your party. His dad's old wand was broken by Dolohov at the Department of Mysteries."

"Dad says the Ministry is losing ground against You-Know-Who," Weasley muttered, sounding concerned. "Amelia Bones was killed earlier this summer. She was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and now Dad says there's a shifty-looking bloke in her place. Thickneck, or something like that."

"Thicknesse," Granger automatically corrected. "Pius Thicknesse. Poor Susan, losing her aunt like– Oh! Um, good morning, Professor."

Snape narrowed his eyes but reluctantly nodded a greeting at Harry's friends. As uncomfortable as he still was around them, he remembered with vivid clarity the scene from the Burrow only a few short weeks ago. Granger and Weasley had fought Bellatrix alongside Harry, willing to die in order to protect his son.

They'd earned his everlasting respect that day, no matter how grudgingly he gave it.

"Did you see the paper this morning, Dad?" Harry asked with a stony face. "Another disappearance last night… Ollivander the wandmaker."

"Yes, I saw," he said, handing Harry a small bag of gold.

"Thanks," Harry murmured appreciatively, obviously grateful but still bothered by the morning headlines.

As Harry tucked the bag of gold away inside his knapsack next to his Invisibility Cloak, Granger hesitantly cleared her throat to garner his attention. "Sir?" she asked. "We… well we think it was Death Eaters that took Mr. Ollivander. You don't happen to know if–?"

"Hermione!" Weasley exclaimed, nudging the girl in the ribs as he warily eyed Snape.

They cringed as Snape gave them both a withering glare. Secretly however, he was almost… pleased. Seeing them with new eyes thanks to his relationship with Harry, he was aware that Gryffindor strength ran strongly through their veins.

His son, unfortunately, was not affected by the dark look. "So, have you heard anything?" He asked almost insolently. But Snape let it pass, knowing the boy was only upset by the wandmaker's plight.

Still, he narrowed his eyes at Harry for a long moment, worried that his son's black mood could affect his better judgement during today's mission. "If the Dark Lord has plans for Ollivander and his wands," he answered slowly, "Then he hasn't shared them with me." Harry's face darkened dangerously, and Snape continued, "This isn't something you–"

But Hagrid chose that moment to enter through the massive front doors. "Hallo you three!" He boomed before nodding politely at Snape. "Mornin' Professor. Dumbledore sen' me a message late las' night, but he weren't too clear on th' particulars."

Frowning at his son's angry countenance a moment longer, Snape turned to the half-giant and explained, "Someone at the Ministry let slip to the press about Harry's predicament with his… family." He couldn't help sneering at the word. Abusers are a better way to describe the Dursleys, he seethed before he continued, "Rita Skeeter is attempting to stir the public into a frenzy over Harry's unknown whereabouts. The headmaster thought it would be prudent for him to be seen in public, if only to show that he is alive and well. But the Death Eaters are also on high alert searching for him – the Dark Lord wants him badly. Hagrid, you are to act as their protective detail during our mission."

"Tha's fine!" Hagrid rumbled, his chest puffed and his dark eyes shining with pride. "Where're we headed?"

"Diagon Alley. Harry hasn't had a chance to get his school supplies yet. I have the list here," Snape drawled, handing the folded piece of parchment to his son.

"Will ye be joinin' us then, Professor?"

"I will, as will Nymphadora, who is currently patrolling the area and will meet up with us there. However, we will both be under heavy Glamours, and therefore will follow you at a distance."

"Are you going as that muggle movie star again, sir?" Weasley snickered. But before Snape could form a suitably caustic response, Granger whacked him firmly in the stomach, making him wince painfully as the air shoot out of him with a loud "Oof!"

"Sorry Professor," she was quick to say, giving the redhead a glare worthy enough of Snape himself. "Mentally he never left primary school."

He gazed approvingly down at the girl, once again forced to reassess the unfounded beliefs he'd carried for so long. As he raised his wand to his face and began to change his features, Snape drawled, "I most definitely will not begoing as that twit, Weasley. This mission only needs one of those, and you most definitely have that covered."

"Hey!" Weasley exclaimed indignantly, still rubbing his stomach.

And within moments a balding, harmless-looking middle aged man stood before them, instead of a darkly scowling professor. The unassuming disguise was an effective cover, as it allowed Snape to become someone that any watching Death Eater would easily dismiss.

Minutes later, Snape apparated the group directly into the same dim alleyway that he and his family had used all those weeks ago, when Snape had revealed that Lily and Jillian were indeed part of the magical populace. A wave of bitter nostalgia came over him, and not for the first time did he wish that he and his family could escape to some remote wizarding village and live out their days in peace. It was a beautiful dream – but Snape understood that it was just that, a dream.

At least until Harry…

Tearing his thoughts away from picturing his son standing before the Dark Lord, Snape forced himself to clear his mind of any distractions except the task at hand. Right now nothing mattered more than keeping him safe.

"I'll go beforehand," he cautioned. "If I don't come back, you're to follow a few minutes later. I will already be positioned in the Alley, so look to Nymphadora for the signal that all is clear and it's safe to proceed. I don't know what she looks like today, but she will be in scarlet robes and a matching necklace. The signal is when she finishes her drink and goes into the courtyard to use the archway. Your group is to follow her inside but immediately part ways so as not to draw attention to her presence." He scanned the faces around him. "Got all that?"

"Yes sir, we understand," Granger answered confidently, and for some reason Snape felt his tension ease ever so slightly in reassurance. He wondered if he was beginning to trust the girl, but quickly dismissed the disturbing notion.

"Don' worry, Professor. I give ye my word that I won' let nothin happen to 'em," Hagrid added.

Snape nodded appreciatively at the giant. Although he hadn't been Snape's first choice for the mission, Dumbledore had convinced him that his heart was in the right place. And Snape had to admit that it was obvious how fiercely loyal the half-giant was to his son. He knew Hagrid would use every ounce of his immense strength before allowing any harm to come to him.

With a final look at the group, Snape carefully stepped from the alley and made his way toward The Leaky Cauldron. It took his eyes a long moment to adjust to the gloom inside, but when they did Snape was taken aback. The pub – which was normally packed with patrons and their families – was only sparsely occupied.

In the corner was a black-toothed, greasy-looking man finishing an even greasier-looking chippy plate. Snape recognized him as none other than part-time Order member (when it suited his purposes), Mundungus Fletcher. The unreliable man glanced up and made eye contact, and immediately inspected him up and down to see if he looked like the gullible sort.

Good, he doesn't recognize me. Snape thought as he moved further into the pub.

At the far end of the bar was the only other patron: a persnickety-looking, elderly witch whose sharp gaze inspected the entire room with pinched features. The way she gazed at Mundungus told Snape that she welcomed his presence about as much as he did. Narrowing his eyes, he noticed that the old woman wore a long, frilly set of scarlet robes, along with a delicate necklace made entirely of tiny rubies.

Nymphadora.

Making his way to a barstool a few seats down from her, Snape caught the eye of Tom the barman. Tom didn't seem to recognize Snape either, and he greeted him with a friendly, almost hopeful smile.

"Good day, sir! What can I get for you?"

With effort, Snape returned the smile and ordered something he would rather pour into the nearest chamber pot than actually drink. "Hello, my good man!" He answered jovially. "I'd like a Peachtree Fizzing Tea, please."

As Tom hurried to make his order, Snape could feel Nymphadora's eyes inspecting him. Chancing a glance, he nodded in greeting and said, "Dreary morning, eh? Like a phoenix on burning day."

Although she must have recognized the phrase and known it was him, she played her part well and let nothing show. He was left trying to decipher with his eyes if all was well.

When Tom placed Snape's order before him and headed down towards her to collect her dirty plate, Snape tried not to look as anxious as he felt. Now is the moment. If she orders another drink, it means all is well and I can make my way out back. If she gets up to leave…

"I see you've finished your lunch, madam," Tom addressed the old woman. "May I get you anything else?"

Snape held his breath.

"Just a Gillywater, please. With mint, if you don't mind."

Excellent, Snape thought as he quickly down the last of his sickeningly sweet tea and tossed a handful of money onto the counter – plus a few extra galleons that he knew the barman would appreciate in these obviously lean times. The man was one of the few that had always been respectful to Snape, even when the rest of the wizarding world thought he belonged in Azkaban.

Making his way to the inconspicuous little courtyard out back, Space tapped the correct brick above the trash bin and waited while the archway appeared. He paused in shock when he finally stepped through.

In the short months that he had been recovering, Diagon Alley had changed. Even the desolation in the pup had not prepared him for what he saw now. Many of the shops and storefronts were empty and bare, reminding Snape of a ragged old hag with a mouth full of missing teeth.

Those shops that were still in business had window displays that were lost to view, hidden behind massive posters from the Ministry of Magic. Most of the posters displayed moving black and white photographs of known Death Eaters wanted for questioning, including multiple copies of an especially ugly photo of a haughty, sneering Bellatrix.

Forcing himself down the alley, Snape made his way to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary – which was directly across from Madam Malkin's, the first place on Harry's list. He was greeted with yet another shock as he opened the door and stepped into the store. What once was a place full of barrels and bookshelves bursting with colorful ingredients, now seemed just a shell of its former self. The half-dozen or so barrels that remained were only halfway full, and there were only a few sparse jars left upon the bookshelves. Upon closer inspection, Snape was horrified to realize that the ingredients remaining were ones used to make medicinal draughts and healing balms, as if they were the only things that sold these days.

Mr. Hewitt, the leathery old wizard who owned the apothecary who had known Snape for most of his life, dragged himself out to the counter from his back office. When he saw it was a customer, his wearied features lit into a genuine smile.

"Good day, sir!" he welcomed, also not recognizing Snape. "I apologize, I thought you were another Ministry representative coming to tell me… Oh, it doesn't matter. What can I do for you today?"

Wanting to look the part of a wizard that was only at Diagon Alley to stock up on supplies, Snape pulled the list he'd prepared the night before out of his pocket and slid it across the counter. Picking the list up for inspection, the old man tutted and shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry sir, but many of the ingredients you're asking for have been banned by the Ministry."

"Banned?" Snape asked, aghast. "Why?"

Hewitt gazed at him despondently. "Some at the Ministry seem to think that certain potions could be used to aid the Dark Lord…"

"For God's sake," Snape cursed under his breath. "Is there no end to their idiocy?!"

"Apparently not," the man answered with a sad smile. "I doubt I'll even be in business next month. But that's neither here nor there." Hewitt sighed, gazing absently over Snape's shoulder at nothing. After a moment he seemed to shake himself. "Would you like me to gather what I can from your list? I'm afraid it won't be much, but I'll do my best."

Snape nodded, too angry to say much else. As Hewitt excused himself to retrieve the ingredients, Snape spun on his heel and planted himself near the window behind a poster of a Dolohov. Snape was seething. Hewitt had been a staple here in Diagon Alley since before he was born. It wasn't right what was happening to him...

At that moment, Snape saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and through the window he saw Mundungus Fletcher scurrying back to his shabby, broken-down old cart. As the man opened his jacket, Snape caught a glimpse of many glittering amulets and talisman tucked inside. Probably all stolen, he fumed.

As he caught sight of Nymphadora hurrying to the opposite side of the street a few minutes later, his gaze sharpened, knowing that Harry and his friends wouldn't be far behind. Hagrid was visible first, as the half-giant was easily half a man taller than the few other people he'd seen roaming the shops. As the rest of the group came into sight walking before him, Mundungus was on them like a fly on fresh excrement. His stall was close enough to the apothecary that Snape could clearly hear him through the glass.

"Har-ry!" he called, emphasizing each syllable as he exuded a false sense of rapport. "Well, if it ain't me old friend Harry Potter! I'm glad t'see ye amongst the living! Daily Prophet said you was dead."

Snape could see right through the slimy rat, and he didn't seem to be the only one.

"Mundungus," Hagrid greeted warily, his eyes cold. "We're in a bit o' a hurry today–"

"Ah, come now Hagrid! What makes you fink me friend Harry wouldn' want t'see 'is ol' pal Dung?" He flung his arm around Harry's shoulders, but the gesture looked more like a headlock than a friendly embrace. Harry immediately struggled to fling Mundungus' arm off, and the fingers of his wand hand twitched as if he wanted nothing more than to hex the man. Thankfully, Hagrid stepped in before Snape could do anything stupid – like storm outside and curse the rat's face off, which would effectively blow his cover.

"Mundungus I told ye, we're in a hurry!" Hagrid snapped, throwing the thief's arm off his son with enough force to make the smaller man stumble backward a few paces.

"Now 'old on just a minute, Hagrid! I 'nly wanted t'show 'em my amulets! 'E's got such a pretty little girlfriend–" he leered disgustingly at Granger, and Snape heard Weasley's indignant exclamation of, "Girlfriend?!" But Mundungus persisted, "He might want one t' protect 'er pretty little neck, now won't he?"

"That's what I'm here for, ye dolt. Come on you three," Hagrid murmured, glaring over his shoulder at Mundungus as he shepherded the teens across the cobbled street to Madam Malkin's.

"Bleedin' giant bastard," Mundungus muttered angrily to himself as he scowled at Hagrid's back. "Only tryin' t'make a living. I should call that Rita Skeeter, I should. Get me a real payday and give 'er the inside scoop on Harry bleedin' Potter–"

At that he stopped dead, his eyes suddenly rolling into the back of his head as he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

As Snape slipped his wand back into his sleeve pocket he heard the crinkling of a paper bag, and turned to see Hewitt bringing him what little supplies he could offer. As strained as the old shopkeeper must be, he handed the bag over to Snape with a genuine smile on his face. "I hope to see you again, sir."

"As do I," Snape murmured, handing him a handful of galleons.

"I'll be right back with your change," Hewitt clipped as he turned away.

"Don't bother," Snape replied and hurried to the door.

"But – wait!" The old wizard stuttered. "Sir, you made a mistake! There's at least–" he looked down at his palm, "–ten extra galleons here!"

"Keep it," Snape muttered. As the door closed behind him he heard Hewitt's stammering, incredulous tones.

"But… But…"

Snape walked briskly toward the other side of street, glancing at the unconscious form of Mundungus Fletcher as he passed. Without pause and with a slight wave of his wand, Mundungus' body slid beneath his cart and was hidden from view. No matter how much he wanted to curse the thief into oblivion, Snape knew that he was Dumbledore's connection to the dark underbelly of wizarding society, and unfortunately that aspect was something they could use to help their cause – and Harry – during the war. Mundungus would suffer from a splitting headache when he awoke many hours from now, but otherwise he would be fine.

Hurrying in the direction of Madam Malkin's, Snape made a show of not paying attention to where he was going. Tripping over the cobblestones, Snape purposefully dropped his recent purchase and sent bottles of ingredients scattering in all directions.

"Lemme help you," Hagrid grunted as he pushed himself away from the door leading into the clothing shop. With a hand the size of a dustbin lid, the half-giant carefully plucked a few bottles up off the ground and approached Snape.

"I'll be next door at the Owl Emporium," Snape murmured as Hagrid bent down to hand over his potion ingredients. "Nymphadora is across the street at Flourish and Blott's. Don't dawdle – we need to have control of the situation the moment the press shows up. Otherwise it's likely to become a damned mob." He raised his voice then and with a smile he didn't feel, loudly announced, "Thank you for your help, my large friend! I'll be more careful next time."

Breezing past a few owls in cages set out front of Eeylop's, he opened the door to the quiet, dimly lit store and entered a place full of low hooting and the soft rustle of feathers.

"May I help you with anything?" the clerk murmured from behind the register.

"Just browsing, thanks," Snape replied in a low tone. Making his way toward the shelves by the window, he noticed with frustration that he was in clear view of the register. To buy himself time and avoid suspicion, Snape made a show of carefully inspecting each of the many items on the shelves, all the while keeping an eye on the alley outside. It was as he was examining a large box of owl nuts that he heard something completely unexpected, and just as unwelcome.

"...dare he talk to you like that!"

What is Draco doing here?! Snape thought in alarm. The headmaster and I told him to keep a low profile until school began!

He could clearly hear the boy's livid tirade as he went storming past the window. "I won't let Scarhead and his blood traitor friends get away with such disrespect, I swear it, Mother!"

And there, drifting like a dazed ghost behind her son, was Narcissa.

The woman was a shell of her old self, looking even worse than she had when she had come to Spinner's End to beg for his help. The expensive robes that once draped over elegant curves now hung from her skinny frame like a shawl over a bag of bones. The thin fabric couldn't hide her wasted body, and the jutting angles were painful to look upon. Her once regal face was now skeletal in appearance, only a skull with tissue paper skin stretched across.

It looked as though someone had attempted to make her presentable – her hair was done up in an intricate style, and modest yet expensive jewelry hung from her neck and ears. But none of that could hide the hunted look in her eyes, or the subtle, painful gait to her steps that he recognized from his own childhood. He'd move the same way after nights that his father had been especially brutal.

Snape didn't realize he was following them from the opposite side of the glass, and his fingers curled themselves around the door handle before he realized what he was doing. What in God's name am I thinking?! He thought furiously. Slowly lowering his hand, he watched as Draco and his pitiful mother walked out of sight.

Turning back to his spot near the shelves, he gazed unseeingly at the street outside. There is nothing I can do for Narcissa, he thought bitterly. She is too close to the Dark Lord. Any attempt to help her could potentially expose me... He realized with a resentful sigh that the only thing he could do for the poor woman was fulfill his promise to help Draco. And in that moment, his sympathy for Narcissa Malfoy and her naïve son only added to his determination to bring the Dark Lord to his knees.

Snape was so lost in thought that he was surprised when he heard Hagrid and his son talking on the other side of the glass.

"Got ev'rything?" the half-giant asked.

"Just about," Harry answered. "Did you see the Malfoys?"

That's right, Draco had mentioned Harry…

"Yeah," Hagrid answered unconcernedly. "Bu' they wouldn' dare make trouble in the middle o' Diagon Alley. Don't worry about them." Harry and his friends exchanged doubtful looks, and after witnessing Draco's desperation firsthand yesterday during their meeting with Dumbledore, he tended to agree with them. After all, desperate people do equally desperate things...

Allowing them to pass, Snape noticed a man watching the group with wide eyes over his morning edition of the Daily Prophet from across the street. The moment the group entered Flouish and Blott's, the man jumped from his seat and rushed off in the opposite direction. Snape tensed in expectation, hurrying out Eeylops but forcing himself to slow as he ambled into Flourish and Blott's. Keeping one eye on Harry, he made an effort to look casual as he searched the many isles for Nymphadora. Relief swept through him when he finally caught sight of her scarlet robes and magically aged features.

Standing in a corner with an open book in her hands, to anyone else she would seem like a woman who was absorbed in her latest read. This not only protected her back, but also gave her the perfect view of the rest of the store. And it gave him a seamless way to speak to her without drawing anyone's attention.

"Pardon me, madam," he asked, and her eyes showed no surprise when they met his gaze. "I see you're a fan of Hubert Hubblestump. I've just discovered him, myself. Are there any other titles of his that you would recommend?"

"Of course," she answered with a smile, lowering her book and beckoning him forward. As he came closer she murmured, "Rita Skeeter must be on her way. Her photographer just arrived. Right there, skinny bloke in the green robes."

As Snape's gaze found the man, he saw that the photographer was looking at his son like a hippogriff eyeing dead ferrets. And the photographer wasn't the only one who'd noticed Harry. A sudden cry of recognition went up among the bookstore patrons.

"It's Harry Potter!"

The store went completely silent for three whole seconds before chaos erupted. Although only well-wishers, Snape tensed as a group of wizards and witches started to gather around his son, patting him on the back and calling out to him in their excitement.

"Thank Merlin, you're alive!"

"You-Know-Who can't kill our Chosen One!"

"The Potter boy lives!"

"Thanks. Really, thank you everyone," Harry acknowledged nervously, attempting to back away towards the door. Although the teens had been well-aware of what to expect, Snape could see a growing concern in his son's eyes. He knew that if the group grew much bigger in size, even Hagrid would have a difficult time controlling it if things went badly.

"We've got to get down there," he muttered urgently, not bothering to wait for Nymphadora to follow.

"Alrigh' now," Hagrid boomed over the quickly escalating crowd. "Make way, make way please! Let us pass!"

But before they could get more than two steps, Aurors carrying badges from the Investigation Department, followed close behind by Rita Skeeter, crowded into the bookstore. He wanted to rip the woman's throat out by his teeth as he watched her scurry towards the photographer and with a brilliant smile declare, "Two front page stories two days in a row? Someone must love me! Be sure to get as many shots as you can – no one is going to think of Harry Potter as a hero by the time I'm done with him." She then whipped her horrid, acid green Quick Quotes Quill from her handbag, and after sucking on the end, allowed it to hover above her shoulder scribbling frantically across the page while she dictated.

I'm going to gouge her eyes out with that goddamned thing, Snape snarled to himself. But she was saved his wrath when one of the Aurors loudly announced, "Harry Potter! By order of Pius Thicknesse, Head of Magical Law Enforcement, we are hereby taking you in for questioning regarding the death of your muggle relative, a one Vernon Dursley."

"Like hell you are!"Snape couldn't stop himself from bellowing. Luckily, he wasn't the only one in the crowd to give an indignant cry on Harry's behalf. The crowd surged in angry indignation, and the Aurors immediately raised their wands.

"Back up!" The lead Auror cried. "Back up now or we will be forced to–"

BANG!

An unexpected stunning spell rang out from somewhere at the back of the crowd, taking Snape's legs out from underneath him and knocking the air from his lungs as he crashed to the ground. Gasping, he slowly lifted his head in time to see Nymphadora hurrying toward Harry and his friends, and he realized in relief that Hagrid had shielded the teens from the brunt of the blast. However, most of the Aurors and many innocent bystanders – including Skeeter and her photographer – had not been so lucky. Having been hit full force by the powerful spell, they now lay among the unconscious on the floor.

Still wheezing, Snape got quickly to his feet and staggered toward his son, but a teenage form with white-blond hair darted past, immediately snagging his attention.

Draco…

Glancing once again at Harry, he determined that for the moment his son was safe with both Nymphadora and Hagrid watching over him. "Get them to the joke shop," he called as he backed quickly out of the bookstore. "I'll meet you there!" And with that he dashed in the direction he'd seen Draco run.

Snape was so absorbed in following Draco, he didn't realize that Harry had also recognized the white-blond boy. His son's features warped into confused dismay as his father deserted him at a time when he needed him most.