Snape had spent the morning marking an abominable set of 2nd year essays on the properties of Moonstone. Now, he was brewing, something he much preferred to do, especially since he was working on a potion of his own creation. The idea had come to him a fortnight ago. It wasn’t a new potion, or even a new idea, as much as it was an improvement on a mediocre potion that, if it worked, could make a tremendous difference to its efficacy.

Snape added a single unicorn hair along with powdered bicorn horn. He observed how their simultaneous addition turned the characteristic grey swirling mist into more of a lavender shade that shimmered and sparkled. He sighed, half relieved, half intrigued. The modification had an equal chance of transfiguring the potion into something more potent as it did of exploding his cauldron. He had just turned the flame down when he heard the headmaster calling his name from his study.

Hurrying to that room, he found the headmaster’s head in his fireplace.

“Severus, I need you to come to my office.”

Snape hesitated. If he abandoned the potion now, all of his efforts would be lost. “Can you give me 15 minutes, Albus? I just need to finish…”

“I’m afraid it can’t wait, Severus. We have a situation.”

Snape felt his stomach drop. The headmaster’s use of the word ‘situation’ was code for ‘something bloody awful has happened and we are truly screwed this time.’

Foregoing his potion, Snape nodded and stepped through the Floo as soon as Dumbledore’s head disappeared.

Snape stepped through to Dumbledore’s office and quickly took in his surroundings. Several people milled around, anxious and fidgeting, everyone talking at once. There were four Aurors, two of whom were Order members, a couple of Ministry employees by the looks of them, plus Arthur and Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, and Dumbledore. And, seated in front of the headmaster’s desk, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, who were pale and shaking. Anxiety and a sense of foreboding rocketed through Snape’s body at the sight of the two students. Weasley sported a bloody nose and a black eye. Granger’s forehead bled sluggishly as she sobbed. Most ominous and obvious of all was the absence of one Harry James Potter.

Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly and silence fell.

“Please allow me to state what is known at this time so that we are all on the same parchment. This afternoon at approximately 4:20 pm, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley were ambushed on High Street in Hogsmeade as they made their way from Honeydukes to the Three Broomsticks. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley were hit from behind with Immobulus spells while Mr. Potter was grabbed by the arm and Apparated away.” Dumbledore glanced around the room with an air of utmost authority, but Snape recognized the true worry that reflected from his mentor’s eyes.

“Witnesses say that three well-dressed wizards entered High Street from Queen Street and joined a group of carollers in front of Scrivenshaft’s. When Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley passed the carollers, the three men detached themselves and fell into step behind them. Approximately three-quarters of a block from the Three Broomsticks, the men accosted the Gryffindors. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley did not see their attackers. Witnesses are being interviewed as we speak for any information.”

Dumbledore’s gazed locked briefly with Severus’s and Severus felt the bile rise in his throat. Did Dumbledore blame him? Suspect him? Or was he merely giving Snape a heads up as to what was coming next? Snape drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the anger and fear slicing through him. If the Death Eaters had Potter…

Dumbledore cleared his throat again. “At this time, we assume that the attackers were Death Eaters, likely acting on Voldemort’s orders. Before we dispatch to our various tasks, are there any questions?”

Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke up then, directing his question at Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. “Did either of you hear your attacker’s voice?”

Mr. Weasley shook his head. “I was talking to Harry at the time. I didn’t hear anything.”

“The spell might have been non-verbal,” Remus Lupin suggested.

“I think I might have heard a gruff male voice,” Miss Granger ventured. “But there were a lot of people around and I can’t be sure it was the voice of my attacker. I didn’t hear any specific words. Or if I did, I wasn’t paying attention so I can’t remember.”

Arthur Weasley spoke then. “Perhaps we could view their memories in your Pensieve, Albus? They might contain pertinent information.”

“I agree,” Dumbledore said.

Snape stood back, letting the others hash out the details. He felt sick and disconcerted. If it had been Death Eaters, if it had been planned—and it sounded as if it had been—why had he not been informed? Did the Dark Lord suspect his true allegiances? Perhaps it wasn’t Death Eaters, but who else would snatch the boy? Wanna-be Death Eaters? That was possible. He ran through the students in his house who were children of Death Eaters. Had they perhaps been enlisted by their parents? Could Draco Malfoy have orchestrated Harry’s capture because it was easier than killing Dumbledore?

Finally, Dumbledore was shooing everyone out of his office, handing out tasks like lemon drops, and promising to make himself available as needed. Then, it was just Severus and the headmaster.

“Please, have a seat,” Dumbledore said, indicating a chair in front of his desk.

“I’d rather stand,” Snape replied.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk and put his head in his hands. The gesture was so uncharacteristic and so fraught with worry that it unnerved Snape.

“Sir,” Snape said, “do you know more than you stated?”

“I wish I did, Severus,” Dumbledore said, lifting an aged and shattered face. “I have failed him. I was sure he was well protected. I had precautions in place. More than the Aurors know. More than anyone knows, really.”

“Such as?” Snape asked.

“Two Order members were with Harry at all times, either beneath invisibility cloaks or Disillusioned. The poor child couldn’t even use the loo by himself, not that he knew it, of course. And there is always heightened security in Hogsmeade on Hogwarts weekends—extra Aurors, all available Order members. Plus I have—had—a tracking spell on the boy. As well as Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. Just in case.”

“What happened to Potter’s tracking spell?” Snape asked.

“Gone,” Dumbledore said. “Or blocked. I’m not sure. All I know is that it isn’t working.”

Dumbledore tugged absently on his beard: a sure sign of distress, Snape knew. Snape couldn’t fault the headmaster as he was feeling equally unsettled.

“I even had a variety of magical recording devices placed all around Hogsmeade—anywhere the students might go. The sound recordings didn’t pick up anything because of the carollers. The visual recordings showed three middle-aged well-dressed wizards—all Polyjuiced, I’m sure.”

“What happened to the Order members tailing Potter?”

“They were found unconscious in the street, still invisible. They were cursed from behind as well.” Dumbledore rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “The Order members assigned to Harry were also equipped with various spells, wards, and other paraphernalia that would allow them to detect dark intent and repel such attacks.”

“It sounds like the attackers knew what to expect,” Snape said.

“It does,” Dumbledore reflected. “Or, they just guessed that I am a paranoid old man and came prepared for everything. But they must have been shielded somehow, so as to hide their true intentions.”

Snape considered this. “Or they were under the Imperius Curse.”

Dumbledore considered Snape.

“Perhaps there were more than three attackers. Perhaps the three you saw were expendable. That would make sense as they did not hide themselves. Polyjuiced, Imperioed, whatever the case may be,” Snape proposed. “Likely, there were more wizards pulling strings in the background.”

“But why use three decoys?” Albus pondered.

“If it was the Dark Lord, then I suspect he would have done it to…”

“To show my inability to protect the boy. To taunt me by taking Harry, in broad daylight, right from under my nose,” Albus finished, his voice laden with despair.

 Snape nodded tightly, his gut coiling with dread. “It was well planned and orchestrated. Perhaps they’d been practicing, testing Potter’s defences on previous Hogsmeade weekends.”

“Does this sound like the sort of thing the Dark Lord would do?”

Snape didn’t even have to consider the answer to that question, and he suspected Dumbledore hadn’t needed to ask it, either. He simply nodded.

“And you’ve heard nothing of the sort from your meetings, Severus?”

“You know I haven’t,” Snape replied.

They shared a long gaze, not one filled with suspicion but rather of concern regarding Severus’s standing with Lord Voldemort and why he’d not been made aware of such a plan.

“Do you think you’ve been compromised?” Albus finally asked.

“Do you?” Snape challenged.

Dumbledore took off his glasses and rubbed them clean on his robes. “I don’t know, Severus. No one person knew all of the protections I placed on Harry. Even you are only aware of some of them now.”

“I don’t know, either,” Snape replied. “I haven’t got the impression that the Dark Lord suspects me or trusts me any less than he has in the past, but the truth of the matter is unknowable.”

Dumbledore said nothing, simply returning his spectacles to his face.

“Regardless,” Snape continued, “I do not like this at all.”

“Nor do I,” Albus replied. “I can’t see how anything good can come of this.”

And for an eternal optimist like Dumbledore to utter such words made Snape feel even more uneasy.

“I will gather the Order,” Dumbledore said. “We will need to be able to respond at a moment’s notice. And if it is the Death Eaters…”

“A likely assumption,” Snape concurred.

“Then Harry’s rescue may hinge on you and you alone, Severus.”

As if Snape needed telling. “And what would you have me do, Headmaster? What is Potter’s life worth to you?”

“Do you really need to ask me that, Severus?” At Snape’s sharp look, Dumbledore sighed. “Everything,” the headmaster breathed in defeat. “Bring him back alive, Severus, whatever it takes.”

“So you no longer need a spy in the Dark Lord’s camp?”

“Harry’s life comes first. I cannot see a way you could remove him from Voldemort’s clutches without implicating yourself.”

Snape laughed without humor. “But you would like me to do that very thing, wouldn’t you, Albus? Return Potter to you and remain in the Dark Lord’s good graces? Remain your spy?”

“If it were possible…”

Snape rose to his feet. “You are delusional, old man,” Snape said. “It will be a miracle if I manage to get either of us out of there alive. Assuming the Dark Lord even has Potter, that is.”

“But you will try, Severus?”

“Of course I will try,” Snape snapped.

“The Portkeys are all in working order?” Dumbledore asked.

“Of course,” Snape said, not bothering to make a visual inspection of the many escape routes that Dumbledore had placed on Snape’s person should he ever need to leave the Dark Lord’s service at a moment’s notice.

“Then we wait,” Dumbledore said.

Snape would have made a snide remark but the headmaster already looked as if he’d aged fifty years.

Instead, Snape nodded curtly and took his leave. His palms were clammy and his pulse was too rapid, the harbingers of fear and nerves. He closed his eyes as he rode down the spiral staircase, taking the long way back to his quarters. He willed himself to focus on the things he did have control over—such as the potions that Potter might need and other preparations he could make. Assuming the Death Eaters had Potter, the boy was not likely to be in good shape if—when—Snape was summoned. For the thought of him not being summoned at all if they had Potter was utterly unthinkable.

By that evening, the castle was in an uproar. Word of Potter’s abduction had spread like wildfire. The younger students were terrified, the older students were worried. The Slytherins were cautious. Snape relied on the Head Boy and Girl, as well as the prefects, to alert him of any pertinent gossip. He also had listening charms in the common areas as well as the bedchambers of known children of Death Eaters to keep abreast of any noteworthy news or activities. He had yet to hear anything worthwhile. And he had yet to be summoned.

As Saturday turned into Sunday, his apprehension grew. If Harry had been captured by the Dark Lord, surely the Dark Lord would have called his followers to him to gloat at his achievement and, ultimately, to celebrate Potter’s demise. But Severus’s mark had not burned, whether from a lack of a gathering or a lack of trust, he wasn’t sure.

If the Dark Lord had planned Potter’s abduction, why hadn’t Snape been informed? Unless it was an opportunistic attack by Death Eaters looking to move up in the ranks of the Dark Lord’s inner circle. But it seemed too well researched and planned to have been a surprise attack. And if it wasn’t a sneak attack, then Snape not knowing about the plan did not bode well for his own standing in the Dark Lord’s inner circle.

Dumbledore seemed to concur. The headmaster had forbidden Snape from leaving the castle, fearing that if Snape had been compromised, he’d surely be targeted. Silently, Snape agreed. He had nowhere to go, anyway—except a Death Eater meeting where, if he was spectacularly lucky, he might just be able to save Potter’s life, assuming the boy was there.

His mind tossed around scenario after scenario of what he might find if the Dark Lord summoned him. All paths led down dark and dangerous avenues, making his gut churn with anxiety. If the Dark Lord doubted him at all, even minutely, he knew he wouldn’t have the slightest chance of saving Potter. If the Dark Lord doubted him and summoned him nonetheless, Snape knew he’d be just as dead as Potter.

As Sunday turned into Monday, Hogwarts writhed with agitation. The students in his classes were unfocused and distracted, more prone to gossiping than to paying attention. Snape found himself assigning remedial potions or reviewing course materials as he couldn’t be bothered to teach anything new with his mind so occupied elsewhere.

By Tuesday evening, Snape was wearing a rut in his carpet in front of his fireplace, willing his dark mark to burn. He’d taken to drinking nutrient potions in lieu of meals, as he couldn’t stomach even the thought of food. Sleeping potions had soon followed as he realized that without rest, he would be no use to Potter, and without potions, he could get no rest. 

As Tuesday turned into Wednesday, Hogwarts had settled somewhat, though he had not. The more time that passed without a summons, the worse it would be for Potter.

Thursday evening found him pacing the headmaster’s office, sick with worry. He felt strung out, stretched beyond his limits, sure he would break at any moment.
“Do you come bearing news, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, but his voice lacked any real hope for such a development.

“As far as I can tell, the Dark Lord has not summoned any of his followers,” Snape reported. He had checked in with Lucius and Avery and asked after other things in hopes of catching wind of news.

“It is possible that the Death Eaters were not the ones who kidnapped Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“If not them, then who?” Snape queried, his fists clenched in impotent rage. Who else could possibly have the boy? Was he even still… Snape cursed, unwilling to entertain the idea that Potter might not still be among the living.

Dumbledore tugged on his beard. “I haven’t the…”

Snape hissed suddenly as fire raced up his nerves, causing him to clutch at the marked skin on his forearm. For the first time in many years, Snape was overjoyed at the summons. 

His gaze met Dumbledore’s and Snape thought they both likely wore the same expression: hope warring with caution.

Dumbledore got to his feet and came around the desk, laying a hand on Snape’s shoulder. His eyes suddenly overly bright, Dumbledore said simply, “Bring him home, Severus.”