For as long as he lived, Severus Snape remained incapable of remembering the minutes that directly followed Flitwick’s grim announcement. How he had made it from the ground floor to one of the headmaster’s plush armchairs with a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand would forever remain a blur in his otherwise razor-sharp memory.

Returning to the moment with a gasp, he realised that the Heads of both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were missing, and only Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Professor Nine remained. Surmising that Sprout had probably offered to help accompany Flitwick to the infirmary, he made a conscious effort to focus all his attention on the discussion at hand. McGonagall and Dumbledore stood by the headmaster’s large claw-footed desk as they exchanged ideas to find a viable solution to recover the missing students. Their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had secluded herself—from both the discussion and the general awareness, it seemed—and kept to herself in a corner of the room, in the shadowy place where he usually stood.

Dumbledore must have sensed that his spy’s attention had returned, for the Potions Master was immediately included in the discussion. “Severus, do you have any idea where Bellatrix may have taken them?”

Bella? His brain barely paused as this new piece of information sunk in. He’d been right; someone else had been calling the shots. The fact that Draco was with his aunt did nothing to assuage his worry. He knew Bellatrix wouldn’t think twice about killing him if the Dark Lord ordered it.

“None,” he replied, reluctant to admit to this truth. Wherever she’d taken the boys wouldn’t have been one of the hideouts he’d know about. She would have seen to that. The mad witch knew of his soft spot for her nephew, and she’d made it clear how much she distrusted Severus because of his proximity to Dumbledore. “The Dark Lord has many places he can go to—in Britain and abroad. Not all of them known to me.”

Dumbledore nodded. “As I feared.”

“I could ask around,” he continued. “But if I appear too eager, it will make my intentions obvious.”

Dumbledore raised a hand to dismiss the idea. “We cannot risk that, Severus. The Order needs you—now more than ever.”

Damn the Order, he thought. Damn them all. If he’d thought that he stood a chance at getting a straight answer, he would have left already. But aside from asking the Dark Lord or Bellatrix directly, he knew he wouldn’t get far.

“What do you think will happen?” asked a very distraught McGonagall, her ancestral Scottish roots now thick on her tongue. “Are they even still alive?”

It had cost her to ask that question, Severus saw, and Dumbledore patted her hand as he reassured her, “Tom Riddle will seek to make an example of them. He will want an audience, which means we’ve still got time.” Then he turned his head towards his trusted Potions Master. “My dear boy, do you think you will be summoned—when the time comes?”

Severus knew the answer to that one at once—of course he would. The Dark Lord would see to that. He’d even give him a choice place to appreciate the experience to the fullest, he was sure. And if he showed any emotions other than glee during the proceedings, he’d die—along with his godchild.

“I won’t be able to do anything, Albus,” he confessed. Then, reflecting further, he added, “Nor will I be able to warn you once I have Apparated to my destination.”

“As I feared,” Dumbledore said gravely. “As I feared.”

“There must be something we can do—a way to track them down.” McGonagall protested, with a brittle edge to her brogue. “Don’t you have anything?”

The question had been aimed at him. But before he could respond, the headmaster redirected it to Professor Nine, who stood at the back of the room. “What of you, my dear?” he demanded.

Professor Nine was so discreet that Severus had almost forgotten the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was in the room with them. Her ability to escape his notice unnerved him. But then, he wasn’t at his best at the moment, he supposed.

“I have no idea how to find Draco Malfoy,” she admitted. “But there might be a way for one of us to track down Harry Potter.”

Severus stared at her as much as he could. But shrouded in the darkness as she was, her face was unreadable. Though Leen Nine was a pale smudge of fair skin amidst the nightly shadows, something in her tone had set him on high alert. Her soft-spoken words had lacked their usual shyness and hesitation. Her voice had lowered a fraction, and her ever-present French lilt had all but vanished. Her earlier display of magic, and now this, made it clear to him that he’d been played. There was more to the witch than he’d been led to believe. Who else had she duped?

Returning his gaze to the seasoned wizard facing him, Severus studied Dumbledore as he thoughtfully considered her answer. “I see,” he said at last, with a nod that seemed to admit defeat. “How certain are you that it will work?”

Dumbledore was bowing down to her expertise, Severus realised. He’d dispatched her to make sure the grounds were safe earlier, he remembered. Then he’d let her attend this meeting she should never have known about. He knew, of course, the old rascal knew—Nine was probably in his bloody Order of the Phoenix, too. Only no one had bothered telling him they’d welcomed a new member.

Nine sighed in resignation. “It will depend on Severus, sir,” she replied.

That halted him cold. He sharply turned in his seat to stare at the feminine figure shrouded in darkness. People rarely ever spoke his first name, and her voice—the way she’d said his name—was so familiar it hurt. Though Severus’ mouth was open, he couldn’t draw the air in because his mouth refused to—much as his mind refused to follow the facts to their logical conclusion.

The young witch stepped forward then, letting the light reveal her true nature for all to see. A silent spell released her hair from the tight chignon she always wore, and her long dark-brown hair tumbled down to frame her oval face as it always had when she was younger. As she held her glasses in one hand, she crushed something in the other: small discs of clear plastic that Severus understood to be contact lenses. Without needing to look, he knew that her eyes would now be the same azure-blue they had always been. A Muggle disguise: he’d been duped by a Muggle disguise, of all things. Even her name, he now realised, had been deceptively obvious. Leen Nine—so devilishly evident, and yet he’d been as oblivious as everyone else—unable to look past his own damn nose to see what stared him in the face.

Clever girl, he thought. She’d always been a smart cookie.

Saturnine stopped inches away from him, and he couldn’t keep his eyes from seeking hers. A spell must have removed all the makeup she had worn, for he now clearly recognised her traits—so similar to his own. He had no idea what his face displayed right now, what emotion had been ripped out of his thudding heart and forced outwards for all to see. He couldn’t care less—couldn’t have Occluded, even if his life had depended on it. His sister didn’t seem to have the same issue. Her face was controlled and relaxed, but her eyes were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, azure pools bulging with feelings so intense Severus couldn’t untangle them.

“Hello, brother,” she said. “Long time no see.”

He wouldn’t have replied, but the light curve at the corner of her lips drew out the name he hadn’t spoken in years. “Saturnine.”

Her lips smiled slightly before flattening altogether. “I’m sorry, but there’s no time to address the situation now. I need your help.”

He nodded at her words, acknowledging his agreement. If she had a way to find Draco, he would focus on that and worry about the rest later, maybe. Or perhaps once this mess was over, she would crawl back to whatever hole she’d been hauled out of and disappear once more.

While it was clear Dumbledore had been in on it the whole time, the reveal of Professor Nine’s identity came as a surprise to Minerva McGonagall. Though the old Scott kept quiet about it, no one missed the dark look she sent Dumbledore’s way.

So, Severus thought, the old codger hasn’t told anyone that the newest member of the Order of the Phoenix’s real name is Saturnine Snape. The irony of that was hard to miss.

“Please tell me you still have your necklace,” Saturnine demanded.

Severus swallowed as he nodded. Of course he did. “Why?” he asked. What had that to do with anything?

“Harry’s got the other,” she replied, and if he hadn’t been sitting already, this admission would have forced him into a chair.

It was under everyone’s attentive gaze that Severus began to unbutton the top of his frock coat. He undid the first four buttons. Then, he did the same to the undershirt beneath before reaching long fingers below to seek the chain that was forever there, around his neck. Removing it took an effort of will; he hadn’t taken if off since he’d put it on at age fourteen. It was funny how small the little S-shaped pendant looked in his hand now. It had looked different on his younger self’s hand—more imposing, a suitable match to the meaning behind the gesture.

The idea of necklaces had come to him during the summer between his third and fourth year at Hogwarts, a few weeks before Saturnine was due to start her first term. He had felt that what had been but a small tear in their relationship when he’d left for Scotland three years earlier had stretched into a rift that threatened to become un-mendable. Fearing that she wouldn’t be sorted in the same House he had been—for his sister could not be sorted anywhere but in Ravenclaw—Severus had needed something physical to remind himself of the bond the two of them shared.

After some careful consideration, wanting to have something that could be easily concealed, he’d decided on a set of matching necklaces. He had made the pendants by melting some of the old silverware his mother kept in the basement. They never had visitors. So, there was never an occasion to take out the fancy cutlery they’d received as a wedding present. Then he’d used his wand to carve the pendants. The twin simple silver chains he’d bought with what little pocket money—earned by tutoring other students at Potions—he’d been able to set aside.

Saturnine had been delighted by the gift—even more so when he’d explained that he had made them magical so that they would always recognise each other. Despite his good intentions, it hadn’t been enough to stop the chasm’s growth. And within the next three years, the rift between them had grown as wide as a canyon.

“Are the two linked?” Dumbledore asked, peering at the simple jewel with undisguised curiosity.

“A matching set forged at the same time and linked so they would recognise each other and entwine when in close proximity,” Saturnine explained, her voice detached.

“Then there is a chance,” Dumbledore agreed. “You’ve never taken them off?” he asked, looking intently at Severus and then at Saturnine.

The former shook his head, and the brown-haired witch said, “Not until last summer, when I entrusted mine to Harry for safekeeping.”

“Then each should be strongly imbued with your own magic,” he continued as he twirled the tip of his beard around a gnarled finger. “Saturnine, if you use Severus’ pendant to seek yours, chances are high it will respond to your call, regardless of the distance.”

“What then?” asked McGonagall. It seemed she had recovered from her shock at discovering that her new colleague was one of her former students. “We can’t just Apparate headfirst to where the boys are.”

Severus thought he could, and unless presented with a better alternative, decided he would.

“With enough care, it might take you close enough,” Dumbledore mused.

“‘Care’?” Saturnine asked, one eyebrow raised sceptically.

“Small jumps until you narrow it down,” he added.

“Albus?!” roared the Scottish witch.

If McGonagall hadn’t voiced her disbelief so loudly, Severus would have.

“Short hops in the right direction,” the headmaster elaborated. “Cutting it off before you reach your true destination.”

“A good recipe to end up inside a wall,” McGonagall countered. “Or off a cliff.”

“Or Splinched seven ways ’till Sunday,” Severus added. But it was their only option, and they all knew it. It was pure luck that they had that chance at all. It was a Hail Mary, but they’d have to risk it. Chancing a glance at Saturnine, he forced a sneer to his lips for good measure. “After you.”

To his sister’s credit, she took it in stride. Turning her gaze to Dumbledore, she asked in a level tone, “Can you lower the Apparition Wards, Headmaster?”

Pulling out his wand, Dumbledore sliced the air in a series of complicated moves before pocketing it again. “It’s done,” he said. “I will alert the rest of the Order, and we’ll be ready for when you’ll be able to send word.” Then, with a soft, benevolent smile, he added, “Be careful.”

Severus stood then before his resolve had a chance to waver or his sanity snapped under the strain. There was a certain comfort, he found, in having a purpose again—a task to accomplish. It allowed him to centre his thoughts, his mind taking the lead and discarding everything it deemed distractive. His mission was to find two missing students, and the sister that now stood by his side happened to be the shortest way to get to them. That was all there was to it—a straightforward addition of facts that required no emotional involvement whatsoever.

Extending his arm, palm turned upwards, his S-shaped pendant still resting in a pool of silver chain, Severus said, “Lead the way, Professor.”

And Saturnine must have felt equally dedicated to the task at hand, for she stepped forward without a word to clasp her palm over his. Already, he could feel the first tell-tale signs of Apparition within him.