Harry let the quill in his fingers fall back into the inkpot with a huge yawn. The long, empty parchment in front of him wasn’t exactly inspiring him to greater academic achievement. Deciding to leave it for later, he stood and stretched.
The Black library was a tall, dark, and dusty room, a floor above the kitchen. It was removed enough to avoid the house’s traffic, but close enough to the action that it didn’t take long to get to it. He had come in here to work, hoping the atmosphere would give him the motivation that still evaded him.
Most of the house had been cleaned out by the efforts of Molly Weasley, but a sense of age and darkness still lingered in the edges.
Sirius poked his head in the doorway. “What are you up to, pup?”
“Nothing,” Harry sighed.
Sirius watched him for a moment, then came further inside the room. “Come on,” he said, forcing his voice to be more cheerful, “let’s go explore the attic.”
“Why? What’s up there?” Harry asked.
“Don’t know,” Sirius said. “Might be dangerous.”
Harry thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. He sat back down with a slump. “Nah. Maybe later.”
Sirius shook his head. “Harry, you’ve been here for two weeks, and done nothing but mope around. It’s time to shake it off. I know you don’t want to be stuck here. Merlin, who else except me could know how much it sucks to be stuck here?”
“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Harry said. “It’s just, I’ve been almost completely out of touch for months, and now that I’m here, it doesn’t feel any different. I’m still shut up and kept away from everything.” He hadn’t even gotten to see Ron or Hermione yet.
“At least this time you get to hang out with me, instead of old Snape,” Sirius cajoled.
He looked up at his godfather. He knew Sirius had been practically ecstatic to have Harry stay here with him, as he had spent so much time alone here. At least when he was hiding in the village, Harry had been living with Snape (which had turned out better than he could have hoped, in fact,) and able to interact with their neighbours. “Yeah. Okay, let’s check out the attic.”
Sirius beamed at him. Harry followed him out of the room and up several flights of stairs to the attic. It was dusty and smelled old. Harry covered his mouth with one hand and pulled out his wand with the other. “Lumos.” It was nice to be able to use magic again. He was underage still, but the Fidelius blocked the trace, and Sirius didn’t exactly care about Ministry policy.
Sirius lit his wand as well, and they looked around curiously. There were trunks, old wardrobes, and other miscellaneous furniture strewn about.
One of the wardrobes was rattling, and Harry approached cautiously. “Should I open it?”
“Go for it,” Sirius said, brandishing his wand in front of him in a dueller’s pose.
Harry threw open the door, then scrambled back when a Dementor came out. “Holy—” he swore, realising it must be a boggart even as he began to hear distant screams. “Riddikulus!”
It got tangled in its cloak, falling over and rolling back towards the wardrobe. Harry shut the door behind it and locked it for good measure, panting with exertion while promising to thank Remus the next time he saw him for teaching them how to handle the creatures.
He turned around to see Sirius frozen in place, staring at the spot where the “dementor” had been only moments before. Harry touched his arm hesitantly. “Sirius?”
He blinked, looking down at Harry. His eyes were wide, and his face as pale as when Harry saw him in person for the first time in the Shrieking Shack. He didn’t speak.
Realising that he must be remembering the years he spent in Azkaban, Harry tugged on his sleeve.
“Let’s go downstairs,” he said quietly. Sirius followed him silently as they made their way to the kitchen. He sat at the table, still not speaking, as Harry made them sandwiches.
“I shouldn’t have reacted like that,” Sirius finally said when Harry brought the lunch he’d made over to the table.
“You don’t need to be brave all the time,” Harry said.
“This is a pretty good sandwich,” Sirius said. Harry let the poor attempt at changing the subject slide.
“Thanks,” he said. “Of course, it isn’t fish.”
Sirius looked at him oddly at that, and Harry gave a weak smile. As he ate his own lunch, Harry thought about how Snape would have reacted at the private joke if he’d been there. The thought made him a bit melancholy, so when Sirius didn’t speak again, he let the conversation lapse into silence.
Things were different now, and he had to stop forgetting it.
It had all been a dream.
Severus had often been woken by the burning of his mark. Just like it had so many times before, the sudden flare of pain in his left forearm woke him from the illusion that he could ever be free.
The letter in his hands—practically a short novel on the village gossip from Amy Duncan—fell to the ground as he doubled over, clutching his arm to his abdomen and gritting his teeth in silent agony.
He would have said that he’d forgotten how much it hurt, except that wasn’t the kind of pain that one could ever forget no matter how hard one tried. He mutely rode out the pain, slowly standing as it finally faded away. He waited for a moment, holding his breath, as if waiting to see what would happen.
He didn’t answer the call, of course. Those days were over. He hadn’t been summoned since Potter disappeared, which had scared him more than anything else. Knowing that the Dark Lord assumed him to be his spy, and then not calling on him when Harry Potter mysteriously disappeared, had been a good indication to Severus’ mind that something had changed. The Dark Lord either no longer trusted him, or believed him to be an unreliable source.
Neither, however, was a satisfactory answer in the slightest, as Severus believed that other reactions were more likely than mere silence. If he believed him unreliable or compromised, it was far more in the Dark Lord’s nature to simply kill him and have done with it. If he no longer trusted him, it was a toss-up between vengeance and using him as a conduit for feeding false information to Dumbledore. It was fear of the latter that had driven Dumbledore’s decision to have Severus completely cut ties with the Death Eaters.
”I think, my boy, that it is time you took another role in this war.” That had been back in August. It was now late November, and he had been getting suspicious, appraising looks from the students who were children of Death Eaters ever since he returned to teaching.
Severus broke out of his reverie and strode to the fireplace of his office, tossing a handful of floo powder into the flames. There was no need to light a fire; at this time of year, the dungeons were practically freezing and the hearth was already roaring. “Dumbledore’s office!” The man had finally returned to England the day previous after a failed attempt to gain the ICW’s help.
He stepped through. “Headmaster, I—” he halted as soon as he realised that he was not alone. “My apologies, I did not realise you had a visitor.”
“Is something the matter, Professor Snape?” Umbridge asked, turning and looking him up and down as if she could suss out what he came in such a rush to talk about. “I was not aware that it was acceptable for staff to come barging into your office through the floo, Headmaster.”
“It is not standard operating procedure,” Dumbledore said calmly. “However, in an emergency, whatever means necessary to rectify the situation are, of course, acceptable.”
“There has been a potions accident,” Severus ground out, knowing an (acceptable) emergency would thus be required.
“Are you not equipped to handle it yourself?” Umbridge asked.
“Not when it burns a hole through the flagstones and so deep into the bedrock that it breaks through the wards around the castle,” Severus said.
“How intriguing,” Dumbledore said cheerfully, eyes laughing.
“How—” Umbridge began.
“Student,” Severus cut in, as if that explained everything (which, to him, it did).
“I am sorry to have to cut our discussion short, Delores,” Dumbledore said, not sounding sorry at all, “but it seems I have an issue of Hogwarts safety to attend to. If you would excuse me.”
He gestured towards the fireplace, and Severus flooed back to his office. Dumbledore stepped out a moment after him. He wasn’t worried about Umbridge following; his office floo was warded to allow only the entry of Severus, Dumbledore, and Harry Potter (not that the latter had ever had cause to use such a connection). In fact, he rather hoped she would try, as the mental image of her pink frock ruined with ash when the grate spat her backwards into the Headmaster’s office made his mood slightly better.
“I don’t suppose there really is such an astounding feat of corrosive power waiting to be investigated?” Dumbledore asked.
“Not yet,” Severus said, thinking of various potions he could douse Umbridge’s office with. “The issue at hand regards the Dark Lord.”
“Oh?”
Severus pulled up his left sleeve. The Dark Mark was still slightly irritated from the summons. “The first time in months.”
Dumbledore immediately understood. “And at the moment?”
“Nothing. I must wonder, why now?”
“Why now indeed,” Dumbledore mused. “Why not before, as well.”
Severus sat in the chair behind his desk. “None of my theories seem to fit at all.”
Dumbledore regarded him seriously. “I must admit, I am at a loss. He must have some greater plan or purpose intended for you, but I do not know what it is.”
“Then we are stuck.”
Dumbledore shook his head and said, “Not necessarily. How do things go with your plan?”
“Not well at all,” Severus said in frustration. “Neither myself nor Harry have been able to find anything out of the ordinary.”
Putting a hand on Severus’ shoulder, Dumbledore looked down at him. His eyes seemed to be just a little bit brighter than usual. “Keep looking. I have faith in both of you. If there is anything to be found, the two of you will manage it.”
Severus was grateful for his mentor’s encouragement, even if he would never be willing to admit it.
Dumbledore left through the door, evidently intending to walk back to his office rather than floo. Severus sat behind his own desk for another moment, head propped on one hand. He allowed himself these few seconds of self-indulgence before rising to his feet.
Umbridge might come by to investigate the potions accident. It was time to make a mess.
Harry stood on the staircase, watching Order members file in. He was far enough up that most people didn’t really notice him, and he was free to observe without the distraction of talking to anyone.
Remus came in, Tonks right behind him. They were talking about something or other, and her expression was animated with the discussion. Remus seemed to keep his eyes on her face a lot. Harry tilted his head slightly to catch what they were saying.
“—which is a load of utter bull, if you ask me,” Tonks said.
“They’re just trying to do their job,” Remus said.
“Haven’t I earned my place there?” she asked in frustration.
Harry crouched down on the step, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows. They were out of earshot a moment later, however, and he sighed.
Mundungus Fletcher came through next, patting his pockets and glancing around. He looked up the staircase and caught sight of him, reacting comically by smiling nervously and scuttling away. Harry narrowed his eyes at his back, but was distracted when Bill came in with his parents. Percy had apparently been a member for a short time, a spy sent by the Ministry. Dumbledore (and everyone else, for that matter) had known about it, and let him into enough meetings to plant the idea of Harry being in Spain before “discovering” his true loyalties and kicking him out.
Bill was spinning a ring of keys around his fingers. “She didn’t say all that much about it, though. I don’t think they’re putting me on certain missions because of everything that’s going on. They really don’t want to get involved in this war, y’know.”
“I can’t blame them,” Arthur Weasley said.
They disappeared into the kitchen just as Kingsley and Moody entered. Harry took on as casual of a pose as he could, assuming Moody would scan the house and see him up there, but the two men were so deeply engrossed in a whispered conversation that neither appeared to notice him. He briefly wished for Fred and George’s extendable ears, but they were too far and too quiet to hear.
Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones came next, along with Emmeline Vance. The three of them were laughing together.
Professor McGonagall arrived with Snape. She didn’t notice him. Snape, however, did. He glanced up and made eye contact with him before looking away, acting as though he had not noticed him. Harry was pleased that he hadn’t broken his cover.
“If I have to answer one more question from Ronald Wealsey about Potter, I think I’ll give him detention,” McGonagall huffed.
“I completely sympathise,” Snape smirked.
Harry rolled his eyes, since Snape knew he could hear what they were saying. Still, there was a slight smile on his face. It’d only been four days since he last saw Snape, but after living with him for months, it felt like a long time. He knew that Snape was in an awkward position with his spying, and it relieved Harry to see him alive and well.
Hagrid didn’t attend every meeting, so Harry didn’t wait for him to come through. He also assumed that he wasn’t supposed to keep watch on the Headmaster himself. The idea that Dumbledore could be the spy was simply ludicrous. Once the door to the kitchen closed, he waited a few minutes before walking down the steps and going inside.
The meeting hadn’t started yet, so Harry took a seat next to Snape and McGonagall.
“How are Ron and Hermione?” he asked, ignoring the look Snape gave him.
“They are well. Worried about you, of course. I would take a letter to them if it weren’t—”
“—too dangerous. I know.” He sighed and slumped in his chair slightly. Mad-Eye gave him a narrow-eyed look, and he glanced away, slightly uncomfortable at the suspicion he saw there.
Dumbledore arrived through the floo. He smiled when he saw them all gathered. “I suppose we can start now.” He looked at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles, which Harry understood as his cue to leave. He slipped out the door, casting one last glance over the gathered members. He met Snape’s eyes last. The man nodded slightly. Harry nodded back and left.
He waited for Snape in the library. It was over three hours until he finally appeared; the meeting must have been a long one. He started on some of the missed homework that McGonagall had gotten for him. He was still working on an essay for Charms when Snape came up behind him.
“You have spelled the incantation incorrectly,” he said.
“I don’t know Latin, do I? What’s the point,” Harry groaned, “in doing this, when it looks like I’ll never be able to go back to school again?”
Snape pulled out a chair on the other side of the table and sat down. “I think that the possibility of returning to school is more likely than you believe it to be.”
Harry pushed his essay away slightly. “Sure.”
Snape pulled out his wand. “Muffliato. Harry, have you found anything in your search?”
Harry briefly considered mentioning Tonks and Remus’ conversation, but decided that was more like gossip than pertinent information. “Not really. I don’t like spying on everybody like this.”
“As I do not like being spied upon,” Snape said sternly. “Whoever has turned on us, they will be very interested in finding out where we have been. You are here all the time, and have the most opportunity of noticing odd behaviours as well.”
“If you’re using me as bait to catch out the spy,” Harry asked, “wouldn't they be more careful around me?”
“Anyone collecting information for the Dark Lord about our hideout must do so from one of the two of us. Not to injure your delicate sensibilities, but they are far more likely to see you as an easier target than myself.”
Having met both Snape and himself, Harry had to agree. “I just can’t imagine anyone in the Order turning traitor like that.”
“It happened once before,” Snape said darkly.
Harry remembered Peter Pettigrew and scowled. “Yeah, I guess.”
“If you learn anything too urgent to wait until the next Order meeting to share with me,” Snape said, “use the lily pendant.” Snape had enchanted their pendants to be connected to each other. Harry could activate his by tapping it three times, which would make Snape’s pendant (a butterfly, oddly enough,) vibrate to catch his attention. It supposedly worked the other way too. The original purpose of the amulets may have been to prevent anyone from tracking them to the village, but they had been able to make a new use out of them. Harry’s, in fact, still had the anti-scrying and anti-tracking spells on it.
“And use the portkey to Dumbledore’s office if the situation escalates,” Harry recited. “Got it.”
Snape eyed him like he was trying to decide if Harry was being cheeky before letting it pass. “You will be careful,” he said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t risk letting the spy know that we’re on to him,” Harry said, wishing Snape had a little more faith in his abilities.
“I meant for your own safety,” Snape said.
“Oh,” Harry ducked his head, embarrassed but not displeased.
Snape stood and walked around to him, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll be back Tuesday.”
Harry half-smiled up at him. “Okay.”
Snape left the library, passing by Sirius, who was standing in the doorway. For a minute, Harry was afraid that he had heard what they were talking about, until he remembered the Muffliato Snape had cast. He had clearly seen at least the end of their interaction, however, because he was scowling deeply. He knocked Snape roughly with his shoulder as he shoved past him, making Snape turn and stare at his back with murder in his eyes. He reigned in his temper however, only saying to Harry (who was watching with wide eyes), “Do control your pet mutt, Potter.”
Sirius turned to say something back, but Snape was gone.
“Let it go, Sirius,” Harry quietly said, not wanting to watch two of the men he admired most go toe-to-toe yet again.
With one last glare at the doorway, Sirius came farther inside. “I still don’t understand how you can stand the man,” he grouched.
“Sometimes, neither can I,” Harry grinned, putting his hands in his hoodie pocket.
Harry was really starting to hate the wait for Christmas break. In twelve days, Hogwarts would stop class, and Ron and Hermione would finally be able to come to Headquarters. They didn’t even know he was back yet, as they hadn’t wanted to tell them when Umbridge was sniffing around for information about him.
Every morning, his internal clock woke him at 5:30, and he would lie awake in bed for a few moments, waiting to hear McAuliffe and then being invariably disappointed when the only sounds in the old house were the creaks of ancient floorboards. Luckily for Sirius and Buckbeak, Harry could place his own silencing charms around his room before practising his (his!) bagpipes.
The specific silencing charms he used only went one way. He could hear what was going on outside his room through the spell. He had just finished his second runthrough of Highland Laddie when, setting them down for a moment to catch his breath, his slightly ringing ears caught the sound of a door closing downstairs.
Instantly wary, as he had never once heard Sirius get up on his own before ten in the morning, Harry pulled out his wand and slipped his invisibility cloak over his head in a flash of intuition.
He slowly opened his door, not bothering to close it behind him as he made his way down the hall. He followed the sounds to a grand staircase that descended into a hall lined with busts and other antiques. Harry narrowed his eyes at the shadowy room, but couldn’t make out any intruder. Cursing the fact that glasses only do so much, Harry almost started down the stairs before remembering that this particular case squeaked terribly.
Not about to give up, Harry looked around before catching sight of the sturdy, smooth bannister. With a sly grin, he checked that the cloak was securely wrapped around himself before vaulting up.
The slide down was more fun than it probably should have been, considering how dark it was and the circumstances. Besides what was probably a very strange whooshing sound, however, it was far quieter than the stairs would have been.
Harry used his wand to cast a whispered silencing charm on the ground when he landed, ignoring the Hermione-like voice that told him he could have just done that to the stairs. He paused there in a crouch, wand held aloft, looking around the room.
He caught sight of movement and looked up. A person was glancing around nervously, probably having at least partially heard his whispered incantation. He apparated away a moment later, but not before Harry saw who it was.
Mundungus Fletcher.
Remus Lupin hated distrusting the people he should have been able to rely on. Severus had told him to be wary of everyone, no matter how trustworthy they seemed to be. Yet, when Tonks appeared on his doorstep, stumbling and with blood streaks on her face, the idea that it could be a trap never even occurred to him.
“Dora,” he exclaimed, wrapping an arm around her and helping her inside. “What’s happened?”
“I was… ambushed,” she said faintly, as he led her to the couch.
“Are you hurt?” he asked anxiously.
She lifted her shirt slightly to reveal a shallow gash on her side. “Dear Aunt Bella got me with her knife,” she said between gritted teeth. “Besides that, I’m alright.”
He hurried to his stash of medical equipment. “What about the blood on your face?”
“It isn’t mine,” she said, a hint darkly.
He returned with the necessary supplies and started treating her wound. “This will scar.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, turning her face away at the pain.
“Why did you come here?” he asked. “Doesn’t the Auror corps have a medic?”
“I wasn’t sure if it’d be safe.”
“Why not?” he asked, brow furrowed.
“Kingsley… and Moody,” she gasped, hand involuntarily shooting towards her side when the antiseptic stung. He caught her wrist and lowered it to her lap. “I told you they’ve been whispering and giving me odd looks lately. I was supposed to go on this mission with Dawlish, but they said I could handle it on my own. As soon as I apparated to the tip location, I was attacked.”
“What?” Remus said, mouth gone dry. “Are you saying… they set you up?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she groaned, slumping over in his arms. He patted her back awkwardly and started bandaging her side. “They’re the last people I would suspect of anything.”
“Nymphadora,” he said, pushing her back by the shoulders so he could see her face, “I really shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“What?” she asked.
“We think…” He took a deep breath, then said, “We think there may be a spy in the Order.”
Her eyes widened, their current blue shade taking on a slightly grey tinge as she stared at him in horror. “No.”
He only looked at her solemnly, and she seemed to sense the truth in his face. With a little moan of anguish, she let her head fall back to his shoulder. He wrapped his arms carefully around her, mindful of the knife wound, and thought that if her mentors in the Auror department were traitors, it would break her.
"Harry's just a child!"
"He's fifteen, Molly!"
"Exactly my point!" She glared at Sirius, who glared right back.
It physically pained Severus to agree with Sirius Black. It truly did. With a jerky intake of breath, he said, "Potter is a part of this war, whether or not we should like to admit it."
Everyone in the room turned to look at him. Mad-Eye, in particular, glanced significantly at Kingsley before levelling a hard look at him, face twitching with suspicion.
"What is it, Alastor?" Severus asked smoothly, an undertone of danger in his voice. "Something in your eye?"
“Never thought I’d see the day where you’d be willing to trust Potter, is all. What exactly happened during those two months, Snape?” He crossed his arms. “No one really knows. Potter just disappears after the trial, and you go missing a week later. Except now we find out that you were gone that whole time too, and just had polyjuiced someone to show up as you in public. Makes one think. How long had you been planning all of that?”
“Measures were taken—” Severus began stiffly, only to be interrupted by Remus.
“Is it not your mantra, Alastor, to be prepared for every contingency?” His voice was coolly pleasant, but Severus detected a glint in his eyes and wondered at it.
The temperature of the room dropped several uncomfortable degrees. Moody was still eying Snape with antipathy, and Kingsley looked vaguely conflicted. Tonks reached up and took Remus’ hand, pulling him back down into his chair after a swift glance in Moody’s direction.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I believe we should address this issue at a later date.” He met Severus’ gaze. After a moment’s pause, Severus subsided and sat back down as well. Moody more fell into his chair than sat down, and the meeting commenced.
When it finally finished, they all dispersed. Severus quickly left the room, feeling the glares of several Order members on his back and gritting his teeth. He hated that it bothered him.
Harry was waiting for him in the library again. Aware that he could have been followed, he threw up a Muffliato as soon as he entered the room.
“Professor,” Harry said, the relief in his voice making a spark of anxiety light in Severus’ chest.
“What happened?”
“Early this morning, before anyone should have been up, I caught Mundungus sneaking out of the house.”
He frowned and drew a chair out, sitting down at the table Harry had been doing homework at. “Did he see you?”
Harry shook his head.
“You are sure?”
“Positive,” Harry said, meeting Severus’ eyes with such a look of confidence that he relaxed slightly.
“What was he doing?”
“I don’t know. He apparated away as soon as he heard me coming. He looked very nervous, though.”
Severus felt his lip curl. “I’ll see what I can find out.” He’d been doing a lot of digging on all of the Order members’ backgrounds and recent activities, but would sharpen his focus on Fletcher. He also disliked the man, but felt obliged to give a warning. “Do not allow this to narrow your attention. Remember to keep both an open mind and sharp eye on everyone else.”
Harry fidgeted in his seat. “I don’t like this.”
Severus sighed. He knew blind loyalty and devotion to his friends was a flaw of Harry’s. His faith, so easily given to those who had been kind to him and withheld from those who had not, had made their early days as travelling companions more difficult than they otherwise might have been. “That is why I am the spy, and you the tragic hero.”
Harry rolled his eyes and slumped in his seat.
“Anything else?”
Harry began to shake his head, then paused. “Tonks and Remus were talking in secret again.”
“Arguing with each other?”
“Sort of? More about someone else. I didn’t catch who. If it was an argument, they were on the same side. Then Kingsley came in and they walked off.”
Severus suppressed a sigh.
Harry sat forward a little bit. “But, I mean, it can’t be Remus, right? He already knows about the whole thing. If it was him, and he knew we were onto the spy, wouldn’t he give us false trails or something? Or just take us out at the village before we could contact anyone?”
“You think he could take the both of us in a fight?” Severus asked, more curious than anything else about his answer.
Harry flushed slightly. “You know what I mean.”
Severus paused. Personally, he didn’t believe Lupin was the spy. He had nothing more substantial than instinct to go on, however, and instinct could be wrong. He didn’t want to influence Harry’s observations with his own assumptions. “No one can be completely ruled out.”
“But, can’t we make a chart of probability or something? So we can focus on the more likely candidates?”
Severus raised an eyebrow.
“I know, I know, open mind.”
“It is too early to rule anyone out,” he repeated. “We do not have enough information.” He chose not to mention the table in his own mind that listed likelihoods by each name. Moody, paranoid, compromised once before. Mundungus Fletcher, criminal background, etc. He checked the time with a quick Tempus. “I have to leave,” he muttered, a mountain of Potions essays replacing the table in his thoughts. “Be on your guard.”
“You too, sir,” Harry said quietly. Severus met his eye and nodded.
He left the library, removing the Muffliato as he went. He noticed Moody staring at his back from the shadow of the hallway, but didn't spare him the briefest of glances.
“What was it you wished to speak with me about, Headmaster?” Severus asked as they walked down the hall.
“A matter of some delicacy. I think, however, that it would be wise to wait until the situation is resolved to broach that particular subject. Tensions being as they are, it would not be wise to introduce another element to the situation.”
A couple of second years went pelting down the hall past them, giggling and tugging at each other's hands. Severus scowled at them and they gave him a frightened look before turning the corner. Dumbeldore chuckled and patted him on the back.
“The resiliency of the youth never ceases to amaze,” he said.
“I rarely find children to be anything approaching amazing.”
“Ah, but there is one case in which a student surprised you, I believe,” Dumbeldore said, a twinkle appearing to irritate Severus.
“Never,” he reflexively answered, before internally wincing. What was it about the Headmaster that brought out the sullen teenager in Severus? He knew very well what the man was talking about.
The hallway of a school in which Ministry plants prowl is not, however, the place for any response more explicit than a beatific smile. Dumbledore turned the subject back to its original direction. “How has your research project progressed?”
Ah, yes, Severus’ research project. The alleged reason that he had practically abandoned his teaching post for a month and half at the beginning of a school year. In this context, however, the Headmaster was referencing his search for the Order’s spy. “Nowhere near as well as I could wish,” he said grimly. “Nothing but speculation.”
“Ah, but Severus, you are a master in your field. I am sure that you will ultimately succeed.” He gave Severus another smile before turning towards his office. Severus stared after him, wishing he had as much faith in his own abilities as the Headmaster did in him.
Things came to a head a week later during an Order meeting. Severus had been keeping an eye on Mundungus all day, and hadn’t been particularly subtle about it. The man had grown increasingly twitchy throughout the course of the meeting at the scrutiny, until he looked ready to jump out of his seat and run out of the room. When his nerves seemed nearly at the breaking point, Severus cut lazily into Minerva’s spiel about Umbridge as he withdrew a small bottle from the inside of his robes. A clear liquid spun around inside it as he twirled it in lazy circles. “Very true, Minerva. I have always admired your brutal honesty.” He turned merciless eyes on Mundungus. “There seems to be a lack of that, these days.”
Everyone in the room grew very, very still. Harry had told him that he saw Fletcher sneaking out of the house again two nights previous, and enough was enough. While hardly convinced of the grubby man’s guilt, time was running out to find the spy before the other children came to Headquarters for Christmas break. He and Dumbledore had decided beforehand that now was the time for more direct action. They needed to flush out the spy, and soon. The longer Harry spent in London, and within reach of some unknown person who could bring him to the Dark Lord, the more uneasy Severus felt. He didn’t know where the threat was.
Severus hated not knowing where a threat was.
So, he very deliberately spun his bottle of Veritaserum (not that he would have used it), and glared at Fletcher. “Maybe you would like to tell us why you have been sneaking in and out of this house at night.”
An interesting variety of emotions flashed across the other man’s face, before finally settling on ill-concealed fear. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”
Severus slammed his fist on the table, his intensity disorienting to his hapless victim after such a casual beginning. “Do not play games with me, Mundungus Fletcher!”
“I think you’re the one playing games, Snape,” Moody spat.
Severus slowly turned his head to look at him as Kingsley frowned at Mad-Eye.
“Really, there’s no call—” the bald man began quietly, but Moody cut him off with a scowl.
“You disappear for two months and expect us to trust you?” He banged his wooden leg on the floor to emphasise his point, both his regular and magical eye trained on Severus. “I’ve seen you colluding with the boy.”
“Colluding?” Severus said in distaste, not surprised that Moody had spied on them through the walls, but still displeased.
Black, who had been bothered by the evident closeness between Harry and Severus ever since they returned from the village, snapped, “Yeah, Snivellus, what have you and my godson been meeting up to talk about? You were never one for a casual chat.”
“He may not be your godson, Black,” Moody said. “Neither of them act the way they did before. Two months, no contact! Anything could have happened to either of them.” He leaned in and said nastily, “Although for my part, I never trusted you in the first place, Snape.”
Severus ignored the flash of white-hot anger that arced through him at being so thoroughly distrusted after working together through two wars. He was preparing to retaliate when help came from an unlikely source.
“Harry is the same as he ever was,” Tonks said, with a nod of support from Lupin. “And he says that Snape was with him the whole time. Dumbledore himself confirmed that he sent Snape to hide him, if the trial went badly, which it did.” She straightened her spine. “And that’s the issue, isn’t it? We’re not dumb. We all know what you’re hinting at. You think there’s a spy, someone working against us from within.” She turned an unexpectedly cold gaze at Moody and Kingsley. “If someone here’s the spy, they’ve been the spy since before Harry’s trial.”
A charged silence filled the room. Multiple people were on their feet, and the sound of several breaths laboured with emotion punctuated the stillness.
“How did a dementor end up in Little Whinging?” Bill asked quietly. “Who sent it?” He too was looking at Moody and Kingsley with a degree of caution unusual for his normally open face.
Kingsley frowned at him. “You-Know-Who has plenty of plants in the Ministry. It would hardly require one of us to take care of the business. He wouldn’t need to risk exposing any spy he had snuck into the Order by having them send the Dementor after Potter; he could have had any of his other spies in the DMLE or Minister’s cabinet do it instead.”
Mundungus, apparently too stupid to lay low, piped up. “I don’t see why any of us has to be a spy at all. What makes you think we have one anyways?”
“The Dark Lord knows things, information he should not have access to. Things he could only learn from a confidential source!” Snape said.
“Wasn’t that always your job?” Moody asked. “To be the confidential source?”
“Not anymore,” Severus spat. The surprise that ricocheted around the table mildly surprised him. He had thought they understood his spying days were done.
“You’re not spying anymore?” Emmiline Vance asked.
“No,” Severus said shortly. He had come to terms with it, but it still occasionally stung that one of his primary uses in the war had been taken from him. Harry no longer needed protecting. The question, What help can I possibly be now? was quiet, but ever-present, in the back of his mind.
“Not for us anymore, perhaps,” Moody began, but Tonks was trembling with anger now as she interrupted.
“You seem really interested in pinning the blame on Snape, Mad-Eye.”
Moody had just enough time to turn his astonished gaze to her before she barrelled on.
“You sent me, alone, into a trap. I almost got killed.” When he blinked, open-mouthed, she said, “Yeah, that’s right. It was a successful trap, and I got hurt. I didn’t tell the corps; I went to Remus’ instead. He saw the wound.” Remus nodded mute confirmation as she continued. “I’ve noticed you two—” her gaze flicked to the right briefly to encompass Kingsley in her assault “—whisperin’ together for weeks.”
“Tonks,” Kingsley said, suddenly looking very sad as he realised what she was trying to say, “we weren’t trying to kill you. We were trying to give you a promotion.”
“W-what?” Her hair, which had turned frizzy and red in her anger, drooped to a sad sort of lanky maroon.
“We didn’t realise that mission was a trap. We thought it was safe, but wanted to see what you could do on your own. We’re getting short staffed, and higher-ranked aurors aren’t always able to team up with a partner before entering a hostile situation. We were testing you, not setting you up.”
Moody looked mildly impressed in spite of himself that she had ever thought to suspect them.
“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Remus said quietly as Tonks, wavering in that state of confusion which only a punctured swell of righteous fury can create, slowly sat back down.
Kingsley was looking at Remus now with something akin to suspicion. “You can speak with any of the other senior aurors.” He slowly crossed his arms. “Although, if we’re talking about people who have been out of contact lately,” his eyes flicked to Severus and Moody briefly before returning to Lupin, “you’ve been in and out quite a bit lately.”
Remus flushed. Whether it was with anger or some other, more guilty, feeling, Severus couldn’t tell. “My loyalties have been to Dumbledore ever since he made provisions for me to attend Hogwarts.”
“I made the mistake of distrusting Remus once before,” Sirius said. “We all did. James and Lily paid for that mistake with their lives.”
Low blow, Black, Severus thought as several older Order members visibly flinched. He turned his face away before recollecting himself.
“I believe,” he said, turning to Fletcher again, “that you have yet to answer my question.”
“I didn’t hear no question! Just an unfair accusation!”
“You were seen!” Severus roared.
Mundungus paled just a little bit. After a brief internal struggle, he said, “Alright, fine. I’ve been borrowing a thing or two, here and there.”
“You what?” Black cried, turning to him.
“Nothin’ what would be missed, mind!” Fletcher exclaimed. “Just some old junk.”
“You’ve been stealing stuff and selling it, then?” Black all but growled.
“You never seemed to care much for any of it,” Fletcher said defensively.
“Doesn’t mean you have any right—”
“Boys,” Minerva snapped. “I believe a different issue is at hand.”
They subsided, glaring at one another in sullen silence.
As this was a far more likely scenario to Severus than Fletcher kicking up the courage (and skill) to play spy, he reshuffled all of the information in his mind, including everything that had been said in the past several minutes. A horrible suspicion was beginning to emerge from the recesses of his imagination, and he almost hoped it wasn’t true, because it would mean that they had all been played for fools.
“Well, my boy, how do you think they’re getting on down there?” Dumbledore asked.
Harry shrugged, hoping his anxiety wasn’t too noticeable. “I’m sure Snape’s got it handled.”
Dumbledore smiled at him, as if they shared a secret, but didn’t say anything.
“Not to be rude or anything, sir,” Harry said, “but why are you in here? I mean, why aren’t you at the meeting? Shouldn’t you be down there, in case the spy does show themself?”
“As you say, Professor Snape has ‘got it handled’. I’m rather not needed, I dare say.”
Harry looked at him with narrowed eyes for a moment. “You’re here in case the spy comes after me when they get exposed.”
Dumbledore didn’t deny it. He only twinkled with more humour.
Harry flopped into a dusty armchair with a huff. “I might as well have been in the room with everyone there. S’not like Snape would let them nab me right from the kitchen, and I could’ve seen what was going on.”
“I suspect it may get rather ugly in there for a short period of time,” Dumbledore said. “I think everyone is just where they ought to be.” He gave Harry a look over the rim of his glasses, the sort of look that makes you feel slightly foolish for bothering to think anything contrary to what you’ve already been told.
So Harry waited in silence. Occasionally, the sound of raised voices penetrated through the floorboards, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He didn’t know why Dumbledore had suddenly decided to acknowledge Harry’s existence again, but he wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass by without taking advantage of the man’s briefly unoccupied attention.
“Sir? Do you have any clue who the spy might be?”
Dumbledore’s wandering gaze abandoned the bookshelves and turned to regard him steadily. After a moment, he said, “No, I do not.”
Harry slumped in his armchair. “Oh.”
Raised voices again.
“It’s just, last time, they didn’t find out about Pettigrew until it was too late.”
Dumbledore seemed to grow a little bit older at that. “No. We did not. That is one of the many failures of my life which I most regret.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I know, Harry,” Dumbledore said.
They lapsed into silence again, one which Harry was reluctant to break. Unable to just sit there any more, he vaulted to his feet and began pacing in front of the shelves. He could feel Dumbledore’s gaze on his back, but ignored it as wandered up and down the room, reading book titles to himself.
He had circled the room countless times and made at least four failed attempts at starting one of his essays when Snape finally came into the room.
“Who is it?” Harry immediately asked. Snape glanced at him, then addressed Dumbledore.
“No one. There is no spy.”
The first ten minutes after Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins came in were a mass of confusion and celebration. They were overjoyed to see Harry, and he was no less happy to see them in return. By the time Mrs. Weasley had gotten everyone into a chair in the kitchen, Harry was decidedly more ruffled from being repeatedly hugged, patted, and clasped.
“You’ll have to tell us everything,” George said quietly, looking to where Kingsley, Mad-Eye, Mrs. Weasley, and McGonagall were whispering in a corner.
“And you’ll have to tell me about Hogwarts,” Harry whispered back.
Then dinner was being served, and everyone was talking and laughing. Ron tried to ask Harry about what he’d done during the months he’d been out of contact, but Moody cut in with a glare.
“That’s secret,” he snapped. “Best keep it undisclosed.”
“Sorry, Ron, can’t talk about it,” Harry said, meaning, “don’t worry, I’ll tell you later.” Ron understood, and Ginny covered up his badly-concealed excitement by bringing up Quidditch.
After dinner, they all ran up to his and Ron’s room. It was crowded with all six of them there, but none of them minded.
Harry told them briefly about the trial, then how Snape had portkeyed him to a safe location— “Sorry, mate, can’t say exactly where,” —and how the man had proved to be just a little bit less of a bastard than they had thought. Here Ron (and everyone else, although slightly less enthusiastically) clearly disbelieved him, but they listened to what he had to say.
There was a lot he could have said. He could have mentioned the clothes. The bed. The Occlumency lessons. The times Snape had woken him after a nightmare.
But he didn’t, because as much as he loved the others, there were some things he just wanted Ron and Hermione to hear. There were still more things that were just between him and Snape.
So Harry said just enough to tell them that he had changed his opinion about Snape without actually having to say it, and they understood.
“Then something happened—look, I’d tell you what, but Snape’d flay me alive—” this, they had no trouble believing, “and we decided it was time to come back. Part of the reason we kept our location secret was because they thought there was a spy in the Order, but we couldn’t keep hiding forever, so we came back to Headquarters. I was supposed to keep an eye out for anyone acting suspiciously, and Snape did some investigating. Dumbledore knew about all of this, too. I guess they were kind of using me as bait to draw out the spy, since Dumbledore’s attempts to find them hadn’t worked. Anyways, they figured it out before you guys got here.”
Ron looked ready to interrupt (again) at the mention of a spy, but Hermione clamped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet as she stared at Harry with rapt attention. Everyone’s faces displayed varying degrees of horror at the thought of a spy in the Order.
“So who was it?” She asked when it was clear that Harry had finished talking.
Dumbledore calmly waited as Severus raged.
“We were completely deceived! He had us chasing our tails while he did as he pleased, practically unchecked!” He stopped pacing to glare out the window. “I have thought about it in depth. There is no way that anyone in the Order could have been the spy. The timelines, parsing of information, none of it matches up. How could we have been so misled?” He recalled Harry’s notes on The Art of War.
Keep people who fight united and in one mind. Division or doubt amongst the ranks will lead to defeat. A tactic that he had vaguely planned on using against the Dark Lord had instead been wielded against them.
“Have you discovered where they were getting their information?” Dumbledore asked.
“Months ago, the Ministry set up a system to observe us, of which Moody and Kingsley were not aware. The Dark Lord’s spies within the Ministry accessed their files on us and reported everything to him.” The Dark Lord had found things out, and acted on that information. He had dropped hints and tailored his moves to make them assume they had been betrayed. He had turned them on one another, and Severus would never forgive himself for not realising it sooner.
“What has become of those observation tools?” Dumbledore asked.
“Someone dropped them into a pot of acid,” Severus said.
“I do hope they were inanimate.”
“They are now,” Severus said. Dumbledore gave him a reproachful look, and he sighed. “Yes, of course. Anyone who worked on the project suddenly discovered a desire to retire and relocate to Croatia.”
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
Escape is the kindest fate anyone in this bloody war is likely to find,” Severus said. “They deserved worse.”
Dumbledore did not press the issue. Severus was unsurprised. Dumbledore was a tactician. He knew that a war could not be won wearing kid gloves. That was why he kept Severus around: to do the jobs he himself would find distasteful. He knew better than to mention this. He would only get a sorrowful look in return; the worst part was, he would mean it. Severus knew Dumbledore regretted every harsh measure taken, but he also knew that he would take them anyways.
“We must be proactive. Reactive policy has allowed this to happen in the first place.”
“I agree,” Dumbledore said measuredly.
“You… do?” Severus asked, some of the churning rage in his chest turning to confusion.
“I do,” Dumbledore said, levelling his bright blue eyes at Severus. He realised that somewhere, well hidden but fully felt, anger had found Dumbledore as well. “It is time to make Hogwarts a refuge for Harry Potter once again.”
On December 23rd, three men entered the Minister’s office. The meeting was short, and held behind closed doors. Several of the people working in that section of the Ministry were curious. A couple of them turned to the receptionist for answers, but she shook her head. Whatever the three had to discuss with the Minister, it wasn’t on the schedule.
They had been allowed through on short notice, of course, because one of them was the Headmaster of Hogwarts. The other two, while less renowned, exuded the same air of determination as their more famous companion. When the three emerged again from the office with Fudge, everyone tried to look as if they weren’t nearly as interested as they really were.
“Yes, well… thank you,” Fudge said, sounding slightly flustered. “I will take it into consideration.”
“We can always discuss it again if you have any more doubts,” Dumbledore said pleasantly.
Fudge paled. “I’m sure there’s, ah, no need for that,” he said with a nervous laugh.
The tall, dark man to Dumbledore’s right gave him a flat look. The man to the left, Elphias Doge (more familiar to the employees at the Ministry than Snape, as he served as advisor to the Wizangamot and came by every now and then), gave a grim little smile.
“Glad to hear it!” Dumbledore said.
The three of them left. Fudge stood in the doorway of his office, wringing his hat and watching them go. The various employees tried to look busy, but every ear was listening when he bustled over to the receptionist’s desk. “Clear the rest of my afternoon.”
“But sir—”
“I had hoped to speak with you,” a smooth voice interrupted. Lucius Malfoy. Everyone tried to remember when he’d come in, and couldn’t quite recall.
“Well… alright. Trish?”
“Yes, sir. The rest of the afternoon.”
As Malfoy and the Minister disappeared into the office, the receptionist took up her quill and began the first of several memos to cancel the Minister’s scheduled meetings. The Spanish Prime Minister was unlikely to be pleased, she thought. He had been rather upset about the presence of a “Señor Tenebroso” in Zaragoza. He’ll just have to wait until after the holidays, I expect. Why this man was ever our problem anyways is beyond me…
Inside the office, Fudge was pacing. “...and you know, I probably couldn’t manage it if I wanted to! The verdict’s been called. Now I only have a few days to think of a way to tell Dumbledore no.”
Lucius smiled slightly. “Perhaps, Minister, that will not be necessary.”
“How do you mean?”
“I will take care of it. Sometimes, to win the war, one must lose the battle.”
“We’re not at war,” Fudge huffed.
“No,” Lucius agreed, smile widening. Not yet.
On Christmas day, The Daily Prophet’s headline read: MINISTRY CHRISTMAS GIFT TO HARRY POTTER: LEGAL PARDON.
Harry stared numbly at it. A hand settled on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Snape giving him a wry smile. “Merry Christmas.” He had dropped by to give the paper to Harry personally.
“I… what?” Harry asked, vaguely embarrassed to find that his throat had gone dry.
“After months of doing nothing, the Order finally managed to get you off!” Tonks said cheerfully, bouncing into the room.
“You’ll be able to return to classes after Christmas break,” Snape said.
Harry was sure that, as soon as the shock wore off, he’d be very happy. Already, a warm glow was beginning to fill his chest. He looked up at Snape, wanting to share the moment with him longer. “Will you stay for breakfast?”
The room’s atmosphere grew a trifle awkward. While the whole “spy” argument was resolved, most of the people in the Order still didn’t really like Snape all that much.
The Potions Master, who had elevated the skill of reading a room to an art form, gave a shake of the head. “I cannot.” With one slight squeeze of Harry’s shoulder, he turned and left, not sparing so much as a glance for anyone else present. Harry turned in his seat to watch him go, wishing things were different. Wishing, at least, that the man who had become a mentor to him felt more welcome amongst the other people that mattered to Harry. Because, while he probably would have found it embarrassing to admit aloud, Snape had somehow become one of the people Harry most respected and cared about in the world.
When Snape was gone, the various people assembled began breakfast. Remus came in a few minutes later, looking tired but pleased.
“Anything happen?” Mr. Weasley asked as Remus sat down with a plate.
“Not a thing,” Remus said.
“We’re sure it’s still there, right? We didn’t have a guard on it for the past couple of weeks, what with everything that’s been going on.” Bill said.
“No Order business at the table,” Mrs. Weasley said sternly, levelling her spatula at them.
The three glanced guilty at Harry, Ron, and the other underage students before going back to their food.
“Hey, listen to this,” Fred said, holding the Prophet up. “‘Young Potter will no doubt be extremely grateful for the Ministry’s mercy, although this reporter wonders how well the teen could possibly turn out with such unhealthy amounts of favouritism constantly thrown his way.’ Gee, Harry, I wonder that too.”
“After all, s’not like you’ve had any hardships to help you learn and grow,” George says. “Character development, that’s what you need.”
“Oh! That rag makes me so angry!” Hermione burst. “Who wrote that article? If it was Skeeter, she won’t like—”
Ron nudged her under the table, glancing expressively at the adults watching her curiously. She made a visible effort to calm down before saying, “Well. You know.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Fred mused. “The byline lists that one reporter, Betty Braithwaite.”
Hermione, who had no blackmail on Braithwaite, slumped back sullenly in her chair. Harry and Ron exchanged an amused glance.
“For my part, Harry,” Ginny said decisively, “I don’t care what the Prophet says. Besides, we all know you were innocent anyways. I’m glad you can come back.”
“Me too, Ginny,” Harry said, as several other people nodded agreement.
He looked down at the paper as Fred tossed it back onto the table. His own face stared anxiously up at him from the front page.
Well, it wasn’t really his face. The picture had been taken at his trial, after a month at the Dursley’s and a very stressful year. He didn’t look all that much worse than he had normally used to, but there was a marked difference between the Harry of August and the Harry of today. Now, he knew things that the Harry in the photograph had no concept of. The Harry who would return to Hogwarts was not the one the world was ready for.
He laughed to himself and reached for a kipper.
The End.