Dumbledore’s desk was awash in golden candlelight. With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore lit other candles around the room until it glowed. Remus steered Harry into the tall chair behind the desk, and Dumbledore went directly to the black cabinet near Fawkes’ perch. The Phoenix watched the activity with interest, blinking serenely at them.

Harry watched as Dumbledore set the Pensieve down in front of him. He raised his wand to his temple, played back the dream he had just had in his mind, and drew it out as a silvery gossamer strand, which fell with a ‘plop’ into the swirling substance of the Pensieve. Harry sat back, stirring the liquid with the tip of his wand, as Dumbledore and Remus watched.

Harry closed his eyes, rubbing his scar with the knuckles of his left hand, trying to ease the prickling. If Voldemort were truly nearby, then Harry supposed he would just have to learn to live with the pain. Voldemort in Hogsmeade was a very scary prospect, indeed.

“Harry.” Dumbledore spoke softly.

Harry dropped his hand and opened his eyes; Dumbledore was standing beside the desk, still staring into the Pensieve. “Yes, Professor?”

“I am sure that you were seeing what happened this evening, and Lord Voldemort is indeed somewhere near Hogsmeade.” Dumbledore glanced at him over his half-moon glasses. “And your scar is going to continue to hurt, I’m afraid.”

Harry nodded ruefully. “And to think I complained last year that I felt like an aerial for Voldemort’s moods. That was nothing compared to this.” His scar was throbbing steadily. Looking across the desk, he watched as Remus folded himself into one of two high backed armchairs. Their eyes met, and Harry knew that Lupin was thinking the same thing he was.

“Professor?” His godfather started.

“What are we going to do with this information?” Dumbledore finished for him, an amused twinkle in his eye. “You are both wondering no doubt, as to how we should proceed. Harry, retrieve your memory, please.” Dumbledore steadied the Pensieve for Harry as he placed the gossamer strand back to his temple.

Watching the Headmaster put the stone basin back into the black cabinet, Harry glanced up to see that Fawkes was still watching him. Harry grinned at the Phoenix and thought the bird winked at him in return. As Dumbledore straightened from the cabinet, Harry got out of the chair and moved to sit in the armchair beside Lupin.

Albus Dumbledore sat down at his desk, folded his hands in front of him, and surveyed them both over the top of his glasses. “I have every confidence that Severus will report to me the moment he returns.” He met Harry’s eyes, the clear blue boring in to the brilliant green. “As I have said before, I trust Professor Snape, Harry, and we will find a way to deal with the situation that protects his work for the Order, and your safety.”

Harry nodded. “I know, Professor, and will abide by your decision.” He hesitated, looking over at Remus who nodded in agreement. “I will do anything you need me to.” Harry looked back across the desk, to find Dumbledore smiling at him. His head exploded in pain, his scar searing white-hot.

Harry didn’t know whether he was sitting or falling. The pain was so severe he thought his head might split open along his scar. He was angry, working up to a rage, and then happy, jubilant, he was going to get what he wanted. He was going to finally get what he wanted for so long.

The trill of Phoenix song filled Harry’s mind, easing the blinding pain, until he realized he was lying on the floor, shaky and chilled. He felt a warm presence near his face, and forced his eyes open. Fawkes stood near his chin, his plumage a blurred golden scarlet, and Harry realized that he had lost his glasses when he fell. Remus knelt beside him, a hand under the side of his face that lay on the carpet. Fawkes spread his wings, the tips of his feathers brushing Harry’s face, and flew back up to his perch. Harry struggled to sit up with his godfather’s help, taking his glasses from Remus, some of the chill at least gone. Dumbledore had come around his desk, and moved toward him.

“He was angry, really angry at Snape because Snape didn’t want to take a chance of luring me out under your nose, Professor. Voldemort threatened to have Death Eaters storm the castle and taunted Snape about whom he should be most afraid of, you or Voldemort. Snape told him that he would deliver me Saturday morning at dawn.” Harry turned his pale face up to Dumbledore and grasped the hand he extended. “Snape said some really foul things about me to Voldemort.” Harry took a deep breath, attempting to stop the rage that threatened to burst through the barriers he had erected. “He told Voldemort that I was too arrogant to think that anyone could best me, and that I could not resist the temptation of going in to the Forbidden Forest, no matter what rules I broke, or who I might put in jeopardy.” Harry spat the words out.

Remus helped Harry back into the chair, and stood beside him, hand on Harry’s shoulder. Albus Dumbledore laid his long, cool fingers across Harry’s scar, calm instantly spreading from the point of contact.

“Harry.” Dumbledore said softly over his head, and Harry had the impression that his clear blue eyes were locked with the gray eyes of his godfather. Lupin’s hand tightened on his shoulder as if confirming it. “I know that your Occlumency classes with Professor Snape were brutal, and that he has been absolutely filthy to you since you arrived at Hogwarts, but Severus Snape would never do anything that would put you in harm’s way or put your life in danger.” Dumbledore’s voice trailed off. Harry could feel those blue eyes looking down on him, and felt the Headmaster move his hand from his forehead to rest it for a moment on the top of Harry’s head in an unexpected gesture of affection.

Harry opened his eyes when he felt Dumbledore move, and looked up at Remus, who smiled at him faintly, and whose expressive eyes held reassurance. Harry looked back at Dumbledore as he resettled himself behind his desk. It seemed to Harry that Dumbledore appeared tired tonight, the lines that framed his face deeper in the candlelight, his blue eyes shadowed.

“I know, Professor, that you would never allow that to happen, and you know that I trust you.” Harry assured him quietly, blinking against the persistent prickling of his scar. “I will do what ever you need me to do, even go into the Forbidden Forest at dawn on Saturday, with Professor Snape.”

“No!” Remus interjected, his hand tightening on Harry’s shoulder. “There has to be another way!”

“Remus, calm down,” Dumbledore said soothingly. “I assure you that we will not be rushing into any plan, and both of you will be a part of any decision that is made.”

“I will not allow Harry to be placed in that kind of danger. The Forbidden Forest is much too vulnerable to attack.” Remus spoke in a mild voice, but Harry could hear the steel in it.

“Nor will I allow it, Remus, but it does sound like Harry will have to take some active roll in the process, as Lord Voldemort would readily be able to spot an imposter.” Dumbledore assured them, a hand stroking his silver beard.

“And Polyjuice potion takes a month to brew.” Harry interjected. Two pairs of eyes swung toward him and pinned him to the seat. “What?” Harry looked between the Headmaster and his godfather, feeling puzzled.

“How do you know how long it takes to a Polyjuice Potion to brew, Harry?” Remus asked, with a questioning look.

Harry looked up, feeling his cheeks go pink, and met the twinkling blue eyes. “Um, we, uh, Hermione, Ron and I, brewed some in our second year, Remus. Um, Professor, what about using a shielding charm to protect me?” Harry said hurriedly, saying the first thing that came to mind.

“I look forward to hearing the Polyjuice story, Harry.” Remus muttered softly, his voice sounding almost proud.

Dumbledore’s eyes continued to hold Harry’s, mirth gleaming in their depths.

“I am not sure a shielding charm would afford much protection, Harry.”

There was a tap on the office door, and it swung open before Professor Dumbledore could speak. Severus Snape stepped quickly into the room in a swish of billowing black cloak, as if he feared someone was following him. Pushing the door closed swiftly, Snape spoke without glancing around the room.

“Headmaster.”

Harry felt a swell of loathing and hate well up inside him at the sight of the Potions Master. His head swung toward Snape and their eyes clashed, gleaming dark to brilliant green. Harry made no effort to conceal the feelings that burned in him, and he could feel Remus tense beside him.

“Severus, come in.” Dumbledore motioned towards Snape, who drug his dark eyes from Harry,

“Forgive me, Headmaster, I thought you would be alone.” Snape said stiffly. “I will return at a more convenient time.”

“No, Severus, please come in.” Dumbledore gazed steadily at the Potions Master over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “I have been waiting for you.”

Snape crossed to the desk, his black cloak swirling around him, ignoring Harry and Lupin. He moved to the side of the desk, and bent towards Dumbledore. “It is quite urgent that I speak to you, Headmaster,” he hissed in a low voice.

Harry opened his mouth with an angry retort, and snapped it closed again as Dumbledore gave him a slight shake of his head. The lightening bolt scar on his forehead pulsed with a fresh wave of pain. He rubbed it absently with the tips of his fingers.

“Does this urgent matter have to do with Harry, Severus?” Dumbledore returned his gaze to Snape.

Snape hesitated for a heartbeat, his eyes boring into Dumbledore’s, who looked back at him serenely. “Yes, Headmaster.”

Albus Dumbledore maintained the eye contact, saying softly. “Then, please sit down, Severus, and tell us your urgent news.”

Snape continued to stand, still at the side of the desk, turned towards Dumbledore. In a low, sullen voice, Snape relayed the information of Wormtail’s attempt to gain entry to the Shrieking Shack passageway and the Whomping Willow. Not looking anywhere but at Dumbledore, he continued to tell the Headmaster about the scene Harry had witnessed in his dream.

Harry sat listening, irritated at being ignored by Snape, but more irritated at the fact that Snape had come directly to Dumbledore with the news of his meeting with Voldemort, just as predicted. He leaned closer, Remus’ hand on his shoulder more a restraint now. Harry wanted to hear, wanted to make sure that Snape repeated all the details that he had witnessed.

Remus leaned down. “Relax, Harry, let Dumbledore handle it, alright?” he murmured in Harry’s ear, his voice soft with warning. “Follow Dumbledore’s lead.”

Harry nodded his head once, his eyes intently on the sallow faced man whose face was half hidden behind a greasy curtain of black hair. His scar throbbed again with a fresh wave of pain. Concentrating on Snape’s hooked nose where it stuck out for the curtain of hair, Harry focused and strained to hear. Snape was relating the discussion with Voldemort on the best way to lure Harry from the castle, glossing over the dreadful things that he had said about Harry.

‘Liar’ Harry thought fiercely, as his scar seared with white-hot pain. He clapped both hands to his forehead, but watched through the heels of his hands as Snape straightened suddenly and swung around to stare at him.

“What did you say, Potter?” Snape snarled at him.

Harry rubbed his forehead wearily, trying to ease the fresh wave of sharp pain. “What? I didn’t say anything!” He glanced up at Remus for reassurance. Remus shook his head slightly.

“You were saying, Severus?” Albus Dumbledore looked intently at Harry, watching.

“The Dark Lord will not rest until he has Potter, although he did not tell me why. He has threatened to send Death Eaters into Hogwarts if I fail to produce him. I told him that is would not be easy to get Potter out of the castle while you are here, Headmaster, but that I would try.” Snape glanced at Harry, a touch of apprehension in his gaze. “I told the Dark Lord that I would persuade Potter to accompany me outside Saturday morning.”

‘Filthy liar!’ Anger surged through Harry as he thought the words, his scar searing again.

“What!” Snape advanced on Harry, rage adding color to his face.

Remus stepped in front of Harry protectively, his meaning clear. “Severus, Harry did not say anything.”

“He called me a filthy liar.” Snape snarled the end of his nose less than inch from Lupin’s.

“Severus! Sit down!” Albus Dumbledore’s voice held an unyielding tone, and when Harry looked around Snape, he saw that the blue eyes were flashing dangerously, as the Headmaster stood. Dumbledore conjured another cozy armchair to the side of his desk.

After shooting a look of pure loathing at Harry, Snape reluctantly sat down in the chair Dumbledore indicated. The Headmaster towered over him for a moment, and Harry thought he saw Snape flinch slightly, as Dumbledore swept around him.

Harry closed his eyes again, as white-hot pain shot through his scar like a jolt of electricity. Surprise flooded through him along with the soothing effect of the cool, long fingers that Dumbledore laid across his throbbing forehead.

“Harry.” Dumbledore’s soft voice held a hint of amusement.

“I thought it, Professor.” Harry muttered quietly. “I guess my thoughts aren’t even safe now.”

“I know, Harry, but I believe your thoughts are being amplified by the pain in your scar,” Dumbledore said in a soft voice.

Harry opened his eyes a slit, and saw Snape fuming in the chair beside the desk, his normally pallid face in high color.

“Uh oh.” Harry breathed. “Guess I’m in trouble then.” He heard Remus chuckle softly beside him. “I just wish Voldemort would go to bed or something, and stop making my scar hurt!”

Dumbledore walked back to his desk and sat down. He gazed at Snape over his steepled fingers. “Continue your report, please, Severus.”

“As I was saying, I am to deliver Potter to the Dark Lord at dawn on Saturday morning.” Snape shot Harry a malevolent look.

“The Forbidden Forest is not a choice I like for a delivery point, Severus.” Dumbledore watched Snape closely as he made the statement.

Harry felt a grim satisfaction as Snape’s jaw dropped and he stared at Dumbledore.

“How did you know?” Snape asked as if he could not help himself.

“Actually, Severus, Harry saw the whole discussion that you had with Lord Voldemort. Apparently, his close proximity to Hogwarts has made the connection between them very strong, much to Harry’s annoyance.” Dumbledore looked down his long, crooked nose at Snape. “Harry was a bit disturbed by your less that complimentary statements about me, and him.”

Snape sat very still, his face in profile, depriving Harry of the satisfaction of seeing his reaction. Harry glared at the swaying curtain of greasy black hair, but Snape did not turn his head.

“Professor, what about Tonks? She would make a passable substitute for Harry, don’t you think?” Remus spoke up from beside him, stepping forward to take an active roll in the conversation.

Harry leaned his head back against the high back of the armchair and closed his eyes. The steady prickling in his scar burned and his head ached abominably. Harry cleared his mind, sweeping the remnants of his anger at Snape away, smoothing his mental walls. He heard the drone of conversation around him, but as if from a distance, as he slipped into velvety blackness.

Lucius Malfoy’s pale, pointed face swam into focus, bowing in front of him. The pale eyes gleamed with evil glee. “I am not sure, My Lord, whether Snape is still ours or whether he has gone to Dumbledore’s side. He seemed strangely reluctant to bring Potter to you, My Lord, and I fear he is merely a spy in our midst.”

“Yes, Lucius.” Harry answered in a high, cold voice. “I am aware of your suspicions, but it will not matter if he delivers Potter to me as he has promised. I assure you that we will take every precaution. If Snape is in league with that muggle-lover, we will find out Saturday at dawn, and his death will be an incredibly slow and painful one.” Harry laughed in delight at the thought of torturing Snape and the prospect of, finally, getting his hands on Potter.

Maniacal laughter rang loudly in his ears and for the third time that night Harry’s head felt as if it were sliced in half. His head felt as if it had separated from his shoulders, the pain so incredible; he could not even remember where he was or what was happening. A jubilant feeling not his own welled up inside him, churning his stomach.

“Harry! HARRY!”

Someone shouted at him from a great distance, and he was shaken violently, his head threatening to implode with the pain. Harry became aware that it was he who was laughing, and the realization made him vomit. Harry could feel the strong hands of his godfather supporting him as he was leaned back in the chair. A warm weight settled on his knee and Phoenix song filled his mind. Calm flooded through him as cool fingers lay across his scar.

Opening his eyes, Harry reached a shaky hand out, brushed around Fawkes, and gripped Dumbledore’s arm.

“S…snape.” Harry’s voice was hoarse and weak. “Warn Snape…” He lurched and would have fallen if not for Remus’ hold on him. “He knows who…he’s just waiting…” His scar pulsed white-hot again. “Oh, please, make it stop!”

The long, cool fingers on his forehead tightened, and Harry vaguely felt Dumbledore’s other hand on the back of his head, easing it back against the high back of the chair. Remus still gripped his shoulder, and Harry could feel the warmth of Fawkes on his knee; he reached out to lay a hand on the warm feathers, hearing the poignant warble of song. He took several deep breaths, cleared as much of the fear from his mind as he could. The pressure that Dumbledore was exerting on his head helped him smooth the walls and ignore the pain.

Harry sat very still for several long minutes. “Please, tell Professor Snape that Lucius Malfoy believes him to be a spy for you, and Voldemort is of the same mind.”

There was a sudden intake of breath that he believed was Snape, but Harry ignored it, still addressing his observations to Dumbledore. “Voldemort is using him to get me, and plans to torture and kill him if he does not hand me over.” A shudder ran through him. “He was really happy at the idea of getting me and getting to torture Snape, if Voldemort decides he is working for you.”

Harry opened his eyes, looking up into the piercing blue ones peering down at him. “I will use the Pensieve if you want me to.” The lightening bolt scar prickled painfully. “And I’d really like it, if this stupid scar would stop hurting!” The eyes looking down at him over the top of the half-moon glasses crinkled at the corners, and a smile tugged at Dumbledore’s mouth.

“And I wish I could do something to help, Harry, truly.” Dumbledore stepped back and let his hands fall to his sides. Turning, he glanced towards Severus Snape’s pale face, and then back at Harry. “I do not believe that the Pensieve is necessary, Harry. Right now, I think you need to go to bed, and we will continue this discussion in the morning. I need a little time to reflect on the situation.”

Harry saw a look pass between his godfather and Dumbledore. He turned his head in time to see Remus nod in agreement. Harry stroked Fawkes’ head one last time, and the bird took off gracefully, landing smoothly on his perch. Standing up, Harry saw that Snape also stood and moved towards the door with them, sweeping past Harry without a word.

Moving ahead of Remus, Harry glanced back at Albus Dumbledore sitting behind the large polished desk, a solemn expression on his face, as his eyes followed their movements.

“Good night, Harry, I hope you sleep well.”

“Goodnight, sir.”