The burning of the Dark Mark jolted Snape out of the half-doze he'd fallen into. The poison he was working on still had 47 minutes left to simmer by itself before either of them had to do anything to it. He'd wanted to have at least this one done before the next meet, but the Dark Lord was not going to wait.

As another wave of pain doubled him over, he shook Draco awake. With a few words, and pointing at the large forbidden tome left out open to the correct page on his desk, the potions master left to answer the call.

Pre-dawn light coated the countryside around Snape and the half dozen extra Death Eaters that were waiting for the Aurors. Rookwood had let slip in Knockturn Alley that there was going to be a meeting of Death Eaters there this afternoon. He'd known about the green Auror standing behind the shop door, and had counted on the newbie to run screaming home to his superiors.

By all accounts, he had. The dark wizard catchers were out in force this morning two miles away, near an abandoned stand of Muggle buildings. They were a noisy lot, Snape mused to himself, off to one side of the group. Bella had been eyeing him, no doubt wondering why their master had chosen the traitor to come along. Snape was wondering the same thing…

…until he caught sight of the two Aurors who were supposedly in charge: Dawlish, Fudge's henchman, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. The female that came up on Shacklebolt's opposite side had to be Tonks, pink hair blazing in the light.

Moving to Lestrange's side, he bowed slightly and whispered, "Order members."

Her eyes lit up. "Where?" A grin appeared when he pointed out the two newer members of the Order of the Phoenix, still standing out in the open…no. Severus shook his head. They didn't want to be seen, surely. Targets? Diversions?

The leaders of the light side began to move out, toward the hidden Death Eaters, rendering the question moot.

Like so many other times, Severus found himself ducking, dancing around, jumping and generally lacking any grace on the field of battle. The Slytherin was disgusted with the battle in general and its location in particular. Dueling was dignified, this was not. Dueling was in a clean, indoor environment. This was in a field, with holes in the ground that could lame a horse, not to mention a man, and mud. Above many things in his life, Severus Snape valued his dignity. This mess suited him as well as the dress that dratted dunderhead had put his image into back at Hogwarts for a cheap laugh to dispel a boggart with.;

At least in the last war he'd known which side he was on. Fight the Ministry, the Muggle-loving fools and the Mudbloods. There had been targets aplenty. Now, with his mixed loyalties, he couldn't just kill with abandon. Part of him longed for the olden days.

Nostalgia would kill him; a curse from his own allies - now wasn't that a stretch of the word - crashed into his shoulder, spinning him to the ground. Bella's high-pitched laugh sounded in his ears as he struggled to his feet, wincing when he put weight onto the limb. He staggered slightly, leaning on the old shed to keep his feet. The Auror she had presumably been aiming at dodged another curse and ran off. How fortunate for you…

His eyes, following the doomed Auror, watched as twin Cruciatus curses cut him down, compliments of the siblings. He also saw someone else, moving from hiding spot to sparse shelter.

Potter.

Of all the lectures he'd endured from the Headmaster over the boy's six years of magical mischief training, he'd kept hearing the same thing from the old man: Keep Harry Safe. The boy had made it bloody difficult, starting right from the Sorting. The Invisibility Cloak hadn't made his job any easier, nor the map, nor any of the hundreds of excuses the old Headmaster had made for the golden trio. Now the idiot was purposely trying to kill him via a heart attack and a nervous breakdown.

Lurching away from the building, hoping to draw attention away from the approaching figure, he came around the corner, and got hit full-force with a jet of red light from a masked figure. Collapsing inside the doorway, blood oozing down the side of his face, he vaguely wondered if he had a concussion, a simple stunner, or a cracked skull.

He was beginning to wonder if he even cared.