The Boy Who Flipped

Exclusive Rita Skeeter

Scenes of chaos and confusion abounded at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry today as the Dark Mark of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named blazes above the School’s Quidditch pitch at the memorial service being held for three missing students. It is now confirmed that the students in question (see pg 5 Brilliance Lost) are deceased; the Ministry is exerting all of its powers to investigate these senseless deaths (see pg 8 Is the Ministry of Magic up to the Task Ahead?).

Amid the terror, this reporter was witness to a display of such mindless grief that even now I shudder as I put quill to parchment. Harry Potter, the much vaunted Boy-Who-Lived, today showed a very different nature to the world. Demonstrating an advanced knowledge of the Dark Arts, he attacked a faculty member severely wounding Professor Severus Snape (see pg 2 Was Snape the Real Target?) before being subdued by the combined efforts of Headmaster Dumbledore and three other teachers. As the boy was being led away he kept yelling, “I told you Snape killed them! I saw it! I saw it all!”

The school’s Medi-witch, Madam Pomfrey, refused to comment later other than to say that the Boy-Who-Lived was under supervision and had been under a great deal of emotional strain. No word is available yet on Professor Snape’s condition.

…

Albus left the Gryffindor Tower with a heavy heart. They had taken three solid hours to get Harry to calm down, or at least calm enough that the boy could be left in Minerva’s care. Three hours of anguished pleas and impassioned accusations from a distraught and troubled child that had felt like three years. Three hours in hell, as Albus was forced to choose between Harry’s sanity and the Order’s need for information. Three hours spent second- and third-guessing himself into a black hole of doubt. In the end it had been the need for information, no matter how tainted the source, that had won the day and forced him to concede the need to protect Severus from Harry and any others who would now be hell-bent on seeing the Potions Master in Azkaban. Only because he refused to waste the deaths of Miss Granger and Messers Smithson and Gray. He felt all of his years as he made his way to his sanctuary, of sorts.

The call of ‘Lemon Drops’ was a subtle siren towards a moment of peace and tranquility before dealing with the problem that was Severus Snape. Unfortunately, that moment of peace was not to eventuate. Waiting in his office sat Frederick Masters; and the Head Auror did not look pleased.

“Albus,” Masters said in a neutral voice as the door to the office opened. “May I have a moment of your time?” The question was entirely rhetorical, of course.

Headmaster of Hogwarts he might be but even he couldn’t just turn around and leave, much as he would have liked to. Masters was going to ask questions he wasn’t prepared to answer, not yet, and possibly not ever. He sighed as he slipped into his other chair. Tonight was not a night for comfort. Even Fawkes did not come over from his perch. A rarity in his life, Albus Dumbledore thought Dark Thoughts.

“How is Professor Snape?” Masters asked.

Not the question Albus was expecting.

“Severus?” Albus managed to keep his voice calm, not hinting at the turmoil in his heart. “He’s currently in the infirmary. I was about to wander down there and speak with Madam Pomfrey.”

“And Mr. Potter?”

“Resting. I believe the last week’s events have upset the boy more than I thought.”

“Yes,” replied Masters. The Head Auror looked inordinately pleased at that comment. “Last week’s event; just what I wanted to talk to you about. Can you tell me why Mr. Potter felt justified in attacking a member of faculty? A faculty member, who as I understand it, has been shown to have had no involvement in those events. Or does Mr. Potter, a student, a student, Albus, have a means of investigation not available to the Auror Corp?” Masters sounded suspiciously like Severus in a mood at that moment; harassed, peeved, snarky even. The image of Masters as Snape failed miserably to cheer Albus up. Fawkes crooned sadly in the background.

“Whilst I’m aware, Albus, that you believe Mr. Potter has a special role to play in the current conflict with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as you have failed to share your thoughts with the Corp; I am disinclined to ignore what happened today,” Masters commented. He was warning Dumbledore that a trade in information, or services, was about to be tabled with the price likely to be Harry Potter.

Once he was sure of Albus’ attention, Masters continued, apparently at a tangent to his likely request. “We had a young man attack an unarmed individual with calculated malice, and I would suggest a reasonable degree of forethought. Yet it appears that you have spent the last three hours ‘dealing’ with the boy without once attempting to ascertain the status of his victim… I would have thought that Professor Snape’s well-being would have been paramount in your mind.”

“There is… a prophecy,” Albus explained reluctantly, well aware that Harry’s action today put him at real risk in regards to what Masters could, and possibly would order. Masters was an accomplished Occlumens , which helped but he still wasn’t about to let the entire prophecy become public. The room darkened perceptibly as Albus’ voice intoned, “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.”

Masters listened intently as Albus spoke; quietly factoring things heard, said and done, particularly in the last week. “Given the boy’s actions today, I’d be very worried, Albus. An attack using Dark Arts, for Merlin’s sake! ‘The Dark Lord’s equal?’ indeed…”

‘Trust an Auror to pick up on that fact and that fact only,’ Albus groused to himself as he surveyed the bowl of lemon drops on his desk. Taking a particularly large piece of candy from the bowl, Albus considered what else he could afford to tell Masters. It was unfortunately, painfully obvious that if he didn’t give a ‘little,’ Masters would take Harry into custody. In many ways the current situation paralleled the incident with the Shrieking Shack so many years ago, and again someone else other than Severus Snape was to be absolved of blame. “Harry was marked as an equal by that scar he bears. At times of heightened emotion he can feel, and sometimes see, what Voldemort sees.”

“And he believes he saw Professor Snape kill Miss Granger?” Masters was stunned at this revelation.

“He believes that is what he saw, yes,” Dumbledore answered reluctantly.

“But he doesn’t know for certain, does he?” Masters continued, showing the ruthlessness that had won him the post of Head Auror.

Looking uncomfortable, Albus had to answer in the negative.

“I’m reactivating Alastor Moody,” Masters said suddenly. “I want him assigned to Severus Snape… at all times.”

“All times?” Albus cocked his head to the side. Albus was very surprised that that was the price. A price he was very willing to pay.

“All times that he is not engaged in his... extracurricular duties,” Masters replied.

That comment bought a frown to Albus’ face. ‘What is it that Masters thinks he knows?’ Albus mused.

Masters continued speaking. “If Snape has played us false, Alastor will be up to the task, and if he hasn’t, I don’t want Mr. Potter alone with Professor Snape.”

“I understand,” Albus replied with a sigh. Merlin knew few were up to the task of dealing with Severus if he had returned to Voldemort in truth. Thinking the unpleasantness dealt with, Albus went to offer Masters a lemon drop. A precipitous act as it proved.

“I want everyone who was at Snape Manor questioned under Veritaserum, Albus, everyone.” Master said as he left Albus’ office.

…

Contemplating Masters’ orders kept Albus distracted as he made his way, finally, down to the infirmary. He rather suspected that what Masters wanted to know was why he had Snape Manor searched. Given that Sirius Black, still fugitive from justice, was the sole reason, Albus felt somewhat uneasy about the request.

Arriving at his destination, he was surprised to see Alastor Moody seated beside the bed where Severus lay unconscious. “Alastor?” The unspoken ‘why are you here’ was heard by the retired Auror.

“After Harry’s little display this afternoon, I thought it would be prudent for someone to remain close by Snape,” Alastor said as he stood to greet the Headmaster, a look of grim determination on the old Auror’s face. “You do realize that someone is going to need to keep an eye on Snape, don’t you?”

“Has Madam Pomfrey indicated when we can expect Severus to wake?” Dumbledore asked across the bed as he settled into one of the chairs near the Potion Master’s bed. He was still taken somewhat aback that Alastor was there, and that he was indicating a sense of… genuine concern towards the Potions Master. ‘What has changed your mind, Alastor?’ Unfortunately, Albus did not think even he was skilled enough to scan Mad-Eye Moody without said person having his guts for garters.

“The only comment I’ve heard from Poppy was along the lines of if he wakes let me know. I suspect she doesn’t expect that to happen in the near future. After all, Harry was surprisingly vicious.” The implied rebuke sounding loud and clear.

“He had his reasons, Alastor,” Dumbledore said, defending the young Gryffindor.

“Did he now?” Alastor queried. “I thought we had established that Severus had nothing to do with the disappearance of the children, Albus. And before you start in about ‘that was before we knew they were dead,’ I’ll remind you that I asked Severus about that as well whilst he was held under the truth charm. So, unless you are going to tell me that the truth charm can be resisted,” the old, now reinstated, Auror stated unknowingly, echoing Masters earlier comments, “of which we have no record of anyone else having successfully doing so, I’d start looking for other possible ways in which the deeds could have been done, rather than focusing all of my attention on Severus.”

“But Alastor,” Albus interrupted without really having listened to a word the Auror had said, “you can’t deny that we now have proof that the children are dead and that fact backs up Harry’s version of events.”

Alastor was somewhat surprised at Dumbledore’s vehemence, and brought forth all his Auror skills to bear. He sensed, in a way that he couldn’t explain, that it was not only important, but essential, to what was to come that Albus stop closing his mind to other possibilities. “No, Albus, all we have proof of is that the children are dead. It does not necessarily follow that Severus had anything to do with it. Remember what happened last time we condemned someone based solely on what someone saw?” Alastor went on, relentlessly hoping to Albus to see past the blinkers he was apparently wearing.

“Think Albus. An unregistered animagus? Somewhat scruffy? Big chip on shoulder because of his holiday at Azkaban? You remember that fellow? Seen to kill Peter Pettigrew. Person by the name of Sirius Black?” Alastor was shouting now.

Albus, unfortunately instead of actually considering Alastor’s words, became bewildered in the face of Alastor’s fury. He was in fact rather confused as to the source of Alastor’s anger; it almost sounded like Alastor really thought Snape had nothing to do with the disappearances, all evidence to the contrary. “The problem with that argument Alastor,” Albus said calmly, “is that no one actually saw Sirius kill Pettigrew. It was all circumstantial evidence, weak circumstantial evidence,” Albus said defending his point of view.

“Isn’t it funny how you now say ‘weak circumstantial evidence’? At the time even you believed it.”

Albus had the good grace to blush slightly at the accusation. He still suffered many regrets resulting from the eagerness he had displayed to accept Black’s guilt, but this case wasn’t anything like Black’s. “In Sirius’ case, the evidence was only circumstantial, this time we have Harry’s visions.”

“Oh, yes… Harry’s ‘visions’,” Alastor said with a snort. “Apart from the fact that we have no idea what, if any, control Harry, or for that matter Lord Voldemort, has over these ‘visions,’ I would remind you… again… that we found absolutely nothing at Snape Manor,” Alastor countered.

‘Ah, so it’s not Severus he’s defending,’ Albus thought as Alastor finished, ‘it’s the skill of the Aurors.’ “And I’d like to remind you that Severus is smart enough to not leave anything incriminating where it could be found. He is a Death Eater, after all.”

“Then why did we bother searching Snape Manor at all? For whatever reason, through Snape’s compliance or some other factor, at least two senior Aurors were identified by persons unknown out of that raid,” Alastor snapped. “Identified and subsequently killed. You could say that the raid was a resounding success…for the other side.”

“Because of Severus’ history.” Albus answered reasonably. “Too many people remember that he is a Death Eater. It would have caused questions to be asked if we hadn’t searched.”

“Albus, you old fool, it was noticed and it has caused people to question; important, influential people. Caused questions because we searched Snape Manor, and only Snape Manor. Whether or not Severus had anything to do with the disappearance of the children, you effectively pre-empted any investigation. The fact, also, that we lost two top-ranking Aurors has sent the Ministry into a frenzied panic. Nothing was found at Snape Manor, nothing! Look at what Harry did today, Albus. Honestly look,” Alastor commented as his hand waved over the still form of the Potions Master. “If any other student had done this to any staff member, that student would be expelled at the least, and if I had my way, be up for a Dementor’s Kiss at Azkaban!” Albus blanched at Moody’s comments.

“I questioned the man, Albus. He was telling the truth—as much as I’d rather he hadn’t—and yet you are ready, willing and it seems quite able to condemn him on the word of a student who we know for a fact has issues with Severus.” Taking a deep breath in an effort to calm himself, Alastor looked across at his old friend. “Severus did not kill the children, unless he did so after I questioned him, and that is unlikely given the monitoring you’ve had in place.”

“No Alastor, all it means is that he didn’t kill them at Snape Manor. The monitoring only covers the Manor, nowhere else.”

“And has Severus actually been to Snape Manor, or for that matter anywhere else, since we searched the Manor without someone accompanying him?” Alastor asked.

“Not unless he can break through Hogwart’s wards,” Albus was forced to admit. “Although he will be accompanied everywhere from now on,” he continued, a ghost of a twinkle in his weary eyes. He used Alastor’s comments as a lead in to telling the man he was now assigned to guard duty.

“What?!!” Alastor roared mutinously, “Reactivated to be a… a… baby-sitter?” The Auror glared at Albus whilst secretly rejoicing at being handed a reason to stay close to the Potions Master. “What am I supposed to do if Harry makes any further attempts to incapacitate Severus?” he asked cautiously.

“Absolutely nothing,” Albus said with shocking finality.

“Excuse me?” This time it was curiosity edged with panic that caused Alastor to react. ‘What are you thinking, you idiot!? Harry will make a puddle of him without protection…’Still, Alastor was sensible enough to keep those thoughts tucked away safely in the back of his head only voicing a general query. “You do realize you might well be condemning an innocent man just to save face with Harry?”

“But what else can I do? It is Harry that has to kill Voldemort,” Albus started to say when he heard a faint whimper. ‘His’ Potions Master was apparently approaching consciousness.

…

His Potions Master was actually not approaching consciousness. He had been conscious since Albus had walked into the infirmary; he just hadn’t let anyone know, yet. ‘I’m not the world’s greatest spy for nothing,’ he mused, cataloguing every abuse heaped on him by Harry bloody Potter. ‘Since when did he get so strong?’ If he had not been hurt so much, he would have been almost proud of the ruthlessness that the Gryffindor had displayed. Almost Slytherin. He choked back a laugh which escaped as a mewling wheeze to be heard by the two protagonists looming over his bed. In fact Severus was quite happy to continuing lying there feigning unconsciousness, but the mention of Lord Voldemort’s name and the fact that his role as a spy was the current topic of conversation forced him to intervene. Whilst he wasn’t absolutely certain that invoking the Dark Lord’s name near the Dark Mark he bore would allow his monstrous Master to listen in on the conversation, Severus was not about to take that chance.

“Don’t.” The word was whispered, the usual volume and venom characteristic of the surly Potions Master conspicuously absent.

“Severus?” Alastor jumped into the breach having rightly guessed what Severus meant to convey. He leaned closer to the stricken spy. “Should I summon Madam Pomfrey?”

Severus, still feeling like his head had featured as the dance floor for the Hippogriff Yule Ball, nodded his head the smallest fraction, an act he immediately regretted. Closing his eyes again and attempting to concentrate on anything but the excruciating pain shooting though his limbs, Severus had to reflect that Potter could teach Malfoy a thing or two about the infliction of pain. Not a pleasant thought, given their reliance on the Boy-Who-Loathed-Him. He’d been surprised to hear Alastor defending his person, though on reflection it shouldn’t have; the Lady after all had been amazingly forthcoming with the retired Auror.

Whilst waiting for the medi-witch to materialize, something that was taking an inordinate amount of time given the state his health was in, Severus took to wondering if he should warn the old Auror to run now before it was too late and Alastor found himself fully embroiled in the Lady’s machinations. His Avatar nature reared its head and soundly refuted that idea. Severus had to concede that having at least one ally appealed to him, particularly in light of Albus’ doubts.

When Madam Pomfrey finally put in an appearance, she was shocked to find the Potions Master already awake. In her professional opinion, the man just shouldn’t be conscious yet. Potter had, after all, done quite a number him. “How are you feeling Severus?” she asked as she approached.

“Alive… I… think...” Mono-syllables seemed the way to go at the moment. One breath in, one word out.

“We’ll have you right as rain in a jiffy,” Pomfrey said as her professional demeanor clicked back. Running diagnostic scans over the patient distracted her from the desire to use a very large and very cold rectal thermometer in a manner not approved of by the medi-wizard board. Potter’s beliefs, coupled with the spectacle that had played out earlier in the day led Poppy to believe Snape had killed, most likely mercilessly, the missing children.

The ‘guarded’ stance of Albus and Moody merely reinforced the idea that her patient was guilty. That her patient was currently suffering multiple contusions, three broken ribs, severe blood loss, and uncontrolled muscle spasms normally associated with the Cruciatus curse almost didn’t register. Snape deserved every pain that was inflicted upon him and the notion that she had to ease that pain, well it personally revolted her. Professionally, though, she would do her duty and see the man removed from her infirmary as soon as possible. Preferably to Azkaban for a ‘short stop and a sudden drop.’

“How long is he going to need to remain in the infirmary?” Albus asked as he watched the witch intently. Anger radiated off the woman, though she was apparently trying to keep it under control. The last thing he needed now was Severus to fall to inadequate care; his trust in the man might be sorely broken but even so he had his uses, but only if he were mobile.

“Two days, possibly three,” Pomfrey answered brusquely. “He’ll need monitoring. He’ll also need regular healing draughts.”

“Dungeons,” Severus managed to croak out into the silence that followed Poppy’s comments.

Actually looking at the man for the first time since he’d been brought into the infirmary, Poppy was surprised to realize how badly injured the Potions Master was. With him wanting to be out of her domain, ill as he was, pricked her conscience in a way that the scans hadn’t.

“Severus, you very nearly died,” she finally said.

Taking a deep breath, and regretting it immediately, Severus attempted to convey the fact he’d heal as well in the dungeon as he would in the infirmary. He had access to all the requisite potions and he’d be in his own bed, safe from students bent on revenge, especially Harry bloody Potter.

“Moody can look after him,” Albus said as Poppy looked ready to argue the point. “After all, you said he needs rest, time and potions. Given the high likelihood of Mr. Potter requiring a berth in the infirmary sometime in the next few days, it might be advisable that Severus wasn’t here as well.”

Poppy conceded the point.

Severus, who had remained still throughout the exchange, was silently amused by the haste with which the dratted woman acquiesced to Albus’ demand. Not one to look a rare gift horse in the mouth though, he kept his firmly closed. Instead he allowed the bliss of unconsciousness to claim him again.

…

Alastor looked up as a long, dark shadow fell over the book he was reading. Professor Snape, a man who shouldn’t be conscious, let alone vertical, stood in the doorway that led from the Potions Master’s sitting room to the bedroom. The room where Albus, Poppy and Alastor had transferred the unconscious man to less than three hours ago still thoroughly dosed on sleeping draughts and other healing potions.

“Severus? Should you be up?” Alastor queried as he rose and approached the man. Running his professional eye over Snape, Alastor had to wonder what it was that was holding the man upright. He was paler than the ghosts that haunted the castle and appeared to possess almost as much substance.

“Severus is needed at the Manor,” a deeply feminine voice issued forth from Severus’ mouth. “Thou wilt be needed too, Alastor Moody.”

“The Manor is warded and monitored,” Alastor reminded the entity that spoke through Severus Snape.

Severus’ features relaxed slightly into a sly smile; that universal smile that graced womankind features, that smile that said they knew something mankind did not. “That is of no consequence. We will not be in the same time as the warding and monitoring.”

“Not… in the same time?” Alastor asked as he watched the entity withdraw from Snape. It was Severus who answered him.

“The shuttle we ride will be a warp-end behind the now, a stitch out of time.” Severus’ voice was weak, lacking the commanding power that normally coloured his tones. “However, I need you to apparate me to the Manor border. I’m a little under the weather at the moment.” ‘A little under the weather’; that was the understatement of the hour.

“Albus will know we are gone the moment we leave, Severus,” Alastor cautioned.

“Doesn’t matter. In the now, we are here and here we remain. Just concentrate on sidelong apparating me to the Manor grounds, Alastor. My Lady will take care of the rest,” Severus said before he collapsed into Moody’s arms, “Now, if you please.”

“And Hogwarts wards?” Alastor asked his burden not really expecting any reply.

‘Are of no consequence to me,’ a deeply feminine voice replied in the Ether. A voice that chilled him to the bone with its power and contempt of so-called magic.

…

Less than a week ago Alastor had stood beside Snape as they’d left Snape Manor. Today he returned, but his perceptions were undeniably altered. Of course, what Alastor believed to have changed was soon to be challenged again but as he apparated the injured Snape to the Ward-side he was distressed to consider the fate of the missing children, highlighted so vilely by the Dark Lord at the memorial service. He had since observed Harry Potter apparently commit an Unforgivable on the man who, even now, could barely stand unaided, without a mention of consequence and that enraged his Auror sensibilities. He was still unsure exactly what the boy had done, and that frightened him, just a little.

“We’re here,” Alastor remarked quietly to the man he supported as they appeared beside the Ward-edge of Snape Manor. “Do you need any assistance in removing the wards?”

Severus, Presence supported, snorted rudely, the very idea that anyone else could take down the wards, backed as they were by the Lady’s Grace, was laughable; the only laughable thing about the day so far in his estimate. “No, Alastor, I believe We can handle this.”

Rather big words considering that he required the Lady’s Grace just to stand, let alone deal with the wards, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Withdrawing fully into that place in his mind that was Herne, he allowed ‘Severus’ to fall away as he embraced all that he had been, all that he was now and all that he would be. Wrapped in Grace, he turned to face Alastor again just in time to field the next question the Auror intended to ask.

“Has Albus sensed us leaving Hogwarts?” Alastor used the question as a roundabout method of asking how ‘he’ had managed to apparate through the anti-Apparition wards about the school. Even Albus was only ever able to Portkey from the school, and that was with authorized keys.

“We have not left the school yet, Alastor Moody,” the deep rumbling voice that was more than Severus answered. “We used your apparation to allow us to slip back a stitch in time.”

The blank look Alastor shot at the Presence indicated rather well that he didn’t have a clue what the Presence meant.

Rather than leave the man confused, for a confused Auror was always a dangerous thing and he would be suffering enough additional confusion soon enough, the Presence attempted to explain when they now were. “What do you understand about Time-Turners, Auror?” it asked by way of introducing the subject.

“They are Ministry-level classified objects. There are only five of them in existence and their usage, where and when-abouts is strictly controlled by the Unmentionable Division. The method to create them has long been lost, and apart from Albus managing to secure the use of one for Miss Granger during her third year at Hogwarts, it is generally believed that the common wizard is no longer even aware of their existence.”

“Five points to Gryffindor,” the Presence said. Alastor was somewhat taken aback that the entity knew his background. “You forgot to mention that they are extremely dangerous, as changes in time ripple through the tapestry of life, generally in destructive ways. As the Lady is not a Time-Turner but the weaver of time, We can slip backwards in the fabric, though rarely will We drift more than a stitch.

“We have slipped back in the fabric about half a warp, thus the signals that monitor us have happened before we slip into the stitch. From here, We can see ahead but we are bound, in that We cannot change what now happens ahead. We are forced to follow in the stitch’s weave.”

Severus then turned away from Alastor and began the delicate process of dismantling the wards at this time whilst ensuring that they remained in force in the NOW. A very tricky task made all the more-so by the fact that it was not Severus who was dismantling them, at least not directly, and the injuries that had been inflicted upon the Avatar’s body had yet to be fully dealt with. Eventually, after calling forth into the Presence enough of Severus to aid in the spell casting, the wards were lowered. “This way, Alastor Moody,” the Presence said as it allowed Severus to slip back into a healing sleep, “we must get to the library as quickly as possible.”

Alastor followed, wondering all the while how Severus {who moments before had looked ready to fall flat on his face} could manage to walk, let alone run at the speed of a petty criminal fleeing justice. He was aware that there was a Presence about the Potions Master but how much of one, he still failed to comprehend. As it was, Alastor arrived nearly five minutes behind Severus and as a result was treated to the tagged end of the complex spell casting that released the binding on the portrait that hung proudly on the east wall.

The portrait, which he well remembered from the search of the Manor, spewed forth an eerie light as Severus appeared to lower an Ebony wand; not the wand known to belong to the Potions Master, or the other wand that Alastor was aware of. ‘How many wands does Severus own?’ he wondered briefly; the adage that a wand chooses the wizard, espoused as it was by Ollivander, tended to suggest a one-wand/one wizard rule. Snape had at least three wands, and that was a worrying thought.

The further contemplation of wand numbers was cut off abruptly as the weird light faded and the results of Severus’ spell casting became apparent. As Alastor approached the Severus ‘entity’ cautiously, Admiral Duncan stepped out of the portrait.

“What the bloody hell!” Alastor exclaimed when it became obvious the person was not a figment of his imagination. He was even more shocked when the portrait man addressed Severus.

“Hold on there, Severus, I’ve got you,” Admiral Duncan said as he quickly moved to support the Potions Master. “De Winter, get your blasted bones out here. Severus is solely in need of our help,” he continued as he turned to address the painting again.

Another man, silvered hair pulled back in a queue, clad in black breeches, black Hessian boots and a black military style coat of the late 18th century, stepped out of the painting and immediately focused on the immobile Alastor. “Tare an' hounds, man, get yourself over here and help us before old Snape sticks his spoon in the wall.”

Shocked to be addressed so by a painting, Alastor was a little bit too slow on the uptake, at least as far as the man ‘De Winter’ appeared to think for said gentleman let loose with a torrent of dock-side cant as Moody failed to ‘get his self over here’ fast enough. Before Alastor had a chance to fully process what was happening, another man {this one dressed as a British Lieutenant} stepped out of the portrait admonishing Admiral De Winter for his foul tongue.

The Lieutenant would have continued the admonishment indefinitely except that at that moment a small groan was heard from Severus. Instantly the Lieutenant’s focus shifted.

“Severus, what has been done to you this time?” the Lieutenant asked as he assisted Admirals Duncan and De Winter to man-handle Snape to one of the wing-backed chairs that were set around the room. “Jaidy, Pepper, I need you in the library!” the Lieutenant yelled loudly, the sound echoing about the room.

Severus’ eye’s flashed open at the sound of Lieutenant’s voice and his entire body seemed to relax. Whoever this Lieutenant was, his mere presence, more than that of anyone else in the room, appeared to be a balm to the injured man. However, before the Lieutenant had a chance to question Severus, the air was disturbed by two small ‘pops’ as house-elves appeared at Snape’s side.

“Master,” the female of the two asked, “what do you need?”

Whatever Severus replied was to low for Alastor’s ears to catch but the house-elf Jaidy, whom Alastor remembered full well, disappeared instantaneously, apparently tasked to retrieve some potion or other. The Lieutenant meanwhile bobbed down low and instructed the other elf to remain by Snape’s side. With a worried glance back at the semi-conscious Potions Master, the Lieutenant stepped away from Severus and turned to face Alastor.

“Mr. Moody,” the Lieutenant asked as he approached, “could you please tell me what in Circe’s name has happened to Severus? It will make things considerably easier if we know what we can afford to heal.”

It worried Moody that the Lieutenant’s comment seemed to imply that the full healing Severus was not on the agenda. Feeling somewhat out of his depth as a result, Alastor reply was a rather terse. “Who, the Bloody Hell, are you to be asking me such questions?”

Brendan, who had enough experience with the Lady’s Grace to recognize that they had shifted in time, was rather surprised that someone had been allowed to accompany Severus back in the flow of the fabric. Having actually recognized Moody, from the various diatribes Severus had on occasion had with regards the retired Auror, he was beyond stunned that Severus would allow the man to even glimpse, let alone become aware of his full nature. Something dramatic must have changed the relationship but even so to have the man snap at him though was outside of enough. The fact that Severus must trust this person completely didn’t necessarily translate into Brendan taking any attitude from this… entity; that was Severus’ privilege. “I’m Professor Snape’s aide-de-camp, Brendan’s the name. I know who you are, Alastor Moody,” he added, somewhat coldly. “Now would you answer my questions?”

Alastor was about to scoff, loudly, when he realized that maybe Snape did need an aide-de-camp; even if said aide didn’t appear to register to any of Moody’s magical senses. Whilst considering what a Muggle was doing at Snape Manor, Moody reluctantly decided that disclosure was the better part of ending up on the Lady’s bad side and so he went on and explained what had happened earlier in the day: the Memorial service, the Dark Lord’s gift, and most importantly Harry Potter’s reaction. It was as he was detailing Harry’s reaction that Jaidy reappeared.

“That is explaining the Malice,” the diminutive elf commented. “The injuries, bad but should not be resisting Poppy’s healing. The Malice is what is causing all the pain. We be treating that. We be leaving the rest to healing by Poppy.”

“And he’ll be alright?” Brendan asked, sounding rather worried.

“He be having multiple contusions, three broken ribs, and severe blood loss. Someone has been casting Cruciatus, or something very similar, also,” Jaidy replied enumerating the damage done. “Looking like he coming home from meeting Dark Master, the Malice is bad thing, very bad. Potion be countering it, then we be finding out what Master wants,” Jaidy said before she began to pour potion after potion down Severus' throat all the while chanting Latin verses. As she chanted, foul smelling black ooze leaked from Severus’ left eye, Pepper, meanwhile, stood on the arm of the chair to be better able to reach his master's left eye constantly wiping away the muck.

Accepting that there was nothing he could do to help Jaidy, Brendan turned and considered the other problem currently facing them; should he retrieve the children from the portrait or not? A gentle sigh in the back of his mind answered that question. Brendan grinned ruefully and he could sense the Lady’s impatience. Obviously, the Lady trusted Alastor for some reason, and it was not his position to gainsay the matter.

“Admirals, if you please, could you help with the others?” Brendan asked, drawing the men’s attention away from Jaidy and her ministration, as he walked back towards the Portrait.

“Others?” sputtered Moody as fresh light spewed forth from the portrait.

It was with amazement that Moody watched as the two (supposedly) deceased boys were lifted from the painting as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His magical eye spun wildly in confusion between the boys and Brendan, finally settling on Brendan, who just smiled at him.

The light from the portrait then increased to a painful level as all in the room had to shield their eyes. When their vision returned, Alastor stepped back in shock as Hermione Granger floated out of the portrait and approached the still unconscious Potions Master. Dropping to one knee Hermione reached out and took Severus’ right hand and bobbed her head to kiss the bruised knuckles.

Unheard by the others in the room a bell like tone sounded through the Potions Master’s brain, waking him from the healing sleep that had been induced by the potions that Jaidy had been pouring down his throat.

“Done and done, my champion!” The Lady cried as Hermione lips had touched her Avatar.

Severus sat there stunned, blinking as Hermione collapsed to her knees at his feet; sitting almost like a supplicant at Merlin’s table. Though Hermione’s mouth moved, it was the Lady who spoke. “You need more allies, my love, and she has accepted the burden with full knowledge and forethought as to the consequences.”

It was then that Severus sensed the Lady had indeed allowed the Gryffindor knowledge of everything that pertained to his nature and role as the Lady’s Avatar. He was thankful, at least, that his Lady had thought to protect the young mind afterwards, sealing off parts of Hermione’s mind until she was able to comprehend the truths she now knew; The seals would gradually open as she matured.

Whilst attempting to bring his mind into focus, Severus was distracted by the Lady’s voice, imperious and demanding as she addressed the Alastor Moody. It was only later that Severus realized that the distraction had been deliberate, for it had prevented fully contemplating Miss Granger and therefore the implications of the Lady’s Mark which was now prominent in the girl’s mind and on her brow.

“Alastor Tiberius Moody!” The imperious voice sounded so loudly that the Auror fell to his knees. “Wilt thou protect all here to the best of your abilities?”

He could feel the entity slipping through every corner of his mind, weighing, judging and finally finding him worthy of trust. “My champion is imperiled and the Snake is dominant, I cannot command thee, merely implore thee, wilt thou help?” Alastor felt one, no three implacable minds hovering at the edge of his sanity waiting for his answer. They were impatient, but would wait an eternity for his answer. “I’m not a bloody Saint Bernard,” he snarled: he sensed the entities’ amusement. “We didn’t ask for one,” they replied primly. “We need wolves, not lapdogs.” Alastor got a glimpse of the contempt the Lady had for ones such as Lucius and Sirius. He laughed out loud, startling those present, since this had all been in his mind, and for the first time, in a very, very, long time, he felt wanted and useful. “I’m beginning to see why Severus is so important,” he replied. “You want a head-kicker, I’m your man, and damn anyone that stands in my way.” He felt a light brush of lips on his cheek, and he blushed.

Severus, who had remained quiet throughout Moody’s tirade, just nodded once at the man before he let his gaze drop towards the girl at his feet. Looking closely at her, his vision shifted, as wait tended to do when he was out of time, such that he no longer looked at the girl but through her to…

…

“Now Lucius,” The Dark Lord Voldemort said as he inclined his head towards the blonde who had just apparated into his ‘throne room,’ “tell us, how well was our gift received?”

“Not well, My Lord. Not well at all,” Lucius replied as he approached his dread Master and bowed down at his feet. Not once, as he approached or whilst he had bowed down, had the blonde looked up to assess who else might be present at this gathering. He would not move his focus from Lord Voldemort until he had received explicit permission to do so. It was in observation of the ‘little’ niceties that ensured a Cruciatus-free encounter; mostly.

“In fact your gift did rather seem to thoroughly distress Mr. Potter,” Lucius continued, his eyes still fixed firmly on the floor. A fact that was actually a life-saving act, for at that moment, the smile just visible from behind the silvered half-mask was not exactly a pleasant smile. However, one should not enjoy another’s misfortune without first having shared it with the Master. “Mr. Potter did, however, show some… talent…”

“Continue,” Voldemort commanded as he bent and lifted Lucius’ face so that he could see into the blonde’s eyes and read his lackey’s thoughts.

Lucius, well aware of his Master’s talents, did not shy away from the inspection, nor did he seek to discover who else might yet be present at this meeting. Safe in the knowledge that Severus Snape, at least, was not going to be present due to the beating the man had taken, Lucius allowed the scenes that had played out at Hogwarts earlier in the day to scroll across his memories. He rather enjoyed watching Harry Potter demonstrate considerable skill in the precise application of pain. Still, the early memories of the day, which Lucius was currently offering up for inspection, did not show the target of Potter’s rage, only that Potter was rather capable of extended cruelty when enraged.

“Someone has obviously been teaching the boy,” he commented with considerable glee. “He showed considerable talent with the casting Dark Curses,” Lucius fairly crowed as a particular scene danced across his memories. It seemed the Golden boy wasn’t so ‘innocent’ after all. Enjoying the ability to gloat at other misfortunes, Lucius didn’t even stop to consider whether his next comment would be well received, “Pity poor Severus was the target.”

“Excuse me?” Lord Voldemort queried in a gentle tone. Too late, Lucius realised his mistake. “My potions maker was the target of Mr. Potter’s attack?” the Dark Lord continued in a conversational tone, his head tilting to the side.

“Yes, My Lord; he was, My Lord.” Lucius tried, unsuccessfully, to bow his head away and avoid further eye contact. All he got for his trouble was a sore neck and the unpleasant sensation of being the source of amusement for others; Bellatrix’ laugh, in particular, grating on his nerves. “Severus was the target of Mr. Potter’s wrath. It seems he believes that Severus actually killed the children,” Lucius babbled, intent on preserving his own life. He had no idea where Voldemort’s rage originated, but he certainly did not want to be the target.

“Show me, my little blonde snake,” Voldemort demanded, his eyes blazing red, as he forced Lucius to face him, tearing the silver half-mask off to ensure nothing obscured Lucius’ eyes.

Concentrating hard, knowing that his survival, at least for the next few minutes depended on it, Lucius called to mind with exquisite clarity the scene of Dumbledore, McGonagall and Pomfrey dragging the enraged boy from the Quidditch pitch. Voldemort saw the boy struggle and fight, all the time yelling “I told you Snape killed them! I saw it! I saw it all!”

“He saw it? Curiouser and curiouser,” Voldemort hissed, slipping unwittingly into parseltongue. Lucius’ face sheened with sweat as the Dark Lord bored deeper and deeper into his mind. “I wonder how? It is not like my potions maker to be that careless,” he mused. Still, the question of how the boy had ‘observed’ Snape dispatching the children would have to wait, the groveling Slytherin at his feet obviously knew no more. Releasing Lucius, almost like a lover, Voldemort contemplated ways in which Mr. Potter might have seen Severus Snape playing with the children.

Voldemort continued to wonder, and in that wondering decided that he would question Severus very closely next time; very very closely. However, that questioning could wait, whereas Lucius was in need of a little reminder of his place in the circle. “Now Lucius, you really shouldn’t have enjoyed the misfortunes of one of your brothers, should you?” Voldemort asked rhetorically.

Lucius, well aware of the type of punishments the Dark Lord liked to mete out to the unfaithful {and preemptively enjoying the misfortunes of another of the faithful counted as being unfaithful} was rapidly searching amongst the tidbits and oddments of The Dark Arts that he had collected and memorized over the years for something that might redirect his Master’s wrath. A small idea niggled at the back of his brain; he hurried it along as he watched Voldemort begin to raise his wand. What was it again? Yes, blood…it was an obscure use of blood… tainted blood in fact.

“My Lord,” Lucius spoke quickly into the silence that was the drawn breath for Crucio, “I believe I know a way to further weaken the blood protection on Potter.”

Voldemort’s hand stilled.

Taking the action as implicit permission to continue, Lucius explained what he knew of the Bleeding Woman Potion; he’d found reference to it in a very old, and rather obscure treatise that Narcissa had found, tucked away in a box of Dark Arts texts that had belonged to the Black Family. Unlike most potions that utilized menstrual blood as a key component, this particular potion actually required that the woman from whom it had been obtained was no longer pure, no longer a virgin. Given this perceived lack of purity, potion makers throughout history had more or less ignored general menstrual blood as a useful ingredient. It was, after all as common as muck. The Bleeding Woman Potion was the exception to the rule; it actually required the blood that others ignored.

What made it interesting, in light of the current circumstance, was that it could be used to attack blood protections, inverting the type of protection that Lily Potter’s sacrifice had placed upon her son. Lovers’ blood to negate Love’s blood.

“Lovers’ blood?” Voldemort queried with an anticipatory smile upon his face.

“Given Mr. Potter’s reaction to your kind gift, my Lord,” Lucius said as he breathed a silent sigh of relief, “I suspect that he and the Mudblood were somewhat… close. It would appear that the Skeeter woman, for once, was correct about their relationship.”

Thinking this a good time to score additional points over the man he considered his chief rival for eminence amongst Voldemort’s faithful, Lucius continued speaking. “In fact, I am surprised that Severus did not suggest this potion, my Lord. He has the Mudblood’s moon blood and from what I know of the potion it should not be outside of his limited abilities to brew.” The text in which he’d found reference to the potion was old, obscure and generally unknown, but that didn’t prevent Lucius from using its existence as a rod for Severus’ back. Slippery as the snake that characterized his house, Lucius failed to mention that he’d never even heard of the text itself, let alone its contents, until forced by Narcissa to deal with the piles of unsorted scrolls, papyrus and tomes that were stored in the catacombs of Malfoy Manor. Given the nature of many of the texts, it was his responsibility to house them correctly and Narcissa could be very shrill when angered. Having had one of her house-elves, one particularly good with coiffures, eaten by a stray book had been the final straw.

“Yes, I do wonder about that,” Voldemort replied as he considered Lucius’ words. ‘A potion to override Potter’s blood protection, yes it is surprising that Severus has made no mentioned of such a potion, but then Snape is but a Potions maker, talented but not omniscient,’ he mused as he continued to watch the Blonde Snake. “Another reason to speak with our Potions maker, I think; as quickly as possible. Lucius, I presume you have a copy of the relevant tome that Severus might need?”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Then fetch it here, whilst I summon Severus. We have many things to discuss.” Upon saying that, Voldemort concentrated on calling through the Severus’ Dark Mark. A smidgeon more than the usual malice was applied to be sent as a warning. He expected his potions maker to make all haste in responding to the summons, after all he was ensconced at Hogwarts where whatever injuries Severus had sustained should have been dealt with efficiently by the school’s obnoxious Medi-wizard. Some allowances would be made for the level of injury, but only some.

‘Yes,’ Voldemort thought with a great deal of satisfaction, ‘my potions maker is in for a very, very interesting time.’