The Essential Ingredient

Chapter 4: Fiducia

"I think," Harry said to Draco the next morning, "that a visit to Dumbledore is in order."

Lupin, with a very exhausted face, had only walked in that morning to greet Harry and Draco with a forced smile. Then he'd left again, excusing himself to a meeting with the other faculty members that undoubtedly concerned Professor Dumbledore.

"I suppose we must," Draco agreed in a reluctant voice that Harry knew was quite phony. He knew the blond was not so terribly inconsiderate as he always tried to seem.

They quickly walked down the hallway leading to the infirmary. Harry had decided that he didn't want to share his Invisibility Cloak with Malfoy just yet, and it wouldn't do for them to return after Lupin's meeting with the other teachers had ended. Harry was sure that despite his usual cheer and lenience, the professor would be angry with them, especially if he found out where they had been. Nearly no one was allowed into Dumbledore's private room in the infirmary; Madame Pomfrey was concerned that he would be bothered, and might grow even more ill.

The two students peered into the nurse's room to be sure that she, too, was present at the faculty meeting, and hurried into the new room that had been created for the sake of harboring the headmaster.

Harry stared at Dumbledore's lined face. He seemed entirely at peace, his frail body moving almost imperceptibly as his chest rose with each breath. In sleep, his face was very gentle, and reminded Harry of a young boy, despite his age. Harry could see the blue veins underneath the headmaster's pallid complexion, and he felt a sudden pang inside him as Dumbledore's old age became painfully apparent. He watched the professor with a strange nostalgic sadness, his throat feeling parched and sore. This was the man who had almost been a father to him. This was the man who had protected him, who, Harry now realized, had loved him as a son, who had always been there to advise him and teach him. Harry forgot that Draco was next to him, and some spark inside him compelled him to lean down and kiss the headmaster's brow, which was silver with age. As he straightened again, he was reminded of Draco's presence, and he stiffened, expecting a mockery of some sort. But it never came. The blond was silent.

Harry was suddenly in great need of someone to speak to, and wished that Draco wasn't there. He wished that Ron, or Hermione, who was forever understanding, could be here to listen to him, to console him, to let him sob upon their shoulders for all the mistakes he had made in his life. He needed to express himself in words, to say something aloud for the sake of hearing them himself.

"He was...almost the parent I never had," Harry said, his voice cracking. He was speaking more to himself than to Draco. "Both of them. Dumbledore and Sirius." Harry briefly realized that he must have momentarily lost his sanity to be confiding in the Slytherin.

But the blond nodded mutely.

"We can't let him die," Harry whispered hoarsely, shaking his head. "We can't."

Draco drew a deep breath before speaking. "I never had a father. Not really. And my mother was never there." His voice was quiet, so much so that the other boy was greatly surprised. "You're lucky to have so many people love you." Harry could hear the slight bitterness in the blond's wistful tone.

"Harry? Draco?"

The two boys both turned to see Lupin standing in the doorway. "I thought you might be here." His voice was kind, and not at all chiding.

"I'm sorry professor," Harry began apologetically. "It was my idea to come, I--"

Lupin smiled. "It's alright, Harry."

Both boys relaxed visibly, and turned back to the headmaster. Lupin moved to join them at the side of Dumbledore's bed.

"Professor Lupin--" Harry hesitated, looking up at Lupin's weary face. "He's not getting any better, is he?"

The professor sighed audibly. "No, I'm afraid he isn't."

"What's wrong with him...exactly?" asked Draco in a tentative voice that Harry had never heard him use. "I mean, we know that the evil power in his body is killing him...but what happened yesterday?"

"He experienced a magical seizure," Lupin replied at last, after a long moment. "It means that the foreign magic inside him tried to take control of his body, and his own powers reacted violently to repell it. It's a very dangerous situation, and it rarely ever happens."

"But I thought Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape had been using spells to try to prevent something like this from happening," Draco said quietly.

Lupin nodded gravely. "Yes. But the spells failed, and after the seizure, the potions and the other charms stopped working."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked in a sharp voice. "They can't stop working!"

"It means," the professor said very gently, "that the headmaster is beyond our help."

"No," Harry shook his head insistently. "I don't believe it. There must be some--some spell, or another potion--there must be something that you're overlooking."

"I'm afraid there's really nothing else, Harry," Lupin replied with a sad and tired look. "We've tried our best."

Harry felt the anger rise up in him, involuntarily. No, he thought to himself, willing the rage to subside. It was senseless; why was he so ridiculously angry? But the frustration was too much, and combined with the effects of the spell upon him, he found himself shouting furiously. "Your best isn't enough, Professor! What have you done? What have you tried to do? Absolutely nothing! How can you say that you've tried your best if you're calling 'your best' what Madam Pomfrey and Snape have done? What have the other professors done? You've all stood about staring sadly at Dumbledore, but you haven't done a single thing! Not one thing that could help him! You're all--" He stopped himself, realizing that he was ranting and speaking of senseless things.

Lupin looked shocked at his outburst. "Harry--"

Draco interrupted him, speaking with a hint of his arrogant drawl. "He doesn't know what he's saying, Professor. It's the spell that Madam Pomfrey put on him--the one that hypersensitizes his emotions and senses. He's only frustrated."

Harry sat down wearily. No, I do know what I'm saying. He wanted to argue with Draco--who seemed too calm, after all that they were being told--Harry wanted to tell Lupin that he meant everything he had said. But another part of him told him it wasn't true, Malfoy was right. He was raving like a madman, and it was because of the potion. And what had he said? Nothing...only a bunch of nonsense that only a fool would say. Harry felt suddenly ashamed of himself, and buried his head in his arms. He was only dimly aware of conversation occurring between Lupin and Malfoy; the words seemed so vague and distorted... He couldn't hear very clearly what they were saying; he didn't want or care to hear, either.

At last it seemed that the room had grown silent once more, and he looked up. Professor Lupin had gone, and Malfoy was sitting in a chair that was drawn up to Dumbledore's bed.

"Where did Lupin go?"

"He went back to his classroom," Draco replied, not turning around. "He said we could stay, if we wanted."

Harry pulled his chair up alongside the blond's. "He looks so old."

"He is old, Potter."

"But he never really looked it," Harry said.

Draco shrugged. "If you don't think that having wispy white hair and wrinkly skin makes you look old..."

Harry threw him a sharp look. "That's not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Harry asked in a neutral tone after a long moment.

The Slytherin turned his head and raised his eyebrow. "You were pretty quick to trust me yesterday."

"You mean I was too rash," Harry said dryly. "I've been given no reason to trust you. I shouldn't have just jumped to it yesterday."

Draco stared at him. "Potter, what's with you?"

"Seriously, tell me why I should trust you?"

"What reason do you have to not trust me?" the blond replied.

Harry snorted. "I can give you several. One, your father was one of Voldemort's most valuable Death Eaters. Two, you've been raised in a family of Dark Wizards, and everyone can guess you've been taught quite a few tricks concerning the Dark Arts. Three, you've been nothing but a git since that first day I met you when I was being fitted for my school robes. Four, you've always--"

"Alright," Draco interrupted. "I get the point. And I suppose it wouldn't suffice if I told you very simply that I've changed?"

"Malfoy, do you honestly think that I would believe you've changed after all these years?"

"Yes," the blond replied with an earnest tone.

Opening his mouth to speak, Harry found to his own surprise that...despite everything, he did believe that Draco had reformed. He shut his mouth and slumped in his chair, feeling rather defeated, and unable to think of any words to counter the firm "yes" that Malfoy had given him.

"You do believe me, don't you?" Draco said, sitting up in his chair. "You can't think of anything to say because you know you believe me, and you can't help it. And maybe, one of these days, you'll start realizing that I am a decent person, and not the horrible, slimy git you still think I am."

"Malfoy--" Harry began, although he wasn't sure what he was going to say.

"I'm leaving. There are things I have to do." And so he rose from his chair and left the room.

Harry remained sitting in his wooden chair, contemplating what had occurred in the past few moments, and unable to decide what it was he was feeling, exactly. All at once he felt confusion, contempt, sadness, and shame fill his heart. Had he really misjudged Malfoy so badly? Or had it been misjudgment that the blond had deserved? And now, why did he feel so guilty and stung by Draco's words? Harry decided that these were questions he could figure out later. But for now, he needed to find Ron and Hermione.

* * * * *

He soon found his friends sitting in the Gryffindor common room quarreling over something McGonagall had gone over in class. He interrupted them, not really caring to participate in their argument, nor act as their audience.

"Listen, you two," He said impatiently. "Shush for a moment, I've got to talk to you about something important." When he finally had their attention, he explained to them what had happened to Dumbledore on the previous day. "...And now all the professors have given up hope. Even Lupin says there's nothing else to be done."

"They're going to just let him die?" Ron exclaimed with a horrified look on his face.

"Well, obviously not quite so literally. The professors aren't going to just sit there and watch him die," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"But that's pretty much what it sounds like, isn't it?" Harry said grimly.

Ron shook his head. "How can they just give up like that?"

"Well, I'm certainly not giving up. Malfoy and I--"

"What? 'Malfoy and I?' Don't tell me you've become friends!" Ron said, a slight scowl on his face.

"Just listen," Harry said. "Malfoy and I are planning on trying to help Dumbledore ourselves. We need your help. Both of you."

Hermione began to speak. "I think--"

"No way!" Ron interrupted before she could finish. "I'm not helping with anything that involves Malfoy."

"How can you be so inconsiderate, Ron?" Hermione said reproachfully. "He's trying to help, too!"

"And how does Malfoy have anything to do with this, anyway?" Ron asked, ignoring Hermione as if she hadn't spoken.

Harry threw his books down angrily. He realized that he probably should not have expected Ron to understand. "He has everything to do with it! We're taking classes together...we're going through the same thing. He's not--"

"You--you--how can you turn your back on us like this, and just suddenly start siding with Malfoy?" Ron sputtered furiously. "--Is he blackmailing you, Harry?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, feeling the frustration and anger building from within him once more. "That's ridiculous! Nobody's blackmailing me! And I'm not siding with anyone - there's nothing going on that involves choosing sides!"

Hermione stood up. "Ron, stop this, you're not--"

"Why, then, Harry?" he shouted, interrupting her yet again. "Why are you acting like this? Have you lost your mind?"

"Ron!" Hermione yelled. "Stop it! You're being immature!"

Harry took off his glasses and squeezed his eyes shut. His head was throbbing, and his scar was stinging with pain. It must be the spell, he thought to himself. Voldemort was dead; he knew his scar couldn't be hurting because of some link with the Dark Lord.

"I need your help," he said in a voice drained of energy.

"No, you don't," Ron replied shortly, in a hard voice. "Malfoy can give you all the help you want." He picked up his books and stormed out of the common room before Harry had a chance to reply.

"Harry, don't even think about what he says," Hermione told him. "Just ignore him."

"So will you help us, then?" Harry raised his pleading eyes to meet hers.

"Of course I will. I'll do what I can," she replied in a quiet voice. "But I'm--I'm not sure what there is that we can do."

He sat up straight in his chair. "You know...I don't think we know what really happened."

Hermione looked confused. "But I thought they told you - didn't you say--"

"No," Harry shook his head. "I don't think they told us everything. Let's go get Malfoy, and then we'll see."

"Harry--" she glanced at him with a hesitant look.

"I trust him," he said firmly. "I trust him completely."

Hermione nodded. "Let's go, then."

* * * * *

"Where are we going?" asked Malfoy. Harry and Hermione had found him in the library, and now the three of them trudged silently down the stairs leading to the dungeon. "And why is she with us?"

"We're going to find Snape," Harry replied shortly. "And Hermione has agreed that she'll help us."

"Snape?" He sounded surprised, but recovered after a moment and said in his usual drawl, "Weasley refuses to help, then?"

Harry ignored Malfoy's last comment. "I don't believe that we've been told everything that happened. And who would know what really went on better than Snape?"

"What makes you think he's going to tell us about it?" said Draco.

"You're going to be the one to ask him," Hermione said. "You can go in first, and we'll join you after he's agreed to talk to you."

The blond said nothing in response, and Harry gathered that he was satisfied with this plan.

They eventually reached the Potions dungeon, and knocked on the door to Snape's office. Harry and Hermione stood off to the side as they heard a cold voice say, "Come in."

Draco opened the door, hesitant, and not really moving to enter the room. "Hello, Professor."

"Mr. Malfoy, how can I help you?" Harry heard from inside the room.

"Er, I...well...I was..."

Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione and gave Draco a hard shove in the back. The Slytherin stumbled into the office. Harry imagined that at the moment, Snape was raising his eyebrows at Draco's unusual behavior.

"Yes, well, you see, Professor, I was wondering what really occurred that night at Malfoy Manor," Draco had resumed his cold, demanding personality. "Because I don't believe I know the exact story. And I thought that perhaps you'd be so kind as to enlighten me?"

There was a moment of silence, and Harry wondered what Snape was thinking. Then, he heard from inside the office, "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. Sit down."

That was their cue. As Draco stepped forward to sit in the chair facing Snape's desk, Harry and Hermione casually entered the room. "Accio chairs," Harry called with his wand raised, and two wooden chairs from the class room flew to Draco's side, where he and Hermione then joined the blond.

Snape scowled at them, no doubt irritated by their rudeness. "So, a party of three. Shall I invite the rest of the students in for story time as well?"

"Well, Professor?" Harry said, unperturbed by the professor's glare. "You were saying?"

"Several years ago, I betrayed the Dark Lord, and became a spy for Albus Dumbledore," Snape began rather reluctantly. "This much, I'm sure, you were already aware of. The spell that I used to defeat the Dark Lord was magic that only a willing traitor could perform. It is commonly known as 'The Spell of Treachery' and has been recorded in ancient tomes of Wizard history, but was only attempted once in all the years that humans have existed. The reason: because the one time it was attempted, the wizard using it died before he was able to complete the spell, and it failed. It is a very dangerous spell, and has been proven so by studies, as well as by that one instance of failure. For months, I had been preparing this spell..."

"Severus, why did you not tell me what you intended to do?" asked Professor Dumbledore in a tired voice.

"You would have tried to stop me," Snape replied.

"But the prophecy, Severus. Have you forgotten that? You did not need to spend your time preparing for the 'Spell of Treachery'..."

"Forgive me, Headmaster," he said. "I have little to no faith in prophecies, and I feel that even if the prophecy were true, there is too great a risk for us to wait for the outcome, and there is too much of a probability that the Dark Lord will triumph over Potter."

"And so you would sacrifice your life, if it came to that?" Dumbledore said.

"I believe I have a good chance;" Snape said in response. "I am a true traitor to the Dark Lord, and if in this way I succeed in defeating him, I shall be able to repay you for those years that you helped me."

"Severus," the headmaster said very gently, "there is no need to repay me for anything. You owe me nothing."

"Albus, please." Snape lowered his head.

Dumbledore sighed and said grimly, "You must do as you will. And if it be your wish, I will help you with the spell."

"Thank you, Headmaster."

"You understand that there is a large probability of failure?"

Snape nodded. "Yes, sir."

* * * * *

Of course, Snape did not tell Harry, Hermione, and Draco about the conversation that had occurred with the headmaster. He merely said, "I had no conviction--at all--concerning the prophecy, and I believed the 'Spell of Treachery' to be the last possible solution." If it seemed strange to the three students that the professor could speak so indifferently of making such a sacrifice, they did not show it. Harry was quiet, Hermione absorbed all that she heard with rapt fascination, storing it in her mind to be pondered and analyzed later, and Draco sat stiffly in his chair, his cold silver eyes resolute. Snape's gaze often swept over Harry and Hermione, but Harry got the feeling that he was never really seeing them, or he was looking through them, rather than at them. Not once did he look at Draco. He continued to talk with the air of someone being forced to confess to a crime, but nonetheless, he spoke willingly.

* * * * *

"Severus, how can you be so blind?" said McGonagall, shaking her head. It was nearly a fortnight since Snape had confessed his intentions to the headmaster. "The 'Spell of Treachery' will not succeed. You have little better than a three percent chance at defeating the Dark Lord with it. Forget these ridiculous plans. Trust in the prophecy."

Snape looked up from his bubbling cauldron for a moment to sneer at her. "You, who have never in your life listened to any divinatory statement, are now telling me to trust in the prophecy?"

McGonagall ignored this. "Severus, you cannot do this."

"All preparations have been made. There is no turning back." Snape returned his attention to his potion, stirring it slowly. Three stirs clockwise, seven stirs counterclockwise.

"Please, Severus," she continued to argue. "This is suicide!"

"It is not your suicide, so I don't see why you're so concerned," he replied in an indifferent and bored voice.

"You have a ninety-seven percent probability of failing!"

"Stop it, Minerva! I am not going to change my mind. All I asked was for you to bring me Dumbledore's scrolls, not for you to plague me like a stone in my shoe. And you might be quite interested to know that there is significantly less than a ninety-seven percent chance of failing. Albus and I have developed a backup plan."

"A backup plan? Oh well, that just solves everything, doesn't it! A backup plan does not guarantee that you will succeed!" McGonagall exclaimed, exasperated. "Very well, let me hear it."

Snape glared at her for a moment before speaking. "In the case that the spell begins to waver and fail, Albus is to throw to me a thread of magical energy. I will then use this thread as a channel to draw energy from him to stabilize and enhance the spell."

"What?" McGonagall exclaimed, her arm accidentally knocking over a glass vial. The vial rolled off the edge of the desk and shattered as it hit the edge of the cauldron, its powdery contents spilling into the potion; a few fragments of glass joined it, tumbling in after the fine brick-colored grains. Snape cursed loudly and shot McGonagall an acid look. She ignored all this and cried, "So now Dumbledore is going with you as well? How can you let this happen? This will be the death of the Wizarding world! With Dumbledore gone, the Dark Lord will not hesitate to attack Hogwarts, and Potter will be in great danger!"

"Minerva," he spat angrily, "you've ruined my potion."

"This is madness! Have you lost your senses?"

Snape's eyes flared as he began to speak in a low voice. "You've ruined the potion that I have been brewing since three nights ago. You've also just wasted a large portion of one of the rarest forms of--"

"I don't care about the potion!" she shouted. "In this task, you are endangering more than just your life! You--"

"Calm yourself, Minerva." Dumbledore stood in the doorway of Snape's classroom.

McGonagall turned to him. "Albus! How can you let him do this?"

"It is his choice," Dumbledore replied, as if that solved everything.

"But--"

"I would appreciate it, Minerva, if you did not hinder us." The headmaster's voice was gentle but reproachful. "We are to perform the spell tomorrow tonight, and we need all the help that can possibly be given to us."

"Albus, surely you--"

"The best way that you can be of any aid at the present time," Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice, "is to leave this room and speak of these plans to no one."

"But--" McGonagall began to argue. She stopped, knowing that it would make no difference. "Yes, Headmaster," she said at last, and left the room with a heavy heart.

* * * * *

"We had intended for our plan to be put into action on the night of September the first. The Dark Lord would not be expecting us then; it was the start of term, and also he had heard a rumor about Hogwarts and believed that Dumbledore was unable to leave the school. In truth, the rumor had been planted by one of our agents in his circle. The timing was very critical; the 'Spell of Treachery' must be timed accurately and correspond to the phases of the moon."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Surely you have studied this in at least one of your classes," Snape said, sneering.

"When a spell is that large and powerful, it affects everything around it, and everything affects it," Hermione explained. Harry had no doubt she was paraphrasing from her textbooks. "That means that the position of the moon will determine how well the spell works, because at different phases, the moon can sometimes draw power away. Occasionally, the spell is so humongous that the position of the entire solar system needs to be taken into consideration."

"Yes, thank you, Miss Granger," Snape said with a distasteful glance at her. He continued. "So Dumbledore studied the phases, and determined that the best nights to perform the spell would be the twenty-seventh of August and the first of September. August the twenty-seventh was too close for us to make our final preparations, and September the first was perfect. Two weeks before the marked date, the headmaster and I left Hogwarts. We told everyone we had gone to Norway with a secret task, and that no one was to owl us because if the owls were intercepted, our location could be given away. In truth, we had gone to a small abandoned Muggle cottage near where we guessed the Dark Lord was hiding. We also did not want any owls because the cottage was thought to be abandoned, and owls flying to and from would give us away. We had prepared other forms of communication.

"However, our plan went awry when we received a message from a strange-looking bird the night before. Dumbledore was furious when he saw the bird. He thought it was from Hogwarts."

* * * * *

"I told them to send no owls!" Dumbledore said, his eyes flaring. The large bird swooped in as the headmaster quickly opened the window. It was neither owl nor raven, and yet it was similar to both creatures. Snape guessed that it was crossbred. It dropped a scroll tied with silver ribbon and left.

"What does it say?" Snape asked him.

Dumbledore slipped the ribbon off the end of the scroll and unfurled it. Immediately, the parchment burst into angry crimson flames. From the fire, sparks flew into the air, forming new flames and slowly tracing letters above their heads.

"Good evening, Dumbledore," the fire spelled out. "It might be of some interest to you to know that at this very moment, Harry Potter is standing in front of me and my Death Eaters. I'm sure you are already aware of our present location. Harry Potter is waiting for you."

The fire formed the letters slowly, and at the very end, the remaining flames arranged themselves into the shape of the Dark Mark, Voldemort's signature.

"It's a trap," Snape immediately said.

"Indeed it is," Dumbledore said grimly, waving his wand and causing the fire-letters to disappear. "But I fear we have no choice. Voldemort knows I would not fall for such a charade; his tricks are never cheap. Alas, I believe that he really does have Harry."

"But how is that possible? Potter is at Grimmauld Place--"

"Was," Dumbledore corrected him. "He was at Grimmauld Place. However, you are right--we cannot be sure. I shall take the portkey and hope against hope that Harry is safely sleeping in his bed. Finish the last of the preparations quickly--you know what to do. Make haste, and meet me just inside the entrance to their lair in half an hour. I shall not be late. Do not tarry here any longer than you must. I fear he has spies."

Snape nodded. "And what of the plan?"

"I think..." Dumbledore hesitated before saying, "We should go through with it tonight. Yes."

"But the moon--"

"The date is close enough," Dumbledore said. "We shall have to do our best and hope that luck is on our side." He opened the cabinet where the portkey, an old and worn leather shoe, was stored. He nodded to Snape in farewell, and picked up the shoe, disappearing.

* * * * *

Snape quickly collected the things he would need and put on his coat. He grabbed Dumbledore's handdrawn map and put out all the candles with a wave of his wand. Just as he thrust open the door, a circle of green fire sprang up around the cottage. He cursed and let the scorching door go. It swung back into the frame of the doorway and the emerald flames licked at the wood.

He pulled out his wand to conjure a self-refilling basin of water. It didn't work. He realized that the fire must be spell-resistant. Fire was Voldemort's specialty, as he recalled quite clearly. Any magic performed while inside the circle of the flames would not work. Snape took a few deep breaths, trying not to panic. If he was correct about this fire, it would spread fast but consume slowly, to ensure the pain of torture.

A potion. That's what he needed. He stared at the burning door, thinking hard. There was always a kit of valuable concoctions that he brought with him when he traveled - who knew what chances might cause one to need them? What potion could he use? Probably only his most potent form of Corpodifuoco. It was a potion invented by an Italian witch that allowed the person who drank it to be resistant to certain fires. He'd used two different versions of that very potion for his obstacle years ago when Dumbledore had been hiding the Sorcerer's Stone at Hogwarts. He wasn't sure it would work with such flames like the enchanted fire at hand, but it was his only chance.

The wooden door crumbled (it had been much more resistant than Snape expected) and the rich green flames tumbled into the cottage, crackling with glee as it began to spread upon the earthen floor. He was running out of time. Damnit, there were no matches. And he couldn't use magic...so he had no source of light. The fire provided only a dim and eery glow - in fact, in broad daylight, it would be hard to see the fire was even there. He had just enough light to prevent himself from crashing into the walls.

How on earth was he supposed to find the potion? Snape couldn't remember where he'd left the kit of brews; he knew he didn't bring it with him tonight--he wasn't carrying any potions at all...taking all those vials would be such a nuisance. Maybe it was under his bed--he certainly couldn't recall seeing any of his bottles anywhere before he put out the candles. He hurried into the only other room the cottage had, kneeling down and stretching his arm out, feeling along the ground, hoping against hope that his hand would touch something. He inched his arm further under the wooden bed, and was about to give up when his thumb hit something cold and hard. He heard the sound of a something rolling, and then it stopped.

His heart beating quickly, he got up on his knees and squinted. There! The edge of a cylindrical shape was gleaming in the darkness. Snape snatched it up, pulling out the stopper and wafting with his hand to catch the scent of the vial's contents. It smelled metallic and sour, with a hint of forest herbs. Yes! It was the potion he was looking for! Without hesitation, he downed the liquid, feeling the ice cold sensation as it spread quickly throughout his veins.

He didn't have much time, the potion would wear off fast. The other room was already filled with fire, and the flames were crawling toward him slowly. He looked around the room, his arm tightly clutching his belongings. The window--his only exit. Snape grabbed a brass candle holder and plunged it through the window as hard as he could. The glass shattered, and he broke off a few extra pieces along the edges. The fire was just outside and below, and he shuddered as the cold sensation was renewed when he slipped through the window and stepped into the flames. Quickly he sprinted into the surrounding forest before he could be seen by any spies of the Dark Lord.

He watched from behind a cluster of trees as the cottage was swallowed in green flames. Then, from a thicket on the other side of the cottage, six black-robed men strode out cautiously.

"Let's go," Snape very clearly heard one of them say. "If he hasn't escaped by now, then he won't be able to. There's no point in staying here and waiting for the whole thing to turn to ashes. It'll take hours." The others murmured in agreement and the six turned to leave, the last one casting the Dark Mark into the air above the cottage.

* * * * *

Snape closed the door slowly behind him. The door led to a dark tunnel, and by the light of his wand, he could see fresh footprints on the ground. He checked the back of the door for any sign. Sure enough, there was a small "D" rune scratched into the upper right corner of the door. Dumbledore's mark. Snape knew he was at least twenty minutes late for the appointed meeting time. Dumbledore must have gone in ahead. A chill of fear snaked down his back. He was afraid that the headmaster might have fallen to danger, and decided that the best choice was to go on and use the element of surprise - the Dark Lord would not be expecting him after his Death Eaters had reported burning the cottage.

Carefully, Snape began to make his way down the dark tunnel, his wand lit and held out before him. Several other tunnels joined this one as it wound its way left and right through the darkness.

* * * * *

"Here is where I joined you," Snape continued in almost a monotone voice. "When I reached the end of the tunnel, the door opened to a completely empty room. There I realized that the Dark Lord must have used one of his oldest and favorite tricks - a form of apparating he created himself using Dark Magic. It can transport a room full of people all at once, after they are all within the defined boundaries, and it allows more unusual things to occur - such as how the Cage was moved with you to Malfoy Manor. I had no doubt that he had taken you to Malfoy Manor, and so I quickly apparated there and entered from an old back entrance that I used when I was a Death Eater.

"As I entered from behind, breaking open the door, I saw that Dumbledore was in the Cage and you were sitting in a chair that magically connected you to the Dark Lord. I had not expected him to use the Cage, because I had not realized he could draw from someone else's energy for it. The Death Eaters immediately try to take hold of me, but I held most of them off with a few hexes and tried to get your attention. Just as many of the Death Eaters were recovering, you lost consciousness," he said, looking at Harry.

"I pulled you out of the chair and shielded you at once so that the Dark Lord was no longer connected to you. As I cut off the string that united you, he was momentarily shocked. I threw another round of hexes about the room, putting out more Death Eaters, and then quickly I released Dumbledore from the Cage, using the reversal spell that I had been taught in the earlier Dark Years. Dumbledore immediately recovered a little, and we proceeded with the 'Spell of Treachery' just as the Dark Lord regained his senses. The details of the spell do not concern us at the moment, but as you might have guessed, the spell began to fail within mere minutes. The Dark Lord had terrible power that I could not match, and the spell began to waver, dwindling slowly, and taking my energy as it did so. Now was the time to use our backup plan; I had nearly forgotten it."

* * * * *

"Severus!" Dumbledore called, getting Snape's attention. He knew what the headmaster was about to do. Both of them sank into a sharp internal focus - a form of mind-magic, and Dumbledore 'threw' him a line of magical energy that he gratefully received.

Snape breathed deeply as energy began to flow down the line, refreshing him and allowing him to stabilize the spell. From his wand, a pale light began to glow, growing larger and brighter until at last it began to move to surround Voldemort, who still held his wand out, trying to defeat the spell. Snape was using the last of his own energy, and he felt the spell dip just a tiny bit as exhaustion began to overtake him, but Dumbledore quickly sent more nourishing energy his way through the open channel they had formed. The spell was strengthening, and Snape tasted the joy of nearing his victory. But it did not last long, for the Dark Lord realized what was happening, and knew very clearly that it could be the moment of his destruction.

Voldemort threw a flaming sphere at Snape, similar to those that he had sent at Dumbledore through the bars of the Cage, in the hopes that he would distract the potions master and cause the spell to fail.

However, because Snape was now only acting as a conduit for the energy and power from Dumbledore to pass through to build the spell, he was unable to condense his own remaining energy to block the fireball. Instead, he involuntarily absorbed the magical fire and it was sent down the energy link into Dumbledore. In his dismay, Snape broke the spell, realizing the disastrous effects of what had happened.

Because the sphere of fire had been sent by Voldemort, it contained the Dark Lord's magic, and was still connected to him. When the fireball was absorbed into the channel between Snape and Dumbledore, it drew power from Voldemort and plunged itself completely into the headmaster's body--fire, magical energy, and all.

It was this, and not the 'Spell of Treachery' which caused the destruction of the Dark Lord. But before Snape could even realize that they had left Voldemort so magically wounded that he was sure to die, he quickly dragged both the bodies of Dumbledore and Harry to the very southwestern corner of the foyer - it was the only location in the entire manor that allowed Wizards to apparate. Snape brought all three of them to Gorthwitse, the secret location of the Order that was nearest to Hogwarts, and from there he called for help. Harry and Dumbledore were taken to Hogwarts as quickly as possible, and from there, Healers from St. Mungo's were summoned to come to their aid.

Snape was still forced to stay in the infirmary for a few days, although he was relatively unharmed. The Healers were amazed at how little he had suffered from the ordeal at Malfoy Manor, but he knew that it was because he had only been an open channel that connected to Dumbledore. Dumbledore could not have performed the spell himself, for he was not the traitor, but when Snape began to fail and the headmaster connected to him with the thread of energy, he became almost a useless puppet. The ball of fire had only flown through him; it had done nothing more than use him as a passage of transportation. Snape did suffer from a slightly sprained wrist (from smashing against the door), and reverberations of the experience of the magical current sweeping through his body, but those were only very minor injuries. His body had almost been...an insulator; and his magic had held the link that allowed Dumbledore's power and Voldemort's power to pass through interchangeably.

* * * * *

"There is a valid reason why the headmaster is now suffering from what could be fatal aftereffects: when the sphere of enchanted fire was sent through our link, he engulfed it. The burning sphere was still connected to the Dark Lord by a string of magical energy. Dumbledore was not expecting it, and when he involuntarily absorbed it into himself, he pulled the rest of the Dark Lord's powers into himself as well. He tried to stop the current of energy that was flowing through me and into him, but he had no control over it because of our magical link."

"Do the Healers know about this?" asked Hermione, her voice trembling only enough for Harry to notice.

"Yes," Snape replied very calmly. "The Healers from St. Mungo's were unable to purge the headmaster's body of this magic with any safe spell, potion, or charm. There is one spell that might be used - but its effects might cause more than just the foreign magic to be purged, and can cause a wizard to lose both his own magic and sanity. The Healers also spoke of other options, but all were more dangerous than the next. There is too much at risk; nothing more can be done."

"If you don't try anything, then isn't it just as pointless as sitting by and watching him die?" Harry asked tensely.

"If the Healers do try one of their spells, the effects could be worse than just causing a death, or causing the headmaster to lose his sanity," Snape responded, with a look to challenge Harry's. "The magic inside Dumbledore is foreign, evil magic. It's fighting against his own energy, and eating him up from the inside. He is dying because of this consumption, and also because the torture that was inflicted on him had already begun to devour his mind, magic, and body when he resisted it."

There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation before Hermione asked, "Do you know any more about the fire that was set on the cottage?"

The professor nodded. "The Ministry questioned the Death Eaters that set the house on fire. When we received the fire-spelled message, the fire was charmed to notify the Dark Lord of how many people had read the message. Therefore, he knew that someone had accompanied Dumbledore, and to prevent that person from escaping, he sent his Death Eaters to set a charm that would trigger his fire when the door to the cottage opened. The Dark Lord guessed that the headmaster would use a portkey or a similar form of transportation to check if you," he nodded at Harry, "were at Grimmauld Place, and thought Dumbledore probably wouldn't leave via the door. He guessed right.

"Now," Snape said with a final tone and standing up, "I think I have wasted quite enough of my time with you today. I'll see you in class."

"Goodbye, Professor Snape," Hermione said, and Harry could be sure that it was the first time he had heard her say those words without any hint of negative feeling. He supposed she must've appreciated that he told the "truth." But who knew if it really was the truth, anyway?

Harry held back, waiting for Hermione and Draco to leave the room first. Then, as he reached the door, he turned around. "Why did you tell us? How do we know we can trust what you've said?"

"There is no reason for me to justify or prove my actions to you, Potter," Snape said with his usual foul look. "Be content enough with what I have told you."

"Fiducia," Draco said as Harry rejoined them. "Trust."

"What?" Hermione said, apparently lost.

"Nothing," Harry replied, sharing a knowing look with Draco. How odd, he contemplated. He could almost call Malfoy...a...friend.

* * * * *

Author's Note: Be sure to check out my website at www.airiviel.vze.com and my discussion group at groups.yahoo.com/group/AirivielFiction!