The Upper Hand

"Fatigued with life, yet loth to part,

On hope the wretch relies;

And every blow that sinks the heart

Bids the deluder rise.

Hope, like the taper's gleamy light,

Adorns the wretch's way;

And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray."

MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS...

An indistinct shape. Blurry...upside-down. A familiar voice, but wracked with sobs. And then screaming--screeching--into the dark; she was being suffocated, crushed, drowned, obliterated.... Then it stopped. Red, red eyes. Bloodshot, blood-lusting, rapturous red eyes, boring... so fiery, and yet so, so cold. A hand touching her cheek, sucking all the warmth out of her so that her only blanket was the sticky, copper-smelling substance that was slowly soaking her through. Drowning her.

She cried for help, for Mama, for God, for death, for anything. She was tossed aside. Left to stare into the dark, crying, drowning, sticking to herself and the soft, sultry pad beneath her. There was no love left in this room for her. No comfort.

Low murmurs rumbled through her body. She did not understand them, but they terrified her. They were not like Mama's voice. Mama's voice was gone forever.

The room began to smother her; she wanted out, out! She struggled, and she screamed, but it was no use. She was stuck to the blankets, paralyzed by infantry, forced to witness everything. A shockwave jolted through the room, and now someone screamed with her, agonized.

And then...empty. Nothing left. She cried not for Mama, God, or death--but to rid the room of this rank silence, this paralyzing void....

***

Charity jerked her eyelids open with a cry. For one terrified moment she thought she was blind, the room was so dark--but then she realized she could make out the sheer green draperies around her bed, shifting ever so slightly in a draft.

Her bed felt so big, so hard, so cold. Why was it so dark? Was it normally this dark at night? She couldn't move under her heavy velvet blankets; she was pinned, trapped under them, her tiny arms and legs struggling against them like she was drowning, or buried alive...

She screamed as loud as she could, her shrill voice echoing uselessly within walls of stone. She beat and kicked out at her blankets, writhing, squeaking, mustering up all her strength and panic to free herself from their trap. She rolled off the side of her bed, hitting the floor with a thud. Her knees knocked hollowly against the unforgiving stone, skin scraped away. She curled up against the wall, feeling her stinging, sticky knees. The feel and smell of blood wafted up from them, panicking her as the echoes of her own gasping sobs surrounded her, magnified tenfold.

Where was Severus? Why wasn't he here? She needed him, she needed him! Couldn't he hear her crying? Where was he?!

Sobbing and petrified, Charity fell on all fours and began to crawl toward the dark shape of her doorway.

***

It took James awhile to realize why he was awake. He yawned, stretching slightly under the sheets, and reached for his wand on the table beside his bed. He pointed it at the ceiling, muttered a spell, and it cast a circular image of light upon the ceiling, with shadows for tick-marks and hands. It was three in the morning, and James was suddenly aware that he needed to go to the lavatory.

He set his wand back on the table and sat up, groaning slightly. He glanced over at Lily, who was sleeping peacefully, curled close to his side. Smiling, he lightly pulled one of her dark red curls and watched it spring back over her face. The crib in the corner held their son; the sounds of contented, deep breaths of a sleeping baby drifted across the room.

James slid sideways out of bed, careful not to wake his wife. He grabbed his dressing gown, which was crumpled on the floor by his feet, and cinched it around him. Before he turned to go, he grabbed up his wand again, slipping it under the belt of his dressing gown. The stone under his bare feet was cold and dusty as he made his way across the corridor to his private lavatory.

When he had completed his business, James wandered back out into the corridor. Lethargic and half asleep, he hardly acknowledged the small snuffling sound coming from somewhere around his ankles. That is, until his right shin hit the source of this snuffling, which then emitted a sharp cry, and he pitched headfirst onto the floor. Now the snuffler was positively bawling.

"What the hell--!" James exclaimed in shock. He was lying on his stomach, his legs still entangled with whomever he had tripped over. His right hand scrabbled along the floor for his wand, which had fallen from his dressing gown and was rolling away from him along the corridor. When he had found it and pulled himself into a sitting position on the floor, he raised it.

"Lumos!" James hissed into the dark.

The silvery light from his wand fell upon the terrified face of a small girl. It took James a moment to register that it was none other than Snape's little sister. Her frizzled black curls fell all over her stark face, which was smeared with tears. Her lip was bleeding, presumably from his tripping over her. As she shriveled away from him, squinting in the light, James noticed that her palms were rubbed raw, with grit stuck in them, as if she had been crawling for quite some time. Her knees were also bleeding and dirty, and she was barefoot. All in all, she was a pitiful sight.

"Hey," breathed James cautiously, as if approaching some wild, cornered beast. "Heeey."

He thought for a moment, too bewildered to say anything else. Her crying had stopped, and she simply stared at him in terror.

"Calm down, sweetheart," he coaxed softly, reaching out a hand to her. "Calm down, okay? I'm not going to...hurt you..."

She did not recoil from his hand, as he expected her to. Rather, as his hand cupped her cheek in a gesture of comfort, her tiny body shuddered involuntarily. He drew back his hand instantly, shocked. Her round eyes stared wetly into his, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

"What are you doing all the way up here?" James asked her gently, pushing himself to his feet and squatting before her. "Where's your brother?"

"I--d-don't--know!" Charity gasped, her eyes widening further still. "I--woke up--had a n-nightmare--he was g-gone, and I don't--know where he--went--!"

She was sobbing again. Suddenly, James was furious. Snape had just up and left her? In the middle of the night? What the hell was wrong with the bastard?

"Shhh," whispered James. "You're going to be just fine. I'm going to take you back down to the--to where you and your brother stay, okay? I'll stay there with you until he gets back. D'sat sound okay?"

She nodded, wiping her face with the back of her hand. James was struck with a sudden thought.

"Can you wait here just a minute?" He asked her. "I'll be right back. I'm just going right in there--" he pointed to the door just a few feet to his left. "--for a minute. Don't go anywhere."

Charity nodded again, and James ran back into his room. He was fully awake now, breathing quickly, and he threw his trunk open, digging around in it until he found a roll of old parchment.

"James?" muttered Lily thickly from the bed.

"Go back to sleep," he hissed over his shoulder, smoothing the parchment out on the floor and muttering a spell so that a dim light filled the room. "I'll talk to you in the morning. Go back to sleep, don't worry. I'll be back later."

She didn't respond.

James placed the tip of his wand on the parchment and whispered to it: "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good..."

The familiar map scrawled out from the tip of his wand, and upon scanning it he discovered that his suspicions had been confirmed; there was only one miniscule dot labeled with the name Snape, and it was lurking right outside in the corridor. Severus Snape was not anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds.

In an even angrier satisfaction, James muttered "mischief managed!" to the map, threw it back into the trunk, and ran back out into the corridor. The little girl still stood there in the shadows, sniffling to herself.

He knelt down before her, and she looked up at him, her eyes full of sorrowful trust. She held her arms out expectantly. James blinked quizzically at her for a moment before he finally understood.

"Do you want me to carry you?" he asked her gently. She nodded again, promptly putting her arms around his neck as if it were a frequent procedure. Unfamiliar with the weight and girth of a five-year-old girl, James awkwardly circled his arms around her, under her bottom, and lifted her. She helped him, hooking her ankles at the small of his back and laying her head on his shoulder.

He began to walk toward the dungeons, his heart breaking for the tragic little girl in his arms whose caretaker seemed to be as cruel to his kin as he was to everyone else. James was determined to wait with Charity in Snape's office until the bastard walked in the door. He wanted Snape to see the poor thing, how neglected she was! No child deserved to be abused this way.

The journey to the dungeons was slow, and James muttered soft comforts to Charity as he walked. She was silent now, neither crying nor sniffing. Perhaps she, like James himself, was simply waiting.

"Almost there," he whispered as they turned into the dank corridor where the entrance to Snape's rooms was. In the dim light of a single torch lit at the end of the corridor, James could see that the ebony door to Snape's office was wide open, the silver handle glinting. He set Charity down at the doorway, pulling his wand out to light just one candle on the desk. She followed him inside, keeping close to him as if something horrible lurked in the shadows, waiting to pounce on her.

"Will you sit with me?" she said in a tiny voice, her left hand tugging a handful of his dressing gown by his knee. The light from the candle flickered in her eyes as James smiled at her.

"Of course," he said, moving to sit in the leather chair behind Snape's desk. He lifted her up onto his lap, and she leaned back against him, closing her eyes.

For the next few minutes, James watched her fall asleep, wondering how Snape could bear to treat her in such a way. It would be like--like leaving Harry all alone in his crib for a day, with no one there to talk to him, play with him, feed him.... The thought made James ache inside, and so he tried to put it away. He just kept the image of the terrified, glassy eyes of a little girl, pleading with him through the dark, so forlorn and so lost.... He kept that image alive in his head, fueling his resolve.

He waited.

***

Severus stumbled down the corridor, focusing wholly on just putting one foot in front of the other... just twelve more steps...just ten more steps...just six more steps...oh gods it hurt...just three more steps....

He fell against his door as he twisted the handle, realizing too late that it was not latched. He fell with an unforgiving momentum into his office, crashing face first to the cold stone floor.

"Aah," Severus rasped painfully, breathing raggedly and trying to struggle back to his feet. His legs just wouldn't function properly; they seemed to be made of gelatin, with a will of their own. Just when he had won a useable amount of control over his limbs, and he was about to rise from a squat to a stand, light abruptly filled the room. It was blinding and painful to Severus's bloodshot eyes and he fell back to the floor most ungracefully, throwing his hand up to shield himself against the light.

"Well, well, well," sang a bitter voice somewhere above him. "Bit late for a school night, isn't it?"

"Wha--who--?" He squinted up through his fingers toward the voice, and as his eyes adjusted to the light he registered a humanlike figure standing over him. It grew a mop of extremely messy black hair that seemed to be fresh from the pillow, then a black dressing gown materialized on it, and with a final blink the complete and infuriating form of James Potter stood unwelcome in his office. Severus froze, his eyes widening in horror behind his hand.

"You--" he croaked, pushing himself (finally) off of the floor to face Potter.

"Me," Potter said in an annoyingly melodramatic tone. "And would you like to know why?"

"No," said Severus curtly. He was too out of it to care; he could face Potter in the morning, face his inquisitions and whatever else he had in store for Severus...just not now. He just wanted to go to sleep...for consciousness to cease at last.... "Get out of my office."

He turned and stumbled toward the door into his bedchamber.

"No you don't!" hissed Potter, grabbing Severus by the arm and shoving him against the wall beside the door. "You listen to me. Look over at your desk chair."

Too limp to fight back and too stubborn to let the pain of his weathered body being slammed against a wall show, Severus slowly, lethargically, peered over his assailant's shoulder toward his desk.

His heart stopped.

Charity was curled up in his leather desk chair, asleep. Her face was dirty, pale, and tearstained. Her lower lip and chin seemed to be stained with dried blood. Her hair was wildly strewn about her. Her knees were scabbed....

A sudden alertness and impossible strength surged through Severus, and he tried to push Potter aside.... But unfortunately even that strength was not enough. Potter slammed him ferociously against the wall once more, his face twisted in a very unbecoming grimace.

"You sick bastard!" he spat into Severus's face. Severus belied himself and flinched. "You're supposed to be her caretaker? You? How can you just leave her here like this!? How can you--"

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY!" Severus suddenly exploded. Over Potter's shoulder, Charity jerked awake, blinking. Severus gave up on muscular strength and let himself fall against Potter. It worked--Potter stumbled backward, and Severus dropped painfully to the floor and scrambled on his hands and knees toward Charity.

Charity burst into tears, recoiling from him.

"Charity," Severus gasped, "Oh my God, what--!"

"YOU, THAT'S WHAT!" Potter bellowed, grabbing Severus by the shoulder once more and throwing him backward onto the floor, away from Charity. "YOU LEFT HER HERE WITH NO ONE! SHE WAS TERRIFIED! She wandered all the way up to MY ROOMS before I found her!!!"

"You don't even know what you're talking about," Severus shrieked at him in denial. "Get out of here! GET OUT! GET--"

Potter lunged forward, striking Severus hard on the side of the head. The back of his head hit the floor with a crack, and there was a moment's blackness before the room materialized again. He flinched, his body automatically curling up in helpless self-defense: a stance he hadn't had to use in a very long time. But no more blows fell.

"NO!" Charity was screaming. "Don't hurt him! Don't hurt him! Please, please don't hurt him!"

Potter was standing back, breathing heavily, staring inscrutably at the scene before him. Severus blinked, realizing that the screaming was coming from right on top of him; Charity had thrown herself from the chair onto his chest. A dry sob escaped his throat, and his arms came up around her. She buried her face in his chest, her tiny body wracking with violent sobs.

"Shhh," Severus begged her, though coaxing himself more than his sister. "Shhh.... It's alright...."

Potter stood there, watching in horror.

"Get out," Severus growled venomously, glaring up at him. Potter's face was dangerously set.

"Dumbledore will hear about this," he panted, pointing vaguely at him. "I know what you're doing. I know.... Dumbledore will hear...."

"Get. Out."

"She doesn't deserve this... She doesn't...you don't deserve her!"

"GET OUT!"

"Fine," Potter snapped. "But mark my words: you'll pay for this. You'll pay for all of it in the end!"

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

A long, aching silence followed. Charity still cried softly into his robes, clinging to him as though he was her only buoy in an endlessly deep sea. They lay on the floor together, Severus staring sightlessly up at the dungeon ceiling, his left hand resting gently on the back of her matted head, trying desperately not to think.

Razor blades...

He shook his head furiously, tears blinding him. NO.

Charity...

A fifteen-year-old girl sat next to him, talking sense into him, the only sense he'd had in his entire, miserable life. She didn't even know him, but she knew him. And she cared. NO!

"No matter how hard things get," she said, "there's always a way through them."

Yeah, right, Severus screamed back at her from the future. You lied to me! You stupid, lying, infuriating wench! You humiliated me, you conspired against me, you tricked me! You forgot everything! You left me! You tricked me! You made me believe you cared! You used me! You...died for me.

The silent tears made their way out of his eyes and quite suddenly weren't silent anymore. Fighting it as hard as he could, he began to sob, the motion of which tore his aching body from the inside out.

No, no, no, no, no... She was a liar. She was using me. She never cared. Severus grappled furiously against the madness of it all, scrabbling desperately for a logical handhold. He is the only one who ever cared! He took me in, he took care of me! He...tortured me?

Charity was sobbing louder now too, and instead of clutching at his chest she was beating at it, squealing words he couldn't decipher into his tear-soaked robes. He only held her tighter, grateful for the beating.

Red eyes or brown? Memories or redemption? Death or Death Eater? Everything or nothing? Love or hate? Trust or deception? Lies or truth? Delusion or reality? Friend or foe? Compassion of an enemy or spite of a benefactor? So many things claiming to be his salvation, vying for his attention. He was swirling blindly in a dark, confusing whirlpool. Everything he'd ever known, everything he'd ever made for himself was slipping, falling, crumbling... And he'd been so preoccupied, so desperate for deliverance, that he'd failed to notice the only salvation left for him in this world.

And he had made her cry.

"Just like my dreams!" she was screaming, her pale face blotched with angry pink, her tiny fists beating, pounding against him. "The blood! I can smell it! You smell like it! I'm so scared, I hate you! I hate you! Why? Why? Why?"

If she were only a little bit bigger, Severus's heart cried out, she'd probably kill me. And I'd let her. His father's mangled face flashed before his eyes, and his own seventeen-year-old voice cried out to him: WHY?

He gasped, choking on his own tears and on memories sharper than the glint of a razor, and grabbed both of Charity's fists, holding them inside his own. He sat up, wrapping his arms around her so tightly that she couldn't move, sobbing into her hair, shaking her.

Just don't hate me...

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, I'm so sorry, please don't hate me, don't hate me, I love you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I love you...."

He wondered if he'd ever said that phrase to her before, and it made him hate himself all the more. He repeated it several times in a pleading, weakening voice that eventually trailed off into nothingness. "I love you..." he whispered shakily, almost unintelligibly, into her hair.

"I love you?" she echoed faintly, incredulously. She was rubbing her face against his robes, wiping her tears away, clinging to him again. "You love me? I love you."

Love or hate?

***

Severus sat, stony faced, in front of a grave-looking Albus Dumbledore, and an irate-looking James Potter who lurked in the corner behind the old man's desk. It reminded him of getting in fights with Potter as a first year. Pettigrew ran to tell a professor, and they always ended up in just this position: James Potter waiting for proper judgment to be passed, his arms crossed and his face screwed up; Dumbledore sitting behind that desk, trying to look grave but with an almost amused twinkle in his eyes; and Severus, sitting on the other side of the desk like the juvenile he was, anger coursing through him, keeping his face as passive as was humanly possible. There was only one difference: Dumbledore's eyes held no twinkle this morning.

"Where is she?" asked Dumbledore softly, his voice devoid of emotion.

"She's asleep," Severus said quickly, his tone bordering on defensive. "She had a...a long night last night. She's sleeping."

"And you left her there again? Alone?" James Potter hissed from his vulture-like stance in the corner.

"SHE'S ASLEEP!" Severus snarled with such unexpected force that Potter took a startled step back.

"She was asleep the last time you left her alone, too," Potter muttered lowly.

"Both of you, that's enough," Dumbledore snapped, making the situation even more reminiscent of their school days. "Severus, James has told me his version of what happened last night. I have no reason not to trust him, but I would be pleased to hear your explanation."

Severus sat in silence, his mind desperately churning, thinking up lies that had too many plot-holes in them. Potter made a derisive noise of triumph from the corner.

"I told you, Albus," he said, his lip curling. "I told you we shouldn't trust him..."

"James," Dumbledore snapped quickly. "Go back to your rooms. I want to have a word with Severus alone. I will talk with you later," he added at the scandalized look on Potter's face. "I will, of course, tell him of your offer."

Hesitantly, Potter strode to the door. He cast one final glare back at Severus before he departed.

"Offer?" Severus said instantly, the moment the door had latched, seizing this perfect opportunity to avoid explanation.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. He paused a moment to steeple his fingers and observe Severus cautiously. "The Potters have offered to take guardianship of your sister Charity for the remainder of the term."

The moment following this statement required more self-restraint than Severus had ever had to use in his life. It took all his control not to overturn his chair and start swearing. He settled himself by growling: "What?"

Dumbledore repeated himself exactly, which only infuriated Severus all the more.

"What do you mean, 'take guardianship' of her?" Severus said slowly, breathing heavily through his large nose. His fingertips were tingling, his whole body tensed surreally as Dumbledore continued.

"She would live with Lily and James until the end of the school year. You would still see her frequently, I'm sure, as Lily and Harry stay with James at least two days out of every week, and weekends.... And when she visited Hogwarts, she would stay in their room at night--"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Severus snarled, losing his self-control after all and standing abruptly, his chair crashing to the floorboards behind him.

"And what is your reason, Severus?" Dumbledore said, rising to his feet as his eyes flashed dangerously. "You think, perhaps, that she will not be taken care of properly? You think that James would do something to hurt her out of spite for you?"

"I will NOT have Potter taking my sister--" Severus stopped short, unsure how to finish. There was a pause.

"--Away from you?" Dumbledore said slowly. "So, Severus. Is it pride? Ownership?"

"Ownership?" Severus growled defensively. "How dare you--"

"Try and think past your schoolboy grudges, Severus," said Dumbledore loudly, cutting him off. "Try and think past your own maimed dignity, and put the child first. I told you once that Hogwarts was not safe for the likes of a five-year-old, no less a frequently unsupervised one, no less at night. Do you really think that you, Severus, a young, irresponsible bachelor can care for a five-year-old girl by yourself? In a place like this?"

'What right do you have in my personal business?" Severus hissed, forgetting his teetering reputation in a surge of anger. "What authority are you, to tell me how to run my life? How to care for my own sister?"

"You are right," said Dumbledore flatly. "I am no authority in these matters. I am merely asking you to question yourself. How much do you love Charity?"

The question stung Severus like a slap in the face.

"Enough," he growled, his eyes widening. "Enough to take care of her."

"You love her enough to keep her to yourself; that is no challenge. I am asking you if you love her enough to do what is best for her."

"I--" Severus choked on his own words. He stared at Dumbledore in terror for a moment, then finished bleakly: "I am doing what is best for her. To stay...with me."

"To stay with you," repeated Dumbledore tonelessly, his eyes closed in a sad grimace. "To stay here with you. That is what you deem best for her?"

"Yes. No." Severus took a deep breath. "Yes, I mean. Perhaps you are right about...about Hogwarts. Not being safe."

Dumbledore waited expressionlessly for him to continue.

"She has been safe all her life with me at the manor," Severus said quickly, a plan good enough to appease the Headmaster boiling within his skull. "I will move back to the manor with her and portkey here for my classes," he finished in an almost frantic tone. Please, please let it work...

"It is your decision, Severus," said Dumbledore, sitting down again as though relenting. "I will not take responsibility for your life." He looked up, staring Severus levelly in the eye. "I suppose a person's actions are reminiscent of their upbringing."

If Severus had had just a faction less self-control, he would have struck the old man. His whole body stiffened at the deeper insinuation, the unspoken accusation ringing in his paranoid head. Like father, like son.

"But know this, Severus," the old man continued, his blue eyes sharp on their subject. "I have offered you a hand. I have offered you assistance. You have refused, and therefore you take full responsibility for your actions. Whatever happens.... Whatever consequences arise from this are entirely your own fault."

A small chill raced up Severus's spine at the old man's abstractness and at the dark look in the blue eyes that bored into his own insolent, ebony glare. Severus stared dutifully back at him and replied slowly, in a voice of pure silk.

"I thank you for your understanding, Headmaster."

As he emerged from behind the stone gargoyle, Severus thought to himself that no matter what happened, he would never turn to Dumbledore in crisis. He would never confess. He couldn't bear to give the Headmaster--or Potter--the satisfaction of it.

At the moment, his hate for both of them was undermined only by his hate for himself.

***

"What did he say?" James asked the moment his office door opened. Albus said nothing, closing the door behind him and seating himself opposite James.

"I knew it," James said bitterly, throwing his quill back into its inkwell so that a bit of ink splattered out onto his desk. "I knew it! He doesn't even care about her, he just doesn't want to admit that we'd take better care of her than he--"

Albus raised a hand, and James broke off. "He may give in eventually, James," said Albus doubtfully. He gazed thoughtfully at the new ink stain on James's desk for a moment. "I cannot put my finger on it," he muttered quietly after a moment, shaking his head. He looked up at James, his expression perplexed. "There has always been something about him, something that will not allow me to give up hope for him...."

James snorted derisively, but Albus ignored him.

"He was never like the others--Malfoy, Macnair--He was always...set apart from them, somehow."

"He was antisocial," said James bluntly, ruffling the papers he had been pretending to grade. "He set himself apart from everyone, Slytherins included."

"Precisely," said Albus. James stared incredulously at him. "He set himself apart. Unlike the usual Slytherin tactics... He never seemed interested in 'making the right connections' or making alliances within his House. At least not until his seventh year..."

James shook his head, smiling wryly. "He wasn't interested in making any connections, I'm telling you--"

"He made one."

"Meisner," James said cautiously, wondering if the Headmaster knew more about the situation than the Marauders did. There was silence for a moment as Albus carefully traced the swirls in the dark wood of James's desk with a long, thin finger.

"Yes," he said finally, very quietly. Then he looked up at James. "There was one thing that made him different from the rest, though. The rest of them never...never felt guilt. If there is one thing about Snape I do know, it is that he feels guilty about many things in his life."

"I should hope so," muttered James darkly. Albus shook his head.

"Other things," he said vaguely, with a wave of his hand. "He hides things. I have no doubt there are very dark secrets that he has been keeping for years, festering inside him... things that the others wouldn't have given a passing thought... as pitiful and bleak as he may seem, I believe there is hope for him yet."

"I don't understand you," said James irritably. "You know he's a Death Eater! He has to be! And he's stupid enough to think he's fooled you... He's a terrible teacher, the kids hate him, he treats his own sister like--" James shook his head again, uncomfortable with the prospect of using profanities in the presence of his former teacher. "He lies...constantly! And you sit there and pretend to be convinced...you, you give him outs so he doesn't have to explain himself...and you still say 'there is hope for him yet?!'"

"Yes, I do," said Albus simply.

"Why?"

There was a long pause, during which Albus gazed sadly at James. The old man sighed heavily.

"I must believe that there is some good left in the world, James. If there is not, then how can we survive? If I cannot open the eyes of the Ministry, and there are so few I can count on to fight against the Dark, even among parents and loved ones of victims.... Where am I to turn? The guilt-ridden, the frightened, the hopeless are the only ones left who have a chance of turning.... If I can provide a haven to those, then we might stand a chance. Do you understand?"

James stared at him, eyes wide.

"Are you telling me," he said in a very soft, quivering voice, "that all we have left to hope for--our only hope--is Snape?"

Albus bowed his head, but did not answer.

There was a terrible silence. James stared up at the ceiling, his heart pounding furiously. A wave of panic was swelling inside of him as the reality of the threats against them slapped him in the face. He felt the bile rise at the back of his throat as he remembered the events of the night before... Snape, dressed in black, bloodied, and totally impenitent... the little girl who was somehow twisted into loving him, and yet being so mistreated... This? This was the hope of the world? People like--

A long-ago image flashed before his eyes of his own hand, roughly grabbing the shoulder of the boy in front of him, his own voice screaming, "RUN!" The snarling, howling, bloodthirsty noises of his best friend at his heels... Running flat out, straight back to the castle, to the Entrance Hall, collapsing against the wall in breathless panic... Looking up to see wide black eyes glinting at him through the dark, just staring, unblinking... Asking if the boy was hurt, and getting the startling, hurtful response of: "Stay the hell away from me! Keep your freakish, mutant friend away from me! You sick, you twisted, you, you... I hope you burn in--"

Guilt-ridden? Potentially. Frightened? Probably. Hopeless...? Only precious, invaluable time would tell.

James was just about to speak, to perhaps express some of his fears or questions to Albus, when a school owl soared through the window carrying his morning Prophet in its beak. The owl swooped past, the paper landing with a slap upon wood.

The front-page headline blared up at him from the desk. James grabbed the paper, scanning the article. A thick blanket seemed to fall over his ears and eyes, a sense so ominously still that his heart skipped a beat in dread.

"Oh my God," he whispered.

***

A dreadfully exhausted looking young man walked slowly down the brightly lit corridor, his usually swaggering gait lacking. There were dark, sagging hemispheres beneath his eyes, eyes that seemed to be sucking in light rather than reflecting it with smiling confidence, as per usual. He walked unevenly, as if some hidden ailment caused him pain. His normally glossy black hair hung matted around his pale face. He seemed to be close to his destination, as he kept his tired eyes focused on a door only meters away.

When the man was a few steps away, the door burst suddenly open.

"Sirius! Oh Jesus..."

Sirius embraced James gratefully, his fingers clutching the robes at the small of his best friend's back, clinging to the comfort of his worry. It had been a long night, and James's was the first friendly face he had seen in more than twelve terrible hours.

"Hey," he said flatly, as the other man finally released him, gripping him on the shoulder and peering into his eyes. "Thanks, mate." He managed a weak smile.

"I read the article this morning in the paper--Forget it, come in, I have some tea..."

"Yeah," said Sirius wearily, and followed James into his room. "Damn Prophet. That idiot Diggle was supposed to be guarding the entrances, but just as we're getting into the thick of things I turn around--and lo and behold, three reporters are standing there, quills a-ready."

"Three? How did the Daily Prophet find out so fast?"

"Beats me, but they were there not even two hours after we arrived. I told them to leave...there was this aggravating blonde woman who was relentless. Wouldn't quit following me and getting in my way until I gave her an interview."

James poured Sirius a cup of tea as he fell back onto James's unmade bed. He continued, his voice muffled as he rubbed his eyes. "They actually tried to take a picture of the place, can you believe it? The nerve of people... Don't know why the Ministry puts up with them; they're so worried about freaking people out, but the Prophet will stop at nothing until they've done just that..."

"They didn't accomplish much," said James, watching him as he downed his scalding tea in two gulps. "The report didn't really say anything, just said that Azkaban had been broken into, quoted you, and added a nice, tacky afterthought naming the two guards that were killed. Talk about freaking people out... 'There are hundreds of dementors and convicted murderers loose, we don't know where, and we're not going to bother telling you what happened... just thought you ought to know...'"

Sirius set his teacup down with a clink, shaking his head. "Imbeciles," he muttered darkly. "They make a mockery of everything that's been happening."

"So it was Voldemort." said James in a slightly hushed voice.

"Of course it was!" Sirius snapped. "'Troops in black...' They've been planning that for ages, I know it! The Ministry won't do anything, they won't even admit that it was Voldemort. We owled them on the spot last night with the results of our inspection, and they owled back this morning to say 'there's not enough evidence to prove it.' Who else has the manpower to do something like that? No, not manpower, the, the..." he searched for a word. "The impulse, even? Only Death Eaters could organize something so massive, right under the noses of the Ministry, without getting caught." He sighed in frustration, grimacing. "Why are we so blind?"

They sat in brooding silence for a few moments, sipping tea. James was struggling internally, desperate to burst out: 'Snape was gone last night,' and launch into the story of what had happened. But whether it was the fact that Sirius looked as though his temper shouldn't be tested at the current moment, or...something else...for some reason, James said nothing. Personally, James was sure that Snape had been part of this massive organization, had perhaps even been a ringleader. He wanted to discuss it with Sirius, see what he thought, but a heavy question mark danced naked in his subconscious, and he couldn't bring himself to damn it either way. Hopeless?

At learning this information James knew that Sirius would take immediate action in requesting permission to arrest Snape. It was an opportunity he would never pass up, should it arise. It pained him to keep such a thing from his best friend, but Albus's worried, tired blue eyes kept staring into his mind's. It was ignoring a basic instinct not to 'turn Snape in,' but it was something that James felt should be postponed, at least for the present.

Sirius stayed with him that night, claiming it would be pointless to go home and settle in when he would surely be called out early in the morning--or maybe even the middle of the night. But James suspected that Sirius would rather do anything than face the concept of a night in solitude at home with only his troubled mind for company. Either way, James heard his friend tossing and turning restlessly the whole night through, for he slept fitfully himself.

Too much was happening in the world, and too quickly. The entire population of a prison didn't just disappear without a trace. Where were they? Where was Voldemort keeping them? What was he using them for? He felt a terrible silence descending upon the world, like the utter silence before lightning strikes its mark. The stormclouds were gathering, and they were casting their dark shadow directly over Hogwarts itself.

The time for last resorts had come, James thought anxiously to himself. The time for only hopes. As much as the prospect terrified him, he knew where his next step would lead him. The answer didn't lie with Dumbledore anymore. It lay with Snape. In the moment before sleep overtook him at last, James resolved to confront Snape once and for all, traumatic memories set aside.

He must act soon...before it was too late.

***

As dawn's silvery light crept up the walls in James's room, a small tapping sound could be heard at the window. Both men were deeply asleep--Sirius, sprawling his entire lanky form over the surface of the entire bed, was snoring contentedly, mouth slightly open. James was resignedly curled up on the floor with a blanket he had ungraciously pulled off of his friend in the middle of the night and a pillow he had pried from under Sirius's arm. The tapping grew louder.

Sirius grunted, rolling over so that his face was in his pillow. Still, the tapping persisted, and he rolled over once more in sleep, flinging his arm fitfully over the side of the bed. There was a dull thunk as his sleeping knuckles collided sharply with his friend's face.

"EURGH!" James bellowed, bolting straight up and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He glared at Sirius's ever-unconscious form, then glanced over at the window. A Ministry owl was loudly rapping its beak against the glass, and it had a yellow roll of parchment in its talons.

"Get up," James said sharply, roughly jerking the pillow out from under his friend's face. "You nearly broke my nose, you know!"

Sirius slowly rose to a sitting position, blinking dumbly in the morning light. "Did I?" He said, yawning widely. "Sorry about 'at..." He rubbed his eyes vigorously as James strode to the window and pushed it open.

"You've got an owl," he stated, trying to take the roll of parchment from the bird. It screeched at him as though he had violated it, and soared dutifully over to Sirius, who groaned.

"I knew it," he grumbled, unrolling the parchment as the owl flew past James back out into the cloudless sky. "All I want is just one morning to sleep..."

James watched him sluggishly get to his feet, scratching the back of his head. "Why didn't you tell me to shower last night?" Sirius said, curling his lip at the feel of his matted hair.

James shrugged. "Didn't think it would be tactful..."

"Do I smell tactful to you?" Sirius scowled, pulling on the robes he had discarded over his pajamas. "Ah well, that'll be my self-defense when Crouch yells at me for giving the Prophet an interview. I'll just raise my arms and he'll cower in fear."

"That's charming, Padfoot," grinned James. "I'll walk you to the entrance hall," he added as they strode to the door. "I'll tell you one thing; that was the worst sleep I've had in ages. You pushed me off the bed, stole my pillow, and talked to yourself all night. See if I ever sleep with you again."

This last remark turned out to be quite an unfortunate one, as it left his lips just as they stepped out into the corridor...which Snape was passing through. He stopped short, raising an eyebrow at them. He seemed about to sneer, but then reconsidered, his eyes flashing darkly, and he passed silently on.

"That was weird," Sirius muttered. "Even I would have taken advantage of that."

James shook his head, watching Snape as he disappeared around the corner, heading toward the dungeons. Something cold and unpleasant splashed in his stomach, countered by something hot and angry erupting in his chest as he realized that Charity was presumably alone in the dungeons again.

James gripped Sirius on the shoulder when they had reached the entrance hall. "Good luck," he said, trying to smile encouragingly in the face of his friend's obvious dread.

"Thanks," said Sirius with weak smile, opening the door. He stepped into the sunshine, letting the door swing shut behind him. Three and a half seconds later, the door opened again, and Sirius shouted to James's retreating back. "Oi, whose carriage is that? Not for me, is it?" He added hopefully, not looking forward to a long trek to the edge of Hogwarts grounds.

"I don't think so..." James walked to the door, staring out.

A dark carriage with tinted glass was waiting about a hundred feet away from the entrance. There appeared to be no one inside it. However, as James watched, a disgruntled house elf hopped out of the carriage, dusting off its nimble hands and peering at the doors as if in expectation.

Unbidden, two things entered his mind at once: the image of Snape, uncharacteristically biting his tongue and passing by them with no more than a dark look; and the words of Albus from only a few hours ago: "He plans to move her back home, and to commute back and forth for classes." Snape, James suddenly noted, had been traveling toward the entrance hall from this direction (a route that would have been totally unnecessary if he had been coming from the staff room). He had been empty handed, but as James watched the house elf lean against the carriage, breathing shallowly, he was quite sure Snape was in the process of toting luggage by magic.

He nearly blurted this to Sirius, but stopped himself, saying merely: "Oh, no, that's for someone else."

"Damn," said Sirius, snapping his fingers. "Well, bye then!"

He disappeared behind the swinging doors, leaving James to stare intently out at the waiting carriage. Snape had barely been here a week, James thought. He had only been here long enough to spark conflict, which was not unexpected of him. What disturbed James was his...compliance. Not only was he leaving; he was leaving in a hurry. What was he running from? Or Whom?

In an impulsive and consciously rash act, James planted himself by the entrance, determined to wait for Snape. This could well be his last chance to speak with his archenemy, to confront him once and for all. For all, James realized with a shiver. This could well be the Light's last hope.

After perhaps fifteen anxious minutes of waiting, something outside caught James's eye. Another carriage was trundling toward the castle. This one was a rather rickety-looking horseless carriage, rocking as though it were arthritic with age. James let out a surprised puff of air in recognition. He appeared to be receiving an impromptu visit from Remus.

Now? he cried inside. Of all times, Moony... The carriage swayed to a halt, and out stepped not only Remus, but Peter as well. James wondered whether he could somehow shake them off in order to talk to Snape, or if he could possibly trust them not to tell Sirius. Remus, being more rational and perhaps more understanding on the whole would most certainly keep his silence. But Peter... well, James couldn't be sure that Peter wouldn't accidentally blab to Sirius, causing a nasty conflict between the infamous Padfoot and Prongs.

Just as his two friends were approaching the doors, James heard prowling footsteps echoing from the corridor he had originally come down. He had no choice. He had moments--seconds, really--to explain to Remus and Peter his intentions before Snape was in their midst.

"Hey, James," Peter began as they entered the castle, "We saw the paper this morning and I convinced Moony we should come for a visit. I thought Sirius might be--" but he was silenced with a violent gesture from James. Looking intently at Remus, James hissed: "Look, Snape is leaving here in about three seconds and I really need to talk to him. I can explain later," he added frantically as Peter made to interject. "Go--"

James had been just about to tell them to go somewhere out of the way--even just down the corridor, where he knew they would eavesdrop--but before he could, Snape was upon them.

The lanky man sidled into the entrance hall, obviously trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Though the three of them stared blatantly at him, he kept his head down and avoided their eyes. He seemed to have collected the last of his luggage, and was carrying only one small bag. Once again, a panting Charity was struggling along behind him to his rapid pace. There was without question something terribly ominous about his behavior this morning.

James waited a few seconds after the doors had swung shut behind Snape's prowling form, stiffening his resolve.

"Wait here," he hissed to Peter and Remus.

Now or never, he thought to himself, and hurried after Snape.

***

Severus held his breath for five seconds after the doors shut behind him, as he positively fled to the waiting carriage. When he finally let it out, it was in a huffed: "Here!" which he snapped at the house elf as he threw the small bag at it. He paid no notice to its somewhat disgruntled squeak, focusing wholly on not looking back over his shoulder.

"Get in, Charity," he said, though he picked her up and set her inside before she could acquiesce. Three, two, one... Severus heaved a sigh of relief, placing his foot on the step into the carriage. "Thank--"

"Snape!" a voice bellowed behind him.

"--Jesus," he groaned. Pretending not to hear, he tried to heave himself into the carriage. Unfortunately his shoulder was grabbed from behind, and he hurtled backward, just barely managing to steady himself by gripping his nemesis's arms. His nemesis who, surprisingly enough, grabbed Severus to help keep him from overbalancing.

"What?" he snarled in disgust with himself, wrenching himself free of Potter's grasp.

"Potter?" Charity's voice quivered inquisitively from inside the carriage. In a fit of panic, Severus slammed the door shut.

"I'm taking her home," he hissed into Potter's face. "If you're obtuse enough to even think--"

"Come off it," Potter snapped irritably. "What you do with her is your business. I was just trying to offer a safer..."

Severus felt his temple twitch.

"Never mind," Potter said quickly. He paused, looking strangely nervous. "I want to talk to you about something else."

Severus felt his stomach tighten. Something else... I know what you're doing! Potter's eyes seemed to scream at him. You'll pay for all of it in the end. "What?" he said again in his most menacing growl.

Potter took a deep breath, and then--

"You're a Death Eater," He said softly, his voice a low, steady rumble.

Something stabbed Severus's diaphragm so suddenly that he had to choke for air. He opened his mouth to snap back some witty denial, but none came. The shock of such bluntness had paralyzed him. This is entirely the wrong place to be incriminated, Severus thought numbly to himself. The sun was pouring down on them as they stood beneath the magnificent structure of Hogwarts castle; a pleasant, early-fall breeze was winding its way around them, blowing Severus's hair. One would expect such an exclamation to be delivered in the dark, in the eerie silence, with a knife at the throat, perhaps...

"You were with Voldemort last night," Potter continued in what seemed a harshly casual tone for such a situation. "You were at Azkaban, murdering those guards, freeing those prisoners... weren't you?"

"I--no!" Severus exclaimed in realization. He didn't go to Azkaban last night, did he? "I wasn't--"

"Don't lie," Potter said in a formidably calm tone. "I saw the front page of the Prophet this morning. Didn't you?"

"No, I didn't," Severus snapped, his breath coming back to him. "As I was being interrogated in the Headmaster's office for the first part of the morning, and for the second part I was preparing to leave."

"In a hurry, are you?" Potter's eyes flickered.

"Yes. In a hurry," Severus said vaguely, fumbling with his left hand for the door handle at the small of his back. Potter slapped his hand against the glass in front of Severus's face, leaning against the door. "You're a Death Eater," he hissed again, boring him with an intense sort of eye-contact. He continued to stare deeply into Severus's eyes with an alarmingly unreadable expression, as if waiting for some response, some facial twitch, to give him away.

"You didn't deny it," Potter whispered incredulously, after a crushing pause.

Severus stared at him for another moment, feeling desperation rise to a peak inside him. His hand still clenched the carriage's door handle convulsively, the skin on his knuckles translucent. He felt his breathing quicken, his eyes widen. Compassion of an enemy or spite of a benefactor? Lies or truth? Swirling blindly... Slipping...Crumbling... His heart was beating in panicked accompaniment to his insane wish for it all to cease... To cease...

"I didn't, did I?" he whispered, almost inaudibly, at last. The moment seemed to hang in the air between Potter and himself, and then Potter took a step back, blinking in astonishment.

Taking this chance at escape, Severus flung open the carriage door, hoisted himself inside, and slammed it shut again. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat and emitting a small, shaky sigh. It would all be over soon, he thought fearfully.

The carriage started forward, and he felt Charity lurch into him; but still he dared not open his eyes.

He had lost his advantage at last. He had spent all these years protecting himself, preserving himself, rebuilding himself; his ambition had gripped him like a vice, pulling him above and beyond all others. And now? He had practically offered Potter the upper hand. In that fleeting moment of weakness he had betrayed his Lord, his life, and himself. And somehow, while fear lingered in the blue of his knuckles and searing pain between his lungs, the most overbearing emotion he felt was relief. His life was surely drawing to a close.

It was only a matter of time.

***

James watched with a slack jaw as the carriage swayed away from him toward the gates. He felt the blood drain away from his face. What did it mean? "His first priority is himself," Albus had said once. "No matter whom he serves." And yet Snape had just delivered himself, dropped his fate into the hands of his enemies with no harassment whatsoever besides the blunt and unproven accusation: "You're a Death Eater."

He had fully expected Snape to reel off an impressive, intricate lie--a well-planned alibi that had been recited before a mirror, even. But never would he have expected to see the flicker of fear in those black eyes, the sudden blanching of the already pale face, the stuttering from a tongue like a razor.

Was Snape hopeless? Perhaps, James thought suddenly, perhaps that was the key after all. Not that there was any hope left for Snape's character, but that he had no hope left for himself. James could still see the whites of Snape's eyes, ringing all round his ebony irises as he had stared at James. And James knew...

Suddenly breathless, he ran top speed back up the steps of the castle, back into the entrance hall. A very perplexed looking Remus and Peter were waiting for him there, but before Peter could even open his mouth to speak again, James burst out:

"He's a Death Eater, he's just admitted it!"

Remus's jaw dropped in shock. "What?" he choked out. "He...he just told you that...?"

"No! Well, yes I mean--I just told him he was, and he didn't deny it. And then I said: 'you didn't deny it,' and he said: 'no, I didn't!'"

Remus's eyes widened. "That's not right, James. That's not...he wouldn't do that. It's like turning himself in--"

"You don't think he would?" said Peter quietly. As James looked at him, he registered the strangely closed expression on his friend's face as he stared out the window, watching the dark spot of Snape's carriage disappear beyond the gates.

"We need to tell Dumbledore," said Remus brusquely. "Immediately."

"Yeah," James agreed, and started walking briskly down the corridor that held the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

Lingering behind for just a moment, Peter continued to stare out the window in the entrance hall. He absently massaged his left forearm, the beginnings of a smirk creeping onto his face.

Forcing it away, he slowly turned to follow the echoes of his friends' footsteps down the corridor.