The Upper Hand

"Peppermint Humbug," Dumbledore said grimly to the gargoyle, and a second later it had slid aside to reveal the torch-lit spiral staircase. Severus silently followed Dumbledore up this staircase, the shadows seeming to mock him as they danced restlessly in the flickering light, and into his office, where he waited, with mounting hostility, as the old man walked unhurriedly to his desk chair and sat down.

"Sit down, Severus," he said calmly.

"They've taken her," Severus spat hoarsely, ignoring him. "They've taken her, and I don't know what to do."

Dumbledore stared at him, looking taken aback.

"You already know I'm a Death Eater, I know you do!" Severus snarled, his entire body beginning to shudder from the floor up. "Don't act surprised, don't act like you didn't know, don't act like you weren't expecting this! They've taken her! You probably knew, didn't you?" he suddenly hissed, slamming his hands down on Dumbledore's desk. "Thought it would teach me my lesson, eh? I deserve it, don't I? All the horrible things I've done--I'm such an evil git, not like golden boy Potter, right? This is my punishment--for torturing your poor, your precious Potter--"

He convulsively swallowed, his ranting cut short of its own accord.

"Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, though he sounded tired rather than angry. "Sit down, please, and calm yourself."

Severus did so, if only because he didn't think his violently twitching knees could support him any longer. He took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes and letting his head drop backward, trying to restore some composure.

"What happened?" asked Dumbledore calmly, his eyes set on Severus.

"The Dark Lord said he knew I admitted being his Servant--that I betrayed him--and he took Charity," said Severus immediately, not opening his eyes, his tone dead.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed. "How did he find out?" he said sharply.

Severus mused for a moment; the thought hadn't yet crossed his mind. He'd grown so used to the thought that the Dark Lord knew everything even before it ever happened, because he just did...and suddenly it came to him; the extra Death Eater whose name he hadn't known, who was kept secret from him... Severus growled, furious with himself for his own naivety.

"Someone was watching me," he hissed, gripping the arms of his chair, still staring hard at his knees. "He had someone watching me!"

"But who could have given him that information so quickly?" Dumbledore said earnestly, apparently to himself. "It was a matter of mere hours...Unless...But no..." Some kind of pain seemed to wash over him, making him cringe in his chair for a moment before looking again at Severus.

"Why have you come to me?" he said lowly, his eyes shadowed.

There was a moment's heavy silence.

"Because," said Severus at last, almost grunting with the effort of saying this, forcing himself to look up at Dumbledore, "you said that you would help me."

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them he said in a sad voice, "What is it you expect me to do, Severus? I cannot save her from the clutches of Lord Voldemort any better than you could." He paused, then said as gently as he could: "Do you truly believe she is still--"

"She's alive," said Severus quickly, his hands fisting in a sharp spasm, "She's still alive; the Dark Lord told me I owed him a life; he gave me a choice, so he hasn't--but I can't--"

"A choice?" said Dumbledore sharply, his eyes boring into Severus's. "What choice?"

"I owe him a life," said Severus again, unconsciously running his index finger back and forth across the tender underside of his left wrist. He spoke so softly that Dumbledore had to lean forward to hear him. "He'll kill Charity if I don't deliver him the Potters."

Dumbledore went rigid in his chair. "He knows..." said the old man quietly, his back bowing.

"He always knows," Severus spat at his knees, disgusted to hear his voice crack again. He hunched forward and covered his face with his hands, feeling a sensation of such vulnerability that he would not have been surprised to feel a knife suddenly plunged into his back

Nothing was said for a long while, and Severus simply stayed as he was, grimacing into his hands and listening to the feinted snoring of the portraits surrounding them. Then:

"Did Lord Voldemort tell you what it is he wants with the Potters?" asked Dumbledore slowly.

"No," said Severus bitterly. "He never told me why, just expected me to get on with it, no questions asked. All he ever said was he needed Potter dead, Potter and his--and his son, dead, before he could take over."

"Of course," breathed Dumbledore, "Of course...he wants his path cleared for him, doesn't he? But how can he know?"

Severus was far too subdued to concern himself with the old man's secret mutterings. Whatever the Dark Lord wanted with the Potters was none of his business anymore. He considered himself free of the responsibility now he had confronted Dumbledore. And even though he knew he was destined for a life sentence in Azkaban with the weight of so many deaths on his shoulders, he felt a strange relief at the thought of being put away. He didn't have to repay death with death anymore; he didn't have to suffer under the guilt...In Azkaban he would be in pure and untainted misery, where he could finally be free of responsibility, confusion, and fear. He could shut out reality; it would be just him and his worst memories, shut behind bars to wrestle until he breathed his last breath...

He shuddered involuntarily.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, fixing him with a searching stare. "What I want to know is why you didn't do as Lord Voldemort said, and deliver the Potters to him? You have had ample opportunity, being in such close contact with James and his family these past few days. Why not kill him, be rid of him, and have your sister back?"

Severus stared at him, slack in his chair. For a moment he thought it was beyond him to speak, but then a bubble of weak laughter grew in his throat, erupted into a full fledged, deep-throated laugh he had no idea he was capable of producing. Dumbledore's expression did not falter in the slightest as Severus sat before him laughing madly.

When he had regained his breath, he smiled absurdly at the ceiling, shaking his head, and said, "Because I can't do this anymore. I won't do it anymore!" He snarled abruptly, glaring at a vague spot above his chair. "Send me to Azkaban if you will--in fact, I recommend it! Best to get demented psychopaths like me off the street; I won't be able to harm the innocents anymore, will I?" He started laughing again. "You can let your children out to play again, mums, the nasty, greasy murderer's been carted off to prison!" he continued in a sick sort of singsong, cackling wildly.

Across the desk, and unbeknownst to Severus, Dumbledore had lit a fire in the large grate behind his desk and was tossing a large pinch of glittering powder into the flames. "James," he said to the emerald fire, "I apologize for waking you at such a late...or rather, early, hour, but I need to speak with you immediately."

At those words, Severus sat bolt upright in his chair, gazing in dread as a hunched, spinning figure appeared in Dumbledore's fireplace. When James Potter stumbled out into the office, blinking dizzily and clad in his stupid dressing gown with a cloak on top, Dumbledore turned to Severus.

"Tell him what you just told me," he said firmly.

Potter's look of confusion morphed into disgust as he looked around at Severus. Caught off guard, Severus could think of nothing to say. He opened his mouth and made an indistinct noise but could achieve nothing of substance.

"Is that so?" sneered Potter. "Useful bit of information, that." He turned to Dumbledore. "I suppose he's told you he's been working for Voldemort this whole time, on his orders, trying to get closer to you, eh?" he said, unable to suppress the smugness in his tone.

Dumbledore said nothing, still staring intently at Severus, who felt a blaze of anger in his chest.

"Actually," said Severus softly, his low tone just barely discernable over the crackling of the dying flames behind the grate, "I've told him I've been working for the Dark Lord this whole time, on his orders, trying to get closer to you." Potter's eyes widened. "But I wasn't doing a very good job, you see," Severus continued lowly, his lip curling, "so he's kidnapped my sister who you so valiantly rescued the other night and informed me that she would be killed if I didn't finish my job."

Potter's jaw went slack; his eyes flew to Dumbledore in horror, as if for confirmation.

"Good on you," Severus snarled, standing jerkily, "you were right all along, just like you always are. Don't trust Snape, he's always been rotten, and certainly incapable of parenting!"

"I--I--You've been--" Potter turned helplessly to Dumbledore: "Why me?"

"Not necessarily you, James," said Dumbledore softly. But Potter, who seemed to have just now registered the full weight of what Severus had told him, suddenly gazed at Severus as though he hadn't heard Dumbledore at all.

"They've kidnapped her?" said Potter abruptly, as though he had just now registered the last bit of what Severus had said. "And she'll be killed if..." He trailed off, looking stricken. "Oh God..."

"Should've given her to you, right?" Severus sneered weakly, his legs shaking again. "She'd be safe now, safe with you and your sick perfect family..."

Potter said nothing, and to Severus's fury, was suddenly refusing to look him in the eye. He turned instead to Dumbledore, swallowing tensely.

"L-Lord Voldemort wants me," he said shakily, still avoiding Severus's glare. "But why? And..." his head twitched nervously in Severus's direction, "what can I...do?"

"There is nothing you can do for Severus," said Dumbledore quietly. Severus felt a small, involuntary tick convulse his face. "And it is not..." The old man sighed heavily. "It is not you that Voldemort wants."

A crease appeared between Potter's eyebrows. "Not...me? But then--" He glanced back at Severus.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I shall have to explain later, James." He turned to look at Severus, who was standing dumbly behind his chair, watching the conversation torpidly. Potter looked at him as well, his expression as his eyes met Severus's different from any expression Severus had seen him wear. A wild, furious thought laughed in his mind: you have their empathy now!

"You could have killed me, or whatever Voldemort wants; I know you could've done it scores of times," said Potter quietly, slowly. "Why didn't you?"

Severus said nothing, though his hands balled in anger at the pity he heard in Potter's voice. After a long moment he angrily spat, in a sad attempt at sarcasm: "I'm supposed to be Iscariot, remember? Not Pilate..."

Potter looked down at his hands.

"STOP IT!" Severus burst out. "I don't need your godforsaken pity! Why aren't you owling Crouch, eh?" he added, glaring at Dumbledore. "Or better yet, owl Black personally! I'm sure the stupid son of a bitch would just love an excuse to--"

"Leave Sirius out of this," snarled Potter, taking a step toward him. Severus felt a horrible smile growing on his face as a red flush glowed in Potter's cheeks.

"Oh, but why, Potter?" he sneered, a frantic, wild part of him clinging to the idea of siphoning just a little of his pain and horror into his worst enemy. "Don't want to share the limelight of catching me? I suppose I'm not surprised...Always need a little more glory, don't you? Pump that obesity of a head a bit bigger, Potter, and you just might catch up with the Ministry's newest Auror, the arrogant b--"

"Enough!" said Dumbledore suddenly, and Severus felt an invisible force, almost like an immensely strong breeze, push him three steps back from Potter. Potter himself, caught with his hand deep in the pocket of his cloak, had been forced back into Severus's chair and was looking rather stunned. They both looked at the Headmaster, who suddenly seemed both tall and menacing, his calm exterior shattered to reveal a furious and powerful wizard. "This is no time for such nonsense!" He glared at Severus: "Sit!"

A second chair had appeared directly behind him. He dropped into it instantly, not daring even to glance sideways at Potter. A mingled feeling of shame, grief, and dread was creeping slowly through his veins, and he clenched his jaw, staring unseeingly at his fists.

Dumbledore, too, sat in his high backed chair, his shoulders bowing forward for only an instant as he did so, as if he were struggling under some immense, invisible burden. "Severus," he said tonelessly, "I want you to stay here tonight."

Severus slowly raised his head to stare incredulously at the headmaster.

"What?" he asked dumbly.

"Stay here tonight; do not go back to the Snape Manor."

"I'm not...you're not...sending me to--"

"Not tonight, Severus," said Dumbledore gently. "I will speak with you soon, but not now."

"Send me to Azkaban," Severus demanded dully, staring Dumbledore directly in the eye.

Potter's eyes widened in astonishment, and he gazed unblinkingly at Severus.

"No," said Dumbledore simply. "I will speak with you tomorrow, Severus."

There was a hushed tone of finality in his voice, and Severus slowly stood, feeling a dull ache in all his joints.

He paused for a moment, a writhing presence in his chest willing him to say something, but then awkwardly turned and walked toward the door, feeling ethereal.

Just as his fingertips touched the cool handle, Potter's voice rang out softly behind him, sounding (of all the confounded emotions he could've chosen!) grateful:

"I--Snape--":

Painful humiliation shot through his chest, and Severus cringed, feeling a wave of nausea crash over him. Choosing to act as though he hadn't heard Potter, he somehow forced himself to grip the door's handle, twist it, and walk calmly out onto the dark stone staircase, pulling it shut behind him.

He was very suddenly back in his rooms, not remembering the walk down or even uttering the password which must not have been changed since his departure. He walked slowly into, and through, his bedchamber, stopping only when he had reached the edge of Charity's old bed. It was unmade.

Not bothering to undress, or even to take off his shoes, he lay down on her bed, his feet dangling limply off the end. He stared lifelessly at the ceiling, and for once no voices, no images, no thoughts whatsoever invaded his paralyzed mind.

He had no recollection of falling asleep that night.

***

His son was the only one who could stop Lord Voldemort. Harry Potter was the one person Lord Voldemort currently wish dead, more than any other. His eleven-month old son.

Early morning sunlight was streaming in through the window of their bedroom at home; birds could be heard chattering noisily in the branches of the tree just outside. James had arrived back home only a quarter of an hour ago, and he had crawled silently back into bed. He was now sitting up against the headboard, staring dumbly at the opposite wall. His eyes stung with tiredness but he had no intention of going to sleep.

He gulped hard, blinking a couple of times, and looked down at Lily. Her eyelids were fluttering in some contented dream, and her lips twitched minutely now and then. James ought to wake her, he knew, and break the news to her, try to explain...

This was the third time he had attempted to bring himself up to the task of waking her.

"Oh, God," he whispered shakily, leaning his head back and grimacing at the ceiling. How could this be happening?

He slumped, sliding wholly underneath the covers, pulling them roughly up around his neck. A dull ache had settled in his throat and was growing more insistent; his jaw was clenched, eyes screwed shut. He scooted on his side toward Lily, gently putting his arm over her to pull himself closer. He pressed his face into her back, between her shoulder blades, desperately fighting the tears welling up behind his eyelids.

Finally he could hold it in no more, and he began to cry as softly as possible into her soft cotton nightshirt. His silent sobs gained momentum and the bed began to rattle ever so slightly as he shook with them.

Suddenly Lily jerked awake in his embrace.

"What--James?" she said confusedly, pushing his arm back a little to twist around and look at him. "What's wrong? What's happened to you?"

James choked uselessly, and then shook his head. Lily put her hands under his chin, lifting his face.

"What happened?" she repeated frantically, shaking his head a little.

James took a deep breath. "I've just been--to see Dumbledore," he managed. "Lily--Lily, we need to talk."

***

Tap, tap, tap.

Severus stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering vaguely what time it was.

Tap, tap, tap.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. They burned terribly, which made him wonder what time it was that he had stopped blinking. He rolled over onto his side, ignoring a dull pain in his neck, dutifully ignoring the noise echoing through his chambers from his office door.

"Alohamora."

Severus groaned, sitting up quickly. The clock on the wall, Severus noted with a small jolt, read two in the afternoon.

"Severus," Dumbledore's voice, though soft, carried into Charity's old chamber from his office.

"In a moment," croaked Severus, suddenly becoming aware of how raw his throat felt. He stumbled to his feet, feeling as though he had a bad hangover. "Eugh," he moaned softly, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Coming."

Dumbledore was waiting for him; an ornate tray bearing a teapot and two mugs sat steaming upon his desk. Severus sank slowly into the chair behind it. He grabbed a mug from the tray and began to pour tea into it as an excuse not to look up at the old man. He downed his tea in one gulp as Dumbledore sat down opposite him, reveling in the feeling of it scalding its way down his already sore esophagus. When he had finished, Dumbledore remained silent.

"What now?" asked Severus disinterestedly, fingering the handle of his mug and staring down at the old, meaningless papers scattered across his desk.

"There are things that still need to be clarified," said Dumbledore, his voice almost gravelly. The bags beneath his eyes seemed to sag with more cargo than they had the night before, and the whites of the old man's eyes were sectored by spidery red. "You said last night you suspected Lord Voldemort of having one of your fellow Death Eaters spy on you," he continued slowly.

"That I did," said Severus, staring hard at an invisible something beneath his left thumbnail.

"You have no idea who it was?"

"No," he sighed wearily, his hands blurring under his unfocused gaze. "I remember one meeting...I noticed there was an extra Death Eater--we're all hooded during these meetings, and it's always dark," he added, "and I remember I didn't know who it was, but I wondered why he hadn't been presented formally like they usually are." He fought down the irrational urge to sweep all the papers off of his desk in one swift, violent movement. "That's who it was, I'm sure of it."

"I see," said Dumbledore tersely, splaying his bony fingers on the desk. He shook his head slowly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, and Severus chanced a glance up at him.

"You have two options, Severus," he said at last, capturing Severus's eyes. Severus felt his chest constrict but did not show it. "You may turn yourself into the Ministry, whereupon you will probably be given a life sentence in Azkaban without trial, or you may do what I ask of you."

Severus looked up at him, gripping his mug with both hands.

"I am the head of an Order," said the headmaster quietly, as though the shadows themselves would go shouting his words down the corridors at the first chance they got, "whose main purpose is to do anything and everything it can to stop Lord Voldemort from gaining the kind of power he has sought after all these years. One thing we desperately need--"

No, a voice in Severus's head pleaded weakly. Not that...not again--

"--is a spy."

"Oh, gods," whispered Severus aloud, grimacing.

"You are the prime person for this job," said Dumbledore intensely, leaning forward. Severus could feel Dumbledore's clear blue eyes boring down on him. "You could continue to work here as a teacher, continue to attend Death Eater meetings regularly, and report back to me after each meeting..."

Severus shook his head, staring blindly down at his desk.

"Your agenda will be no different than it has been," said Dumbledore coldly. "Except that you'll be serving a different purpose...I need to know who that extra Death Eater is."

"It would never work," Severus whispered. "The Dark Lord always knows, he always knows when you're lying--"

"No," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort would have no way of telling if you were lying or not, Severus."

Bewildered, Severus slowly raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's, which were shining with a peculiar sort of light.

"Not this time," the old man said slowly.

***

The five of them sat in silence around James's kitchen table. The plate of sandwiches that Lily had somehow obligated herself to make for them lay neglected, cold and hard as marble in the center of the table.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" said Sirius gruffly, his lips falling into a thin, hard line. "Why didn't you tell me straight off when Snape confessed?"

James said nothing.

"What would you have done, Sirius?" said Remus softly, glancing sideways at James as he spoke. "You would have turned him in, made sure he was in Azkaban by next week!"

"And what's wrong with that, eh?" Sirius snarled, letting his fist drop on the table. "That scum deserves everything he gets! And I wouldn't have stopped at Azkaban, either," he added with a twisted smile, scraping his fingernails against the wood. "I would've seen him Kissed before the end of it--"

"And his sister?" James said, and Sirius fell silent instantly, his dark eyes flicking towards his best friend. "You'd sentence her to death so easily?" James gave Sirius a cold look.

"She already has been, James," said Sirius as gently as he could. "For Voldemort to have his hands on someone so young...She's as good as--"

"You're wrong!" James shouted suddenly, jumping to his feet.

"James!" Lily cried brokenly, "please, don't--"

"Mate," said Sirius, rising cautiously, his wide eyes fixed on James. "I didn't mean to--"

"What? You didn't mean to what?" James bellowed. "And you wonder why I didn't tell you? You don't care what happens to anybody, you don't think things through, Sirius! You just do whatever makes you feel good...whatever makes you feel important. For God's sake, do you even care what happens to Harry?"

The room went as silent as a grave. Sirius's mouth fell open, his eyebrows drawing together. For a moment he simply stared at James, and then he seemed to crumple, fell limply into his chair as though shot by Stunner.

James grimaced and allowed Lily to pull him back into his own seat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, staring at the top of Sirius's glossy head through his fingers. "You know I didn't mean that."

"I know," said Sirius, swallowing hard. But he would not look up at James.

"This all happened so suddenly," said Remus quietly as the room regained its calm, "I think we're all just shocked, just...caught off guard..."

"You think," James spat bitterly.

"We just have to decide what to do about it," Remus went on persistently.

"What d'you mean, 'we,'" James said, scowling up at him. "It's not your problem, is it?"

At last Sirius raised his head. "You prat," he said solemnly. "It absolutely is my problem."

"And mine," said Peter quickly.

"And mine," said Remus firmly.

"But what could you all do to help me, now?" said James desperately.

"Anything we can," said Remus.

"Everything we can," said Sirius, reaching across the table to place a hand on James's forearm.

"We're here for you, mate," said Peter, grinning. "Till the end."

***

Severus, panting, collapsed into one of the chairs before Dumbledore's desk, his wand hanging limply from his hand.

"You have an exceptional gift for this," said Dumbledore, calmly seating himself behind his desk and setting his wand upon it.

"Not good enough," breathed Severus heavily, glaring at the desk.

"Not to mention remarkable endurance," Dumbledore continued, ignoring his comment. "To have mastered the basic concepts of such a difficult subject in three hours is no mean feat, Severus."

"Don't flatter me," Severus spat, wrenching himself upright in his chair. "If the Dark Lord were to Call me tonight, would you consider me ready?"

"I would consider you able," said Dumbledore broodingly. "Only you can determine whether you are ready or not."

Severus took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could feel tiredness oozing like some glutinous poison through his body; slowly it drained the energy from each of his limbs and left in its place a dull but pleasurable tingling. His chin sank to his chest, and he felt he could fall asleep right there in that rigid chair from sheer exhaustion; he felt his wand sliding slowly through his fingertips...

I would think someone of your intelligence would have realized you couldn't evade me for l--

"Again!" Severus snarled, his eyes flying open. His hand clenched over the end of his wand just before it dropped, and he was on his feet before he decided to stand.

Dumbledore immediately stood with no objections and raised his wand.

"One, two, three," the old man said deliberately, "Legilimens!"

First potions class, duel with Potter on the train fourth year, Mother's nose bleeding, "he's no heir apparent--he's sickly, look at him!", O.W.L. results in the mail--received a bloody 'A' in Herbology, butterbeer in the Leaky Cauldron with Charity, drunk in the Three Broomsticks, taunting Potter in the Three Broomsticks--

"REDUCTO!"

Dumbledore was blasted into his chair, his hair flying forward in silver-white ribbons. "Well done," he panted, his blue eyes bright.

"Not...good enough..." Severus gasped, and then fell forward. Luckily for him, he was already unconscious by the time he crashed into the desk, and he slid to the floor without even twitching.

***

"I'm coming," Lily said stubbornly, squashing Harry's chubby foot into a sunshine-yellow sock. "We're both coming," she said, smiling at Harry as his little hands tugged at the air, imitating her.

"No, you're not," James said seriously, shrugging on his cloak. "It's not safe."

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Lily, glaring at him. "You think our house is safer than Hogwarts?"

"Quite frankly, at the moment--"

"Oy, mate, how old's this leftover pork in here?"

Lily's hair whipped in James's face as she turned to face the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. "What the--! Sirius, what are you still doing here?"

They heard the sound of the refrigerator being shut, and then Sirius appeared, leaning casually against the doorway with a plate of cold meat in his hand. "Your hubby told me to stay," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"James!" she snarled, rounding on him.

"Lily, listen to me," said James exasperatedly, gripping her shoulders. "Please, just stay here with Sirius until I get back--I know this affects all of us," he added loudly as she made to interject. "But I just...I don't want you to...You understand, I know you do, Lil."

She stared at him with a disgusted pout on her face. Then she sighed, closed her eyes and shook her head. "Well, for God's sake, James, I can take care of myself," she muttered, her eyes flickering toward the kitchen doorway. "You don't have to order him to look after me every time you leave the house!"

"Heard that," said Sirius from across the room, contemplating his pork.

"None of us can take on Voldemort by ourselves," James whispered sternly.

"Maybe that's why I wanted to come with you," Lily hissed through gritted teeth.

They stared each other hard in the eyes for a moment, and then James leaned down and kissed her briefly.

"I'll be back soon," he whispered in her ear. He straightened, ran a hand over Harry's head, and disapparated. Lily glared at the spot where he had stood.

"So," said Sirius, striding to the chair in the corner and falling into it with his now half-empty plate. He grinned at Lily. "What do you say to a snog?"

"Oh, shut up," barked Lily, throwing Harry's coat at him.

***

James had only knocked once when Albus's door flew open.

"Sir," said James quickly, falling into old habit. He lowered his fist. "Albus, I came to talk to you about--"

"Yes, yes, do come in," interrupted Albus, flapping his hand and glancing distractedly behind him as he stepped aside.

"Thanks," said James, stepping inside the office. Then he stopped dead, staring at the chair in front of him. "Albus...?"

The unconscious form of Severus Snape was draped limply across that chair. His mouth was hanging halfway open and his face was deathly pale. A large gash was lurking just below his hairline above his left eye; a patch of dried blood had seeped down to his eyebrow.

"We've been practicing Occlumency," said Albus mildly, sitting behind his desk.

"Ah," said James unsurely, unwilling to sit down in the chair next to Snape.

"Don't mind him," said Albus, glancing at Snape. "He's been asleep for a quarter of an hour already, and from the looks of things he isn't planning to return to consciousness any time soon,"

"Erm, right," said James, sitting hesitantly in the empty chair, his eyes still on Snape.

"What was it you wanted to discuss?" asked Albus.

James tore his eyes away from Snape. He opened his mouth, and then hesitated, figuring out how exactly to word this. "What I can do," he said. "What...what we can do, Lily and I...to protect ourselves."

Albus nodded solemnly. "I have been thinking about this," he said. He sighed deeply, then went on. "I'm afraid the time has come for drastic measures, James."

James swallowed convulsively, feeling as though ice was steadily sliding down his throat and collecting in the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean by 'drastic?'" he asked apprehensively.

"I mean," said Albus carefully, "that Voldemort knows too much already, more than I ever guessed he knew, possibly even more than we have discovered so far. There is so much at stake," he added earnestly. "We have far more than simply a child to save."

James nodded, struggling to accept this fact while fighting the impulse to shout at Albus, to snarl: 'he's my son, not your weapon!'

Instead he took a deep breath, calming his stomach, and asked in a shaking voice, "what are you suggesting?"

"The Fidelius Charm."

James felt all the air in his lungs wheeze out of him. "Fidelius?" he croaked, "but--"

"I can think of no other option," said Albus. "If you can think of an idea more suitable, then please..." he made an opening gesture with his hands.

"But there must be something else," said James desperately. "I mean, I--I'd have to stop teaching... I'd have to stop everything, I--"

"You would be isolated, yes," said Albus grimly. "You and Lily would not be able to leave the house, and you would see no one other than your Secret Keeper."

James stared at him, not wanting to believe his ears. "For how long?" he croaked.

"I cannot say," said Albus quietly. "A month, a year...until it is safe enough for you to return."

"A year," James mouthed, coldness sweeping over him.

Albus reached across his desk and touched James's forearm. "I understand how hard this is for you," he said, his eyes boring into the top of James's head. "But I am afraid it's become a matter of urgency."

"I just--it all happened so suddenly," James said numbly, echoing Remus's words. "I can't even think....Who would be our Secret Keeper?" he looked up, then answered himself. "Sirius," he said firmly.

Albus closed his eyes, removed his hand from James's arm.

"What?" snapped James. "What?"

"There is another matter I wish to discuss with you," he said quietly.

"About Sirius?" asked James immediately, feeling a tingle of defensive anger in his chest.

"Possibly," said Albus. He paused at length, the expression on his face unreadable. James watched him until he could bear it no more.

"Oh, Christ, just tell me," he moaned, pressing his palm against his forehead.

"I believe one of your friends is secretly a Death Eater," said Albus.

A tiny explosion went off inside James's skull, making his ears ring. His hand left his forehead; it hovered over his mouth for a moment, then dropped like a lead weight to his lap. "No," he denied simply, almost laughing.

"Voldemort found Severus mere hours after he confessed, James," Albus went on. James glanced again at Snape, who was looking for all the world as though he'd died several days previous and had lain rotting in that chair ever since. "Severus didn't confess to anyone but you; he didn't even see anyone else that night."

Realization began to sink in, and James felt his stomach clench. "This is ludicrous," he hissed, a sharp pain shooting through one side of his jaw.

"Did you tell anyone else that Snape confessed, other than your friends?"

"No!"

"Who else could have told Voldemort?" asked Albus, his blue eyes steady on James's.

"I--this is--you can't believe this, Albus!" said James loudly, his heart pounding in his throat. "How can you be sure that...that he isn't lying?" He sharply jerked his head, indicating Snape.

"He isn't," said Albus. "In fact, he mentioned several times that he had noticed an extra Death Eater who had been attending meetings, someone who hadn't been formally inducted, who he didn't know--"

"NO!" bellowed James again, his nostrils flaring.

"Voldemort knows about the Prophecy, James."

James felt suddenly lightheaded. "He could've found out from someone else...I mean, you didn't tell any of us until just yesterday...."

"There was an eavesdropper at the pub when Sibyl prophesied," Albus explained. "A cloaked man...I never saw who he was; he was thrown out before the Prophecy had been completely finished. It was someone who knew I was to meet with a possible Divination teacher that day. Someone close."

"It could be anyone," James insisted weakly, swaying in his chair. "It could have been anyone....Him!" he pointed at Snape again. "He said he was spying on me, didn't he?"

"I have asked him. He has never heard of the Prophecy; he is still oblivious. Lord Voldemort never even told him."

James shook his head

"This can't be," James whispered hoarsely. "They wouldn't do that to me!"

"I'm sorry," said Albus softly, his eyes upon his hands.

"SORRY ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!" James bellowed, pounding his fist against the arm of his chair.

"What--!"

"GOD DAMMIT!" He lurched to his feet, blind to everything in the whole office. He turned frantically left, then right, caged like a wild animal. His hand twisted in his hair, but he had nowhere to go.

"James, please--"

"Would anyone care to explain--"

"James, I'm sorry, but please, you must sit down, you can't leave this office yet!"

"Who would do this to me?" James growled. "How could any of them do this to--"

"FOR MERLIN'S SAKE! What the hell is going on?"

James blinked, his eyes clearing, and saw a resurrected Snape standing in front of him, white faced and sneering.

"Severus," said Albus, his voice slightly unsteady, "please go and wait in your office. We will resume your...your training later."

Snape, a deep line forming between his tilted eyebrows, moved his eyes slowly from a pale Albus to a shaking James. He shook his head, threw his hands up in gesture of surrender, and stalked to the office door. It banged violently shut behind him.

Albus turned again to James. "Sit down," he repeated.

James sank into his chair, his breath ragged. Albus allowed him a moment to rest his head in his hand, to regain his breath. When their eyes met again, Albus spoke:

"I will be your Secret-Keeper."

A fleeting thought flashed across James's mind: an undetermined period of time trapped in a house, with only Albus Dumbledore to visit them. As much as he appreciated the old man, he couldn't stand the thought.... Then he remembered Lily and Harry at home, remembered Sirius staying there for him to make sure they were all right...and he knew he ought to feel some sort of apprehension, panic even, after what Albus had just told him. But he didn't. And suddenly he realized...

Why didn't you tell me straight off when Snape confessed?

"Sirius!"

"James..." Albus began exasperatedly.

"Listen, I didn't tell Sirius about Snape until today!" James began, a tiny spark of hope leaping to life in his stomach. "Don't you remember? I didn't bring him in here with me...It couldn't have been Sirius!"

Which meant it was either Remus or Peter...James tried to push that thought away.

To James's surprised, Albus was not at all appeased. He shook his head. "Please, James, just let me. It is not," he added quickly as James made to protest, "that I don't trust Sirius--but he is young to be handed such a--"

"He'd do anything for me," James said stubbornly. "He'd die for me."

"And you for him?"

"Yes!"

Albus stared at him. "This decision is no one's but yours," he said earnestly, "but I offer myself once more. Please."

James sat up straighter in his seat, stared unwaveringly into Albus's eyes, and repeated firmly, "Sirius."

Albus studied him carefully. "Very well," he said at last. "Arrangements will be made. As soon as possible."

James nodded, his stomach churning.

"Talk to Lily and Sirius about this--do not mention it to Remus or Peter--and bring them both back here with you when you are ready."

"I will," said James, standing.

"Hurry, James," said Albus gravely, standing as well. "And be careful."

"Thank you, sir," said James, hurrying out the door.

Albus watched him go, a sense of dread twisting inside him.

"Do not thank me yet," he whispered.

***

Severus paced the interior of his office, wondering if ever there would be a tragedy in his own life plausible enough make him priority over Potter in Dumbledore's eyes. His sister--his sister, for God's sake! -was currently in the claws of Death Eaters unknown, and Dumbledore had the nerve to order him out of his office so that James Potter could obsess about his measly problems.

So Lord Voldemort wants wholesome James Potter dead, Severus thought bitterly. That poor, tormented man. Never mind the fact that I the one who must carry out the Dark Lord's every whim, I am the one who must face him whenever he Calls, I am the one who has suffered the most loss due to his 'master plan!'

"But if I die, or if I lose," Severus hissed aloud, "it doesn't matter to them. It doesn't matter to anybody. I," he drawled sarcastically to himself, plopping into his desk chair and propping his long legs upon his desk, "am a puppet."

Just like Father.

"Shut up."

Uncaringly aware that his strenuous Occlumency training of the past few hours had probably rendered him irreparably insane, Severus randomly grabbed a messy stack of papers from the corner of his desk. They were essays he had forced upon his fifth year class two days ago, ones he had not yet graded. He suddenly realized he had classes again tomorrow.

"'Sorry, class,'" he chortled bitterly, dropping the stack back on his desk, which caused several stray papers to flutter mindlessly to the floor. "'I guess the time just slipped away from me this weekend...'"

Everything I do is a mistake.

Severus drummed his fingers on the desk, checked the clock on the wall. Five-thirty in the afternoon already. He wished Dumbledore would come so he wouldn't have to be trapped alone with himself any longer.

Absentmindedly he prodded the large scab on the palm of his left hand; it was still very sore. He began dutifully picking at it, baring his teeth as he did so, until a tiny bit of blood bubbled to the surface. He smeared it over his skin boredly, listening to the thundering second-hand of the clock.

Suddenly his bleeding hand clenched into a fist, his whole body seizing up.

"Oh," he whimpered, "no..." He arched forward into a quivering ball, poised on his chair. He gripped his knees, feeling a silent scream being drawn from him as though by a razor sharp hook lodged deep inside his chest.

Not yet...!

"Dumbledore!" he roared uselessly, spasms of pain ripping through him.

He pushed up his left sleeve with a shaking hand. The Mark was black.

"But I can't...Ah!"

I believe you are able.

He lurched to his feet with this last wave of pain and pulled the drawer of his desk open so hard that it was completely wrenched out. It swung vertical from his hand and a shower of quills, ink bottles, and other odd assortments smashed all over the floor.

"Shit...!" He fell to his knees, throwing the empty drawer aside, and began to dig through the mess on the floor, ink staining his hands and entering the tiny cuts he received from the shards of ink bottle and tips of quills scattered before him. Finally his shaking hands found what they were after; that small container full of glittering powder with a tiny etching of the Dark Mark--

He struggled to his feet once more, falling against his desk as another spasm ripped though him. He slammed the container down on the desk and reached for his cloak, only to realize he'd left it at Snape Manor. Growling in frustration he loped to the fireplace, wrenching the container open and taking a more than adequate amount of powder in his fist.

"Gods," he whispered shakily, setting the container upon the stone floor beside the hearth. He tossed the Dark Lord's floo powder into the fireplace and the flames roared, glittering, into life. He stared at them, hardly breathing, unwilling to move. Then he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He allowed his sister's face to swim in his mind for one more moment, and one moment only. Then he opened his eyes. With a gut wrenching effort, he emptied his mind, his entire being, of emotion.

He smiled coldly and stepped into the flames.