A Cloud Before the Moon

4 December

To:Echolalius Cadwallader,

Chief Clerk, Records Division

Department of Criminal Prosecution

Dear Mr. Cadwallader:

I have read with great interest your fascinating and brilliant interview which was recently published in The Daily Prophet. You expressed the most remarkably cogent and clever arguments in support of your theory. As I understand it, you propose that those wizards and witches who actually have been found to have committed the crimes alleged against them as Deatheaters are all suffering from the effects of an inferior lineage. Each of them felt compelled to validate himself as a true wizard by participating in such unlawful acts as would mitigate his feelings of inadequacy. It is so rare these days to hear anyone offer such an intelligent unifying explanation. I find your theory intriguing and credible; it confirms certain impressions that I have formulated while in the process of writing my own reports.

You have inspired me to an eager desire to further investigate this matter, at the earliest opportunity. Unfortunately, I am presently engaged in an assignment which does not permit me to return to the Ministry to retrieve my records, which I know are currently under your highly competent custody. If at all possible, perhaps you could have my records forwarded to me by return owl, so that I might avail of my spare time to seek out evidence in support of your analysis. Due to the nature of my assignment, I am not at liberty to reveal my location, but I am certain that my owl will be able to find me.

Once I have had an opportunity to review my records and reports, and have returned from my mission, I will consider it an honor and a privilege if I might meet with you in person to discuss my findings; perhaps I will be able to offer some small contribution in support of your remarkable hypothesis.

In the meantime, I remain

Yours most respectfully,

Letha Faraday

Letha reread the letter. Perhaps it was a bit over the top? She looked again at Cadwallader's picture in the Prophet, his self-important smirk, his ridiculous comb-over - and smiled. He would eat it up, with a spoon. She was not sure whether her records would include any information about Severus; and if there was any, she was not certain she would want to read it. However, she was willing to bet she would get a reply from the pompous ass who had custody and control over all the important and irreplaceable records of what was, for now, the busiest and most consequential division of the Ministry of Magic. She spritzed the letter with a hint of cologne, rolled it up, attached it to Horatio's leg, rubbed the owl's head gently and sent him off.

That night, she reconsidered. Yes, she thought, she wanted to know, no matter what she might find out. Bits and pieces of dreams, thoughts, ideas, perhaps memories, were poking like the tips of icebergs through a haze - tantalizing images flashed before her now and again - a row of students at desks in a classroom, an office crowded with piles of parchment, a man with a long white beard, a forest, and - she held up her hair while he fastened a slender gold chain around her neck. That was real, she knew - that she could remember, after he'd stalked out in anger, and returned. with the necklace in hand. No - that was wrong. She concentrated, let her eyes wander over the image in her mind. Too young - they were too young - and the setting was wrong, too. Other than that, she could discern nothing; it was maddening! He was maddening. She wanted, she needed information, verifiable information, so she could evaluate the matter rationally. Sensibly. Logically. So she could catalogue and categorize him, identify him accurately, like an insect etherized and pinned and displayed on a board. So she could dissect her feelings and sever them effortlessly and painlessly. And, as soon as possible.

Because, as things stood now, she missed him unbearably.

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On the morning of December the 9th, Severus Snape awoke long before dawn. It was cold and dark; the fire had burned itself out and he shivered as he reluctantly slid out of bed and re-lit it. Bleary-eyed, he headed for the lavatory, washed up, and then proceeded to check over the preparations he had made for that evening. He started with the material items he had prepared - his own attire as well as Mr. FitzGerald's, gifts for the child and for the hosts. The carriage had been called; the portkey and echo-wand prepared. He did not allow himself to dwell upon the bizarre nature of the entire plan. He tried not to consider how easily an unprepared question or unforeseen circumstance could reveal the scheme. He tried not to think about how he was relying on a Muggle - a Muggle - to help him deceive Lucius Malfoy - he shuddered as he considered his own father's fate. He was even careful to avoid thinking about what would happen in the event that his ruse was successful - he would be forced to spend, very possibly, the rest of his life, pretending to be what he was not. Such a result would entail a very lonely future; nevertheless, it would be better than the alternative consequences, if he were not successful. Besides, he was already pretending to be a great many things he was not.

It was time to pick up his date.

He dressed himself in the Muggle clothing he had purchased in Diagon Alley. Then he glanced into a small cauldron he had left sitting on his desk. Inside, were a pair of gobstones, one cat's-eye, the other rose quartz . He had found them in the back of a bureau drawer, scarcely remembering ever having had such things. He was fairly certain he had never played Gobstones as a boy, but he had been fascinated by the perfect little spheres with the hypnotic designs. He had managed to find all sorts of odd uses for the things. Now he had a new odd use for these particular specimens - he grabbed the cat's-eye and disappeared.

When Snape reappeared, he was standing in Adams' living room. Much to his relief, Adams walked in, fully dressed and apparently ready to leave. "Shall we go?" Snape asked, without any preamble. Adams shut his eyes and shook his head mournfully. He whispered, "One little problem", and pointed behind the wizard's back.

Snape turned around and saw that, lying on the couch was a large muscular man, face down and fast asleep. It was one of the policemen Snape had encountered in his first visit to the Muggle village. He glared at Adams. "What is that doing there?"

Adams shrugged apologetically. "They all traipsed in here last night, intent on dragging me down to the pub. When I wouldn't come, they made themselves at home. But the others left. McTigue didn't."

"Can't you just leave him here?"

"No! He'll be up in - " Adams glanced at his watch - "an hour or so - and puke his guts out. Always does. But not here, for chrissake!"

Snape glared at him ferociously, but Adams ignored him. After several moments, he grumbled, "I suppose you want me to deliver this swine to his own sty."

"Now, don't be talking about Tommy like that! He may be dumb as a post, but he's a good man. And anyway - " he added "that won't work. If you magically pop into his house in the wee hours of the morning, you'll leave with a serious headache, I'd wager."

"A headache? Why?"

"Well, after the fair Lady McTigue's brings a heavy metal object down on your head... No, we'll have to drag his drunken arse home the old-fashioned way. We may get an earful, but at least the iron cookware will be reserved for poor old Tommy here."

And thus it was that Severus Snape found himself with one massive arm hanging across his neck as the two men struggled to pull the rather large and bulky Constable Thomas X. McTigue down five flights of stairs and across the street. The first streaks of dawn began to appear on the horizon. Tears welled in his eyes as a putrid alcohol-and-onion-scented belch blasted in his face. Fortunately, there wasn't too far to go; the McTigues lived in one of a row of houses right across from Adams' building. They struggled up the steps to the front door, and Adams knocked. No answer. He knocked again, more loudly. This time, the door flew open abruptly, and a small bony woman with frizzy red hair stood before them looking murderous. "For fuck's sake, what are ya doin' draggin' that son-of-a-whore in here at this hour an' knockin' me up?" She then regaled them with a string of insults and curses so foul they left Snape dumbfounded, though it did not seem to surprise Adams in the least. Finally, she said "Just dump 'im here an' get outta my sight, you miserable good for nothin' shitheads."

With immense relief, the two men began to lower their load to the ground. Suddenly, there was a loud sickening noise and Tommy McTigue discharged the entire contents of his capacious stomach onto Davy Adams and Severus Snape. Snape was infuriated. Seething He reflexively reached down as if to grab his wand, and Mrs. McTigue smirked at him unpleasantly. "What are ya lookin' fer, scumbag? I've got something fer ya. Don't you dare go anywhere." He was so utterly flabbergasted, he did not move. In less than a moment, she returned with a bucket and shoved a mop into Snape's hands. "It better be spotless!" she ordered.

Adams tried to gauge whether the expression frozen on Snape's face was more one of outrage, disgust or stupefaction. "I will do no such thing!" he spat. He looked about ready to hurl the mop at her, and Adams grabbed the end. "Er - my cousin's a bit touchy, Molly, I'll take care of it."

"No, that's a'right, Davy. Don't spoil the boy - I asked him to clean it up, and that he will."

It was one more thing Lucius Malfoy was never going to know - though it would have provided him with great amusement - that Snape had spent part of the morning cleaning the vomit of a drunken Muggle off the floor of a foyer, under the watchful eye of the Muggle's wife. Adams assisted, and they got the mess cleaned up. As Adams handed back the mop to the lady of the house, she grinned at him maliciously. "So tell me, Davy, have ya heard about Annie? She's very happy, y'know - engaged to some bloke with real money, who can treat her right. Guess ya haven't heard from her lately, have ya?"

Adams looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. Weakly he responded, "Not lately, Molly m'love, but thanks for asking." He practically shoved Snape out of the door. The two men, having been granted their freedom, fled out into the street. Shopkeepers were beginning to open their stores and a few automobiles passed. Snape and Adams did their best to ignore the stares they got as they headed back to Adams' place, both of them festooned with drying puke.

Once in the building, Snape practically flew up the stairs. He stopped outside the door of the flat, gasping a bit from the exertion, and exhorted Adams to hurry up and get the door open. Adams unlocked the door, and Snape rushed in, immediately grabbing up his wand from where he'd left it hidden in a space behind the radiator. "Sorry about that," said Adams, "I never expected..."

Snape spun and faced him in white-lipped fury, eyes like glowing embers, wand upraised. If Adams felt any trepidation, he did not show it. Slowly, silently, Snape lowered his wand to his side, black eyes glaring through a rigid mask-like visage. It was readily apparent that Snape was maintaining self-control by only the most herculean effort. Yet, had he unleashed on Adams the full extent of his wrath, it would scarcely have had any effect compared to the torment that Molly McTigue's simple inquiry had inflicted.

"Come here," Snape ordered perfunctorily. Adams did as he was asked. Snape clamped his fingers on his upper arm and picked up what looked like a child's marble. The room disappeared.

Adams must have closed his eyes, because he had to open them now. He found himself in a dark vestibule leading to a fairly large, dark bedchamber, dimly lit only by a dying fire languishing in the grate. Snape picked up a long narrow box from the bed and handed it to him. "I think we could use some more light in here, would you not agree?"

"Sure. Oh." A bit nervously, he opened the box and removed the wand that lay inside. He held out and waved the wand as he had practiced and shouted "Lumos!" When the sconces hung about the room all lit up at once, he was so astonished he nearly fell over. "Well, look at that!" he exclaimed, grinning broadly.

"Oh, do get over yourself," Snape muttered. "Any child with half a brain can do that."

"Not where I come from, they can't".

Snape's eyes glittered malevolently. "That is because any wizard child with half a brain is more skilled and capable than the most talented adult among you."

"Oh really? Is that so? It seems to me we've accomplished a hell of a lot on account of not being able to just go "Zap!" That's why we've figured out how to do the exact same thing - with a light switch."

"We? Who is this 'we'? Perhaps there are a few ingenious ones among the lot of you. But the rest are so many untalented sheep, using and abusing the frequently useless and even dangerous products that spew forth from the avaricious minds of a handful of clever ones. Moreover, for your information, there is no simple 'Zap!' as you seem to believe. Magic does not simply 'happen'. It requires ability and intelligence for proper use. The fact is, there is nothing more contemptible and helpless than a stupid and unskillful wizard."

"Yes, well..."

"...unless it would be one who has a modicum of athletic and social skill and thereby concludes he is better than others because of it. And do you know how stupid most people are?"

"I'm not sure I understand how..."

"When that sort presumes to strut and preen like an empty-headed peacock, people are all too often taken in."

"Snape..."

"Duped. Utterly bamboozled."

"What empty-headed peacock are you talking about?"

"He may lord himself above everyone else, yet has no sense of honor." Snape's voice became sharp-edged. "Tell me, Adams, would you betray your closest friend?"

"I... wouldn't..."

"But, on the other hand, if you were warned by reliable sources - impeccable sources - that your best friend had betrayed you, would you be so arrogant as to think you knew better?"

Adams was totally flummoxed at this turn of conversation. He recalled that Snape had pursued the same line of colloquy, with the same half-mad glitter in his eyes, after they'd found Letha. "Well, I might..."

"Might what?" Snape snapped between clenched teeth.

"Give him a chance to explain himself."

"Really? Perhaps - but would you..."

Enough was enough. Adams had not completely regained his equilibrium after Molly McTigue's spiteful inquiry about his ex-wife (who happened to be her sister), and he was in no mood for some rambling irrelevant rant. "Snape! Is there any point to this discussion? If not, can we get back to what we're supposed to be doing? I, for one, would like to come home from this party tonight in one piece!"

Snape looked at him thoughtfully; his features relaxed. "You are absolutely right. Let us get cleaned up, have a bite to eat, and go over the preparations." Snape himself brought up a tray of food from the kitchen, and left Adams to devour it alone. Davy's mood did improve dramatically after eating a decent meal, and he did not at all mind being left on his own for a while. In particular, he had dreaded the possibility that Snape might ask him about Annie, a topic of discussion he was greatly inclined to avoid. Not that he was so stupid as to suppose that Severus Snape would have even the slightest interest in the details of his life.

He assessed his situation. A bad-tempered and possibly insane wizard had rooked him into some half-baked, dangerous scheme without even asking his leave. As a result, he was, apparently, going to be risking his life, under rather bizarre and embarrassing circumstances, to accomplish some aim of which he had only the vaguest understanding. (And a skeptical little voice inside him kept saying: "Adams, you twit, there's no such thing as magic." He ignored it.) On the other hand, it was probably the most exciting thing he'd ever done, and the worst thing he could imagine Snape saying to him at that moment was "I've reconsidered. Forget the whole thing."

When Snape returned, they made final preparations and went over various possible situations and scenarios. Davy felt he had come to know Eamon FitzGerald very well. He knew what was expected of him, how he behaved, spoke, walked, ate, his opinions and his feelings. He had never considered a career in the theatre, but he had come to understand and appreciate how an actor adopts the mantle of his character, and imbues it with his own life force. At this point, Eamon was as much his own creation as Snape's. Over the past few weeks, he had become quite comfortable with wearing the flowing dark-green robe, and in fact rather enjoyed it. However, he could not seem to avoid feeling ridiculous in the pointed matching hat, as if he were an oversized child playing dress-up for Halloween.

Snape attached the dragonhide wand-sheath and intricately-carved silver frog to the sash of Adams' robe. Of course, he did not tell Adams that the material was in fact dragonhide - he was not prepared to reveal that bit of information. Nor did he explain that there were those who would be present who would recognize him as a Muggle, no matter how well he played his role. In particular, the Malfoys' house-elf would know; as would Fippy, given a chance, but the Snapes' house-elf was at that moment sitting glumly in the kitchen, wondering what terrible thing she might have done to cause Master Severus to banish her there, on threat of discharge. On the other hand, the silver frog had a use in addition to providing evidence of Mr. FitzGerald's extravagant tastes. The enchanted silver object would help confound the house-elf, shielding the wearer's identity from recognition by anyone capable of seeing past the impersonation. Snape had taken an added precaution. He had prepared a Penumbra Refractus potion, and bid Mr. FitzGerald swallow down the vile concoction, which would help deflect prying thoughts. Upon further consideration, he quaffed a goblet as well.

In the late afternoon, Snape announced that it was time to get started. He made sure nothing was out of place, and grasped Adams by the shoulder. Then he picked up the rose quartz gobstone, and a moment later, the two men were standing in the woods near the house. "You will knock on the door, and the house-elf will answer. Then, I will be introducing you to my mother; I am afraid she may not be terribly hospitable, however."

"I can imagine", Adams answered in his newly-minted accent.

'No, I am not sure you can', Snape thought. Then he thought of Molly McTigue, and reconsidered. "After the coachman has loaded the carriage, we will embark on our little enterprise. Any last questions?" Adams shook his head, so Snape picked up the gobstone again and disappeared.

Adams took a deep breath and headed for the large, dark old house. He knocked on the door, drawing the robe around himself, shivering a bit in the cold winter air. The door opened.

"Please come in, sir," beckoned a squeaky voice. Adams looked down and saw the oddest-looking creature he'd ever set eyes on in his life.