Metanoia - The Conversion of Severus Snape

Chapter 5: In Over His Head
Snape attempts to obey the Dark Lord's order to change his career.

***

Evening light slanted through the window of the small sitting room of the last house on Spinner's End, casting strange shadows around the solitary figure pacing. Snape was troubled, and glad of the privacy his house provided him. It had never been a sanctuary, but now he was willing to use it as a retreat, a cocoon of silence, away from curious eyes. His last meeting with the Dark Lord had been...unsettling. He had wanted to be given a task, he had hoped for some sign that he was trusted as a competent Death Eater, not merely a lackey to assist Lucius. He had wanted to work alone...to be given his own task.

But not like this. He had not wanted this. He wished Lucius had been able to think of someone else for their Lord to send. He had not dared to contradict the Dark Lord himself when the order was given. Putting aside his task, Hogwarts was not a place he wished to revisit. He was an adult now, but those halls would merely remind him of what it was like to be helpless and unwanted, with the world against him.... He shook his head. Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe...but he would have to put aside everything he had gained as a Death Eater, deny the best part of his adult life to do so.

To be a spy - every action, every thought would be coloured by the knowledge of his duplicity. He would perforce live every day in the knowledge that he could be caught, could be found out, could be killed. Would be, unless he were clever enough to hide that knowledge where none could see - not even Dumbledore. He would not get a second chance. He must be prepared from the start, then never waver. He would have to practice, but how? On Lucius? Malfoy knew him well enough, by now, and was frighteningly observant at times. If he could fool him, he needn't worry about mere acquaintances. But Malfoy was not Dumbledore. The old wizard had always been unsettling - uncannily aware of people's actions and motives. To hide duplicity from him would be like trying to hide it from his Master. He froze, allowing that thought to trickle down his spine like ice water, unwilling to consider the implications. Dare he? Surely, being caught by the Dark Lord would be far, far worse than anything that would happen if Dumbledore were to find out? After all, the Ministry had only death and dementors to threaten him with, whereas the Dark Lord... was much more creative (and ambitious) in his torments. He shivered. It was a worthy test. If he chose something insubstantial to hide first, failure might not earn him a traitor's punishment. A calculated risk, but one that would give him the confidence he would need to hoodwink the great Albus Dumbledore. He hoped he would think of a less dangerous test soon.

***

Snape did not waste the first opportunity that presented itself. There was no risk of being overheard.

"How did my father die?" he asked. His voice and face revealed bored curiosity.

Lucius gave him a quick look, but answered carelessly, "I wouldn't know. I wasn't there."

Snape was surprised, but only for a moment. Of course it was Lucius' style to delegate the work to others. "But surely they gave you a report afterwards?"

"Nothing exotic. They toyed with him a bit, a spot of torture, and then a killing curse. I had warned them that it must look like a Muggle sickness - no curses with lingering after effects."

"Mmm," Snape said blandly. "That makes sense." For a moment, he thought he had concealed from Lucius his true reason for asking. But after a brief silence, Malfoy spoke again.

"He didn't mention you, at least not by name. I don't think the others guessed who it was. But he did say, 'So that's what he meant, the bastard,' when they arrived. A reference to you, perhaps?" Lucius had a very knowing look on his face, but Snape forced himself to appear calmly innocent.

"Perhaps. He did hate me, after all, and would have expected any wizards to have a tie to me. The man was woefully ignorant of our world."

Lucius was not put off. "Are you sure you didn't warn him?" he asked sweetly.

Snape allowed a slow smile to spread across his face. "In all the years I dreamed of his death," he said softly, "I never once thought of giving him fair warning. I wanted to see the shock on his face when he realised how powerless and trapped he was." His usual sour expression returned. "Pity I missed it."

Placated, Lucius let it drop.

Snape wondered if he could count this conversation as a success or not; it was hard to tell how much he had kept hidden. Spying would certainly be a challenge.

***

Snape returned to his desk after hunting down an obscure reference book to find a note waiting for him. Thankfully, the Ministry didn't use owls for internal memos, so there was no bird waiting. He brushed a pile of scrolls out of the way, and plunked down the heavy, dusty book. He picked up the note and quickly read through it. A meeting with Mr. Sandleford this afternoon. He should have enough time to dig out the reference he needed before then. Someone in Magical Law Enforcement had confiscated a cursed medallion, only to discover that the curse was in Gothic. Who spoke that anymore? No one, apparently, which is why it had been sent down to the Department of Mysteries. It had been bounced around to a few people, but no one thought to consult the language experts to identify which language it even was. Idiots. Now that he knew it was Gothic, it was just a matter of researching old Gothic curses to identify it. If he were lucky, there would be a known counter-curse. If not...he would be spending most of tomorrow devising one from scratch. A tedious process, because Arithmancy had definitely not been his favourite subject. He opened the dusty book he had found, and began reading up on Gothic curses.

After lunch, he had found several clues. He'd isolated a few words, and figured out that the curse had something to do with fire. But he still had not found the specific curse. He hoped it wasn't unrecorded. That would make this even more tedious. The medallion wasn't that old, though, so whoever placed the curse on it had to have found it somewhere. Nobody spoke Gothic anymore, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. But any more research could wait until after his meeting with Mr. Sandleford.

He went and knocked on his boss' door. Usually, he avoided coming here, and just spoke with Mr. Sandleford when he did his rounds of the office. He looked around, noting the clutter of knickknacks. Clearly, Mr. Sandleford had been here for some time. He didn't seem to have any ambitions to leave, either - strange. A picture of his family smiled and waved from the shelf next to the desk. Three children at home; that might explain it. His mind was not wholly in his work.

"Ah, good, Mr. Snape, you're early," his boss greeted him. He wasn't really early - just on time, actually - but wasn't going to point that out. "Please, take a seat." Mr. Sandleford looked a bit nervous, which was unusual. Snape didn't know what this meeting was about, but perhaps it wasn't the medallion - something new? "Let's see, you've been with us a little over a year, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir. I began in September '78."

"And what is your current project?"

"Lifting Anti-Apparition Jinxes, though I've been working on the MLE medallion the past few days." A yearly review, then?

"Oh, any progress?" He sounded surprised. Clearly, he didn't keep close tabs on what his workers were up to.

"Yes, sir. It's in Gothic. I'm still isolating the specific curse, but I've narrowed it down to fire-based."

"Oh, good for you." He seemed a bit distracted, though, and the praise fell flat.

"Well, let me get to the point. As you know, our Department has had meetings this past week, and Rookwood has decided that Countercurses needs some tightening up. So, I've decided to let our most junior members go. Hopefully, one of the other offices will snap you up, but times are hard, and I don't know how many openings there are. I'll be happy to recommend you, if you need it. Just let me know, and I'll write the letter. I know most of the other heads, so it should work out well for you."

Snape blinked. He was being fired. Sandleford had just fired him.

"Sir...when will this occur?" If he had enough time, he could finish up his projects here, and then begin making inquiries into possible openings....

"Immediately. The budget for next month has to reflect these changes, so I'm afraid I can't keep you or Memmel past Friday. I'll give you the rest of the day to clean out your desk, and we'll forward your final paycheck to you."

He might as well have jinxed him to stop breathing; he was caught completely off-balance. Dazedly, he thought it was good he was already sitting.

"Sir," he sputtered finally. "May I ask why this is happening so...suddenly?"

Sandleford just tilted his head, looking puzzled, and slightly... sympathetic. "As I've said, it's a budget decision, nothing at all to do with your performance. You've been quite satisfactory, and if you had more experience, we would surely be keeping you. But, as it is, I really can't...."

Snape had recovered his breath, but now he was biting his tongue. His blood was boiling. He wanted to tell this man exactly what he thought of his inane excuse...but that would not get him a letter of recommendation.

"Thank you, sir," he bit out, "for informing me as soon as possible."

Sandleford smiled. "I knew you'd understand. As I said, I'd be happy to recommend you to anyone for your next job."

***

Narcissa met them in the entrance foyer. "Welcome home, Lucius," she said, her tone polite, her face reserved. Her manner betrayed nothing, but the very fact that she was there to meet him implied she wanted his attention. He smiled and inclined his head, then turned to his companion. "If you will excuse me for a moment? I will join you in the library shortly." He saw his guest on his way, then followed his wife to the day room. Her mask had dropped; she looked like a cat who had got into the cream.

"What is it, dearest?" he asked.

She paused, then blurted out, "The rabbit - it died." For a moment, Lucius said nothing. He merely stared at his wife. Then he stepped toward her, and catching her hand, asked, "How do you feel?" A smile flitted across her face. "Fine, I'm fine, really." He nodded, still looking at her intently. "When?" he asked next. "I'm not quite sure. Perhaps late June." He bent to kiss her. "My guest will not be staying long. I will return to you shortly." He squeezed her hands, and then left the room.

***

"Lucius, how am I going to pull this off?" Snape was pacing in the Malfoy library, and by an effort of will had constrained himself from kicking at the furniture. "Dumbledore isn't going to hire me, and if he doesn't, our Master will...be displeased." He could think of other endings to that thought, but they all translated to kill me.

"Have you even asked him for an interview yet?" Lucius said distractedly. "He'll just ignore you if he weren't going to consider you. Keep your head and see it through."

"Easy for you to say," Snape grumbled. "Dumbledore won't be in any hurry to meet with me. I don't even know how many applicants there will be. For all I know, he already has someone in mind."

"If you're that concerned about it, just tell Him that you think you're not qualified."

"I can't tell him that!" Snape burst out with. "And would he listen? Does he ever? No. He gave me this task, and I'll be damned if I don't see it through. I'm not going to whine to him now."

"Then don't whine to me, either," Lucius said impatiently. "If you don't get the job, then you can come here in a panic. But for now, you should just do your best to get that job - and keep your eyes and ears open." Honestly, he didn't see the need for these dramatics. "You are currently unemployed and in need of a job - being vulnerable and needy should make you more attractive to Dumbledore." It was harsh, but Lucius could see no reason to coddle Severus any more.

Something in his tone caught Snape's attention; his eyes narrowed as he looked at his friend. "Why is that, Lucius?" he asked quietly, his former outburst spent. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the convenient timing of the pressure on my supervisor...would you?"

"Why complain now, Severus? I got you the job. Why should you take it ill if the Dark Lord's orders cost you the same? You know he has influence in the Ministry."

"Thanks for nothing," Snape spat out, and stalked from the room. Lucius did not bother seeing him out; he returned to Narcissa instead.

***

A ghost floating through the dusty entryway seemed affronted by Snape's presence, but still nodded towards the end of the hall where the Death Eaters might be found. He wondered if the ghost had been killed to take the house, or if he just acted as a deterrent to keep others away. But he had more important things to worry about; it could not be a coincidence that he had personally been called the day after he stormed out of Malfoy Manor. His temper may have got him into more trouble than he could handle this time.

Snape took a deep breath, and prepared to deceive his Master. If he sees through me, I will have a moment to throw myself on the ground. Don't plead for mercy - just tell him quickly why I did it. He hoped that would be enough.

He entered the room, and kneeled before Voldemort. There were several other Death Eaters present, and he wasn't sure if he ought to interrupt. The Dark Lord was speaking to two of them, and the one with the limp (I should know his name, by now, Snape thought) stood at attention at his side. Time seemed to drag, until finally one bowed and left.

After a moment, the Dark Lord acknowledged his presence. "Ah, so good of you to come. No doubt you were busy at home. I hear that there is some...difficulty...with your assignment." He paused and looked down at Snape intently. "Have you been unable to attract the attention of the lofty Dumbledore?" The tone was barely concealed mockery, but Snape did not let it goad him.

"No, my Lord, I have not yet sent him my application." He kept his voice even, and looked up to meet the Dark Lord's eyes.

"I see. Then why is it you are concerned?"

"My Lord, I am very young. I have grave doubts as to whether or not he will give me the job. If there are any other candidates...."

The Dark Lord gestured impatiently, cutting him off. "I am aware of your youth, and indeed that was why you were given this assignment. Do not use it as a cloak to hide your true garments. You are disgruntled because I lost you your job at the Ministry, are you not?"

"No, my Lord, I am not. Your decision was wise."

"Really, you are not upset by this?" The red eyes seemed to bore through him, cleaving between flesh and spirit.

"I was," Snape acknowledged, "But that was before I considered the advantage it would give me in the coming interview with Dumbledore. I had not thought about how my position would appear to him. Now I see that your way plays on his weaknesses. I would have had to quit at the Ministry, anyway."

Snape concentrated on his breathing, forcing his heart to pump his blood no quicker than usual. Anything but the anger and betrayal he felt.

Apparently satisfied, the Dark Lord turned away from him, and gestured for him to rise.

"In future, I would prefer you to bring your concerns to me. I dislike having to question reluctant Death Eaters." Those words sent a thrill of alarm through him. What had been done to Lucius to coerce him into repeating that conversation? He did not relish the thought of apologising to that man.

"If there is nothing else, my Lord?" he asked deferentially. The Dark Lord dismissed him, already turning to another Death Eater. Snape bowed low and swept from the room quickly. He had done it. He was almost dazed by the thought. He had told the Dark Lord what he chose to reveal, and had not been found out! This boded well for his eventual interview with Dumbledore.

***

Hogwarts Governor suffers mysterious fatal calamity

Yesterday, Carl Whitehead, Director Emeritus of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and now Governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry suffered a bizarre mishap. While attending a banquet given by Abraxus Malfoy in honour of the achievements and contributions of all the Hogwarts governors to wizarding society, Mr. Whitehead took ill. Without warning, he burst into flames before the desserts were served. Ministry officials checked the wands of everyone in attendance, but no evidence of foul play was discovered. Experts at St. Mungo's were unable to shed any light on the situation. "I've seen a lot of strange things in my twenty years here," remarked Geraldine Hicks. "People have boiled their own toes, toddlers have set fire to curtains spontaneously, and I've even seen a jinxed broom that catches the rider's pants on fire. But I've never seen anyone set himself on fire like this. It's quite unusual." The Board of Governors is understandably rattled by this tragic occurrence.

Snape stopped reading. How could Lucius do this now? He had no doubt as to what had happened. Firebelly Liqueur had made its way into Whitehead's dinner. Here he was out of work, and his criminal activities were in the newspaper. Not that anyone knew that, but he could hardly apply for Potions jobs now. He would have to keep a low profile on that front. He had brewed one other potion for Lucius, but it was a harmless family recipe, nothing illegal. Yes, he was supposed to be getting the job at Hogwarts, but he didn't like being out of work without options. Surely he could apply to Hogwarts while working somewhere else temporarily. Besides, unless there was a mid-year opening, Hogwarts would not begin paying him for another nine months. Though, part of him was curious just how long it had taken for the poison to take effect. He had been afraid that that batch would have been too rushed. He shook his head - just like Lucius, though. To do the man in so publicly, at a dinner that he had hosted and planned, with so many people witnessing. He was so infuriatingly brazen and self-assured...because he did get away with it!

***

Being out of work could be worse, he supposed. He was enjoying being master of his own schedule, and he had had the foresight to save some of his Death Eater "bonuses." So, he would not run out of money any time soon. He owned his house, and wizards wouldn't starve to death. But he could not help a feeling of restless anxiety from creeping up on him whenever he considered the future. A month of applying for jobs had turned up no offers. He had to get a job at Hogwarts. His Master had ordered it, so it was not an option. He would not admit it to himself, but he was more than a little concerned at the possibility of failure. There was bound to be an opening; the Dark Arts teachers had never stayed for more than a year while he was in school. But what if this year's candidate was more tenacious? What if Dumbledore had several applicants? He wished he were more confident, but his credentials were not all that impressive. At least, no one else seemed to think so.

He was not idling away his time, either. When he was not job-hunting (that most irksome of tasks), he was preparing for his work as a spy...or thinking up creative hexes to use on Sandleford, if he ever got the chance. Well, perhaps that was a bit foolish, but he did need to work on his Occlumency skills. Clamping down on the emotions that would betray him came naturally to him, but Dumbledore was a renowned Legilimens. His success with his Master was heartening, but it was only a single instance. It would take significant practice to fool Dumbledore...and it would take an expert to fool him without revealing that he was a skilled Occlumens. Snape frankly doubted he would be able to pull that off, but he had to at least try. It would make his life easier if Dumbledore didn't even know he was hiding something. Otherwise, the meddling old fool was bound to ferret it out on his own, despite Snape's best efforts.

***

13 January 1980

Headmaster Dumbledore,

I am submitting my name for the opening you have advertised in the Daily Prophet for a Defence against the Dark Arts professor. I feel I would be well suited to this position, and am eager to return to Hogwarts.

Enclosed, please find my NEWT scores and a letter of recommendation from my previous employer, Mr. Emory Sandleford, Supervisor of Countercurses, Department of Mysteries.

Owls may reach me at the Hog's Head, Hogsmeade.

Sincerely,
Severus Snape, '78

***

There were names carved into the bar at the Hog's Head, but most were scored over and coated in dust, so that they were difficult to read. Snape concentrated on one, trying to decipher it. Any distraction to take his mind off the upcoming interview with Dumbledore next week. The Hog's Head was not a pleasant place, and no one came there for the atmosphere. It was a good place for clandestine deals (one regular he'd spotted in the past few weeks was certainly a dealer in smuggled goods), and a place to drink cheap firewhisky. Most of the patrons were grizzled and worn; one man was missing a leg, and few of them looked as though they shaved or bathed with any regularity. Snape scowled; he fit right in.

Tonight, rain lashed the grimy windows, making the room seem darker and more confined than usual. The door opened, and Dumbledore stepped in. Snape stared, then quickly averted his eyes. The Headmaster approached the bar, and said a few quiet words to the elderly bartender (was there any such thing as a young bartender?) and then turned towards the stairs in the back of the room. After he had taken a few paces, the bartender called after him, "She's in sixteen, not thirteen - refused the room I offered her." Dumbledore acknowledged his thanks and then continued up the stairs.

Who was he meeting? What if it were another candidate for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position? Well, your task is to spy on him, isn't it? he reminded himself. Unobtrusively, he finished his drink and left his coin on the bar. He stood and made his way for the stairs, the same as he did each evening, being careful not to linger or appear too hurried. Sixteen he repeated to himself as he climbed the stairs. What would he do when he got there, though?

He approached the door slowly, as timid as if it were a hippogriff who had taken offence at him. He took his wand out and first determined that there was a mild Imperturbable Charm on the door. Luckily, he knew a way around that. He touched the doorknob and muttered an eavesdropping jinx quietly. He couldn't picture Dumbledore using such a weak privacy spell; it must have been the woman he was meeting. He hesitated for a moment; getting caught by Dumbledore would ruin everything. But his room was on this floor - he could always give that as an excuse for being in the hallway. He knelt down and touched his ear to the doorknob - and suddenly he could hear as well as if he were in the room.

"Thank you so much for coming here to meet with me," gushed a female voice. "I just wouldn't have felt comfortable entering the school as an...interloper."

What on earth was this about? Who was she? He suddenly felt very strange listening in.

"Not at all, my dear." Dumbledore's voice answered. He would not have forgotten that sound in twice as many years. "The trip to the village does me good; a little night air can be refreshing."

"Yes," she replied doubtfully, "I suppose so, if one is not caught in a miasma."

"So tell me about your training as a Seer. It has interested you for some time?"

"Oh yes, I knew from a young age I would one day have the gift of a clear Inner Eye," she intoned. "It runs in my family, you see. My great-great-grandmother..."

"Ah yes, you are related to Cassandra Trewlaney, are you not?"

"Yes, indeed, my mother always said I looked like her, and then I was born in the same sign, so it is only natural that I would take after her a bit."

"Well, be that as it may, I am more interested in your reasons for wanting to share this subject with the students at Hogwarts." Dumbledore dismissed her genealogy lightly.

So this was a job interview! Though quite a bizarre one....

"Of course, not all students will have the gift, Headmaster, you must realise. I can only train those who are open to the influence of the stars, ready to peer inside and see what will be revealed to them..."

"I see. Well, Divination is optional, so not all students will take it. Perhaps we can accommodate you if you are not able to teach all those who sign up for it. But that is a discussion for next year. The current professor has abruptly left us. She saw herself wandering in the Alps over Christmas break, and decided that it did not do to toy with fate. She packed her trunk and left the next day."

"Oh, I say, that is highly unusual!" the female voice replied. "She should have consulted the cards to verify that no ill omens hung over her untimely departure." There was something idiotic and self-satisfied in that voice that made Snape loathe it on instinct.

"While the students have appreciated the break, I am reluctant to end the class now. Would you be willing to cover them until the end of this year?"

"But I thought...I thought this job opening was for a more...permanent position?" she floundered now that they had come to the practical side of things.

"It may be. But we can discuss that in June. The Divination curriculum is quite dated, and may not survive another upheaval."

"I don't understand what you mean. I..."

Suddenly, a third voice spoke. Snape hadn't realised anyone else was present. The voice sounded too deep for a woman's, but did not sound like a man, either.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ..."

This voice was very confident, but hoarse, as if it were not used often. It spoke strangely, as if reading from a scroll or reciting a poem.

"Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ...

And the Dark Lord will..."

And with that, a hand clamped down on Snape's shoulder and dragged him away from the door. "And just what might you be doing, eh?" he asked. It was the bartender, who had spoken to Dumbledore earlier. His hand closed around Snape's fingers, crushing them until he released his wand. "Thought you might listen in to a private conversation, didja? Well, you might find that we don't appreciate that 'round here. Now, how about I just march you right in there and let you explain the whole thing to the Professor?"

Without waiting for an answer, he rapped on the door. Snape cursed his stupidity. How could he have let himself get caught? He hadn't even managed to hex this man! He had just botched his entire assignment.

The barman opened the door, and hauled Snape into the room inelegantly by his ear. "Look what I found attached to your doorknob!" he declared. The foolish woman squeaked, but no one else was present except Dumbledore, who looked rather alarmed.

"What were you doing here?" he asked sharply.

"My room...is down the hall," Snape mumbled, knowing he would convince no one.

"Not any more, it ain't!" the barman growled.

"Severus Snape, you couldn't wait for your own interview?" Dumbledore asked quietly, a look of recognition and sudden understanding in his eyes. In fear, Snape clutched his left sleeve, afraid they were going to search him on the spot. Dumbledore did not miss the movement, and his eyes hardened into cold fury.

"Take him downstairs; I'll talk to him as soon as I finish here."

Still in shock, Snape allowed the barkeeper to drag him from the room and towards the stairs. But once out of Dumbledore's sight, he recovered his sense. His wand was in his captor's pocket, but he could probably reach it if he moved suddenly. As he came to the bottom step, he turned and lunged for his wand. The older man was caught off guard by this sudden change in his docile prisoner, and was unable to prevent him from regaining his wand. Snape quickly blasted the man, and then ran for the door. He heard cries ring out behind him, but did not wait to see if he would be followed. He Disapparated in the street.

***

Shaking, he collapsed into a chair in his tiny sitting room. He had escaped, but just barely. But had he really? The real fear had always been the Dark Lord's reaction, not Dumbledore's.

Another shudder ran through his body. He had failed. The Dark Lord did not tolerate failure. He was worse than dead. He would be tortured, mocked and cast aside...or even killed. Who knew what his Master was capable of? He groaned. Now what? He'd used up all his options. How could he weasel his way out of this?

What could he tell the Dark Lord? That Dumbledore had turned him down? Maybe he could conceal the fact that Dumbledore suspected him of being a Death Eater. He need not mention the spying incident, though that mangy barkeep may well have told half of Hogsmeade by now. He had a few days; he could see if word got out.

Maybe, if he thought very carefully about what he would say, he wouldn't be punished. But underneath that hope, he knew the truth - the Dark Lord wanted results, not explanations. Deliver what he asked...or else. He had heard Malfoy warn people of that often enough; he would be a fool to think it didn't apply to himself as well.

***

As things turned out, he did not have until next Tuesday. The Dark Lord called him on Sunday evening. It was the same dusty old house as the previous time, but the ghost was not around. The place felt oddly abandoned.

His feet dragged as he approached the door with almost as much trepidation as he had brought to his first meeting with the Dark Lord. Would this be his last?

He opened the door, and dropped to his knees. To his horror, the Dark Lord immediately dismissed the one other Death Eater in the room, and turned all his attention to Snape.

"So, you have left Hogsmeade, my friend."

"Yes. My business there is concluded." Snape stared at the floor, his heart racing.

"Dumbledore hired you without an interview, then?" his Master enquired. Oh, not good, not good....

"No, I did not get the job." Understatement of the year. He held his breath, waiting for the reaction to his statement of failure.

"And you did not think to report this to me immediately? You waited until others told me, you waited for me to call you? Why is this?" The displeasure was crystal clear, but thankfully, it was not rage. Yet.

"My Lord, as you know, Dumbledore was interviewing another candidate," Snape began. "Eager to obey your orders, I listened to their interview so that I might be better prepared when my time came. Unfortunately, the woman being interviewed was exceedingly foolish..."

"You fool! I did not ask you to spy on Dumbledore's pointless meetings," he hissed.

"I did not know whom he would be interviewing, but I did learn something of interest," Snape said, desperately grasping at anything that would prevent this meeting from ending in his maiming. He had thought of several creative and painful ways the Dark Lord could punish him over the past several days.

"And so did I," the Dark Lord said ominously. "I learned that you were caught, you incompetent spy, by no less than Dumbledore's idiot brother!"

"His...brother?" Snape said, momentarily shocked. "It was the barkeeper...."

"Yes, his brother, who no doubt spread the news to all of Dumbledore's followers that you are a Death Eater. My fledgling, would-be spy." Each word was a twist of a knife.

"No, wait!" Snape said, alarmed to see that the Dark Lord had his wand out. "He was interviewing a Divination teacher, and she spoke a prophecy!"

"Do you think I care what she said to that meddling old man about his school?" the Dark Lord sneered.

"It was about you."

Silence. Snape did not breathe; the very air ceased to move. He waited. If the Dark Lord did not take this bait, he was a dead man.

"What did she say?" he asked, carefully.

There was a reason he had saved this card until last. He was not at all sure how his Master would take talk of his defeat. Reluctantly, he said: "'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.'"

"That's all? That's all she said?" he asked immediately.

"Yes, that is all I heard her say, at least in that voice," Snape answered dutifully.

"She did not speak in her regular voice? What was Dumbledore's reaction?" The Dark Lord began walking back and forth, thinking feverishly.

"He seemed flustered or taken aback, really."

"Good," he muttered to himself. "Who was she?" he asked, looking up at Snape again.

"She didn't give her name...but she mentioned a great-grandmother, Cassandra Trewlaney."

"What?! This woman is descended from the Seer Cassandra Trewlaney?" The Dark Lord quickly came back to where Snape was kneeling, his robes swirling about his feet.

"Look at me. Think very carefully about what you heard."

The Dark Lord gave orders knowing they would be obeyed. Looking up, Snape met his shockingly red eyes squarely, and called to mind the night he had heard the prophecy. He was careful to focus on that (and only that), but in his eagerness, the Dark Lord did not challenge any of the other barriers in his mind. He seized on that memory, and made Snape relive that moment several times.

Then he released Snape's chin and turned away, breathing heavily. "It's not Dumbledore," he finally said quietly, almost in wonder. None of his followers would have dared to voice the opinion that Dumbledore was capable of defeating their Master in an honest duel...but none of them would choose to face Dumbledore themselves, either.

"A baby who isn't even born yet," the Dark Lord continued. "Why, it will be years before he even learns to hold a wand." He turned to Snape again, a grin splitting his face. "Lucky for you, I am not in such desperate need of a spy within Dumbledore's ranks at the moment."

Snape took the opportunity that was given him, and fled at the first opportunity.

***