Dumbledore's Secret

Chapter 22

Emmeline Vance stepped tentatively into the deserted reception room just outside Minister Ogden's office. The chamber was dark, save a sliver of light that bled through the Minister's half-open doorway.

"Just what are you telling me, Ogden?"

Emmeline jumped at the sound of Alastor Moody's voice. She checked her watch, then glanced at the Ministry parchment she'd received just the night before. She was in the right place at the right time. So what in Circe's name was Moody doing here?

"Now, now Alastor," Ogden soothed. He continued to speak, but Emmeline couldn't make out what he was saying. Taking a quiet step toward the Minister's partially open door, she managed to catch Ogden say, "... imperative that we reorganize."

"Reorganize? Reorganize?"

"Please Alastor, if you'll hear me out ..."

Emmeline felt her stomach clench with dread. The night before, when the Ministry owl had appeared at her flat, she'd been mystified, but not overly concerned. It certainly wasn't everyday that the Minister requested a private meeting with her, but she had hoped that perhaps her latest report on the security of St. Mungo's had impressed him, and, because he was a busy man, Sunday evening at 5:15 had been the only time he could spare. Her biggest worry had been getting from the meeting with Ogden to the six o'clock Order meeting on time.

But now, as she listened to Ogden talk about reorganization, she had a sinking feeling that the Minister had not called her in to praise her for her hard work.

"What you mean," Moody roared, "is that you're firing me!"

Closing her eyes, Emmeline turned away from the Minister's doorway. So this is it, she thought miserably. The end of my career.

She should have seen it coming, really. Shacklebolt, suspended. Tonks, suspended. Now Moody, pushed out of the chief's position. Somehow, Ogden had found them out, had realized that they were all working for Dumbledore.

"Really, Alastor, you're misunderstanding me ..."

It was little wonder that Shacklebolt, Tonks, and Moody had been discovered. Shacklebolt and Tonks had spent the entire summer chasing leads for the Order, rarely bothering to cover their tracks. How many times had she warned them about their recklessness? And how many times had they ignored her? Moody was a little better about concealing his work for the Order, but he was a well-known ally of Dumbledore. His days had always been numbered.

"Don't use your political double-talk with me! Am I or am I not still Chief?"

"It's not about the title, Alastor, it's about where you can be most useful."

Emmeline did wonder how Ogden had found out about her. To think, she was going to be sacked - or suspended at the very least - for taking part in an organization that cared little for her opinion or her talents. She had done very little for the Order since the outbreak of the second war. All her input, her ideas, her attempts to be of use, all had been consistently ignored. Shacklebolt, with whom she'd never gotten on well, had done his best to keep her out of the loop. Tonks, young and impressionable, had followed Shacklebolt's lead. And even Moody, with whom she'd always had a fairly decent relationship, had not tried to include her in the action. But what hurt the most was Albus's complete disregard for her advice. Had he forgotten what she'd done in the first war? What she'd lost?

"If you think that I'm going to leave because of this, you're wrong! I don't care if you demote me to the lowest rank; I'll keep fighting! You'll not scare me away from doing my job!"

"Good, Alastor, good! I don't want you to leave, I want..."

She, who had been instrumental in the first war, was being pushed aside by members who had either played very little role in that war - such as the Lupin - or, even worse, those who had actually been on the other side. She couldn't bear to think of the way Albus coddled Snape. He should have been rotting in Azkaban, or, better yet, given the Dementor's Kiss.

"You want me out of your hair, you power-hungry old fool! And stop calling me Alastor!"

"Alastor, you're taking this the wrong way. I'll always value your service and your advice, truly, but I think it's time for a change in the department. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another meeting ..."

Emmeline blinked as the light from Ogden's office flooded the reception room.

"Oh, Auror Vance! I didn't realize you were here!"

Emmeline glanced briefly at Ogden before meeting Moody's eyes. The magical orb swiveled uncontrollably in his socket as he limped past her and out of the office.

"Do come in, my dear, come in," Ogden said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I do appreciate you coming in on a Sunday. I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

Emmeline entered his office - very tastefully decorated - and stood in front of his desk. "Of course you meant to keep me waiting, Minister."

Ogden looked at her in surprise. "What do you ..."

"And you purposely kept the door cracked so that I would hear your conversation with Chief ... uh, should I say, Auror Moody?"

Ogden said nothing for a moment. Then he smiled again, this time with more sincerity. "You are an Auror for a reason, my dear. I will admit to hoping you'd overhear my, uh, rather awkward conversation with Alastor. It makes things much easier, saves time, you see. We can get straight to business, now that you know the status of things."

"I suppose a man in your position does have to be efficient."

"Hmmm, I'm glad you understand. Do sit down, my dear. Would you like some tea?"

"Really, Minister, you've already indicated to me that this isn't a social visit."

Ogden smiled. "Of course, forgive me. Then I'll get to the point?"

Emmeline nodded, trying to ignore the feelings of bitterness and dread fluttering through her. What did she have in life besides her work? Her husband, dead. Her brother, dead. Her best friend, dead. She was alone, and for what?

"I've been looking through all of the Aurors' files, looking for ways to reorganize the department so that we can meet these threats most effectively. As you overheard me telling Alastor, I think we're in need of new leadership. What we need is someone who is loyal to the department, someone who understands that there's no room for dissent in this time of great danger." He paused, then sat down at his desk. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather sit, Emmeline? You don't mind if I call you by your given name, do you my dear?"

Emmeline sighed, realizing that he wasn't going to get on with it until she played his game. Taking a seat, she said, "Emmeline is fine, sir."

"You lost your brother in the first war, did you not Emmeline?"

Surprised by the question, she stuttered, "Yes, I ... what does that..."

"I knew Henry. He was a good man and a great Auror."

Emmeline nodded. Almost absently, she added, "Yes, and his wife, a very good friend of mine, died as well."

"Of course, Doreen, wasn't it? I believe I met her once or twice. Very sad, very sad."

"Dorcas," Emmeline corrected quietly. Then suddenly weary, she said, "Please, Minister..."

"I'd like you to be Chief, Emmeline."

Only years of training allowed her to keep her face impassive. She said nothing, sure that her voice would not be so easy to control.

"As I've already said, we need someone with loyalty, with a vision that will work in harmony with the rest of the ministry. I was incredibly impressed with your most recent security reports. I think you, unlike most in the department, understand the need for aggressive action. Whereas others are happy to wait for the next attack, you, I'm sure, are willing to attack them before they hurt us."

Numbly, Emmeline nodded.

"You also understand the importance of dealing with all possible insurgents. The dark creatures represent a real threat to us, one that the Death Eaters would be only too happy to utilize, if we give them the chance."

"Yes, sir," she said faintly.

"But, I think your most important quality - and I've heard this from many of your colleagues and superiors, especially Madam Bones - your most important quality is your unwavering loyalty. I know that you understand the importance of unity in a situation like this. There are those who would serve two leaders right now. But I think you know that there is room for only one strong leader. We must not be divided."

He gave her a hard stare as he spoke these last words. She desperately wanted to look away, but she managed to hold his gaze. "Yes, sir, this is no time for disunity."

"Good, then you accept?"

Without pause, she said, "Yes, sir, I am honored."

He smiled. "Good, good! You can move to your new office tomorrow, and first thing in the morning, we'll have a staff meeting. Here," he said, pointing to a stack of files on his desk, "is a little light reading for you, so that you can get caught up. I don't have to tell you that this is highly confidential, that not even Alastor - a good man, but misguided, I think - was aware of. If any of it got out...even if those in the Wizengamot knew of this information..."

"I understand, sir." She rose slowly. Flicking her wand at the files, she watched them shrink to the size of an index card.

"Very good! I am so looking forward to working with you, Emmeline." Ogden leaned across his desk, and she realized that he smelt of slightly too much cologne. "I, too, lost friends and family in the first war. We do this for them, do we not?"

After putting the shrunken files in her robe pocket, she met his eyes. "Yes, sir, we do."

*

Harry stared blankly his history text, bending and unbending the top corner of the page until the corner would no longer lie flat. Flipping to the next page without having read a single word on the previous one, he began to fold and unfold again, stopping only when he heard a deep sigh from the other side of the room. He glanced up and saw Hermione frowning at him. "What?" he asked, wincing at the petulant sound of his voice.

She sighed again. "Nothing."

The four of them had been exiled to their rooms as the adults gathered below for the Order meeting. Not long after Mrs. Weasley had shooed them upstairs, the girls had barged into Ron and Harry's room. Hermione had immediately snuggled up to Ron and declared that this was the perfect time for the boys to finish their summer assignments; Ginny had reluctantly sat on the far end of Harry's bed. "There's only so long I can keep her from thinking about schoolwork and Ron," she'd said with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders.

As Harry continued to crease the pages of his history book, Ginny leaned over and whispered, "I think Hermione's worried about your poor book."

Across the room, Ron sniggered. "Oh no!" he mocked in a high-pitched voice. "Don't harm the book, don't harm the book!"

Even after Hermione elbowed him, Ron continued to laugh.

Harry tried to smile, but he felt a surge of irrational anger shoot through his body. Slamming his book shut, he jumped to his feet and said, "I'm going outside."

"Great!" Ron said, hopping off his bed. "We've practically finished our work, anyway. I've been thinking about how to block that move you made this morning and ..."

"I don't want to play Quidditch," Harry snarled.

"Oh." Ron sat back down and looked at his feet.

Harry headed for the door, aware that he'd probably just hurt Ron's feelings. He felt a pang of regret, but it didn't come close to overriding the fury that seemed to originate from his scar and spread through his entire body.

"Uh, Harry, are you..." Hermione began hesitantly.

"I'm fine, okay, I'm just going outside," he interrupted, shooting her an angry glance. Immediately, he regretted his tone. "I'm fine," he said again, attempting a calmer voice.

"Okay," she replied timidly. "Do you want to be alone or..."

"What do you think?" he shot back. Again, he made a face. "I...look, I..." He felt almost as if someone else were controlling him, as if he were watching himself throw a temper tantrum and could do absolutely nothing about it. Becoming more furious at his lack of control, he raced out of the room. He kept running, down the stairs, through the foyer, through the back door. When he got outside, he bent over, out of breath. Slapping a hand to his forehead, he rubbed at his scar until the burning slowly subsided. He remained doubled over for several minutes, and only after he'd forced himself to slow his breathing did he straighten up and see Professor Dumbledore standing a few feet in front of him.

"Did Ron and Hermione tell you to come look for me?" Harry demanded, anger rising again.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "You ran past me in the foyer, Harry."

"Oh."

With a long sigh, Dumbledore sat down on the steps that led to the house. Harry was struck by how odd the headmaster looked with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. He looked almost like a kid, albeit a very old one.

"I guess you want to know about my scar, about Voldemort," Harry muttered.

"I'd rather know about you."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well, let's see ... my scar's been hurting more and more, I can't even control my own head anymore, and today is - was Sirius's birthday, except he's dead and it's my fault. So, I'm just great. How are you?"

"I'm worried about you."

"Worried I might do something stupid and screw up the prophecy?" Harry asked, glaring at the headmaster.

Dumbledore met Harry's gaze, and immediately, Harry's scar prickled angrily. Breaking eye contact, Dumbledore said quietly, "Come sit with me, Harry."

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. As Harry perched himself on the edge of the top step, Dumbledore asked, "What do you want to know?"

Harry glanced at the headmaster. "What do you mean?"

"I said, in June, that I made a mistake by not telling you about the prophecy. I do not wish to repeat that mistake, Harry. I cannot tell you everything, but I will try to be more open with you than I have been in the past."

"I can ask you ... anything?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course. But I will not necessarily answer it. I hope you understand that."

"Not really," Harry admitted. "But I'll take what I can get."

Dumbledore smiled, but Harry thought the old man's lips had a rather pained look to them.

"Are Ron and Hermione in trouble for what they overheard the other day?" Harry asked.

"This is your first question?" Dumbledore smiled, this time with less effort. "Very well. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are not going to be punished. But I will need to speak with them. And with Miss Weasley." Dumbledore laughed. "Her charm work on those extendable ears is really quite remarkable."

"They told me what they heard," Harry said.

"Did they? And just what did they tell you?"

"Well, Ron and Hermione told me that Snape ..."

"Professor Snape, Harry..."

"... that Snape," Harry spit out the name, shooting Dumbledore a defiant look, "is teaching Miss Richardson Legilimency and Occlumency. Is she going to teach me? Because I will not learn from Snape again, I don't care..."

"Charlotte will indeed continue your Occlumency lessons."

Harry stared at his hands. He hated thinking about Occlumency. If he'd only practiced last year, like he was supposed to, today he'd be celebrating Sirius's birthday ...

"What else did your friends tell you?" Dumbledore prompted quietly.

"Uh, Ginny told me about the last Order meeting." Harry paused. "I'm really sorry about your daughter, sir."

"Thank you, Harry."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" As soon as the question was out of his mouth, he regretted it. "Sorry, that's not really any of my business."

There was a long moment of silence, and Harry wondered if he'd finally made the usually unflappable headmaster angry. But then, very quietly, Dumbledore said, "It's very painful for me."

"I know, and I'm really sorry, I never should have ..."

"But," Dumbledore said, giving Harry a quick but meaningful look, "that does not mean I should keep it bottled up inside, does it now?"

Harry sighed. "You mean like Sirius."

"Yes, that is what I mean."

"Well, it's different."

"Is it?"

"It's my fault Sirius is dead," Harry whispered. "I've tried ... I've thought about it so many times. If I had only used that mirror ... or if I had studied Occlumency harder ..."

"If onlys are dangerous thoughts, Harry. If only I, all those years ago, had been there when Grindelwald attacked my wife. If only I had been able to take better care of my daughter. If only I had not let her run away - she was only your age when she left, did you know that? If only, if only, if only."

Harry stole a glance at the headmaster. "I never knew..." he murmured.

"Of course not," Dumbledore said, managing a smile. "I didn't tell you."

"But...I've always just assumed that your life was not so bad as..." Harry stopped and shook his head. "Sometimes it's so easy to forget that you're not the only person dealing with things." He grimaced. "That sounds stupid. It sounds selfish. What I mean is ..." But he couldn't figure out exactly what he meant, so he simply stopped speaking.

"You've a lot on your shoulders, my boy."

"Yeah, but so does Professor Lupin and Ron and Hermione and Mr. and Weasley." Harry paused. "And you."

"I'd like to think," Dumbledore said quietly, "that we're never given more than we can possibly handle."

Harry whispered, "I don't know if I can do it, Sir."

"I believe you can, Harry."

"But how? How am I going to kill him?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "I don't know."

"Then how do you know I can do it?" Harry demanded, his voice rising. "You're just saying that to make me feel better! I can't even learn Occlumency! If you hadn't been at the Ministry, Voldemort would have killed me! I can't do this by myself!"

"Harry, whoever said you had to do it alone?"

"Well, the prophecy ..."

"Says only that you are the one who has the power to vanquish Riddle. It says nothing about you being alone when the time comes. Think about the graveyard, Harry, after the Triwizard Tournament..."

Harry shook his head.

"I know it's painful, Harry, but think about how you escaped."

Harry snorted. "Pure luck!"

"No, Harry. Your mother, your father, Cedric, all those Tom Riddle had harmed..."

"Great, so I can rely on echoes of dead people to help me."

"If getting angry, Harry, makes you feel better, then by all means, get angry."

Exhaling heavily, Harry said, "You really know how to take all the fun out of sulking."

Dumbledore's lips twitched, but his voice was serious as he said, "There will always be friends at your side, Harry. You gain people's love and trust, very resilient emotions. Tom's power comes through fear and hate, and while these sentiments are quite powerful, they are much more brittle than love, much easier to break under pressure."

"Then why are we losing?"

"Are we losing?"

"It feels like it. Cedric ... Sirius ...your daughter..." Harry shook his head. "It just feels like we're biding time until the next strike, like we're not doing anything to go after him." He glanced at Dumbledore. "Are we doing anything?"

"I cannot tell you exactly what we're doing..."

"Of course not," Harry interrupted.

"...except to say that we have some ideas about what Tom is planning."

"So we're on the defensive."

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, Harry, we are."

"Shouldn't we go after him? Now that the Ministry's on our side..." Harry stopped. "I guess they're not really on our side, are they? What they've done to Professor Lupin..."

"It's complicated. Certainly Minister Ogden is more aggressive than Fudge, but he's no more open minded. And as for taking the offensive, we need a great deal of time to prepare for such a confrontation."

"You mean I need a great deal of time."

"The longer we wait, the stronger you get, Harry."

"And the stronger he gets."

"No, I don't think so." Dumbledore stared up at the darkening sky. "At least, I sincerely hope not. Now, any other questions? I, unfortunately, have to be at the meeting soon."

"Can I come to Order meeting?"

Dumbledore laughed. "That was rather a wasted question, don't you think, Harry?"

"Then..." Harry's voice trailed off as he thought for a moment. "Do you think we could do this again? When we have more time? I have a million questions, but I don't know which to ask first. If I can't be a part of the Order, then maybe you and I ..."

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, I think it's a good idea for us to talk more regularly. When term begins, you should come to my office for tea. Fawkes has missed you, after all."

Harry smiled. "Okay."

"Very well, then." As Dumbledore rose from the steps, he added, "Would you send Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley downstairs to see me? I should speak to them before the meeting begins."

"What about Ginny? Don't you need to speak to her, as well?"

Dumbledore glanced away. "Just Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger for the moment."

Harry studied Dumbledore's profile. "You're not telling me something."

The headmaster turned and met Harry's gaze. Again, Harry's scar began to burn, forcing them to break eye contact. Very softly, Dumbledore said, "There will come a day, Harry, when I will be able to look you in the eye and be completely honest with you. I promise you that I look forward to that day just as much as you do."

Harry nodded curtly. As he hurried upstairs to get Ron and Hermione, he felt another surge of pain from his scar. Biting his lip so that he didn't cry out, he tried to push away the thought that he might not survive to see the day when Dumbledore could look at him and see something other than Voldemort lurking behind his eyes.

*

Severus entered the kitchen and, before he realized what he was doing, began walking toward her. She was standing near the icebox, chatting with Minerva, when she looked over at him and smiled. Immediately, he turned and stalked to the back of the room.

He had been spending far too much time with her lately. When he'd decided to help her improve her magical skills, he'd done it only out of a sense of obligation - to Albus, to the Order, to Hogwarts. True, he was a Slytherin, and as such, he rarely helped others unless there was something to be gained for himself. However, if - and he could not stress the if enough - if he'd had any ulterior motives in choosing to spend every morning and much of every afternoon with Charlotte Richardson, those motives had been only a desire to stay active and a need to fend off boredom in this hellish exile.

He could have cared less about getting to know her. He'd never wanted to discover, after dozens of breakfasts together, that she was addicted to fruits of all kinds. He hadn't wanted to know that she especially enjoyed oranges, which she continued to peel in the muggle way so that she could dig her nails into the skin of the fruit. He'd had no desire to find out that she often wore brightly colored socks with an occasional hole in the heel or that she liked to play with the lobes of her un-pierced ears as she read. He certainly hadn't wanted to know that the palm of her hand felt like soft, warm clay or that her long fingers were not quite long enough to wrap around the back of his hand.

Now, with Occlumency and Legilimency sessions tacked on to their daily magic lessons, he rarely spent a waking hour outside her presence. Even worse, he could see inside her head now. Just snippets, especially as she improved at Occlumency, but enough to know that she loved the mountains, missed her father, disliked hot summers, and lamented the eight years she'd been estranged from her mother. And she could see inside him. Just snippets, as he was a master Occlumens, but enough to know that he would, if no one was looking, drink a whole jug of pumpkin juice, and that he had, at the age of six, stupidly dreamed of becoming the conductor of the Hogwarts Express.

"I'm in your seat."

Severus blinked. He realized that he was staring blindly at Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was indeed sitting in Severus's normal chair at the back of the room. Although the Auror looked healthier than he had the last time Severus had seen him, Shacklebolt hardly resembled the confident, even cocky, man Severus had long disliked. Shacklebolt laughed too heartily, and he had been fast friends with Sirius Black; these were hardly characteristics Severus found endearing.

Shacklebolt started to rise, but Severus shook his head and sat down several chairs away.

"I, uh, Tonks told me that you made the potion that saved my life," the Auror muttered, glancing in Severus's direction.

"Yes."

"Thanks, I ..."

Severus nodded and looked away before Shacklebolt could say anything else to him. Pulling a journal out of his robe pocket, he began to read about the latest developments in wit-sharpening potions. But before he'd even gotten through the abstract, he was interrupted by a hesitant, "Excuse me, Professor Snape."

Casting a bored look at the young Auror who stood before him, he said, "For what, Miss Tonks?"

She tilted her orange dreadlocks toward Shacklebolt. "I just wanted to get by, so I could sit by Kingsley."

Severus frowned. There were two empty chairs between Shacklebolt and himself. Tonks would take one, and he could guess who would take the other. Muttering a curse, he swung his long legs out of the aisle so that Tonks could get to the chair next to Shacklebolt.

As she sat down, she murmured, "Kingsley, how are you?"

The older Auror grunted. "About the same as I was yesterday. You didn't need to see me out of the hospital. I was fine."

"It was no problem, really, especially since my mum works there. By the way, Mum wanted me to tell you," Tonks said, putting a hand on his arm, "if you ever need someone to talk to..."

"I'm fine, okay?" Shacklebolt muttered, shaking off her hand.

Severus spotted a droplet of blood oozing from the Auror's nose. Tonks must have seen it as well, because she gasped.

"I'm fine," Shacklebolt repeated, grabbing a tissue from his pocket and swiping it across his face. Tonks turned away, blinking her eyes rapidly as if trying to keep from crying.

Catching Severus's eye, she blushed and muttered, "What are you looking at..." And then, if unable to stop herself, "... Sir?"

Severus managed his best sneer. "I just wanted to thank you, Miss Tonks."

She sniffed. "Whatever for?"

"I suppose I have you to thank for the nonsense I've had to put with all weekend."

"What do you mean? What nonsense? I haven't been near the Order for several days!"

"For the last two days, I have been subjected to the werewolf's infernal whistling and giddy smiles. I'm guessing this burst of good humor is due to you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tonks's cheeks grew pink, and she muttered, "I don't know why ..."

Shacklebolt chuckled, earning him a surprised smile from Tonks. "So, you've finally gotten together!" the Senior Auror exclaimed, his voice almost as loud and jovial as it had been before he'd been put in the hospital.

Several nearby Order members turned to look at them, and Tonks blushed an even deeper shade of red. "Amazing, Kings, how you perk up when there's gossip to be heard."

"So," Shacklebolt said, looking over at Severus. "Any dirt?"

Severus scowled. "If I had known this conversation would degenerate in this way..."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Really, Professor, you're too much of a Slytherin for me to believe that you didn't bring this up for precisely this reason. And no," she said, turning to Shacklebolt, "there's no dirt."

"Really? I don't believe that. If Remus is happy, even after getting branded, you and he must have... Remus, is this true what I hear about you?" Shacklebolt shouted toward the entrance to the kitchen. Severus glanced at the doorway and saw Lupin coming toward them.

As the werewolf and the young Auror exchanged shy smiles, Severus felt a pang of envy that he quickly transformed into a sneer. "No whistling today, Lupin?" he drawled.

"Yeah," Shacklebolt chimed in with a laugh, "I've heard your, uh, spirits have been rising?"

Lupin smiled, unperturbed by either man's jibe. He then turned to Tonks and, in a voice that bordered on reverent, said, "Hello."

"Hi," she responded in a near whisper.

With a groan of disgust, Severus stood up. "As adorable as this puppy love is, you'll have to excuse me."

Lupin laughed. "Please, don't let me scare you away, Severus."

"Oh, not at all," Severus said sarcastically. "I'm just going to check on your next batch of Wolfsbane."

Tonks muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "wanker," but Lupin only grinned even wider. "Speaking of potions ..." Lupin glanced down at his robes.

"It's gone!" Tonks exclaimed. "How..."

"So, the concealer potion works," Severus murmured, studying Lupin's robes. If he stared hard enough, he could see the faintest traces of the brand, but to the casual eye, the robes appeared normal. "Now the world can concentrate on the shabbiness of your dress again."

Lupin laughed. "No, unfortunately, most of the world will continue to see the brand. I'm too well known as a werewolf to walk around in public without it. I'll be arrested, and the concealer will be confiscated. In any case, the concealer only keeps the brand off my clothing for about a half hour. But I've decided that in the company of friends..." Severus grimaced, causing Remus laugh again - "...I don't need to be reminded that I'm a werewolf."

"You gave him this potion?" Tonks asked, smiling at Severus.

He shrugged. "It was better than hearing him whine."

Tonks eyed him shrewdly. "I'm beginning to think, Professor, that you've got a heart somewhere in there."

"If I recall from your student days, Miss Tonks, thinking never was your strong suit. Now, if you'll excuse me..." He nodded curtly and headed for the potions lab. He'd noticed Charlotte going into the room a few seconds earlier, and he was, quite naturally, worried about the safety of his potions.

"Is there a reason you're in here?" he asked her in his nastiest tone.

She waved a book at him. "Just returning this, as promised."

Arms crossed, he leaned against the doorframe and watched as she attempted to return the text to its spot at the very top of the bookshelf. Standing on raised toes, she managed to slide the corner of the book onto the edge of the shelf, but the tome seesawed, threatening to fall.

"Here," he grumbled, coming up behind her. He tapped the book into place, then looked down at the top of her head. He could smell the faintest whiff of citrus, and he muttered, "Even in your hair."

She shot him an annoyed look. "I had that."

"What?" he asked.

"The book. I had the book."

He gave himself a mental shake. Backing away from her, he said, "It appeared otherwise. When will you learn to use magic? You are, I believe, a witch?"

She shrugged. "It seems a waste to use it for such simple things."

"Not when you're threatening to make a mess of my lab - again."

"So what if the book had fallen," she said with an exasperated sigh. "And I never made a mess in here. That was my elf."

"Oh, she's your elf now, is she? Decided slavery isn't such a horrible thing after all?

He could tell she was trying not to smile. "I am still 100% against house elf slavery." Then she paused. "Though, Lupa does prepare really good nightcaps."

It was his turn to stifle a smile. "And she's an expert at destroying weeks of research."

"Oh, not this again."

"It was a major set back! I'm still convinced that that elf was acting maliciously."

Charlotte huffed. "You've said the same thing several times over the past few days. And still you have no evidence. Rather disappointing for a man of science like yourself."

"The fact that the potion was ruined is evidence enough."

"What reason would Lupa have for sabotaging your work?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I suspect it has something to do with what she saw in Radu's laboratory. She knows something," he said, pinning Charlotte with his eyes. "It's your job..."

She looked away. "I know, I know. I'm trying to earn her trust."

He scoffed. "We don't have time for that."

Charlotte glanced over at the bubbling cauldrons. "Well, you're getting back on track, aren't you?"

He frowned. "Hardly." Of course, he'd not been that far along when Lupa had ruined his research a few days earlier. He'd been able to make several batches of the potion's mandrake and ginger base, but he hadn't gotten it to react with anything. Unless he was missing something entirely - which he considered highly unlikely - Slytherin's Power Potion was, as he originally thought, no more than a legend. Still, he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that there was something important about Radu's research, something that had made it so valuable to the Romanian potions master that he was willing to destroy his own lab and attempt to run from the Dark Lord.

"I, uh, guess we should get to the meeting," Charlotte murmured, interrupting his thoughts.

"What?" He frowned, realizing that this was the third time in the past hour that he'd been caught staring into space like a fool. He was going daft in his post-espionage life. As she walked past him and into the kitchen, he caught another whiff of citrus. He was most definitely going daft.

*

Charlotte glanced around the kitchen, looking for Minerva or her grandfather. But before she could spot either of them, she felt a hand on her elbow. She glanced in surprise at the woman standing next to her, a tall, stately witch who appeared to be in her late forties.

"Charlotte, I don't know if you remember me from the last meeting," the witch said smoothly, guiding her to a seat near the back of the room as if they were old friends. "Emmeline Vance... I brought you some tea..."

"Oh, of course!" Charlotte said, smiling uneasily. Meeting the older woman's dark eyes, she detected a jumble of thoughts and emotions. Even knowing that it wasn't polite (not to mention ethical) to use Legilimency on a person she hardly knew, she pushed gently at the edge of the other woman's mind.

But before she could sense much of anything, Emmeline broke eye contact and smiled. "Molly told me that you've been stuck in this old house all summer long. You must be going mad."

Charlotte opened her mouth to answer but stopped when she spotted Severus sweep past her. Turning her head slightly, she saw that he sat in the chair directly behind her, and that the toe of his boot rested against the back leg of her chair. Looking back at Emmeline, Charlotte began, "No, actually, I've..."

Emmeline cut her off. "Especially since you've had to spend the majority of your summer alone with a Death Eater."

Her mouth working in amazement, Charlotte glanced back at Severus, who had obviously heard Emmeline's remark. His normally pale face was tinged with red, but his black eyes were unreadable.

"Really, Emmeline," chided Remus, who sat next to Severus. As Charlotte shot him a look of gratitude, she saw that Tonks and Shacklebolt were both watching the conversation with interest.

Emmeline's face hardened as she looked back at Severus. "Snape knows what I think of him."

"Yes, you've always made yourself perfectly obvious, Vance," he responded in a bored drawl.

Enraged, both by Emmeline's malice and Severus's attempt to act as if he didn't care, Charlotte said, "Ex-Death Eater."

"What?" Emmeline turned to her in surprise.

"I said, he's an ex-Death Eater. That was a long time ago," Charlotte ground out.

Emmeline laughed. "Well, well!"

Growing even more furious at the condescending smile on the older woman's face, Charlotte glared at Emmeline and was immediately surprised to find real misery lurking behind the witch's patronizing façade. "Emmeline, what's wrong..." Charlotte sputtered, feeling off balance.

But Emmeline turned to Severus again. "You really have a way of wrapping the Dumbledore family around your nasty little finger, don't you?"

Charlotte felt a furious blush spread across her face, and Shacklebolt said, "Shut it, Vance, will you?"

Emmeline smiled. "It's good to see you, too, Shacklebolt. How is your suspension going? And yours, Tonks?"

Tonks gasped. "What has gotten into you today, Emmeline?"

"Let's just say I had a bit of an epiphany this afternoon." She turned back to Charlotte. "Don't be offended, dear, by our banter. But, I have to admit to being surprised by your lack of concern about the Death Eater. I would think, after what they did to your mother..."

Charlotte's leapt from her chair and whirled toward Emmeline. "I would think that it's none of your business!" Spinning away so quickly that she toppled the chair in front of her, she rushed out of the kitchen, only vaguely aware that she had pushed past several astonished Order members on her way out. After racing up the stairs, she halted abruptly in the darkened foyer and leaned against the wall.

"She's right, you know."

Charlotte looked up in surprise. The foyer was so dark that she could only see Severus's outline as he stood in the doorway to the stairwell.

"You..." she began, but he strode toward her and placed a finger on her lips.

He nodded toward Mrs. Black's portrait. Then he whispered, "I am a death eater, no matter how inclined you are to ignore that fact."

"For God's sake..." she said loudly, ignoring his finger and Mrs. Black. The portrait started, and Severus placed his hand fully across her mouth. "Do not try to quiet me!" she said, though it came out muffled against his palm.

Reaching out with his other hand, he pulled her toward him so that her back was against his chest. His hand still across her mouth, he leaned down and whispered into her ear, "Listen to me, Charlotte. Do not defend me. Do not pity me. Do not think that you can change or reform me. Is that clear?"

She shook her head violently.

"It's dangerous to play a game when you don't know the rules," he murmured, sliding his hand from her mouth to her chin. With his thumb, he drew a line down her neck until he reached her collarbone, which he traced with gentle strokes.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder. "Not a game," she breathed. "More serious than a game."

Her words seemed to break the spell, for he let go of her so quickly that she nearly tumbled backwards.

"You are a romantic," he accused as if it were some sort of sickness.

She spun around to face him. "No," she said, "I am a realist. I'm the one who understands that the past is the past and the present is something different entirely."

"You don't even know what that past is," he hissed, stepping closer to her.

"I don't need to know," she declared, lifting her chin. "What I do know is that, despite appearances, you are a noble man..."

He took her face in his hands. She thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her, but instead he leaned forward so that his forehead touched hers. "Use Legilimency."

"What? I ..."

"You're so willing to pry about other things, trivial things. Why don't you look at what's important?" he demanded.

"Because it's not important," she said desperately.

"Then look at what I've done."

She tried to pull away, but he held her face to his.

"Look, Charlotte."

"No!" She closed her eyes. "It doesn't matter!"

"It does and you know it," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You know what you'd see."

She shook her head.

"I could have been one of those men, laughing as the Dark Lord killed your mother..."

Tears slipped through her eyelids and slid from her cheeks to his hands. "But you weren't," she protested quietly, still trying to pull away from him. "You weren't one of those men."

"But I was, Charlotte. It just wasn't your mother I watched die."

She yanked away from him, and he dropped his hands. Turning away, she wrapped her arms around her waist and rocked silently. He said nothing for several minutes, and she thought he might have left the room when finally he muttered, "Take this."

He was standing behind her, holding a handkerchief over her shoulder. She let out a dry, almost hysterical laugh. "You carry handkerchiefs? I don't believe it," she muttered, grabbing it from him and wiping her face.

"No," he said, irritably. "I do not carry handkerchiefs. I transfigured it from a knickknack -" He glanced over at the side table, which had all sorts of odd, grimy objects on it - "so it may be a little dusty."

"So long as it's not a house elf head," she said with a strained smile. Catching his pained expression, she added softly, "You see, I am not the romantic." She looked at the transfigured handkerchief. "You are."

He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he only shook his head and turned back toward the stairwell. He descended one step, then glanced over his shoulder and said, "Do not make me into something I am not."