Summoned

Chapter 1: The Summons

"But he's a very good Occlumens, isn't he, sir? And isn't Voldemort convinced that Snape's on his side, even now? How can you be sure Snape's on our side?"

"I am sure. I trust Severus Snape completely."

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

June 24, 1995, night

He stared at his fireplace; the flames were flickering out, his usual signal to himself that he had worked long enough for one night grading the insufferable essays and examinations of his Potions students. Tonight, he had barely worked on them at all.

"There. The Dark Mark..."

The Triwizard Tournament had played havoc with his schedule all year. Tonight's events had taken enough of a toll on him that, in the last three hours, he'd made it only through two short essays. With a small sigh, he decided he would continue with the scrolls of parchment in front of him until the fire was completely gone.

Then, as was his habit, he would re-light the fire, a little one this time, prepare a small pot of tea, and continue reading the latest addition to his library on potions and poisons, De Virus, Odium et Bellum, a rare, 17^th century tome.

And when that fire went out...

"Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn."

He had felt it pulsating during the tournament. It had begun throbbing after the contestants entered the maze. Some twenty minutes later, he had seen Karkaroff make his way out of the stands; he did not bother to follow him. Wherever he was fleeing to avoid the Dark Lord, it was better if Severus didn't know.

Then, after the flare went up, but before any further contact between the contestants and the rest of the waiting fans was made, the Mark had burned and he realized, even before Potter returned with Diggory's body and the portkey, that it had happened: Voldemort was back.

He turned back to the parchment before him, but the words - half of them misspelled, many of them smeared - blurred before his eyes. He could not concentrate. He put his quill down and left his desk to stoke the feeble fire.

His arm had stopped burning before Potter returned, and he had breathed a little easier. Years ago, he had gone back to Hogwarts as an adult to spy for Voldemort; and years ago, before Harry Potter had even been born, he had sworn to do for Dumbledore whatever was needed to protect Lily - and then her son.

Since his position at Hogwarts would have been threatened if he had left the stands during the tournament to appear before Voldemort, he had not answered that first, inaugurating summons.

"Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready... if you are prepared..."

Prepared. For thirteen years he had been prepared.

And he had gone...

He changed his mind and, with his wand, snuffed out the flames. Then, simply too tired to do anything more, he went through the door that led to his personal chamber, removed his robes, loosened the rest of his clothing, and lay on the bed, face up.

"I come to do your bidding, my Lord."

"And why were you not here when I had the boy?"

He did not sleep that night.

* * * July 2, 1995 (evening)

The school year finally ended. Only once more, at the feast, did Severus face the Potter boy before he left. He spent the few seconds that he looked into the young, green eyes willing himself to see Lily, not James, willing himself to remember her.

The boy met his gaze without quite the usual amount of arrogance.

It would have to be enough to sustain him through whatever the summer might bring.

* * * July 3 - 5, 1995 (Days 11-13)

He planned to stay at the castle this year. There were many reasons for his decision not to return to the house on Spinner's End, not the least of which was that, as long as he stayed within the confines of Hogwarts, the Dark Lord could only summon him, not touch him.

Dumbledore had revived the Order of the Phoenix, and they had met for the first time the day the Hogwarts Express pulled out of Hogsmeade. But Severus had not been invited - or ordered - to attend. The Headmaster kept a close watch on what he said around Severus, not even letting him know where the Order was meeting.

"It isn't that I doubt you, Severus," the older wizard explained later that evening as they sat before the dwindling fire in Snape's chambers. "Don't think that for a moment."

"But you are keeping me in the dark. Because..?"

Dumbledore hesitated and looked away. "Because we are not yet sure what Voldemort might - require of you. Are we? You haven't actually said, but I'm sure you received less than a rousing welcome when you first went to him."

Despite himself, he winced. And although he didn't want to admit it, Severus had to agree with Dumbledore's logic. Having approached the Dark Lord once, and remembering his "mild" displeasure that his servant had not appeared earlier, Snape acknowledged the conclusion.

For the rest of that evening, he and the Headmaster reviewed their own plans, their means of keeping in touch, and the contingencies in place in case Voldemort's wrath should flare against Snape.

When he thought about the thin line he had to walk, the knowledge that the Dark Lord would need information from him - fed to Snape from Dumbledore - and the fact that no one in the Order trusted him, he felt himself tottering on a slender emotional precipice called loneliness. And that emotion would get him killed.

He went about his routine in the castle the next day. And then, shortly before lunch, his arm tingled, throbbed, and finally burned, the Mark black on his forearm.

Dumbledore was at a meeting of the Order, but Severus knew that, as he lifted the spells and charms around his office so that he could Disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds - the spells would re-set themselves once he'd gone - that the act of doing so would alert the Headmaster.

He grabbed his hooded cloak and the mask from their magically concealed hiding place in his bedroom, then turned on the spot and went to meet with evil itself.

* * * July 6, 1995 (Day 14)

"Two days!" Dumbledore paced his office, head lowered, hands clasped behind him, his face drawn into a scowl. Minerva McGonagall watched him with concern: she had rarely seen him so distraught.

"I'm sure he'll return as soon as he can," she tried. "Undoubtedly, You-Know-Who has sent him on an assignment."

Dumbledore stopped pacing and tossed her a glowering glance, then went to his Pensieve and stared into it. "I don't think so." The silvery light reflected off his face. "My - instincts tell me otherwise." He waved his wand carefully across the sea of silver, stared into it a moment longer, then turned to Minerva. "He's in trouble. I know it. I should not have asked him -"

"What he's doing he chose to do freely," she reminded him firmly. She hesitated, but then decided it was worth it to say what she had been thinking since Dumbledore had told her Severus had been Summoned to Voldemort's side. "Has it occurred to you that he might have been lured back to the Dark side?"

The glower on Dumbledore's face turned to anger, then quickly his features softened and he shook his head.

"Headmaster, everyone has a price. I hate to say it, but - Severus' might not be that high. He detests the Potter boy, he has tried numerous times to catch him out, to have him expelled."

Dumbledore raised a hand to stop her itemization of the damning evidence against the Potions master. "There is nothing Voldemort could offer Severus that would make him return to the Dark side, Minerva. I am quite positive of that."

Minerva took a deep breath. "I'm not."

"Severus' personal feelings toward Harry are one thing," Dumbledore acknowledge, reluctantly it seemed. "But his allegiance is not. I trust him with my life, Minerva. I trust him with Harry's."

She did not say it, but the words "gullible fool" still drifted in her mind.

It wasn't as if she wanted to distrust Severus. Actually, she would have been pleased for one slim piece of evidence that would make her as sure of his loyalty as Dumbledore was. She had known Severus since his student days, and had formed a rather kinder opinion of him than most of his other teachers had. She had seen and overheard things during those days that belied the external image he'd created for himself.

But she could not believe as unswervingly as Dumbledore did. She could only have faith that Dumbledore had not been completely hoodwinked by the former Death Eater.

"Is there any way for you to communicate with him?" she asked. It wouldn't do to dwell on the other question: there was never an explanation for Dumbledore's confidence.

He shook his head. "I can only wait."

* * * July 6, 1995 (Day 14, evening)

Having just recently returned from Dumbledore's first assignment for him, Hagrid had finished dinner and was busily feeding scraps to various in-hut creatures when he heard the noise. A thump, not a very loud one. Then silence. A silence in the Forest, a silence that seemed like a vacuum.

"Fang," he whispered, calling his dog from the meaty morsels Hagrid just donated. The dog moved at once and followed his master outside. There, a few yards from his door, Hagrid caught sight of a departing form he knew well.

"Firenze!" he called to the Centaur, only noticing, as he moved closer to where the creature had been standing, that there was a dark mass on the ground that was neither rock nor root. "Firenze, wait!"

The Centaur hesitated, then turned, but did not come closer. "That is as far as I will bring him," he said, and Hagrid's thick brows pulled together. "He is not welcome on our land, Hagrid. Be sure he does not return."

"Wha'?" But the Centaur had trotted out of earshot before Hagrid could ask another question. He looked down and saw that Fang was busily pawing at the lump, whining and nudging it with his nose. "Here, Fang!" The dog did not obey.

Sighing, Hagrid took several steps closer, moving cautiously. And then Fang pulled aside something and Hagrid recognized what it was: a human hand, hidden under dark cloaks.

"Oh, for the love of..." He strode forward and pushed Fang away, turned over the body and swore quietly under his breath.

What in the world was Professor Snape doing here? He was unconscious. His clothing was torn, dirty, covered in blood. His hand - Hagrid took a look and grimaced; the pads of his fingers were scraped away, muscle was visible.

"Okay, Professor, let's get you up to the castle." Stooping down and hefting the lean man, he started up toward Hogwarts. "Fang, go get Madam Pomfrey! Go!"

He followed his dog more slowly. The man's weight wasn't great, but the steep climb on a newly-filled belly made him stop for breath twice. Once he reached the castle though, the portcullis opened and he found himself face-to-face with a small crowd: Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall.

"Found 'im a few minutes ago," Hagrid told them as Madam Pomfrey quickly conjured a stretcher and relieved the gamekeeper of his burden. "Firenze musta found him in their territory; delivered him back to us, said he should stay out. - Professor, wha' happened ter him?"

Madam Pomfrey directed the stretcher ahead, toward the staircase, Dumbledore and McGonagall following. "We don't know, Hagrid," Dumbledore said tersely. He and the others followed the levitated stretcher to the hospital wing, where the Headmaster helped Hagrid move Snape's body to one of the beds.

"Everyone, out," Madam Pomfrey ordered, but Dumbledore stayed where he was.

"I need to know what happened," he said quietly, but with the legendary firmness that brooked no argument.

"Well, I'll have to examine him, won't I?" The nurse pulled three screens around the bed, and Dumbledore and Hagrid stayed within the close perimeter. "Out! All of you!"

"Hagrid," Dumbledore said, gesturing with his head for the midget-sized giant to leave. Reluctantly, Hagrid obeyed. Fang was waiting outside the curtains, sitting next to Professor McGonagall, who was looking a bit pale.

"He'll be alrigh', won't he?"

Minerva started, as if she'd been unaware of his presence. "Oh, yes, Hagrid, I'm sure. - Thank you for getting him up here."

"Couldna leave him lyin' in the woods, now, could I?"

She smiled, but continued to stare straight ahead at the curtains.

"I canna imagine he got himself lost, can you?" Hagrid asked, trying to piece together what might have led to this highly unusual situation. "I mean, he knows the forest like his hand, 'e does. Been around in it since he was a boy..." His voice trailed off as he recalled Snape's badly wounded hand. "Well, uh, Professor, if - if you'll excuse me, I - I guess I'll be goin'."

McGonagall nodded, but she wasn't really listening, he could tell.

"Come on, Fang. Get ye an extra nice treat for this."

* * *

Cold. Piercing cold.

Voices.

Shut up! Stop! Please, stop talking!

Pain...

"If you're going to stay, give me a hand. Here, help me -"

They moved his arms, his legs. He wanted to scream at them to leave him, but his mouth wouldn't work.

The air sliced his limbs as his clothing came off, and then he felt something lying lightly on his legs.

The pain was unbearable. He couldn't stand it, not another second, not another breath...

Fire. He was on fire, every inch of his body burning...

Let me die! Let me die!

He seemed to hang suspended beneath the shining skull, and then he fell slowly backward, like a great rag doll..

He screamed.

* * *

Dumbledore stepped back as Severus' mouth opened and a horrible, hideous wail of torment poured out of his mouth. He was grateful no one else was in the wing just then; no one else in the area, given how Severus' voice was carrying.

Minerva had pushed aside one of the screens and looked in. "Merlin's beard," she muttered.

Dumbledore had to admit that the sight was on the grisly side. Severus lay on his back, but the sheets beneath him were already stained with blood from open cuts. His hands, both of them, had had the fingertips scraped or peeled away. His arms and chest were a mass of welts and cuts, his ribs were bruised and his head was bleeding beneath his shoulder-length, black hair. His right eye was swollen almost twice its size, and blood seeped out of his nose and mouth. But what concerned him most was an oozing wound on the back of his right leg, a wound that looked suspiciously snake-like in origin.

"Albus?" Minerva whispered. She glanced at the Headmaster, then at Poppy, who looked resigned to the fact that neither of them was leaving.

Her word was nearly unheard over the patient's screaming. Then his body began to twist, his back arched, his head was flung back, and with his torment still pouring loudly into the room, his muscles began to spasm and he jerked violently, his arms and legs flailing.

"Help me!" Madam Pomfrey ordered, and while Dumbledore held Severus' arms against the bed and Minerva quickly grabbed his legs, just below the knees, and forced them down, Poppy grabbed her wand. "Petrificus Totalis!"

Instantly, the spasms ceased and Severus lay unmoving on the bed; the screams had stopped, and in the silence Dumbledore's ears buzzed with the echoes.

"What magic - was used on him?" he asked.

"Cruciatus, I'm sure," Madam Pomfrey reported. She was waving her wand slowly over Severus' body, from top to bottom, her eyes half-shut in concentration as she tried to differentiate the residual charms, curses, or spells that had been used on the Potions master. "Full Body-Bind - I probably shouldn't have used it just now." Her eyes shut almost completely and she winced, then looked back at Dumbledore. "Imperius."

He met her eyes and held them for several seconds. Then he swallowed. "Is he - under the curse now?"

Poppy shook her head. "I can't be sure. I - the Cruciatus was - used more than once. - What in the name of Merlin happened here?"

"I'm sorry, Poppy, but I - I can't - I'm not sure myself. But - is he - I need to know if he's under the Imperius Curse. It's vital."

She looked at him with displeasure, glanced at Minerva, then placed her wand over Severus' head, about an inch from his face, and whispered. Nothing visible happened, but Dumbledore waited until Poppy turned back to him and shook her head.

"He may be. I - something is wrong with his mind."

Dumbledore felt a hard, cold knot twist his stomach. "Can you - can you tell if - if the Legilimens was used?"

"Legilimens? Who would - never mind." She turned back to her patient; despite the Body-Bind, it seemed as if Severus' muscles were beginning to twitch again. Poppy shut her eyes, held the wand still above his head and then shuddered and gasped. "It's - Legilimens. And - Legilimens Extremis. Headmaster, who would -"

Minerva had made small sound in her throat, and Dumbledore glanced at her. "Voldemort," he said, and saw Poppy grow instantly pale, almost as pale as her patient.

"What was -"

"I can't explain, Poppy, but - how - can you break through -"

She shook her head. "I'm not skilled at Legilimency, Headmaster. I - I couldn't begin - but his mind is - very disturbed, I don't need Legilimens to tell me that much."

He stared at Severus for several seconds, then sat carefully on the edge of the cot. "Severus," he said, very quietly. Then he looked up. "Release the binding, please."

Obviously unhappy with the order, Poppy complied. The slight twitching he'd noticed a moment ago grew immediately stronger.

"Severus, I'm sorry." He pulled out his wand, aimed it, and said, "Legilimens!"

Darkness... terror... masks... fire...

Arm burning... the cold, the awful cold... the ground was hard...clawing in the dirt, trying to escape...the pain!

He broke the spell, and shut his eyes against the terrible images, the intense, unfiltered emotions. He was shaking, and he felt Minerva's hand on his shoulder. "Dumbledore?"

He shook his head and stood up, putting his wand back into his robes. "I can't - I can't..." He struggled to wipe the sharp, distorted images from his mind, but knew they would remain for a very long time.

He felt a cup pushed into his hand and focused. Poppy had handed him what he supposed was a glass of water, and he drank it. At the same time, he watched her summon bandages and ointments and she began treating the superficial wounds on Severus' body.

"Broken ribs," she muttered. "Bones in the fingers cracked... Bad concussion on top of everything else... looks like he took a fall."

Yes, that image was there. Falling, dropping, hitting the ground, the pain exploding in his chest, he couldn't breathe... The snake coiled around his leg...

He heard a crash.

"Albus!" Minerva grabbed him and helped him sit. The glass of water had dropped from his hands, shattered on the floor at his feet.

"It's - it's -" he couldn't speak. He couldn't describe what he'd seen, and he knew only that what he'd sensed, what he'd picked up from the short contact was nothing more than the first barrier to be overcome before the rest of what happened could be learned.

He didn't have the strength to get past that first barrier. And he had to know what had happened. Why had Voldemort turned on Severus? What had he learned? And what had he forced Severus to do while he was under the Imperius?

"Poppy," he said, standing again, aware of Minerva's hands around his arm, helping him up. "Do what you can. Don't - don't use the Body-Bind again. And - that," he said, pointing to the puss-filled wound on his leg, "was from a snake. There's venom in the bite. I don't know what kind." As he spoke, Severus began to convulse on the bed, his limbs once more thrashing, as if he were trying to beat off some unseen assailant.

"Accio restraints!"

Seconds later, well-padded restraints wrapped themselves around the Potions master's wrists and ankles, then around his chest. Poppy summoned more to hold his upper arms and thighs in place, and though he continued to be engulfed in the spasms, he was protected from any injury that could result from the wild flailing.

"I don't know how much I can do for him," the nurse said. She had a cool, damp cloth she was wiping the lean man's face with, removing the blood, revealing several abrasions and cuts below. "The physical, I can heal. Assuming I can find an antidote to the snake poison. But the rest?"

Dumbledore simply stared at him, aware that Minerva's attention was torn between both men. "Do what you can."

He turned and left the room; he needed help, and there was only one place he knew to find it.

"Albus! Albus!"

He slowed to let Minerva catch up with him. "Surely, you can do something?"

"No." He kept walking, refusing to look at her. "There may be someone - I don't know if he's still alive." He turned at the top of the stairway. "Perhaps, Minerva, you would - just stay with him. Until I return."

"Return - from where?"

He shook his head. "I can't say. - Would you please? Stay with him."

She took a long breath, then nodded. He continued on, back to his office, and prepared to begin one of the most important searches he'd ever had. A search for the one wizard in the world who might be able to reach through the damaged mind of Severus Snape.

* * *

When he had been eleven, he had sat beneath the Sorting Hat, as nervous as any other first year student. He had seemed unmoved by having been sorted into Slytherin, but Minerva remembered that he had shown more than a little relief when James Potter and Sirius Black were placed in Gryffindor.

A little over a year ago, when Sirius had returned to Hogwarts, having escaped Azkaban using his ability as an Animagus, he and Severus had had a show-down, which Severus lost. Black was proved innocent of the crime of selling out James and Lily Potter to Voldemort, a crime for which he'd unjustly served twelve years in Azkaban, and Severus' long-desired vengeance upon him was denied.

Now, as Minerva sat in the hospital wing, outside the curtained area where Poppy was still applying first aid to his visible wounds, she wondered how Sirius Black would feel now, seeing his nemesis tortured as he, for those long years, had been in prison.

She wondered if his hatred for Severus were as strong as Severus' hatred of him. And how, if they were on the same side, Dumbledore would ever get them to work together.

Minerva had been there less than half an hour when it happened again: long, horrible, tormented screams began to fill the room, and she could see, through the filmy curtain, his outline beginning to convulse again.

She couldn't just sit there. "Poppy?" She pushed the screen at the foot of the bed aside and saw the nurse trying to force some liquid in a vial down Severus' throat.

"Give me a hand!"

Minerva stepped forward and took Snape's head in her hands, holding it still so that the liquid could be poured down his throat. He coughed and gagged, but most of the potion stayed down and, within a few seconds, his body relaxed and he lay quietly on the bed.

"Draught of Living Death," Poppy explained, holding up the tiny, empty dark vial. "One of his favorites, actually." She brushed her hair back from her face and Minerva saw that she was sweating and shaky.

"Wouldn't Dreamless Sleep-"

Poppy shook her head. "Tried it before you came back in. You saw the results."

"What - what's causing the convulsions?"

"Very likely the snake venom. I can't find an antidote, because I don't know what sort of snake bit him. I think whatever it was, though, the bite is obviously not immediately fatal, and I don't see signs of gangrene. I can't get it to close, though.

"Then again, the spasms could be something to do with - with what You-Know-Who did to his mind." She took a deep breath, then waved her wand and began cleaning up the bandages and ointments. "Can you stay for a bit, Minerva? I'd like to go see what I can find in my library. Might find something to help."

Minerva nodded and Poppy smiled her thanks before leaving.

Alone with the man, she merely stared at him, marveling at the number of bandages she could see on his arms and chest, imaging how many more were on his back and beneath the sheet that covered him. She was afraid to touch him, but she figured it couldn't hurt to talk to him.

"I guess Dumbledore's right about you," she said quietly. "Must be working for us, or Voldemort's got a terrible way of rewarding loyalty."

She watched and the twitching began again. She knew it couldn't be, knew the draught Poppy had given him should have knocked him out so deeply that only close examination would reveal that he was still breathing. But as she watched, his head tossed on the pillow, his hands began to clench and unclench, his breathing became sporadic, and then, just as suddenly, he lay still again.

So still, Minerva risked a hand on his chest to see if he were, in fact, still breathing. She couldn't feel any movement, but when she held her palm over his lips she felt the slightest movement of air coming out.

She personally thought the convulsions were not from the snake venom. And that left what Voldemort had done to the man's mind. Whatever might be happening in there, whatever was strong enough to resist the most powerful sedative Poppy had in her stores, Minerva suddenly realized she probably didn't want to know.

* * * July 6, 1995 (Day 14, night)

Four hours through the Floo Network had finally yielded what Dumbledore needed: the location of the wizard Healer he knew to be Severus' only hope at this point. He tossed a handful of Floo powder into his fireplace.

"Orestes? It's Albus Dumbledore. Are you available?"

He waited anxiously for a reply. It was several minutes in coming, but then a face emerged within the flames of the fireplace. "Albus! How good to see you, boy! How are you?"

It was a testament to Orestes' genes that he was old enough to remember Dumbledore as a young man. Certainly, clean living had not been a factor in his longevity.

"I'm well enough, Orestes, and you?"

"I love retirement!" the man said. His flaming eyes glanced around, trying to take in the room. "Well, what can I do for you? I assume you aren't simply making a social call?"

"No. I have someone I need your help with. If you're available?"

"Available? I'm nothing but available, Albus. But - why do you need me?"

And there was, suddenly, the question of how much to say to a man who was, reportedly, in Albania at the moment. "I have a colleague who is in need of your advanced knowledge, my friend. Can you come? I'd feel better explaining it to you in person."

"Of course, of course!" The man's flaming eyes beamed with happiness. "To be honest," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "I don't love retirement!"

Albus smiled.

"How long shall I pack for?"

"I - I don't know. Perhaps a week?" He doubted that the damage to Severus' mind would actually be mended in that short a time, but he was suddenly hopeful that Orestes might have him well on the road to recovery by then.

"A week? Is that all? You want me to travel from Albania - on my pittance of a retirement - for only a week?" There was a smile on the man's face that belied the severity of his words.

"Plan a month, then. The weather here can't be any worse than it is there."

"Ah! Now that makes it worth my while. - I'll see you tomorrow? Where shall I meet you?"

Albus felt a sinking sense of helplessness: he had hoped Orestes would be able to arrive today. "Hogsmeade? The Three Broomsticks?"

Orestes clicked his tongue in approval and nodded. "Excellent choice! Excellent. By the way, who is the patient?"

"For - reasons that I'll be sure to make clear to you tomorrow, Orestes, I am unwilling to discuss anything further through this means. - I'm sorry."

"No problem, none at all. The secrecy shall merely increase my anticipation! Tomorrow then, Albus." And with that, he faded away.

* * * July 7, 1995 (Day 15)

"Orestes, I'd like to introduce you to Professor McGonagall, my Assistant Headmistress and our Transfiguration teacher."

"Minerva," she said, and took the small, wiry hand offered. The old wizard smiled quite pleasingly, his eyes squinting but kind.

Somewhat taller than Flitwick, but shorter than Dumbledore, Orestes (who seemed to have no title or other name) gave the initial appearance of being almost too frail to stand up. But, covered in woolen garments of a spectacular variety of bright colors, he moved quite easily without seeming to be aware of his age. His age, as Dumbledore had informed her, was rumored to be near 225 years; and Albus had already attested to being a young man when Orestes had worked at Hogwarts.

Aside from the deep wrinkles on his face and hands, the only thing that really betrayed his age was the fact that he didn't stop squinting at everything. Why he didn't wear a pair of spectacles was anyone's guess.

"So now," he said, settling into the chair Dumbledore offered him, in front of the fireplace in his office, "what am I facing here?"

"Professor Severus Snape. You may have heard of him," Dumbledore began.

Tea and biscuits had been brought in by the house elves and Dumbledore and Orestes were helping themselves to both. Minerva had found her appetite missing since she had sat with Severus yesterday evening.

"Heard of him, alright," the elder wizard grumbled. "But not as a professor." His face lost the kind look it had had and he glanced at them both. "He's a Death Eater."

"Former," Dumbledore stressed. Minerva was quite used to his defense of the man. "He turned spy for us before Voldemort fell." Both Minerva and Orestes winced at the name. Dumbledore ignored their reaction. "And - I believe Voldemort may have discovered that."

"You believe?" Orestes asked, squinting into his tea as if trying to read a fortune through the liquid. "You're telling me that - He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?"

"He is." Dumbledore gave the man a few seconds to digest that. "The Ministry doesn't want to acknowledge it. They've got their people at the Daily Prophet convincing the world that there's no danger. But - Voldemort is most assuredly back."

"And this - spy, this Death Eater - went to see him?"

"Former Death Eater. And he went on my orders," Albus said.

"He was Summoned," Minerva added. Albus didn't look happy with her comment.

"He's been tortured by Voldemort." Albus said it so casually, Minerva might have mistaken the words for a weather prediction. "I need to know - we need to know what information Voldemort got from him. He's not able to talk yet."

"Oh, my!" Orestes put down his tea and then sat back in his chair. He folded his hands in front of him and twiddled his thumbs. "Oh, I don't like the sound of this. Cruciatus?"

Minerva swallowed bile.

"And Imperius, we think. And - Legilimens Extremis. His mind..." Dumbledore's voice trailed off and he looked away. Into his own tea. Then back. "I can't break into his thoughts. He's a natural and gifted Occlumens, but there's a - a different kind of barrier. It's - it's as if -"

"As if his mind were a garden that has just been churned up and raked over?"

Albus inclined his head slightly. Orestes held Albus' gaze for several seconds, then looked at her. "You're here as - a friend?" he asked, peering at her through his narrowed eyes.

"Colleague," Albus said, at the same moment that she answered, "Yes."

"Ah! Ah hah!" Orestes wiggled forward, closer to the edge of the chair, and picked up his cup again. The look of interest was back on his face. "So - you are Snape's friend?"

"For lack of a better word," she acknowledged, aware that Albus had a funny little smile crawling around his lips. She turned away from him. "Severus - doesn't like people," she explained. "He loathes some. Others he simply tolerates. I think - I believe he'd put me into that last category."

"And you would call that friendship?"

Why this mattered at all, Minerva couldn't figure out. "As I said, for lack of a better word."

Orestes nodded, then turned to Dumbledore. "And you would describe your relationship with my patient as - collegial?"

The half-smile on Albus' face remained. "For lack of a better word." He shot Minerva a quick glance. "Professor McGonagall is - reasonably correct in her description of Professor Snape's own views of other people. But - despite the fact that he is almost universally disliked, he is - loyal. To me. And to our cause."

"Hmm." Orestes peered into the flames in Albus' fireplace for several seconds. "Background?" he asked at last, turning first to Minerva.

"He was a student here," she said. "His parents are dead. No siblings. He - he's taught here for thirteen years. He's Head of Slytherin House. - I don't know what else to say."

"Are there other teachers or staff he works with? Any other - friends? Relatives? Lovers?"

Minerva shook her head.

"There was - one person he cared about," Albus said, startling Minerva. "A long time ago. She's - she died. There's been no one else."

"And this person? Her name?"

He gave a quick glance at Minerva, who couldn't hide her shock. "Severus is a very private man," he said softly, glancing into the fire. "You will have no trouble - identifying her when you..." he didn't finish. He turned from the fire and sipped his tea.

"Sad," Orestes commented, but more to himself than to his hosts. "And you are certain of his allegiance?"

"I am," Albus answered. "I dare anyone to question that now." He cleared his throat and glanced into the flames once more. "The Order of the Phoenix re-formed just a couple hours after Voldemort showed himself. Severus - had information that could - severely damage us if Voldemort has discovered it. I need to know if he has."

"I'm here as a Healer, Albus, not an interrogator."

Minerva looked from the old man to the Headmaster and didn't quite like what she saw. There was a whole history behind those words, and for the first time since meeting him, she realized that Orestes was not just a kindly old wizard: there was a steel rod inside him.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid I need both."

* * *

Hagrid's offer was too sweet for Poppy to resist. He'd come up after lunch to "check up on" Snape, and had then offered to sit with him so that Poppy could have a break.

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"No, I brought meself a book," he explained, holding out the bound volume proudly. "I can watch 'im fer ye."

So he settled down in a chair at the edge of the bed and, for a few moments, looked at the bandaged, unconscious man on the bed in front of him. He didn't really like Snape at all, never had cared for him. Except that, there were those times when he'd been a student and Hagrid had shown him a few things about the Forest; the student had been very interested in everything Hagrid could teach him. But the stories he'd heard from students through the years had given him reason since then to stay away from the Potions master. Except, of course, for feasts and the like.

But seeing the man in this condition... Well, he looked almost Human, Hagrid thought. Not quite as much the monster that he normally seemed.

Even monsters, he thought, could be hurt.

He settled in to read his new book, but before he could, Snape began to move. And then to jerk. And then to scream.

"Oy!" Hagrid covered his ears, then got up from the chair, dropped the book on the seat and went in search of Madam Pomfrey.

She was already making her way back to the bed, hurrying with a vial of some potion in her hand. "Help me hold -" She stopped as she approached the bed, and stared. "Hagrid, get Professor Dumbledore!"

Severus Snape's eyes were open.

Summoned Chapter 1 Page 13