Summoned

Chapter 8: Topic Question

"But never - never tell, Dumbledore! ... I want your word!"

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?"

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

July 11, 1995, night

The hospital wing was cold. Severus had asked Pomfrey to turn off the fire and she had. Hagrid was shivering in his oversized chair next to him, but had apparently decided not to complain. Which was wise.

He was seething. And what angered him the most was himself. How could he have made so many mistakes in so short a period of time, he wondered. Had the Dark Lord's return unbalanced him? Had fear, that unspeakable enemy he always fought, crept up on him without his noticing? Was it possible that his Occlumency skills weren't as good as he'd thought them, or had Voldemort's Legilimency become greater?

Whatever the case, at some point in the two days with the Dark Lord, he'd begun to believe himself worthy of punishment, simply for his inability to protect and hide so many of his own reactions to what was being done.

Especially, of course, his response to 'being' in the cemetery with Potter while Voldemort engaged him in his twisted version of a battle. That should never have happened, should never have been possible!

His sense of despair simply increased with each passing hour. He'd been foolish to try to use his wand when there were so many chances he could have been discovered before he'd completed his task. He showed nothing but weakness when Dumbledore took it from him; he hadn't even tried to create a plausible reason for having it, for having it aimed at himself. If he had been thinking more clearly, he would have challenged Dumbledore's assumptions and, probably, gotten his wand back.

Now that he was fairly conscious and in something of his right mind, he felt horribly vulnerable without it.

His miserable musings had just about reached their inevitable conclusion that he should still make every effort to end his existence, when Dumbledore showed up. Again.

Hagrid, who had been nodding off, jumped at the sound of the hospital wing door creaking open. Since Severus had not been pretending to sleep, he found himself looking once more into the angry, disappointed eyes of the Headmaster.

It was, as it always had been, the disappointment he could not bear to face. He looked away.

"Hagrid," he said, "I'm here to give you a break. Why don't you get something to eat?"

Still looking sleepy, Hagrid grunted an acknowledgement and then he and the dog by his feet left.

Dumbledore did not take the vacated seat. He stood at the end of the bed, as he had earlier, his blue eyes running over Severus' form, taking in details that seemed important to him.

"You made me a promise many years ago, Severus. Why were you going to break it today?"

Severus felt his eyes tighten at the corners. "That was ambiguous. To which promise are you referring?"

Dumbledore's irritation grew. "You know what I'm talking about. You promised you would help me protect Lily's son -"

"And you promised to protect Lily! You didn't. The contract became void when you let her die!"

Dumbledore took a deep breath and showed some surprise. "Did it? Is that the way you justify your plan to do yourself in? That you are no longer bound to help Harry Potter?"

His eyes flared. "I - do - not - need to justify - myself - to you!" It was still hard to speak; he had to think carefully to put the words in the right order, and he spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Perhaps not. - But you can justify it to yourself? Are you so eager to murder someone that you'll kill yourself to satisfy that urge? Is the Death Eater inside you begging for blood, Severus?"

"Enough!" He threw off the covers and stood up, but it was the first time he'd tried that alone since he'd been put into this infernal ward, and his legs were too weak to support him. Humiliated - again - he sank back on the mattress and shut his eyes. "Get out!"

At that, Dumbledore moved around the bed and sat in Hagrid's seat. "No." He waited to be acknowledged again. "You don't consider the promise breakable, Severus. Otherwise, you'd never have tried to save Harry during that very first Quidditch match. And you would hardly have tried to save Harry in the cemetery."

Oh, good. Bring that up! "I wasn't in the cemetery with Potter!"

"In your mind you were and you tried to save him. Voldemort knew that; he punished you for it. He could have killed you just for that!"

He should have, Severus thought. But the Dark Lord had not been brimming with mercy; he wanted his servant punished, not dead. "It was a mistake."

Dumbledore was silent for several long seconds, and Severus finally turned to look at him. "What was the mistake, Severus? Caring about Harry? Or letting Voldemort know you did?"

It was a trick question, Snape realized. If he said 'both' or 'neither' he'd be silently assenting to the concept that he had anything but disgust and loathing for James Potter's spawn. "The mistake was reacting to what was not real." He thought that would at least turn the conversation away from that painful moment.

"What happened to Harry was very real!"

"And it had happened days before! I wasn't there! I couldn't save him!" He shut his mouth instantly, realizing that he had just said far more than he'd intended to.

But Dumbledore heard, and understood. "I can't believe," he said quietly, "that you would be willing to give up right now, when we need your help the most and Harry needs your protection more than ever. It doesn't say much for you as a human being."

He sneered. "No one has ever accused me of being much of a human being."

"Actually, I know one person who has. Just today, in fact."

This did not sound good. He stared at Dumbledore, already hating the glint of humor in his eyes. "Remus Lupin."

"What?"

"I asked him to come to help me reset the spells and charms around this place. Orestes suggested it and the Order agreed. We were - concerned, as you might remember, that Voldemort might have gotten that information from you."

"Please, don't speak his name!"

Dumbledore reacted, startled. But he said nothing.

"At no point - did the Dark Lord have - access to that information. I - am not - an apprentice - in the skill of - Occlumency, Dumbledore, or had you - forgotten that?"

"No. And neither did - he. Which is why, I suppose, it took him so long to rip your mind apart? You certainly gave him a lot of ammunition."

"I gave - him - nothing he didn't - already have!"

"I'm talking about you. What you let him see of your own past -"

"I just said," he answered, his lips barely parting, his teeth clenched. "I gave him nothing - he didn't already have!" He took a deep breath. He could feel his muscles crying out from having been tortured with spasms and convulsions for days now. They began to twitch, and he wasn't certain if he were going to have another seizure or if the reaction was simply a conditioned response to talking about this.

"He already knew - about Azkaban?"

"Azkaban, Lucius, my parents and - you." He cleared his throat and looked away. "Why do you think he was so confident that I'd be able to spy on you so effectively? He's known about you since he sent me here to get a job!"

It left a pain in the pit of his stomach to admit that. To let Dumbledore know that the Dark Lord had trusted in their closeness to get information. Dumbledore glanced down, his eyes focused for a minute on his lap.

"I confess, I never put that together. Though it certainly makes good sense." He looked up. "Please try to understand, Severus. Since the Potters died, we've never had to test your loyalty. To test your ability to convince Volde- him of your fidelity to him. We had no way of knowing if you'd be strong enough to resist him, if necessary."

"I was and I did," he snapped. "And it's over. Now, will you - please instruct Madam - Pomfrey to release me from - this ward?"

Dumbledore met his gaze evenly. "Will you promise that you'll do nothing to harm yourself?"

A sideways grin slipped over his face. "Would it mean anything? You don't trust me."

"I do, Severus. You know I have ever since - ever since you came back," he finished, keeping the particulars of that time from being spoken of right now. "But the Order doesn't."

"Oh, well, haven't you reported all this to them? Let Black - revel in the details? Or Lupin? -Entertained them with tales - from the cemetery. Tell me, did you happen - to mention Lucius Malfoy?"

Dumbledore raised his head and looked down on Severus through his spectacles. He placed his hands back on the armrests, then hefted himself from the chair. "As I said, Remus seems to be laboring under the impression that you have a certain amount of decency inside you. Despite what you want everyone to believe."

His lack of a straight answer about Lucius left him with a headache; what had Dumbledore said about Malfoy?

The Headmaster turned and began to walk away. "It's too bad you're determined to keep those shining parts of yourself hidden, Severus. It would make things a lot easier with the Order."

He narrowed his gaze. "So would my death," he said, half under his breath.

But he had gone too far for Dumbledore. For one of the few times in his life, the Headmaster whirled and advanced on him in fury. He put his hands up in defense, but Dumbledore merely grabbed his wrists with amazing strength and leaned close to him.

"Only a coward would kill himself now!"

He pushed Severus' hands back, and in a whirl of his robes, he stormed from the room.

* * * July 12, 1995, morning

Minerva met Dumbledore in his office the next morning. Tonks and Lupin were huddled at his desk, scouring a piece of very old parchment with their eyes and making notes on other pieces. Dumbledore, who'd been peering over Lupin's shoulder, looked up when she came in and smiled.

"Excuse me," he said to the others. "I need a moment with Professor McGonagall."

He took her arm and led her to the far end of his office, where they sat. The day was warm and his windows were open, and Minerva could smell various plants budding and blossoming outside.

"Where's Orestes?" she asked, once Lupin and Tonks had returned to their task.

"With Severus, I presume. I've made arrangements for him to stay for a while."

"Why?" she asked, curtly. "Severus can talk and walk and -"

"Wishes to end his life. That," he added quickly, "is strictly confidential."

She felt as if she'd entered a foreign land. Severus? Willing to take his own life? "Are you sure, Albus?" she whispered. "Maybe you misinterpreted..."

He shook his head. He looked as if it had been days since he'd slept. "I've talked to him. I hope I've gotten through."

"Why? Why would he even consider-?"

Dumbledore glanced back at the others, making sure they were not paying attention. "I believe it has partly to do with us knowing - things - he never intended anyone to know."

She pulled back and scowled. "He wants to die because he's embarrassed?"

"That, Minerva, is an understatement. He is humiliated. What Lucius -" He stopped and lowered his voice before continuing. "Lucius Malfoy put the Memory Charm on him. It was powerful enough to damage his mind just by being put on. Breaking it caused more damage. His mind's been shredded. His emotions are too close to the surface. His ability to block them, to organize them, to control them, is gone. Even putting words together... He's going to need help getting that back."

Minerva looked into his eyes. "And how is Orestes going to help him?" she asked suspiciously.

Dumbledore turned away. "He'll be helping him exercise his Occlumency skills until they're back to what they were before." He looked at her. "He has no defenses left, Minerva. If Voldemort Summoned him right now..." He sighed. And closed his eyes.

"Well," she said. Anything she had to say about their methods would be met by deaf ears, she was sure. "If he hasn't given anything away, why are you re-setting all the spells around Hogwarts?"

"Ah," he said, obviously glad to follow the new direction of their conversation. "It seemed wise to me. You see, I'm the only person alive who knows most of these spells and charms. I wouldn't want that knowledge to die with me."

"I hope you're not planning to go any time soon."

He chuckled. "No. But - one can never tell." He sighed again and tilted his head. "I wondered how you're doing, Minerva."

It caught her off guard. She smiled tightly. "Well enough, Albus, thank you." She glanced at Tonks and Lupin and smiled. "If only everyone in the Order could work so closely together." She met Dumbledore's wistful eyes. "Is that all?"

He got up and she followed. "I don't know if he'll want to see you," he said, as if he'd read her mind. "But - it might do him some good."

She thought about that. She wasn't sure if she were really up to seeing him, either. "I'll think about it. Let me know what happens with Orestes?"

He nodded and she left.

It was just before lunch by the time she'd gotten enough courage to visit the ward. And then, her courage was only half what she really felt she'd need. So she assumed her Animagus form and slipped unnoticed into the hospital wing.

Orestes was there, wearing his flamboyant traveling cape, talking with Poppy at the far end of the wing. The three privacy curtains were pulled around Severus' bed. She easily ducked under one of them and was pleasantly surprised to find Hagrid's comfortable, over-sized chair still there.

She jumped up onto the chair and sat there, looking at Severus until he opened his eyes and turned to her.

At that moment, Orestes returned, pulling aside the curtain at the foot of the bed. He took a look at the cat on the chair and chuckled. "Guess that's your cat? I was thinking it was Madam Pomfrey's, but - well it seems to belong to you."

Severus scowled. "She is Professor McGonagall's," he said, his voice dry. Then, returning to the very slow speech he'd adopted the last couple days, he said, "Is there some reason you are still here, or are you simply intending to see how long it will take to wear out your welcome? I assure you, you have reached that point."

McGonagall gave a meowing sound, which was the closest thing to a translation of her laughter. She wasn't sure how familiar Severus was with her in her Animagus form, but the sound drew his attention. He shot her a sidelong look that she couldn't decipher.

"Well, she seems to be very fond of you," Orestes observed.

"I'm not sure of that. But she is - opinionated."

That required a small hiss, though, knowing Severus, he might have intended it as a compliment.

"I've spoken with Madam Pomfrey. I'll make sure Albus agrees, but assuming you make it through the night without - any problems, I'll recommend that you be allowed to return to your chambers in the morning. I think our work will be more productive there."

Severus scowled. "Fine. Good-bye."

Orestes lingered another couple seconds, then left, returning the curtain to where it had been, sealing the patient away from the rest of the room.

Once his footsteps and the sound of the door closing signaled that they were alone, he spared a long look at her. "There are several possible reasons for you being here," he said, speaking very slowly, almost halting at some of the words. "I am not in the mood to guess which."

Well, that was that. She transfigured back to her human form, sitting on the chair. "Dumbledore told me Orestes would be - staying on for a while. You know, he wasn't sure you'd - ever get any better."

He accepted her statement without comment.

"I suppose you do feel better."

"Obviously," he answered through barely parted lips. "Is that all?"

"I know it won't be easy -"

"No. It won't." He paused, then turned and stared at the curtain at the foot of the bed. "I am not looking forward to it," he confessed, not sure why he did. "But Dumbledore is correct: I must be able to protect myself in the Dark Lord's presence."

She wasn't sure what to say.

"Since there is no way to avoid it, I must instead embrace it."

"That's an interesting philosophy," she commented. "Is that how you ended up a Death Eater? Just didn't think you could avoid it?" She wasn't sure what had made her ask, but she was surprised with the mild response. He shot her another sidelong glance.

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"No."

He narrowed his gaze. "Hasn't Dumbledore enlightened you?"

"He said he didn't know the answer, either."

For several seconds he continued to stare at her, and she had the distinct feeling he was trying to determine if she were lying. "Let's keep it that way for now, then."

For now?

He turned away. "If you are satisfied with my condition," he said, "then I would like you to leave. If you are laboring under the impression that I want - company - I assure you I do not."

She'd known him too many years to be offended. Instead, she rose and pulled her cape a bit more securely over her shoulders. She moved aside the curtain and saw Poppy coming toward them with a platter of food and a goblet of something to drink floating ahead of her. "Looks like lunch," she commented. The smell reminded her she hadn't eaten yet.

"Oh, Professor! I didn't see you come in!" Poppy looked a bit taken aback. "Would you like some lunch? I can have some -"

"No, thank you, Poppy. I'm just one my way out." She looked over the food on the tray: some broth, a small sandwich, and whatever was in the goblet. "Not a very hearty meal," she said, turning back to Severus.

He watched the tray floating toward him. "Did I say I was hungry?"

"Did I say I gave a damn?" Poppy came back at him. "Now, it's up to you, Professor. If you want to be discharged tomorrow..."

Minerva started out the door.

"Professor," Severus called. She turned around. "Did Dumbledore tell you anything - about the Memory Charm?"

She considered that answer carefully. "That - it did some noticeable damage."

He cocked his head and the muscles around his eyes tightened. "Is that all?"

He'd caught her! "That Lucius Malfoy was the Caster." He waited. "That's all."

He held her gaze, then looked away, and then back again. He gave the smallest of nods, then turned to the tray now resting on his lap.

"Would it kill you to say 'thank you'?" Poppy demanded, hands on hips. She looked quite imposing, Minerva thought. Apparently, Severus didn't.

"Major damage only."

"To what? Your precious reputation as a disagreeable old git?"

He almost smiled. "Yes."

Minerva watched him until he looked back at her. "Would you mind if I came back this evening?"

The scowl softened after a few seconds, to her surprise. "How you wish to spend your time is up to you."

She smiled: that was practically an invitation!

* * * July 13, 1995, morning

Liberation arrived without fanfare. Dumbledore sent up a fresh set of clothes and appeared only long enough to say that he'd talk with Severus later. Poppy seemed barely able to contain her pleasure that he would be gone. The feeling was mutual.

There was no sign of Orestes, but they had agreed to meet at ten, and since it was just after eight, he didn't expect company before then.

Despite himself, he couldn't dampen the overwhelming relief he felt once he was safely back in his chambers, the door locked, a sad little fire crackling in the fireplace. He sat in his reading chair and pulled his cloak around himself for extra warmth. He wanted to stop thinking until Orestes arrived, but he found that skill impossible to access.

Restless, but still bone-weary, he got up and decided to take care of some of the things he'd been planning to do before he'd been Summoned.

When Dumbledore knocked on the door an hour later, he'd pulled half his bottles of arcane potion ingredients off their shelves, had destroyed a good third of them for being too old, and was re-labeling and classifying others. His office, in short, was a shambles, and he had not counted on anyone showing up for another hour.

"Come in."

The door didn't open, so, with a sigh of frustration, he got up and went to open it himself.

"Good morning, Severus. Thanks for getting the door." Dumbledore walked past the man without invitation and then stopped, looking around the office with undisguised shock. "Spring cleaning?"

"Mid-summer cleaning," Severus answered. But his irritation at being interrupted vanished almost immediately when he saw what was in Dumbledore's arms.

"Well, now," the Headmaster said, "I don't know if Orestes will consider this cheating or not, but I thought you might find it helpful. At least to begin with." Carefully, he set the large stone Pensieve on Severus' large desk, pushing aside several bottles and jars to do so. Then he looked back.

Severus wasn't sure what to say. Thin threads of gossamer thickness swirled in the bowl, but there were only a couple. "Did you intend to leave those there?" he asked, knowing the answer ahead of time.

"As I said, this might be helpful to begin with." His blue eyes were turned on the Potions master, the full force of his concern and worry difficult to acknowledge or respond to.

"Thank you."

"Well, I can't stay too long. Tonks is waiting for me to help her with the third set of seals and charms around the castle." Then, despite his words, Dumbledore began to look around, as if browsing in a store.

"And Lupin?"

Dumbledore tore his attention away from the three books that lay open on one of his chairs. "Oh, no, he left early this morning. There's a meeting tonight of the Order. He's - going to deliver a report. I'll probably go, too, if I can."

Severus felt his teeth clench and worked hard to relax his jaw. No feelings. No emotions...

Then Dumbledore turned his attention to three cauldrons of potions Severus had begun earlier and went to look in them. "Restocking for Madam Pomfrey?"

"Mmm."

The Headmaster sniffed at one of the brews. "Dreamless Sleep, am I right?"

"Yes."

He smiled and moved to the second cauldron, and Severus felt a quick flutter in his stomach: would Dumbledore recognize...

"Would that be Wolfsbane Potion?" he asked, turning back to Severus with a smile on his lips and a glitter of amusement in his eyes.

"I thought, since Lupin was here, and the full moon -"

Dumbledore cut him off with a wave of his hand. "No need to explain," he said, and everything in his look confirmed that statement.

The conclusion was obvious. "He told you." Anger, so easily at his grasp right now, pushed itself forward inside him, but it was Dumbledore's turn to look uncomfortable.

"As I said before, he seems to think you have some actual human qualities." He met Severus' eyes. "And it can't be easy to find potion masters who know this particular - recipe."

He had walked into a trap and the damnable part of it was that he'd set part of it himself by beginning the brewing process so early.

"Tell me, I've been curious: when did you learn how to make this?"

"In my Dark days," Severus said slowly, his eyebrows forced down, his lips tight as he spoke. He knew where Dumbledore wanted to take the conversation - toward some proof of generosity or kindness on his part - and he wasn't about to let that happen. "I intended it for Fenrir Greyback," he said, counting on his Occlumency skills to be just strong enough to hide the rest of the truth from Dumbledore if he tried to read him.

Dumbledore nodded with a look of surprise. "Fenrir wanted his aggression controlled?"

Ah, so that was the reason for surprise. "No. - I did. - He wasn't interested."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, he does have a predilection for children, doesn't he?" He looked deeply at Severus.

Severus ground his teeth. "I simply found his habit of picking his teeth clean to be repulsive." He paused, and then for good measure added, "You can tell Lupin I did not learn it for his use."

"Specifically," Dumbledore clarified. "You can't tell me he wasn't at least on your mind: after all, Fenrir is the one who bit Remus. And you seem to have a special concern for - vulnerable children. - It keeps coming back to that for you, doesn't it?"

He wanted very much at that moment to pick up one of his pickled specimens - any one of his pickled specimens - and throw it at Dumbledore's face. How dare he toss what he'd learned through his attacks on Severus' mind back at him!

"Well, I must say," the man continued, apparently oblivious to Severus' reaction, "that this looks like tedious work." He'd gone to one of the chairs and was picking up various books, checking their covers, then putting them back. "Not that I want to give you any ideas, but this seems like the kind of task you'd be happy to delegate to someone in detention."

He took a deep breath. Total calm. No emotions... "I wouldn't trust this work to any of my current students, with the possible exception of Miss Granger, who has never earned herself a detention. The rest of them - especially Potter - have no ability to understand the complexity of a standardized system of classification. I would fear for my life should I entrust this to him."

Dumbledore's grin was predictable. "Well, as I said..." He started for the door and Severus turned to stare into the Pensieve, wondering what particular memories he would most want to store here until his first session with Orestes was over. And what it was Dumbledore had left behind.

"Why did you become a Death Eater?"

Severus looked up. If Dumbledore had just put a Stunning curse on him, he couldn't have felt more immobilized. "What?"

"Why did you become a Death Eater? All that I know about you tells me why you wouldn't. But I've never fathomed why you did."

"Professor McGonagall questioned that motive just yesterday, and also for the first time since I've been employed here. Are you comparing notes?"

"Of course."

He wasn't sure if Dumbledore were joking. Probably not.

He pulled himself up, squared his shoulders, and looked down on the Headmaster. "Revenge," he said. "Plain - and simple."

It was not what the Headmaster had expected, Severus thought, wondering if he'd expected a different answer or none at all. It took him a few seconds to compose himself, and then, in a very soft voice, he asked, "Against whom?"

His stomach churned dangerously. His mouth had gone dry and his heart was pounding as if it were going to burst from his chest. "That - is not as simple." He turned away and stared back at the Pensieve, recognizing a problem with Dumbledore's intended kindness. "My wand?" he asked, not looking back.

There were seconds of silence. "Oh. Yes. Here."

He turned to take the stick but when he grasped it, Dumbledore refused to let it go. "I have some time," he said. "Tonks can wait."

"It will take longer than we have."

"James Potter?" Dumbledore guessed. He finally, reluctantly, let go of the wand.

Severus narrowed his eyes and felt his jaw muscles tighten. "If you don't remember, Potter and -" he cleared his throat, "Lily were engaged before I left Hogwarts. Do you suppose in your wildest dreams that I would have done anything at that point to harm him? She loved him!"

"And ideologies have been created for far less legitimate reasons. Certainly, it must have occurred to you that James Potter might be - taken care of - by someone else? That it could be done in a way that would leave your hands blood-free?"

He shook his head, amazed and angry. After all this time, did Dumbledore truly not understand what Lily meant?

"Do you think," he asked slowly, his anger growing by the second, "I could have lived with myself if I had done that to her?"

"You didn't seem to mind that Voldemort was going to kill James and the baby. As long as Lily was - Protego!"

Dumbledore's wand was out as swiftly as Severus had raised his, and the deflection of his intended curse swept him off his feet and landed him in a tangle on the floor.

Dumbledore glared at him, then, after a moment, pulled him to his feet. "Obviously," he said, his voice cool, "you need quite a bit of work controlling your emotions."

Severus glared and realized that he'd been too easily tempted into his emotional response. He took a couple deep breaths: that had been a stupid move. It would have gotten him killed if Dumbledore hadn't... "You provoked me on purpose?"

"No. I never expected you'd even answer my first question." He watched as Severus put his wand on the table behind him and sagged back, closing his eyes and trying to hide the terrifying images that always came up when he thought of Lily.

"Well," Dumbledore said after a minute. Severus watched him pocket his own wand. "If it wasn't James, then who? Sirius? Who was so worth your vengeance that you sold your own soul?"

"I never sold it!" he snapped.

Dumbledore waited.

"This isn't the time." He was working hard to control at least his voice. "If you aren't ready to trust me, nothing I tell you about that will help."

"I do trust you." He winced and glanced at the wand on the table. "But - perhaps, you should put the wand away for now?"

* * *

Orestes had quite the opposite idea when he arrived about an hour later. He noted the glowing Pensieve that Severus had set aside on one of the deep bookcases behind his table, out of the way of any possible flying objects.

The old man squinted as he entered, as if the light were too bright: in fact, Severus always kept the room dimly lit and barely warm enough to work by.

"Lovely place," Orestes finally said after he'd made a full circle turn in the center of the room to look at everything. "For a vampire."

"That theory has been around for many years."

"Any truth to it?"

Severus sneered. "I'll leave that for you to determine. Are we finished with the prescribed social niceties now? Can we begin?"

"Oh, my!" Orestes took one of the chairs across from the desk and sat in it. He looked at the little fire. "I've not met anyone who was eager to start Occlumency training before. At least, not anyone who knew what it entailed."

He was getting tired of this man. They were here for one reason, and he wanted that reason taken care of as quickly as possible. But he wasn't about to betray that to this old man. "I have other tasks ahead of me today. We've set aside this time. I don't see any need to waste it. Are - we - ready?"

Orestes sighed and leaned forward in his chair. "Your wand?"

"Over there," he said, gesturing with his head to it next to the Pensieve.

"Don't you want to use it? You'll need to defend -"

"The Dark Lord will undoubtedly disarm me before he attempts to use Legilimency against me again."

"Yes, but you aren't facing him right now, you're facing me, and this is an exercise -"

"If you aren't willing to begin, please just say so!" He got up and rounded his desk. "I've several other things to do."

He looked up and at the same time that he saw the wand, he heard the word, "Legilimens!"

... He saw Orestes, jumping in and out of flames, as if he were wandering through a bizarre hell. Then the images dissolved...

...She was screaming.

"... for more than two hours now," said the Dark Lord, his wand making smooth circular motions in the air as it pointed at his victim. "Delightful progress she's made in her appearance."

She'd clutched at her hair, had torn large clumps from her scalp, leaving it bleeding. Blood was drooling down her chin from her mouth and nose. He clothes were in tatters; she had gouged herself in the agony, had torn deep scratches into her own thighs and arms...

"You don't have much longer to make up your mind. Obedience, Severus! Obedience above all!"

He glared at Lucius, sitting next to the Dark Lord. He had promised him, had sworn that he would not have to kill!. Looking into the smug face that swam before his eyes, he knew the man had deliberately lied to him. Again! And he had trusted him because - what?

"Come along, Severus, let's not hold things up. Do it and get it done with!" the white-haired Death Eater urged. He sounded bored, as if the fact of torturing an old woman were simply something to fill the time.

"Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, "do it! Now!"

"Severus!" the old woman had rolled on her stomach and was clawing the ground. "Please!"

She had been screaming too loudly to hear them: how did she know his name?...

"Enough!" It was Orestes who called out and broke the spell, lowering his wand as Severus fell backward. Fortunately, his chair was right behind him.

It was as horrible as he'd expected. And Orestes had caught him completely off-guard. Well, it wasn't as if the Dark Lord would be giving him any warning!

"Who - who was the woman?" the Healer asked.

It only then occurred to him that the details of his memory were still much sharper in his own mind than they were to his attacker.

"Doesn't matter." He had the vague recollection that this memory had already been visited by others while he'd been in the hospital wing. But if he were right, it would have been Dumbledore who'd seen it. Although Minerva had been around at that point...

He took a couple breaths to steady himself. "Ready?" he asked. Orestes look awe struck.

"No! Not yet. You need some time to -"

"The Dark Lord will not give me time! - Again!"

Orestes screwed up his face, then raised his wand. "Legilimens!"

... He had the wand pointed, the word was on this tongue...

... The horrible cold of the dementors surrounded him, he was back in Azkaban, his mother was shouting at the Aurors who had pulled them apart, she screamed for them to let her stay with her son, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be left alone with her, and then the dementors...

... "Avada Kedavra!" The tip of his wand flashed green, the woman lay utterly still, her face a death mask of pain.

Lucius and the Dark Lord were laughing, and the longer he stared at the dead body the more he thought he recognized...

"Stop!" He sagged forward against the large desk and held his face in his hands. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't catch his breath. The pain in his chest was so hard he thought his heart would wear out from pounding so fast...

"Merlin's ghost," Orestes murmured. And he knew that meant the Healer had figured out who he had killed...

He forced himself back up, forced his eyes open, and stared through a watery haze at the Healer. "Again," he ordered, his voice little more than a scratching sound.

Orestes hesitated, but only for a few seconds. "Legilimens!"

... "He trusts you," the low, silky voice of the Dark Lord was whispered in his ear. He was tracing a line across Severus' lips with his long finger. "He will hire you, I know it. You've shown me - so much, Severus. You have been of great value." His finger dropped down and he tilted Severus' head up by placing the fingernail directly under his chin. "You will do well, my faithful servant. Lucius was right about you. You will have your vengeance, I promise you..."

Block him! Block the thoughts...

"... not comfortable hiring you for that position, Severus. You must realize that it would be - awkward to have you teaching there. Perhaps in a year or so, when all the other students who knew you as a student have gone..."

"I've finished my apprenticeship in potions. I am almost done as a journeyman. Surely, you could let me teach that..."

"Unfortunately, your reputation precedes you."

He snickered and shook his head. "That I'm a Death Eater?" Dumbledore nodded and waited. "Well, then..."

"Do you deny it?"

He already had the answer to that one. "I deny any affiliation with him at this time. I do not deny that I - seriously considered it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Then you wouldn't mind showing me your arm?"...

"STOP!" He couldn't breathe. There was knot tightening in his chest and, without realizing he was doing it, he crushed his fist against his sternum and leaned forward. There seemed to be a thick fog in the room; he couldn't see through the mist. He heard Orestes making some distant sounds, almost as if he were singing, and then, slowly, the pain ebbed and he caught his breath.

His hands were shaking. He wanted to vomit.

And these weren't even the bad memories! They were just too strong, too filled with emotions he couldn't control, he couldn't hide them...

Orestes put a hand on his shoulder and he pulled away. He didn't want to be touched!

"You did a good job," the old man was saying. He sounded breathless. "You repulsed me - very strongly."

He opened his eyes. The haze was still there. He rubbed his hands over his face and swallowed the rising bile. "Enough," he decided. "For now."

Orestes moved away and put the desk between himself and the Potions master. "Severus."

He looked up.

"Legilimens!"

... He rolled up his sleeve; it would be the first test to see if his unique alteration to the Disillusionment Charm worked. Given Dumbledore's reaction, he knew it had.

"I don't suppose they're easy to remove, are they?" he asked, meeting Severus' eyes over the flickering candle. "So you couldn't have just - gotten rid of it, could you?"

"I do not know any spell that would," he answered evenly. He rolled his sleeve back down, but the intensity of Dumbledore's gaze told him his trick had not completely convinced the Headmaster.

"So. Where have you been practicing your skills?" The warm, mulled wine in the cup in front of him smelled too good to keep avoiding. Dumbledore, after all, had offered to pay, and it wasn't as if he had many chances these days to eat well.

"St. Mungo's. A special, intense apprenticeship for one year." He sipped the wine and felt the calming warmth drift down his throat to his stomach. Dumbledore was watching him.

"Where else?"

"There's a hospital in the United States for witches," he said.

"Ah, yes, St. Hilary's, right? In Massachusetts? Named, if I remember correctly, for Hilary the Hysterical."

Severus nodded.

"It's a very - small hospital, isn't it?" The Headmaster drank more of his wine.

"It is," he agreed, "but they take the more complex and mystifying cases that St. Mungo's isn't staffed for."

"And you were there -?"

"Nine months as a journeyman."

Dumbledore waited. This last several months still had to be accounted for. And the truth might as well be told. "Azkaban."

The Headmaster considered that answer with an unreadable expression. "They have a - pathetic hospital ward there," he said.

"Yes." That was all he wanted to say on the subject, but he had a feeling there was a great deal Dumbledore wanted to say.

"I wouldn't have thought anything could entice you to go back there," the Headmaster finally said, his words soft and quiet. His eyes were piercing him, trying to read him. He looked away.

"What happened in my childhood happened a long time ago. I would prefer you not bring it up!"

Dumbledore waited until he looked back, then said, "Of course. That was indelicate of me."

In the end, as he drank the last of his mulled wine, the Headmaster took a long breath and said, "I'll think about it. I'll let you know tomorrow."

Severus knew Dumbledore would not respond positively if he tried to press him for more of a commitment than that. But the older wizard did surprise him with his next question.

"How have you been, Severus?"

He looked into Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes, saw in them the concern that he'd kept all these years for his student...

He felt himself falling. He hit the floor hard, knocked his hip against the table, and felt something sharp collide with his head. He was choking, he couldn't stop, and then he began to heave and within seconds he was sick and his floor was a total mess. On top of his own vomit, three broken jars had crashed, their ingredients spilled and a fine, green mist was rising from the combination.

"Scourgify!" Orestes called out. The mess on the floor disappeared under the cleaning effects of the spell. "Now," Orestes said, "I think we've had enough. For this morning, anyway." He was hovering close to Severus, as if he wanted to help him, but the look in Severus' eyes was enough to keep him at arm's length.

"Fine. - Later." It was all he could manage.

"After lunch." Orestes looked at him with some concern, then straightened a few of the books and the hourglass on the table that had been knocked aside when Severus had fallen.

"I trust," Severus said, "that everything you learn - will be kept to yourself."

Orestes nodded. "Albus has asked only for progress reports." He squinted at his patient for another few seconds, then nodded. "Shall I have some food sent -"

"I can tend to it myself!"

"Oh. Well. Fine." He moved to the door and opened it. "I'll come back this afternoon." He shot another look back at Severus and said, "I think that by tomorrow, you should not rely on the Pensieve." And he left.