Summoned

Chapter 13:The Wolf and The Dog

"Did you like question ten, Moony?"

"Loved it. Give five signs that identify the werewolf. Excellent question."

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

July 15, 1995, evening

"You what?" McGonagall was pacing Dumbledore's office, which, for once, seemed amazingly small to Remus.

"I gave him the information," he repeated. "Dumbledore, I could feel the heat from that Mark on his arm all the way across the room! I had to tell him! You're the one who convinced us he'd be dead if he went back with nothing!"

Dumbledore, who was still looking as if he himself had just battled Voldemort, waved his hand feebly to cut off the protests from the rest of the group. Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Arthur were all there, taking turns glaring at Lupin and looking anxiously at the beloved Headmaster.

"Remus, you did the right thing. Yes, if he went there with nothing to offer -"

"But his defenses are still off!" McGonagall protested. "Albus, You-Know-Who is going to be able to pick right through his information and find out -"

"With any luck," Dumbledore cut her off, his voice sounding stronger, "Voldemort will do just that! Pick through his most recent memories. They should - please him very much." He struggled to stand from his chair, but the attempt was stillborn and he sank back heavily in it.

"Let me call Madam Pomfrey," Orestes said, moving toward the fireplace.

"Yes, by all means, but not for me. I'm fine, Orestes, just - tired. Do call her, though. We may need her services again when Severus returns."

His words had a dampening effect on the room: those who were arguing about Lupin's folly were suddenly reminded of what Snape had just headed back to. He looked around the room and seemed satisfied that his comment had had that effect.

"Someone should probably wait for him," McGonagall said. "I'll go to his office -"

"No." Everyone looked at Remus. "I'll wait for him." He glanced at the crowd, then turned to Dumbledore. "Please."

The Headmaster eyed him for a moment, then nodded.

"Albus," Orestes said, moving closer. "Did he hurt you?"

It seemed to take the Headmaster a moment to understand the question. "What? Oh, Severus? It's nothing, Orestes, nothing at all. He is - getting stronger, though." He managed a smile which didn't fool anyone. But no one could really think of anything to counter his words.

"Remus, would you stay a moment?" he asked, effectively dismissing the rest of them. With murmurs of not-well-disguised dissatisfaction, they headed out the door. "Good night, Orestes," Dumbledore added, as the Healer made to sit down.

"Albus."

"I'm fine. I'll call you if anything happens."

Grumbling, the old man followed the others out and shut the door. Remus turned to his old Headmaster and waited.

"You were either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."

Lupin relaxed and sighed. "Well, I'm known for both, aren't I?"

"Couldn't you tell how dangerous he was? Why did you follow him?"

He hadn't been prepared for that question. And it took him a minute to answer it for himself. "I suppose - well, that's where I went when the monster within me took me over. - I assumed Severus was going there to - find a place where he wouldn't hurt anyone."

It was difficult to say that much, difficult to let anyone know that he'd given Snape that much thought or consideration. But Dumbledore already knew that Lupin didn't have the same animosity toward the Potions master that Sirius had. And it wasn't as if he were going to have to explain his actions to his best friend!

"He did hurt you, didn't he?" he asked, and that question took more bravery than walking into the Shrieking Shack had.

Dumbledore considered the question, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Not physically." He put his glasses back on. "But - if Voldemort gets a look at our last - conversation - Severus shouldn't have to worry about his Occlumency skills at all."

Lupin felt queasy. "You mean he's - he's turned? Against the Order?"

"Oh, no! No, Remus, no." The man looked at his desk and pondered one of the many silver objects that lay before him: a little silver box with pin-like legs. "No. His loyalty is - unquestionable." He looked up. "He finally told me why he became a Death Eater," he said, his words sounding like a confession. "I've wondered about that for years, you see. The truth - hurt. Both of us."

Remus waited, his head tilted to one side as he considered Dumbledore's words and wondered what they could possibly mean. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Dumbledore stared at nothing and shook his head. "No." After a few seconds, he shook himself. "I thank you for offering to wait for him. I'm - very tired. I don't think I can -" He sighed and struggled to stand up. "You'll let me know when he returns," he said. "I think - I think he will be grateful to see you there. - Assuming he's - Well, assuming he's -" He never finished the thought.

* * * July 16, 1995, early morning

He curled under his cloak, much as he did as the moon began to wane each month, after his transformation was over and he was left exhausted and sore. He didn't light the fire in the fireplace, though he couldn't have said why not: perhaps it was the fact that he was already somewhere he really had no business being - except that, for once, he did. Or perhaps he just felt that as long as he remained cold he would stay awake and be alert when Severus returned.

In any event, he wasn't. He started when he heard the door to Snape's office open, and he pulled himself up out of the cocoon of warmth he'd tried to create for himself. Despite taking several deep breaths, he still found that his heart was pounding loudly in his chest as the Potions master appeared.

Severus looked awful. Not that he didn't usually, but right now he looked particularly bad. His eyes were sunk into dark hollows, they were bloodshot and narrowed, as if even the small amount of light in the room were too much for him. His lips were bloodless and pulled tight across his teeth, and his normally sallow complexion was like wax, stretched across bones that seemed far more prominent than they had a few hours ago.

He met the man's eyes silently, waiting. But Severus did not erupt in fury. Instead, he tossed the silver mask he'd been carrying across the room to land on the floor near the door that led to his private chambers. He tossed the hooded cloak after it, and closed the door behind him.

"Question ten on the D.A.D.A. O.W.L.," Snape said.

Not sure if he were dreaming, Remus cut a half grin and said, "Give five signs that identify the werewolf."

"One," Severus said slowly. "He's sitting - in - my - chair."

Lupin sat upright and swiveled in the seat. "If I didn't know better, Severus, I'd say you had a sense of humor."

"Fortunately," the man responded, speaking with his familiar, cutting edge, "you know better." Without further ado, he crossed the room, glancing only for a second at Lupin, and held his wand in front of the fireplace. Flames leapt up and he turned away.

"Where is Dumbledore?"

"Resting. I hope. - How did - I mean, was everything - did You-Know-Who -" He stopped and cleared his throat. He had no idea why it was so hard to ask about this.

Severus was at the table and was putting the jars he'd left out earlier onto shelves against the back wall. "I will give my formal report to the Order after I have reported to Dumbledore," he said, his voice remarkably calm.

When all the jars were put up, he turned and met Remus' eyes. He simply looked at him for several long seconds. "The Dark Lord was - pleased - that I had information from the Order." He looked away. "I am undoubtedly - in - your - debt."

Lupin worked hard not to smile at the seeping distaste in Snape's last words. "Well, don't get sentimental," he said, and got the briefest flicker of an angry look. "After all, I've been in your debt every month for almost two years, now."

With a familiar and long-missed sneer, the Potions master said, "Thank you," with such disgust that Remus felt much better about the man's state of mind.

He sat there, wondering if he should leave, if he should get Dumbledore - it was nearly three in the morning, and he was loathe to wake the man up since Severus seemed unharmed. But before he moved from the chair, Snape surprised him.

"Firewhiskey, wine, or butterbeer?"

"Wine," he said, hoping he was doing half the job Snape was at acting as if this were a normal interchange. Severus flicked his wand over the desk, and two goblets and a large flagon of wine appeared. He poured the first goblet, his hand shaking, and then slid it closer to the werewolf. He poured the second goblet, and took it with him to the chair near the fire. He sat and stared at the flames.

"It was amazingly - stupid of you," Severus finally started, without looking away from the fire, "to come after me." He took a drink of his wine and then held it with both hands on his lap. "Why did you?"

"I hardly think it matters, does it? You were - successful? - with You-Know-Who. That's what matters. That and the fact that you didn't return here all - loopy."

Snape moved his head slightly, as if he were going to look at Lupin, but he didn't quite. "Loopy," he repeated. "How - descriptive."

"Yes, my talent with words is something you've never really appreciated."

Severus didn't respond to that, so Remus drank some of his wine and waited. After a minute, when he said nothing more, Remus broke the silence. "Because I knew you were afraid you'd hurt someone."

Severus turned then. "What?"

"The reason I followed you. - I knew something had happened to make you so angry that- well, either you'd already killed someone or you were afraid you would. And if it were the latter, then I guess that sort of proves you're not all bad after all."

That was the wrong thing to have said. He didn't know why, he didn't know how to back away from it, and it didn't matter. In less than a second, the fire flared in Severus' eyes and he flung his goblet into the fireplace and rose, standing over Lupin with the same insane gleam of rage in his eyes that had been there in the Shack, his wand pointed directly between Lupin's eyes.

He held his breath and waited. Severus opened his mouth. But nothing happened. Nothing.

Slowly, Snape relaxed and lowered his wand and Remus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That's some nerve I hit," he commented.

Severus' eyes changed. From the dark hollows, Lupin saw something begin to flicker, a small glimmer of something that was not anger. Not hatred. He turned away and looked at the desk. Without speaking, he summoned another goblet, poured himself another drink, and went back to his seat. "What - did Dumbledore tell you?"

Remus thought fast. Apparently, the fury that he'd been driven to earlier, the fury that had left Dumbledore weak and empty, the fury that had driven Snape to separate himself from everyone, had something to do with the question of -

"He said you told him why you became a Death Eater."

Snape stared at the fire for several long minutes. He sipped his wine and Remus sipped his and waited. And finally Severus spoke.

"What - how did your - friends - react - when they found out you were a werewolf?"

Remus couldn't figure the logic of his question, but it wasn't an opening he intended to ignore. "They were - well, they were shocked. Peter - Wormtail - was scared. But then he followed James and Sirius' leads and - well, they were shocked."

Snape nodded. After another minute, he asked, "And when did they - begin - to work on becoming Animagi?"

"That year."

"And they - held out hope for you, didn't they? That one day, they would be able to - transform. That you wouldn't - be alone any more."

Remus felt his chest tighten. His throat dried up and he felt a hard pounding begin in his head. Merlin's ghost, he didn't think he wanted to follow Severus' train of thought...

"Yes," he said, drinking some of the wine to moisten his lips. "They did."

He remembered that hope: he remembered it burning brightly inside him during the long three years it took for them to finally perfect their transfigurations. He remembered the loneliness each month, the ostracism he constantly feared, the companionship he had that he never valued quite enough...

"What if they had failed?" Snape finished his wine and still he sat staring into the fire, his hypothetical questions burning holes in Remus' memories.

"I would have - I don't know. - I never lost hope."

Severus nodded. Lupin got up and refilled his goblet, then went and stood next to Snape with the flagon. The man didn't move, so Lupin gripped Severus' hand, the one holding the goblet, and raised it so he could fill it again: Snape's fingers were cold, but the contact was enough to force the man to face him.

"You lost hope?" Remus asked quietly. "In what?"

Snape stared at him, his eyes piercing Remus', searching... Then he pulled his hand free.

"It is not that I lost hope. It was that he never let me lose hope - when he knew all along - I - was hopeless."

* * *

Lupin sat in Severus' chair through the early dawn hours. Eventually, Snape's head lolled forward onto his chest, his eyes shut, and Remus got up and took the goblet from his hand. He put it on the desk, poured himself another glass, and took it back to the chair.

Two hours later, the fire died and Severus woke up. He looked around himself, as if trying to place where he was, then saw Lupin, who had pulled one of the books off the shelf and was glancing through it.

"Feel free to relight the fire if you're cold," Snape said.

Remus looked up, startled, and smiled. He waved his wand, the fire was reborn, and Severus Snape closed his eyes again.

* * * July 16, 1995, afternoon to evening

"For now," Dumbledore said, "the Order is meeting at Sirius' family home."

"How - appealing." Severus sat before Dumbledore in his own office, behind his table, his fingers pinnacled in front of him. "What time?"

"Six. Molly often serves dinner for everyone after the meeting."

"I sincerely hope you do not expect me to remain for that." His words were coming more easily, and since he usually spoke carefully and deliberately, he didn't think any difference was noticeable.

Dumbledore looked a bit uncomfortable. "No. Actually - Sirius requested that you not."

A thin smile slipped across his lips. "For once, we find ourselves in complete agreement. Would that it were always so."

"I don't think he'll ever trust you," Dumbledore said. "I wish you'd let me tell -"

"No!" He felt the anger erupting and he stopped himself, took several breaths, and worked to control it. "You gave your word."

"I know." His eyes pierced Severus' and he could feel the Headmaster trying a careful assault on his mind. Resisting him was easy: but then again, Dumbledore wasn't trying very hard.

"How did you manage to keep the fact that the Memory Charm had been lifted from Voldemort?"

Severus winced at the name and felt the residual burning in the Dark Mark on his arm. "Fortunately, he wasn't looking. I was able to distract him with - the information. And - with other thoughts he found - amusing."

Like the fury he had been feeling toward Dumbledore; the pain he had never fully acknowledged to himself, knowing how it would overcome him if he did.

He was still not sure how Dumbledore was taking it: but at least, their professional relationship regarding the war against the Dark Lord didn't seem to be suffering.

"Well." The Headmaster rose from his chair. "I'll leave you to get some rest or - whatever. We'll fly out to Hogsmeade and Apparate from there."

Severus nodded once. He was anxious to be alone.

"You don't think Voldemort will Summon you again any time soon, do you?"

The Mark pained him each time the Dark Lord's name was spoken. He gave the Headmaster an impatient look. "I have no way of knowing. Assuming the information I gave him yesterday was accurate, he will probably be satisfied for a while. If it was not..." He didn't bother to finish: Dumbledore could reach the right conclusion without having it spelled out.

The Headmaster sighed, then nodded. "Thank you for what you're doing, Severus. I doubt anyone really understands the risks you're taking -"

"Please! I do not care if anyone understands, I do not even care if anyone gives a damn, I am doing what I am doing because I said I would!"

Dumbledore eyed him a moment longer. "I'll see you about five-thirty, then."

Once he had left, Severus went to his shelves and began to pull down certain books he rarely used any longer. In anticipation of being "welcomed back" into the Dark Lord's "fold", he had purchased ingredients in London that he knew would be needed to carry out the assignments the Dark Lord gave him. And the Dark Lord had, indeed, given him some assignments.

It had never been enough for Severus to be simply a spy for the Dark Lord, any more than it had been enough for Dumbledore that he simply play the double agent. In each case, he had tasks he was required to complete. For Dumbledore, it meant facing insufferable dunderheads week after week after month after month, enduring monumental amounts of idiocy, incompetence, and laziness. All of which resided in stunning amounts in the Potter boy.

For the Dark Lord, though, the assignments were at least as difficult. The preparation of various potions, definitely ones that would be classified as Dark magic, was an unavoidable part of his service.

He'd never mentioned this to Dumbledore, and he wondered if the Headmaster had ever surmised that the Dark Lord, before he'd fallen the first time, had made ample use of Severus' special talents.

He started one of the simpler, though nastiest, potions. It would simmer for most of the day and into the evening, so he could leave it while he attended the meeting tonight. He referred to several of his books for the recipe, two he'd purchased on Knockturn Alley and two that had been "gifts" from Lucius Malfoy years ago when he had prudently decided to rid his Manor House of incriminating Dark objects.

It was with something of a sense of vicious glee that, as he worked on this first foul brew, he allowed his mind to imagine in great detail how much he would enjoy having the elder Malfoy test it for him.

As the afternoon wore on, his thoughts drifted to other things: the night before being in the forefront. He felt acutely embarrassed as he remembered the emotion-laden events, from his explosion of fury toward Dumbledore to his escape to the Shrieking Shack, his mind torn into pieces as the Dark Mark burned on his arm and he realized with terror that he had nothing yet to bring to his "master".

And then the awful break down of all reason and sanity when he returned and found Lupin waiting for him - and had confided in him!

He contemplated more than once taking a dose or two of the Calming Draught before he went to the meeting: he couldn't lose his temper there, certainly not as he'd lost it last night. He would find himself, he was sure, on the wrong end of several wands if he did.

He did finally take the Draught, and then grabbed his broom and went to meet Dumbledore in his office.

Apparating to Grimmauld Place was not difficult. But he hated Apparating into Muggle-rich areas, especially when he was still wearing his wizarding robes. He followed Dumbledore to the unplottable and Charm-protected front door. The Headmaster tapped his wand twice on the doorknob and it opened.

It was the first time Severus had been here, and he took in the dismal surroundings with a slight smile: Black's family, of course, were notorious Death Eaters and supporters of the Dark Lord, and he wasn't surprised to see stuffed house-elf heads on the wall, nor was he surprised by the brief appearance of a living house-elf whose scowl seemed well-deserved. They eyed each other for a moment, and then the elf began muttering under his breath as he walked away. Severus caught the words "blood-traitor" and "poor Mistress," as he left.

"Here we go," Dumbledore said very quietly, leading him down the main hallway to a large sitting room at the end.

Just about everyone he had expected, and fortunately, no one he hadn't, was there. Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up as he arrived, and spared him a nod. Molly and Arthur, sitting together at one end of the enormous table that filled the room, stopped their conversation as Dumbledore entered. They greeted him, then Molly turned to Severus, who stood in the doorway.

"Professor Snape," she greeted, a forced smile on her face. "Good to see you're feeling - uh, that you're-"

He gave her a nod to prevent her from having to finish her greeting.

Down the table, at the other end from the Weasleys, Black and Lupin were conversing quietly but amiably. His stomach clenching, he met Black's scowl head on with one of his own. Lupin gave him a swift, completely neutral look, then engaged his fellow Marauder in conversation again.

"Wotcher, Professor," Tonks said, pulling out a chair next to her. "Here." She had her back to the wall closest to the door, and he took the seat gratefully, as it gave him an unhindered exit should he need it. With Dumbledore next to Shacklebolt on the other side of the table, it seemed the meeting was ready to begin.

After the rules of order were taken care of, Black - who had apparently been elected spokesman for the group - leaned forward on the table and launched his interrogation. "So, I hear you went playing with You-Know-Who last night."

Severus allowed the barest hint of a sneer, still working to control all thoughts, all emotions. "Yes, and a lovely time was had by all. - Are you interested in my report, Black, or simply in trying to bait me to sink to your level of adolescent bitterness?" He was rather proud of his response.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and Black leaned back in his chair, tilting it until it rocked on the two back legs.

"Go ahead with your report, Severus," the Headmaster said.

"As I've already told Dumbledore, I took the message of our agents being sent to the Giants to the Dark Lord. He seemed - satisfied. As you probably anticipated, he's also sending his own people to offer them what he thinks will be a motivating factor in their decision: revenge against the wizarding world."

There were nods around the room. "I always thought we'd get our own back for the way they've been treated," Arthur said. "Would have hoped it wouldn't be this way, though."

"And in case you do not already know," Severus continued, "he is also sending envoys to the Centaurs and Goblins. Again, our history of - intolerant treatment of both races is certainly going to work against us."

"We don't need a history lesson!" Black snapped. "Don't you have something we don't already know?"

He turned and glared at the man. "Apparently. Not." After a minute of tense silence, he looked back at Dumbledore. "Is that all?"

Dumbledore glanced around the table. Everyone there began to look uncomfortable, including Dumbledore. "Well, several of the Order wish to - ask you some questions, Severus. About what happened."

What happened. Nicely put, he thought. He shot a furious glance at the Headmaster: he should have warned him about this. He felt ambushed and angry, and he realized he was going to need to exert monumental control over his emotions until this pre-planned inquisition was over. Then, if needed, he would return to the Shrieking Shack and vent his feelings where no one was likely to pull a wand on him.

Without consciously intending to, he looked at Lupin, and saw the man nod, a sign of mute support.

Damn it! He didn't need support! This was what he had chosen to do, and he would damn well continue doing it alone. He didn't need someone in his corner, he never had! And he certainly didn't want Lupin!

"Well, then?" he said, looking around the table. He fully anticipated that Black would lead off, and was surprised that the first question came from the clumsy, inexpert Tonks.

"What happened when you were Imperiused, Professor?"

The very quiet, polite question, made him want to retch. He swallowed several times.

"Tonks, we've been through that," Lupin said. He gave the woman a long, meaningful look, but she shook her head.

"I know what you and Dumbledore have told us, Remus, but - we're not satisfied with that."

"We?" Lupin demanded.

"We," Black said. He still rocked back in his chair, his hands now clasped behind his head, elbows sticking out. He turned a torturing look at Severus.

He looked around him. The Weasleys were staring at the table. Shacklebolt was staring at Black. Lupin and Tonks were looking at him. And Dumbledore... Dumbledore simply shook his head, though what he meant by that Severus couldn't tell.

It was obvious he was not going to be able to get out of this. He tried to quell the nausea that rose up in his stomach.

"Very well. For a number of reasons," he said, addressing his answer to Black, not Tonks, "one of the Death Eaters had a grudge against me. I was Imperiused and Luc- he was permitted a long-awaited -" He took a deep breath. "A long-awaited vengeance. It was quite horrible. Is that satisfactory," he added quickly, his teeth barely parting, "or would you like details, Black?"

Damn it! Damn it to hell! No one at the table had missed that slip. No one.

Lupin had lowered his head, had stared at the table during Severus' confession, but even he looked up, shock on his face that he tried to cover.

Black's eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure and he rocked forward, leaning on the table once more. "Yes. I would."

"No!" Tonks said.

"Sirius!"

"That's enough!"

Lupin and Dumbledore called an end to the topic simultaneously, and Lupin spared a particularly venomous look at his friend.

For a few seconds, there was an unpleasant silence. Then Severus took the conversation in hand again: he would not let anyone think he was finding this almost as torturous as being with the Dark Lord had been.

"Is there anything else?" He looked around the room. No one looked at him. Except Shacklebolt. The African glanced around the table once, then turned back to him.

"Some of the Order members who aren't here, some of those Arthur and I work with at the Ministry," he explained, "requested that I ask: what other services do you provide to You-Know-Who?"

And there it was. Curious that he was just pondering the fact that no one had ever asked that. He wondered fleetingly if Shacklebolt were a Legilimens, then shoved the thought aside: surely he would know if the wizard had probed his mind.

He looked to Dumbledore to see if he would reject the question, but he didn't: in fact, he looked quite curious himself.

He focused on Shacklebolt, who's neutral expression was reasonably safe. "Since his return, he has not required me to torture or kill anyone, if that's what you want to know."

"Since his return," Black repeated sarcastically. Lupin nudged him forcefully, but he didn't pay any attention. "And the last time he was in power, Snape? How many people did you torture and kill then?"

"That," Dumbledore finally interrupted, "is not relevant!"

"Sirius!" Lupin weighed in again.

"So what do you do for him, Professor?" Shacklebolt repeated, his voice smooth and unemotional.

He took several deep breaths. "Let us say that he makes use of my - special talents."

"Oh ho!" Black started. "Are you brewing poisons in your chambers, Snape? With all those students around?"

He narrowed his gaze and tightened his jaw. "Ignorant as you are about such things, Black, it may interest you to know that nearly any potion can be poisonous if used incorrectly. And I make quite sure no one enters my chambers without my permission."

"Barty Crouch got in without your permission," Black reminded him. "Did you know he was doing that, Dumbledore? Making poisons? Right under your nose?"

"That's enough!" Dumbledore slammed his hand on the table. His anger had risen quickly and sharply, Severus noted, much as his own had. "If anyone here thinks it's easy to appease Voldemort, I suggest you try spending ten minutes in his presence!"

"I do not need you to defend me, Dumbledore!" Severus snapped. "Nor you!" he added, turning a scalding look on Lupin.

There was a quiet, almost embarrassed silence. Dumbledore considered Severus' words carefully, then apparently decided against pursuing them. "If there's nothing else," the Headmaster continued, somewhat more calmly, "we have other business to discuss."

"Of course," Arthur said, looking quite glad to be rid of that topic. "The spells around Hogwarts, I believe?"

"Yes."

With the help of Lupin, Tonks, and, briefly, Shacklebolt, the status of the protective charms around the school and its grounds was discussed. The few weaknesses they had found were going to be adjusted, Dumbledore reported, by Lupin and Tonks, who still apparently had a great deal of free time.

"And finally," Arthur said, once that business had been dealt with, "we need to discuss Harry."

Severus narrowed his gaze. He would have very much liked to have excused himself at that point, but he knew he couldn't: the Potter boy was, like it or not, central to everything the Order did. Just as he was central to everything the Dark Lord did as well.

"He's been sending me Owls," Sirius reported. "A lot of them. And he's sending them to Hermione and Ron as well. He's very frustrated. I'm afraid that if someone doesn't give him some information soon, he's likely to do something rash."

"That is likely in any case," Severus commented, feeling as if he were on safer ground. Finally. "The boy shows monumental stupidity when it comes to his own safety, as well as that of his friends." He shot Lupin a meaningful look.

"Thank you for your insight!" Black snapped. He glared at Severus for a moment then turned back to Dumbledore. "Look, we've brought Hermione and Ron over already, can't we -"

Granger and the younger Weasley were here? He shot Dumbledore a quick, questioning look, but he wasn't paying attention. He was shaking his head in response to Black's request.

"He's safer at Privet Drive. Much safer than he'd be here, you know that."

"Then can't we tell him something?" Arthur asked. "It's his life we're dealing with."

"He's too young to have to deal with any of this," Molly protested, shooting her husband a sharp, disapproving look.

"He has faced the Dark Lord and survived," Severus heard himself saying. "Three times, now. Keeping him ignorant of everything is more dangerous that allowing him to be involved. Much as I detest the idea of having him at these meetings," he added, "he might be convinced to be less - foolhardy - if he were involved - and carefully watched." He directed his advice to Dumbledore, who nodded.

"I appreciate all your advice, but I must veto the decision at this time. He may be bored, but when the time comes, I will explain to him why it was necessary to keep him in the dark. I have, of course, two people watching him constantly, so he's quite safe." He directed that last to Severus.

"Anything else?" he asked, though technically Arthur should have been the one to wind up the meeting.

Fortunately, there was nothing further. Black held his tongue, and the rest looked as if they were eager for the meeting to end. Arthur did dissolve the meeting according to protocol, his note-taking quill and parchment Vanished when they were done.

Snape got up quickly and left the room: he felt as if he'd been trapped in an airless tunnel for the last half-hour. He strode quickly down the hallway to the door without speaking further to anyone.

"Severus, wait!"

Damn! He turned. Lupin trotted up. "I'm sorry about Sirius," he started but Severus cut him off.

"Go back to your pack, Lupin. I do not need or want your support!"

"Could have fooled me last night. But that's what you do best, isn't it? Fool people?"

He felt the fire of his anger rising rapidly. He glowered at the shorter man. "Do not mistake my momentary weakness for either need or desire!"

"No, of course not." There was only a hint of bitterness in Lupin's voice, and none in his eyes. "Take it from a werewolf, Severus. It's not weakness to accept help when you need it. It's just good common sense. You might work on developing some of that."

Severus pulled open the front door, slammed it behind him, and stepped out onto the street in front of the townhouse. He glanced around quickly for any sign of watching Muggles, and saw none.

He saw the door to Grimmauld Place open, saw Dumbledore appear, heard his name called, and he turned on the spot and Disapparated.

* * * July 16, 1995, evening, cont.

Good common sense, Severus reflected, wasn't something he had been using of late. He acknowledged that to himself, though he would never have admitted it to Lupin. Or anyone else.

Back at the castle, in his dungeon, he dumped his traveling cape and wand on the chair near the desk and checked his brew. Why it hadn't occurred to him until now, he wasn't sure, but it was, in fact, stupid to be brewing anything the Dark Lord might want here in his chambers. After all, as Black had so accurately and cuttingly reminded him, just a few months ago Barty Crouch, Jr. had proven his ability to break through the spells on his chambers so he could acquire the ingredients for polyjuice potion. He doubted that Miss Granger, for example, or some of his upper-class Slytherin potions students would have too much difficulty breaking into his office if they put their minds to it.

However, the Shrieking Shack was another thing. With a bit of work - cleaning, repairing the windows to permit temperature control, certain barriers and wards - he was certain he could safely prepare there anything the Dark Lord might order him to make. Of course, he would need to bewitch the exterior of the house to ensure that it still looked abandoned and desolate: otherwise, he would certainly attract attention.

He hadn't yet told Dumbledore, but once this particular potion was finished, he had already been ordered to return to the Dark Lord with it. He hoped that the potion would be sufficient for him as an offering: he doubted any further developments in the Order would be forthcoming any time soon.

As he stirred the bubbling liquid in his cauldron, someone knocked on his door. He knew who it was and ignored it. The knock came again. And again, Severus pretended he didn't hear.

For the next five minutes, Dumbledore knocked and called to him and received no response, but didn't try to come in without invitation. Finally, he left.

Severus doused the fire beneath the cauldron and waved his wand across the top, producing a heat-sealing barrier for the night. Then, admitting to himself how tired he was, he left his office and went to his bedchambers.

He had hoped to spend a while reading through one of the potions books he'd just purchased at Borgin & Burkes, but as he changed into his nightclothes, he realized that nothing but sleep would be in his near future.

He dreamed of Harry Potter in the cemetery. He dreamed of the snake curling around his own legs, binding him in helplessness while Potter fought off the Dark Lord, using every bit of weaponry in his arsenal.

He saw Potter the first day of school, his scar burning as they looked at each other: but knowing now it was because the boy had sensed the Dark Lord's presence, even though Severus himself had been unaware of it.

And he remembered the Dark Lord's boast: "I can touch him. I can sense him."

He felt the Cruciatus Curse aimed at Potter; he felt the Curse aimed at him.

He woke sweating and panting, his arms and legs twitching in pain as if the Dark Lord had just cast the Curse on him in his sleep.