Summoned

Chapter 29: Riddles

"You know, I sometimes think we Sort too soon..."

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

July 29, 1995, early morning

Severus took a long, deep breath. This was exactly what he had feared he'd find. It was the same type of spell Lupin - and the other Marauders - had created to bewitch their magical Map; the same type of spell he and Dumbledore and the others had created years ago to protect the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts: a spell designed to respond to the particular person who might try to engage it.

He doubted that Lupin and Moody would have made it this far. Well, Moody might have stopped at the entrance of the door: but he had a feeling Lupin would have ignored the un-welcome mat and ended up blasted into vapor. And if Black had come? He lingered over that very satisfying thought for nearly a minute: Black, simply blasted away...

But now it was time to play Orestes' game: again.

The first thing to note, as he knew from having faced - and created - these types of spells was the number given: four. Orestes had some intimate knowledge about how that number had affected Severus' life. It would be from that knowledge that the four riddles - traps -would be found and sprung.

There were the four days in Azkaban, as a child.

The four days at the Malfoy mansion.

The four days between the time he bought the forbidden book and the day Dumbledore received it.

The four days at the orphanage... Tom Riddle... four riddles...

The dog was still at his feet, looking up at him through hound-eyes that reminded him of Hagrid's dog, Fang. "Here is the first. You made her thirst. Fourth on the list, of those you'd have missed."

He searched his memory frantically. Thirst. Thirst would mean drinking something, or not drinking something. Missing... someone who drank something...

"Molly Weasley."

The dog panted happily and jumped up and down on the spot. Then it settled back again and the voice continued to come from it's mouth.

"Here's the next sight: she died in your light. She never was strong. And now she is gone."

His light? The light of his wand. The green light that shot forth and killed... She wasn't strong, was she?

He couldn't say it. He couldn't speak her name, he couldn't call her what she was, he couldn't...

"Mum."

The word hurt so badly he dropped to his knees and doubled over. He wasn't sure why it hurt so much, whether it was part of this enchantment, or something that had ruptured within his own mind, but he found himself heaving onto the floor, and the entire apartment faded out for a few minutes.

When he came back to himself, the dog was sitting halfway down the small hallway toward the living room. Snape's wand was on the floor next to him, and he picked it up and quickly cleaned up his mess.

"Payment for evil," said the voice from the dog, "that he thought was right. And the last one you've loved will drop out of sight."

He hung for a moment beneath the shining skull, and then he fell...

No! No!

No, how could he know that? How could he...

Evil? Payment for evil... Dumbledore had never done anything he needed to pay for! Nothing evil! It couldn't be...

The caning... Could that be what Orestes' ghost-spell was seeing? His anger at Dumbledore, his hatred for that?

"Dumbledore," he whispered, half-expecting that to be his last word on earth. But it wasn't. It was the right word.

And he hated himself for the truth it told.

"The first and the last. Forever to be. The love you will die for, his name is ..."

"Lil-" he stopped. His name? His name? He would die for Lily, but...

He would die for her son. For love of Lily, if it came to that, he would die for...

"Pot-" And again he stopped. Potter didn't rhyme. The right answer was one that he was surprised was so hard to form on his lips: almost as hard as forming the name for his mother had been.

"Harry."

He felt a flame scour his mind, and he cried out and crouched down on the floor, feeling wave after wave of hatred and anger and sadness and loneliness wash through him. It was as if a hundred dementors had suddenly flown through the room...

And then it was gone.

He was curled on the floor, in a ball, and he moved very slowly, afraid to call back the pain, afraid to think, afraid to move...

Slowly, he sat up. The apartment was lit as if for company, the lamps blazing through the sitting room straight ahead, the kitchen light glowing to his right.

He grabbed his wand and struggled to his feet. He pushed his satchel back over his shoulder, but left his broom by the door, and he moved forward, very slowly.

He was in. He had made it past the protective spells.

He gave himself a few minutes to catch his breath, to get his bearings. The apartment had the smell of mildew and old books. Familiar, comforting smells, Severus thought. He took a quick look through the kitchen, expecting nothing and finding nothing.

Then he went into the sitting room. The furniture was old and worn, and looked like something from a Muggle house in the 1960s. He searched it carefully, aiming his wand at various likely items and incanting, "Specialis Revelio!" to no effect.

The bedroom was next. There, he spent extra time, knowing it was the likeliest place an old wizard would have hidden things.

And he was right.

He began aiming his wand at the doorway and each time he incanted, "Specialis Revelio!" yet another magically concealed item appeared.

Potion ingredients. Ancient parchment texts. Forbidden books. Instruments even Severus couldn't identify. Calendars. Jars of potions disguised as quills. None of it, on its own, particularly damning.

But then he found what he had hoped, especially for Dumbledore's sake, he wouldn't find. Concealed in the mattress of the wizard's bed was the hooded cape and silver mask of a Death Eater. He collected them both and stuffed them, along with everything else that was at all suspicious, in his satchel.

There were rooms in the apartment he still hadn't searched - the dining room, the bathroom, a second bedroom - but as he checked the time and realized how soon the others were likely to arrive, he aimed a "Specialis Revelio!" at each of them and left behind what was revealed in those rooms for Lupin and Moody: if there were traps that far in, they could trip them themselves!

He "fed" the dog before he left by taking down all the parchments stuck on the walls around the apartment and putting them into a dog-food bowl in the kitchen. He aimed his wand at the dog as he left and said, "Be kind." The dog gave a curious little whimper, then ate the spells and wards from the apartment.

On his way out of the apartment, he Vanished the mat, and left his own enchanted greeting for those who were to follow.

Three elderly men came out of the apartment directly beneath Orestes' as he descended the stairs. All were wearing wizarding cloaks and carrying brooms.

"Eh!" one of the said, then rattled off a long question in what Severus assumed was Albanian.

"Just a moment," he said to them, and tapped his wand in the direction of the man's tongue. "Would you repeat that?"

"I said, how's the old guy?"

"Oh. - He died."

"You mean the wizard?"

"Yes. Who did you mean?"

The wizard who'd asked the question started to laugh. "I meant the dog! How's the dog?"

Severus watched the three men for a few seconds, then tried to smile, as if amused. "The dog?"

"Yeah. The old guy told us he had a dog would look after the place when he was gone. Said the dog would tear open anyone who tried to get past him."

Severus smiled tightly. "The dog is fine," he said and kept going past them, out into the morning sun. He settled his satchel behind his ribs, snug against his hip, and mounted his broom. And as he flew, he thought...

... About Molly Weasley, a kind woman who had always showed him respect, who insisted her children always show him respect, a woman he had often thought about, and wondered what it would be like to grow up under her stern, sweet, gentle thumb...

... About his mother, who was everything Molly Weasley would abhor, everything every mother should abhor, but still his mother, the only one who ever did hold him at night and sing to him, the only one who ever tried to stand between him and Tobias, the one who was destroyed by her husband and her first true love...

...the one who hid herself away on that night that was "different from every other night", instead of defending him from Tobias' twisted sense of religion and punishment...

...the one who used Unforgivable curses on him, the one Tobias beat when he couldn't get to Severus, the one who hung him out the window and dropped him, once, to the ground, the one who finally came to his defense that last horrible night, who joined her voice with his so that he would never know for sure which of them had actually killed the evil man who was part of him...

... the one he killed...

And he thought about Dumbledore, who held him in his arms when he found out what had happened, who had let him stay at Hogwarts every summer and Christmas and Spring break, who had bought him new clothes so that the other children wouldn't make fun of him, who taught him how to defend his mind against others...

...who took on the entire Wizarding government to avenge what they'd done to him, but who had then forced him to testify against his will... and who let Filch cane him after he promised he would never let anyone touch him like that again, and who trusted him even after he'd lied to him, over and over, and who hired him even though he knew he was a Death Eater, and who forgave him and believed in him and - and who, even last night, had known he was going to do something he would lie about, and who let him go and would be waiting anxiously until he came back...

... And Harry Potter, whose face was repulsive and whose eyes were seductive and whom he hated and loathed and who was the only reason he found the strength to keep going...

The dog had, indeed, torn him open.

He flew slowly back to the inn at Ilitia. He stopped there at mid-morning and took a room. He made his way up the rickety stairs, so similar to the steps in the Hog's Head, where he had long ago heard part of a prophecy he should have never heard. Where he had broken into the only true prophecy Trelawney had ever made...

He opened the door to his room and put the satchel on the floor. Then he crossed the room and lit the solitary lamp and closed the curtains and sat on the edge of the musty bed.

Could that be what had happened? he wondered. Could his having fallen into the room where the prophecy was being spoken, having looked her in the eye, having heard the prophecy - could that have been why he kept seeing the horrifying future he saw? The skull in the sky, Dumbledore blasted off the Astronomy Tower, his wand glowing green...?

Or could it also be nothing more than a mingling of his memories and fears?

Yes, he decided, that was it. Memories - his mother's death, the green light, becoming a Death Eater, the Morsmordre, the ever-present fear that Dumbledore would expel him, drive him out of Hogwarts... It was all that. It was simply his own mind creating a horrible nightmare that would not happen.

How could he ever bring himself to kill Dumbledore? How could he ever kill the one person who had ever really ...

He closed his eyes and lay back on the bed in the darkened room. Outside, the sounds of the world around the inn seeped through the window.

It was nothing but his horrifying imagination. Maybe, in fact, a false image planted by Orestes.

It was only a fantasy, he told himself. It could never happen. There would never be an argument that could be made to incite him to kill Dumbledore.

He would rather die first.

He closed his eyes and heard voices and noises and finally, finally, after he saw his mother rise from her grave and strike Harry Potter with the Cruciatus Curse, and saw it spin Dumbledore off the Tower, and heard Molly scream, he slept.

* * * July 29, 1995, mid-morning

Remus had rarely felt this kind of guilt in his life. Oh, there had been enough times when his wolf-guilt had risen so strongly that he had wished only to crawl into a cave somewhere and be allowed to die. But this was purely human-guilt, the guilt of leaving Sirius and fearing that his friend was going to do something truly dangerous, just to free himself from the awful confinement his life had become.

This was so exactly the type of journey he would have loved to make with Sirius. And knowing how keenly Sirius felt left out of things made it that much harder for him.

"Please, Sirius," he begged the man privately, just before Mad-Eye arrived, "please promise me you'll wait here. Please!"

Sirius gave him a lingering, frustrated look, but finally nodded. "My word," he said quietly. He looked for another minute at Lupin. "Merlin, I'd give almost anything to get out of here, Remus. Almost anything! And poor Harry - he's as trapped as I am. I'm his godfather, and I can't even go see him!"

Lupin grabbed his friend in a hard embrace. "The best thing you can do for Harry is to make sure you're there when he needs you. And when you two finally do get together, you can sympathize with him like no one else can." He let the man go and patted the side of his face. "And you promised you'd look after Tonks for me, remember?"

He had finally told Sirius about his feelings for the clumsy, beautiful, delightfully unpredictable Metamorphmagus. And his fears. Sharing his confidences had a two-fold effect. First, of course, it made it a little easier to bear the growing desire he felt for the woman. But it also helped to re-cement the friendship he felt for Sirius, giving him something tangible that he could assist with, even if it was only advice.

Sirius grinned. "You need to sit down with her and have a nice, long talk."

Remus grinned. "I plan to."

There was a knock on the door and then the sound of a quiet tap, and Alastor Moody joined them in the hallway. "Ready, then?"

"Yes."

From the kitchen, the Weasley clan and Hermione and Tonks - his heart flipped twice - came to bid them farewell. "Tomorrow night, you think?" Arthur asked, munching a piece of toast.

"Should be. We'll try to get word if we're delayed." He gave Sirius one final, quick hug, and, ignoring Mad-Eye's mumbled comment, left the house. He hefted his satchel over his shoulder and grasped his broom tightly. His wand was in his right hand when they got to the sidewalk. Moody grumbled as they stepped outside and checked for Muggles.

Then, as they ascertained there was no one watching them, they turned and Disapparated...

And reappeared at the edge of a quiet, suburban street in London. They glanced around themselves. There was a park across the way, and it was filled with people. Odd people.

"Okay," Moody said, his magical eye swirling dizzyingly in his head, "Dumbledore says it's inn called Creature Feature, there, at the end of the street."

They crossed the street and made their way through the park. The people's oddness manifested itself in a strange, colorful array of cloaks and robes.

"Is this a wizarding town?" Remus asked quietly as they walked, brooms quite visible, through the park. No one paid them any mind, and while he knew of no completely wizarding village in Britain except Hogsmeade, this certainly looked like one.

"Not this, no. This is a place Muggles come to to pretend they lived in the Middle Ages. They call it Somnium. It's like a year-round carnival for them. They don't know truth from fiction here. Dumbledore says lots of wizards he knows come here to have fun."

The crowds were mostly made up of young people, probably those who attended Muggle universities, but there were a few wizened-looking imitation warlocks and witches as well. All of them sported very new clothing, and nearly half of them were selling something: broomsticks, wands, robes, caps, music, musical instruments, food.

The old Auror paused and watched a young Muggles trying to demonstrate the uses of a crystal ball. He was waving his hands around the orb and mumbling, "Ava Cadaver," and while nothing happened and the girl he was trying to impress got bored, both he and Moody broke into laughter.

"I should tell Dumbledore to bring the Divination class here for a field trip!" he exclaimed.

Moody snorted. "Trelawney'd never be the same!"

"She already isn't." And to Moody's quizzical gaze, he added, "You know what I mean!"

They chuckled all the way to the Creature Feature, which they discovered was not exactly an inn. The building was a front for a stage set. Inside the door was nothing but a fake fireplace and a few old tables and chairs, with a bar to the left and several pimply-faced students dressed in half-right costumes.

"Oy!" Moody called to them. "Mind if we use yer fireplace?"

The teenagers laughed. "Use it? It doesn't do anything, old man!"

"Old man?" Moody bristled, and Remus touched his arm.

"We'll show you a magic trick," he said. He reached into his cloak and pulled out the bag of Floo powder he'd brought with him. He took out a small handful and sifted it into Moody's hand, then took another handful for himself. "Where next?" he asked the Auror.

"Nickel Commons," the former Auror, who had everyone's attention, largely due to his eye, Lupin suspected.

"You go first," Remus instructed, and turned to grin at the onlookers.

Moody stepped into the 'fake' fireplace, dropped the powder and intoned, "Nickel Commons!"

Flames leapt up around him, the crowd shrieked in horror, and then the flames disappeared and so did Moody.

"My turn," Lupin said, stepping into the fireplace and repeating Moody's gestures and words. He heard the collective gasp of the Muggles, and then found himself in a dirty, ugly fireplace, surrounded by drunken witches and wizards, in a run-down bar. One of the wizards was in the center of the room, swaying unsteadily on his feet and warbling a song that had to do with witches who loved vampires too much.

"Is it going to be like this the whole way?" he asked Moody, who was just on the other side of the hearth.

The Auror grinned. "Only until we get to Ilitia. Then it gets a bit worse!"

They stopped for lunch halfway to Orestes' home village. Lupin was feeling tired, dingy (despite using various cleaning spells along the way) and a bit anxious about the time it was taking them.

"By this time, don't you think You-Know-Who has probably sent someone to clean out the place?"

Moody had eschewed any food, but had ordered (to Lupin's surprise) two butterbeers, both of which he sniffed, aimed his wand at, and then sniffed again before drinking. "Sent someone?" he repeated. "You mean Snape?"

Actually, that hadn't occurred to Remus. "Severus? Why would he -?" He stopped and scoffed. "You do believe he's loyal to the Order, don't you?" It was the first time they'd had a chance to discuss this since Severus had submitted himself to the two-day coma.

"Loyal to the Order? Nope. Loyal to Dumbledore? Maybe." He seemed to be heartily enjoying his butterbeer and after he smacked his lips, he said, "There's things you need to understand about Snape.

"I understand -"

"You understand what? That he's just a nasty old git who hates his students and most of all Harry Potter? Or that he's a bitter, sneaking Death Eater who followed Voldemort until he thought he'd do better if he turned tail and ran back to our side? Or that he's one of Dumbledore's favorites who's had Albus under his spell since he was a student? Or do you understand that he's still working for Voldemort to give himself an out, no matter who wins this time?"

"You don't believe that."

Moody gave him a long, whirling gaze. Then he chuckled. "Come on. We've got a long way still to go."

It was after dusk when they finally made their way to Orestes' apartment.

"Third floor," Moody said, and they climbed the crumbling steps to the third floor and found the door to the apartment. Moody put out an arm and held him back as he waved his wand around the door in a slow, sensing arc.

"Got some enchantments," he muttered. "Specialis Revelio!"

As Remus watched, a long parchment appeared on the door and unrolled. It was nearly six feet long and covered with runes and other symbols he didn't recognize.

"Merlin's beard!" he whispered, and glanced around to be sure they weren't being watched.

Moody, however, just laughed and aimed his wand again. In large, illuminated script, the words of a nonsense rhyme rolled beneath their feet and they hopped backward.

One, two, three, four,

What is it you're looking for?

Five, six, seven, eight,

Sorry, but you're far too late.

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,

Go ahead and use your spell,

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and
Find yourselves on desert sand.

As they read aloud the last words of the parchment, the entire floor turned to sand, the building dissolved, and they found themselves on a seashore neither of them could identify.

"Well," Moody said, "guess that answers one question."

"Which is?" Remus asked, taking off one shoe and shaking the sand from it.

"Someone must've gotten here first!"

* * *

It was growing close to evening when Snape woke. He was rested enough to continue the next leg of his trip: trying to win favor in the Dark Lord's eyes. He took a cold, pathetic shower and changed into fresh clothes. He pulled his Death Eater cloak around him and put the hated mask in place. Then he grabbed his broom and satchel and wand. He stood in the middle of the bedroom, closed his eyes, concentrated on the Dark Lord, and finally whirled himself away from the room...

... And back to the Riddle House.

"And what is thisss?" he heard the Dark Lord hissing, even as he Apparated. As his feet touched the floor, he went to his knees.

"My Lord, I bring you gifts. Tokens of my devotion to you." He knelt where he was, head bowed, until the Dark Lord responded.

Voldemort was seated in a shabby, dusty chair in the living room, and Wormtail was with him this time, hovering nervously next to the chair, his silver hand hanging at his side. The snake was nowhere to be seen - or heard. Yet.

"Gifts, my faithful one? What gifts?"

"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix have sent two of its members to Orestes' home in Albania, trying to find evidence of his work for you. Without their knowledge, I went there first and I have brought you these-" he pulled Orestes' Death Eater garments from the satchel, "- and these," he said, pulling out two of the jars and a couple parchments he'd found, "which I thought might compromise the work he did for you."

"Very nice, Severus, very nice." He leaned forward and pulled his skeletal fingers from under his cloak. "And what is in these jars?"

"I have not had a chance to test them. But since I couldn't recognize them as - innocuous potions, I thought it best to take them with me, My Lord."

The resurrected creature leaned forward and ran his fingers along the side of Severus' face. "Call me 'Master', Severus. I like it best when you call me 'Master'."

"Yes, Master," he said, hating the term and knowing the Dark Lord knew he hated it.

"What are you going to do with them, Severus? Do you plan to take them to Dumbledore?"

"I did not anticipate doing so, Master. I thought Orestes might have made them for your use..."

The mouth-hole opened a bit wider and the Dark Lord leaned yet closer to his kneeling servant. "Oh, but I don't know what they do, Severus. - Pity you can't test them for me."

From behind the chair, Wormtail giggled nervously.

The eyes bored into his, and he met the gaze steadily, waiting. He couldn't bring himself to volunteer: one more wretched showing of himself to Dumbledore and he had no doubt the man would simply stop using him, with or without the backing of the Order.

"Take them," the creature finally said, leaning back in his chair. "Find out what they are. If they are useful to me, bring them back."

"Yes, Master."

"And Severus?"

"Yes, Master?"

"What do you plan to tell Dumbledore about your little foray?"

"Nothing. Master. He is under the impression that I spent the night making various potions. He might suspect I was making some for you, but he might not. In any case, I plan to tell him nothing about my trip. - I did leave behind a few innocent-looking items for the Order members to find. It would cause suspicion if there were nothing there for them when they arrived."

The Dark Lord nodded. "You have done very well, Severus. - Perhaps, when my faithful ones go out in two nights, you will want to go with them?"

His stomach clenched and he smiled and said, "It would be an honor, Master."

"Yesssss," the voice slithered out, "it would."

"May I ask - where we will be going?"

The Dark Lord made a sound something between a hiss and a cackle. It set Severus' nerves on edge. "Oh, just for a spot of Muggle torture. Perhaps, we'll find a half-blood or two, as well."

Severus kept the smile on his face. "Excellent, my - Master," he said. "Will my friend, Lucius, be joining us?"

Instantly, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. The man lifted himself from his chair, his right hand extended, a loud hissing noise coming from beneath his feet. Nagini slithered out from under the chair. "You ask too many questions! Do not ask so many questions! It makes me suspect your motives!"

"I apologize, Master, I - was simply hoping to add to my anticipation. I shall, of course, wait on your word."

But the Dark Lord must have been very happy with him: he did not use the Cruciatus!

Then the fingers stroked his hair and pushed it back from his face. He tilted Severus' head up and smiled. "Very good, my servant, very good."

* * *

Professor Grubbly-Plank had an unusual view of teaching, Dumbledore thought. But on the other hand, it was a valid method and she wasn't entirely new to teaching at Hogwarts. In the package she brought to Dumbledore's office, she had included all her notes, exams, the work assignments she planned to give out, even the necessary instruments (which were few) that her students would need.

"I'm impressed," Dumbledore said, looking over everything she'd prepared for him. He had given up hoping for anything this thorough from Hagrid: it wasn't his style.

And that reminded him again of how worried he was that he hadn't heard from his instructor and old friend.

He was also trying to keep his mind on this work, and not on the fact that Severus hadn't returned yet to the castle, either. He'd checked the Potions master's office around three o'clock, then again at five. The Shack was not connected to the Floo Network, so he couldn't check him there unless he went himself. And he knew Severus had specifically not wanted him there.

He was stuck waiting, which he found he did with increasing impatience as he grew older.

"I think the more interactive the class is, the better it will hold the students' attentions," the new professor was explaining with enthusiasm.

"Yes, I quite agree. Do recall, though, if Hagrid does return before the end of the year -"

"Oh, yes, Dumbledore, I know. I hope I am just temporary, if my being here means something's happened to Hagrid. Quite a nice chap, that."

"Yes, he is." Dumbledore smiled and felt the added pang in his chest. The fear of what might have happened to him and Madame Maxime was growing by the day.

It was just as he and the professor were wrapping up their meeting that sparks appeared in his fireplace, and Severus' face followed. "Headmaster?"

"Excuse me," Dumbledore said, and went to the hearth. "I was beginning to get concerned, Severus. Everything alright?"

"Quite fine. I miscalculated the time required for one of my potions."

Trying to look into his eyes and use the Legilimens on him through the flames was impossible. So he just nodded. "Up for a spot of company?"

"If you wish."

That, he thought, was a very good sign! No dissembling, no claims of being too tired, nothing to indicate that he'd been to see Voldemort and had returned injured or weakened once again.

"Professor, if you'll excuse me," he said.

Professor Grubbly-Plank gathered her things from the desk and said, with an easy smile, "Of course, Headmaster, not at all."

After she left, Dumbledore went down to the dungeons: he imagined Severus would feel more comfortable in his own place, and so he knocked on the door that swung open and came in bearing two goblets and a refilling flask of some very nice wine.

Severus said nothing in response to the offered routine. He simply wrapped his cloak around himself, sat in the second seat near the fireplace, and took the goblet Dumbledore handed him. For several minutes, neither of them spoke. They waited for the gentle mellowing of the wine to take effect, waited for the fire in front of them to remove the chill from the room, and slowly Severus uncurled from his cloak and sat back, relaxed, in the chair.

"Successful night?" Dumbledore finally asked.

Severus nodded. "Very." He drank some more wine, and Dumbledore refilled his goblet. He didn't protest: another good sign.

"I haven't heard from Remus or Alastor yet," he said, "but I don't suppose I will until tomorrow sometime."

"Probably not," Severus agreed.

They were silent again for a few minutes, but the silence wasn't the awkward type they'd endured so much of recently. It was a silence of long understanding between them that was finally returning. A silence in which Dumbledore simply had to accept certain things about his Potions master, things that would disturb him if he thought too much about them.

Things that simply had to be.

Like the fact that he was certain Severus had been nowhere near the Shack last night, and had brewed nothing, either here or there, in the last two days. Like the fact that he could guess where Severus had been, and would be happier not asking.

He finally did give the man an inquisitive gaze. "You seem to be - alright?" It was as close as he would go to demanding any explanation from him.

With the slightest hint of a smile, Severus nodded. "Quite. - Though, perhaps, more of the Deletrius sessions would still be helpful."

Dumbledore grinned outright. "Tomorrow?" Severus nodded.

They sat in peace for the next hour, and finally, when Dumbledore had refilled their goblets four times and he could see his Potions master begin to fall asleep in the chair, he Vanished the wine and stood to leave.

"Albus." Without turning from the flickering fire, Severus reached up and gently grasped Dumbledore's forearm as he started to leave. Dumbledore stopped and looked down. "It is going to be much harder to trust me - very soon."

He couldn't remember Severus having ever called him by his first name. He took the younger man's hand in his and squeezed it. "What's past is past, Severus. I have only one choice, and that is to trust you."

"Or," the man said quietly, his eyes locked on the fire, "have me arrested. Now. Before anything-"

"I could as soon lose both my arms, and even then I would be better off. No, Severus. Your ability to lie and deceive Voldemort makes you more valuable than almost anyone else I know. I know there are times you have to deceive me. - And I trust you to do it for the greater good."

The man nodded once and took his hand from Dumbledore's. Albus hesitated for a second, then crouched down to look his Potions master in the eye. "I only wish you had trusted me more when you were - when I could have helped you."

Severus looked away and said nothing. Albus started to leave, then turned back. "I think, though, that it will make things much easier if I am the only one who has to trust you."

It took a moment before Severus turned in his chair.

"I'm not going to put much to the vote at the meetings any longer. From now on, for the most part, your work will just be between us."

Severus nodded. "And I should not know the keys to the wards around the castle," he added. "It would be far too easy for - mishaps to occur. And for suspicions to run high."

Dumbledore considered that: at the moment, that was the only way he had of being notified of Severus' meetings with Voldemort. If they didn't use that...

"I see," he said, nodding, and he did: Severus planned to no longer alert him to every clandestine or dangerous meeting. He was cutting the tether to safety that Dumbledore had placed upon him at the beginning of the summer.

"It seems wise," the Potions master said, almost sadly. "You cannot afford for everyone in the Order to question every move you make because they believe I can - because they can not trust me."

Dumbledore nodded again. "Yes, yes." He looked down through his spectacles at Severus. "You are alright?" He had practically just confessed that he'd seen Voldemort.

"I am. - For now," he added, his eyes tightening. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow. Sleep well." He left the room, wondering if either of them would.