Love's Willing Prey - Snape and the Order

[valogoddess]

Chapter Six--Snape and the Order

Snape was sitting in his dimly-lit kitchen, attempting to read today’s Prophet while waiting for his tea to steep, but his mind kept wandering from the task at hand. Narcissa’s visit last night, while undeniably pleasant, presented him with a plethora of new concerns and old feelings to sort out.

He was a bit worried about how much Narcissa seemed to be drinking, and even more worried that she seemed to consider herself immune to further harm from the war. It was not easy for a wizard in Snape’s position to forget that carelessness could prove fatal when dealing with the Dark Lord.

It was, however, an immense relief to know that Narcissa wasn’t somehow blaming him for Draco’s demise. Some of the other Death Eaters, including Bellatrix, had accused him of stealing the glory of Dumbledore’s murder for himself, and it was amongst his greatest fears that Narcissa would also misconstrue his act as one of twisted self-gratification. Although Severus had never truly been able to show it, he really did care about her--more than she knew.

Snape had often wondered what might have transpired if he had been richer, or more importantly, if he hadn’t let Regulus Black know about his bastard of a Muggle father. Regulus was one of the few at Hogwarts whom Snape had told about his boyhood moniker “the Half-Blood Prince,” simply because he had considered him a friend. Regulus, however, promptly reported to the Blacks that his cousin was associating with a half-blood, and Snape found out the hard way that propriety meant more than friendship to him.

Without really paying attention to what he was doing, Snape finished preparing his tea and took a sip. Hideously weak...ah, I forgot the cinnamon again.

Rising heavily out of his chair, teacup in one hand, wand in the other, Snape crossed into the living room. He tapped his wand in a pattern across yet another nondescript expanse of shelving, and this time the books slid apart to reveal a tarnished brass doorknob attached to a small but heavy wooden door. This was his precious potions storeroom, which happened to hold a considerable array of medicinal herbs and cooking spices along with his vast inventory of essential potion ingredients.

Snape found the cinnamon quickly among the rows of assorted jars and decanters, and sprinkled just the right amount over his brimming teacup. Much better--although a bit lukewarm, he thought absently, taking a sip.

He leaned back against the cold metal shelving, savoring the luxury of solitude. Wormtail’s presence would have been obtrusive to any man as self-reliant as Severus Snape. His potions storeroom was full of secrets, and keeping its existence from Wormtail had complicated many things for Severus over the past year, not the greatest of which was getting cinnamon for his morning tea. However, there were now more pressing matters at hand than bland tea or worthless servants...

Snape crossed to the opposite side of the low-ceilinged room, ready to assess the progress of two potions he was brewing--neither of his own volition. The first one was complex and exacting, but he was fairly confident about it. He had brewed this uncommon concoction a handful of times before, and by now it was close enough to completion that he could tell it was progressing acceptably. However, the second potion was quite experimental. It was a poisonous-looking acid green, bubbling jauntily within the stone belly of the cauldron, and smelling putrid thus far. Yellowed, fraying, handwritten books gave only fragmented knowledge of this potion, and obtaining the list of ingredients had been a frightful task in itself. For intellectual purposes, as well as prudence concerning his immediate future, he hoped both potions turned out as expected. For the sake of the Wizarding world at large, he hoped the second one would fail.

As Snape tried to ease his attention back to the mundane, such as his rapidly cooling cup of tea, an obscure passage of text that he had not encountered since he was a very small child randomly entered his mind, unbidden:

“Ever mind the Rule of Three
three times your acts return to thee.
This lesson well, thou must learn
thee only gets what thou dost earn.”

The Rule of Three was an ethical principal that happened to be discussed in several of his mother’s old books, and he had not given it the scantest thought in many years.

Three times your acts return to thee... Reading those words as a child, Severus took them as an easy way to comprehend the merit of one’s actions. Now, however, the Rule of Three seemed quite complicated.

Thee only gets what thou dost earn... What had he earned for himself, all these years of holding his tongue, only doing what was necessary to save his neck or move ahead in life? What, exactly, did his actions add up to? What did he deserve in life?

Obviously not Narcissa...

Snape glanced back at the two faintly simmering potions and pondered the fact that he was a key ally to both sides of the war. Regardless of what I deserve, at least I know that one person will be safe, he thought uneasily, imagining the locket fastened securely around Narcissa’s milky-white throat...

Quite unexpectedly, a giant silvery wolf burst through the wall of his living room, nearly causing Snape to shatter his teacup. It was Nymphadora Tonks’ Patronus, or rather, Nymphadora Lupin’s. With a muttered oath, Snape carefully closed up his Potions storeroom with a wave of his wand and a self-made nonverbal security spell.

He hurried out into the cold dreary morning, cursing himself for letting today’s Order meeting slip his mind.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was Nymphadora who answered the door, with a tired, nervous look about her. “Snape,” she said with a forced smile and showed him in through the hall, locking the door hastily behind them. “Everyone’s already upstairs,” she said quietly, nodding for him to follow her.

Even in the dimly lit hallway, it was evident that Nymphadora had put on weight recently. She and Lupin had announced only two months ago that they were expecting, and Snape could barely contain his disgust. Why, of all the irresponsible things to do, would anyone bring an innocent child into the world during a time of war?

Lupin had always seemed impulsive and optimistic to a fault, but in Snape’s opinion, this was the height of irresponsibility. Both Lupin and Nymphadora were undoubtedly prime targets of the Dark Lord’s, seeing as they were Order members and had been close to Dumbledore. Moreover, Snape strongly suspected that the Death Eaters would show no mercy to a pregnant mother--indeed, that might make them even more likely to torture or kill someone... Snape reached the top of the staircase and as he spotted Lupin amongst the crowd, his lips formed a scowl.

“We were starting to think you weren’t coming, Snape,” said Lupin curtly, an edge to his usually pleasant tone that indicated he had noticed Snape’s expression.

“My apologies, I had a late night,” Snape muttered evasively. The disturbing thought of Death Eaters torturing people was still at the forefront of his mind, yet his lovely evening with Narcissa was being replayed at the back...

“Ahem. Well, it looks like everyone’s here,” Lupin began to the crowd at large, “shall we be seated?”

There was a general murmur of assent, and the odd collection of Order members filed into Number 12 Grimmauld Place’s largest bedroom, where the Order usually met.

Snape took note of Arthur and Molly Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody, and Sturgis Podmore as they each came in and took their seats. Rubeus Hagrid was already seated at the large, round table, and he raised up a large hand in cheerful yet subdued greeting. Snape nodded disinterestedly in return. Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were also there, along with that useless lump, Neville Longbottom.

With Dumbledore gone, Minerva McGonagall was now head of the Order, and she had relented to the children’s ill-advised demands to join. All Gryffindors, Snape noted inwardly; their bravery surpasses even their common sense...

Lupin and McGonagall headed toward the front of the room, casting Imperturbable Charms over each wall, the one tiny window, and finally the door. The scant muttering of voices hushed as they took their places at the table.

“Before we begin,” McGonagall started in a shaky voice, “we shall observe a moment of silence to honor Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Mr. Ronald Weasley, two valiant and courageous members of the Order of the Phoenix who would be with us today, had their lives not been tragically cut short by the Death Eaters only several short weeks ago. They will not be forgotten.”

Snape bowed his head out of conformity as much as respect. He honestly hadn’t remembered about the Weasley’s son upon arriving, but from what he could see, they were taking the loss fairly well. He wondered how it must feel to lose a son, and with a sudden jolt, he was reminded of Narcissa.

The remaining Order members were still shaken by the battle that had ensued at the site of the 4th horcrux several weeks ago. None of them had expected Hufflepuff’s cup to be enchanted with secrecy sensors that would alert Death Eaters to immediately Apparate to the location.

Snape’s every move had been under constant scrutiny by both sides, and he had had only had a split second’s warning before Bellatrix, Amycus, and several others showed up. Apparently the Dark Lord didn’t trust them enough to tell them why they were summoned there, however. They were hurling hexes blindly in every direction, but remained supremely unconcerned with the cup. With his natural stealth, Snape had been able to steal it undetected while the others were engaged in battle.

Bellatrix had managed to triumph over Kingsley Shacklebolt, which was an unexpected loss given that he was the Order’s most skilled duelist. Ronald Weasley had been so seriously injured in the fight that he was comatose; he passed away in St. Mungo’s several days later. This was the first time they had all been called together since.

Mr. Weasley’s halting voice finally issued into the dull silence. “Ah, well, shall we begin, Minerva?”

There was a shuffling of papers as everyone poised themselves to listen, and it was then that Snape noticed the rough, ragged form of Aberforth Dumbledore, sitting at the opposite end of the table. They met eyes and he nodded in greeting, which Snape returned with interest. It was common knowledge that Aberforth ran the Hog’s Head pub--he was an Order member as well, but Snape couldn’t recall ever seeing his at a meeting before. He wondered why he had chosen to attend this time.

McGonagall spoke, a forcefulness in her voice that was obviously feigned but nevertheless effective. “All right--first, as I am sure you all know, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is remaining closed for this term, but I am confident that with enough support, we will be able to resume classes starting in January. The staff is, as usual before the start of a new school year, incomplete. Therefore, I want to make it known that I am still awaiting applications for the positions of Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions.” McGonagall’s eyes flickered impatiently over the lot of them before lingering on Snape. “It doesn’t take much to realize that without these posts filled, there will be little reason to reopen the school. I urge all of you to consider the responsibility and honor of teaching the Wizarding world’s future generations.”

Snape did not move, although he could feel several pairs of eyes upon him. He had yet to decide whether he should teach again, should the school reopen. It would be foolish to act as if there were none who still believed him guilty, regardless of the letter’s “proof” of his innocence. McGonagall dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief as she sat down, clearly annoyed at her unintentional display of emotion.

“Well, let’s recount the progress that the Order is making in other areas,” she added hastily. “Remus, why don’t you go first?”

“Ah, well,” Lupin began haltingly, “from my undercover work, I can at least report that You-Know-Who isn’t rallying the werewolves for any serious plans at the moment. It seems that the majority of them are, sadly, still enamored with the ideas that Greyback has perpetuated, but lately they’ve been restless. Greyback’s not as respected as he used to be amongst my kind, which is one small step in the right direction.”

“So, have you managed to convince anyone to our side?”

That loud, unpretentious voice could only belong to Harry Potter. He had thoughtlessly interrupted Lupin, not to mention the entire meeting, as if his questions were the most important part. Like father, like son, Snape seethed inwardly, always so arrogant and presumptuous...

“Well, actually, Harry, no.” Lupin sighed, smiling at the irksome boy in a manner that was most irritating to Snape. “Although there are a few who seem receptive, the majority of my kind is still largely mistrustful of me. They have yet to witness me transform, and I decline to participate in attacks with them. They are suspicious because I don’t want to harm anyone if I can help it, which makes it increasingly dangerous for me to continue to associate with my own kind, I’m afraid.”

Potter looked intently at Lupin for a moment, digesting his words. “I wish you wouldn’t call them ‘your kind’,” he finally muttered, looking down as if he did not wish to discuss the topic further. Lupin nodded resignedly and sat down, apparently unable to recognize blatant disrespect when it came from Saint Potter, the Chosen One. The chair next to Snape abruptly moved back, and Mad-Eye Moody rose to speak without waiting to be asked.

“So,” he grumbled, surveying the room with his gnarled visage, “the Daily Prophet’ll have everyone believe that things are gettin’ more and more desperate for the Wizarding world, but what they don’t know is how close we are to You-Know-Who’s defeat. At least one good thing came from our last battle with the filthy Death Eaters--Hufflepuff’s cup!”

Moody spoke with a forcefulness and passion that was hard to mistake. “Once that horcrux is destroyed, we’ll only need to get rid of two more before You-Know-Who’ll be as mortal as the rest of us--‘cept more deservin’ to die...” He leveled a menacing stare across the table that earned several enthusiastic claps from Hagrid before McGonagall shushed him. Potter, however, was glancing indiscreetly between Moody and Snape, and from this, Snape could be reasonably sure where Moody’s electric-blue magical eye was pointing.

“Now, we’ve only got two more horcruxes to track down: that huge, ruddy snake, and Slytherin’s locket.” He sounded weary, yet determined all the more for it. “Snape here tells us that You-Know-Who’s snake is nearly spent already, but we’ve got to be alert--CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he roared, and several people sat up straighter in their chairs. “Those secrecy sensors all over the place ‘re what brought the Death Eaters to the location--but it turns out, those sensors weren’t always there.”

Snape’s eyes traveled round the room, ascertaining how many of them comprehended what Moody was saying.

“To put it plainly, it looks like You-Know-Who might already know the cup’s gone,” Moody summarized, “and if that’s the case, he’s probably gonna start checking on the other horcruxes shortly.”

“You mean...he knows the horcruxes are gone?” Potter said in a low voice, looking furious and panicked at the same time. Interrupting again...

“Well” - Snape cut in before Moody could answer - “the Dark Lord has been informed that a battle with Order members took place in that location. His suspicions are doubtlessly raised, given the circumstances.”

Potter looked as if he was going to retort, but seemed to change his mind, a dark look of anguish consuming his features. Snape went on, not bothering to stand up, or acknowledge Moody in the least.

“We should not forget that a wizard only needs one horcrux to sustain immortality. The Dark Lord believes that no harm can come to Nagini because of his close proximity to her, but indeed, that is precisely what is speeding the occurrence of her death. Also, he is aware that what remains of his soul is fragile. Therefore--I am not inclined to believe that he will attempt to create replacement horcruxes.”

A strained sigh passed through the room at this pronouncement.

Sturgis Podmore made a motion to speak next, and cleared his throat loudly before beginning. “Yes, ah....well, the Order is fortunate to have inside informants strategically placed within the Ministry. However, the majority of them were...unable to be present today, for fear of blowing their cover,” he blundered on, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

It must feel useless to have nothing to say, Snape mused, not bothering to conceal his disdain.

“I have been able to personally supervise the Minister’s own actions and sources of information,” Podmore continued, “which has, as of late, been a fairly mundane task. Doge, as an Unspeakable, is ideally placed to keep a close watch on the hall of Prophecy--”

“Why?” rang out that same insufferable voice yet again, as if the Order members had nothing better to do than carry on personal conversations with him. “I mean, the prophecy about me and Voldemort smashed, didn’t it? Nothing more to guard.”

All eyes in the room traveled from Potter to Podmore and back again; Podmore looked ruffled, his eyes darted toward the end of the table repeatedly.

“Yes, well, Mr. Potter,” Podmore faltered, “there are...extenuating circumstances that are...not yet widely known to everyone....”

How could anyone properly serve the Order when they couldn’t even finish a report sans interference from an arrogant teenager? Snape thought scathingly. And how could anyone delude themselves into thinking that arrogant teenagers would be an asset to the Order?

“Ahem--may I, Sturgis?” a rough, gravelly voice issued from the opposite end of the table, and Snape, along with everyone else, was surprised to see that Aberforth was speaking.

“Y-yes, thank you--by all means,” tittered Podmore, grateful to resume his seat.

The room had fallen quite silent, and all eyes were on Aberforth.

“Well, several weeks ago,” Aberforth began, his gravelly voice sounding taxed already, “this loopy-soundin’ woman shows up at the Hog’s Head, sayin’ she needs a room for awhile, and could she set up shop tellin’ fortunes in my bar during the evenings. I was inclined to tell her no, but the poor thing looked pretty down on her luck, and I figured it couldn’t hurt nothin’, so I let her.”

Was he speaking of the batty old woman that he and Narcissa had seen two nights ago? Whatever could she have to do with the Order? Snape found himself getting impatient with the old man's storytelling.

“I saw her do a couple o’ people’s fortunes, and didn’ think she had much talent for it. But later that night, when I had already closed up shop, she suddenly went all rigid and looked like she’d fainted, so I went over to try and help--”

He broke off, pulled his wand out of his tattered robes and placed the tip to his temple. As he did so, Mr. Weasley suddenly jumped up and extracted something from underneath his chair--Dumbledore’s Pensieve. Everyone watched with piqued curiosity as Aberforth leaned over and placed the pearly strand of memory inside the stone basin. He gently prodded it with his wand, and up rose the silvery image of a plump, gaudily dressed woman, rotating slowly. She looked as if she was asleep for a moment, then she began convulsing, and a deep harsh voice rang out, echoing ominously around them:

“ONE WHO HAS BETRAYED HIS FELLOWS WILL FALL, AS DID ANOTHER BEFORE HIM...ONE WHO HAS BEEN FALSELY PERSECUTED WILL VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WITH AN UNKNOWN...LOVE...”

The misty figure dropped back down inside the Pensieve, and Aberforth carefully extracted it and replaced the memory safely within his mind.

“Now, they’re tryin’ to work out what all that means down at the Department o’ Mysteries, and they don’ particularly want ol’ Scrimgeour to know what they’re up to. So that’s why Doge an’ the others been guardin’ the Hall of Prophecy lately,” Aberforth concluded, surprisingly articulate for someone who didn’t often speak to anyone beside the drunkards and vagrants who frequented his inn.

A deeply uncomfortable silence followed. Snape couldn’t help but notice that Potter and his friends were glancing toward him more often than was natural. As Snape’s eyes circled the room, it seemed that more than one person was looking appraisingly in his direction, or pointedly avoiding his gaze.

“Yes, Snape,” McGonagall said abruptly. “Snape has some more important information to explain, I believe?” she prompted, keen to quickly move on to other topics. It didn’t take skilled Legilimency for Snape to ascertain what everyone was thinking at the moment.

They’re guessing that prophecy’s about me, he seethed, ire churning under his smoothly controlled exterior. ‘One who has betrayed his fellows will fall’...they’re thinking I’m the traitor. Even though they can prove nothing, they still so quickly assume...and hope the worst for me... His thoughts jumbled together in his rage, yet he managed to compose himself enough to address them--his fellows....

“It is obvious, Minerva, that you don’t think Aberforth’s testimony is worthwhile,” Snape began, a schooled expression of detachment on his face as he rose to speak to her, “as I’m sure none of us have forgotten how little store you set in any method of divination.”

McGonagall seemed to stare right through him for a moment before concurring, “Yes--yes, that’s quite right, I’ve always thought divination was a sketchy discipline... At any rate...do go ahead with your report, Snape,” she muttered. Snape surveyed the Order members for a moment, taking a deep breath. What he had to say was at least as unpleasant as Aberforth’s prophecy, and much more disturbing.

“Since the Dark Lord’s rebirth, there have been...rumors...that he has been working on a separate goal besides his own immortality. He intends to continue the Slytherin bloodline.” Snape paused, his gaze resting on Potter. He was looking surly as always, although Snape noted that for once, he was keeping his mouth shut.

“It seems that the Dark Lord is planning to create an heir, one who would possess his abilities and his...disposition...from the beginning. Its soul would be intact and thus more powerful than an immortal yet fractured soul.” The room had gone silent as the grave at this pronouncement. All eyes were wide and turned upon Snape; Nymphadora and Miss Granger were bristling in horror, and Lupin let out a low whistle.

“ ‘Create an heir’, like...a baby?” uttered a clearly disturbed Mrs. Weasley.

“It would seem so,” Snape said, a hint of disgust evident in his voice, which was probably misinterpreted by his audience.

“How?”

Snape had to pause a moment to constrain his anger before addressing Potter’s query to the room at large.

“The Dark Lord calls upon all kinds of magic,” Snape alluded, “the innovative as well as the ancient. We must never underestimate the power of the Dark Arts in the hands of a wizard as skilled as Lord Voldemort.” The Order members exchanged uncomfortable looks, and Snape pressed on.

“However, bear in mind that a child will not be an immediate threat to the Wizarding world,” Snape reiterated, “therefore, it is clear that the Order’s focus should continue to be on the remaining horcruxes.”

Lupin came out of a sort of reverie at this, and interjected, “yes--the Aurors are finally through examining the cup horcrux. It’s been purged of any dangerous spells or enchantments, so it’s now ready for the Lunar Dissolution Potion.” He gave a nod to Snape, who did not return the gesture.

“Eh, Professor Snape,” said a gruff, booming voice, “would yeh mind explainin’ how that potion o’ yours works?” Hagrid was looking expectantly up at him, his dark eyes innocent and trusting. At least he had bothered to wait until Lupin had finished before speaking.

Snape began slowly: “The Lunar Dissolution potion works with the subtle gravitational pull of the moon against the Earth. Once the horcrux is successfully submerged, the dissonant elements of the potion work to separate the encased portion of soul from the non-esoteric matter.” Snape was getting into his stride, and he was amused to see not only Hagrid, but also Potter and Lupin, looking utterly lost already. “The physical force of lunar gravity, coupled with the inherent purifying power of moonlight, causes the soul fragment to rise up, spectre-like, out of the cauldron at the next full moon. From that point, it merely requires a Containment Charm and a little-known variant of the Killing Curse to permanently destroy the soul fragment.”

“Can I help with that?” a strained, rather timid voice inquired suddenly. Snape turned and raised an eyebrow when he saw that it was Miss Granger who had spoken. She was quite clever in her classes, but Snape had never known her to possess bravery of any sort. Indeed, that was one of his initial objections to allowing teenagers such as herself to join the Order--they lacked fortitude. Then again, perhaps Weasley’s death had affected her more profoundly than they realized.

“Did you not understand me, Miss Granger?” Snape said though clenched teeth. The fools he had to suffer... “To destroy a fragment of soul takes a complicated process, and it would be disastrous to have it go...awry.” She looked across the table at him, her eyes blazing but her demeanor helpless.

“Snape’s right, Hermione,” said Moody in an almost gentle voice, “there are other ways for you to make a difference in the war.”

“Ron wouldn’t have wanted you to take unnecessary risks,” added Lupin pointedly. Snape kept his face impassive but was a bit discomfited to see Miss Granger’s eyes fill with tears as she flung herself unceremoniously onto Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder. Now they both looked as if they were going to cry, which was an embarrassing sign of weakness in Snape’s opinion. He was forcibly reminded of Narcissa on the night that she had come to ask for help and cringed inwardly. It was horrid to recall her in that state... Lupin got up, saying he was going to make tea, and Longbottom reached over to rub Miss Granger’s back consolingly.

“Oh...I’m sorry. Please finish, I’ll be okay,” Miss Granger squeaked as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, shifting back into her own seat with difficulty. Longbottom and Potter looked at her, unconvinced, and then at Mrs. Weasley, who had covered her face with her hands and bolted from the room after her husband, finally giving way to her sobbing. Moody was the one who spoke first, however.

“It’s all right, I think we were about finished anyhow--is that right, Snape, Minerva?”

“Indeed,” Snape said flatly, and McGonagall merely nodded, her face in a pensive frown.

Lupin had returned to the table carrying a tray laden with a teapot, mugs, and a small bottle of brandy as well. “None for me, thanks, love,” said Nymphadora softly.

“Nor I,” Snape said quickly, sensing an easy out. “I have other matters to attend to, and must be going anyway.”

Potter narrowed his eyes, contempt written all over his features; however, Snape reminded himself that it really mattered very little what any of them thought. He allowed the slightest of smirks to register on his face, which he knew would fuel Potter’s suspicion all the more. Snape gave a curt nod to the group at large, and made his way down the stairs alone.

“Snape!”

He turned to see the enormous form of Hagrid silhouetted on the stairs above him, and he cringed as the furious shrieks of Mrs. Blacks’ portrait were unleashed by the disturbance. Moody and Lupin rushed onto the landing, wands drawn to silence her, and Snape descended the stairs with Hagrid at his heels.

“Professor Snape, I was jus’ thinkin’--”

Isn’t that quaint...

“Yeh haven’ told Professor McGonagall when yeh’ll be comin’ back to teach--”

“I hadn’t decided whether it would be prudent to continue teaching, given the present social climate,” Snape obfuscated.

Hagrid frowned in consternation. “Yeah, I’d heard summat like that, but listen--”

Get on with it already....

“Well, I jus’ wanted yeh to know tha’, tha’ I believe yeh, Professor. Even if it don’ mean much, I jus’ thought I’d let yeh know that...that not ev’ryone thinks yeh’re a traitor.”

Snape’s lip curled. “Why thank you, for those comforting words, Hagrid.” Hagrid suddenly looked sheepish; apparently he’d only just realized that the words hadn’t been delivered as intended. Snape knew what he meant to say, and it was rather touching (especially in light of the fact that he was, technically, a traitor in several ways) but seeing Hagrid feel foolish was simply too enjoyable to ruin. He nodded in farewell, and turned toward the front door, where Moody was already waiting to re-lock it behind him.

Moody and Snape met eyes for a brief second, then Moody growled, “Take care, Snape.”

“Likewise,” Snape demurred, and turned on his heel. He heard the click of the latch and knew that number 12 Grimmauld Place had already disappeared behind him. He was immensely glad to put this tedious monthly adventure behind him. Nobody in the Order appreciated one iota of his hard work or spared a thought to the great personal risks he undertook as a spy. The only thanks he got were suspicious stares and mutters of betrayal.

However, he had to thank the Order for one thing--he was a free man. As far as keeping out of Azkaban, not even the “Chosen One’s” opinion of him mattered in light of Albus Dumbledore’s.

He Apparated back to his empty home, and felt an uncharacteristic stab of something... Loneliness? Although he knew it would always be dangerous for them to associate, he couldn’t help pondering whether Narcissa would fancy another visit anytime soon.