Dylan was more popular than ever after the Yule Ball: the girls wanted to flirt with him, and the boys wanted to know how he'd gotten an "older woman" to ask him out. Draco might have started to get jealous again, but he was distracted when Rita Skeeter's story about Hagrid's half-giant heritage came out in the Daily Prophet, and was too busy gloating and taunting Potter to worry about Dylan. Dylan, who had spent his entire life suffering for his father's crimes, might have had some sympathy for the Care of Magical Creatures instructor except that Hagrid had been one of those who watched him suspiciously, as if he expected Dylan to summon up Lord Voldemort at any moment. And Draco told Dylan that he had heard from his father that Hagrid had made a comment about "bad blood" during the hearing on Dylan's admission to Hogwarts. Dylan believed him, recalling how Snape had mentioned the same phrase when they were discussing the way the rest of the world viewed the Slytherins, but he wondered how Lucius Malfoy had known about it when he had not attended the hearing himself. Well, the head of the Malfoy family was a very powerful man, who probably still had some allies among the school governors, or perhaps Professor Snape had told him what was said during the meeting. In any case, Dylan privately thought that Hagrid was a hypocrite, and felt no pity for him. {How dare he turn up his nose at me because of my father, when his own mother was a giant!} And besides, like most of his classmates, Dylan was tired of being burned, bitten, and scratched by Hagrid's little pets.

Hermione felt sorry for the stupid oaf, though, and Dylan decided to take advantage of the situation to score some points with her, although he knew that ingratiating himself with a Gryffindor girl that Draco Malfoy hated was probably the last thing he should be doing. But he wasn't going to let Draco run his life, and both his mother and Professor Snape seemed to think that making some "respectable" friends would help offset his father's reputation and lessen people's suspicions of him. A very small corner of Dylan's mind worried about what would happen when Voldemort rose again, as he surely would--a Mudblood girl had no place in the glorious future the Dark Lord had planned. But he pushed his worries aside; all that lay ahead in a distant and nebulous future. For now, he was simply a schoolboy who wanted to win the favor of a pretty girl. Hermione, of course, did not remain the lovely vision she had been the night of the Ball, but he found himself looking at her in a different light. It was nothing serious of course, he hastily told himself. But he liked her feisty spirit, and he did have his father's reputation with the ladies to live up to, after all...

He found her sitting alone in the library one day, looking worried. After checking to make sure there were no other Slytherins nearby, Dylan went to her table and took the seat across from her. "Hello, Hermione," he said. "It's really awful, what that woman wrote about Hagrid, isn't it? I hope he comes back to school soon." He was lying through his teeth, of course, but felt he managed to inject the proper tone of concern into his voice.

Hermione just frowned at him. "I thought you'd be laughing about it with your buddies Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle," she said coldly. "They fed that Skeeter woman a pack of malicious lies about Hagrid!"

"I can't control what Malfoy does," Dylan protested, letting a slightly wounded expression appear on his face. "I'm not like him! Don't you think that I, of all people, know how it feels to have everyone hate you because of who your mother or father was?"

Hermione's expression softened a little, but she looked confused. "Well...that is true. But then why are you so friendly with Draco and his crowd, and why are you wearing that button?" She pointed accusingly at the "POTTER STINKS" button discreetly hidden beneath the folds of his robe--but not discreetly enough, apparently.

Dylan hung his head, as if in shame. "You don't know what it's like in Slytherin House, Hermione," he said softly. "It's not like Gryffindor. Draco lords it over everyone--his father is a very powerful man, you know, both magically and politically. And I'm no one; just the son of a deceased Death Eater. My great uncle and Professor Snape fought very hard to have me admitted, but a lot of people still don't want me here, and if I make one wrong move I could be expelled. If Draco complains to his father about me, all Lucius Malfoy has to do is say one word to the right person and I'll be kicked out of school before you can blink. I've lived in exile my entire life, and I never had a friend before I came to Hogwarts. There are very few children on the family estate, and none of their parents would let them play with the son of a Death Eater. Bad blood, that's what they say. Maybe I'm a coward, but I would do almost anything to stay at Hogwarts and not be sent back home."

"Oh, Dylan," Hermione said sadly, looking at him much more sympathetically now. "I never thought about how hard it must be for you. Well, I do think it's important to stand up for what you believe, but I can see how you're in a difficult situation."

"Well, it's not so bad," Dylan said in a lighter tone. "I just have to be careful not to offend Malfoy. I admire you, Hermione, for being so brave. You always do what you think is right, and you don't worry about what anyone else thinks of you." She flushed with pleasure, and he gave her a charming and mischievous grin. "The fact that I'm trying to be friends with you should prove to you that I'm telling the truth--Malfoy would kill me if he knew I was associating with the enemy!" Hermione giggled a little. "He doesn't like Gryffindors to begin with, and he really hates your friend Harry Potter. I must admit, though, that Potter's been all right to me. He hasn't called me names like some of the other students have." It was true, and Dylan figured he could score a few more points by saying something nice about her friend.

"Other students have called you names? Gryffindors?" Hermione asked, sounding outraged.

Dylan smiled, pleased to have her on his side now. "Yes, but it's no big deal--"

"What kind of names?!"

"Oh, the usual...Death Eater, devil's spawn, and a few other things that I wouldn't care to repeat in mixed company. But I'm used to it, since my grandmother and my uncles have called me all those things and worse."

"That's awful!" said Hermione, still looking upset. "Tell me who they were, and I'll give them a piece of my mind--"

"Oh, don't bother; it'll just make things worse, and it won't change how they feel. I'll just have to prove to people through my actions that I'm not a Death Eater like my father." {At least, not yet...} "There are a lot of stupid people in the world, Hermione. Look at the things they say about the Muggle-born, look at the things they're saying about Hagrid..."

"That's why it's so important to stand up for what's right!" Hermione said passionately. "That's why I've organized S.P.E.W!" She smiled at Dylan. "I guess that proves that you're not like Malfoy, since you bought a S.P.E.W. membership. But you haven't come to any of the meetings!"

"I'm sorry," Dylan said apologetically. "It's hard to get away sometimes; Malfoy keeps a close eye on me. And I didn't think that your friend Ron was too keen on me."

"Don't worry about Ron," Hermione said firmly, and Dylan grinned to himself. There was no doubt in his mind that Ron Weasley was no match for Hermione Granger! "Well, we can discuss it now, I suppose, since you're here and Malfoy isn't around."

She spent the next hour waxing eloquent on the subject of elf rights. Dylan didn't mind; he liked the passion in her voice and on her face, and all he had to do was nod and murmur in agreement every now and then. He even offered to broach the subject with his Great-Uncle Math, and was rewarded with a grateful smile. He figured it wouldn't do any harm; Uncle Math was definitely no friend to Lucius Malfoy, so he didn't have to worry about word getting back to Draco, and Uncle Math was softhearted--he might actually be sympathetic to Hermione's cause. Besides, it would reassure Math and Goewin to know that he had made friends with a Muggle-born girl, and they would worry less about him following in his father's footsteps, which meant they might watch him a little less closely and give him more freedom...
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Things seemed to be going well for Dylan: Malfoy was preoccupied with his vendetta against Potter and his friends and was paying less attention to Dylan, he was in Hermione 's good graces, and Professor Snape seemed to be in a much better mood after Christmas. Dylan wasn't quite sure why; he certainly hadn't seemed to be enjoying himself at the Ball. Perhaps he'd gotten a truly spectacular Christmas gift, or--more likely--he was just happy that the holidays were over. Whatever the reason, Snape was in a good enough mood to talk to Dylan about his father again. As usual, he avoided any mention of the Dark Lord or their Death Eater days, but he did reminisce about some of the pranks Dylan's father had played along with his friend Lyall Wilkes.

"They were best friends, nearly inseparable--except, of course, when your father was pursuing some young lady," Snape said in an almost genial tone of voice. "They got into a great deal of trouble together."

"Such as?" Dylan asked eagerly.

"Let's see...there was the usual nonsense--setting off dungbombs during class, that sort of thing. But most of their pranks were more imaginative than that. During their second year, around Christmas, they built anatomically correct snowmen--or rather a snowman and a snow-woman--in the castle courtyard. That earned them a week's detention. The next year they sent a box of chocolates with a note that said 'from your secret admirer' to a boy in Gryffindor on Valentine's Day. The boy was quite conceited and fell for the trick, but of course the chocolates had a little Swelling Solution mixed into them, and he swelled up like a balloon." Snape grinned wickedly. Although he didn't mention it to Dylan, he had helped Rosier and Wilkes make those chocolates--they had made the candy from scratch in their dorm room, using Snape's talent in Potions to blend the Solution into the melted chocolate. It had been a lot of work, but it had been worth it when he saw James Potter's body ballooned out to match his swollen head! And best of all-- "They served no detention for that prank; they never got caught...although their victim suspected who was involved, he had no proof."

Dylan laughed. "What else?"

"Well, Mr. Filch was at Hogwarts back then as well, and he had a cat then, too--not Mrs. Norris, of course, but a predecessor. Evan and Lyall cast a hex that made all the cat's fur fall out. If it had been up to Mr. Filch, they would have been expelled for that stunt. The Headmaster overruled him, and they simply got detention, but Headmaster or no, I think the only thing that saved their lives was that Madam Pomfrey had a tonic that grew the cat's hair back. Another time they were rather upset about Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup over Slytherin, and decided to sneak into Professor McGonagall's office and steal it back. Not their brightest idea--they got caught in the act. Or rather, Evan managed to get away, and Lyall got caught. But Lyall never gave your father up; he insisted he had been alone, even though all the teachers knew that he and Evan did everything together, and McGonagall threatened him with expulsion." {Lyall was always loyal to a fault,} Snape thought, and remembering how his loyalty had led him to join the Death Eaters with Evan, Snape's good mood began to fade.

"But he didn't get expelled?"

"No, in the end, he just got a month's detention, again thanks to the Headmaster." Snape thought perhaps Dylan was enjoying these stories about his father just a little too much, and decided to give the boy a warning. "By the way, Mr. Rosier, it will go very hard against you if you attempt to emulate any of your father's little adventures. Assuming you aren't expelled, I will have you in detention every day until the last day of your seventh year, and I will put an end to our little talks about the good old days. Is that clear, Mr. Rosier?"

"Very clear, sir." Snape's second threat was the one that really intimidated Dylan. Snape was the only person other than Ariane who was willing and able to discuss Evan Rosier with Dylan, and he would do anything not to lose that link to his father's past. "I haven't forgotten the debt I owe you, Professor, and I remember very well that I am only here on sufferance."

"Good," said Snape, relaxing slightly. "This is your first year at Hogwarts, and you are under a great deal of scrutiny, but your behavior so far has been exemplary. Your teachers--well, most of them--have noticed that, and I think things will get easier for you in the next year or two, once they realize that..." He hesitated.

"That I'm not like my father," Dylan said softly.

"Well, yes," Snape admitted, a little uncomfortably. "Once you have proven yourself, you can relax a little and not have to worry about being expelled for the slightest thing." Then in his more usual cold, haughty tone, he said, "But I will still expect you to behave in a manner that does not bring disgrace upon this House."

Dylan smiled a little. "Yes, sir. Thank you for your time, Professor."

Once again, the boy seemed to know when Snape was ready to conclude their conversation, and prepared to leave. But Snape found himself calling out to the boy as he rose from his seat and headed for the door. "Oh, and Dylan?"

Dylan looked back, startled. "Yes, Professor?"

Snape hesitated again. "You are like your father in some ways...you look a great deal like him, and you have his determination. And in other ways, you are quite different, but that is not a bad thing. Evan was my classmate and friend, but he was...ah...impulsive and reckless at times, and that got him into trouble." {It got him killed,} Snape thought darkly. "You work hard at your studies, you think before you speak, and you have kept your temper and stayed out of trouble despite the insults certain students and teachers have spoken both to your face and behind your back. You even volunteered for extra work," Snape said, recalling the time Dylan had volunteered to help him with the healing potion, and smiled slightly as he continued in a dry voice, "which is something your father never did, I assure you!" Dylan laughed, and Snape said in a more serious voice, "I am...pleased with your progress, Mr. Rosier."

Dylan stopped laughing and stared at Snape in shock. {Did Professor Snape just give me a compliment?!} Apparently so, because Snape himself was looking a little surprised and embarrassed at what he had just said. It took a couple of tries before Dylan's voice would work and was able to stammer, "Th--thank you, sir!"

Snape cleared his throat and said gruffly, "Well, that's all Rosier--run along now, I've got a lot of work to do."

Dylan ran out of the office, still in shock, but feeling oddly euphoric. Cold, dour Professor Snape, who never said anything nice about anyone, was pleased with his progress! When Dylan had first arrived at Hogwarts, he knew that, as his mother said, Snape was someone he had to treat with respect and win over as an ally, but somehow it had become something more. Dylan couldn't put his finger on it, exactly; he couldn't really say he liked Snape, who was still curt and sour most of the time, but he had come to respect him in truth, and wanted to win his respect in return. And of course he was grateful that Snape continued to talk to him about his father. It was odd, Dylan thought, that winning the friendship of a Muggle-born Gryffindor girl and a rare compliment from the feared and hated Potions Master should make him so happy. That small, logical corner of Dylan's mind began to fret again, as it watched his two worlds being set on a collision course--his old, secret childhood dream of taking up his father's cause and avenging his death, and his new life at Hogwarts with friends and allies he had not expected. Sooner or later, they would clash, and he would have to decide which path to take. {But not today,} thought Dylan, and once again he ruthlessly quashed his worries. He was in too good a mood to think about such things today, and anyway, there was plenty of time to sort things out later...
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Snape was asleep, blissfully dreaming about Lupin. In his dream, Lupin was still teaching at Hogwarts, and Snape had just come to his office with the Wolfsbane Potion. Lupin was wearing the blue robe Snape had given him for Christmas; he undid the clasp at his throat and let it fall open, revealing that he was wearing absolutely nothing underneath it. He held his arms out invitingly, and Snape dropped the potion and reached for him...

Just then a loud commotion jolted Snape awake. Cursing to himself, he jumped out of bed and went to see who had dared to interrupt to his sleep, in such haste and fury that he didn't even bother to throw a robe on over his nightshirt. He passed by his office, and found it had been broken into. Then he heard a noise coming from the stairs that led out of the dungeon, and he ran in that direction, hoping to catch the culprit. To his surprise, he found Filch and his mangy cat on the staircase.

"Filch?" Snape snarled. "What's going on?"

"It's Peeves, Professor," Filch whispered malevolently. "He threw this egg down the stairs."

Snape quickly climbed up the stairs and took a look at the egg. "Peeves?" he asked softly, staring at the golden object in Filch's hands. "But Peeves couldn't get into my office..."

"This egg was in your office, Professor?"

"Of course not!" Snape snapped. "I heard banging and wailing--"

"Yes, Professor, that was the egg--"

"--I was coming to investigate--"

"--Peeves threw it, Professor--"

"--and when I passed my office, I saw the torches were lit and a cupboard door was ajar! Somebody has been searching it!"

"But Peeves couldn't--"

"I know he couldn't, Filch!" Snape said impatiently. "I seal my office with a spell none but a wizard could break!" He looked up the stairs and back down the corridor. "I want you to come help me search for the intruder, Filch."

Filch reluctantly followed, still babbling about Peeves and how he was going to get him thrown out of the castle.

"Filch, I don't give a damn about that wretched poltergeist; it's my office that--" Snape broke off his sentence abruptly as he heard a loud clunking noise behind him. He and Filch both turned around.

"Pajama party, is it?" growled Mad-Eye Moody from the foot of the staircase. He was wearing a cloak over his nightshirt, and leaning on his staff as usual.

"Professor Snape and I heard noises, Professor," Filch said. "Peeves the Poltergeist, throwing things around as usual--and then Professor Snape discovered that someone had broken into his off--"

"Shut up!" hissed Snape. He did not want Moody prying into his business, did not want Moody snooping around his office.

Moody's blue eye rolled around in his face, then settled on Snape suspiciously. "Did I hear that correctly, Snape? Someone broke into your office?"

"It is unimportant," said Snape coldly.

"On the contrary, it is very important. Who'd want to break into your office?"

"A student, I daresay." Snape could feel a vein throbbing on his temple, and felt a headache coming on. {Damn it all, why didn't I just stay in bed? Maybe if I'd gone back to sleep right away, I could have started dreaming about Lupin again...} "It has happened before. Potion ingredients have gone missing from my private store cupboard...students attempting illicit mixtures, no doubt..."

"Reckon they were after potion ingredients, eh?" Moody asked skeptically. "Not hiding anything in your office, are you?"

Snape felt his face turn red. "You know I'm hiding nothing, Moody," he said in a soft and dangerous voice, "as you've searched my office pretty thoroughly yourself."

He was still feeling resentful about that; Dumbledore had asked him to let Moody do his search. "Just humor him, Severus," the Headmaster had said in a placating tone. "To set his mind at ease. We both know he'll find nothing, and then he'll leave you alone." Fat lot of good that had done!

Moody gave him a smile that was more of a sneer. "Auror's privilege, Snape. Dumbledore told me to keep an eye--"

Now that was going too far! "Dumbledore happens to trust me," Snape said through clenched teeth. "I refuse to believe that he gave you orders to search my office!" Surely the Headmaster would not have betrayed him that way...would he?

"Course Dumbledore trusts you," growled Moody. "He's a trusting man, isn't he? Believes in second chances. But me--I say there are spots that don't come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean?"

Snape opened his mouth to make a retort, but just then an intense, burning pain flared up in his left arm where the Dark Mark was branded. He bit back a cry of pain, and involuntarily seized his forearm with his right hand.

Moody laughed tauntingly. "Get back to bed, Snape."

Furious with himself for showing weakness in front of Moody, Snape forced himself to let go of his arm. "You don't have the authority to send me anywhere!" Snape hissed. "I have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!"

"Prowl away," Moody said in a menacing voice. "I look forward to meeting you in a dark corridor some time...you've dropped something, by the way..."

Snape's eyes widened in comprehension as he recognized the Marauder's Map lying on the staircase. He reached for it, but Moody summoned the map to his hand. "My mistake. It's mine--must've dropped it earlier."

Snape's eyes darted back and forth from the egg to the map, and suddenly he realized what must have happened. "Potter," he said quietly.

"What's that?" Moody asked calmly, folding up the map and pocketing it.

"Potter!" snarled Snape, staring down the staircase, trying to figure out where Potter was hiding. "That egg is Potter's egg. That piece of parchment belongs to Potter. I have seen it before, I recognize it! Potter is here! Potter, in his Invisibility Cloak!" {Damn that Lupin, I thought he confiscated that map! He must've given it back to the boy! Or maybe it was the Headmaster--Lupin didn't have the cloak; I left it behind in the Shrieking Shack. Dumbledore must have retrieved it and given it back to the brat!} Snape stretched out his hands and slowly moved down the stairs, trying to find the boy by touch.

"There's nothing there!" barked Moody. "But I'll be happy to tell the Headmaster how quickly your mind jumped to Potter!"

"Meaning what?" growled Snape, his hands still outstretched, searching for Potter.

"Meaning that Dumbledore's very interested to know who's got it in for that boy! And so am I, Snape...very interested..." Moody leaned forward, a threatening look on his ugly, mangled face, which looked even more sinister in the flickering torchlight.

Snape stared at Moody, suddenly recalling the warning he had given Draco: "The man is not entirely sane..." He had killed Snape's friends Rosier and Wilkes and shown not one ounce of regret. Snape had no doubt that Moody would love to add Snape's name to the list of deceased Death Eaters, and there were no witnesses here other than Filch and Mrs. Norris...not to mention that Snape had stupidly forgotten to grab his wand when he had left his room. He could cast minor spells without his wand, but all the powerful ones--the spells one might use to defend against an Auror's attack--required a wand. And Snape was sure that Moody had not made the mistake of forgetting his own wand... After a long moment, Snape slowly lowered his hands. "I merely thought," Snape said, forcing his voice to remain calm, "that if Potter were wandering around after hours again...it's an unfortunate habit of his...he should be stopped. For--for his own safety."

"Ah, I see," Moody said softly. "Got Potter's best interests at heart, have you?"

Snape stared at Moody for another moment, then said curtly, "I think I will go back to bed."

"Best idea you've had all night," said Moody. "Now, Filch, if you'll just give me the egg--"

Snape brushed past them and went back to his quarters, ignoring Filch's protests. He clenched his fists and felt his stomach churn. Moody had just humiliated him, and Snape had been powerless to stop him. To make things worse, Potter had probably been watching. What Snape hated above all else was feeling helpless; that was why he had hated his parents, especially his father, who had held the power of life and death over him, who had been able to inflict the Cruciatus Curse as punishment on a child too weak to fight back. That was part of why he had hated Potter, Black, and Pettigrew--Snape had been strong enough to hold his own against them one-on-one, but a couple of times they had ganged up on him and caught him by surprise, disarmed him of his wand and rendered him helpless, then humiliated him in front of the other students. All in the name of fun and games, of course. And that was why he had hated Lupin as a teenager, even though he had loved him at the same time. He had hated Lupin for making him feel things he didn't understand, hated Lupin for making him lose control of his emotions, hated Lupin for making Snape fall in love with him... Snape sighed, his mind returning to the present. Love was such a contradictory thing--on one hand, being in love made Snape feel helpless, yet at the same time, Lupin's love gave him strength and support.

Snape rubbed the Mark on his arm, which was still burning, although the pain was less intense now. He had joined the Death Eaters hoping to gain enough power to keep his enemies--be they parents, classmates, or lovers--at bay; enough power to never be at anyone's mercy ever again. But he had found himself in thrall more than he had ever been before--this time to Lord Voldemort, who even forced his minions to call him "Master". He thought he had won his freedom at the end of the war, but the newly dark and painful Mark on his arm proved that he would never truly be free again until Voldemort was dead.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

About a week later, Snape caught Potter and his two cohorts talking during class.

"Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were okay to--" Hermione Granger was saying.

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger," Snape said in an icy voice, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor. Ah...reading magazines under the table as well?" He snatched up the copy of Witch Weekly they had been looking at. "A further ten points from Gryffindor...oh but of course...Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings..." The Slytherin students laughed, and Snape felt his lips curving in a malicious smile. Ah, revenge was sweet... He began to read from the magazine: "'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache'...dear, dear, Potter, what's ailing you now? 'A boy like no other, perhaps...'" He continued to read the article as only he could, in his dry and sarcastic voice, pausing every now and then for dramatic effect and to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh; not even they would dare to interrupt Snape while he was speaking. He took a sadistic pleasure in seeing Potter's angry and embarrassed face, and noticed that Miss Granger's face had turned scarlet.

{Petty, Snape, very petty,} the little voice in his head scolded him in a disapproving tone. {Cowardly too; you never got your revenge on James Potter, so now you're taking it out on his son. And bad enough that you're picking on Potter, but now you've included Miss Granger in your little vendetta, who hasn't done anything wrong but choose the wrong friends--}

{Oh, shut up!} Snape silently snarled. {When did you turn into such a little prig?} Maybe he was developing a split personality; he wondered if crazy people recognized the moment at which they started to go mad...then again, his inner voice had always had a perverse sense of humor; it had always told him the opposite of what he wanted to hear. When Lupin had befriended him back in school, the voice kept warning Snape not to trust him. Then, after Lupin had apparently betrayed him and Snape broke off their relationship, the voice kept telling him that maybe he was being unfair to Lupin. No doubt if Snape started being nice to Potter and his friends--hah!--the voice would tell him not to pamper the treacherous little brats. {Make up your mind, why don't you?} he sourly asked the voice, who responded only with indignant silence. Then Snape thought, {Dammit, I've got to stop talking to myself!} and continued reading.

"'...Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate.' How very touching. Well, I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there beside Miss Parkinson. Potter--that table in front of my desk." The playful sneer in his voice disappeared and he snapped in his usual no-nonsense, commanding tone of voice, "Move. Now!"

Potter grabbed his things and threw them down on his new desk. The boy vented his frustrations on his scarab beetles, mashing them enthusiastically, no doubt imagining that they were his Potions teacher. Snape leaned over and whispered, "All this attention seems to have inflated your already over-large head, Potter." He almost hoped the boy would talk back to him, so he could take more points off Gryffindor and give Potter detention, but for once, he wisely chose to remain silent. "You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you," Snape continued quietly, "but I don't care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers the rules to be beneath him." The boy's hands began to shake slightly, but still he said nothing, and Snape said in an even softer and more dangerous voice, "So I give you fair warning, Potter, pint-sized celebrity or not--if I catch you breaking into my office one more time--"

"I haven't been anywhere near your office!" Potter protested.

"Don't lie to me!" Snape hissed, glaring at the boy. "Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Potter said coldly.

"You were out of bed the night my office was broken into," Snape hissed. "I know it, Potter! Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate your behavior! One more nighttime stroll into my office, Potter, and you will pay!"

"Right," said the boy coolly. "I'll bear that in mind if I ever get the urge to go in there."

Snape's eyes flashed with anger. He restrained an impulse to slap the boy, and reached into his robes and pulled out a small crystal bottle. "Do you know what this is, Potter?"

"No."

"It is Veritaserum--a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear," Snape said viciously. "Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might find that my hand slips right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then, Potter...then we'll find out whether you've been in my office or not." Snape knew that unauthorized use of the potion would probably get him fired--but Potter didn't know that, and maybe it would serve to keep him in his place. The boy said nothing, but turned pale and shuddered, so hopefully his threat had worked.

There was a knock at the dungeon door, and Snape said, "Enter," in a curt voice.

Karkaroff walked in, nervously twisting his finger around his goatee. "We need to talk," he said softly, barely opening his lips.

{You damn fool!} Snape thought furiously. {If you're so worried about people overhearing you, then don't show up when I'm in the middle of teaching a class!} "I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," he said aloud.

"I want to talk to you now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."

"After the lesson," Snape snapped. Karkaroff fell silent, but refused to leave, hovering behind Snape's desk for the rest of the period, which was extremely annoying. "What's so urgent?" he hissed, when the bell finally rang and the students left.

"This," said Karkaroff, pulling up the sleeve of his robe to show Snape the Mark on his arm.

"Put it away!" snarled Snape, his black eyes sweeping the classroom--and he suddenly noticed that Potter had lingered behind.

"But you must have noticed--"

"We can talk later, Karkaroff!" Snape spat. "Potter! What are you doing?"

"Clearing up my armadillo bile, Professor," the boy said in an innocent voice.

"Well, hurry up and get out of here!"

Karkaroff turned on his heel and left the room, and Potter hastily fled as well, no doubt frightened off by the murderous look on Snape's face.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dylan heard from Draco and his cronies about how Professor Snape had humiliated Hermione and Potter during Potions class. Dylan pretended to laugh along with them, of course, but inside he was angry. Angry at Draco, because he knew Malfoy was feeding gossip and outright lies to Rita Skeeter, and angry at his favorite teacher for treating his friend unfairly. His grudge against Potter was one thing, but he shouldn't take it out on Hermione, who was by all accounts, a model student. He found himself glaring at Snape one day in Potions class without being aware of it until Snape frowned and said, "Is something wrong, Mr. Rosier?" He spoke in that cold voice he always used, but the expression on his face was more puzzled than angry.

"No, sir!" Dylan said, hastily rearranging his features into a polite mask once again. {Damn it,} he thought, {that was careless! I can't afford to let my control slip like that again!} "I was just...um...having a bit of trouble with my potion." He looked down and saw that his little white lie was in fact the truth; distracted by thoughts of Hermione, he must have done something wrong because the concoction in his cauldron was starting to bubble and boil ominously, and he was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be doing that.

"You put in too much newt's blood," Snape scolded. "I told you, just a dash is all that's required. Pay attention, next time! It's not like you to be so careless, Rosier."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Dylan, trying to look sufficiently chastened, which didn't really require much acting.

Snape gave a suspicious look and said curtly, "Well, throw it out and start over again. And make sure you do it properly this time!"

"Yes, Professor."

Dylan hauled his cauldron to the sink at the back of the classroom and poured the mess down the drain. When he returned, his partner Damien leaned over and whispered, "Are you awake? It's not like you to make mistakes in Potions class. Or any other class, for that matter."

"I was just distracted," mumbled Dylan.

"Ah," Damien said, smiling slyly. "Daydreaming about some girl, eh? Who is it? That Ravenclaw girl?"

Snape was looking in their direction, and the two boys quickly fell silent and made a show of working very hard on their potions. Dylan felt relieved; apparently Damien hadn't noticed him glaring at Snape, and merely thought he was mooning over some girl. Which he had been, come to think of it... When their teacher had wandered off to the other side of the room to berate a Gryffindor student, Dylan whispered back to his friend, "Lisa's nice, but it's nothing serious." He grinned impishly. "I'm too young to settle down."

Damien snickered. "You're a real ladies' man, Rosier! Just like your father, so I hear..."

Dylan nearly dropped the vial of newt's blood in the cauldron, which would have ruined his second batch of potion. He carefully set it down on his desk, then asked, "You know about my father?!"

Damien was about to reply, but saw Snape looking their way again. "After class," he whispered.


After the bell rang, Dylan dragged Damien off down a side corridor. He took a quick look around to make sure no one was within earshot, then demanded, "What do you know about my father?"

"Take it easy, mate," said Damien. "It's not much. My mother was at Hogwarts around the same time; she was a year ahead of him. She just mentioned how handsome he was and how all the girls chased after him and Lucius Malfoy. Apparently they were the two studs of Hogwarts at the time. Not just Slytherins, either--plenty of girls from the other Houses were interested in them." Damien grinned. "Just like you--like father, like son, I guess!"

Dylan relaxed a little. "Did she say anything else?"

Damien shrugged. "Not really. Just that he and his friend Wilkes used to get into a lot of trouble together. And that they used to hang around with Draco's dad and Professor Snape. It's tough to picture Snape being a kid, huh?" Damien laughed. "You're lucky he seems to like you, Dylan. Anyone else would have gotten detention and zero marks. Well, except maybe Malfoy; everyone knows how much influence Draco's father has over Snape and Slytherin House."

"Your mum...she wasn't part of Lucius Malfoy's crowd?" Dylan asked hesitantly. There were a lot of things he would like to ask Damien, but he didn't know if it was safe to.

"Not really. We're purebloods, of course, but my family's not really wealthy and hoity-toity enough to be in tight with the likes of the Malfoys. My mother was sort of friendly with Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mum, when they were in school, but they didn't really stay in touch after they graduated. They send each other Christmas cards and run into each other at parties or school events a few times a year, but that's about it."

"Your family...they weren't..." Dylan hesitated, remembering how Snape had reacted when he had said the words "Death Eaters" aloud. "...They weren't followers of You-Know-Who, were they...?"

"Um...no." Damien looked around nervously, then said in a hushed voice, "They agreed with some of his ideas...in principle. But they never actually joined up. Good thing, it turns out." Then he looked a little abashed, recalling that things had not turned out so well for Dylan's father. "They thought your father got a raw deal. I mean, plenty of others got off easy--" He looked around again, and lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. "Like the Malfoys." In a more normal voice he asked, "Does your mother ever talk about him? Your dad, I mean..."

Dylan remembered how Ariane had warned him to trust no one, not even those who appeared to be his friends, and lied, "Not really. She gets all sad and weepy, so I don't ask."

"That's too bad," said Damien, looking uncomfortable. Then he changed the subject and said, "Well, we should hurry or we'll be late for dinner."

Dylan agreed, and they headed for the Great Hall. In unspoken agreement, the boys turned their conversation to less dangerous topics. "If you'd like to double-date the next time we go to Hogsmeade, maybe I could see if Lisa has a friend," Dylan joked. "You did say you were interested in older women..."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

At dinner, Dylan noticed Snape glaring at Potter as if he were a particularly loathsome type of vermin. And considering the creatures Snape had floating in the glass jars in his office, a specimen would have to be pretty loathsome for the Potions Master to turn his nose up at it. He wondered why Snape hated Harry Potter so much. His mother had told him it was because Harry's father and Snape had been rivals at school, but surely there must be more to it than that? Ariane had been a little vague on what the rivalry had been about--Quidditch and grades, mostly, she had seemed to think. But could those things really inspire a hatred that lasted for twenty years? She had also said that Potter senior's gang and Snape's gang used to cast hexes and curses on one another, but that Snape had given as good as he'd got, for the most part. But then, Ariane had been a Ravenclaw, and had not paid much attention to Gryffindor or Slytherin until she was partnered with Evan Rosier in Incantations class during their fifth year. {Or maybe it has nothing to do with James Potter,} Dylan thought in a sudden flash of insight. {Maybe he hates Harry because Harry Potter vanquished the Dark Lord!} In which case, Snape really was a loyal Death Eater after all... Dylan wished he could ask Snape, but he wasn't stupid enough to try; at best Snape would just tell him it was none of his business, and at worst...well, Dylan had no intention of spending the rest of his life as a toad...
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Snape stood in the Headmaster's office; he pulled up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark on his left forearm. "It's coming back," he said. "Karkaroff's too...stronger and clearer than ever. I felt it burn, just before the second task. He's near, Albus. I don't know where or how, but he's close by, I can feel it..."

Dumbledore sighed wearily, and Snape pulled his sleeve back down. "I would have believed you, Severus, even without seeing the Mark; all the signs are pointing towards it. Perhaps Alastor is right; perhaps he intends to manipulate the Tournament somehow to get to Harry." He thought about telling Snape that it was obvious that Sirius's story about Wormtail must be true, but then decided against it. He suspected that Severus already knew that, and just didn't want to admit it. He didn't really think the Potions Master would have reconciled with Lupin if he believed that the werewolf had helped a minion of the Dark Lord. Dumbledore smiled slightly; at least Snape HAD reconciled with Lupin--that was a sign that he was maturing a little, finally. He had learned forgiveness; Dumbledore recalled all too well how Snape had refused to forgive Lupin's "betrayal" nineteen years ago. Perhaps one day he would even be able to forgive himself...

Meanwhile, Snape was saying, "Karkaroff is very nervous. And well he should be; he betrayed many of his fellow Death Eaters to the Ministry. I think he will run, sooner or later. Probably sooner."

"And you, Severus?" Dumbledore asked softly. "Are you afraid?"

Snape glared at him. "Only a fool wouldn't be. But don't worry, I'm not going to run. There would be no point to it anyway; if the Dark Lord has truly returned, there is nowhere I could hide where I would be safe from him. Karkaroff is a fool to think he can outrun death."

"And what does Lucius Malfoy think?"

"He is excited, yet nervous. He still dreams of the Dark Wizards dominating the world as the Dark Lord had planned, but at the same time, he fears the return of his Master. For all the Death Eaters, save those still in Azkaban, renounced their Lord and claimed to be repentant or under the influence of the Imperius Curse. They fear he might punish them for being unfaithful." Snape spoke in a cold, indifferent voice, as if the matters he was speaking of had nothing to do with him, but Dumbledore could see a faint gleam of fear deep in his black eyes.

"We must be vigilant, Severus," said the Headmaster. "We must guard Harry carefully, and watch for any sign of trouble."

"It might be easier to guard him," Snape said sourly, "if he didn't go wandering off and breaking into my office after hours."

"Ah yes, Alastor told me about that incident. But do you really think it was Harry who broke into your office?"

"Who else could it be?" Snape asked impatiently. "Where do you think he got the gillyweed he used in the Tournament? It's not the sort of thing you can just pick up in Hogsmeade."

"Hmm," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps a teacher gave it to him, or perhaps he special-ordered it from an apothecary or potions shop in Diagon Alley. He does have sufficient funds, and he could have had it owled to him..." Snape snorted disbelievingly. "There's really no reason for him to steal, Severus. He could have just asked for it; I would have authorized you to give it to him."

"Ordered, you mean," Snape said sourly, and the Headmaster just smiled at him, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.

"What about the boomslang skin, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. "Harry had no reason to take that, and he clearly didn't use it in the Tournament."

Snape scowled. "How should I know why he took it? He's planning some other escapade, no doubt. Maybe he wants to brew a Polyjuice Potion; imagine the trouble he could get into if he could take the shape of another student, or God forbid, a teacher..."

"Honestly, Severus, that potion takes about a month to brew...how could he have kept it hidden for that long? And you've told me over and over again how incompetent Harry is at Potions; do you really think he could successfully brew such a complicated potion?"

"Well, no," muttered Snape. "But Miss Granger could--"

"I can't picture Hermione breaking the rules that way," said Dumbledore.

Neither could Snape, to be honest, but Potter could have talked her into it...especially if any of the rumors in Witch Weekly were true, but clearly there was no point in arguing about it with the Headmaster, who had already made up his mind.

"Please watch over Harry, as you always do, Severus," Dumbledore said gently. Snape grunted in response; the Headmaster assumed that passed for assent. "Oh...and Severus?"

"What?" barked out Snape, none too politely.

Dumbledore ignored his tone of voice and said, "Please be vigilant for your own sake as well. I am worried about your safety as well as Harry's."

The anger drained out of Snape's face and he flushed slightly. "It doesn't matter," he said in a cold voice. "My life has been forfeit ever since the day I first came to you and betrayed my Lord. I don't want to die, but I have accepted the risk. Only..." Snape hesitated.

"Only what, Severus?" Dumbledore asked patiently.

Snape looked down and mumbled, "If...if anything happens to me, you'll look after Lupin, won't you?"

"Of course, Severus," Dumbledore said gently, "but I'm sure that won't be necessary--"

Snape looked up and glared at him. "Don't patronize me, Albus! There's a very good chance that we'll all be dead in the next few years! Just remember your promise to look after Lupin!" And with that, he turned on his heel, his robes making a soft swishing noise as they swirled around him dramatically, and he stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

As Snape emerged from the hidden staircase that led to the Headmaster's office, he saw Potter running down the corridor. "POTTER!" he shouted. The boy skidded to a halt. "What are you doing here, Potter?"

The boy started babbling some nonsense Snape couldn't understand about Crouch turning up in the forest. "What is this rubbish?" Snape asked impatiently. "What are you talking about?"

"Mr. Crouch!" Potter shouted. "From the Ministry! He's ill or something--he's in the forest, he wants to see Dumbledore! Just give me the password up to--"

"The Headmaster is busy, Potter," Snape said, smiling nastily. Thwarting Potter gave him so much pleasure...

"I've got to tell Dumbledore!"

"Didn't you hear me, Potter?" Snape was enjoying himself thoroughly. He would go check out Potter's outrageous claim, but he wanted to make him squirm a little first. And if the boy was making up a wild story to get attention, he would take fifty--no, a hundred--points off Gryffindor.

"Look," Potter protested angrily, "Crouch isn't right--he's--he's out of his mind--he says he wants to warn--"

The stone wall behind Snape slid open and the Headmaster emerged. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

"Professor!" Potter said. "Mr. Crouch is here--he's down in the forest, he wants to speak to you!"

Without even stopping to question the boy, Dumbledore said, "Lead the way," and they hurried off as Snape glared at them.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Snape watched the last task from the stands with Dumbledore. Certain areas of the maze were not visible from where they were sitting, but Dumbledore seemed troubled by what was happening. Fleur Delacour fell early on, stunned by--something. And Viktor Krum attacked--attacked?!--Diggory, but Potter stunned him. Diggory and Potter defeated the last obstacle, a giant spider, together. And together they grasped hold of the Triwizard Cup. And for an instant, Snape wondered if he had been mistaken about Potter after all--surely James Potter would never have shared his moment of triumph with anyone, particularly not a boy from another House. But he had no time to think about it, because in the next instant, both Potter and Diggory were gone, vanishing in a howling whirlwind.

Pandemonium erupted. Snape and Dumbledore were kept busy trying to calm people down and organize a search party, although Snape was certain that the boys were no longer on the school grounds. It was a pity that Sybill Trelawney had no real talent; they certainly could have used a seer to scry out the boys' location; Snape wondered if Miyako Kamiyama might be interested in a job when she graduated from school in Japan... Meanwhile, Mad-Eye Moody kept shouting about conspiracies and saying, "I told you so!" until Snape wanted to hit him with an Imperius Curse to make him shut up. Then suddenly, an intense burning pain--worse than any he'd ever felt before--erupted in his left arm. He cried out and fell to his knees, clutching at the place on his arm where the Dark Mark was branded.

Dumbledore said, "Severus!" and helped him to his feet, leading him away from the crowds. {Moody must really be gloating now,} Snape thought, but was in too much pain to care. "Severus, are you all right?" The Headmaster asked anxiously.

"The Mark," Snape gasped. "It's burning!" He pulled up his sleeve and showed his arm to Dumbledore; the skull-and-snake tattoo was jet black, and the skin around it looked red and inflamed, as if the Mark were literally burning the flesh on his arm. He pulled the sleeve back down and said, "It's him; he's calling us to him, calling his Death Eaters...should I go? He must have Potter and Diggory with him."

"No," said Dumbledore.

"But the children--"

"I can't have you walking in there blindly, Severus," Dumbledore said. "You are a formidable mage, but you are no match for Voldemort and perhaps a dozen or more Death Eaters. Your strength has always been your ability to move quietly behind the scenes, but you will not be able to carry off a direct attack." Snape started to protest, but Dumbledore cut him off. "I would allow you to risk your cover, and even your life, if I believed you really had a chance to rescue the boys, but I don't think you do. All you would accomplish would be to get yourself killed as well."

Secretly Snape felt a little relieved, but this wasn't helping them get the children back. "Then what are we supposed to do?" he asked. "Just sit and wait?"

"I don't suppose you can pinpoint his location?"

Snape shook his head. Normally, a wizard could not Apparate to a place he hadn't seen before, but the Mark allowed the Death Eaters to Apparate blindly to wherever Voldemort was. "No, the Mark summons us to him, but we have no idea where we're Apparating to." Then he happened to look up and spot Karkaroff fleeing the Quidditch field. "Damn that coward!" Snape snarled. He'd suspected long ago that Karkaroff would run, but the Durmstrang Headmaster provided a convenient target for Snape's ire. Snape started to go after Karkaroff, but Dumbledore stopped him.

"No," said Dumbledore. "Let him go; I doubt you'll be able to catch up with him, and we have more important things to worry about now."

"He'll be dead inside a month, I'd bet a year's salary on it," Snape muttered.

There was nothing they could do but try and keep the chaos under control, which was made more difficult by the frantic blusterings of Cornelius Fudge; the Minister of Magic was running around like a chicken without a head. Then as suddenly as they had vanished, Potter, Diggory, and the Triwizard Cup appeared at the edge of the maze.

Someone began shouting that Diggory was dead, and Snape was busy trying to keep the crowd back. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Moody leading Potter away while Dumbledore was trying to break the news to Diggory's parents. He didn't think anything of it, but as soon as Dumbledore finished talking to the Diggorys, he called Snape and McGonagall over to him.

"I've been blind," he said grimly. "It was Moody all along."

"What?!" Snape and McGonagall chorused as they hurried after Dumbledore; the old wizard was pretty spry for someone who was at least a hundred and fifty years old.

"Moody's been trying to kill Potter?" Snape asked incredulously. He couldn't believe it; Moody had been an Auror dedicated to wiping out the Death Eaters. Moody might be insane, but Snape couldn't imagine him going over to the Dark Lord.

"Moody just took Harry Potter away against my explicit orders," Dumbledore said. "I think I understand what's happened now..." He didn't, however, bother to enlighten Snape or McGonagall. They ran after Dumbledore, following him to Moody's office. The Headmaster raised his wand and pointed it at the office door, shouting, "STUPEFY!" The door was blasted apart into splinters. They walked into the room to find Moody unconscious on the floor, and Potter slumped in a chair, looking barely able to move, but he had managed to draw his wand halfway out of his robes. McGonagall tried to take the boy to the hospital wing, but Dumbledore stopped her, saying that the boy needed to understand what had happened to him.

"Moody," Potter said, still in a state of disbelief; for once, Snape could sympathize--he was still having trouble believing it himself. "How can it have been Moody?"

"This is not Alastor Moody," Dumbledore said quietly. "You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight. The moment he took you, I knew--and I followed." He bent down over Moody's limp form, and reached inside Moody's robes and pulled out his hip flask and a set of keys on a ring. Then he looked up and said, "Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down into the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here."

Snape had no idea what Dumbledore was up to, but he knew this was not the time to question him, and did as he was bid, returning with the potion and the elf. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the body lying on the floor. "Crouch!" he exclaimed. "Barty Crouch!"

"Good heavens," said McGonagall as she spotted Crouch, nearly running into Snape as she came up behind him.

The house elf started screaming, and threw herself across Crouch's chest, alternately crying out, "Master Barty!" and "You is killed him! You is killed Master's son!"

"He is simply stunned, Winky," Dumbledore said calmly. "Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?" Snape handed him the small bottle of Veritaserum, and the Headmaster poured three drops into Crouch's mouth. Then he pointed his wand at the man's chest and said, "Ennervate." He ordered Crouch to tell them what had happened, and Crouch spilled out his story in an expressionless voice, telling them how his mother had persuaded his father to smuggle him out of Azkaban, how his father had kept him imprisoned at home under the Imperius Curse, how he had eventually been able to fight off the curse. Voldemort had come for him, having learned of his existence from Bertha Jorkins, and placed Crouch senior under the Imperius Curse, allowing the younger Crouch to assume his identity. Crouch droned on about how he had captured and impersonated Moody--it was he who had stolen the boomslang skin for the Polyjuice Potion, not Potter. Crouch senior escaped, and his son killed him. He had manipulated the Tournament, putting Potter's name into the Goblet, and it was he who had stunned Delacour and controlled Krum in the maze during the last task. It was he who had turned the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey that would transport Potter into Voldemort's hands.

Snape stood there in stunned silence until Dumbledore asked him to send Madam Pomfrey to the office to tend to the real Alastor Moody, who had been locked up in his own trunk the entire time, and to find Cornelius Fudge and bring him to the office to question Crouch. But when Fudge found out they had caught a Death Eater, he insisted on summoning a Dementor into the castle, over Snape's and McGonagall's objections. The Dementor swooped down on Crouch before they could stop it and sucked his soul out of his body, leaving behind a mindless husk. Snape went pale and his legs nearly buckled beneath him; he had never seen a Dementor's Kiss before, and he shuddered to think that he had once threatened Lupin with it, that terrible night when Sirius Black had returned and he had thought Lupin had betrayed him. He had not really intended to give Lupin to the Dementors, and had only been trying to scare him, but he now realized he might not have been able to prevent the Dementors from attacking Lupin--he'd had no idea they could move so fast. Snape was not a religious man, but he said fervently, over and over, to whatever deity might be listening, {Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!} If he had condemned Lupin to Crouch's fate, he could not have lived with himself. Having seen it up close, it was a fate he would not wish on his worst enemy, not even Sirius Black. Maybe.

But McGonagall was furious, and so was Dumbledore when he found out what had happened, after they sought him out in the hospital wing.

"But he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius," Dumbledore said, staring hard at Fudge as though seeing him plainly for the first time. "He cannot give evidence as to why he killed those people."

"Why he killed them? Well, that's no mystery is it?" blustered Fudge. "He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!"

"Lord Voldemort WAS giving him instructions, Cornelius," Dumbledore said. "These people's deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body."

Fudge kept blustering, refusing to believe that Voldemort had returned, refusing to believe their testimony or Potter's. Snape knew the boy could be a liar at times, but this time he knew Potter was telling the truth, as much as he would have preferred to believe it was a lie. And then Snape realized that Fudge was at heart a coward. He had summoned the Dementor because he was afraid to face Crouch alone--or maybe subconsciously he had wanted to erase evidence he didn't want to believe in. Fudge did not want to believe Voldemort had returned, wanted to remain wrapped in a cocoon of denial, preferring to cling to the illusion of his safe, comfortable, ordered world. But that illusion would get him--and more importantly, countless innocents--killed.

"He can't be back, Dumbledore, he just can't be..." Fudge said in a pleading voice.

Snape strode forward, pulling up the left sleeve of his robe as he went, then stuck out his arm and showed to Fudge, who recoiled in horror. "There," said Snape harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or two ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

Fudge stepped back, shaking his head, refusing to believe what Snape had said, refusing to believe in the Mark right in front of his eyes. He stared at Snape's arm for a moment, then turned to Dumbledore and whispered, "I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry." Then he left, pausing only to give Potter his Tournament winnings, a bag filled with gold Galleons.

Dumbledore sent the various visitors and staff members from the hospital wing until only he, Snape, Molly and Ron Weasley, Granger, Potter, and a large black dog were left in the room. Snape wondered where the dog had come from; a pet belonging to the Weasleys, perhaps?

He did not have to wonder long. "And now," said Dumbledore, "it is time for two of our number to recognize each other for what they are. Sirius...if you could resume your usual form." The dog looked up at Dumbledore, than transformed into a man.

Mrs. Weasley jumped back, screaming, "Sirius Black!"

"Mum, shut up!" yelled Ron Weasley. "It's okay!"

Snape just stared at Black in mingled fury and horror. "Him!" he snarled. "What is he doing here?"

"He is here at my invitation," said Dumbledore, looking first at Snape, and then at Black. "As are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences, and trust each other."

Snape stared at Black with utmost loathing, and Black stared back at him with a nearly identical expression on his face.

"I will settle, in the short term," Dumbledore said impatiently, "for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any of us." It was clear from his tone of voice that he would not take "no" for an answer.

Very slowly, still glaring at Black the entire time, Snape took a step forward, and so did Black. They reached out and shook hands, letting go as quickly as possible. Black wiped his hand on his robe, as if trying to wipe something slimy off his hand. Snape felt the same impulse, but managed to restrain himself.

"That will do to be going on with," Dumbledore said, stepping between them; apparently he didn't expect the truce to hold too far. "Now I have work for each of you. Fudge's attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher--the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for awhile; I will contact you there."

"But--" Potter protested, clearly not wanting Black to leave.

Snape did not want Black to leave, either, but for different reasons. {It's not fair!} the little voice in his head wailed, apparently having lost its Lupin-like composure. {Why does HE get to stay with Lupin when I can't?!} He was torn up with jealousy, and clenched his fists together to keep from grabbing his wand and blasting Black right where he stood.

Meanwhile, Black finished saying goodbye to Potter. {How touching,} Snape's inner voice sneered, and he was happy to hear that it sounded like its old, familiar, sarcastic self, and no longer resembled a certain high-minded werewolf. Then Black transformed back into a dog and left the room.

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

"I am," said Snape. He felt a jolt of fear run through his body, but at the same time he felt a sense of relief. All those years of waiting had been an incredible strain--at last it was beginning, the final war...

"Then good luck," Dumbledore said quietly, and Snape swept out of the room, leaving to contact Lucius Malfoy and arrange his re-entry into the ranks of the Death Eaters.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

The whole school was frightened and shaken by Cedric Diggory's death--or most of the school, anyway. Most of the Slytherins were as frightened as the rest of the students, but a few--Malfoy's inner circle--laughed and whispered together in a gloating manner. Malfoy pulled Dylan aside one day, and spoke to him in private.

"Diggory was just the first," Malfoy whispered triumphantly. "The Dark Lord has returned, Rosier, and he'll go after the Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers next!"

Dylan felt an odd sensation run up and down his spine--excitement mixed with fear. He had dreamed of this moment, but had never imagined it would come so soon--or that it would happen in the manner it did. It was one thing, to talk of exterminating Muggles and Mudbloods, but it was another to see Cedric's lifeless body lying on the ground. {And what about Hermione?} whispered a small voice in his head. {What will happen to her, now that the Dark Lord has returned?} The feeling of fear increased, but did not entirely cancel out the excitement. "Wasn't Diggory a pureblood?" Dylan asked softly.

"He got in the way," Malfoy said dismissively. "That will be a lesson to everyone who opposes the Dark Lord!" He gave Dylan a suspicious look. "You're not going soft on me, are you, Rosier? You're one of us; you're going to live up to your dad's name, aren't you?"

"Of course," said Dylan firmly. He wasn't entirely sure if that were true, but he sensed it would be dangerous to reply in any other way.

"Good!" said Malfoy, heartily clapping him on the back. "My dad says we're too young to be inducted into the Death Eaters yet." Malfoy made a face, clearly not agreeing with his father, but Dylan felt a profound sense of relief that he wouldn't yet have to make his choice. "But soon, Rosier, soon..." Malfoy smiled proudly and said, "My father is helping to pave the way; the Malfoys will rank high in the Dark Lord's organization. " He added in a slightly patronizing tone, "And your dad died in the Dark Lord's service, so I'm sure he'll reward you with a high rank too, once you prove yourself. By the way, my dad said to invite you over to our house this summer. I'm sure we could have a lot of fun together, Rosier." Draco smiled, a look of dark satisfaction in his pale gray eyes.

Rosier didn't know whether to feel tempted or afraid. No doubt he could learn much about the Death Eaters if he stayed at the Malfoys', and perhaps even learn some things about the Dark Arts that Ariane had not been able to teach him, but his mother hated Lucius Malfoy with a passion and trusted him not at all. And besides, it was Dylan's grandmother and great-uncle who controlled his fate, for the most part. "That sounds great, Draco," Dylan said, "but I don't know if I'll be able to come. My grandmother is the head of the Donner family, and she absolutely hates me. She never trusted my father, and she doesn't trust me. I don't think she'll let me leave the estate this summer; I was lucky to be able to get into Hogwarts at all."

Malfoy looked a little annoyed. "Well, once we're in power, you can put the old hag in her place," he said vindictively, and Dylan felt another surge of excitement. If he joined the Death Eaters, he might be able to gain enough power to cast down his grandmother and uncles. He wouldn't kill them, at least not right away...he would make them bow down and grovel at Ariane's feet first, in penance for all the years they had mistreated her.

{But what about Uncle Math and Aunt Goewin?} that little voice in his head whispered. Uncle Math had fought against Voldemort in the first war; he would never just stand by and let the Dark Lord take over. No doubt he would fight again in the coming war...that thought burst Dylan's little fantasy bubble. Could he face his beloved Great-Uncle on the battlefield? But he didn't want Math and Goewin to die...if only they would come to their senses, if only they would ally themselves with the Dark Lord...

But was that what Dylan really wanted? If the Dark Lord had his way, Hermione would be killed. {Maybe,} Dylan thought desperately, {maybe if I work hard and serve him loyally, maybe if I perform some great task for him, he'll spare her life and let me keep her...} But keep her as what? His little pet Mudblood girlfriend? With despair he realized that Hermione would be too stubborn and proud to accept the Dark Lord's mercy, even if by some miracle, he offered it. She always stood up for what she believed in, and never backed down... Dylan felt so confused; he didn't know what to do. But the school year was almost over, and he would be going home soon. {I'll talk to Mother,} he thought with relief. {She'll know what to do!}
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Snape sat at the staff table on the night of the Leaving Feast. The mood was somber; the Hall was hung with black drapes instead of the usual House colors, in honor of Cedric Diggory. He caught Potter staring at him, and looked back at the boy for a moment, brooding silently. Was Lupin right? Had he misjudged the Potter boy? He had shown real bravery the night of Voldemort's return...but Snape didn't know if he could ever bring himself to actually like James Potter's son. Then he shrugged slightly and looked away. It didn't matter; Potter was their only hope of salvation, whether Snape liked it or not.

The Headmaster gave his speech; first making a toast to Diggory, and all the students and teachers stood and raised their goblets in tribute. Then he told the students the truth about what had happened to Diggory and how the Dark Lord had returned, saying it would be an insult to Cedric to hide the truth. He told them that Potter had faced down the Dark Lord and risked his life to bring Diggory's body back home, and asked the assembled crowd to toast Potter. Nearly everyone did so, but Snape could see, from the corner of his eye, that some of the Slytherins did not. Draco and some of his friends defiantly remained seated and left their goblets untouched. Snape saw Dylan stand, then notice that Malfoy had not followed suit. Dylan stopped in the act of raising his goblet, as if unsure what to do. He held his goblet chest-high, looking at Malfoy nervously, then sat when everyone else did. The Headmaster, who apparently hadn't noticed, spoke of the need to stand united, and told the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students that they would be welcomed back at any time. He finished his speech with: "Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."

All in all, a very touching speech; even Snape was moved by it. He only hoped that Dylan Rosier had been paying attention to it as well.

Snape sighed with relief when dinner was finally over, and headed to his quarters to begin packing. Whatever else might come, whatever else he might have to face, at least he could spend some time with Lupin this summer, and perhaps they could comfort each other and chase away their demons, if only for a little while.

THE END.
(At least for now; I know there are a lot of loose threads left hanging. The story continues in the sequel, "Three's a Crowd".)

Afterword: The version of "Greensleeves" that I had in mind for the Christmas scene is by Blackmore's Night, from the album "Shadow of the Moon". And yes, the leader of the band, legendary guitarist Ritchie Blackmore (formerly of Deep Purple and Rainbow), was the inspiration for Professor Blackmore. I thought his name sounded vaguely mysterious and sinister, so I chose it for the Professor, although I made her a woman because I thought there weren't enough female characters in the story.
 

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