So it has come to this.

   They should know enough by enough – enough of the truth, enough of the fragments that I left behind. Enough of the details deemed insignificant to give just enough of a trail. A tawdry quest, of which the task is pitiful and the rewards are paltry…

   After all, isn’t that what the truth is anyways? Nobody wants to hear it, for it lacks a certain… grandeur, a moral for the ages, to be told to generations to come. Nobody wants to know the details, because that’s where the devil is.

   My bargaining days with devils have come to a close.

   They will call me a coward. They will call me a traitor. They will curse my name and spit its taste from their mouths. And in the darkest, coldest hours of their lives, when the dampness fills their lungs and their eyes are streaked with tears, they will wish they had taken my path. They will never admit it, not even to themselves when the dawn comes, but they will wish it.

   The smallest catharsis I can take, because I will never know.

   Perhaps I am too bitter, spent too much time alone in the bleak cold night. It is a night I could have avoided, had I not tethered all my dreams to a bird in the window.

  The string snapped, the bird died, and I did not leave the house.

   No historian will pay credit to the grand failure that is my life, the years of wasted time, huddled in corners and standing by gravestones in the rain. Most men come in out of the rain, light a candle, and live.

   No, like everything that came before it, and everything that will likely come after, there’s no grand finale to this story, no great triumph of the light or dark. There is no gain. It ends on a sour note, a bitter failure, a damning indictment of all humanity has to offer – nothing more than the sum of its parts.

   Calling it less than nothing would be paying tribute.

   He paused, and set down his pen, rereading the lines neatly written across the page.

   Even for him, they seemed like melodramatic poetry, utterly worthless, a complete waste of time.

   And yet a second later a bitter smile passed his face – he had spent his life wasting time, why not go out in mangled, hackneyed style?

   He picked up his pen and continued to write.

   The apologies have been made, the dues have been paid, the punishments have been meted, the rewards have been given. I don’t even have to say a word – everything has been prepared, my job is done.

   He paused, as the tinny noise he knew only he could hear broke through the silence. The alarm had been tripped, the siren triggered – they were coming.

   He raised his fingers and snapped them once, triggering the enchantments. Then he set his pen to paper one last time.

   Perhaps I have been more of a showman than even I have realized. No matter. It is curtain call – there will be no encore.

   You went hunting for Severus Snape, Harry Potter, and now you have found him. Reap the fruits of your labour – and find that they’re rotten to the core.

***

   The rain was biting and the wind was frigid, and Harry pulled his cloak tighter around his simulacrum as he drew his wand, squinting as he looked down the trash-filled street before ducking back under the awning.

   “You’re saying that Snape lives around here?” he began incredulously, looking back down the cramped street.

   “I’m saying that we’re close enough for Sirius to set up a perimeter before we close in,” Tonks replied, shoving the door open as they ducked into the abandoned warehouse building. Lighting her wand with a muttered word, she surveyed the mostly empty room. Aside from the trash heaps and the strong stench of rot that filled the place, it would suffice.

   Harry pulled back his hood and shook out his simulacrum’s long brown hair, and Tonks couldn’t help but shudder a bit. She had suggested that it might not be a good idea for Harry to use that particular simulacrum, but Harry had been adamant – if they were looking to take down Snape, they needed all the firepower they could get.

   “You okay, Tonks?”

   “I’m fine,” she said hastily, her hair going a sodden turquoise as she shivered. “It’s bloody frigid out there – hopefully the rain will let up a bit before we make our move.”

   “I don’t envy Sirius,” Harry said, letting out a short breath as he shook out his cloak.

   “Hey, he was the one that volunteered for this,” Tonks said with a snort. “Not our fault he didn’t check the weather before coming up here to Manchester.”

   “I still can’t believe Snape actually lives around here,” Harry murmured as he approached a grease-slicked window and peeked outside. Most of the streetlights were burnt out around the dark brick buildings, half of which were derelict. “You’d think he’d be closer to London, with Diagon Alley and all, instead of up here. I mean, my uncle had a factory over in Liverpool for his damn drills – that’s who I think of when I think of this place, not Snape.”

   Tonks actually grinned. “Maybe I should go pay him a visit, tell him not to treat his nephew so badly over the summer.”

   Harry chuckled. “Yeah, maybe. Not sure I’m going back to that place – I won’t, if I have my way – but it’d be worth the sight of Uncle Vernon’s face when he sees me with you.” He winked at her. “Not sure he’d approve of you.”

   Tonks let a mock-offended expression flit onto her face. “Why on earth would he think that? I’m delightful. Plus, I tend to do very well with parents, thank you very much.”

   “You haven’t met my uncle,” Harry muttered, fiddling with the straps of his mother’s old plating. With Sirus’ help, he had worked to get the few scratches out of it. “You know, I think Sirius was a bit disappointed we didn’t run into any problems yesterday with the infiltration.”

   “Still think it was too easy,” Tonks said, glancing at the doors as she pulled her cloak tighter around herself – the heating system in the building was long gone. “Even with Kemester and Skeeter, I still think it was too easy.”

   Harry paused, his fingers falling from the ties of his armour. He turned to look at her, but Tonks didn’t meet his eyes. She instead bent and began tugging at her boots.

   “Something’s not right.”

   Tonks’ head immediately snapped up. “You think we’re being watched?” She kept her voice very even, as if she were discussing the weather or something just as banal.

   “No… it’s just a feeling I’ve got.” Harry gave a quick wave of his wand and muttered a word and a second later, a strong warm gust of air washed over both of them. “You know, after everything… this just seems too straightforward.”

   “Maybe that was Snape’s point,” Tonks said with a shrug. “Make it straightforward and then we’ll get screwed up looking for the complications.”

   “It’s not just that.”

   Tonks paused, her mind racing. Has he… has he finally noticed... “What are you talking about?”

   Harry paused, scratched his temple, and then shook his head. “Maybe I’m just imagining things… it’s probably just this simulacrum, everything feels different when I’m using it.”

   Tonks tensed, and she physically stopped her hair from involuntarily darkening. “Like what, exactly?”

   Harry shifted uncomfortably. “If I knew, I’d tell you, but… but it’s weird, everything seems tarnished when I’m using this body, like it’s slowly rusting away… hell, that probably doesn’t make any sense at all.”

   Tonks felt her gut clench. This was new – this was different. It wasn’t like things were with her – how her appearance had kept shifting since the second simulamancy ritual. How her hair kept going black, and her eyes green.

   How she couldn’t sleep for longer than a few hours before she’d wake up in a cold sweat, her dreams filled with twisted coils and fluttering curtains. Except when I was with Harry, she thought with a shiver. I slept then…but that’s just not right, something’s twisted here…

   “Maybe it’s a side effect of the magic, I dunno…”

   Harry had still been talking, and Tonks wrenched her mind back into the conversation. “Well, how about the next time we talk to Cassane, we can ask him – he knows this sort of magic better than all of us –”

   The rap on the door nearly caught them both off-guard, but before Harry could say a word, a black shaggy dog trundled into the room, shaking off a sheen of rainwater all over the floor.

   Both Harry and Tonks tensed, but a second later, the dog shivered and transformed, revealing an exasperated Sirius Black, who remained completely drenched.

   “I’m never volunteering for anything again,” he said firmly, running his hands through his hair and shaking them out thoroughly. “I’ve been all around the damn block in this freezing rain – you have any idea how bloody cold it is in the middle of January?”

   “Well, you should get dried off –” Tonks paused as Harry cast the spell again, this time sending a burst of wind that nearly knocked Sirius’ wand clean out of his hand. “A little much there, Harry.”

   “Damn simulacrum, sorry,” Harry said apologetically, tossing Sirius a towel from one of the bags deposited on the floor. “So, anything special?”

   “Found where Snape’s living and did a circuit around it,” Sirius said briskly as he ran the towel over his face and hands. “Ugly little place too, completely matches his personality. Couple very standard enchantments, nothing that special that I could discern, but with Snivellus, I have no idea what to expect. The bastard probably rimmed his house in spells that turn intestines to cucumbers or pubic hair to porcupine quills for all we know.”

   Harry involuntarily looked down, while Tonks just sighed and concentrated for a few seconds. There… should have shaved before I came anyways…

   “So, same plan as we talked about?” Harry asked briskly, giving his wand an experimental twirl. “Hard, fast, Tonks and I through the front, Sirius through the back?”

   “Except we have the same problem as we did in London with Muggles,” Sirius replied, now taking the towel to his leather jacket and wiping it furiously. “Less so, because of this bloody rain and we’ll be harder to see, but we can’t go shouting curses, and we can’t be flashy either. No Exploding Hexes or any of those crazy flame whip spells – we have to minimize collateral damage.”

   “Hey, it won’t be a problem for me,” Tonks said, raising her own wand and giving it a quick wave, sending a jet of pink sparks across the room. “Harry’s the one with the penchant for blowing things up.”

   Harry reddened, but he didn’t say anything. He knows I’m right, Tonks thought to herself.

   “Furthermore, this’ll be tricky ‘cause we’re trying to take Snivellus alive,” Sirius continued, grimacing. “And I can guarantee he won’t come quietly, or give up everything we might need without a fight.” He glanced at Tonks and Harry. “The man’s a Death Eater, we can’t forget that – and if we want to get to the bottom of whatever’s happening at Hogwarts, not to mention get the Potter Vaults back, we might have to be forceful.”

   “We’re not going to torture him,” Tonks said immediately, her eyes going hard, the memories of her last conversation with Moody fresh in her mind. “Sirius, don’t look at me like that, I know you hate his guts –”

   “He tried to have me Kissed, Tonks –”

   “We still have standards, Sirius,” Tonks said sharply. “We can intimidate him, maybe rough him up a bit –”

   “Dibs,” Harry and Sirius said at the exact same time, and Tonks restrained the urge to smack both of them across the top of the head.

   “We might need him to cooperate,” she said with a scowl. “And that means not being stupid. That goes for both of you – double for Sirius.”

   Sirius waved his hand distractedly, his eyes drifting towards the window. Something seemed a bit off about his expression.

   “Sirius, what’s wrong?”

   Sirius frowned. “I got the strangest feeling, wandering around the block, that I’ve been here before, but for the life of me, I can’t remember when. And something else feels off too… you two feel it?”

   Tonks and Harry exchanged glanced.

   “Yeah,” Tonks said quietly, her hair darkening slightly, “we’ve felt it.”

***

   Moody was already waiting impatiently by the ugly gargoyle by the time McGonagall arrived.

   “I thought you said you were going to hurry.”

   “I wasn’t about to skip dinner, Alastor,” McGonagall said crisply as she approached the gargoyle. “Chocolate Frog!”

   The gargoyle quickly hopped aside, and the two professors entered the slowly ascending stairwell.

   “I’m assuming you’ve already triple-checked Miss Granger’s theories,” McGonagall said, drawing her wand.

   “They make as much sense as anything else she’s ever said,” Moody grunted, shifting his shoulder with a rather loud popping sound. “Meaning she’s researched the hell out of it and made a guess. What do you think?”

   “Well, it would give us another reason why You-Know-Who sealed off Grimmauld Place,” McGonagall replied tightly, her eyes fixed on the approaching doorway to the Headmaster’s Office, “to deny us access to Headmaster Black’s other portrait, if we had ever deigned to look.”

   Moody shook his head slowly as he set his hand to the bronze doorknob and shoved. To his mild surprise, the door was unlocked, revealing the glittering majesty of Dumbledore’s office, nearly the same as how Dumbledore had left it - with the notable absence of both the Headmaster and his pet phoenix.

   “You’d think,” Moody grumbled darkly, “that Dumbledore would have locked his office before he vanished.”

   “Except that he probably wanted to provide us all of the information he could,” McGonagall said curtly, stepping around the tables strewn about the room and approaching the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, least popular Headmaster of Hogwarts. “Headmaster Black!”

   The old clever-looking figure stirred slightly before opening a single eye. “You,” he began in a low drawl, “are not the Headmaster.”

   “No, I am not,” McGonagall said tersely, “but Hogwarts requires your services, Headmaster, and given that I am Deputy Headmistress –”

   “Deputies do not earn all of the privileges of a Headmaster in his absence, Professor,” Phineas remarked, pointedly laying emphasis on McGonagall’s title. Moody fought back his urge to set the painting on fire. “But I’m bored and I’m sure you’ll only be back to bother me again in the future, so what do you want?”

   McGonagall exchanged a glance with Moody before returning her gaze to the portrait. “Did you desire burial at Hogwarts?”

   Phineas cocked an eyebrow. “That’s an… intriguing question. I don’t get questions about my past very often.”

   “Mostly because it’s either unimpressive or full of lies,” Moody muttered. McGonagall elbowed him in the ribs.

   “We would just like a straightforward answer,” she continued, carefully weighing her words. “Hogwarts is in danger, and we believe this information may be –”

   “I heard Dumbledore’s conversations with you before, I know the story,” Phineas snapped, smoothing his beard as he sat up a little straighter in his painted seat. “Very well, it was my desire to be buried at Hogwarts.”

   A small grin crept onto Moody’s face. Finally, some answers –

   “Of course,” Phineas continued bitterly, “if you knew the truth – after a bitter case of magical consumption took my life, my family opted for a far more economical form of burial.”

   The grin was gone in an instant, replaced by a snarl of disgust as Moody fought back his urge to kick one of the spindly tables strewn around the room with his wooden leg. “Come on, Minerva, this has been a bloody waste of time –”

   “Don’t behave like that, you misshapen excuse for an Auror!” Phineas retorted loudly. “Do you think I wanted to be buried in a pickling barrel just outside of Holyhead? The town’s in bloody Wales, of all places – you’d think the family would at least have the dignity to bury me in England proper –”

   “Headmaster, let me ask the question a different way,” McGonagall said hastily, cutting into Phineas’ rant. “If you were planning to be buried at Hogwarts, where did you want to be buried?”

   Phineas sniffed. “Well, inside the castle, of course. My tomb was already constructed –”

   “Tomb?” Moody exclaimed, his mismatched eyes widening as he turned back to the painting. “What? Where?”

   “How the hell would I know where?” Phineas replied, clearly miffed that he kept getting interrupted. “I can’t remember everything here… I do know that it was well-hidden to protect it from miscreants, done all in tasteful white marble, and that it was in the lower levels of Hogwarts, likely towards the dungeons.”

   The feeling of elation and relief only lasted for a few seconds in Moody’s mind before he shoved it back. “Come on, Minerva, we need to move.”

   “You’re welcome,” Phineas said sarcastically.

   “Yes, thank you,” McGonagall said with a nod of respect before hastening after Moody. “And to think nobody’s ever found it –”

   “Voldemort found it,” Moody growled as they left Dumbledore’s office. “His little tools found it. And if they can find it, so can we.”

   “Argus might be able to point us in the right direction,” McGonagall continued, carefully closing and locking the door behind her. “Except –”

   “Except he’s been on the indefinite leave of absence Dumbledore gave him after the attack,” Moody growled. “So we’re going to have to rely on better sources.”

   “I hardly believe anyone in this castle knows Hogwarts better than Argus –”

   “Damn good thing I already deputized the Weasley twins, then,” Moody said with a tight grin.

   McGonagall paused on the stairs. “Are you conscripting my students, Alastor. First Miss Granger, and then the twins –”

   Moody looked back at her. “They volunteered, Minerva,” he replied simply, “and right now, I’m not going to turn down the help.”

   She pursed her lips. “Don’t get them killed, Alastor.” Her eyes hardened. “If you do, you’ll answer to me.”

   The ex-Auror met the eyes of the Transfiguration professor, and he nodded.

   “Minerva, you have my word.”

***

   It wasn’t raining or snowing in Hogsmeade, but he wished it almost would, simply for the wet chill air to dissipate. Walking along the darkened streets was like walking through fog – a frozen, chilling fog that seeped through robes and cloaks, chilling right to the bone. And even the pale gleam of the moon, shrouded by clouds, did nothing to alleviate the bleak chill of the night.

   It almost reminded Kemester of Azkaban – almost.

   He turned to where Reed Larshall was standing ankle-deep in the snow, a thick scarf pulled around this face. “And you’re sure that the tip mentioned the Hog’s Head?”

   “I was just going off what I was given, Dmitri,” Larshall replied with a shivering shrug. “We searched the damn place and didn’t find him… damn it all, can we get inside?”

   “Don’t want to be overheard, and I don’t trust that place,” Kemester muttered, throwing a dark glance at the dirty establishment called the Hog’s Head. “The proprietor is the only thing that elevates it above a Knockturn alley pit.” He turned to look back at his partner, and noticed with a twinge that his partner was looking awfully pale. “You don’t look so good, Reed.”

   “I’m fine, give me two shots of Firewhiskey and I’ll warm right up, can we just go in?” Larshall growled through chattering teeth.

   Kemester shook his head with concern as he threw up his hood and approached the bar. Wrinkling his nose at the stench, he shoved the door open.

   The clientele was light that night – nobody wanted to be out in the frigid weather – but most of the tables were still occupied, and Kemester and Larshall claimed one of the few unoccupied booths near the fire.

   The barman – who Kemester knew was Dumbledore’s younger brother Aberforth – looked at the two Hit Wizards and his eyes narrowed for a few seconds, but then he snorted with disgust and set down a few glasses. “What do you two want?”

   “Firewhiskey for him, ’53 or better,” Kemester said coolly, “and I’ll have a sniffer of the oldest goblin rye you’ve got.”

   “You can’t afford that.”

   Kemester smirked – despite the harsh gruffness of the words, he couldn’t help but like the hostile barman. “Fine – ’60 then.”

   “Don’t think you can afford that either,” Aberforth muttered, but he did not protest, instead stumping back to the bar.

   “Did you bring the Rawling file?” Larshall asked in a low voice.

   “I did, but I’m not going to bring it out here,” Kemester replied, his eyes sweeping the bar with a practiced, professional air. “Too much scum on display…”

   “No arguments there,” Larshall agreed, pulling off his scarf and holding it near the flames to dry and warm it. “When do you want to talk to Aberforth?”

   “Later, when the bar clears out,” Kemester replied quietly. “You don’t need to stay for that.”

   “You’re going to need backup, Dmitri, he’s a Dumbledore –”

   “I can take whatever punishment he can throw out,” Kemester interrupted curtly. “And besides, you shouldn’t be out that late, you’re still recovering from injuries.”

   Larshall snorted a bit. “Says the husk of a man sitting across from me.” He set his scarf on the table as he tugged off his gloves. “Nice to know you care.”

   “You’re my partner,” Kemester replied simply, honestly. “That means something.” And considering all the times I nearly forgot it… yeah, it means something.

   Larshall cracked a weak smile and was about to say something, but at that moment, Aberforth arrived with the drinks, setting them on the table with two audible clunks.

   “You remember when I used to drink whole bottles of goblin rye?” Kemester murmured, carefully inspecting his drink through the glass.

   “Yeah, and you damn near killed yourself every time, no matter how many potions you drank to stave off alcohol poisoning,” Larshall added, shaking his head as he downed the first shot of Firewhiskey. “You were a bit of a wreck after the trial went Potter’s way back in August.”

   Kemester grimaced as he took a sip of his rye. “Guess I was a bit.”

   “You never would have admitted that a few months ago.”

   “Yeah, well, they say Azkaban changes people,” Kemester replied morosely, staring into his drink. “I’m living proof of that.”

   They drank quietly for a while. The time seemed to blur by as Kemester alternated from watching the bar, gazing out the window, or staring into the fire. He wasn’t at peace – not by a long shot – but it was quiet and simple, and he liked that. It’s a terrible curse, ‘may you live in interesting times’… might make life fascinating, but more often it just makes it hell…

   “You know,” Larshall said suddenly, “I just thought of something.”

   “Shoot.”

   “Why the hell would Sirius Black, infamous criminal, come here?” Larshall gestured around at the bar. A few more hooded figures had arrived, but the bar was still far from full. “The place is run by Dumbledore’s brother, and I can only imagine they’re sharing information. And all the folks around here… sure, some of them deal in some foul stuff, but most of them would sell him out for a bent Galleon. It just doesn’t seem wise to me.”

   “Black’s story makes less and less sense whenever you look at it,” Kemester growled. “I don’t know where he is, what’s he’s doing, what side he’s playing – or whether or not he’s just a fucking psycho. Either way, I’m rapidly reaching the point where I’m going to stop caring about him and think about cases that can actually be solved.”

   “You’re talking about the Rawling file.”

   “Damn right I am,” Kemester said, dropping his voice and leaning close. “Skeeter still hasn’t gotten back to me with everything yet, but I did manage to get some declassified papers from the Department of Mysteries regarding what he was working on.”

   “And?”

   Kemester looked around the bar once more and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Apparently, he was trying to utilize some strange ‘Veil’ in the Department to contact and possibly – possibly – bring back the dead.”

   Larshall leaned back in his chair. “Get out.”

   “Nope.”

   “You’re shitting me.”

   “Wish I was.” Kemester drained the rest of his drink and set the glass down on the table. “Apparently he had pretty much no luck whatsoever, but according to the paper that wasn’t blacked out, he had a few working theories and a shitload of prototype devices.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine… Reed, who’d you bring back?”

   Larshall ran a hand over his bristly hair. “Probably my folks for a bit,” he finally replied. “Just to talk… set things in order… get everything out that we didn’t say before. But only for a bit.”

   Kemester cocked a misshapen eyebrow. “Only a bit?”

   “Death’s natural, Dmitri,” Larshall replied with a heavy sigh. “Sure they wouldn’t want me to pull them away from whatever’s after – if there is anything after.”

   “But if there’s nothing, wouldn’t they want to be free from, well, the nothingness?” Despite himself, Kemester felt something strange in his voice – it wasn’t quite a catch…

   Larshall toyed with his empty shot glasses. “Sometimes, I think oblivion’s probably preferable.”

   There was a long silence after those words, in which Aberforth replaced their empty glasses with fresh drinks that neither of them touched.

   “Well,” Kemester finally began, picking up his glass and uncomfortably turning it over in his fingers, “whatever you can say about death, Rawling’s was far from natural. You have any theories?”

   The two of them bandied conspiracy theories for another few hours, and the time seemed to slip away. Neither of them drank all that much after the second round – both of them wanted clear heads to pick apart each other’s theories. The embers in the fireplace began dimming and the room began to get a little colder, and the few patrons in the Hog’s Head began leaving soon afterwards, but the two Hit Wizards stayed, until…

   “Closing time, you two.”

   Kemester looked up and saw Aberforth standing above them, a stern look on his face. A quick glance around the bar revealed it completely deserted.

   He turned to Larshall. “Reed, you should get yourself home.”

   “Are you sure? Dmitri, I don’t think – ”

   “You’re still recovering,” Kemester interrupted, patting his partner on the shoulder, “and I need a partner that can keep up with my insanity.”

   Larshall took a steadying breath, but got to his feet. There was a loud pop and as Kemester blinked, his partner disappeared.

   “You too,” Aberforth grunted, giving Kemester a shove.

   Kemester glared at the bartender. “Mind if we have a few words before I leave?”

   “Don’t see why not.”

   “What dealings did you have with Sirius Black?”

   He was expecting denial, perhaps anger, or maybe even a flood of dark-robed figures coming to the old man’s defense, but Aberforth simply sighed. “He’s been around. Here and there – haven’t really kept track. Haven’t needed to.”

   “You’ve been aiding and abetting a criminal –” Kemester began heatedly.

   “He’s a good man and he’s innocent, at least of the charges you threw against him,” Aberforth cut him off, his bright blue eyes flashing. “You know, those charges for the trial he never had. A trial that if you had bothered to give him, you would have acquitted him.” Aberforth stared at Kemester through his spectacles. “And from what I’ve heard about you, Mr. Kemester, you don’t have a damn right to call anyone a criminal.”

   “Regardless of my past, Sirius Black has not behaved like an innocent man, Mr. Dumbledore,” Kemester said in an even tone. “So if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to tell me where he is.”

   “I don’t know… well, not now anyways,” Aberforth replied quietly. “I know he stayed for a bit in the chambers above the bar – not like I had much of a choice but to let him stay.”

   “Did he leave anything behind?” Kemester asked, carefully restraining his eagerness.

   The barman shrugged. “Maybe.”

   Kemester drew his wand and rising to his feet, he began moving towards the stairs – and then he paused.

   “Why did you tell me all of that?” he asked slowly, looking back at Aberforth’s grim expression. “What’s up there? Is this a trap?”

   “No trap,” Aberforth replied simply, with a bit of a sigh. “If I wanted to trap you, Kemester, I would have drugged your rye, not bothered with this.”

   “But why implicate yourself?” Kemester pursued, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do anything of this? Why even say a damn word, or answer my questions at all?”

   The barman looked out the window for a few seconds, as if he was considering something, and then fixed Kemester with a steady stare. “It’s about two in the morning, Kemester, and I’m tired of this damn charade. Besides, Black’s not here, and you can’t prove shit I’ve said one way or the other.”

   “Unless I find proof upstairs,” Kemester said sharply.

   Aberforth raised his hands. “Your choice – I’m giving it to you. Search away, boy. Keep in mind you might not like what you find.”

   With a lingering distrustful look at Aberforth, he quickly climbed the stairs and opened the door. The sitting area was cramped with too many chairs and tables for the room, but Kemester didn’t care about that – he saw the closed door at the far side of the room.

   He could hear Aberforth slowly climbing the stairs, but he didn’t care about that. Finally, he was going to get something. He was going to get answers, solutions, the truth!

   He carefully slid around the furniture and approached the door, his wand drawn, ready for anything –

   The door came open at this touch –

   And his heart nearly stopped inside his chest.

   It’s not possible… he… he died in Azkaban… no, no, not like this…

   “Oh, I’m sorry,” Aberforth said bitingly from the top of the stairwell. “Did I say that you might not like what you find? I meant who.”

   Kemester wanted to strangle Aberforth. He wanted to burn this festering shithole of a bar to the ground. He wanted to run into the night and not stop until he collapsed in the snow.

   But he couldn’t. He could only stare in shock into the room, at the silently sleeping figure of Claudius Kemester.

   His father.

***

   The rain had intensified.

   Harry squinted, thankful that his simulacrum did not need glasses, but even still it was hard to see far. Most of the streetlights were broken and sputtering, leaving only haphazard beams of light across the abandoned road. And all around them were the brick houses. Most were identical in design – cheap, the soot on the brick smearing with the rainwater, huddled around the street like beggars.

   And they all looked completely empty. Windows were dark, curtains were tattered, and even some doors hung partially open, lazily creaking in the chill night.

  Tonks sniffed the air as she slid up next to Harry. “Sirius should be in position soon. After he gives the signal, we move while he throws up the Anti-Apparition Jinx. You ready for this?”

  “No.”

   “Good,” Tonks said tersely, sliding her wand free, “‘cause I’m not either. Snape could probably take all three of us down if he wanted.”

   “That’s why we have the element of surprise –”

   “And not a lot of space,” Tonks continued darkly. “It’s way too tight, these houses are so small – not a lot of room to do much of anything.”

   “And we keep running on the assumption Snape doesn’t call for backup,” Harry said, taking a shuddering breath as he drew his own wand. “If more Death Eaters show up –”
   “Then we Disapparate and get the hell out of there,” Tonks said grimly. “We’re already risking our necks as it is.”

   Harry took a deep breath, mentally running through the list of spells that he had learned. Most of them he had to discount immediately – it was way too dangerous to throw lightning bolts or fire inside cramped quarters. It doesn’t leave much, and I don’t want to risk hitting anyone…

   “You know, maybe we’re doing this wrong.”

   Tonks scratched her temple, but she looked intrigued. “You’ve got an idea.”

   “Yeah,” Harry replied, thinking fast. “We get really close – through whatever shields he throws up – and take him out hand-to-hand. Sirius is one hell of a big dog – he’d probably rip Snape apart.”

   “Except that Snape tends to carry a silver knife,” Tonks replied tightly, “and given he survived the First War, he’s probably quite good with it. Still,” she mused, “it might be worth a shot…”

   Harry took another deep breath as the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach got worse. He wasn’t trained in any sort of hand-to-hand combat, and he remembered with a pang how easily Kemester had once manhandled him in the interrogation room. Maybe it’s not such a good idea…

   He wrinkled his nose as the fresh scent of rot finally hit his nostrils. Most of the air smelt fairly fresh, despite the industrial environment and atmosphere of general neglect, but this was different… it smelt foul, almost chemical…

   “Harry, look!”

   He snapped his eyes up just in time to see the spray of red sparks light the air – that was the signal.

   Time to go.

   He ducked out of the shadows and began picking up his pace as he ran along the broken cobblestones. They were slick, and he felt his boots slipping, but he quickened his pace. In the corner of his eye, he could see Tonks sprinting ahead, her wand ripping a wispy trail through the air as it began glowing with a harsh white light…

   They rounded the corner and it was like he had tunnel vision. He only noted the filthy sign with the words ‘Spinners’ End’ printed across it for an instant – all he could see was the house at the end of the street, and the solitary light gleaming through dark curtains.

   He could see Tonks’ silhouette as she charged ahead, the trail of her blazing wand whirling like a blinding cyclone around her. Any second now –

   Tonks stopped and wildly pointed her wand at the house at the end of the street.

   “Subvertio parietis!”

   Harry skidded to a stop as a beam of hot white light as thick as Harry’s arm erupted from Tonks’ wand. It was blinding – and Harry could see with astonishment that it was shredding through the now-visible protective enchantments like cutting a red onion. What kind of spell –

   “Harry, GO!”

   He reacted instinctively and ran towards the breaking globes of magic, squinting painfully against the light as it sliced through the last enchantment…

   CRACK

   Harry felt hot debris on his face as he dove through the shattered door of the house, keeping his wand free and rolling to his feet –

   And immediately ducking a second later as a flurry of curses nearly took off his head.

   He quickly scanned the room as debris peppered his back. The back wall was covered in leather-bound books, a few stiff armchairs were arranged around the room next to the two solitary lamps, he could see a kitchenette in the back…

   But where the hell is Snape –

   Without warning, something hot hit his shoulder. To his instant shock, there wasn’t much pain – the armour probably weakened the spell – but he still dove for the cover of the armchair –

   Which immediately rocketed upwards so quickly it cracked through the ceiling, showering him with masonry and broken chair. So much for cover –

   But then Tonks was running in, and a tiny bead of blue light leapt from her wand, instantly illuminating the entire room far better than the lamps and the smoldering fireplace, revealing the dispassionate features of Snape as he slid towards the kitchen –

   Harry didn’t waste any time. Staying behind as much of the wreckage and dust billowing through the air as he could, he cast two quick Stunning Spells, augmented by his simulacrum – that Snape blocked effortlessly.

   But Tonks had seen him too. Harry didn’t recognize her spell – a burst of gold light now – but it shook even more dust from the ceiling and Harry could see Snape grimace as he blocked the spell –

   He didn’t wait. “Stupefy, expelliarmus, stupefy!”

   But Snape blocked all of them again, and slashed his wand down…

   Harry suddenly felt Tonks’ hand on his shoulder, yanking him downwards, and he hit the dusty carpet – an instant before the flurry of knives launched from Snape’s kitchen soared over them, punching so many holes in the window behind them.

   But Tonks wasn’t going to stay down for long. Her Trip Jinx – cast low – nearly broke through Snape’s defense, but he somehow managed to block it. He flicked his wand at his wall of books, and Harry could see some of the bindings begin to glow red –

   He jabbed his wand at the wall. “Protego!”

   His shield sprung up a second before jets of white-hot flame erupted from the bindings before instantly disappearing. In an instant, the dust filling the air was complemented by roiling smoke, and Harry found it hard to catch a breath, even as he heard a rustle coming from behind him…

   This time, he had to yank Tonks down, as the flurry of knives came rushing back. But he heard Tonks swear softly, and with a rush of horror, he could see the long paring knife sticking out of her back and the slow trickle of blood seeping down her robes –

   He snapped.

   Recklessly leaping up, he slashed his wand down. “Flamma lacero!”

   The vertical bar of flame seared across the room, carving deep scorch marks on every surface it touched – but somehow Snape got a shimmering shield in front of it, causing the fire to dissipate into thick, opaque clouds of steam…

   Harry took his chance.

   He charged straight into the cloud, instinctively sidestepping Snape’s curse as he followed Snape’s hurried footsteps towards the back door. The air was scalding hot, but he ignored the pain and stretched out his fingers, getting his fingers on black fabric –

   The jolt threw him backwards, and he hit something – it was hard to tell with all of the steam. His back exploded with pain, but he scrambled to his feet and ran towards the back door towards the tiny walled off courtyard –

   But Snape was waiting.

   The curse caught Harry before he could even cast a spell. Without warning, he felt his feet leap out from beneath him, yanking him upside-down by his feet, his wand nearly slipping from his fingers as he looked around wildly for Snape –

   Who had moved far too close, and Harry felt an eruption of pain from where the man’s wand touched his thrashing arms, followed by a numbness that was somehow even worse –

   And then, without warning, it was gone. He heard a muffled shout, and without warning, the spell on him broke. He fell backwards, landing hard again on his back, but he didn’t care, he wanted Snape down, he wanted him dead –

   What he saw was much different.

   Standing proudly on top of an unconscious Snape was a black shaggy dog – who instantly transformed into Sirius Black, completely soaked by the rain as he held his wand to Snape’s throat.

   “Gotcha,” Sirius said triumphantly, Summoning Snape’s wand into his hand, “Snivellus.”

   “We need to get him inside,” Harry wheezed, struggling to his feet and nearly slipping on the grass as his back screamed with pain. “We need to help Tonks –”

   “I’m fine.”

   Harry whirled, his eyes widening with disbelief –

   To see Tonks leaning heavily against the doorway, a bloodstained knife in her hand. She gave Harry a wan smile and tossed the knife on the grass. “I was wearing armour too, Harry.” She winced in pain. “‘Course, the blade was magically sharpened and nearly sliced straight through it and me at the same time, but I’ll live.”

   “You should still get things patched up,” Sirius said with concern, kicking Snape in the ribs almost distractedly. “And we all need to clean up before anybody notices – even in this shithole, there’s going to be somebody smart enough to call the Muggle authorities.”

   “Okay,” Harry said, wiping a smear of his own blood off his face – he hadn’t even felt the gash against his forehead. It must have been debris… it’s not much, but it’s bleeding freely… “Tonks and I will help patch each other up. Sirius, you’re on clean-up – and then you start the interrogation. We’ll join in when we’re ready.”

   A grim smile broke across Sirius’ face. “Oh, I’ve been looking forward to this,” he whispered, “for a long, long time.”

***

   “My Lord…”

   Voldemort paused, and then slowly closed the book on the podium. “Bellatrix. You have news?”

   “I have two… two letters, my Lord,” Bellatrix said, her eyes fixed on the space immediately next to and above her master.

   Voldemort raised his wand and the two open letters shot into his open hand. The first…

   “The Italians are planning a trip.”

   “They appear to have called your bluff, my Lord,” Bellatrix said, a hunger burning in her eyes. “Would you grant your servant the chance to make them direly regret that decision?”

   “No, Bellatrix, I believe I will keep that pleasure for myself,” Voldemort said curtly, incinerating the letter instantly as he unfolded the second letter. “A message from Hogwarts.”

   “I already read it, my Lord,” Bellatrix said, her mad eyes dancing. “It plays into our plan beautifully.”

   “So it does,” Voldemort replied, burning that letter without a second thought as he turned to Bellatrix, whose eyes had drifted to the semi-solid form hovering around him.

   His lipless mouth curled upwards. “I see I have rendered you speechless.”

   “What is it?” Bellatrix asked, her eyes wide, forgetting his title as she stared at it, her expression a mixture between awe and terror.

   “This,” Voldemort said calmly, “is a theory made manifest in magic.” He raised his hand. “To you, it looks like a night sky made into a burning liquid, lit by a million stars and nebula, of things beyond our pitiful earth, spanning the four common dimensions of our universe… but to me, it is something far greater. And it is indeed terrifying and beautiful, both to those who don’t understand – and even more so for those who do.”

   He turned to look at Bellatrix. “Picture a knife with an infinitely tiny edge, capable of severing anything and everything – even the fundamental core of what makes us who we are.” Voldemort’s eyes gleamed. “Picture a knife that can cut a soul, Bellatrix. Now say we consider the human soul – and for the sake of this experiment, let’s make it finite and cut it an infinite number of times, into an infinite number of tiny pieces.”

   “Would the pieces even remain a soul, my Lord?” Bellatrix asked in a low voice.

   “The smartest of Muggle minds have theorized at the smallest point, such particles become nigh-indistinguishable to the methods of man,” Voldemort continued, a trace of scorn creeping into his voice. “But a soul is something far more potent, far more distinctive, and even if an infinitely small piece is sent to the other side of the universe an eternity from now, it will remain a fragment of soul, both potent and magical.”

   He looked at the floating, semi-solid image. “Now say a man cuts a part of his soul into an infinite number of pieces, and scatters them across the universe. Such tiny fragments will not want to stay separate – they are drawn to each other. Say they begin to coalesce with other souls – like, say, that of every human being on this planet.”

   Bellatrix’s breath caught in her throat. “What does that mean, my Lord?”

   “If we believe such theories,” Voldemort said softly, “it would mean that before one could truly die, every other living thing in the known universe would have to die as well, and never have to face the cold, skinless hand of death, dragging one down to the unknown dark of oblivion.”

   “My Lord,” Bellatrix whispered, “is such magic even possible?”

   Voldemort’s small smile deepened as he turned away. He could tell her – his plans had nearly reached a critical mass, and there was nothing that anyone could do that could stop him.

   “I have pushed the boundaries of magic further than any man, Bellatrix,” he said, turning to face her, his eyes burning, “and I have no intention to stop now.”

***

   For a few moments, he couldn’t speak, A thousand thoughts, a thousand conflicting emotions, rushed into his mind. Shock, anger, bitterness, relief, joy, horror…

   “How?” Even forcing the word, his voice was barely above a choked whisper.

   “Black rescued him from Azkaban,” Aberforth replied tonelessly. “Brought him back here. Apparently he’s dying of magical consumption.”

   He had already known his father was dying – he remembered hearing that from Dolohov in Azkaban – but he hadn’t seemed to care all that much. After all, he hadn’t seen his father in over a decade. And I made whatever peace I could have made with his treason a long time ago, no matter how little sense it made…

   He turned to where Dumbledore was leaning against the wall, not making eye contact. “Why? You planned this.”

   Aberforth rolled his eyes. “Can’t prove that either –”

   “You’re a fucking Dumbledore,” Kemester snarled through clenched teeth. “These twisted plans are what you do –”

   “Or maybe,” Aberforth replied quietly, still not looking up, “I do indeed have a soul, and figured you might want to see your father before he died alone. You know, something I would have killed for.” He shook his head. “Apparently I figured that you’d actually care.”

   Kemester was about to say something – he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say, but something – but then he heard a noise from behind him. The sound of rustling beneath sheets…

   Claudius Kemester was waking up.

   “You should really say or do something,” Aberforth said, his tone bitter and biting as he stood and moved towards the stairs. “This’ll probably be the last time you ever see him – alive, that is.”

   Kemester fought back his desire to scream with frustration as the wave of emotion threatened to seize control of him again. The sick bastard planned all of this… what should I say, what can I say to him, after all this time… how can I tell him Bartholomew’s gone…

   “Who is it?”

   The man’s voice was weak, but held all of the authority it once had. In an instant, Kemester felt like he was ten again, listening to his father’s lectures about peace, stability, enforcement, the law…

   He didn’t answer his father’s question – he couldn’t, what was he to say? He had to say something, but what? Ask why he had betrayed the Ministry and everything he had believed? Ask how he could have betrayed his sons, and everything he had taught them?

   “I know someone’s there,” Claudius Kemester said, a biting note creeping into his voice. “Come out… come out where I can see you.”

   He remembered the last time his father had said that to him. The memory came rushing back – he had been standing in the changing room at Madam Malkins, and he had hated the new dress robes, but his father was convinced they looked dashing on him. He had been fifteen, it had been 1981.

   His father had gone to Azkaban before Yule that year.

   He still didn’t think he could say anything, but he did step forward, keeping every expression off his face. He doesn’t need to know everything I’m thinking right now… I’m not a child anymore…

   The old man’s eyes widened as he saw the brutally scarred Hit Wizard standing before him. “Merlin… by Merlin… Dmitri? It can’t… Dmitri?”

   “I don’t know why you named me that,” Kemester said, his voice choked as his hand spasmodically clenched and unclenched. “Nobody in our family’s Russian or Eastern European – it’s confusing.”

   “My god,” Claudius Kemester whispered, his pale blue eyes widening. “It… it… Dmitri, what happened to you?”

   Kemester closed his eyes, forcing back the rush of emotions. I’m not going to show weakness here… I’m not going to give anything away.

   “Life,” he replied simply. “Life happened.”

   “How did you find me?”

   How could he answer that? Where to even begin? “At this point, Father,” Kemester replied carefully, “I honestly don’t know.”

   “And you’re a Hit Wizard…”

   Despite himself, he couldn’t help feel the fierce rush of pride surge through him, electrifying every nerve. “Damn right I am, and a… and a…”

   He couldn’t say the words ‘and a good one too’, no matter how much he wanted to. That’s what he had wanted to be, what he always wanted to be… but he couldn’t say it. He was a Hit Wizard, but he wasn’t good. He didn’t have that sterling career with the plaques and the medals and the promotions and the glory… his was filled with poorly healed scars, sleepless nights, and empty bottles of goblin rye.

   Where had things gone so wrong?

   “Where…where’s Bartholomew?” Claudius asked, his eyes brightening a bit as he struggled weakly – in vain – to sit up a bit. “You made it…”

   And here it was. Why does it have to be me saying it? Why do I have to be the one to tell him? It’s not right, it’s just…

   He swallowed back the hard lump in his throat and finally met his father’s eyes.

   “Father, Bartholomew’s gone.”

   The old man blinked several times, as if he couldn’t believe it – and then he took a deep, shuddering breath to compose himself.

   “I assume… I assume he went out like a hero?”

   “The best kind,” Kemester whispered, blinking as quickly as he possibly could.

   His father sighed heavily, and then leaned back on the pillow. “Well,” he began calmly, “at least he’s in a better place –”

   Something snapped.

   He couldn’t hold back the tidal wave of raw emotion anymore. Everything rushed forward, and even as he felt the first tears burn in his eyes, he could hear himself screaming –

   “- IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO FUCKING SAY? THAT HE’S IN A BETTER PLACE? DO YOU NOT EVEN CARE ABOUT HOW HE DIED? ABOUT WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO OUR LIVES? OH, WAIT, YOU WOULDN’T HAVE CARED, YOU FUCKING LEFT US! EVERYTHING YOU SWORE WE KEEP SACRED, YOU BETRAYED IT ALL, ‘FATHER’! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FUCKING ‘LAW’, IT DIDN’T SAVE HIM, AND IT CERTAINLY HASN’T SAVED ME? LOOK AT ME – I’M MORE DEAD THAN ALIVE! THEY ALL THINK I’M INSANE, THAT I’M ‘DAMAGED GOODS’ – AND LOOK AT ME! THAT’S ALL I AM, YOU HYPOCRITE – THAT’S ALL YOUR FUCKING ‘LAW’ GOT ME!”

   He took a deep breath to keep screaming – he could keep screaming from now until the end of time for all he cared, but he saw his father’s stony expression and it enraged him even more, so much so he couldn’t even muster the words.

  “Are you quite finished?”

   “Go to hell,” Kemester whispered, swallowing hard as he wiped his eyes and grimaced as he felt the fragile skin around his scars start to burn at his touch. “I’ve already ruined my life enough without you back in it.”

   “Would it help,” the old man said quietly, “if I said you didn’t understand the whole picture –”

   He couldn’t believe his ears. “Not… not understanding… ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

   “Dmitri, please –”

   “You want to know what Yule was like that year?” Kemester snarled, breathing fast. “No, don’t get up, I’m going to tell you – we went to Mum’s grave, early in the morning, because neither of us could sleep that night in that house. And then we went back to the house, and Bartholomew made pancakes, and then the owl flew in and dropped our Prophet on the table and you want to know what was on page twenty-three, Father?”

   The old man didn’t respond, no real expression on his face.

   “It was an article,” Kemester whispered, “a little editorial opinion piece from some batshit witch out in Hollyhead, who said that ‘she couldn’t quite believe how a good, upstanding Wizengamot judge, a widower with two promising sons, could betray his country and sell out to the enemy. Guess that means the entire line is corrupt, and we better tear out the tree at the roots before any more bad apples come up!’” He was crying now, and his face burned with agony, but he had stopped caring. “And then Bartholomew reads the article – the entire damn article – and he can’t say a damn thing, because he doesn’t understand it either, and he’s crying into my arms, and… and then he says, ‘How come Dad doesn’t love us anymore? How could he do this?’ And I can’t answer.” Kemester clenched his fist and dragged his fist across his eyes. “So that was Christmas, Father – so why don’t you be a good sport and just explain to it to me, just so I get some fucking closure out of this?”

   The old man’s expression – much to Kemester’s complete fury – was still blank for a long few seconds. Then, he sighed and pointed at the battered cabinet.

   “There should be a Pensieve in there, I reckon – I remember seeing it when I first arrived. Get it out.”

***

   “Has he said anything?” Tonks asked, drawing her wand as she stepped out of the tiny bathroom.

   Sirius didn’t immediately answer, instead peeking over her shoulder to where Harry was standing. “You two didn’t –” he began slowly.

   “No, are you crazy?” Harry protested quickly, drawing his own wand and tucking his simulacrum’s hair back behind her ears as he slipped out behind her. Not because I didn’t want to… we were so close…

   “Get your head out of the gutter, Sirius, nothing happened,” Tonks said with an irritated snort, looking at Sirius and the bound silhouette of Snape sitting in the kitchen. “So, has he said anything?”

   Sirius scowled with frustration. “Well, we can’t use Veritaserum because of that damn Liar’s Heartstone junk he invented, and a few punches to the face aren’t getting us anywhere. Honestly, I’m not sure physical pain is the method we want to be using.”

   Harry frowned, but Tonks put her hand to her forehead. “Could have told you that, Sirius –”

   “Not for the reason you might think, though,” Sirius said quietly. “I reckon if Voldemort’s used the Cruciatus Curse on him for any extended period of time, nothing I’m going to say or do is going to do squat to him – and Snape had a high pain tolerance going in.”

   “And I’m sure you whaling on him hasn’t helped matters,” Tonks snapped, uneasily snapping a glance at the repaired windows. “Any sign of trouble?”

   “Not even a daft old lady complaining about the noise,” Sirius replied, frowning slightly. “Even I’m a little surprised – you’d have thought the Muggles would have done something by now.”

   Harry stepped around Tonks and Sirius and slowly walked to where Snape was tied to a kitchen chair. The light glowing from his wand illuminated his heavily-bruised and bloody face. Both eyes were nearly swollen shut, and blood from his nose painted the bottom half of his long face.

   He almost looks like me when Kemester caught me, he suddenly thought uncomfortably, but this is different – after everything Snape’s done… but still, if he hasn’t talked yet, what can we really do to get any answers?

   He turned to where Tonks and Sirius were watching him. “I don’t think we’re getting anything out of him.”

   “Yeah, that’s what I was saying,” Sirius agreed, shaking his head with frustration. “You know, this still doesn’t make a lot of sense. This feels… I dunno, too easy somehow. I was expecting… well, I dunno what I was expecting, but this just seems cheap. I still think we’re being set up.”

   “Then maybe we should get out of here and take Snape with us, so we can have some control of the situation,” Tonks said tersely, throwing another uneasy glance at the window as her hair darkened to crimson – that nearly matched the blood on Snape’s face. “I mean, we can take him to where the Shrieking Shack burned down, nobody goes there.”

   Harry didn’t respond, his mind racing. “Snape… Snape would have had a reason for making himself this easy to find and bring down,” he said slowly. “He would have planned something.”

   “What are you thinking?”

   “Well, it might not be a bad idea to search the place,” Harry replied, looking around the grubby kitchen and the sitting room just adjacent. “Sirius, did you find anything when you repaired things?”

   Sirius shifted uncomfortably as he walked over a cabinet and pried it open, pulling out a wide shallow basin that Harry immediately recognized as –

   “Okay, seriously, does everyone have these things?” Tonks said exasperatedly, glaring at the Pensieve. “First Dumbledore, then your family, Sirius, then Dumbledore gives one to Harry, then Alastor, and then I think I saw one at Aberforth’s –”

   “Uh, Tonks,” Harry said slowly, “that is the Black Pensieve.”

   Her hair went white for a few seconds as she took a closer look – and as Sirius brought it into better light, the truth was revealed – it was indeed the grimy, dirty Black Pensieve, that Harry had once used all those months ago. I can hardly remember that night… I just must have been burned out or something...

   “I’ll be damned,” Tonks murmured, carefully eyeing the device, “but how on earth did Snape get it?”

   “He had access to Grimmauld Place just like everyone else,” Sirius said with a scowl, setting the Pensieve down on the small kitchen table, within clear vision of Snape. For the first time since Harry had seen him at the house, the man visibly tensed at the sight of the basin. “He could have swiped it then. And from the looks of things, there are memories in here!”

   “Some people use Pensieves to store memories they don’t want to think about,” Harry said quickly, glancing from the basin to Snape to Tonks. “Do you think we could find something in there that could provoke him into giving us what we need?”

   Tonks hesitated, her hair flickering to a pale green as she looked at Snape. “It just doesn’t seem like something Snape would do,” she finally admitted after a few seconds, “but then again, I’m not entirely sure what I believe, pulling from his file. I just don’t know.”

   “Still arguably worth viewing,” Sirius said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m going in.”

   “Me too,” Harry added.

   “Wait, we can’t just leave him here!” Tonks protested. “Let me cast some protective enchantments and an alarm spell first so we can at least be warned if something shows up. And what about Snape?”

   Harry smirked, and pointed his wand at his former Potions Professor. “Stupefy!”

   Snape went limp, the ropes the only things now holding him in a sitting position.

   “Well, that works,” Sirius said amicably. “Cast your charms, Tonks, and then let’s see what Snape has to hide.”

   Tonks cocked an eyebrow. “And lose out on all of your vaunted magical expertise? Get your ass over here.”

   The two of them stepped into the main room and began muttering enchantments, but Harry wasn’t listening. He approached Snape instead, lying limply in the chair, wondering what in the world the man was thinking. He’s done something here… something strange, something that we haven’t prepared for… but why can’t I just figure out what it is…

   “Unless you want to give him a kiss for good luck,” Sirius said, stepping back into the kitchen with a wry smile on his face, “I suggest we get moving.”

   “I should just kiss you for good luck,” Harry replied sarcastically, stepping away from the comatose Potions professor.

   “Aww, a kiss from my godson,” Sirius said lightly, before pausing. “Or would it be goddaughter?” He put a finger to his slightly unshaven chin and frowned. “Can’t always tell – ow!”

   “If you’re finished being weird for the sake of it,” Tonks said, rolling her eyes as she blew on the tip of her wand (fresh from smacking Sirius on the back of the head) and slid it back into her robe pockets, “we should really get moving. Ready?”

   Harry took a deep breath. The Potter Vaults information could be in there… this is it.

   He took Tonks’ and Sirius’ hands, let out his breath, and leaned towards the Pensieve, his nose brushing the silvery memories lying at the bottom…

   The world tilted violently, and he could feel himself falling and falling, speeding towards a darkened picture… but the fall was longer than it normally was, going into a Pensieve. They were falling faster and farther this time, and he wondered for a second whether or not Snape had indeed set a trap for them…

   They all hit the ground hard, sprawling across the stone floor – a grimy stone floor Harry recognized instantly.

   “This is a Ministry interrogation room,” Tonks said quickly, scrambling to her feet and pulling Sirius up as she looked, wide-eyed around the small, badly-lit room, complete with the metal table and mounted, bladed vambraces. “What the hell is –”

   BANG

   Harry nearly jumped as the concealed door was flung open, and two figures entered the room. Both were wearing black cloaks and hoods, although it was clear one of them was manhandling the other with grim, professional efficiency. There wasn’t any fighting or wild thrashing, like when Sirius had dragged Mulciber in.

    With a smooth, efficient motion, the dominant figure seized the other figure’s wrists and slammed his forearms onto the table before deftly pulling the lever and sealing the other man’s arms within the vambraces. But to Harry’s shock, the dominant figure (who Harry guessed was likely an Auror or a Hit Wizard) drew his wand and waved it once, conjuring a stiff-backed iron chair directly beneath his prey. That’s new.

   Another wave of his wand and the prisoner was revealed. His eyes were heavily shadowed, and his hair hung heavily around his eyes, but his face was immediately distinctive.

   The younger version of Snape shook his hair out of his face and glared at his captor. “Is this necessary? I said numerous times I would come quietly.” His sallow voice dripped with irritation as he tried in vain to shrug his shoulders towards the vambraces holding his arms down – an action that looked utterly ridiculous.

   The other man pulled back his hood, and Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn to the man’s face. Pale blue eyes, a narrow nose, a neatly trimmed black goatee, and a stony, almost implacable expression, and as Harry saw the man pulled off his leather gloves to reveal a dark metallic right hand, he knew immediately this wizard was dangerous.

   He looked to his godfather. “Sirius, you know him?”

   A cold smile lit Sirius’ face. “Harry, what you need to understand is that not all Hit Wizards are like Kemester. There was a time when they were symbols of professionalism, intellect, and power, even above some Aurors – and that man is one of the reasons why. Say hello to Nathaniel Charon, one of the best that group ever gave the fight against Voldemort.” His smile deepened. “And now I get to watch him beat the crap out of Snape. Harry, pay attention – this is going to be awesome.”

   “I don’t trust Death Eaters,” Charon said calmly, setting his gloves down on the table. “Even ones that surrender.”

   “I am no longer working directly for the Dark Lord,” Snape said quickly, his eyes darting nervously around the room – and really, Harry wasn’t surprised. Charon was intimidating. “I swear that.”

   “I don’t believe you,” Charon replied tonelessly, walking slowly around the table to stand behind Snape. “Nothing personal, Snape, it’s just I’ve seen a lot of good men die recently, and I’m smarter than to believe anything.”

   “Would you believe that I’ve defected to Dumbledore’s cause,” Snape asked through gritted teeth, “that I’ve turned spy for our side, at great personal risk?”

   “Does that mean I have to add you to my Christmas cards list?” Charon asked sardonically, grinning slightly as he continued his circle around the table. “Don’t get me wrong, Snape, but I would find it very difficult to write messages of holiday cheer inside your card, being a Death Eater and all.”

   “What are you – it’s March,” Snape said, frowning with confusion.

   “I figured I would start sending cards early this year, make sure people get them,” Charon replied, his voice going abruptly cold. “You know, since your friends have a reputation for killing my friends… and family. So, let me get this straight – if you’re now on our side, does that mean your friends are killing your other friends?”

   Snape’s face contorted with anger, but he steadied his breath. “Strangely enough, yes, that is exactly the problem.”

   Charon snorted. “Damn, Snape, I have to say it: your life is just sad.”

   “You don’t know the half of it.”

   “So I guess you can explain why I caught you skulking around on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow?” Charon continued, resuming his circle around Snape. “Paying a visit to new friends… or is it old ones?”

   Snape strangely swallowed hard before he spoke. “Some of both, actually.”

   “Some of both?” Charon’s tone was a mixture of interest and amusement. “You actually have friends that fit both categories? Must be some interesting people… so what was the purpose of the visit?”

   “A warning,” Snape muttered. “She’s in danger, in way over her head –”

   “Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Charon interjected lightly, “but this friend is a girl? Girls actually talk to you, Snape?”

   Snape looked ready to kill something, but Charon only chuckled and drummed his fingers on the table. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the same time, although from the look of impatience on his face, Harry guessed his godfather wanted to see Snape get punched instead.

   “But that was childish,” the Hit Wizard said fairly, completing his second circle around the table. “So why don’t you tell me your friend’s name – I’m sure she’d vouch for you –”

   “No,” Snape blurted, a hint of crimson creeping into his pale face. “I… I don’t think she would… I wasn’t planning on –”

   “Getting caught?” Charon’s voice deftly cut into Snape’s rambling. “Sure you weren’t. So why don’t I pass along this message to –”

   “Lily Evans.”

   Harry’s mouth fell open. What.

   Charon looked slightly surprised only for a second – and then he sighed and shook his head.

   “You sad bastard. And it’s Lily Potter now.”

   Snape didn’t respond, but Harry took a step back against the wall with shock. Since when was Snape – Severus Snape – friends with his mother, or even having any type of relationship with her at all?

   He quickly turned. “Sirius, was my mum ever… Sirius, what haven’t you been telling me?”

   Sirius let out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, they might have been friends, but after fifth year, something went wrong and they never talked to each other again –”

   “And you didn’t think to tell me this?” Harry exclaimed, looking wildly from the memory of Snape to his godfather. “You knew this entire time –”

   “I honestly thought Dumbledore already told you!” Sirius replied hastily. “I mean, it didn’t matter, she didn’t speak with him for years until she died – he wasn’t a part of her life at all!”

   “Tonks, did you know about this?” Harry asked, rounding on her, but she shook her head, her lips pursed in thought.

   Charon shook his head. “You do realize that if you had gone there, you’d have been dead.”

   “I –”

   “No, Snape, you would have been dead,” Charon growled. “She’s a member of Cassane’s team, and she’s been with that group for a while. If you had gone over there, we’d be rinsing you off the pavement.” He scratched his goatee and shook his head. “Guess that means I saved your life.” He frowned slightly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed. “Huh. Well, I’m glad I’ve got something for the Christmas card now.”

   “That – that’s what I wanted to talk to her about,” Snape said in a low voice. “I’ve heard the stories from both sides, of what’s happened since last September –”

   “I don’t think that conversation would have lasted very long,” Charon said quietly, and at that second, Snape finally lost his composure.

   “Fine, so I would have died, but it would have meant something! It would have been a message, she would have realized what she’s doing, what they’ve done, is just as insane as what the Dark Lord has done –”

   Charon shook his head sadly. “Yeah, your death would have meant precisely squat, Snape. Sorry to disillusion you, but even Crouch has written that group off as a lost cause. I think the only reason the Ministry is still paying them is because they keep delivering bodies they say are Death Eaters – and most people in the Ministry are too damn terrified of Cassane to say otherwise.”

   “Dumbledore –”

   “Got as many people as he could out of the group before things went to hell,” Charon interrupted grimly. “And otherwise… well, they keep killing Death Eaters, and I think sometimes he’s just waiting for attrition to take its toll.”

   Snape’s face went pale. “Until all of one side dies.”

   Charon shrugged. “It’s war, Snape.”

   “Cassane won’t stop, you know.”

   Charon’s expression darkened. “I suspect I’ll be dead long before that conversation comes up. But enough about that – what do I do with you?”

   Harry took a deep breath. He honestly didn’t know what Charon was going to do, even as an icy feeling had crept down his spine as he had heard the Hit Wizard talk about his parents. I’m sure it’s mostly exaggeration – otherwise, someone would have told me –

   “And here’s the funny thing,” Charon continued, conjuring a cheap lawn chair beneath himself, on which he immediately sat and put his dragonhide boots on the table. “Technically, I don’t have any outstanding warrants for your arrest, any crimes I can directly tie you to, and other than the expensive tattoo on your arm, pretty much diddly squat other than being a creep – and I don’t send people to Azkaban for being creeps.”

   This time, Sirius’ mouth dropped open. “I don’t bloody believe it,” he whispered hoarsely.

   “So I think I’ll just let you go,” Charon continued with a shrug, giving the lever by the side of the table a short kick that unlocked the vambraces and freed Snape’s arms, who young man immediately slid back into his chair, quickly examining the two shallow cuts on his forearms where the bladed edges of the vambrace had pressed against his skin.

   “I mean, you’re not harmless,” Charon said calmly, “but you’re not going to hurt anyone on our side, because you’re not that moronic either. Now, I could just escort you straight to Cassane’s group so you can get what you were wishing for –”

   “I’d prefer you didn’t,” Snape interrupted quickly.

   “ – But I’m not one for supporting what’s he’s doing,” Charon said, glaring at Snape. “Maybe if Bellatrix Lestrange was dragged in, but you?” He snorted as he pulled a wand from his cloak and tossed it on the table. “You’re not worth my time.”

   Snape snatched up his wand instantly and returned Charon’s glare as he stood. “So if I were to ask your advice?” he asked sarcastically.

   “Get out of England while you still can,” Charon replied seriously. “Because if things keep up the way they are, things won’t be pretty. Oh, and before you Disapparate, one question.”

   “What?” Snape snapped.

   “You have family?”

   “Why?”

   “Because you might want to take them with you,” Cassane replied conversationally, “otherwise they tend to disappear – or worse, appear in our morgues, courtesy of a certain someone. And I’m fairly certain they already know you’re here – and for some of them, that’s all they need.”

   For the first time, Snape looked a little shocked. “You… you can’t be – how can you let him get away with –”

   “If I could prove it,” Charon said quietly, “he wouldn’t be. Get out.”

   Harry closed his eyes, but the Disapparation still threw him off-guard, depositing him – and Sirius – on the dirty asphalt. Tonks dropped into a crouch, her eyes scanning for Snape –

   “He’s going towards…” Tonks’ voice trailed off. “Oh, no goddamn way.”

   The houses around them were in slightly better repair, and the night wasn’t as dark, but Harry recognized the street instantly – he had charged down it less than an hour earlier, and Snape was running towards the house – his house –

   “I honestly thought Charon would have punched him,” Sirius complained as they ran up to the door that Snape quickly threw open and slammed shut behind him.

   “Yeah, who would have thought Charon actually had character?” Tonks retorted as they stepped right through the wall into the house. “Honestly, Sirius –”

   “BOY!”

   The shout threw Harry off-guard, and he could see Snape wince at the shout. For a second, Harry was strongly reminded of Uncle Vernon, but this shout was rawer, and slightly slurred – and lacked all of the anger that his uncle once had. It was more of a shout delivered by habit rather than any genuine loathing.

   But Harry wouldn’t have guessed it from Snape’s face, which was twisted into an expression of mingled panic and hatred as stepped into the sitting room.

   The room had changed over the years to the austere, neglected study that Snape had created. This room had no bookshelves – in fact, it was mostly empty, with a few yellowing pictures hanging on the cheap wallpaper. A cheap television sat on a shoddily-built stand, the picture beginning to break up the second Snape walked in the room

   And in the single rickety armchair in the room was a man that could only be Snape’s father. But while Snape was lean, this man was bulky, looking like a powerful man gone to seed, most of the muscle replaced by flab. His hair was greying and thinning, hanging around a face that seemed flabby, but yet hollowed by the years.

   In one of the man’s hands was a bottle of beer. In the other was a short, snub-nosed Muggle pistol.

   “Why the hell do you have that thing out?” Snape demanded. “Does it even still work?”

   The father snorted. “IRA on the telly again – thought I’d check, see if it was fighting ready in case any of the buggers tried something. And figured if ye brought back any of your worthless kind, I’d have me a loud answer for them.”

   Snape took a steadying breath, but it was a mostly futile effort. “You might get your wish if you stay around here. Of course, by then you’d be dead and I along with you. Come on, we need to move.”

   “Why do ye – what are you –”

   “Tobias Snape,” Snape snarled, “if you do not get out of this house in thirty seconds, you are going to die. This is not a possibility – this will happen. If you want to keep living and disgrace the family’s name further, then get the hell out of the house, they are coming.”

   “Good!” Tobias Snape snarled, unsteadily standing, “and I’ll be ready for the bastards –”

   But Snape had lost his patience. Whipping his wand out, the pistol and beer were yanked from his father’s hands and flung against the wall. The beer bottle shattered, leaving another stain on the wallpaper.

   “It’s that easy,” Snape said in a low voice. “Get out the back, go to Richard Evans’ house and tell him to bring the police in – they aren’t insane enough to break the Statute of Secrecy. I will buy you time.”

   The older man’s eyes narrowed. “What are ye planning, boy?”

   “Saving your worthless life,” Snape snapped. “I owe Mother that much. Now go!”

   Tobias Snape looked at the tip of his son’s wand for a long second before scooping up his pistol by the wall, and stepping into the kitchen. Harry heard the backdoor slam.

   A long, tense ten seconds counted in the room, and Harry looked at Sirius, who seemed to be concentrating very hard on something –

   Knock knock

   Snape turned slightly and raised his wand. With a subtle twitch, he sent a jet of sparks at the doorknob, turning it slightly, letting the sparse wind push the door wide –

   To reveal Lily Potter, her wand drawn, her battered armour caked in blood, her eyes completely dead.

   Harry’s breath caught in his throat as his stomach roiled with growing horror. She was unmistakably his mother – the hair and the eyes told him that – but something was different about her from the last time he’d seen her in Cassane’s memory. There were no scars on her face, but something had happened to her that had sapped the blood from her lips, cast her eyes in deep dark shadows, and sucked the energy from her expression. If she wasn’t unmistakeably holding her wand with intent to kill, Harry would have expected her to pass out where she stood.

   He could hear Sirius swear under his breath, and he suddenly felt Tonks’ hand slip into his. He hadn’t even realized his hands had been shaking.

   “Lily,” Snape whispered.

   “Severus,” Lily replied. Her voice was completely expressionless as she stepped into the house, her eyes sweeping the room. “Is this –”

   “Yes.”

   She wrinkled her nose slightly. “It smells terrible. No wonder you never invited me over.”

   “My father didn’t clean much after my mother died,” Snape said quietly, “and I’ve been…”

   “Busy,” she finished, her eyes immediately landing on his left arm. “I saw it coming, you know. James said it for years.”

   “It wouldn’t mean anything to you if I told you that I’m on Dumbledore’s side now,” Snape said in a low voice. “That you’d be killing an ally, an old friend?”

   “And you don’t have an iota of proof,” Lily replied icily. “So where’s your father – figured it’d be best to put the two of you out of your misery all at once.”

   Tonks gasped. Harry’s hand shook worse than ever. And all Sirius could do was stand gaping at the scene unfolding in front of him, with an expression of disbelieving horror on his face.

   “Lily, stop,” Snape whispered, lowering his wand. “This isn’t you – what happened –”

   “My parents are both dead, Snape.” Lily’s voice shook slightly as she stepped closer. “Dad was snooping around, and starting connecting the dots regarding all of the magic attacks. He knew it couldn’t be IRA – not all of them. So he went looking – and he found the Lestranges.”

   Harry suddenly – horribly – understood why had never gone to see his grandparents on Petunia’s side of the family.

   “They tortured him, and then they killed him.” A tear streaked down Lily’s pallid face now. “And then they found Mum, and they killed her too. They didn’t even go looking for Petunia – they had what they wanted.”

   She looked down at her flat belly. “And they’ll never get to see their grandson.”

   Harry’s mouth fell open. His mother was pregnant – with him. But I was born at the end of July, and this is March –

   “The armour’s magic prevents me from showing,” Lily replied listlessly. “It… he keeps me going, helps me get an hour or two of sleep before I wake up screaming.” She looked up at Snape. “Hopefully his mommy will stay alive long enough, kill enough people so this can be over with –”

   “Lily, you’re not yourself,” Snape pleaded, his black eyes searching wildly around the room. “Please, you need to snap out of this, you need to get to St. Mungo’s, or someone who can treat you, like Dumbledore –”

   “Dumbledore,” Lily whispered, “has been fucking useless. He let my parents die – and he let you live.”

  “Lily, don’t do this, you know Dumbledore wouldn’t have let your parents die,” Snape whispered desperately. “It’s irrational, it’s suicidal… look at you, you’re killing yourself.”

   “Fine talk,” Lily hissed, “coming from a Death Eater.”

   “You’re becoming what you were trying to fight!” Snape yelled, sparks spraying from his wand. “What the Dark Lord has done to you, to Cassane – he’s twisting you both, Lily, he’s using you to cull the chaff from his forces before he sucks you up like he did with Dolohov!” He shook his head. “Lily, if you come much closer, I will be forced to defend myself and trust me when I say that I will not hold back.”

   “I expected a duel,” Lily replied coldly, raising her wand. “Bring it on.”

   Snape gave a full bow. Lily didn’t bother.

   Her spell flattened Snape in mid-bow, cracking the floorboards beneath him.

   “Sorry, Severus,” Lily said quietly, “but I have orders, and those orders require corpses.”

   The duel commenced from there, and Harry could hardly follow it. He wasn’t sure if it was because the spells where flying so quickly that he couldn’t tell who was winning or losing, or if it was his mind could hardly comprehend what he had just seen, what his mother had just said…

   In the midst of all of the parried spells and shields, Harry spotted an opening – and Snape took it. His breath caught in his throat –

   “Expecto patronum!”

   From Snape’s wand erupted a massive silvery shape, coalescing into the figure of a doe that stood between them.

   Lily paused at this, lowering her wand for a brief second. “It’s pretty, Snape.”

   “It’s you,” Snape replied quietly, mournfully. “What you were –”

   The doe suddenly exploded, and Lily’s wand was blazing with fire that Snape only managed to deflect in the nick of time.

   “You should have gotten over me a long time ago, Sev,” Lily said in a low voice, her short hair fluttering around her face from the waves of heat erupting from the flame burning at the end of her wand. “I did.”

   She began casting, but somehow he was faster.

   Harry could only watch in horror as Snape’s spell – a jet of hot blue light – slammed her bodily into the wall. Harry could hear Sirius shout something, but he couldn’t comprehend what Sirius was saying as he watched his mother slump to the ground…

   Snape dropped his wand and ran to her, his eyes dark and filled with grief. “Lily, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to use this –”

   Lily didn’t answer. She only met Snape with hate-filled eyes.

   And then she began to scream.

   The sound was ear-splitting, and Harry clapped his hands over his ears and clenched his eyes shut at the sound as it echoed in the room… before finally fading.

   He reached out and pulled Tonks towards him, holding her as he felt her tears on his neck, and then…

   “Lily, it’s okay.”

   He heard a sniff as he cautiously opened her eyes and looked at his mother.

   Lily looked terrible. Her eyes were red and tears of pain were spilling down her face. “S-Sev… why the… you…”

   “The spell targets your grief and guilt,” Snape said without emotion as he rose to his feet, “and it sets it on fire. The Dark Lord designed the spell to destroy grief-stricken relatives of those he killed, but it’s not Dark magic – it doesn’t need to be.” He shook his head as he picked up his wand. “The spell can be lethal… but I knew you’d survive. You’re strong enough.”

   “What… what did you…”

   “I’ve given you your life back, or at least enough of it,” Snape replied bitterly. “You can either follow your orders to kill me, or you can just leave. After all, I need to get over you, since you’re clearly over me.”

   “Snape, I’m married.”

   He turned and he saw Lily shakily rise to her feet.

   “Not only am I married to the man I love,” Lily said, swallowing hard, “but I’m pregnant with his child. I’m not turning away from that, Snape – you have to let go.”

   Snape opened his mouth to say something, and then simply shook his head. “I’ve made my choices… I need to go, find my father… my father!”

   And before Lily could say something, Snape had started running, shoving past the door and charging down the street. Exchanging glances, Harry, Tonks and Sirius quickly followed, unsure of what they’d see.

   “Sev, wait!”

   Harry paused, only to see Lily race straight past him, running after Snape as they rounded a corner, towards a neightborhood that didn’t look so shabby…

   Suddenly, Harry heard a sound… a roar of a loud, noisy motorcycle… a roar that he had heard before –

   Sirius’ eyes suddenly went wide. “That’s… that’s the sound of my Triumph – that’s my bike – I knew this place looked familiar, I was –”

   He didn’t get another word, as they rounded the next corner to see none other than a younger Sirius Black, standing in the center of the street, his hands covered in blood as he revved his motorcycle.

   And right next to him was the mangled corpse of Tobias Snape. Harry recoiled with revulsion as he saw the thick, gory grooves and gaping wounds on the corpse – and the smear of blood on the front tire of Sirius’ bike.

    Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he grabbed Sirius’ arm. “You… you –”

   “I don’t remember this,” Sirius whispered hoarsely, watching his doppelganger rev the engine and laugh – laugh – as he raised his wand in the air. “I don’t remember –”

   “Lily!” memory-Sirius shouted, his eyes blazing with insane energy. “We got him, finally! We got Snape –”

   “You idiot, that’s not him!” Lily screamed. “And in the middle of the bloody street –”

   “Muggle-Repelling Charms, Lil – save us a bunch of time with the clean-up!” Sirius shouted triumphantly, as if he hadn’t even heard Lily’s shouts. “You should have told me you knew exactly where he was, I’ve been trying to follow the Tracking Charm I nailed him with – wait, you said that’s not –”

   “That’s his father, you moron! You got the wrong guy!” Lily screamed, reaching to seize Snape by arm. Harry quickly stepped around Sirius to get a better view of Snape’s face – and he immediately wished he hadn’t. Harry had never seen Snape look so murderous in his life.

   “Lily,” Snape said, in a terrifyingly even voice, “I know this makes me a hypocrite, but I feel Sirius Black has outlived his usefulness to our side of the war. AVADA –”

   He never got the chance to finish the incantation. Some sort of spell had hit him, sent him sprawling across the pavement, his wand flying from his hand, landing at the feet of –

   Harry’s jaw dropped. He had been expecting it, in the back of his mind, knew that somehow it would have to end this way, but while he innately knew that fact, the rest of his mind wasn’t ready for it.

   Nathan Cassane bent slowly and picked up Snape’s wand, turning it over in his hands. He was wearing a crisp black business suit, the cut just unusual enough to be distinctive as that of a wizard. The brim of his hat shadowed his eyes, but Harry could still see them. He remembered those brown eyes being filled with life and energy, a spark that he had only otherwise seen in Dumbledore’s eyes.

   Cassane’s eyes were not dead, like Lily’s had been, or insane like Sirius’, or even dispassionate like Voldemort’s.

   They were worse.

  There was a quiet, simmering energy in those hollow brown eyes – the quiet, flickering energy of a smouldering fire after consuming a building. Grief was in those eyes – grief and pain and resignation that regardless of what he did, it was futile, and that anything and everything beyond the edge of cold merciful death was pointless.

   One couldn’t reason with those eyes. One couldn’t fight against those eyes. One couldn’t even hate those eyes. They said nothing, offered nothing, demanded nothing, and cared for nothing beyond the completion of the mission, regardless of pain.

   And in that second, Harry felt fear like he hadn’t felt since the onslaught of Dementors at the lake after his third year. And like with the Dementors, he felt the hollow despair – except this time, he knew no Patronus would drive it away.

   “Severus Snape,” Nathan Cassane said calmly, “Death Eater, you have been found guilty of the attempted murder of Sirius Black. I sentence you to die. Lily, dispatch him.”

   Almost automatically, Lily seized a hold of Snape’s shoulder and with a kick to the back of his legs, drove him to his knees. Her wand was at his temple and Harry could hardly breathe –

   “Sir, I regretfully refuse.”

   Cassane frowned. “You do realize that insubordination is punishable, Mrs. Potter. I have no qualms adding another body for the morgues to clear up.”

   “Nathan, while I will not deny he is a Death Eater,” Lily said, shoving Snape forward onto the cold pavement, “he has defected to work for Dumbledore. He has nothing of use for us –”

   “He’s a Snape,” memory-Sirius hissed, stepping off his bike, “and that means he dies, Lily. That was the mission –”

   “And you just killed his father!” Lily snarled.

   “It was in self-defense!” memory-Sirius protested, reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulling free a tiny bullet. “The bastard tried to shoot me – hit me right in the shoulder, and I –”

   “He was a Muggle, Sirius!” Lily shouted. “And he was probably drunk!”

   “So?” memory-Sirius’ expression was full of disdain. “He attacked me, and he’s a filthy Snape – that makes him the enemy –”

   “Enough.”

   They all turned to look at Cassane, who was eyeing Snape without any emotion. “You know the manifesto we wrote, Lily. You know if we show mercy and dignity to our foes… well, we already know they won’t show the same to us. It’s very simple – it’s total war, no exceptions. And we are on the side of right – and with Crouch’s laws, we are allowed to do this. You know the rules, Lily – you know what these men have done. You know what Snape likely had to do to earn his Dark Mark – don’t his victims deserve the same justice that we seek? Don’t you think your father would approve of this, his little girl following the spirit of the law and bringing peace?”

   Lily inhaled sharply, but then nodded quietly as she kicked Snape in the ribs before placing the metal heel of her boot on his back.

   “Very well,” she said quietly. “Except – and this is something you used to know better than anyone, sir –”

   Cassane tensed.

   “The law can be wrong.”

   The next second was a blur, and Harry threw his hand up to shield from the hot blue light, but before he knew it, it was over.

   He cautiously looked up to see the younger Sirius lying unconscious on the road, Snape somehow holding a wand, Lily wiping blood from her mouth – and Cassane crumpling, toppling backwards and convulsing on the pavement.

   “Good that you still keep an extra wand in your boot –”

   “Shut up and help me hold him!” Lily snarled, dropping to her knees and grabbing Cassane’s hands before they could begin clawing at his eyes. “Sir! Nathan, snap out it –”

   Snape dropped to his knees and methodically seized Cassane’s thrashing legs, but it wasn’t any use. Foam was beginning to form at the edge of his mouth, and Harry could the outlines of bones in his hands and face began to gyrate –

   “Sir, please – goddamn it, Severus, what can we do –”

   “The spell will probably kill him,” Snape said curtly. “He obviously hasn’t internalized his grief properly – he hasn’t screamed yet… he’s not responding well…”

   “Well, can’t you do anything?”

   Snape bit his lip. “His wife and daughter were killed by Death Eaters, correct?”

   “Yeah, but –”

   “Do you remember them?”

   Lily frowned. “A bit… time seems to have blurred together for the past few –”

   “Shove your memory inside his head – it might snap him free of the spell if he remembers who he’s fighting for.” Snape rose to his feet. “Or it might snap him completely or render him catatonic, I can’t be sure. What about Black?”

   “Yes, what about me?” Sirius muttered. “Why don’t we start with why the hell I can’t remember any of this?”

   “I’ll Obliviate him,” Lily said, taking a deep breath. “He doesn’t need to know about this when he comes to –”

   “Guess that’s why,” Tonks muttered.

   “Nobody needs to know,” Snape spat, looking down at his father’s mangled body with a grimace. “And what will become of Cassane’s gang?”

   Lily took an unsteady breath. “It… it depends whether or not he wakes up… or survives this. Either way…” She looked up at Snape. “When I’m in that mind, it’s easy, but now… I’m pregnant, Sev.” She looked down again at her belly. “I’m really amazed I’ve done this along as I have.”

   “You’ll be back fighting before too long,” Snape said, bending and picking up his father’s body. “We both will – perhaps even on the same side.”

   “Severus?”

   “Yes?”

   “I’m sorry about your father,” Lily said quietly, looking away. “I… I thought you weren’t close –”

   “We weren’t,” Snape interrupted. “I hated him, and he me.”

   “Then why did you chase after him, try to save him –”

   Snape shrugged bitterly. “If I knew, I probably wouldn’t have hated him so much. I’m sorry about your parents, Lily.”

   “You know something?”

   Snape raised an eyebrow.

   “I’d almost say you were right,” Lily murmured, rising to her feet, “that their deaths drove me to this, and that you pulled me out before I was gone… except it would be a lie.” She blinked, and her eyes grew grim. “Except that deep down, I still want the men and women who killed my parents to suffer horribly – and at my hands. And that doesn’t make me a monster.”

   She met his eyes, and for a horrifying instant, Harry could see the death return to them. “That makes me human. So long, Severus.”

   Snape took a step back, and Harry could see that he was more than a little disconcerted by Lily’s vehemence. “I need to bury my father. Don’t tell Potter this happened – he doesn’t need to know. He never needs to know.”

   “What don’t I need to know, Snivellus?”

   Harry’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes snapped to the figure walking out of the shadows, wearing similar armour to Lily’s – but while dried blood had been stained onto her armour, his gleamed with a sullen sheen.

   He could hear Snape inhale sharply as he set his father’s body down on the pavement, and he saw Lily turn with surprise, but the new arrival didn’t quite seem to care as he idly scratched his temple with the edge of his wand, his hazel eyes gleaming with undiluted hatred.

   Harry couldn’t help but feel his heart pound faster. He looks like me… he almost exactly looks like me -

   “Got to wonder what you’re trying to hide here,” James Potter said conversationally, giving his wand an experimental twirl before pointing it straight at Snape’s heart. “Considering from what I’ve seen, you may have just tried to kill Cassane. It’s probably pretty obvious, but I don’t take kindly to people trying to kill my boss and a long-time family friend.”

   Snape’s wand snapped up. “Then have you come to kill me, Potter?” He spat the name, his face contorted into an expression of loathing that Harry had long ago become familiar with.

   James shrugged, and for the first time, Harry noticed that unlike his mother’s expression, his father almost seemed normal. There wasn’t any insane light or deadened stare or pure malevolence in his expression – nothing but crisp, pure professionalism.

   “Nothing personal, Snivellus,” James said evenly, “but after I married Lily, I pretty much got over hating you – no offense, but you’re not really worth my time.” He shrugged. “Except for the whole Death Eater thing – and that means you just die.”

   Lily was struggling to her feet, and for the first time, Harry noticed the unevenness in her breathing. “James, maybe we should –”

   “Lily, sweetheart, this is our job,” James said lightly, giving his wife a hand up. “If you’re up for it, let’s handle this like professionals. Otherwise, I’ve got no problem disposing of him.”

   Lily took a shuddering breath – and it was almost like she dropped into a trance. The indecision was gone instantly. Her motions grew smoother, her eyes grew colder, and her face lost expression.

   It was as if Snape’s spell hadn’t affected her at all.

   “As I said, Snape,” James continued, his tone as calm as if he was offering Snape breakfast, “when you’re burning in hell, keep in mind there’s no hard feelings here. We’re just doing our job.”

   Snape took a step back and dropped into a defensive position. “A wizard’s Bonnie and Clyde, then” he spat, his eyes fixed on Lily again.

   Lily stiffened slightly at the comment, but James frowned. “I have no idea what that means –”

   This time, Snape didn’t waste time. Another hot jet of blue light erupted from his wand, slicing straight through James’ split-second shield and hitting him hard in the chest.

   James staggered back, and Harry’s grip on Tonks’ hand tightened as he watched his father cough and spit blood….

   And before Snape’s unbelieving eyes, James shook his head and cracked a disappointed smile.

   “Nice try – except I don’t feel guilty about the people I’ve brought down. I bring Death Eaters to justice, Snivellus – it’s a job.” James snorted. “Granted, it’s not a great job – pay’s a little weak and the benefits aren’t great, but –”

   Snape wasn’t finished – but Lily was faster. Every single hex and curse Snape cast was deflected, either sizzling away or gouging thick holes in the pavement.

   “Snape, I don’t think you realize that we’ve faced your Lord Voldemort and lived,” James said with exasperation.

   “Twice, James,” Lily murmured, coughing slightly and wiping a smear of blood away from her lips.

   “That’s right – twice, Snape!” James held up two gloved fingers and shook his head. “Do you honestly think you have a hope in all hell of beating the two of us?”

   Lily coughed harder, blood spilling from her mouth. “James…”

   “Lily – Lily!”

   Harry’s heart hammered as his mother collapsed, blood spilling from her lips as she began to shake and convulse – just like Cassane had.

   James dropped to her side as he looked wildly at Snape. “What – what the fuck did you do?”

   “I hit her with the spell a while ago!” Snape snapped, very real panic filling his face as he rushed forward. “This isn’t supposed to happen – might be a side-effect of the pregnancy, if the fetus’ presence disturbed the spell and she’s now having adverse reactions –”

   James took a steadying breath as he fought to keep control. “Okay,” he growled, “then why don’t you tell me how to fix it, Snape!”

   Snape closed his eyes, and Harry could tell that he was thinking as hard and fast as he could. “Memories,” he finally said. “Give her happy memories of her parents, any happy memories that you might have. Hell, give her any happy memories – she’s strong enough, she should pull through –”

   Lily’s scream nearly deafened Harry, and his eyes watered as he clapped his hands over his ears at the agonized sound –

   “Do something!” Snape roared, snapping his wand up – and his sleeve slid down, revealing the Dark Mark.

   A Dark Mark that was burned black.

   James’ eyes went wide. “Snape, did you –”

   “No, but they’re coming!” Snape snarled, pointing his wand at Sirius’ unconscious form. “Obliviate!”

   James’ Shield Charm was a second too slow, and Sirius twitched for a few seconds before going still.

   “What the FUCK –”

   “Have Lily explain it!” Snape snapped, scrambling to his feet and Summoning his father’s body into his arms – nearly knocking himself backward from the bulk. “Get her memories and fast, and then get to St. Mungo’s – she’ll get through, I promise!”

   “But you –”

   “Would I lie about something like this?” Snape screamed. “About her?”

   “What about Cassane –”

   Snape closed his eyes. “Do the same for him – but from what he’s gone through, if he survives and wakes up from catatonia, I’d run as fast as I could. He’ll never be the same again.”

   Harry didn’t understand the comment – he only watched as Snape began to run and James screamed furiously after him. But before he could see anymore, the memory blurred and shifted again…

   It was an office, cluttered and filled with disorganized papers. Purple fluttering memos zoomed around the room, waiting to be snagged out the air by the men now entering.

   “ – it’s not a difficult case –”

   “You try fighting against Keaton Matthis and tell me it’s not a ‘hard case’!” the other man snapped. Harry didn’t recognize the sallow-skinned man, but he immediately didn’t like the feel of him. His hair was slicked back with far too much product, and even his clothes seemed to glisten with oil. There was a clingy air of jittery desperation around his every move, and his voice was painfully nasal.

   “I’m asking politely,” the other man – Snape, Harry realized – said tersely. “As a favour.”

   “I don’t owe you any favours –”

   “No, but you owe my mother one,” Snape retorted, slumping into a chair opposite the desk. He looked terrible, as if he had aged years since Harry had seen him. “And I’m calling it in – take the case.”

   “There is no case, Severus!” the other man snapped, his voice an irritating whine. “We – no, I – can’t win this! Not with Matthis! And technically, we don’t have anything to defend your position with –”
   “Other than the fact that Lily Evans –”

   “Lily Potter –”

   “That she and her husband were responsible for saving Cassane’s life,” Snape snarled, slamming his palm on the desk. “She served in the bloody Order after she left and worked part-time as an Auror – what more do you need, Miguel?”

   Harry recognized the name now. “That – that’s Miguel Prince!” he whispered, trying to keep the raw excitement from his voice. “This must be when they talk about the –”

   “I need more,” Miguel Prince said flatly, ‘because frankly, that’s not enough. The victims of Cassane’s rampage are demanding justice – and right now, Crouch is listening to them a lot more than he’s listening to me.”

   “Then spin it as Lily neutralizing Cassane then, if that’s what you’re concerned about!” Snape growled. “Because that’s true too!”

   “I don’t think you understand the politics of this, Snape,” Miguel said worriedly, finally sitting down and fidgeting as he looked up at Snape. “Now that You-Know-Who is gone and nominations for Minister are coming up, Crouch knows that he has to curry favour from certain people if he wants the job.”

   “The populace-at-large –”

   “Mean squat when it comes to this and you know it,” Miguel said, raising his hands helplessly. “Severus, you know I’m on your side here, but there’s nothing I can present to convince a judge not to close the vaults belonging to the Potters for war crimes committed against the populace-at-large! There’s an orgy of evidence – most of it delivered in person by the culprits!”

   Snape ground his teeth. “Fine, then – use the argument that the money is for her child.”

   “And if we could present Harry Potter at the hearing, we’d be in the clear!” Miguel cried. “But the problem is nobody knows where the boy is! If you called in Dumbledore –”

   “I’m not speaking to that old man,” Snape cut him off, his eyes narrowing. “Just because I’m now a professor at his thrice-damned school does not mean I will be reliant upon him.” He looked down at his clenched fists. “He has enough power over me already…”

   “You’re a bloody fool, Severus, that’s what you are,” Miguel said exasperatedly. “Fine, we won’t go to Dumbledore – so you might as well pack your case right in! Matthis has precedent with the Vuneren Vaults, and he has a string of bodies. We’ve got nothing, Severus – nothing that’ll be worth a damn.”

   Snape took a heavy breath. “What about Cassane?”

   “I can’t put him on the stand,” Miguel said flatly. “Publically, he’s a tragic victim, losing his mind when his family was killed – hell, he’s been in St. Mungo’s for over a year and a half now! He’s been catatonic, who knows what he remembers – for Merlin’s sake, I can’t put him on the stand!”

   “He’s probably the only man alive who knows the whole truth –”

   “Maybe,” Miguel admitted, “but I’ll look like the villain putting him on the stand, regardless of the judge. Yes, I know he’s done things just as bad… but the public favours him, and Crouch has held him up as a hero.”

   “If you run by that logic,” Snape said through clenched teeth, “the Potters are victims just as much.”

   “And I can’t put dead people on the stand to curry sympathy,” Miguel replied with a helpless expression. “Severus, I’m sorry, but I can’t defend this. Damn it, why do you care about this woman so bloody much?”

   Snape didn’t answer the question, only rising to his feet, towering over Miguel Prince.

   “You are one of the last Princes,” Snape said softly, “and that means you owe me the favour promised to my mother. By my Prince blood, I call in the favour. You will defend the Potter Vaults, and you will prevent them from being sealed, am I quite clear?”

   “Severus, I’ll do my best – wait, Severus! Severus!”

   The voice echoed as the room shifted beneath Harry’s feet – and suddenly they were in a dank, chill hallway, lit by torches and with heavy numbered doors lining the walls. Snape was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his unkempt hair falling across his face…

  The door next to him creaked open and Snape stood up, his eyes gleaming as they fell on Miguel Prince, his shoulders slumped as he slipped out of the room.

   “So –”

   “Snape, don’t even start,” Miguel snapped. “We lost, now go home.”

   “How can they –”

   “I told you we didn’t have a case!” Miguel snarled, tossing his heap of papers on the floor. “Matthis mopped the floor with us and even with Claudius Kemester judging, I’ve never been so humiliated in my life!”

   Snape’s eyes flashed. “Claudius Kemester – where is he?”

   “Probably packing up and heading up to his office,” Miguel replied, looking down at his papers sullenly before drawing his wand and summoning them into his arms again. “He seemed like he was in a hurry, so if you want to catch him before his next engagement, you ought to move fast.”

   Snape set his jaw, and began walking down the hall towards the stairs. He didn’t break into a run, not now – he instead stormed down the halls, his cloak billowing behind him. But unlike at Hogwarts, he didn’t look nearly as impressive.

   “So… this was it?” Harry said as he jogged along behind with Tonks and Sirius. “That’s it? Snape apparently tried to defend the faults… and lost? Because he still had feelings for my mum?” He shook his head incredulously. “It just seems…”

   “Kind of sad, really,” Tonks finished, shaking her head as they ducked into the elevator that Snape stepped into. “It’s not tragic… it’s just… I’d almost say pathetic, but that’s not quite it.”

   “What I don’t get is why he just didn’t tell me,” Harry said with frustration. “It would have saved us all so much time –”

   “You honestly think Snape has ever been that straightforward, or would suffer the embarrassment that this is?” Sirius countered, raking a hand through his hair. “And you’d probably tell me, and… yeah, it wouldn’t have ended well.”

   They got off at the top floor, and Snape set off at a fast pace, darting down a hallway here and there until they reached a tarnished nameplate next to an oaken door.

   Judge Claudius Kemester, Wizengamot.

   Snape seemed to think for the next few seconds, and then he pointed his wand at the doorknob. Without a word, the lock clicked and Snape was inside. Carefully locking the door behind him, he tapped himself on the head, slowly vanishing from view as the Disillusionment Charm took hold.

   “Is he just going to hide and wait?” Harry whispered to Tonks as they looked around the office. It wasn’t much to speak of – cheap wooden panelling, several tables strewn with papers around the room, several old paintings on the walls, a few bookshelves, and a large window along the back wall, showing a snowy night. Strangely, there were no curtains on the window – just cheap streaked glass showing a chill London night.

   “This must have been early December, 1981,” Sirius murmured, looking down at the papers strewn on the desk. “There’s a Daily Prophet here… looks like Crouch is nearly at the top… before the Longbottom attacks in February ruined him.”

   “Why do I get the strange feeling that Crouch might be involved in all of this somehow?” Harry muttered, looking at the paintings on the wall.

   “Probably because he’s entering the room right now,” Tonks replied, pointing at the door, where Claudius Kemester was holding the door for a crisply dressed Crouch, who was brushing a hint of snow off of his lapel –

***

   Kemester was used to Pensieves, but he had never liked them. It had always disconcerted him that he was seeing a scene from somebody else’s life, that he was standing inside the scene – and yet regardless of what actually occurred, he could do nothing to alter it.

   Reed would say it’s my desire to get involved in everything… and he’s probably right…

   The room he landed in immediately brought back memories – old, old memories. He remembered sitting quietly in the corner of the office, waiting for his father to come from a case. He remembered the papers on every surface that he had never bothered to read, due to the dense text and lack of any interesting pictures. In retrospect, Kemester thought to himself, I would have killed to have read those papers now… what I could have learned…

   He remembered peering out the window at the London landscape outside, his hands pressed against the glass. He remembered his father’s irritation at the fingerprints.

   He remembered walking into that office years later, when it had been given to a different judge – and he remembered grinning slightly when he saw the fingerprints on the window that the elderly new judge had never seen nor bothered to clean.

   The door cracked open, and Kemester’s gaze snapped to it. He inhaled sharply as he saw his father - younger, albeit his hair still greying – hold the door for a man with a razor-sharp parting and a narrow moustache.

   Barty Crouch, former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

   “So I trust your flight in from York was tolerable,” Claudius began, accepting Crouch’s cloak and hanging it on a nearby coatrack.

  “Smooth enough,” Crouch said briskly. “And I trust your case went… well?”

   Claudius paused, and Kemester could see his father thinking as he closed the door. “Well enough.”

   “Well, don’t hold me in suspense, Claudius,” Crouch said lightly, taking a seat opposite the judge’s desk. “Tell me the good news.”

   Claudius clenched his teeth as he sat down opposite Crouch, on the other side of the desk groaning under the weight of books and papers. “The case is over.”

   “And?” Crouch pursued, a hungry light in his eyes.

   Claudius raised a hand helplessly. “What do you think?”

   Crouch broke into a satisfied smile. “That’s perfect. Claudius, I’m so grateful for your –”

   “Trust me when I say that I did not enjoy this, Barty,” Claudius interrupted, his expression icy. “I did not enjoy these cases.”

   “But you understand their necessity,” Crouch returned, raising a finger. “Without them, certain peoples will feel that the war crimes of some have been furnished by our government. This way, we have taken definitive action to placate these people.”

   “You have taken money that was rightfully that of good people,” Claudius growled, “the rewards of their actions –”

   “Most of which were never, ever formally condoned by the Ministry,” Crouch interrupted.

   “Wasn’t for your lack of trying,” Claudius said bitingly. “If Cassane had agreed to your offers to deputize his unit, you would have never taken such actions.”

   “I wouldn’t say that,” Crouch replied lightly, reaching into his robes and pulling a bottle of goblin rye, seeming from charmed pockets. “A drink?”

   “Conjured or purchased?”

   Crouch huffed. “I’m not an animal, Claudius. This is rye, so purchased, obviously.”

   Claudius carefully took the bottle and scanned the label for a few seconds before setting it down on a side table and withdrawing a pair of glasses. “I don’t find this occasion much to celebrate about, Barty – the Potters used to be friends of mine. And that is why I built in a condition in my judgement for their son.”

   Crouch’s eyes narrowed as he sat up straighter. “That wasn’t part of the deal –”

   “I don’t really care, Barty,” Claudius retorted in a remarkably even tone, setting his glass down carefully on a silver coast. “If Harry Potter is able to provide the proper paperwork to the goblins at Gringotts, he is entitled to that money. Granted, there will be surcharges to reopen the vault, but I figure that money will just come out of the bounties the Ministry paid the Potters for everything they did when they were working with Cassane.” Claudius smirked. “I look after my friends, and the Potters were always friends of mine.”

   “Well, while I can respect said… chivalry, times change,” Crouch countered, accepting the glass from the judge and taking a short sip. “And sometimes, one must deal with troubles of the past with… modern solutions. Evolving solutions.”

   Claudius did not raise the glass to his own lips, only fixing Crouch with a stern expression. “Where are you going with this, Barty?”

   “What I mean is that I need to make sure my bases are covered, when running for Minister,” Crouch replied, taking another sip before setting the glass on a stack of papers. Kemester could see his father visibly twitch at the insouciance – nobody placed drinks anywhere near Claudius Kemester’s paperwork. “Rounding up the Death Eaters, that keeps the unruly common folk in line, but you and I both know it is not them that decide the Minister’s position.”

   “Which explains why you haven’t had me go after Lucius Malfoy,” Claudius drawled, taking a sip of his rye as he fixed Crouch with a knowing expression. “Even despite all the gold that went into the Ministry’s pockets from his vaults.”

   “We’ve never paid Malfoy a Knut, Claudius,” Crouch said sternly, “and I do not approve of your comparison between him and your cases.”

   “Why?” Claudius replied innocently. “Both are politics, pure and simple.”

   Crouch’s expression hardened, but he did not respond to the comment, only taking another sip of his rye. “The fact of the matter is,” he continued, setting his glass back down on the papers and completely ignoring the twitch in Claudius’ jaw, “while I have managed to appease that demographic, it will only be a matter of time before things begin to break down. As time will pass, people will not revile folk like the Potters or Vunerens for the crimes they committed. Cassane will not be remembered for his psychopathic episode, but for the great tragedy that brought him low and destroyed his life. No, history will find a way to tint their careers in rose, paint them as heroes.”

   “That’s because they were,” Claudius said in a low voice. “And thanks to your new laws and your private little sanctions, everything they did was almost legal too.”

   “The point is that their heroics will mean something different depending on perspective and time,” Crouch finished calmly, draining the rest of rye and setting the glass onto a different pile of papers on Kemester’s desk. “And if I want to capitalize on that perspective, certain actions must be taken.”

   He reached into his jacket and pulled out an official-looking document.

   “What is that?” Claudius asked cautiously.

   “It’s a warrant, signed by the Minister of Magic herself,” Crouch replied, carefully unrolling it and spreading it across his lap.

   He looked up at the judge. “And it’s for your arrest, Claudius Kemester.”

   Claudius shot to his feet. “What?”

   “You see, I’m planning for the future here,” Crouch said calmly, placing the warrant on Claudius’ desk. “Planning for when some intrepid young report in, say, two years from now, digs up the old cases and wonders why on earth the Ministry chose to close down the vaults of some of their greatest heroes. And then they’ll find your name and understand immediately, as you will be spending a long time in Azkaban for treason to the Ministry and stealing the justly-earned rewards of those poor unfortunate heroes.

   “And no,” Crouch finished, his crisp cold smile never fading, “you will not get your day in court.”

   “I’m a judge, Crouch, and I know the legal proceedings backwards and forwards,” Claudius snarled, his hands balled into fists, “so you’re wrong – I will get my day in court, and I will destroy you!”

   “For what?” Crouch replied with a smirk. “I’m a rising star and you… well, you’re a spent firework, Claudius. Already forgotten. Who will believe your story – that I, Barty Crouch, one of the heroes of the war, conspired to ruin the career of an irrelevant judge who spent the last days of his career attempting to either cover up the ill-gotten gains of a team of murderers or destroy the fortunes of dead heroes.” Crouch’s laugh was triumphant.

   “The truth means less than nothing to you –”

   “On the contrary, it means everything,” Crouch retorted, his eyebrows narrowing. “Perception, on the other hand… that is far more malleable.”

   Claudius closed his mouth, his entire body shaking with supressed rage. Kemester honestly did not know how his father would react to this. But then again, he suddenly thought, how would I – how could I – react to this? Crouch has trapped him so neatly…

   “So you have the choice, Kemester,” Crouch said, his voice terrifyingly reasonable. “You can turn me in on your allegations. Odds are, your family’s name will be disgraced, along with all of those that you once associated with. Nobody will care that you were the one to reveal the truth about the actions of the Potters or the Vunerens or the Dolohovs – well, perhaps not the Dolohovs, but the point remains – they will only care about said actions, and they will be appalled. Suddenly, neither side will seem so great, and those that do not lose hope and flock to an enemy banner will become disheartened. People like having a clear side to follow – they don’t like conflicts where there are no heroes.”

  Crouch paused and leaned forward, his voice dropping. “So what will you tell your sons, Claudius? Will you tell them the truth, that all of those heroes were really the worst of people? Will you tell them that their father was not only an enabler of that villainy, but also the worst kind of traitor, destroying the hopes of a society already brittle from years of war?”

   “I was following the law, Crouch,” Claudius said in a low voice. “Ultimately, crimes were committed, and I took the necessary action to mete out justice. And while I hated the judgements I was forced to pass in closing those vaults, the law must remain sacrosanct – even if it is made and maintained by those who are corrupt to the very core.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “That is what my sons will remember, that is what they will believe. They will know that their father stood for something greater than himself.”

   “Those who cling to the law will find it dragging them to the bottom of the sea,” Crouch replied softly. “And it does no good to be the last man standing in a ruined field – because that will be the case, Kemester. Your sons may respect your point of view, but when they find themselves unable to rise because their father chose his own foolish pride against what must become the truth, they will resent you, and hate you, and all of those things you taught them will remain pointless.

   “Or,” Crouch added, rising to his feet as well, “you can take my offer, and go to Azkaban quietly – I will personally ensure the media and the rest of the Ministry discovers nothing – and I promise I will personally inform your sons of the truth. How their father sacrificed himself for the betterment of his society, because he wanted them to have opportunities for the future, like any good father would. They may not understand it now, but as they grow and rise to the heights of their careers, they will realize the truth.”

   Kemester closed his eyes as the raging emotions came rushing back. It had been a lie, the entire time – not only was his father innocent, but he had been manipulated by Crouch into a choice he made because he thought it would mean something for his sons.

   And Crouch never even bothered to come to our house. He never said a goddamn thing to us before he died… and the truth leaked out anyways.

   Claudius looked at Crouch with the air of a man who had been offered a choice – between the gallows and the blood-stained block.

   “You will tell my sons?”

   “I promise,” Crouch replied.

    Kemester had seen enough. He leapt into the air, rising faster and faster – he didn’t care how the memory ended, he knew how the memory ended –

   He came up out of the Pensieve and landed hard on the chair parallel to his father’s bed. He was breathing hard, each breath catching in his lungs.

   “He lied to you, Father,” Kemester said in a low voice. “He never told us a damn thing. He never said anything about the choice you were forced to make.”

  He sighed bitterly. “And if I had to make that choice… shit, I don’t know what I would have done. I really don’t. I guess you should have just assumed Crouch was a liar, damn his promises… “

   He ran a hand over his patchy hair, feeling his lines of his uneven scalp. “I… at least now I know the truth. Bartholomew always said something didn’t seem quite right… and he was right, Father. You never betrayed the law… or betrayed us…”

   He shook his head. “Father, I..”

   He turned to look at his father – and noticed his chest was not moving, and his eyes were closed.

   Claudius Kemester was dead.

***

   “You will tell my sons?”

   “I promise,” Crouch replied.

   Harry had heard enough. Taking Tonks’ and Sirius’ hands, he pushed off from the ground, rising higher and higher until –

   “Well, that wasn’t what I expected,” Sirius began after a few long seconds of silence, running a hand through his hair. “No wonder Kemester’s so screwed up –”

   “Sirius, something’s not right,” Tonks said instantly, her hand snapping to her wand as she looked wildly around the room. “This is the study at Snape’s house – we entered in the kitchen…”

   Harry stretched out his hand to touch the armchair standing next to him – and his hand passed right through it.

   “We’re still in a memory,” he breathed, his eyes latching on the Pensieve and drifting around the room. “That’s why it took us so long to fall before –”

   Click.

   Harry ripped his wand free and nearly cast a curse, but he stopped himself just in time. It wouldn’t be useful here…

   “Okay,” Sirius said in a low voice, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

   For sitting in an armchair, deep in the shadows of the room, was Severus Snape – a modern-looking Severus Snape. He looked exhausted, but his eyes still blazed with the same bitter hatred that they always did.

   “For those who have discovered the Pensieve here,” Snape said aloud, his eyes fixing on the space behind the basin – where Harry happened to be standing, “let me dispose of the quick questions first. Yes, what you saw within were legitimate memories – my memories, to be precise. From an outside perspective, one could describe them as memories within memories, or my own memories that I am viewing from the context of this memory.” His lip curled. “I don’t think I can put things any more simply.”

   Snape’s eyes narrowed. “If this message is found by any other than Sirius Black, Nymphadora Tonks, and Harry Potter, you have wasted your time perusing these past thoughts, as I highly doubt they will prove useful to you. You might as well exit the memory before you waste any more valuable time – considering how quickly our world is moving towards oblivion, I would advise you against wasting time.”

   Tonks shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

   “If this message has been found by either Sirius Black, Nymphadora Tonks, or Harry Potter in turn,” Snape continued, his lip curling with absolute disgust as he spoke each name, “then I have messages to deliver to you.”

  He turned his head slightly, where Tonks was standing. “Sirius Black.”

   Tonks hastily grabbed Sirius and shoved him into where Snape was looking.

   “You know, it could have been real funny if he was talking to empty air –”

   “Just shut up.”

   Snape’s face contorted into a sneer. “Black, I sincerely hope this gives additional context of why I despise you for the pathetically mewling stain upon wizarding society that you are. You are a violent, puerile, hopelessly juvenile pissant who deserves nothing less than a thorough incineration.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “And you killed my father – I hope whatever conscience you haven’t managed to eradicate makes the rest of your miserable existence even more worthless.”

   He turned his head now, looking at the left, where Tonks had stepped. “Miss Tonks.”

   Tonks, despite herself, raised her head defiantly as her hair went neon blue.

   “I feel nothing but pity towards you,” Snape said coldly. “You have become nothing more than a pawn on two chessboards playing simultaneously, and I suspect your fate will be far worse than dead by the end of this.” He shook his head disappointedly. “A shame, because you are competent, and you always have been. But I feel it necessary to warn you that you should terminate your manipulators before they – either by choice or by accident – terminate you.” He smoothed a wrinkle from his robes. “And I would add that your feelings are only destroying you further… but I suspect you already know that.”

  Tonks’ mouth fell open. “Are you… is he fucking kidding? After what we saw –”

   “I am aware of the hypocrisy,” Snape finished with a disdainful snort. “Suffice to say, said criticisms will lack a certain validity now.”

   He then turned to the middle of his range of vision, and his lip curled again. “Potter.”

   Harry took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for whatever Snape had to say.

   For the first time in the memory, Snape seemed a bit unsure of what to say, but he quickly recovered. “You remind me of your parents in many ways – unfortunately, more your father, and perhaps most unfortunately, enough of your mother to draw my notice.” Snape’s nostrils flared. “You are not nearly as competent as she is, but that is not relevant anymore. What is relevant is this lesson. And perhaps if you utilize the few scraps of her that you inherited, you will listen to me for once.”

   Sirius snorted. “What a pantload.”

    “Potter,” Snape continued, slowly rising to his feet, “as you know, I overhead a piece of a prophecy that the Dark Lord now knows in full. He is quite content to destroy your life piece by piece until you confront him and seal your death. You have endeavoured to take actions to choose your own destiny, but such actions will prove futile if you do not realize the truth at the very beginning. Remember that cold night that began all of this, Potter, and the terrible choice you made. By all means continue meddling with magic that is beyond your capacity to understand, but realize the origin – otherwise, your life will be worth less than nothing.

   “You now have the information you need regarding the Potter Vaults. Use it wisely – your parents did not kill people and damage their own lives for you to squander their wealth.” Snape scowled. “And even though you might find that it has lost some relevance given the fracas of your life, you may find it in your best interest to deal with Hogwarts sooner rather than later.”

   Snape let out a deep breath and eyed the space where Tonks, Harry, and Sirius stood. “You will not hear from me any further, as I am now far beyond your reach, and it is a waste of time to hunt for me. I do not care for your questions or your petty concerns, as this part of my life is long-overdue for a conclusion. You will never see me again. Yes, Black, I can already imagine the elation on your face, but trust me when I say this.” Snape’s face twisted into a cruel smile. “Believe me when I say that a day will come, Black, when you will wish I was still around.”

   Sirius snorted. “Yeah, fat chance.”

   “That is all I wish to say,” Snape said briskly, giving a brief nod. “The house is rigged to explode two hours after the alarm spells you undoubtedly tripped go off, so I would advise you hurry. Oh, and Black?”

   “What?” Sirius snarled, glaring at the memory.

   Snape’s cruel smile only grew. “There is a reason, after all, why this might have seemed less difficult than you’ve expected. So if my timing is correct, the Imperius Curse has been dropped, but I think I’ll leave it to you to explain to Remus Lupin why you tortured him so brutally.”

   Harry’s mind went blank. What.

   “After all, the Polyjuice Potion should have worn off by now.”