Sacrifice

“Fred, George, be good for Mrs. Kettleburn; no, don’t you give me that look, she was very kind to agree to watch you after what you put her through last time.” Giving her sons a knowing look, Molly turned to her older children. “Bill, you know to help out with putting the others to bed; Charlie, feed the chickens, now please before you forget, and Percy,” sighing, she tugged the book out of her son’s hands and placed a quick kiss on his forehead, “don’t just hide in your room reading all night, alright? Bedtime is still eight o’clock even if your father and I are gone.”

“Molly….” Arthur tapped his wrist, glancing pointedly at the fireplace. With a final wave of her wand to start the dishes, his wife hurried after him. “Coming, coming. Merlin’s beard, Albus knows better than to wait for us to start. Goodness, where are my shoes?”

Taking the offered Oxfords from her husband, Molly ducked through into the fireplace, emerging a moment later in the living room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Dingy as ever, even with the fire crackling in the hearth, the Order’s headquarters was remarkably quiet tonight.

Low conversation greeted them as they walked into the dining room. Most of the Order was clustered around the worn table: Frank and Alice Longbottom, speaking softly with Minerva McGonagall, Alastor Moody, wand still clenched in his hand glared out the window, and several other familiar faces looked up to offer greetings.

Taking her seat between Arthur and Minerva, Molly glanced at Dumbledore. Their leader’s blue eyes were uncharacteristically narrowed, and he kept his eyes on the clock, brows drawn together in what looked almost like worry.

“Has something happened?” She whispered, turning to Minerva in an attempt to keep their conversation private.

The older woman shook her head, lips thinning in concern. “Not that he’s told me.” She sighed, “Then again, there could be. Albus-” She cut off abruptly when Alastor jumped to his feet, wand in hand.

Turning, Molly clutched at her chest.
A Death-Eater, black robes billowing, stood in the doorway. The distinctive silver mask, covering all but his sharp raven eyes, glinted harshly in the candlelight. In spite of the wands leveled at his chest, the figure remained standing tall though Molly didn’t miss the rigidity in his stance.

Somewhere beyond the panic, her brain toyed with the suspicion that some of the magic rippling across her skin may have been unintentional, but she was too distracted to spare it much thought.

“Wait!” Gaining his feet, Albus held up his hands warningly, “Everyone, take your seats! I promise, there is no threat to you here.” Turning to the black-cloaked man, his tone turned reproachful, “You shouldn’t have worn the mask.”

“And spoil the surprise?” Surprised at the cool sarcasm in the almost youthful voice, Molly squinted at the Death Eater. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Headmaster.”

“Explain, now.” Moody growled, still glaring at the dark-clothed figure, though he’d lowered his wand a fraction. “You better have a bloody good reason for bringing one of them here.”

With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore resumed his seat. “Yes. Well,” he steepled his fingers, looking around the table, “as you all know, Voldemort’s efforts have become more and more devastating of late. Originally, I planned to leave you all out of contact with our spy however, recent developments indicate it would be best for you all to have a better understanding of our networks.”

Motioning for the Death Eater to have a seat, Dumbledore continued, “He has done a remarkable job keeping us informed; those of you who have been in communication with our Aurors in the field know that we owe him several lives.”

“That doesn’t tell me who the hell he is, or why we should trust him.” Moody crossed his arms, mimicking their newly-discovered spy who remained stubbornly in the doorway.

Apparently realizing the Auror wasn’t going to let this pass, Dumbledore sighed, “take off the mask, my boy.”

For a moment, the thin shoulders stiffened under the robes, before the Death Eater ever so slightly shook his head. “No.”

If Molly wasn’t acutely aware of their leader’s years, she could’ve sworn he was pouting. “Child-”

“You know as well as I do, Albus, that word is hardly fitting.” Chin raised in defiance, the Death Eater’s hands clenched tighter, than relaxed at his sides. “I’m more comfortable with it on.”

Apparently tired of the argument, Dumbledore waved a finger and the mask flew across the room. Reacting just a moment too late, their spy was left grasping at air, a brief look of horror flashing across his narrow features.

“Snape?!” Moody’s face was practically purple, but Molly found herself only vaguely aware of his protests.

The spy was young, didn’t look like he could be out of Hogwarts if she were honest. His dark hair spilled over his shoulders, keeping his face shadowed even as he stared at them with those midnight eyes. A bruise along his jaw caught her eye, and as her eyes trailed downwards, she winced at how thin he was. Snape… an odd name, not one she recognized. Perhaps the boy was illegitimate.

Either way, she was pulled back to the present when he flinched. Good intentions or not, Albus had just taken away any shelter Snape had in keeping his identity secret, and an incensed Auror was striding around the table toward him.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the boy managed, flicking his wand into his hand and pointing it squarely at Moody, “I’ll hex you.”

“Like hell you will.” Grabbing the front of Snape’s robes, Alastor yanked him out of the room without incident.

Clearly weary of all this, Albus paused for a moment before standing. “If you’ll give me a moment,” he murmured, heading for the door.

“Perhaps,” at her interruption, the older man paused, “a woman’s touch may be more delicate? I’ve wrangled more than a few young ones, Headmaster,” Molly nodded toward the door, “and Alastor’s been to our house more than once since he and Arthur work together at the Ministry. I can handle whatever he may decide to do.”

After taking a moment to consider, Dumbledore nodded.

Slipping into the hall connecting the living room and dining area, Molly paused to listen. Alastor’s voice was loud, and when she peered through into the living room, she caught sight of the Auror pacing in front of the fire, hands knotted in agitation.

“Bloody hell, Snape, what were you thinking?” Turning to glare at the boy who sat, perched on the edge of the couch, Moody shook his head. “I tell you to find something to do with yourself and you couldn’t have taken up… I don’t know, Quidditch?” He huffed, glaring at the teen in exasperation.

Snape smirked. “I taught myself piano.”

“You became a sodding Death Eater, Severus!” Grabbing the boy’s wrist, Moody yanked it into the firelight and Molly winced. The infamous Mark was pitch black and seemed to writhe across the inflamed skin of Snape’s forearm.

Clenching his teeth, the boy, Severus, Molly reminded herself, pulled away. “I was already involved, way before you and- that.” His eyes skittered to the floor, “at least now I’m doing something to help. Besides,” he looked up, features steely again, “it’s not like your Aurors were having any luck infiltrating the Dark Lord’s ranks. How many more were you willing to sacrifice? Rosse, Haworth, Magnus, they were good men,” he swallowed hard, “but they aren’t familiar enough with dark magic to do the things I can.”

“They’re also over age and trained Aurors,” Moody growled, “more credentials than you’ve got. This isn’t a game, Sev. Merlin,” he dragged a hand across his jaw, “I wish you’d told me before you went through with this asinine idea.”

“You wouldn’t have talked me out of it.” Leaning back against the couch, Severus shrugged. “I’m too stubborn.”

“No, but I would’ve given you some back-up. Who does Albus have in there with you?”

When Severus remained silent, Moody’s brows drew together in a noticeable glare, “you’re doing this alone?”

“I work better al-”

“Bull, and you know it. I’m contacting the Aurors as soon as this blasted meeting is over-”

“No!” Severus was on his feet, almost eye level with Alastor, voice laced with a quiet rage, “I don’t want you to. Look,” he closed his eyes for a long moment, “you might be more comfortable with another spy on the inside, but your personal convictions matter very little in the scheme of this war. I’m equipped; they aren’t, they’re just going to get caught.”

Turning away, Snape muttered, “then again, you’re not the one watching them die.”

Striding out of the room, Severus nearly smacked into Molly, eyes darting up when he realized someone had been listening. Fastening her with a stern glare, the boy hissed, “talk some sense into him,” before stalking back into the meeting.

Waiting until she was sure the hall was clear, Molly walked into the living room, joining Alastor on the couch. The Auror’s head was bent, examining his palms with a vacant look to his expression.

“May I join you?”

Wordlessly, he nodded.

“You know him?”

Moody chuffed a laugh, “I met him during his fifth year. Kept in touch.” The man shook his head, “he told me he was studying for his N.E.W.T.s and changed his mind about what he wants to do for future study; now he’s into Potions. Merlin, I knew I should’ve checked up on him.”

“You can’t blame yourself.” She glanced at the door, “Can he handle it? A responsibility, like that?”

Sharply, Alastor’s eyes snapped up, “If he was an Auror, I’d have picked him for the job without a second thought. He knows more about magical theory than most of my recruits, and he’s powerful.” His tone softened, “But he’s also young, barely overage, and…he worries me,” he finished quietly.

Molly didn’t ask; it wasn’t her business, but she had promised to try. “Well, then we’ll do our best to protect him and,” she smiled slightly, “perhaps you should tell him what you just told me. He doesn’t know the rest of us, besides Minerva and Albus, and I’m sure a vote of confidence wouldn’t be misplaced. I for one,” she pushed herself to her feet, “am looking forward to getting to know him.”

Alastor shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips, “I’d watch your tongue Molly Weasley. You might not be saying that in a few hours,” but he followed her back to the kitchen nevertheless.

***
By the end of that first evening, Molly could see what Alastor had meant. Severus was sarcastic, dry, and borderline insulting for the majority of the meeting.

And the next.

And all the ones after that.

But, in spite of his vitriolic comments, the boy displayed an aptitude for strategy and an understanding of magic that held Molly’s attention on multiple occasions.

Snape was never on time for meetings; either to make a point to Albus, who he seemed to disagree with on a regular basis, or because of a summons, and Molly slowly learned to tell the difference. When he was trying to make a point, he’d slam into the room, Death Eater robes billowing behind him, and glare at the group before taking a seat against the far wall. Injured, he still slammed into the room, but he tended to stumble and half-collapse wherever he landed.

Molly didn’t dare bring up the injuries; she hadn’t spoken much to Severus since that first night, and the teen disappeared the moment the meetings ended. Usually, Molly and Arthur remained behind to clean up: Molly doing the dishes from the meals she provided, and Arthur helping Albus perform a few housekeeping spells and replace any moved furniture.

One night, about a month and a half after Snape had first shown up, Molly was levitating the last dishes to the cupboard, when a loud bang followed by a muffled curse came from the pantry. Since the Order knew the notoriously dark Black family used the house on a few occasions, they refrained from raiding the pantries and cupboards as often as possible.

Cautiously, Molly murmured a soft, “Alohomora,” and the door swung open.

A mortified looking Snape whirled, cheeks flushed as he clutched a sandwich in one hand, the remains of a shattered plate scattered across the floor.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, before Severus dropped his gaze. In a sullen tone, he muttered, “Kreacher told me to have something before I left.”

Stunned, Molly blinked before shaking off her surprise. “Of course, but you know, there’s lasagna on the stove if you’d like some. I’ve made garlic bread and apple pie as well,” she smiled, “a growing boy like you needs more than a sandwich.”

Severus’ jaw actually dropped, and he stared at Molly for a long moment, “But- but you don’t even like me.”

A shock of pain flared in her chest, and Molly felt herself stagger back at his words. “I- Severus,” she softened her tone, seeing the guarded wariness in the teen’s face, “Severus, you’re a young boy: you’re stubborn, and rude, and sometimes have a little too much attitude for your own good, but,” she held up a hand to curb his protest, “you also remind me of my own sons. Now, get yourself out of this pantry and have a seat.”

Without argument, the boy obeyed, sandwich forgotten.

With a murmured spell, Molly heated the lasagna and garlic bread, setting a generously filled plate in front of him, before filling the kettle. “Tea?”

Severus looked up and shook his head, “No thank you. Water’s fine, or coffee if there’s any left.” She poured him a cup then continued cleaning, sensing he didn’t yet trust her enough to be comfortable in her company.

They spent the next half an hour in relative silence, but when Severus handed the empty plate back (he’d refused her offer of apple pie with a disdainful snort, “I don’t eat desserts”) and said, “thank you; it was good,” she’d seen a glimpse of the child behind the Death Eater.

As he prepared to leave, she tapped the counter to get his attention, “Severus, instead of the sandwich, come to the kitchen after the meetings. The rest of us eat before but I’ll save you a plate. A little old-fashioned cooking will do you some good.”

Clearly wondering why on earth she would care, Severus slowly nodded. “Alright,” he murmured, “but only if there’s enough. I- thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” he didn’t smile, but the caustic undertone in his voice had softened before he hurriedly strode through the door and vanished with a sharp crack.

***

The ritual continued from there. Awkward, in the beginning, as Severus stalked into the kitchen, ate in relative silence, his face usually buried in one book or another, and then vanished without more than a thank you, but the pattern remained.

During the meetings, Snape remained snarky and withdrawn, his cold eyes examining each and every member of the Order with a harsh scrutiny that was, at times, a bit frightening. He refused to wear anything other than his Death Eater robes, though from the scuffed boots he wore perpetually, Molly began to think perhaps that was all he had outside of a school uniform.

The boy had bared his Mark for them only once, when Albus insisted on seeing how the complex spellwork forming the brand reacted when the Dark Lord’s name was spoken. Severus had reluctantly rolled up his sleeve, gritting his teeth as the muscles of his arm spasmed and jerked.

After that, they were all more mindful of repeating Voldemort’s name.

Slowly, Molly’s mental file on Severus Snape filled out. He preferred coffee, black with as much sugar as he could fit in the cup, and only ate deserts when they were banana flavored. Outside of those two reluctant compromises, the boy maintained a solid abstinence from all things sweet.

He was a Slytherin, and proud of it, but Molly suspected there was a high probability he could’ve been in Ravenclaw as well. When it came to subjects he enjoyed, Severus could easily give a lecture. Molly had learned more about Potions and Charms than she had in years thanks to their brief dinner conversations.

She learned he didn’t have many friends outside of his House, and from the slightly bitter undertone to his voice, she suspected he was bullied at school. Severus refused to discuss that further, and Molly didn’t push it, preferring to allow him to lead the conversations than have him vanish from their brief after-Order meetings altogether.

One night, when she walked back into the kitchen, she found a ruffled looking Severus tugging at his ponytail in frustration. The boy didn’t often pull his hair up, using it as a camouflage for his features, but it seemed to be a nervous tick tonight.

A heavily marked parchment was crooked on the table beneath one elbow, a stack of several books were piled haphazardly around Severus, and he was running his quill impatiently down an open page, muttering the words under his breath.

“A bit serious for midnight, isn’t that?” She didn’t really expect an answer; tonight he’d been more reserved than normal, and the dark circles under Snape’s eyes didn’t invite conversation.

Instead, Severus snorted.

“Wish my teacher could take that excuse. Bloody Axom’s Laws,” he thumped the book on the table, exasperated, “but it’s due tomorrow and I haven’t had a chance to look over my notes again so midnight it is.”

Waving her wand to start heating some soup, Molly settled at the table across from Severus. “Axom’s Laws… Transfiguration?”

He nodded, looking up and pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s my worst class. I should’ve dropped it after O.W.L.s but a friend,” he swallowed hard, “convinced me to keep on. She… we don’t talk a whole lot anymore.”

Deciding not to question the sorrow that slipped into Severus’ tone, Molly summoned a bowl of soup, passing it to the teen. “I know it’s been a few years, and…well, I can’t promise much, but I did take Transfiguration through my seventh year, and it was always one of my favorite classes. Maybe I can help?”

For a moment, Severus looked ready to brush off her offer, but then he hesitated, examining her through lowered brows. “I-” his fingers tightened around the spine of the book before he pushed it abruptly across the table at her, “I guess there’s not much you could do to make me worse.”

Hiding a smile at the boy’s brusque tone, Molly waved her wand to summon her reading glasses, and looked down at the page. “Axom’s Laws…, ah yes, he was later disproved after Grafton discovered the complexities involved in animate to inanimate transfiguration.”

When she looked up, Severus was staring at her, dark eyes blank in confusion. “Why don’t we start at the beginning dear?” Standing, Molly walked around the table, settling next to him. Pointedly ignoring Snape’s rather obvious flinch, Molly began reading over the essay. Coming to the first paragraph he seemed to have trouble with, she paused. “Why don’t you explain to me what you’re thinking and we’ll go from there? You’re a smart student if what Minerva says about you is correct; we’ll fill in any holes together.”

***
It wasn’t the first time Molly helped Severus with homework. Slowly, the boy’s frustration with Transfiguration eased as he grew more confident in his own knowledge of the subject, though he still muttered complaints when they’d settle at the table to review his assignments.

Severus began staying later and later; helping Molly with the washing up, occasionally speaking to Arthur, though Mr. Weasley seemed to put him on edge, and on one memorable evening baking brownies with them. Molly would never forget just how young he looked, chocolate smeared across his face, waving a spatula as he explained to Arthur exactly why cooking nad potions had nothing in common. Still, as March bled into April and graduation loomed on the horizon, Molly couldn’t help wondering about Snape’s plans post-Hogwarts.

When she asked, he’d seemed rather noncommittal, but Molly found it difficult to accept. Severus was meticulous, yet as the months trickled by, he seemed more and more reluctant to discuss anything related to school.

As N.E.W.T.s loomed larger and larger on the horizon, Severus seemed uncommonly distant. During Order meetings he was distracted, nose frequently buried in one book or another as soon as Albus allowed him to finish his reports. Though some of the members looked on disapprovingly, Snape ignored them, and one June evening when Molly carried a plate of pasta salad and tray of homemade banana bread into the kitchen, he’d told her softly he wouldn’t need her help any longer.

After a moment of blank staring, she realized, “You’ve graduated?” Severus nodded, pale cheeks flushing in embarrassment at the pride in her voice. “Even passed my Transfiguration N.E.W.T,” he murmured, lips twisting in a soft smile.

“Sev, that’s wonderful!” Putting the bread down, she reached across and squeezed his shoulder, only hesitating when he stiffened.

“Severus?” Molly settled herself next to him, examining what little of Snape’s face she could see behind his hair, “Is everything alright?”

Slowly, the boy nodded.

Without taking his eyes off his feet, he offered, “It’s been awhile since anyone’s called me- that.” He shifted, suddenly awkward, “The others- at school, usually call me Snivellous.” His voice dipped in shame, but he raised his chin, squaring his shoulders, ready to fight.

Molly winced. Children, wizards or muggles, could be cruel.

Shaking it off, Severus perked up, “Anway, I won’t have to see them again. And thanks to you, I have a complete set of N.E.W.T.s.”

Surprised at how casually he could move on, Molly nodded, unsure of what exactly to say. To fill the void, she passed him a plate of pasta.

“I won’t be at the regular Order meetings anymore.”

Nearly dropping her fork, Molly looked up at her dining companion. She hadn’t realized how attached she’d grown to Severus, but she did worry about the child. Though he never spoke explicitly about his activities as a Death Eater, she and the rest of the Order saw the reports of their activities in the Daily Prophet almost every morning.

“Is something wrong? Someone suspicious or-” She cut herself off at his smile.

“No, nothing like that.” The pride in his eyes was evident for half a second before he snuffed it out, “My esteemed former headmaster is inviting several of my classmates into our ranks and,” his jaw tightened, “I’d rather not spend my evenings defending myself against their baseless accusations and moronic insults.”

Molly took her last bite of pasta, chewing as she considered. It was pointless to argue with Severus; once he had an idea in his head, changing his mind was virtually impossible.

Instead, she collected her dishes and began the washing up. “What about your strategy insights, and information? Without that, we’ll be running missions blind; I doubt this Order could function without our spy, Severus.”

Snape snorted, carding his fingers through his hair, “It wouldn’t,” he deadpanned, “I’ll still be here for important tactical meetings and Dumbledore’s spy network should be an acceptable means of passing information.” Collecting his plate, he joined her at the sink, “I just thought you’d like to know; that way you won’t have to save dinner anymore.”

Molly stopped, turning fully to look at their young spy, “Severus, I don’t care how late it is, if you come, I will always have something.”

When he protested, some ridiculous half-hearted excuse about convenience, she brushed it off, and that night before he left, Molly noticed a soft smile tugging at the corner of Severus’ perpetual frown.

***
“What did you think of Lupin? He seems awfully young for this,” Arthur shook his head, drying a plate as he sipped his coffee with one hand, “but then again, they all do now.”

Molly waved her wand absentmindedly, levitating a stack of cups into a cupboard and glancing at the still-warm platter of fish and chips she’d saved for Severus. “I don’t know… He’s quiet, but he seems smart enough.” She sighed, “The werewolf aspect could be…interesting, but if he’s managing it, I don’t think we should discriminate-”

She would’ve continued but a sudden crash from the living room, followed by a yelp, and then a curse caused her to grab her wand and race for the doorway, husband on her heels.

In the living room, she found Lupin backed against the wall, hands behind his head, his wand on the floor. The poor man’s hazel eyes were wide and he seemed about ready to collapse. Right in front of him, wand pressed to his throat, Severus was practically bristling with tension. The sight would’ve been almost comical if Molly didn’t know how well-acquainted with curses Severus was.

“Severus!” When the boy didn’t move, aside from a slight stiffening of his shoulders that showed he’d heard, Molly moved cautiously into the room. Lupin’s eyes tracked her, but he made no move to try and re-arm himself.

“What is going on?” Following his wife, Arthur blinked in surprise at the sight of Remus disarmed by someone much smaller than he was. “Snape, he’s fine; he’s one of the new-”

“I’m aware.” Severus’ voice was icy, “this mongrel was poking his snout where it didn’t belong.” Sneering when Lupin flinched, Severus jabbed the larger man with his wand. “How does it feel, Lupin? Being held at wand point by someone who could so, so easily kill you?”

“Severus!” Molly poured all her outraged indignation into his name, before seizing him firmly by the ear. Severus let out an undignified squawk before she yanked him around and gasped, fury at his half-breed slurs fading as she stared at his face.

One of Severus’ eyes was swollen almost shut, his jaw was purple along one side and dried blood crusted around his nose and along his upper lip. “What in Merlin’s name happened?” She breathed, running her fingers lightly down his jaw.

Hissing under his breath, Severus jerked away, setting his teeth against her touch. “Bar fight,” he bit out, “a little dittany will fix it later. Now you,” he turned back to Lupin who’d been attempting to edge toward his wand, “are going to go home to that pitiful excuse of a flat and you will never, never speak of this; do we understand one another?”

Lupin nodded rapidly, but the hurt in his eyes cut Molly. Obviously, the two had some history, but from the look of things they had not gotten along well.

“Of course, Severus. Whatever makes you most comfortable,” Lupin collected his wand and stepped back toward the fireplace.

“Obliviate.”

The spell hit the werewolf squarely in the back, and Molly jumped in surprise. She hadn’t seen Severus’ wand move, yet the dazed look in Remus’ hazel eyes was irrefutable evidence that the spell had worked. “Severus!”

The dark-haired man ignored her, pushing Remus into the flames and calling out an address as he tossed a handful of green powder in after him. When he turned back around, glamor concealing the injuries on his face, Severus nodded, “It was necessary.”

“We don’t obliviate people, Severus.” Molly kept her tone even, before summoning an ice pack and passing it to the young man in front of her. Ignoring his snort of indignation at what she was sure was one of the milder violations of morality he’d engaged in, she continued, “And what were you doing at a bar? You’re too young for all that nonsense.”

Severus smirked, but took the ice pack, placing it to his eye with a wince. “I wasn’t there for the alcohol.” He shrugged, and for the first time Molly noticed the leather jacket and Muggle jeans the boy wore.

Deciding it was better not to ask, Molly nodded. “Arthur, will you go grab dinner please?” At Severus’ surprised look, she smiled, “I told you it’d be ready whenever you came. Besides,” her eyes narrowed, “you’re looking thin. Doesn’t your mother feed you?”

Eyes shuttering, Severus stood stiffly. “My mother…is no longer with us. I cook but…” he winced, “I’m not too good at it. Cokeworth… it’s very muggle, and my da doesn’t like magic in the kitchen so,” he shrugged as if that was it.

Molly was beginning to think Severus’ father didn’t like a lot of things about his son, but refrained from saying so. Instead, when Arthur returned she and her husband spoke quietly to the boy, even managing to coax a laugh when she told him a story about Bill’s accidental magic flaring up and turning George’s hair bright green after the twins’ latest prank.

That night, after Severus refused Molly’s offer of a healing spell to fix his face, “Too many people saw; they’ll never believe I got better overnight,” Molly packaged up an extra portion of dinner to send home with him. As she and Arthur watched Severus duck through the fireplace, Molly felt her husband’s arm wrap lightly around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. “A bar fight?”

Arthur nodded, “It’s not unlikely. Cokeworth is a mining town, and with the way things are looking in the muggle world right now,” he shook his head, “there’s not much entertainment for the teenagers that doesn’t involve a pub. His father…” Arthur’s jaw tightened, “The Snape household is flagged at the Ministry. There were a few too many accidental magic incidents over the years for it to be considered typical.”

Nothing more needed to be said, but as they swayed together in front of the flames, Molly found herself wishing more than ever that Severus’ life was somewhat more ordinary.

***
“Where’s Alastor?”

“Has anyone heard from Dumbledore?”

“Thirty-two Muggles were injured, and an entire village burned to the ground. They’re getting bolder.”

“Don’t know what Fudge is thinking; he’ll be ruined if this keeps up.”

Doing her best to ignore the maudlin whispers and panicked glances of the Order, Molly hurried to put on a pot of coffee. The summons had come late that night, leaving her to scramble to wake Bill and ask him to watch his siblings as she and Arthur scrambled out the door.

Now, as the Order scrambled to pull themselves together to respond, many of the members reeling as they struggled to process what this latest development meant for their effort, Molly found herself searching for a familiar dark head.

Not five minutes later, Dumbledore swept into the room, brows furrowed and eyes dim as he motioned for silence. Surveying the rattled wizards and witches around the table, their leader’s eyes narrowed. “Alastor,” the Auror looked up from the parchment he was reading, “send Snape a Patronus. This is an emergency; I want all members present.”

Across the table, Remus Lupin winced, fingers tightening around his wand. Molly hadn’t missed the brewing tension between the Order’s youngest members, but while Snape’s paranoia seemed to stem from fear, the times she’d caught Remus staring at their spy, she’d seen an element of affection in the werewolf’s hazel eyes.

Moody nodded and waved his wand, conjuring a silver cloud that swirled for a moment, then vanished.

The silence over the table hung for a moment, before quiet murmurs broke out once more. Molly knew everyone was worried, but keeping their focus on the immediate, pragmatic solutions helped keep everyone centered.

When the clock struck, three echoing strikes, Molly wasn’t the only one who jumped. Wincing as she rubbed the bruise now forming on her knee from striking the table, she missed the slam of the door that indicated someone else had joined their number.

A moment after, the stench of cheaply made Muggle alcohol assaulted her nostrils, and Severus Snape staggered into the room. It was the first time Molly remembered being truly speechless.

Snape was wearing Muggle clothes: blue jeans with threadbare knees and ragged hems, a T-shirt that clung just too tightly to be comfortable, and tennis shoes with a hole in one toe. To top it all off, his Mark was on full display, and his hair was yanked up in a haphazard bun, tendrils falling to frame his face.

“Hey,” Severus slurred, staggering through the doorway and nearly smacking into the table before he seemed to realize something was there. Bleary eyes scanned the room, settling briefly on Dumbledore before skittering away.

“What the hell?” Moody demanded, face reddening, “How in Merlin’s name did you get here?”

Snape grinned, clutching the back of a chair to stay upright, “App-rated. Took me forever too ‘cause I had to make those Muggles forget.” He swayed on his feet, “thought you said there wasn’t a meeting tonight.”

“There wasn’t,” Dumbledore said sharply, “although from the looks of things I’d best be glad I called one.” Waving his wand, the Headmaster summoned a potion from somewhere in the house, holding it out to Snape.

The teen turned away stubbornly, shaking his head. “No, not gonna drink it. Poison… you don’t like me, want me dead so I won’t tell.”

Fully alarmed, Molly glanced at Arthur to find her husband just as shocked as she was. Severus was always put together: blood-stained, battle-weary, and exhausted more often than not lately, but he wasn’t the type to go out for a drinking binge.

“Severus,” Albus’ voice had dropped, and he pushed the vial more insistently against the teen’s upraised hand, “I’m warning you.”

Severus laughed, the sound sharp in the room’s grim silence. “Or what? You can’t hurt me, not like he does.” Humming, the teen weaved unsteadily on his feet as he shook his head, “try it, Headmaster, I dare you.”

Without batting an eye, Dumbledore murmured, “Imperio,” and Snape’s black eyes widened imperceptibly before the boy stiffened, fully under the curse. “Drink this potion, and sit down at the table like the sensible adult you are.”

“Albus!” Moody’s enraged shout rang through the room, and Molly shot the Auror a warning look. No, it wasn’t right, but she knew they didn’t have time for another one of Severus’ stubborn arguments.

Almost mechanically, the young Slytherin took the vial, swallowing the contents and sitting stiffly in the empty chair Albus indicated.

“Finite Incantatum,” Albus murmured.
“Wha-” Severus’ features twisted in confusion, then his eyes widened as he stared at the group in dawning horror. “How long have I-”

“Long enough,” Moody snapped, crossing his arms and glowering at the teen. “What in Merlin’s name had you out drinking like that? I expect more from you, Snape. You’re supposed to be responsible not,” he threw up his hands in exasperation, “out partying like some sort of Muggle hoodlum.”

Wincing, Severus’ arms wrapped around his torso and the boy appeared to shrink back from them. As he swallowed with difficulty, Snape managed, “I… had my reasons.”

“Well unfortunately, those reasons affect the group.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and motioned for Severus to continue, “we all know something prefaced the raid and subsequent murders that took place tonight.”

Slowly, not taking his gaze from the floor, Severus spoke. “You’re… not wrong. He’s been on edge for a while now, since so many of his plans are being disrupted.” Snape’s knuckles whitened as he clenched his fingers.

“The Dark Lord started accusing us, one by one, of being spies, a traitor to the cause.” Severus’ breathing hitched, “Reg- Regulus Black, he’s one of the younger recruits, panicked under torture. He- he told the Dark Lord he thought his brother might’ve heard something when Regulus was speaking to Lucius through the Floo.

Severus buried his head in his hands, a stifled sob creeping out before he managed, “He’s dead. The Dark Lord- he killed him, right then.” Shuddering, Snape shook his head, “Reg wasn’t the spy, and now he’s dead.” Chest heaving, Severus’ fingers tangled in his hair as he frantically tried to gain a handle on his emotions; the boy wasn’t crying yet, but Molly knew it was only a matter of time. Obviously, their spy hadn’t taken the time to process anything that had happened tonight before right now.

Reaching across the table, Molly brushed her hand lightly over Sev’s shoulder. With a cry, Severus shoved his chair back and fled into the parlor.

A shocked silence descended over the group before Molly slipped softly out of the room after him, Moody hot on her heels.

Severus huddled in a dark corner of the room, head tucked to his knees and his hair yanked down and over his face once again. The boy’s shoulders trembled as he fought to pull himself together, though Molly supposed it was better for him to let it out now. Normally, Severus hid everything behind those blasted Occlumency shields, and personally she didn’t believe it was healthy.

“Snape,” squatting on his heels, Moody rested a hand lightly on Sev’s shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

Those words meant more than either of them ever knew, because a moment later, the teen was sobbing, forehead nestled against Alastor’s robes. “I- He wasn’t- it was my fault,” Sev finished. “We were friends; he didn’t even want to be a Death Eater and now h- he’s gone.”

Unsure of himself, Alastor ran a hand gently over Snape’s ruffled hair. “Shh, I know. He… I’m sure he was a good kid.”

Snape shook his head, “you don’t believe that.” He looked up, dark eyes glittery as he scrubbed at his cheeks, “But he was. He helped me, Alastor, after… after everything in fifth year.” Severus laughed, shaky and broken, but a laugh nonetheless, “He came with me to Muggle festivals, and asked me a million and one questions about Occlumency, and dragged me to that bloody Yule ball and…” voice fading, Severus sighed, “he was one hell of a friend.”

Moody nodded, features softening, “I believe you, Severus.” Sitting down on the ground next to the teen, he seemed prepared to let the boy work through his feelings on his own. Relieved, Molly turned, figuring the Auror had things well in hand when-

“Wait!”

Turning, she smiled in Severus’ direction, “Yes, dear?”

“Could you-” he fidgeted, swallowing hard before whispering, “could you stay?”

Molly felt a smile threatening, and bit her tongue to stifle the urge, “Of course, Severus. Anytime.”