Acting Alone

Phoenix Tears, Chapter Five : Acting Alone

DISCLAIMER : The characters and many of the situations described in this story are the property of the incomparable J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute. Dialogue marked with an asterisk is quoted from the original HP stories.

As always, my thanks go to LAxo and WriterMerrin, for their time and their energies--this story would be the lesser without their help.

"Severusss, how lovely to see you."

Severus could tell from the elongated sibilants with which his name was spoken and the crumpled newspaper in Voldemort's hand that the Dark Lord was far from happy. He inclined his head respectfully. "Greetings, my Lord," he said.

Voldemort gestured with the offending copy of the Daily Prophet. "One of your inestimable colleagues has seen fit to lower the already deplorable standards of the wizarding press."

My colleagues? The use of the possessive pronoun did not bode well. Severus raised an urbane eyebrow. "I take it that you're referring to the Burbage garbage, my Lord."

A long, pregnant pause greeted his mild witticism. Finally, the Dark Lord threw back his head and laughed. Snape: 1, Snake: 0, Severus noted irreverently.

"Burbage garbage," echoed Voldemort with delight. "I knew I could rely on you, dear Severus, to put things back into perspective."

Severus bowed.

"Sit," commanded Voldemort, conjuring a chair and stationing it just to his left. On the Dark Lord's right lay Nagini, coiled into great folded loops. Severus sat.

"This abomination," Voldemort began, gesturing once more with his newspaper, "only encourages me to forge ahead with my plan to remove all Muggle-born teachers from Hogwarts."

"Charity Burbage is a fool," responded Severus. "Her views on Muggles are as enthusiastic and as inaccurate as those held by Arthur Weasley."

"She will be disposed of," declared Voldemort, "along with Septima Vector." He paused, one long finger tapping his pursed lip in contemplation. "One at a time, I think," he concluded, "so that Nagini can enjoy them to the fullest extent." Voldemort reached out with one foot and rubbed gently against the body of the snake. "You, Severus, shall take the position of headmaster...so recently vacated by our late, lamented friend."

Severus could hear the smug contentment and implied praise dripping from Voldemort's words. He folded up each incriminating thought about Dumbledore, stuffing them into the Hogwarts' library books of his brain. He concentrated on the satisfaction that he had played his role admirably; that satisfaction was what Voldemort would sense of his emotions.

"For the Muggle Studies position," continued Voldemort, "I think Alecto will prove an admirable candidate, which leaves Amycus free to teach the Dark Arts."

Dread scratched across the back of Severus' neck like a feather. The Carrows were as stupid and as brutal as they were inbred. While the Muggle Studies position was always going to be a loss, Severus had held out some hope for the Dark Arts job. "Amycus?" he queried, careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

"You disapprove, Severus?" responded Voldemort.

Severus shrugged. "His methods lack subtlety," he replied. "I had thought, perhaps Lucius?" Amycus Carrow was no teacher. His skills were crowned by a particularly effective Cruciatus curse; anything more complicated was beyond him. Lucius, at least, would be more interested in teaching the students than torturing them, and his talent for the Dark Arts was formidable.

"No." The denial was stated with finality. "I won't have Lucius free to pander to the fears of his good-for-nothing son. I'd rather keep him here under my eye."

"Here," was Malfoy Manor where the Dark Lord continued to reside. If initially Voldemort had manipulated Draco to punish Lucius for his errors at the Department of Mysteries, the terms of the equation had now switched: Lucius...so recently released from Azkaban...was being punished for Draco's inability to complete his set task. To add insult to injury, Voldemort had pushed back the anti-Apparation wards to lie beyond the perimeter of the property. Claiming that it was too suspicious for Lucius to show his face immediately outside the gates of the ancestral family home, Voldemort kept him safely hidden behind the walls of the Manor: Lucius was effectively under house arrest.

Lucius was taking his demotion from the favoured position he had once held badly. Severus had even dared to hope that, once removed from the poisonous and stifling environment of Voldemort's continual presence, Lucius' well-developed sense of self-preservation might kick in. The suggestion of switching sides that Severus had planted in Draco's mind might have borne fruit in Lucius' actions.

Faced with the Dark Lord's blunt refusal, Severus let that hope wither without further protest. "Very good, my Lord," he remarked obediently. Once, years earlier, Lucius had acted to save Severus from a life of imprisonment. Given the opportunity, Severus would return the favour...not, however, at the risk of losing the war.

Severus concentrated so carefully on his destination that the noise of his Apparition was slight...no louder than the crack of a small twig. Immediately, he Disillusioned himself and took one sharp step sideways. He froze, his senses on high alert. Nothing moved. No-one, it seemed, had noticed his arrival. Unconsciously, his eyes strayed to the place where, in other circumstances, a grey tabby cat would have watched for his appearance. Tonight, her place was empty.

Adding a silencing charm to his boots, Severus picked his way towards the gates. A successor to Dumbledore's position had yet to be named. Hopefully, that meant no-one would have been able yet to change the castle wards. Of course, Hogwarts was the last place Severus Snape, suspected murderer, would be expected to visit, and surely, that too would work in his favour. At the gates, his hunch proved correct: the lock clicked open at the touch of his hand against the cool metal.

Severus let out a sigh of relief. He slipped inside the grounds, keeping the gap of the open gates as small as possible, and carefully shut them behind him. Once inside, he froze again, ascertaining that his presence remained undetected.

It was odd to sneak into Hogwarts...the place in which he had lived for so much of his life...but also something of a relief. Like his visit to Granger's parents' house, his actions now were a consolation: physically doing something to undermine the Dark Lord made the long hours in the company of Death Eaters easier to bear.

Severus moved through the grounds silently. He skirted the edge of the Quidditch pitch, deliberately choosing a route different from that which he typically took. He had no intention of entering the castle via his own rooms and headed, instead, for the opposite wing entirely, where he availed himself of a rarely used service door. There, too, the wards allowed him past without question. Once inside, he redoubled the Disillusioning and Silencing charms...being caught in the corridors was low indeed on his list of priorities.

Miraculously, he made it to the gargoyle outside the headmaster's office without encountering anyone. Though it was the summer holidays and late at night, he had anticipated running into at least one of the castle ghosts, if not Minerva herself on the prowl. With one last look in each direction to be sure the coast was clear, he placed his lips close to the gargoyle's ear.

"Pepper Imps," he breathed. The gargoyle leapt obligingly aside, and Severus stepped up onto the moving staircase, letting it carry him up to the office door. He listened at the door for a few seconds before opening it; then he moved quickly inside.

Upon his arrival, the torches flared automatically to life. The room, he was relieved to note, was unoccupied. It looked as it had always looked, with two exceptions: Fawkes was absent, and a new portrait hung behind the desk. Steeling himself, Severus dropped the Disillusionment charm.

The occupant of the portrait rose to his feet and stood, leaning forwards with his hands pressed flat against the picture plane. "Severus," he said. "I am so glad to see you."

"Albus," replied Severus, inclining his head politely. He turned abruptly and crossed to the cupboard where the Pensieve was normally stored. He pulled an enormous tome from the lower shelf and, holding it carefully in both hands, carried it over to the headmaster's desk.

"Severus," said Albus' portrait again, speaking from behind where Severus now stood. "Everything went to plan?"

Severus paused in the act of opening the old book. The entire cast of previous headmasters and headmistresses stared down at him with interest, keenly anticipating his answer. He straightened his back, but didn't turn. "I lived to fight another day, Albus. You, on the other hand, did not. That much, surely, was clear?"

"And the Malfoy boy?"

"Draco," replied Severus, emphasising his given name, "is fine."

"Well done, Severus." The warmth of Dumbledore's tone did little to appease his interlocutor. "I knew I could count on you."

If you knew, he wanted to ask, then why did you beg? Severus had promised to do the unthinkable. He had given his word, only to find, at the last, that Albus wasn't truly convinced he would go through with it. He wanted to rage. He wanted to shout the emotional truths of that betrayal at the top of his voice. But he didn't. This isn't Albus, he reminded himself. This is merely his echo, captured in a thin layer of magical varnish. True to form, Severus concealed his emotions and went off on a tangent.

"Albus," he remarked, "there is a favour you can do for me." Finally, he turned to face the portrait completely, noting the willing expression on the painting's familiar face. "Warn Charity and Septima: their lives are in very real danger."

"So," the simulacrum of Albus replied, "Voldemort plans to replace only the Muggle-born teachers."

Severus nodded his acknowledgement.

"Who will replace them?"

"Alecto Carrow will teach Muggle Studies," Severus' mouth twisted bitterly, "which will become compulsory and be taught according to a new, Death-Eater approved syllabus. The Dark Lord sees no need for the study of Arithmancy under the new order."

The portrait looked thoughtful. "You will become headmaster?" he asked.

"It seems likely."

"And Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

Severus hesitated, only fractionally: "Amycus."

"Both the Carrows?" The reproof in Dumbledore's tone was unmistakable.

Severus' eyes fluttered closed for a second. Then he turned his back to the painting and his attention to the book on the desk. "Feel free to send someone else to negotiate if you find my attempts inadequate," he commented. I'm not going to argue with his portrait, he told himself sternly.

Opening the stiff cover of the student registry, Severus flipped back and forth through the central section until he found the records of those students who should be about to enter seventh year. Granger's year, said a small voice that he hurriedly squashed. The adult wizards and witches of Britain would have to fend for themselves, but Severus intended to ensure that the children and unqualified young adults of Hogwarts would be removed from harm's way.

Pulling the headmaster's chair up to the desk, Severus sat down and fished several pieces of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink from his pocket. A simple spell would have copied out the relevant names and addresses within seconds; however, Severus was a wanted man and far too careful to leave his magical signature on anything that would remain within the castle walls. Unlike the guards at Azkaban prison, the stones of Hogwarts were impervious to even the strongest Confundus Charm.

Carefully and methodically, Severus set about copying the list by hand, transcribing the name and address of every Muggle-born student. The half-bloods, he had to assume, would be fine. The process didn't take too long, as there were only half-a-dozen or so Muggle-born students in each year. When he got to Jocelyn Smith, he hesitated. After a moment's consideration, he wrote her name on a separate sheet. Her name was the last but one in her year, and Severus copied the final name onto his original list. He completed the process with the Muggle-borns from the incoming first year.

"Muggle-born students," he wrote across the bottom, "arranged from oldest to youngest. You might want to act in reverse order." Rolling up the parchment, he sealed it with the wax that lay ready on Dumbledore's desk. "Torvik Murk," he wrote on the outside, "Bulgaria." The piece of parchment on which he'd written Jocelyn's name and address, he tucked into an inside pocket.

Rising to his feet, Severus closed the heavy registry and carried it back to the cupboard. Taking the rolled, sealed and addressed scroll, he turned as if to leave. He graced Albus' portrait with a brief grimace that, to a generous observer, might have counted as a farewell.

"Wait, Severus,"* interrupted the portrait.

Severus turned with a look of polite inquiry on his face.

"There is a further task I need you to do: you will have to give Voldemort the correct date of Harry's departure from his aunt and uncle's,"* instructed Dumbledore. "Not to do so will raise suspicion, when Voldemort believes you so well informed. However, you must plant the idea of decoys; that, I think, ought to ensure Harry's safety. Try Confunding Mundungus Fletcher."* Severus must have looked less than impressed, for the portrait continued reprovingly. "And Severus, if you are forced to take part in the chase, be sure to act your part convincingly. . . . I am counting on you to remain in Lord Voldemort's good books as long as possible, or Hogwarts will be left to the mercy of the Carrows."*

Severus felt a wave of irritation sweep over him at the realisation that no clear plan had been left in place to evacuate Potter from the Dursley's. With Potter's seventeenth birthday approaching, the place was less of a safe house and more of a death trap with every passing minute. I will not argue with a portrait, he reiterated to himself. It seemed...to Potter's detriment...that Dumbledore had kept less from Severus than Severus had anticipated.

"Very well," he replied. "Is there anything further?"

"No."

Severus turned once more to leave. This time he made it to the door before Albus spoke.

"Good luck, Severus."

Severus didn't bother to reply. He Disillusioned himself, Silenced his boots and crept his way up to the Owlery. Once his list was winging its way towards Viktor Krum and Bulgaria, he felt a little calmer. He had done his best.

He made his way back through the deserted castle and across the grounds to the Apparation point. Mundungus was a tricky man to catch, but Severus was a talented spy: he would catch up with him, of that there was little doubt.

Severus chose early morning as the most likely time to find the Smith family at home. Several days had passed since he'd copied Jocelyn's address and sent the others to Krum: long enough for Severus to track down Mundungus and Confund him, long enough for Charity Burbage to be tracked down and killed...despite his warning to Dumbledore who seemed to have done nothing about it...and long enough for Severus to inform Voldemort exactly when the Order planned to liberate Potter.

Dumbledore's plan seemed ludicrous, and Severus wasn't quite sure why he had continued to follow the poorly-conceived orders given to him by the portrait. So, there would be several identical Polyjuiced Potters, but it was still a terrible risk. With an entire horde of Death Eaters on the watch, there was a very real chance Potter might be killed...not to mention that any number of other Order members might perish, too.

As a plan it rivalled some of Dumbledore's other suggestions for sheer idiocy, not least the old man's ridiculous insistence that Severus be the one to inform Potter of the crucial need to die. Severus was to act when Voldemort placed Nagini under magical protection...assuming that he managed to live that long, and that Voldemort did so in such a way that it was noticeable to the naked eye. Then he was to locate Potter...despite being cut off from the Order and with no foreseeable means to communicate with any of them. And finally he had to convince Potter somehow to sacrifice his life...assuming that Potter could be made to believe him, that he wouldn't think it a trick to ensure the Dark Lord's victory, and that Potter didn't kill him on sight. All in all, a pretty stupid plan; the situation left him with a feeling of sick despair.

The realisation that both of his masters were insane did, however, make it easier for Severus to act independently when given the chance. Hence, his presence in Muggle clothes, in a dreary suburb of East London, early on a Tuesday morning. One last time, he checked the address against the parchment in his pocket.

The estate was in visible disrepair, so much so, that Severus' shabby jeans and leather jacket looked precisely the part, and he had needed to take the stairs to the twelfth floor because the lift was out of order. Flat 1215. He had arrived. Severus raised his fist and rapped sharply on the door.

The walls were so thin that he could clearly hear the conversation that his knock triggered.

"Who the hell is that?" shouted a man's voice.

"Jocelyn!" shrieked a woman. "Go get the door."

Severus felt his heart lighten at the knowledge she was home, though it plummeted the instant he saw her face. The door rattled open as far as the chain would allow, and a thin sliver of Jocelyn's face and body appeared in the crack. He had forgotten how uncared for and miserable she'd looked when she first arrived at Hogwarts; her appearance now brought that back with a rush.

She looked astonished to see him, and her eyes widened with surprise. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"Jocelyn!" shrieked the same woman as before. "Who is it?"

"Jocelyn," ventured Severus as gently as he could, "may I come in?"

Jocelyn swallowed heavily and then closed the door. Severus' eyes blinked shut, then flew open as he heard the sound of the chain scraping in its socket. Moments later Jocelyn opened the door wide and stood back to let him in.

"Thank you."

Jocelyn made no reply. She closed, deadlocked and bolted the door, then put the chain back on. With a jerk of her head, she gestured down the narrow hallway towards the voices and, presumably, the kitchen. Severus waved one hand for her to go first, then followed her down the hall. Jocelyn was dressed in pyjamas that were at least one size too small, her ankles and wrists stuck out awkwardly from the end of her trousers and sleeves. Her feet were bare. The outfit made her appear younger than her twelve years.

This house, though Severus bitterly, is no place for a child.

"Jocelyn? Who was it?" Severus recognised the woman as Jocelyn's mother from his numerous forays into the young girl's memories.

"Ms Smith," he said smoothly, holding out his hand to be shaken, "my name is Professor Snape; I am a teacher at Jocelyn's school."

His hand hung between them, completely ignored. Ms Smith's eyes were wide and she shouted over her shoulder without turning her eyes from his face. "Jake! Get out here! Now!"

"What the fuck?" muttered a male voice in the next room. The comment was followed by the sounds of someone clambering out of bed and fumbling for some clothes.

"What did you do?" hissed Jocelyn's mother at the girl. Jocelyn flinched slightly, but said nothing.

The difference between Jocelyn's home life and Granger's was stark.

Jake appeared in the doorway, buckling his belt and adjusting his jeans as he came. Severus judged that he couldn't be much older than 25, the mother perhaps a few years older. Jake's shirt hung open, revealing a tightly muscled chest and a pretty decent tattoo of a motorbike; he looked like he spent more than his fair share of time working out at the gym. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded aggressively, jerking his chin at Snape.

"Professor Severus Snape, I'm a teacher at Jocelyn's school."

"'Snot her school any more, it ain't. Sorry to have troubled you. I fink you'd better leave."

Jocelyn's mother was nodding at Jake's words. Severus turned his gaze towards Jocelyn. She looked bleak, her eyes focussed on the space between the three adults.

"Jocelyn," Severus inquired, relived when she glanced towards him, "what's your opinion on this matter?"

Jake interrupted before she could reply. "She hasn't got anyfink to say about it. Where she goes to school is for her mum to decide." He strode across the room towards the young girl. Jocelyn held her ground, but once again she flinched.

"I'm afraid you're wrong about that," replied Severus. "The decision is as much Jocelyn's as it is anyone else's."

"The little freak," hissed Jake, his attention focussed on the young girl, "will shut the fuck up if she knows what's good for her." He swung his left hand up and across his body, poised to backhand her across the side of her face.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," remarked Severus. Even someone who had never met him before should have recognised the deadly edge to his voice.

"Or what?" sneered Jake. "You gonna stop me?"

Severus moved before Jake's hand connected with Jocelyn. Before the arrogant young thug had realised what had happened, his body had been slammed back against the wall, Severus' left hand crushing his throat. Severus was a least a foot taller, and he was using his full height to loom ominously. His wand was out, and he pressed the tip of it against the inside of Jake's left wrist, dragging it up the wall until Jake stood with one arm splayed out at shoulder height. Though he struggled, Severus had charmed him to the wall. He was stuck where he was, unable to pull away.

Jocelyn's mother was screaming, but Severus Silenced her with a flick of his wand.

Moving with the utmost precision, Severus drew his wand along the inside of Jake's arm, slicing his shirt from his wrist to the inside of his elbow. The fabric flapped open, exposing the pale skin of his forearm. Pressing his wand against the exposed skin, Severus frowned in concentration. From the tip of his wand, inky tendrils spread, twisting and writhing over themselves as they formed an elaborate, copperplate tattoo, complete with decorative swirls. "Child beater," it read.

Severus stepped back, his head tilted to one side to better appreciate his handiwork, leaving Jake pinned to the wall.

"A year and a day," he remarked conversationally, breaking the unnatural silence that his charms had obtained. "That's how long the tattoo will last. Unless, of course," he added, "you ever do it again. In that case, you'll have it for life."

Jake's lips were drawn back from his teeth in an exaggerated display of terror. His eyes flicked back and forth from Severus to his own arm.

Severus turned his attention to Jocelyn's mother, who cowered away.

"For Jocelyn's safety," he informed her, "she will need to leave this address. She will be unable to return for the next year or so. Do I have your permission?" He waved his wand to release the charm that had silenced her, though he left the one that was keeping Jake quiet.

"Good riddance," she spat.

Severus clenched his teeth. "You don't deserve a daughter such as Jocelyn," he replied.

"You got that right, mister," retorted the mother. "I wish she'd never been born."

Severus himself felt her words as a physical blow; he could only imagine how terrible they felt to Jocelyn. He turned towards her. "Jocelyn," he asked, his voice simmering with barely contained rage, "I am going to take you away. Would it bother you if you never saw this woman again?"

Jocelyn looked pale, even for one of her complexion, her blue eyes overlarge in her face. Slowly, she looked from her mother to Severus, then back again.

"I won't hurt her," whispered Severus. "We'll just go away."

Resolutely, Jocelyn nodded her permission.

Severus registered an angry flash of triumph within his own breast. "'Jocelyn Claire Smith is no child of mine,'" he quoted at the mother. "Go on, say it," he urged, holding his wand out towards her, point down, like a dagger.

Hesitant, but defiant, she echoed him: "Jocelyn Claire Smith is no child of mine."

"Do you have kids, Professor Snape?" Dr Terry Granger's words in the corridor echoed in his mind.

"Say it again," he instructed, snarling at Jocelyn's mother.

"Jocelyn Claire Smith is no child of mine." There was a hard edge of anger in her voice.

"It's amazing . . . impossible to describe. When you hold something so precious, so fragile, and you face that responsibility . . ."

"One more time."

The third time, she rushed through the phrase, her nervousness apparent, "Jocelyn Claire Smith is no child of mine!"

His wand flared with blood red light, casting eerie shadows for the few seconds the light took to fade.

Ms Smith...no longer Jocelyn's mother...gasped. "Wh-what just happened?"

"Jocelyn Claire Smith," Severus sneered, irritated beyond measure by her stupidity, "is no child of yours."

"And you realise you'd do anything, anything at all to keep them safe."

He turned away from her then, towards Jocelyn, ignoring Jake, who remained magically glued to the wall. He leant down so that his face was level with hers. "Get your wand and anything else you want to take with you. Then we'll go." She didn't move. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Jocelyn?" he queried, reaching out and grasping hold of her upper arm.

Her mouth twisted, and instead of replying, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the pieces of her wand. It was broken in two. Severus swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing almost painfully as he did so. "Who did this to you?" he whispered. Her lips thinned and she glanced towards Jake. "Is there anything else you want to take with you?" She shook her head. "Books? Robes?"

"Gone." It was the first word she had spoken since he arrived, and it cut him to the quick.

"Let's get out of here," he replied, holding out his arms towards her. She stepped towards him and threaded her arms around his neck. When he lifted her as he stood upright, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. Severus spared one last glance at the two adults they were leaving behind. Jake's new tattoo looked rather good at this distance. Waving his wand, he set the charm that held the younger man to the wall to finish ten minutes after he left. Then, without another word, he Disapparated both himself and Jocelyn away.

Moments later, they reappeared in a deserted alley in Muggle London, not far from The Leaky Cauldron. Severus set Jocelyn down gently.

"Hold still," he instructed, training his wand upon her and transfiguring her too-small pyjamas into a serviceable set of robes. Next, he turned to his own clothing, transfiguring his Muggle outfit into his traditional black. As he worked, his mind was racing. He hadn't anticipated that Jocelyn would need a new wand, and in the current situation, that posed a rather large difficulty: with Ollivander locked in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, and Severus as a wanted criminal, he couldn't very well stroll into Diagon Alley and buy her a new one. She needed clothes, too, for her transfigured robes would do only in a pinch. As it was, he could see only one solution.

"Sit," he ordered suddenly, taking hold of her shoulders and manoeuvring her backwards several steps until he could push her down onto a wooden fruit box. Once she was seated, he squatted in front of her. "We are going to visit Diagon Alley," he informed her, "but it is imperative that no-one recognises me for who I am. Do you understand?"

She responded with a question of her own: "Is it true that you killed Dumbledore?"

Severus hesitated. "Yes." Jocelyn stared back at him without blinking. "Remember this," he commanded, his voice harsh but quiet. "Once you swear your allegiance to someone, Jocelyn, you lose control over certain elements of your life."

He wasn't sure what response he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't for her to reach out a take a firm hold of one of his many buttons.

"Fair enough," she replied calmly. "Thank you for being honest. If no-one is to recognise you in Diagon Alley, what should I call you?"

"If and when I reveal myself to someone, call me Professor Snape. In front of strangers, however," said Severus, his own voice sounding thick to his ears, "call me Daddy. Do I make myself clear?"

Jocelyn grinned, looking more like her old self than she had since she'd opened the door. "Perfectly, Daddy," she affirmed.

Severus contented himself with raising one eyebrow.

"And you realise you'd do anything, anything at all to keep them safe . . ."

"I require one of your hairs," he informed her, holding out his hand. Obediently she plucked one of the pale blonde strands and placed it in his palm. Reaching into an inside pocket, Severus withdrew a phial of Plurijuice and dropped the hair inside. It fizzed for a second, cycling through several colours before settling into a clear, sky blue.

Severus gulped about half of it down. The process was similar to Polyjuice, but rather than effecting a physical change that left him indistinguishable from Jocelyn, the Plurijuice shifted his features into an approximation of hers without changing his gender, height or basic physique. As a result, he looked like he could have been her father...with blond hair, blue eyes and a much, much smaller nose.

He rose to his feet and held out his hand. "Let's go, child." With a grin, she obeyed.

At The Leaky, he bought her a decent breakfast and nagged her until she polished off the last mouthful. At Madam Malkin's, he bought her a variety of robes and insisted that she stock up on a full set of underwear as well. Jocelyn played up the Daddy's-little-girl act in each location, and no-one in their right mind would have suspected Severus Snape in the role of indulgent father.

Finally, backed by another fortifying mouthful of the Plurijuice potion, Severus decided it was time they snuck into the Ministry. They took the visitors' entrance, and Severus surreptitiously Confunded the guard who wanted to check their wands; it was almost too easy. Severus knew his way around reasonably well, and it took him only a few minutes to locate Runcorn's office. Luck remained on their side, as Runcorn was in and unoccupied.

"Can I help you?" he asked irritably, looking at his unknown blond visitors.

"Albert," responded Severus smoothly, closing the door and casting Muffliato for good measure. Once he stepped inside, he dropped Jocelyn's hand and pulled up his sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark. "Despite my appearance, I am Severus Snape."

"Severus!" the bearded man replied immediately, his tone much more welcoming. "Who is your young friend?"

"This is Jocelyn Smith; she requires a wand."

Runcorn's eyebrows shot together. "Jocelyn Smith?" he queried, looking dubious. "Isn't she . . . ?" Runcorn shifted his weight from one foot to another. "It's just that, er, I know the Smiths, and I don't remember ever having met . . . I'm under strict instructions as to who can have access to Ollivander's stock." Severus was so highly placed in Voldemort's establishment that Runcorn was loath to contradict him, yet the man was intelligent enough to think himself entitled to a touch of initiative rather than blindly following orders. He'd have to change that if he hoped to earn the Dark Mark.

Severus reached out and lifted a lock of Jocelyn's pale blonde hair, folding it back over his fingers and turning it against the light. "Such a distinctive colour," he mused. "You rarely see this shade of blonde, do you, Albert?"

Runcorn froze, the cogs of his mental faculties clearly ticking over.

Severus pushed a little harder. "And yet, I seem to recall . . . yes, having seen this particular colour quite recently." Come on, Albert, he urged silently. Lucius' rather undeserved reputation as a philanderer was so well-publicised that the inferences Severus was making did not require a miracle of deductive logic.

The penny dropped. "How is Lucius these days?" asked Runcorn smoothly.

Severus smirked. "Devoting his energies to our Lord's entertainment," he replied.

"How about that wand then?" asked Runcorn, addressing Jocelyn in an awkwardly avuncular tone.

Severus' smirk grew.

They made it out of the Ministry a mere half-an-hour later, one wand better off. Severus had intended to send Jocelyn off to Bulgaria at the first opportunity, but the success of his ploy with Runcorn had given him a better idea. If Severus played his cards right, he could keep Jocelyn safe right under the Dark Lord's eye. And Draco was the first person he needed to talk to. Taking Jocelyn's hand firmly in his own, he Apparated them both to Spinner's End.

A / N : Remember [to be intoned in your best public-radio voice], your review is an investment in this story's future.