Fortune Favours the Foolish

Chapter Two: Fortune Favours the Foolish

Paidea Abernathy was not a foolish woman. Nor was she one given to flights of fancy or stubbornness...well, not massively overt stubbornness at any rate. For it must be said that when she put her mind to something she believed in, she saw it through to the end, no matter what. She was what others not on the downside of her determination would describe as 'a woman of deep convictions.' And indeed, she had pledged her life to public service and helping others...to the cost of nearly all else.

Magically speaking, it wasn't a huge sacrifice. Truth be told, she wasn't a fantastically good witch...to put it mildly. She had gone to Beauxbatons, or rather been sent there by her wealthy, ultra refined, and rather snobbish parents to expand her cultural as well as educational horizons. While there, she had been a studious and diligent pupil, very well liked by both teachers and peers, and had shown a great aptitude for glamours and inanimate transfigurations.

However, she did manage to set two records while there as a student, and though they were much remarked upon were not something she liked to discuss much -- one being for melting the most cauldrons in Potions in the long and illustrious history of the scholarly establishment, and the other for blowing out the most windows. Her yearly school fees were always augmented by a hefty bill for damages, much to her father's chagrin.

It would have been even more annoying had it not been for an event that had occurred while she was still a young child. Her father had been entertaining a mix of high-powered business wizards and Ministry types at a party, when his eight year old daughter had snuck out of bed while her mother wasn't watching and squirmed her way under her father's arm. Snuggling up to him, she listened as he spoke about the unprecedented recent tensions in Eastern Europe between Muggles and Wizards and how they were exacerbated by the Muggle Communist regimes that predominated in the area.

Her father had started to respond to a comment, only for the entire assembly to be astonished when she quoted from a recent article in verbatim about the need for a calm, level-headed resolution by the eminent German Minister for Magic, Schroeder Graf. The little girl had even added, as she played with her father's shiny dress robes' buttons, a few sound if simplistic pronouncements on the need for everyone, Muggle and Wizard, to 'get along.'

From that point on, her father, a man of singular ambition though frustrated in achieving a political career of his own, began to suspect that his aims might be realised by another member of his family. On copiously querying his daughter afterwards, he had discovered that their family had indeed spawned something of a prodigy. While she, unlike her older sister, had hardly so much as moved a teaspoon magically, it became clearer and clearer that she showed an immense aptitude for taking in and analysing vast amounts of personal, sociological, historical, and political information in a manner far beyond her years.

Her powers of observation, which had always been advanced even as a very young child, became increasingly keen. Anything that had to do with people and their situations seemed to fascinate her. Whether it be at the individual or group level, the behavours of people and society enraptured her. Her growing understanding of people's desires and motivations augmented her calm, naturally insightful nature and that, combined with her empathic and sympathetic skills, allowed her to see both sides of most arguments.

Her father had begun to groom her carefully, feeding her more and more information on the workings of the Wizarding World, the tensions and factions within it, as well as trouble spots and their histories. He would sit with her perched on his knee alone in his study in the evenings, talking about historical events and asking her why she felt they had happened and what might have been done to avoid them. He had had far less interesting and insightful conversations with people many times her age. By the time he began to get glowing reports back from Beauxbatons about his daughter's calming influence, leadership, and natural peacemaking abilities amongst her classmates, he knew he was on the right track with her.

As did she.

After doing only marginally well on her OWL exams and at the same time having a long essay on the benefits of a more open dialogue with Muggle leaders published in the editorials page of The Daily Prophet, she and her family had decided that sixteen was more than old enough to begin her long planned for career in the political circle. Dressing in a style considerably older and more ostentatious even than those around her, partially from her family's influence and her love of clothes and partially to distract from her very young age, she had embarked upon her career.

Needless to say, clothes and hairstyle or not, many of the well established and much older veterans of the governing world did not take her at all seriously or react well to this young idealist encroaching on their territory. But she had taken it all in her stride. Paidea, with her ear for listening, had a talent for getting people to open up to her...to share with her what they really feared, wanted, and needed. She had utilised this to her own advantage. Taking her talent for negotiating between two disputing parties to a win-win outcome, she had negotiated her own fit place amongst their number.

Under the wing of one of her father's diplomat friends, Hezekiah Butler, she had been taken on board as a junior negotiator in a fierce border skirmish between the giants and centaurs in Austria. The negotiating party had tried hard, but it had become apparent that the only thing the centaurs and giants disliked worse than each other...was wizards.

Expected only to be there to learn, Paidea had a chance conversation with a young centaur, the son of the leader of the tribe, bringing her a great deal of insight into the situation -- insight her superiors were not getting in the stalemated talks. Along with further knowledge into the workings of a giant's mind harvested from long talks with Madame Maxine, one of her teachers at Beauxbatons, she began to communicate with both sides during the breaks in the talks.

This quiet girl with her extreme self possession and no airs and magical graces, a witch of wealthy family and good name, who brought them food and drink, mingled with them and spoke with great authority and knowledge on matters of interest to them, gradually began to win both sides over. And it was to everyone's great surprise when one afternoon, both opposing leaders requested her presence at the top table for the talks. The rest became history, and the peace deal brokered three days later had not been breached since.

It was a great gift to be sure, and after a short while many began to favourably respond to and even request her by name. Slowly but surely, her talents had earned her the ears of many in the top levels and the influence to bring several issues near and dear to her heart to the table. But her main concern above all was peace. Peace achieved in a non-violent manner. In her mind, she felt that anything could be achieved if people just learned to communicate with each other...to understand each other...and basically avoid blowing each other to bits. For in the end, violence only bred more violence.

And so, at a time when the entire Wizarding world was witnessing the emergence of one of the darkest wizards ever known and with the threat of internecine war starting to loom, Paidea put aside everything, including any semblance of a personal life and any vague dreams and desires she might have had, and dedicated herself to trying to bring her people together...to be a voice of reason in an increasingly insane world.

Over the intervening years, she used every ounce of persistence, persuasion, and talent she had for speech writing and making to try and counteract the growing tensions and violence. Too often, however, it felt as if she was Sisyphus trying to roll that boulder eternally up the hill -- for every one step she took forward, there was always something to pull her two steps back.

The struggle had taken its toll upon her. Failures started to pile up, many of which she took to heart, and over the past month with so called Death Eater attacks on the increase and hard-liners in the Ministry determined to match blow for blow, she had come to wonder if all the sacrifices she had made had been worth it.

But there was still the hearing.

The all important hearing that she had fought tooth and nail for, utilizing every opportunity to have it brought in front of the Wizengamot. A hearing on the future empowerment of Aurors.

Normally, she would not have dared to interfere with the Department of Defence's proceedings and judgements, but in this case she had felt it was of vital importance. For Bartemius Crouch had requested that his Aurors be allowed to employ ever more aggressive tactics in their own and the people's defence.

As a rule such decisions were made exclusively within the inner workings of the Ministry itself, on consultation between the Minister and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Paidea raised enough concern with her colleagues, the press, and the public as to the ramifications of this decision that she was granted a hearing on the matter before the highest court of wizarding law in Britain. Now the decision would rest in the hands of the Wizengamot.

Crouch could still get his way on increased Auror activity and force should the decision be an adverse one, but that was not what concerned her -- for the violence was building every day, and she wasn't a naïve woman about the necessity to protect the public. No...it was the level of force he was requiring. That was what she truly wished to be placed at the heart of this hearing.

For Crouch had requested that the ban on the Unforgivable Curses be put aside for Aurors in order to combat the Death Eaters' use of them. Untie the Aurors' hands, he had said, allow them to protect themselves and society better. That was when she had spoken up, when she had interfered and voiced what a danger this would be, not only to the Aurors themselves and to anyone potentially caught in the crossfire, but the moral fabric of their society as a whole.

How can one be fighting for society when they were killing each other with a simple spell...especially when such a spell is fuelled by sheer hate? Never mind the moral implications of taking over a person's will with an Imperius curse...or causing nothing but pain with a Cruciatus! What could possibly be the gain of any of these? There would be nothing but an escalation of violence and a diminishing of respect for life. The government would, she argued, become as bad as those they were fighting to stop.

It had taken her six months...six long months of petitioning and adding it the ends of virtually all her speeches, much like Cato the Elder did before the Roman senate when he urged them to lay the salt to the earth of Carthage so that it would never rise again. Finally, the Minister of Magic, taking cognisance of the rising concern, suggested precisely what Paidea had been hoping for -- that the decision be taken to the court and for them to decide what was best.

Crouch had been incandescent, confronting the young diplomat and accusing her of procrastination and naiveté and putting his Aurors' lives at risk. She had faced him down then, and taken his berating calmly, but knew if the court decided in favour of Crouch's decision, she would have to back down.

And so the researching and compiling of her case had begun in earnest. Soon the hearing itself had become an issue almost as divisive as that which was starting to tear their society apart. Many joined her in her cause and offered support, but just as many had been opposed and angered that a pacifist diplomat was interfering in something that was, to their minds, not her concern.

Of course in the meantime, she continued to speak out vociferously against Lord Voldemort and his followers' actions, condemning both them and the 'pureblood' reasoning behind them and insisting that disputes over the future of the Wizarding world would and could only be resolved by compromise and talks. And when asked about any actions taken by the Aurors to protect the people during this time, she gave them her explicit support and approval.

She was so vocal in her condemnation of Death Eaters that it hadn't surprised her when she, coming from a pureblood family as she did, was declared a 'Blood Traitor' and the death threats began.

The first actual attempt on her life had shocked and saddened her, but it did not for one moment make her rethink her decision or plan of action, nor doubt its worth. Instead, it had brought out a stubbornness, or rather, a determination that had rarely been seen in her. She had raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and soldiered on, increasing her public appearances and interviews instead of decreasing them, and speaking out even more against violence from both sides. If she was going to be killed for her beliefs, she would go out fighting and on her own terms.

Her father had, of course, been furious. He who had been her mentor and advised her all of her political career had suddenly been overruled when he 'requested' she put aside this crusade and find an easier banner to bear...another way to carve herself a niche. To find that his protégé was no longer listening had been a shock.

The young, pliable woman he had groomed was gone, and in her place was a much more seasoned and experienced politician with her own thoughts and ideas. His creation had taken on a life of her own. He had always encouraged her to be her own person, to stand out from the crowd, but to find he was now one of that crowd had been a blow. And so he could only stand and watch with concern, his own ambitions for her churning, as his youngest daughter was threatened over and over with attacks on her life.

The first had been the tampered Howler letter, but that had only singed her clothes and burned her hand...nothing that couldn't be fixed with a salve and a quick visit to a Healer. But over the next two months, the attempts had become more and more inventive -- tampered gifts, cursed items, poison in her wine...and someone even found a way to let loose some rather nasty magical and potentially fatal insects into her suite.

All of these had obviously been thwarted, first by private and hired bodyguards and security and then, ironically, by the Aurors now assigned to her on orders from the Minister for Magic herself. It was to the point that now Paidea could not leave her home without an escort, and all her mail had to be scanned and checked before it was given to her...even her office at the Ministry was now routinely scanned for any potential hazards.

Paidea was beginning to feel like a goldfish in a very small bowl. But for her work...for the people's needs she would acquiesce and put up with it. The work...her duty...was what mattered. If some personal inconvenience was to be had...so be it.

There had been very clear indications that there would be an attack on her life upon her arrival at the Ministry. The Aurors who had arrived to escort her had given her strict instructions that brooked no argument on what she was to do...even asking her if she knew any defensive or offensive spells or hexes. But still, she had not been too concerned.

She had dressed and calmly prepared herself for her day of testifying and arguments with the Wizengamot, doing everything her protectors had asked, including the extremely tiresome and ridiculously circuitous route....though she had to admit to a small thrill at the novelty of riding in her first Muggle taxi. Everything had seemed to go so smoothly, and she had begun to hope that the opposition had simply given up.

But it was not to be. When Tangerston and Ellwes were shot down before her as they had emerged from the taxi, their glassy vacant eyes staring up to the sky, she had felt her first true deep surge of terror. She had been prepared...or thought she had been...for such an eventuality, but not for the reality of it. People were dying before her...for her! And she was next, trapped like a rat.

She watched with mounting horror as the Muggle taxi driver was shot while trying to escape to safety, his legs nothing more than charred stumps when the would-be assassin was done with him. And though she was firing back blindly, trying to remember long disused spells from her Beauxbatons days or the private self-defence classes she'd taken at her father's insistence, she was not gaining any ground. In fact, she realised as she watched the magic dismantling the cab that was her only shelter, she was losing it!

Paidea was not a woman who felt fear easily; instead she often channelled such emotions into motivation and renewed drive to continue on. But trapped as she was with people dying and injured all around her, she'd never been more terrified in her life. Just when she had little recourse left to her but to give in to the forlorn hope of breaking cover and making a run for the alleyway, something warm and solid collided with her as she emerged, covering her body like a blanket a moment before a massive explosion reverberated and rocked the world around them.

When the ringing in her ears died down and the debris that had smashed into the ground around them had settled, her wits began to return, and she found, to her shock, her cut and bleeding saviour freely staring at her in apparent recognition. It felt as though time had frozen, there was only her, this young man with the darkest eyes she'd ever seen, and the sound of their pounding hearts and rapid breaths.

And yet despite all this, there was something...familiar...about him at the same time. A feeling that only grew when he spoke to her.

"Are you all right?"

Her brow creased slightly as she checked herself, still trying to remember where she knew him from. "I'm fine, thank you," she replied rather breathily before her eyes moved to his neck. "But you are not."

Drawing himself up to his knees, Snape could feel the blood from his wound flow freely down his neck and under his shirt collar, soaking him quickly. Pressing one hand against collar and wound to stem the tide, he clambered to his feet and offered her his other hand to help her up, noting that his blood had spattered her clothes. Clothes that, from the cut and style of them, were probably worth more then his entire wardrobe. He could see her trying to remember, and that even given her shaken state she knew that she had met him.

He had seen her many times since they had parted eight years ago -- at first in his juvenile imagination and then in a variety of wizarding publications that he obtained access to once he started at Hogwarts. To begin with, it was mostly only in the society pages -- details and pictures of her wealthy family departing hither and yon to fantastic places for their holidays, arriving at prestigious evenings, or participating in charity and sporting events.

And then, one day, as he passed through the Great Hall moving past the Ravenclaw table, he saw a group of students huddled around the latest issue of The Daily Prophet headlined with AMAZING ABERNATHY AGREEMENT. The name had caught his attention immediately and a moment later, he looked down to see not her father's face as expected, but her demurely smiling one. In the photo there she stood with the leaders of the centaur and giant tribes flanking her as they looked around at the press while some rather bemused looking older wizards hovered on the fringes.

He had broken school rules that night when he had snuck into Hogsmeade to get himself a copy of the paper. In the silence of his dorm room, he'd devoured every word and then carefully added the articles and most especially the pictures to his private journal. The journal that he jealously guarded from every prying eye and which currently lay on the ground in his bag. She always looked elegant, composed, and beautiful. Even when her gowns seemed to him to be incredibly over-elaborate, she was never less than stunning in every appearance. But none of his multitude of pictures, whether public appearances or specially taken portraits of her from the myriad profiles done upon her, compared to real life.

With the cowl of her velvet cloak fallen back, the deep chestnut hair he remembered was swept up and back into a long braid which was curled and pinned at the back of her head before falling down over her shoulder. Her aristocratic face, slender with high cheek bones, was understandably ashen, and her ivory skin, even under the refined amount of make up she wore, had paled noticeably on witnessing the death and destruction around her. It had the cumulative effect of making her wide blue eyes and full red lips stand out all the more, catching his attention as he looked down upon her.

And look down at her he did. For it was a considerable height difference. Even when they had been nine and thirteen respectively, she had never really towered over him. But whereas he had stretched a great deal in eight years, she hadn't grown much at all since their last meeting. She was perhaps five feet two inches, and even allowing for the heels she was wearing, her dark, bloodied saviour was a good foot taller than her.

The elaborately worked, sophisticated dress of deep rich blues, now visible to him under her cloak, had not been tainted by his blood, but it showed the effects of the attack all the same. The bodice of her gown rose and fell quickly with her rapid breaths, her small, curved figure still shaking a little from fright. The shouts of other Aurors broke the eerie and momentary silence around them. Taken out of herself and showing the depth of her control, she inhaled quietly and began to compose herself.

On seeing her do so, he let go of her immaculately manicured hand, her fingers slipping from his just as the remaining Aurors, his uncle included, arrived in a rush of robes. Stepping away from her, he shook his head in response to her observation of his wound. "It's nothing."

The wiry black haired head of Dawlish flashed past them, as he made for the smoking remains of the building across the street and barked cautionary instructions to Katrina Campbell to keep low, while she moved to check on the bodies of their two comrades and the badly wounded Muggle.

"Miss Abernathy!" Erasmus Gilreany called as he rushed up, placing himself in front of her, his wand raised and eyes scanning the area swiftly. "Come with us!"

Ignoring the young blond man, Paidea merely pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and moved after her rescuer. "Nonsense," she argued with Snape, still peering at him closely and ignoring the Auror's words. "You saved my life...and now you need some medical attention," she insisted, moving to place the linen on his neck. "Now press this to the wound firmly...it will help stop the blood loss." As he did so, she glanced up at his face again and took a step back. Who was he? There was something...something familiar about all this...her fingers touched the silver locket around her neck, a nervous gesture...but one that finally jogged an old memory.

"Severus?" she breathed, her eyes widening in shock at the very tall, dark-haired teenager.

"Miss Abernathy," he greeted her soberly, quietly pleased at her recognition of him. "I'd ask you how you've been...but...under the circumstances..." He glanced around at the fire and death around them.

Her eyes swept over him again before turning once more to witness the carnage, and though her expression remained forcibly composed, it was evident from the look in her eyes that what had happened had deeply affected her. "Quite..." she said softly in reply before turning to the new arrivals. "Gentlemen...someone should contact St. Mungo's immediately...and...these fine people's families."

Erasmus's voice radiated urgency. "All of that is in hand, but our first duty is to get you into safety, ma'am. There's no guarantee this was an isolated individual. I must insist you come in."

"Erasmus is quite right," came the deeper toned voice of Snape's uncle. "We need to get you inside at once." His eyes fixed on the teen's wound. "Both of you."

She glanced over at the Muggle driver, her brow furrowed as though she was about to argue. But she knew she could do nothing for him. "Very well," she acquiesced.

Erasmus moved his arm back around her protectively and glanced back at Severus. "You do need to get that attended to, it's bleeding badly. And exceptionally well done, Mr. Prince," he said, leading his charge away.

"Snape," the young man replied, his eyes fixed on the diplomat as she departed.

Steven lagged behind, his attention focused on his wounded nephew. "Come on, Severus," he instructed him with a small smile of reassurance. "We have some Healers inside."

"My belongings." Taking a step towards his bag in the shop doorway, Snape stopped, the world doing a slight jig before his eyes.

His uncle's hand grasped his arm with an iron grip, immediately steadying the lad. "The bag is not important," he told him firmly, but on seeing his nephew's expression sighed and levitated the bag over, slinging it over his shoulder. "Come on...in we go."

Following his uncle's guiding hand, Snape took one last glance over the street that had so suddenly become a war zone. He watched as Dawlish attempted to bring a pall of smoke under control so that the scene could be better investigated, and as Campbell gently dealt with the body of the thankfully unconscious Muggle driver. As he turned away, more Aurors accompanied by what looked like Obliviators suddenly poured out from the alleyway and other points along the street, the sweep and clean up about to begin in earnest as the sound of Muggle sirens was heard in the distance.

The Healers were also on alert, and as they moved down the tunnel to join the others, one of them stopped the moment she caught sight of the blood stained handkerchief clutched to the young man's neck. "Deep," she commented after a quick examination. "You were lucky; it just nicked the artery."

The tall leonine figure that Snape recognised instantly from newspaper reports as the Auror Rufus Scrimgeour strode down the corridor towards them and came to a halt on spying Steven. "What in blazes happened, Prince? All I got was some garbled half message. All sorts of rumours are doing the rounds!"

"They tried to assassinate Counsellor Abernathy," his uncle replied perfunctorily, watching as the healer attended to Snape and wondering what his sister would say to her son's involvement in all this. "Erasmus has taken her inside."

"They? How many of them?" Scrimgeour frowned. "What's the damage? Have they been taken down...captured?"

"There was one as far as we can tell. Half the building opposite is now rubble...and my nephew here likely blew him to small pieces, so yes, he's been taken care of. But Dawlish is checking to make sure." Steven turned his head to his superior, his expression sombre. "Ellwes and Tangerston are dead...and a Muggle cab driver is severely injured."

There was a momentary silence, during which Scrimgeour's features moved from shaken to angry. "I told them...I told them involving Muggles could do no good! Damnation!" he fumed before turning his attention back to Steven again. "Blown up, you say? And half the building opposite?" His gaze shifted to the teenager. "How did you manage that?"

Snape's black eyes turned to him. "I used a particularly large petrol bomb."

Not understanding, Scrimgeour looked to Steven. "The Muggle car," the dark-haired Auror explained.

The elder man's eyes widened. "I see! Efficient use of materials to hand..." Scrimgeour gave Snape a quick once over. "Are you one of our trainees?"

"No," came the decidedly short answer.

Pleased to see the last bandage applied and the young woman moving away up the tunnel, Steven sighed at the teenager's attitude and gave him a look before addressing his superior. "Severus here is my nephew, Rufus...he's job shadowing me for the next month while on break from school."

"Bloody dangerous time to be shadowing an Auror," Scrimgeour commented before evaluating the young man again. "Still, can't say it didn't turn out well. Have you considered joining our ranks, Severus? We could use initiative like that in these times."

"Don't have the grades," the young man answered, glancing at his uncle. "I should change my clothes."

Steven arched an eyebrow at his nephew at the blatant lie but nodded all the same. "Indeed," he agreed. "If you will excuse us, Rufus? I'll make sure to be at the debriefing," he told him, pre-empting the older man's instruction to do just that.

"Very well...." Scrimgeour nodded to them both. "You should take things easy, young man," he addressed Snape. "I've had enough blood loss to know what it can do to your head. I'd be obliged if you stay around with your uncle, though. We'd like to pick your brain on what you saw. And well done; the Ministry and the Counsellor are in your debt." With another quick nod to them both, the older man set off down the corridor.

Moving with his uncle back into the main arteries of the Ministry, the two men found the place in uproar. Looking around him, Snape turned to his relative. "What happens now?"

"Now, we go to the offices and get you cleaned up...and then we make ourselves available for that inevitable debriefing that will be taking place for the rest of the afternoon," Steven informed him with a regretful sigh, keenly taking in everything around them as they walked to the elevators. "Excellent job, by the way. Rufus was right, that was some wonderfully original and quick thinking. You saved lives."

"What about the Couns...hearing?" his nephew asked, catching himself mid sentence.

"Very likely the hearing will be postponed. Though from what I have heard about Counsellor Abernathy, she will most assuredly not be pleased about that one bit," was the reply as Steven squeezed them through a crowd and hit the lift button. "That woman could have lost both her legs and an arm and she'd still be dragging herself into that room." His tone was actually quite admiring. "She is all about duty...notorious for it...she simply doesn't know how to give up."

"Yes..." Snape stepped into the lift as it opened. "I know."

"Indeed," Steven replied, not sounding the least bit surprised. "I did rather gather that."

"What floor?" Severus asked, looking at the myriad buttons.

"Right now? The Second and Auror Headquarters. Why?" the elder man enquired, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth at his nephew's attempt at deflection. "Somewhere else in the building you wish to be?"

Snape's eyes found him. "No. I merely find that lifts tend to go faster when you press a button...the correct one is generally best."

Steven chuckled slightly at the teen's sarcasm and nodded. "I stand corrected. Two it is. Though...I suppose...we could see where the Counsellor is. I suspect on Level Ten," he suggested lightly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his nephew.

"If you want." Snape shrugged, keeping any vestige of enthusiasm from both his face and the fingers currently itching to press the Tenth Floor button.

"I don't know..." His uncle's air was carefully oblivious. "Maybe we should just skip it. Though...she probably would enjoy seeing a friendly face after such an ordeal...and I do need to speak with Erasmus...but if you rather just go change..." he waffled back and forth.

Knowing precisely what his uncle was doing, Snape sighed. "Isn't that where the Wizengamot is? On the Tenth Floor?"

"Yes...that's where the hearing was to be held...before the Wizengamot." Steven was finding he had to pull on his reserves not to smile at his nephew's behaviour. "And she probably marched right in there to argue her case, attack or no." He rubbed his lower lip with the side of his finger slowly. "Quite a sight to see, really...the Wizengamot."

"Yes. I'd like to see it..." His nephew agreed with a nod. "The Wizengamot."

Without waiting further, the teen stuck out his hand and slowly but deliberately pressed the number ten, while the finger on Steven's lip became a hand to cover the wide smile that had taken over the older man's face.

---

"Order! Order!" called the enhanced voice of Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, who was trying in earnest to bring order to the emotionally charged room. "Now, Cadmus, what was this about an attack?"

"My apologies," the middle-aged man replied. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to his aide, who had hurriedly whispered the news to him, to resume his seat. "Wiggins here has just informed me that there has been an attack just outside the Ministry."

The uproar began again.

"Order!" the elderly wizard barked again, immediately silencing the deafening speculation. "Is it...was the Dark Mark seen?"

"No," came the reply. "Though the assailant appears to be deceased...so it is possible he did not get around to conjuring it." The tall, distinguished man took a deep breath. "It seems as though it was an attempt to assassinate Counsellor Abernathy..."

"An unsuccessful one, I might add," interjected a diamond hard female voice behind him.

"Counsellor!" Dumbledore called to her in a relieved greeting as the pale young woman strode into the room with a determined pace, her aide moving behind her.

"Chief Warlock," she returned with a nod, not stopping until she had moved around the interrogation chair to take her place with a small group of waiting individuals at the side. "It is with no little shock and sadness that I must inform the council that during the ambush by an unnamed attacker, two Aurors, Jeanne Ellwes and Robert Tangerston, who had been sent to protect me, did just that and were killed for their efforts. I must also report that our Muggle driver...an innocent...was severely injured.

"This senseless act of violence," she continued as those around her proceeded to murmur in shock and anger, "only proves to me that what we are here to discuss and hopefully prevent today is more necessary than ever."

"How can you say that?" A wizard rose from the benches above. "The bastards just tried to kill you...they did kill two of us! We need those increased powers now more than ever!" Several voices rose in agreement around the room.

"No!" she insisted, just as Dumbledore went to call order again. "The increasing violence is only breeding more of the same. The truths and laws we cling to, never mind our moral principles, are now at stake! I tell you now..." She turned slowly to address them all. "We stand now at a crossroads, and one wrong step will only send us stumbling down a path I know none of us wishes to go."

More muttering wafted around the room, agreement blending with disagreement.

Holding her hand up to silence them, she continued, "Do not mistake my vehemence for foolishness or blind faith in human nature. I agree...the violence must end! The Death Eaters and 'He Who Must Not Be Named' must be stopped!" She paused, her loud words echoing and sinking into the ears of those around her. "But at what cost?" she asked them pointedly. "What is the point of fighting to preserve our way of life...our freedoms...if we become that which we fear and struggle against?

"Those who do not agree with those freedoms seek to stop us...not by talks and a meeting of the minds, but with threats, violence, and death." She shook her head slowly, her eyes taking in each member of the fifty person assembly above her. "I am not afraid to die...but I will not cower from them and their tactics. Nor will I agree that we need to sink to such tactics to defeat them! Yes, ours is a better way!" she declared to them, still holding each person's gaze in turn.

"But...unless we prove that...unless our actions back up our words, those words and much vaunted ways are as useless as expired fairy dust. Someone must speak out...to show them that such methods will never intimidate us...scare us into following them down that dark path. For the minute we do that, we lose a hold on the value of life, and the minute we do that, they have won!" she told them. "We must fight them...we must show them that we are not afraid, but we must show them that we will continue to hold to who and what we are and what we believe in!"

Caught up in the hubbub of the announcement of the attack, no one within the Wizengamot had noticed the Auror and the heavily bandaged young man arrive in time to hear the impromptu speech. As they took their seats, the two of them looked around the faces of those within the great chamber, which remained hushed in the aftermath of her words.

"A poignant opening statement, Counsellor," the Chief Warlock replied after a moment's silence before turning to the middle-aged woman beside him with a serious expression. "However, Minister, even though it seems all the parties are for the most part prepared, after what has just happened and out of due respect for those killed, I would humbly suggest..."

"Indeed," Millicent Bagnold agreed, picking up his meaning immediately. "Though it pains me to postpone these proceedings, this current attack cannot and should not be ignored. Therefore, I am calling a recess to this hearing. After I have had a chance to meet with the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who I assume judging from his absence amongst us is already engaged upon the matter, we shall reconvene when it is agreed that it is safe to do so."

Paidea's brow furrowed, and she appeared as though she might argue the point, but after glancing at several of the others in her party, she nodded up at the Minister for Magic in agreement as did Cadmus Hornsby, Deputy for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Since all are in agreement...we stand adjourned." Dumbledore ended the session, rose to his feet, and moved off down the rows, the Minister alongside of him, towards a side door. The rest of the elders of the Wizengamot followed after him, their purple robes flowing behind them.

Even though Snape's eyes took in the great room about him, the greater part of his attention remained focused on the woman in the middle of it. As the elders left, he leaned towards his uncle. "What does that mean? 'When we all agree?' Will the debate be shelved indefinitely?"

"I don't know," the older man replied, impressed that his nephew had caught the subtle political cadences inherent in the simple statement. "The Minister finds herself divided on the subject. It's something of a hot potato -- one way or another the outcome will leave her with a lot of aggrieved supporters. I have a feeling she wouldn't mind seeing it put aside for a while." Steven rose to his feet, his brow furrowing just a little. Then without another word, he moved with swift steps down between the rows of seats, his eyes fixed on the small group still talking quietly below.

Suddenly acutely aware of his blood soaked shirt clinging to his shoulders and upper right chest, Snape nonetheless followed his uncle. Despite his rather woozy state, he reminded himself to be calm and take the elder man's lead. Following at his uncle's pace, he clasped his hands behind his back. He'd made a good impression, and now was the time to enforce it. He was no nine year old boy anymore.

Arthur Weasley glanced up from where he was talking softly with an older woman who had a broad, square jaw, very short salt and pepper hair, and thick eyebrows. Following his gaze, she looked up as well, holding her monocle to her eye to take in the two men. "Ah, Steven," she greeted him. "Good work today."

The dark-haired man gave her a respectful nod. "Madam Bones," he returned. "And I'm afraid I did very little. The praise goes to my nephew." He glanced behind him and beckoned the teenager over.

"I say!" Arthur breathed, his expression one of pleased respect as he smiled at the teen. "Good show, Severus!"

"Nephew, eh?" A small, short wizened man with a veritable mane of silver hair and close clipped 'ronnie' of a moustache exclaimed in a rather high pitched voice. "Really?" The two beady little blue eyes of Hezekiah Butler ran over the dishevelled newcomer, gleaming with interest and intelligence and leaving Snape with the impression that he was being looked through and thoroughly weighed up.

Steven made to answer, but was beckoned to by a tall dark-haired man with a tweed pointed hat. "A moment?" his cultured voice enquired.

"Of course, Mr. Satersley," the Auror replied and followed him to the far side of the room.

"Nephew, indeed?" Amelia Bones said in a no nonsense tone as she peered at the teen through her monocle. "How old are you, boy?" she enquired briskly. "And have you considered a career here at the Ministry?"

For his part, Snape returned Amelia's level gaze, not overly keen on being addressed as 'boy' in such company. "I'm seventeen and of age, Madam Bones," he answered, using her name, having recognised her from her picture. "And I'm considering a great many careers...but have decided on none as yet."

"Hmmm..." She tapped her monocle against her hand for a moment before slipping it back into a pocket inside her outer robes. "Yes...it is good to keep one's options open. Though you should make a choice soon -- spots among the Aurors fill up quickly -- but with the war..." Her voice drifted off as she sighed. "Well, you should give it some careful thought...make the choice that's right for you."

"Severus..." came a soft and very familiar voice behind him.

The instinct to turn immediately was strong, but Snape kept his gaze ahead of him for a moment more before turning casually to face her. "Counsellor Abernathy," he greeted her with an incline of his head.

She stood there, flanked by another woman with curly red hair and a tall skinny blond man with green eyes and glasses, a notepad and quill seemingly glued to his hands. Her eyes were warm as she gazed at him. "I wanted to thank you again for what you did for me. It seems I owe you my life twice over now."

Snape's lips curled minutely. "I was merely fortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the right time...twice. And as for today, it was nothing anyone else here would not have done, I'm sure. I am, however, sorry to have ruined your cloak."

"Counsellor?" The tall young man by her side spoke up before she had a chance to respond. Snape's eyes moved to him immediately. Apart from their respective lean aspects, they seemed polar opposites. Where Severus was sallow skinned and had long stringy black hair, this other man was blond, tan, had neat features and hair, and appeared to be about the same age as his employer. He was also immaculately dressed in an expensive tailor made set of robes that doubled as a suit, the silver grey material forming an ankle length frock coat which buttoned to his waist with silver buttons that were each imprinted with a crest. His suit trousers were crisp, their crease almost razor sharp, and his shoes shined with a high polish. He was dapper and immaculate, and there was no denying that he was eyeing the rather rumbled and grimy Snape with some slight disdain.

The dislike was mutual and instant, enjoined and recognised by both men before green eyes parted from black to return to his employer. "Counsellor, we need to formulate an immediate submission to ensure that the hearing is not bound over for the duration. We need to see to the media as they are clamouring for an interview...so a press release must be organised. Your parents have both sent owls. Your father is on his way to a Portkey point as we speak. Your mother and sister wish to speak to you by Floo as soon as possible."

She sighed and shook her head. "Very well, Hawk," she agreed. "But a press release only...and I will draft a submission as soon as we are done here." Shifting her attention back to the dark-haired young man before her, she gave him a lopsided smile, though her words were directed to her assistant. "Send a brief note to my father, informing him that I will meet with him in an hour...and let my mother and sister know that I shall call them when I return home, but all is well." And without missing a beat, she continued, "And please do not worry about my cloak, Severus...it is easily repaired. People are less so. How is your wound?"

"The Healers attended to it. It stings a little but I shall live," he replied. "My apologies for my appearance..." His eyes glanced to her assistant for a fraction of a second, his words pointed. "I have not had the chance to change since the attack."

She touched his arm and shook her head. "I am most relieved that you are well," she assured him. "And no more apologies."

Looking down at her hand, he nodded and turned his gaze back at her. "I..." he began and paused, his mind trying to formulate the right words.

Giving his arm a squeeze, she released it. "We must catch up soon...it has been too long." Her eyes were warm and friendly as she gazed into his. "But you are very much the same...just as I remembered you."

His intent had been to ask if she might have time to visit privately...but he was now grateful his momentary uncertainty had prevented him from voicing that hope in front of so many others as her final words struck him. His eyes flickered, and he cleared his throat lightly, attempting to keep his equanimity as his delusions of adult suavity and assurance were well and truly punctured. The same. Just as she remembered. He could see the truth of that in her eyes. While the fully grown woman of his dreams stood before him, that odd little nine year old boy still stood before her.

"I am...somewhat grown as you can see, Counsellor," he reminded her quietly.

She chuckled and shook her head. "Oh, Severus, to me you will always be that precipitous little boy...and my dear friend," she told him warmly before turning to the red-haired witch beside her. "Daphne, we shall talk on the way to my office?"

"Certainly..." came the rich voiced reply of the reserved Daphne Willowby, an operative of unknown rank from the Department of Mysteries. "And my congratulations too, young sir," she added throatily as Snape, his head dipped to hide his humiliation, stepped aside to let them pass.

He watched the three of them go, the smirk on the face of her assistant obvious at her words. Saving the Levicorpus inflicted on him by Black and his fellow prats, it was the most embarrassing moment of his life. To have saved her life...to have been so highly praised...and then be told in front of all and sundry you were in essence still a little boy -- he would've been angry if it wasn't so disheartening. All his ideas, all those veiled dreams regarding her, and his place alongside of her smashed into a castle wall with a resounding thud.

"Is everything all right?" came the voice of his uncle as he and Satersley returned.

Snape looked at his relative, turned on his heel, and strode up the stairs and through the door they had come by. The Auror left in his wake gazed after the teen in confusion, before excusing himself and following him out.

"Severus!" he called, his long strides bringing him to his nephew's side quickly. "What in heaven's name is the matter?"

"Nothing," Snape snapped, walking back towards the lifts as the omni-present feeling of light-headedness increased. "I merely wish to rest, change...and leave."

An iron grip closed over the teenager's arm. "Severus..." The easy, affable voice was now one of commanding presence. "First of all, look at me when I'm talking to you. Second, you can't leave as we have to be in the Minister for Magic's office in ten minutes. And third...nothing my arse."

Snape stopped and looked him in the eyes as per his request. "You saw what happened out there as well as I. You talk to the Minister. I have blown up half a city street, lost several pints of blood, and am sick of being patted on the head like a good little boy. I would like to lie down and rest, if it's not too much trouble, Uncle?" The cool tone in his voice was completely at variance with the angry blaze in his eyes.

"No...it's not all right," came the quick reply. "Welcome to the life of an Auror. We're lucky these days to get time to sleep. And it is because of what you did that you have been requested to come to this meeting. You have a report to give, Severus. And like it or not...you have to obey the summons and do it."

He folded his arms across his chest, his green eyes upon his nephew. "That's what being an adult is...not getting to do what we always like to do or want to. It's about fulfilling your duty."

"Then do your duty, Uncle...I'm not an adult, remember? I'm just the boy. You go play the big man. I need to lie down." Severus turned away and hit the lift button.

"Severus Snape!" came the answering bark. "That attitude may work with your teachers and your mother and father...but it will not here and most certainly not with me. And you agreed to this arrangement for this summer. You are now in the real world. So cut the melodramatics." The doors pinged open. "The Minister for Magic has requested your presence in a meeting that will attempt to figure out who is trying to kill the Counsellor...your friend. And maybe what you have to say will save her life." His shoulders sagged and with a sigh, he stepped into the elevator. "I'm not entirely sure how or why, but it's obvious you know and care about her...and if you are of a mind to help her, you need to make a decision to stop acting like a child."

"My decisions are my own to make," Snape snapped, stepping after him a moment before his legs gave out and he sank to his knees.

Catching him quickly, Steven slipped an arm around him and pulled him back to his feet. "Damn it, Severus," he breathed. "Why didn't you mention you were feeling light-headed?"

Snape pulled himself away from the older man and steadied himself against the wall. "Let me see..." he rasped acerbically at him. "I mentioned the blood loss as did the Healer and your superior. I believe I even asked if I might rest...but duty rules, doesn't it, Uncle? Very well..." He turned from him and hit a button on the panel before his rather guilty looking relative could respond. "I'll be the man and play it by your rules. Let us go and do our duty."

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Authors' Note: Many thanks to Smoke and Savageland for their time and marvelous beta editing of this chapter.