Chapter 7: A New Beginning

Dumbledore sat alone in his booth at the back of the dingy pub, a pint of dark ale in his hands. Despite his trademark half-moon glasses, he rather doubted that any of his students would recognize him. It was highly unlikely that any of them would happen by here, except, of course, for the one with whom he had an appointment. His luxuriant facial hair appeared to be neatly trimmed to not more than an inch in length, and his hair appeared to be cut short. A trivial effort of Transfiguration, along with the purple sweatsuit and trainers into which he had transformed his robes and shoes. He could have easily changed the color as well, but he was fond of purple. Muggles, too, tolerated some eccentricity in their elders, he reasoned.

As he took a small sip from his glass, the door of the pub opened, admitting the noonday sunlight. The young man who stepped in wore his greasy black hair parted in shoulder-length curtains on either side of his face. Though he had made no effort to alter his appearance, the style looked fitting atop the leather jacket, dark turtleneck, and faded dungarees he was wearing. Dumbledore smiled approvingly and waved to draw his attention, and the young man strode towards the back of the pub. He had expected no less – he remembered well that Snape, for it was he, had a Muggle father and had grown up in a Muggle neighborhood not unlike the one in which this pub was situated.

The dark rings under his reddened eyes made Snape look even more haggard than he had the previous afternoon. Yet today his carriage suggested confidence; his back straight, his stride long, he swept the smoky pub with his eyes as he walked.

Snape’s face was unreadable as he took in Dumbledore’s appearance, though his jaw tightened as he lowered himself somewhat gingerly into the other side of the booth. Dumbledore filed Snape’s apparent stiffness away for later consideration, and suppressed his mild disappointment at Snape’s lack of even a hint of surprise or admiration for his fine Muggle disguise. Then again, he consoled himself, this unflappability was doubtless an asset in a spy.

“Good to see you!” said Dumbledore affably. Snape nodded acknowledgement as the barkeep approached.

“What’ll you have?” the barkeep asked.

“Same as he’s having,” Snape replied curtly.

They sat together in silence as the barkeep returned to the bar to draw another pint, then returned and set it down in front of Snape. Dumbledore raised his glass at Snape and took a sip of his ale.

“Thanks,” Snape said to the barkeep, and took a long swallow.

“I hope you don’t mind our meeting here,” said Dumbledore, setting down his pint.

“You are right that our other meeting place has its disadvantages,” Snape said obliquely. Dumbledore smiled.

“We may speak freely, Severus,” Dumbledore assured him with a smile. “I have seen to it that we will not be overheard.”

“In that case, Professor Dumbledore, this is a far better choice than Hogwarts. My fellows would avoid both the company and the ale here,” Snape replied. Was that a joke? Dumbledore rather thought it was.

“But you, I see, have no difficulty fitting in here,” Dumbledore observed, raising his glass. Snape nodded, he face becoming more guarded again. His Muggle background was not a fact he preferred to dwell on, Dumbledore deduced.

“We left a lot unsaid yesterday, after you accepted my offer. I thought we might start, today, by clarifying our expectations,” Dumbledore said. Snape took a sip of his ale as he listened, then set down his mug in silence.

“What did you expect when you accepted my little proposition?” Dumbledore asked.

“I hadn’t given it any thought, sir,” Snape responded.

Dumbledore waited, regarding him steadily over his half-moon glasses.

“I was shocked that you would make me such an offer,” Snape added after a few moments.

“And now that you have had a bit of time to think about things?” Dumbledore prompted.

“I told you what I am; I put my freedom, and my life, in your hands when I did. I will accept whatever terms you deem fair,” Snape replied.

“You regret your choice, then?” Dumbledore inquired. Snape’s face darkened.

“No!” he said, shaking his head. “No, that’s not how I meant it. I expected you to turn me in, and instead …” Snape trailed off. “You gave me my life back. I really want to do this, Professor Dumbledore. Your terms don’t matter to me.”

“Very well, Severus,” said Dumbledore. “I would nonetheless like to make them clear.” Snape’s expression brightened, and his black eyes focused attentively on Dumbledore.

“First, you understand I do not make this offer in any official capacity?” Dumbledore asked.

“I approached you as the leader of the Order,” Snape agreed.

“So you understand, should you face prosecution at some point for any past crimes, I could involve myself in your case only as a private citizen?” Dumbledore added.

“Yes,” Snape replied curtly, his face going blank again. So there were particular crimes in his past, Dumbledore deduced with regret. He would learn about Snape’s crimes in due time, he supposed.

“Finally, the information you provide may put you at risk of discovery. I will do what I can to hide the source, but if I feel I must act on it, I will,” Dumbledore said.

“I found Lily’s note, during the raid. The Dark Lord believes we failed only because of an unfortunate coincidence,” Snape said. He paused to take another drink, then set his glass down precisely on the ring that had formed under it while they talked.

“I had not expected that,” Snape added.

“That I would take the precaution of providing an alternate explanation for the Potters’ flight?” Dumbledore clarified. Snape nodded.

“So you trust I will do what I can to protect you from Voldemort,” Dumbledore said. Snape started at the name, but then recovered.

“Yes,” Snape said.

“I would like this to be a long-term arrangement, Severus,” Dumbledore continued, choosing his words carefully. “This will be difficult. You must try to stay away from Voldemort as much as you can. If he speaks to you now, he is bound to learn you have met with me. How long do you think you can avoid him?”

“You mean, because he is a Legilimens,” Snape said flatly. “I have been practicing Occlumency for months.” Interesting, that, Dumbledore thought, taking a long slow drink from his mug as he mused. What had prompted Snape to undertake the study of that obscure branch of magic?

“It cannot be learned properly alone, and it is obvious unless done in a very subtle way,” Dumbledore warned. The young man could not possibly be proficient enough to fool Lord Voldemort at this stage. Perhaps he had advanced sufficiently in his self-study to escape suspicion long enough to learn properly.

“As I said-I was the one who found Lily’s note during the raid,” Snape said. “When Bellatrix gave her after-action report to the Dark Lord, I and another Death Eater were summoned to appear before him to explain our roles in person. He was angry. He read us all. I do not believe he saw anything unexpected in my mind.”

“Remarkable,” Dumbledore said. His newly recruited spy had some unsuspected talents…or was he merely overconfident? “I would like to hear the details of this meeting, to judge for myself. What happened when you arrived?”

“He asked me to explain why the raid had failed. I immediately thought I had been found out. I focused on a single memory, one I often think of, before looking up at him and asking for clarification,” Snape explained.

“And you don’t think he could tell what you were doing?” Dumbledore probed.

“I have used that memory before, around him. It…makes sense, for me to be thinking about it, sir,” Snape said, appearing to choose his words carefully. Absently, he cupped his glass in his hands as he spoke.

“I see. It so happens that I, too, am something of a Legilimens. I would like you to try this with me, now,” Dumbledore said.

Snape flushed and looked away.

“You understand the need to study Occlumency, surely?” Dumbledore asked rhetorically. “To help you with this, I will need to assess your present capabilities.” Snape turned slowly back to face Dumbledore. His hands clenched the glass as he raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore’s.

Dumbledore gazed over his half-moon spectacles into Snape’s cold black eyes. As he concentrated, he could sense a storm of emotions: shame, disgust, fear, guilt. He saw, suddenly, a group of masked and hooded Death Eaters surrounding a young woman who lay on the ground, writhing and screaming. With a shock, he recognized Letitia McKinnon.

More forcefully than he had intended, he probed further. For a moment, he found himself watching Lord Voldemort as he tortured a masked Death Eater whose hood had been dislodged to reveal shoulder-length black hair, before the image vanished completely, replaced by a wall that resisted any further incursion.

Releasing the spell, Dumbledore again looked on the face of his companion, now beaded with sweat and white with strain. Snape took a long drink of his ale.

“That is an impressive block, Severus, I am not sure I could have broken through it,” Dumbledore complimented him. “You realize, of course, that Voldemort would not bother.”

Snape flinched at the mention of the name, and his right hand briefly touched his left forearm. His lip curled, before he deliberately grasped his glass again with both hands.

“Yes,” he replied curtly.

“I see we have a lot to discuss,” Dumbledore commented.

“It…I was a member of the team that killed Letitia McKinnon,” Snape admitted.

“And you did not see fit to warn anyone about her?” Dumbledore asked sternly. Snape flushed.

“I didn’t know,” he mumbled.

“You did not know the Death Eaters were going to kill her?” Dumbledore asked skeptically.

“I knew there was a mission, I was ordered to join it. But I did not know where we were going, or what exactly we were ordered to do...” Snape hesitated.

“And so you went, and you killed her,” Dumbledore finished. Snape nodded.

“How many were you?” Dumbledore asked.

“A team of six, and me. Seven,” Snape responded.

“I see. The Unforgivable Curses. It’s an automatic life sentence you would be facing, then. So, which was it? The Killing Curse, or just Cruciatus?”

“I didn’t do anything. Any spells, that is,” Snape explained.

“You needn’t lie to me,” Dumbledore reminded him gently. “I am not turning you over to the Ministry.”

“I just watched them do it,” Snape insisted. Glancing down at the mug he clutched in his hands, he added more quietly, “I was, I am, afraid. Of them, of the same thing happening to me.”

“And this is why you took up the study of Occlumency?” Dumbledore guessed. Snape nodded.

“That memory is a dangerous one for you to have used,” Dumbledore remarked. “You are not able to shut down the feelings you have about it. I could sense your revulsion and shame quite clearly, I am afraid.”

“It is different, with the Dark Lord. The fear is not there, with you,” Snape said. “I tried to recall it, but it is not the same as when he is near.” And the shame and revulsion you must have learned to bury deep, around the Death Eaters, Dumbledore thought to himself.

“I see. Why would you not use the second memory I saw?” Dumbledore inquired.

“That one is new,” Snape said flatly.

“And yet you think he did not find you out?” Dumbledore asked. The haggard look and the stiffness which had been apparent as Snape seated himself were explained, now.

“He was angry, as I said. He punished all of us. The other Death Eater who was there, and Bellatrix. Actually, I did not see her punishment, but by the time I arrived, she looked pale and terrified, and could barely stand. He blamed all of us for the failure,” Snape said.

“Perhaps you are right,” Dumbledore said. There was a little silence.

“Severus, in the future, I do not want to learn of an incident like this by accident,” Dumbledore said quietly, peering at Snape over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “For your own safety, I am telling no one else of our arrangement, but you are not in this alone. You saw yourself, last night, that steps can be taken to deflect suspicion from you, but I cannot act if I am not aware of the need. You are to keep me apprised of any notable event in your interactions with the Death Eaters, whether or not you think it is related to your activities on my behalf. Do you understand?” Dumbledore asked, fixing Snape with blue eyes that lacked their customary sparkle.

“I do,” Snape responded. Dumbledore kept his eyes on him, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. After a few moments, Snape spoke up.

“Sir, I will do as you ask.”

“Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “I would be interested in learning more about the raid, but I do realize you need to return to work soon…”

Snape reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and brought out a roll of parchment and his wand.

“I wrote down all the details I could remember yesterday night,” he explained to Dumbledore, as he tapped the parchment with his wand.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. “I can look it over later.” He picked up the parchment and tucked it away inside his purple velour sweat jacket.

“That’s all for now, then?” Snape asked

“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed. “I will want to meet with you regularly, for the next few weeks. Your grasp of Occlumency is impressive for one self-taught, but we will need to work hard at it if you are to escape detection indefinitely. This will also be an opportunity for you to tell me of any new developments that arise, and for me to ask any questions I may have after I read this,” Dumbledore said, tapping the parchment inside his jacket.

Snape rose awkwardly to his feet, and dropped a few Muggle coins onto the scratched and grimy table.

“I’ll await your Owl, then?” he asked.

“Yes, Severus, that will be fine,” Dumbledore agreed. “Good day!”

“Good day, sir,” Snape replied, and strode towards the exit.

Dumbledore leaned back and took a sip of his ale. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out the parchment and started reading the small, cramped writing on it. His spectacles were really not up to the task of reading the minuscule handwriting which covered the sheet entirely, he reflected, as he surreptitiously flicked his wand. Now each line appeared to double in size as he read it. Much better…

A half-hour later, the mug of ale was empty, and Dumbledore rolled the parchment back up, making a point of first hiding its contents with a silent spell. A remarkable document, he mused. It spoke of an excellent memory, extraordinary eye for detail, and an ability to apply logic that was quite rare among wizards. And it had been written last night, as its author recovered from Voldemort’s punishment. Dumbledore smiled. Time would tell, but it certainly seemed the young man was turning out to be quite a stroke of luck for the Order. What a peculiar branch of the magical arts was Divination, he reflected. For by his murderous impulse to destroy the baby mentioned in the prophecy, Voldemort had unwittingly created a traitor among his own followers, and driven him straight into Dumbledore’s hands.

THE END