Part 1 - Tempers Run High

It was night and Draco Malfoy was running away from Hogwarts, a place he knew he would never be welcome again. He stopped just beyond the school's boundaries, at its towering gates. The three Death Eaters who had been with him up to a few seconds before had Disapparated, and Fenrir Greyback had made it into the Forbidden Forest. Draco was greatly relieved by that. For no reason on earth would he have wanted to spend a single second more with that bloody werewolf.

He stood there in the dark, panting, his heart beating madly, not knowing what to do or where to go. He had no choice but to wait for Snape, who had remained behind to deal with Harry Potter. Draco's eyes opened wide when he saw Snape running towards him, chased by a screeching, infuriated hippogriff that looked horribly familiar. No sooner had Snape passed through the gates, did he grip Draco's arm and Disapparate, taking the boy along with him.

Draco felt that unpleasant feeling of horrible compression which accompanied the process of Apparation. After all those lessons he had been attending during his sixth school year, he was now able to Apparate on his own, but it would have been impossible to accomplish without knowing the destination. As soon as his feet touched solid ground, Draco opened his eyes and stared wildly around, trying to identify the new place. At his side, Draco felt Snape loosen his grip on his right arm. They were on the edge of a dirty river that wound between overgrown, rubbish-strewn banks. An immense chimney, probably an old mill, projected its ominous shadow on the surrounding buildings.

"What is this place? Where are we? Where are the others?" Draco asked Snape, a little disoriented.

"You'll see. Let's go, it's not safe here. Someone may have seen us," Snape said coldly before striding on.

"Where are the others? I'm not going anywhere, unless you tell me where you're taking me!" Draco protested and folded his arms on his chest, making it clear he was not going to move a single step unless he had his questions answered. Snape froze and turned to give the boy an annoyed glare.

"It's just the two of us. I'm taking you to your mother, now move!" Snape barked.

The mention of his mother convinced Draco to obediently follow his teacher up the bank. In a few quick strides, they reached its top, where a line of old railings separated the river from a narrow cobbled street. The road was sided by rows and rows of dilapidated brick houses, their windows dull and blind in the darkness. They entered through an alley between the houses into a second, almost identical street. Snape moved easily through that labyrinth of brick houses, and Draco was under the impression that his teacher seemed to know that strange place very well. They turned up a street, over which the towering mill chimney he had first noticed seemed to hover threateningly. Draco lifted his eyes to a sign on the wall and read Spinner's End. Snape stopped at the very last house, where a dim light glimmered through the curtains in a downstairs room. Snape muttered something under his breath and the door opened, letting them in.

"Draco!" Narcissa shouted as soon as they were inside. "Thank Salazar, you're safe!" She sighed in relief, standing up from a threadbare sofa, where she had been anxiously waiting for her son.

"Mother!" Draco happily shouted, and ran to throw himself in his mother's arms.

"Everything's gone well?" Bellatrix asked from a corner. She had been keeping her sister company.

"Yes," Snape curtly said.

"Then Dumbledore is..." Wormtail squeaked, stoking his left, silver hand nervously.

"Dead," Snape completed Peter's sentence, his face twisting in disgust at the man's stupidity.

"Oh, Severus, I don't know how to thank you," Narcissa said in a trembling voice, for tears of joy threatened to run across her beautiful face.

"Then don't... I've just done what I had to," Snape coldly spat from next to a rickety table, where he had hurried to pour himself a full glass of firewhisky.

"Oh, sure. Like you don't like the glory you'll receive by taking all the credit for my efforts," Draco snarled.

"Stupid boy! If I hadn't completed the mission for you, you'd now be a dead man walking, and the same goes for your family," Snape angrily hissed.

"Oh, and I suppose you did it all out of sheer generosity!" Draco sneered.

"I just kept faith to the vow I made to your mother," Snape whispered, his eyes glittering.

"Of course, the so-called Unbreakable Vow. You could have even broken it for all I care!" Draco drawled derisively.

"No, Draco. You can't break that kind of vow. If you do it, you die," Narcissa explained. Draco was a little taken aback by that unexpected bit of information. He somehow felt his animosity against Snape diminish all of a sudden.

"You'd better go now. The boy can sleep here tonight. They are probably looking for him, and the Order of the Phoenix doesn't know about this place," Snape said to the Black sisters after draining his second glass of whiskey.

"Snape is right. Let's go, Cissy," Bellatrix said pulling up the hood of her cloak.

"Good night, Draco," she kissed her son goodbye. "Good night, Severus," she warmly whispered, but did not dare approach him. He did not look in the mood for any kind of physical proximity or contact whatsoever.

"Wormtail, go take your things from your bedroom. Draco will sleep there," Snape ordered.

"What? And where am I supposed to spend the night?" Wormtail protested.

"Well, it shouldn't be that hard for a rat to find a hole to sleep in," Snape sneered and Draco smirked appreciatively.

"My Master sent me here to assist you!" Wormtail squeaked feebly.

"I don't need your precious assistance any more," Snape whispered and, by the stare in his eyes, that was his final word.

Wormtail knew it would have been pointless to argue, and honestly he was not that sorry to leave that gloomy, little house. He opened a hidden door, revealing a narrow staircase. He lit his wand and went upstairs, followed by Draco. They reached the upper floor where, on a narrow corridor, there opened three doors: two bedrooms and a toilet. A thick carpet of dust covered the floor and there were spider webs hanging from the ceiling. The place had all the air of being used on very rare occasions, considering its general state of neglect.

Wormtail beckoned Draco to follow him in the smaller bedroom. With a swish of his wand, he summoned his few belongings in a small bag, while Draco waited on the threshold. The boy gave a look around the small room, and was relieved to see the place had been cleaned up a bit. Wormtail left the room without even saying a word to Draco. He had always hated Lucius with all his snobbish, pureblooded superiority, and he probably thought his son was not that different. Draco stared with some relief at the retreating form of Peter Pettigrew, as all he wanted was just to be alone.

Part 2 - Draco's Doubts


Draco lay awake in the narrow bed in the smaller bedroom. He restlessly rolled on one side then another, but sleep seemed to have deserted him that night. He lit his wand and pointed its beam around to inspect the room. He guessed that he was probably in a boy's bedroom, judging by the simplicity of the decorum. The narrow bed suited Draco perfectly, but would have been uncomfortable for an adult. Wormtail had slept there too, but he was no ordinary man after all.

The room was rather bare, and it definitely lacked any kind of personal touch to it. It looked like its former occupant spent little time there. Boys, especially teens, tended to personalize their own bedrooms according to their tastes, creating with the place a sort of emotional bound. In contrast, the room had the air of having been an unpleasant place for its owner. The only sign left of a human presence were three small letters carved in a lower corner of the head of the bed: HBP. Draco stared at them curiously, wondering about their possible meaning. He soon gave up, realizing the game was both useless and impossible because they could mean nearly anything.

He tried once again to close his eyes, wishing with all his strength for a dreamless sleep. It was a vain hope, as the memory of his first meeting with Death haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, the scene on the ramparts of the Astronomy Tower kept repeating itself in his mind's eye. He could see the jet of green light leave the end of Snape's wand, hitting Dumbledore squarely in the chest. He could clearly see, like he was watching the whole scene in that same moment, Dumbledore being blasted into the air and then falling slowly backwards, like an oversized rag doll, over the battlements and out into the darkness below. He could remember every detail of that night, among which the Dark Mark stood prominently. He had seen it gleaming deadly in the sky, and remembered the shivers its sight had sent along its spine.

It had not been the first time he had seen it. The first time happened just two years before, at the Quidditch World Cup, but then he had felt nothing for it. The Mark had been something meaningless to him, something that did not concern him at all. But now... now it was different, now that he had one branded in his own left forearm, just like his father. His father. Did he really want to be like his father? He had been called Lucius's son so many times since his childhood, that he had grown up taking it for granted that he was going to follow his father's steps.

"You are not a killer," Dumbledore had said. "I wonder if your heart has been really in it," he had suggested.

Oh, Dumbledore was right. He was not a killer or probably not yet. "And that's what makes all the difference between my father and me," Draco mused.

Surely his father would not have had a second of hesitation when in his place. In spite of the mortal danger he and his family had been in, he had not been able to raise his wand against a disarmed man. He kept thinking about his conversation with Dumbledore, the man's calm smile contrasting with his own nervousness, his fear that the other Death Eaters might not come and, even stranger, he remembered the strange sense of comfort and encouragement he had felt at Dumbledore's unexpected praise.

Praise. What a rare thing praise had been for him. For as much as he tried, he could not remember a single word of praise he had ever received from his father; a father who had never had a kind word for his son, a father who had derided him for his defeats, a father who had raised a child just to be the spitting image of himself.

"Enough!" he shouted annoyed, and jumped out of bed.

He desperately needed some distraction to block the unpleasant memories. He headed to the door believing that might help to calm his nerves a little. He went down the narrow staircase and opened the hidden door that led to the tiny sitting room below. The walls were completely covered in books, and the dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp that was hanging from the ceiling was too weak to illuminate more than a pool beneath it, giving the room the feeling of a dark padded cell. Draco headed to a second hidden door he had been told led to a small kitchen.

"Insomnia?" a cold voice asked, making Draco jump. He gave an alarmed look around the dark room, and suddenly realized he was not alone as he thought. There was somebody sitting in an old armchair.

"Oh. It's you, sir," he said, feeling a pang of guilt for the way he had treated Snape that year. He now felt a fool to have even suspected Snape wanted to steal his glory. He had always treated him with some respect, almost affection after all.

"I'm not surprised you can't sleep. Was it your first death?" Snape asked giving the boy a knowing look.

"Yes, sir. I had never seen anyone die before," Draco whispered, staring intensely at his former teacher.

"I know it can be disturbing the first time. But don't worry, you'll soon get used to even that," Snape said conversationally. Draco gulped hard at the evident hint at what a Death Eater's life would be like.

"Well, it's not that," Draco said and paused, uncertain if he could go on.

"Then what?" Snape asked in his silky voice. He knew there was something troubling the boy, because it was probably the same thing that was tormenting him as well. Maybe talking it through was the only way to alleviate the weight that was oppressing them both.

"Dumbledore talked to me before you and the others arrived, and now his words haunt me," Draco said in rush, doubting he would have been able to end his sentence if he had stopped to breathe.

"Yes, they tend to do that," Snape whispered as one corner of his thin lips curled into a half-smile. For a moment he had not realized he had talked about Dumbledore as if he was still alive, and when he suddenly did it his expression became blank.

"Dumbledore told me he had known I was behind it from the beginning, but didn't say or do anything to stop me. He said that he knew the Dark Lord would have killed me, if he suspected someone knew," Draco said and then his face showed confusion. "Did he really care to protect my family and me after all the trouble we have caused him?"

"Dumbledore was a man who could easily forgive and forget," Snape stated.

"Not really like the Dark Lord, from what I heard," Draco smirked, his nervousness rather lessened from the ease of the conversation. "It's so easy to talk with him, to confide in him. Why the hell haven't I done it before?" Draco realized with surprise. Evidently Snape was trying to make it the easier for both.

"No, Draco. The Dark Lord hardly forgives anything, as you have rightly heard. There's no way out of being in his service, unless you count death as an option," Snape said in a tone that could only be interpreted as bitter resignation. Option ... that was the word that triggered Draco's next sentence.
"He told me I had options. He promised that, if I had gone over to his side, he would have hidden me and protected my father and mother likewise. Was it true? Could he really keep us all that safe? Was I really offered a chance to change my destiny?" Draco burst out the doubts that were tormenting him the most.

"Yes, Draco. He really meant it. The Order of the Phoenix actually has the means to do that. The members of that organization are tied by a bond of solidarity, of a sort of brotherhood, which pushes them to protect anyone in need in every possible way. It's nothing like being a Death Eater, where you have to watch your back constantly," Snape bitterly said, his face hardened in a mixture of hatred and remorse.

"My mother told me she made you swear to complete the mission if I failed. If I had accepted Dumbledore's offer, what would have happened to you?" Draco asked with concern. He now knew he had been an extra burden to the man's double-agent duties.

"I would have had to complete the mission unless if I wanted to live, or else your mother would have had to release me from the vow," Snape whispered, surprised that the boy actually cared about his fate.

"I see," Draco simply answered and looked away.

The sudden realization that his choices had determined the fate of four other people increased the weight on his chest. He probably was not as cold and detached as he had thought to be. That conversation had not given him the comfort he was desperately looking for. He took a seat on the sofa and searched his pockets, wishing some chocolate would have done him good. He found a Chocolate frog and tore the box open, biting angrily at the sweet and chomping it in silence. Yes, chocolate felt good. It was a well known anti-depressive, after all. Then he idly looked at the Famous Witches and Wizards' card within. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Albus Dumbledore's face smiling at him. He stood up abruptly, as if an electric charge had stricken him from his seat. He took a few quick steps towards the rickety table, abandoned the sweet box and card on it, and turned on his heels toward the door.

"Goodnight, sir," he said quickly before rushing upstairs.

Part 3 - The Potion Master's Little Friend


Severus Snape sat in his old armchair with an empty glass still in his hand. He stared intently at Draco Malfoy, who was standing in front of him. Something seemed to have upset the boy deeply. He had suddenly turned very pale and had rushed out of the room, as though chased by some scary, invisible threat. Snape stared cluelessly at the closing hidden door. He then stood up and headed towards the rickety table.

"Enough drinking for tonight. Not that it's of any help, anyway," he thought as he put his glass down on it.

His eyes fell on Draco's Chocolate Frogs package, and then he saw it. There lying on the table, was Dumbledore's card staring curiously back at him. He picked it up with trembling fingers. Why were his fingers trembling? It couldn’t be because of the alcohol he had drunk. No, he could stand that stuff very well, and it was not like he had drunk that much anyway. Obviously, his tremor was due to something else, something more intimate. Still holding the card in his hand, he moved back to his armchair and collapsed on it. He suddenly felt too weak to stand. He stood there, staring on and on at that familiar face, a sight that felt like a stab to his heart.

"Why, Albus? Why did you have to make me do that," he whispered to the card, hoping vainly that the figurine might answer.

"I didn't want to go on with the plan, but you wouldn't listen. I told you it was insane to hope the boy would see reason. You were asking him to trust you. How could you ever expect any trust from someone who has grown up knowing only deceit and betrayal?" he now hissed, feeling his anger rise against that benevolent, smiling face.

"You told me you just wanted to save as many lives as possible. That you didn't care if that meant giving your own life away while trying. That was very noble of you, but you've always been noble anyway," his monologue went on, "though I doubt these particular lives were really worth it. You knew the boy wouldn't be able to kill you, but why did it have to be me, instead? Why, of all persons, did it have to be me? I who owed you so much?" he whispered in an unsteady voice, for now tears were streaming down his gaunt face.

"I hated you so much there on the ramparts. There, when you were pleading me: ‘Please, Severus,’ you said. Please, go on with the fucking plan and kill me! You meant, though it sounded like you wanted me to spare your life," Snape nearly shouted, revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face. Actually, those feelings were not against Dumbledore, but himself. He cursed himself for having been so foolish as to accept Dumbledore's request. He regretted that he had not imposed his will to leave the Order forever, and to hell if he couldn’t keep his vow to Narcissa and he died.

"What am I supposed to do now? What will become of me without you by my side, without your guidance?" he softly whispered, his voice now pleading.

"I played my part, and now the play is over. I have no more roles to play. I'm useless now; there's no place for me in this world," he heavily sighed, clutching the card to his chest.

"I cannot stand this pain anymore. There must be still another way to escape this ... yes, of course there is!" he said, his eyes suddenly alive with realization. He put a hand in an inside pocket of his black coat and retrieved a small, dark vial containing a shining, purple liquid. He stared at it for a while, his expression unfathomable.

"You're going to help me, my little friend. At least potions have never betrayed me so far," he silkily whispered while a hopeful smile curled his thin lips.

He had made up his mind, and there was no way back. With a swish of his wand, he conjured a small table with a pair of blank sheets of parchment, a quill and ink on top of it. He bent over the table and began to write a letter, his hand running smoothly over the parchment. His hand was now steady and he had not a single moment of hesitation. It seemed he had known for a long time each of the words he was writing. When he was done, he carefully read over it while waiting for the ink to dry.

To Whoever,
As I really don't know who, when or even if someone's going to ever find this letter.

If you're reading this, it means my plan worked and I'm no longer able to disclose the following events to you myself. I have killed Albus Dumbledore, as you are probably aware by now. What everybody is ignorant of is the reason why I did it. I had a key role in all this mess we call "the Second War.” I was a Death Eater, but I was an Order of Phoenix member as well, and I was a spy. I've been the servants of two Masters, the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. But while I served the Dark Lord for mere survival, I've been serving Headmaster Dumbledore out of gratitude and pure loyalty. Yes, my loyalty lies with Albus Dumbledore and no one else. He's been the only one to understand me, to support me, even to ... love me, perhaps.

It was in the name of that loyalty that Dumbledore ordered me to kill him to save young Draco Malfoy's life. At first, I've refused to go on with the plan. It was too painful for me to kill the only person who ever cared for me. I've tried to make him change his mind, but it has always been useless trying to reason with Albus Dumbledore once he had his mind set on something. I dearly regret my weakness and hate myself for accepting that damn mission. I wish it was me who died on that tower.

You probably won't believe a single word of this. You'll call me a liar ... I don't blame you. Lies have been keeping me alive for nearly all my life. I know truth hurts, but truth is all I've left to give you. My double-agent's role has come to its end. No more spying for me, no more fighting by Dumbledore's side. I doubt you'll believe the sincerity of my confession, but I felt the need to do it all the same. Now the time has come for me to walk off the stage and disappear.

Severus Prince Snape

He folded the letter and put it in an envelope, writing a few words on its front: To anyone interested. He was not sure why he had written that letter, but he could not suppress his need to tell someone the truth. After so many years of lies, he desperately wanted to tell the truth, even if he doubted anyone would believe him. He wanted to justify his actions, and he could not stand the thought of people talking behind his back. With another swish of his wand the table, ink and quill disappeared. He took away the stopper to the vial and raised it as for a toast.

"Albus, come to welcome me on the other side. Let's begin our next great adventure together!" he said before bringing the bottle to his lips and draining its content.

The room began to sway before his eyes. He managed to lay the empty vial on the nearby table, before abandoning himself against the armchair. The letter he had just written lay across his lap, and his right hand was still holding Dumbledore's chocolate frog card. He closed his eyes and relaxed, welcoming the blessed effects of the potion, as a smile graced his now peaceful face.

Part 4 - A Cold Welcome


Draco woke up early that morning, feeling more tired than when he had gone to bed. He had slept only a few hours, and his conversation with Snape that night had given him more things to ponder. Now that he knew things would have been totally different if only he had accepted Dumbledore's offer, a tight knot formed in his stomach and would not leave him alone. He got up. knowing it was useless lying down, and waited hopelessly for a sleep that would never come. He went into the bathroom to have his morning toilette, washing his face profusely with icy water in order to chase his torpor away. He paused before the other bedroom door, wondering if Snape was still sleeping. He lightly pushed the door open to peep inside. The room was empty and the bed untouched or neatly remade.


"He's probably downstairs having breakfast. I better join him and maybe apologize for my behaviour, I've been such a prat with him all year!" Draco thought as he went down the narrow staircase.


He opened the door to the tiny sitting room. It was dark, the candles had burnt out and heavy curtains still obscured the windows. He lit the tip of his wand and headed to the nearest window to let the morning sun stream in. He turned and gave a look around the room, and finally saw Snape on the armchair. He looked like he had fallen asleep there.


Draco hesitated an instant, uncertain if it was polite to wake him up or not. But the oppressive silence of the room was unberable so he decided to try to wake the man up, hoping he would not be too upset about it. He approached the armchair and stared at the sleeping man; he looked so peaceful.


"Sir?" Draco said tentatively, but Snape did not seem to have heard him.


"Professor Snape?" Draco tried again, shaking the man's arm gingerly. "Could one really sleep so deeply?" Draco thought with a mixture of annoyance and envy.


"Snape!" Draco called and instinctively touched the man's hand.


It was icy cold, putting Draco in alarm. When he tried to raise that hand, he was horrified to see it fall back lifelessly. Draco gasped as the realization of being in front of a dead man hit him. When? How? Who? were the questions rushing through his mind. He was too scared to care to find out. He rushed upstairs, collected his cloak and returned down. He headed straight to the exit door without wasting a second more and ran away from that house. He kept running madly through the labyrinth of brick houses, straining himself to hear the sound of the river. For some strange reason, he was convinced he needed to go back by the river in order to be able to Apparate. He just wanted to get away from that damn place, he wanted to go home, to reach his mother. He finally got there, took a big breath to calm himself, concentrated hard on his destination and Disapparated with a pop.


A few hours later a small group of cloaked figures Apparated on that same river bank. A cloud moved away from the sun and its rays revealed the figures to be Order of the Phoenix members. The group's leader was the ex-Auror Mad-Eye Moody, by his side stood Lupin and Tonks. The two were almost inseparable now that they were a couple. With them were Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger as well. At first, the Order was not happy with their decision to join the mission, but Harry had insisted that, after witnessing Snape kill Dumbledore, he had every right to hunt him down with the others, and be sure he paid for his crime. Harry and his friends' resolution forced the Order to let them in.


"Where now, Hermione?" Moody asked.


"That way," she promptly answered after checking her wand.


The clever witch had mastered the use of a powerful spell that worked much like the Point Me, though this one was able to track down both people and things. Thanks to the young witch’s ability, they easily advanced through the maze of brick houses and soon the mill chimney came into view. They entered Spinner's End and headed straight to the last house. The door stood strangely ajar, as though someone had forgotten to close it in a hurry. Moody ordered them to take their wands out and proceed carefully, then entered the house first. The others followed and tensed at the sight of Snape on the armchair.


"Wake up, Snape! You've got guests," Moody shouted with a triumphant smirk, but Snape did not move.


"Spare us your little tricks, Snape. You're clearly in the minority," Moody boldly hissed, taking a few steps towards Snape.


They surrounded him on all sides, their wands aiming at Snape's chest, watchful for any sign of reaction from him. Harry and his friends exchanged perplexed looks. It looked so strage that Snape had not yet moved a finger to fight them back, to try to escape. The room was overwhelmed by a suffocating stillness that was soon getting on everybody's nerves. Lupin, in spite of his usual cool reserve, was the first to lose control and move closer to Snape.


"Come on, Severus. Stop this rubbish and surrender your wand," Lupin barked shaking the man by his shoulder.


That move caused Snape's head to fall on his chest, giving him the look of a big, grotesque puppet. Everybody gasped and Hermione and Tonks clapped a hand to their mouth in horror as they realized Snape was dead. Ron took a few steps backwards and almost stumbled in the process. Lupin instinctively rubbed his hand on his coat, the one he had used to touch Snape, as if he wanted to clean away the remains of something contagious. Hermione felt her knees go weak and leaned on the nearby table for support. The poor thing had never seen a corpse before. Moody was the first to get out of that general state of stupor. He knowingly approached Snape to examine him for some clue of what might have happened to him, some trace of a possible culprit.


"What do you think, Alastor?" Lupin inquired.


"There's no sign of violence on the body," Moody muttered as he inspected Snape. "Pupils dilated," he added checking Snape's eyes, " and traces of what looks to be tears on the cheeks," he said rubbing his index across the man's face.


"What is that?" Tonks said pointing at the small, dark vial standing on the table.


"Poison!" Moody stated after sniffing the bottle and pouring the last drops on his palm.


"Poison? Snape can't have been poisoned? I mean ... He's been our Potion Master. He knew everything about poisons," Hermione expressed her perplexity.


"This is a very uncommon one, Hermione. It's called the Draught of Peaceful Death. It kills the drinker, sparing him the agonizing pain provided by most existing poisons," Moody knowingly explained.


"He's got something in his hand," Ron observed.


"I'll take it," Lupin offered and bent down to prise the object from Snape's now rigid fingers, "It's a Famous Witches and Wizards' card, Dumbledore's to be exact," he added turning it in his hand.


"How ironic, isn't it?" Moody snorted.


"And there's a letter as well," Lupin said when his eyes fell on the envelop laying across Snape's lap, picking that up as well. "It says To anyone interested," he read and opened it.


Lupin silently read it and his face showed a succession of different feelings as his eyes read on. The others watched him with evident curiosity, wondering what on earth could be written on it.


"What does it say?" Moody asked impatiently.


"It hasn't been a murder, but suicide," Remus whispered and he could not help giving Snape a pitiful look, then passed the letter on to Moody.


"What? But Why?" Harry shouted astonished.


"Apparently the weight of his conscience made him crack down, and with Dumbledore gone he felt his life was useless," Moody coldly stated. "Well, he did us a great favour, mark my word," he snarled.


"Lupin, Tonks! Go check upstairs, though I doubt you'll find anything," Moody ordered them.


The two began to search the walls for some hidden passage. The walls were so thickly covered in books that it was nearly impossible to find any sign of a door or anything. The three kids readily joined them in the search and finally managed to find the two hidden doors. They all went upstairs to inspect the bedrooms, leaving Moody alone with Snape. They found nothing apart from the evidence that somebody had slept in the smaller bedroom. The little group went back to the tiny sitting room descending the narrow staircase one at a time.


"I've sent a message to Shacklebott, he'll soon be here with his guys to deal with Snape's body. There's nothing left for us to do here, let's go!" Moody told them and they prepared to leave.


On her way to the entrance door, Hermione threw a last look towards Snape. She could not help feeling sorry for him. It was so plain that life had been hard on him. She now wished more than ever to have a time-turner with her. There were so many things that could have been changed. Maybe Snape and Dumbledore would be still alive, or even Sirius... yes, they could have gone back and saved Sirius's life too. The thought that all the time-turners had been accidentally destroyed during their visit to the Department of Mysteries filled her little heart with regret. It was always dangerous to meddle with time, Professor McGonagall had made that clear during her third year, but she still believed it was worth trying if one could save someone's life. Moody was right, there was nothing left for them to do there, because no magic on earth was able to bring the dead alive.



THE END