A moment of tense silence.
At Dumbledore's words Snape froze, although his mind was in a state of utter chaos. How had Dumbledore recognised him? It may have been a lucky guess. He might still get away with it if he stayed calm. Dumbledore couldn't possibly know. Dumbledore didn't know.
Finally, Dumbledore broke the silence. "I had suspected of course that my anonymous informer might be an old Hogwarts student, else why choose to contact me?. But I had no idea..." His voice died away, and Snape took the opportunity to step back, out of his reach. He felt that the safest thing to do was to give nothing away, to remain silent.
"I confess," continued Dumbledore, "that I am at a loss, Severus. Why would a student – with the potential for greatness I might add – why would this student choose to ally himself with Lord Voldemort? Was it something I could have prevented? Like the other members of staff, I was aware of your fascination with the Dark Arts, but I had hoped... Perhaps I was wrong..." again, Dumbledore trailed into silence.
Snape's thoughts were spinning around so fast in his mind that it was impossible to pin any one of them down, to find any coherence. Ideas of escape, denial and defence jostled with memories of his schooldays, of the few conversations he had ever had with Dumbledore, of his sense of betrayal when Black and Potter were not expelled. This last memory was so bitter, the feelings of resentment still so fresh, that Snape almost spoke, wanting to challenge Dumbledore, to say that yes, he had made mistakes, he had let Snape down. However, he would not be taken in by such an obvious ploy – Dumbledore was trying to provoke a response. Let him try! Snape felt he was back in control again.
"But then," said Dumbledore, seeming to rally himself, gather his own thoughts, "perhaps something happened after you left Hogwarts. There were high expectations, as I recall. Career opportunities with the Ministry, and the chance to do further research into antidotes at St Mungos. But you seemed to vanish, almost without trace. Except for that report in the Daily Prophet, of course..." and Dumbledore looked very carefully at Snape, "I was shocked to hear that your father -"
"Don't," said Snape, at last, letting his hood fall back so that he could look straight into Dumbledore's face.
Snape met Dumbledore's gaze unflinchingly, although it felt as though a searchlight was illuminating the deepest recesses of his mind. He had expected Dumbledore to look triumphant, for he had forced Snape's hand so easily. Instead, he saw only an expression of deep concern. Dumbledore was worried about him? He did not want pity! Abruptly, Snape turned aside, blinking away a tear. Dumbledore, as if he had been waiting for a cue, moved back to the fallen table and set it upon its legs once more.
Snape had spoken to no-one of his father's death. No-one. The circumstances had been unusual enough to warrant a newspaper article at the time, but he had refused to give any comment. It had been tacitly understood, he knew, that he was in shock, suffering a grief too overwhelming for words. But when Snape had been told that his father was dead, his first feelings had been of relief. It was as though the huge weight of years of oppression had finally been lifted from his shoulders. Shame followed immediately – such unfilial emotions! He had rejoiced in his own father's death! And now, more than a year later, he had come to realise that he would be carrying this new burden – his private shame – for the rest of his life. The relief, the lightness of being, had lasted less than a day. He could not forgive his father, and he could not forgive himself. Damn Dumbledore, for mentioning him now! He needed to sit down. Numbly, he lowered himself onto the nearest chair.
As Dumbledore righted the table and picked up the tankards, now lying empty on the floor, he said, "Another drink, I think?" and, without waiting for a reply, went back to the front bar.
Snape was completely alone. He could hear his own heartbeat, and every throb of his pulse hammered into his mind like a fist. Beat – what could he do now? Beat – what if he'd chosen differently? Beat - would the guilt never end? Beat – why could he not let go? Beat – why had his mother -? Beat – his loneliness. Beat – his life. Beat – his fear. Beat – his father. Beat. Beat. Beat.
The noise of Dumbledore's returning was a welcome distraction. Snape tried to regain control of himself, even if he could not maintain control of the situation. He hadn't come here tonight, he hadn't risked his life, to talk about his family. He took a deep, long drink from his tankard, and smiled ruefully at Dumbledore. "So, now that you know who I am, what do you propose to do?"
"Do?" said Dumbledore, with a puzzled frown. "I'm not sure what you mean, Severus. I think I gave you my assurance that your demands would be met, did I not? I cannot break my promise, and indeed I see no reason to. I am sure that you had what you thought were excellent reasons for joining Lord Voldemort -" Dumbledore paused slightly, as though expecting Snape to interject, "- and similarly compelling reasons for leaving." Again he fell silent.
Snape felt irritated. Dumbledore was trying to manipulate him into some kind of personal revelation. There were more important things to discuss, surely! "With respect," he said, heavily, "my life is in danger and I must know how exactly you intend to meet my demands. How will I be protected? Where will I live? You were very quick to agree. Does this mean you already know of a place – somewhere beyond the scope of the Dark Lord's powers?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore, slowly. "I would be interested to know, however, exactly how much time we have. A week? A month? More, perhaps? What exactly is Voldemort planning to do?"
"I do not know!" Snape shouted, slamming his hand onto the table. As Dumbledore raised a warning eyebrow, Snape lowered his voice, saying, "I have told you what I can. He has yet to trace the Longbottoms, but with a spy in place with the Potters I can only assume that he will attend to them first – presumably as soon as possible."
Dumbledore nodded. "I see, and if his suspicions were aroused – if he discovered that James and Lily were aware of his plans – we would have even less time."
"But how could the Dark Lord suspect...?" And then Snape paused. He saw now what Dumbledore was driving at. He saw his life, his misery, continuing. He saw that escape had been only a dream. A wave of despair washed over him. "I'm going to have to go back, aren't I?"