***
Lucius sat in the office of the Malfoy family's attorney and stared intently at the goblin.
"Dear Gablrock, I have decided to diversify our investments. The time has come for the Malfoys to increase their investments in other countries, especially France, the United States, and Bulgaria. These are rather uncertain times in our homeland, and we need to protect our property. Try to discreetly arrange the withdrawal and sale of our investments in magical enterprises in England.
"Are you afraid of something, Lord Malfoy?" the tense and attentive goblin croaked in a rough voice.
"Yes, dear Gablrock," replied Lucius, "I am very afraid that the coming years may become too unstable in England. Whoever ends up in power at the Ministry of Magic, business will suffer, risks will increase, and gold will flow into our vaults at a much slower rate. The new regime, whatever it may be, will definitely try to fleece anyone who is not cautious.
"The goblins won't let our vaults be plundered," Gablrock cut him off.
"I know that," Malfoy smiled, "but money must work, bring profit to the family, not just lie around in a huge pile in underground vaults."
"Very well, Lord," replied the manager, "my assistants and I will take care of it immediately."
"Then I bid you farewell, esteemed Gablrock," replied Malfoy stiffly and with a sense of self-importance, slowly leaving the office.
"It would be good to get my hands on all the Death Eaters' money," thought Malfoy. "Our family could use the cash injection. If the situation starts to take a turn for the worse for the Death Eaters, it won't hurt to have a backup plan. The main thing is to get everything organised and figure out a way to get out of this. Azkaban is no place for a member of the Malfoy family. When it comes down to getting a lot of money or putting someone in Azkaban, an official will choose galleons. The main thing is to come up with a reason that suits everyone."
Lucius smiled wickedly and apparated away, barely stepping onto the steps of Gringotts.
***
Antonin Dolohov, tumbling out of the apparition funnel near the gates of the Lestrange manor, immediately asked for his visit to be reported to Voldemort.
"My lord, today a gang of pure-blood traitors from the Order of the Phoenix attacked my home," he said respectfully, kneeling on one knee. "My wife and heir have been killed, and Evan Rosier, who was waiting for me there, has died.
Voldemort's eyes turned red:
"What?" he hissed, rising from his chair. "How dare they?"
Dolohov clenched his fists in anger:
"I found out that the Prwett brothers and their friends from Dumbledore's fighting squad were involved in the attack. I broke through the manor's defences and destroyed everyone there. The Prewetts died a particularly cruel death, but I would like to get to the man who ordered this, even though I understand the disparity in our strength. I beg you, my lord, when you go to kill old Dumbledore, take me with you. I dream of enjoying the look of horror on his pious face, Dolohov gritted his teeth in anger.
"Blood for blood, Antonin, blood for blood," replied the Lord grimly. "We will avenge everyone, the blood of innocent wizards will be paid back to the bearded one and his servants a hundredfold. I have almost found where he is hiding the Potters. A sensible wizard has appeared among his supporters who is ready to tell me everything and even guide me through the Fidelius. In return, he only wants to join our ranks and be among the victors, not the losers in this war. A small reward for helping to end Dumbledore's story. In fact, the only thing stopping all of magical England from switching to our side is a prophecy that has spread among all wizards, the Dark Lord shook his head sadly. "Dumbledore, sitting in the headmaster's chair at Hogwarts for many years, has effectively held families loyal to us hostage. Fearing for the lives of their children, they cannot openly support us.
But his policy of rapprochement with the Muggles will harm everyone," Voldemort's eyes flashed red again. "The Muggles will very quickly start a global war when they learn of the existence of wizards and our capabilities. They may be animals, but they are very dangerous animals.
A pure-blood wizard would not try to befriend a pack of hyenas — I tell you all, he is insane. — Voldemort waved his hand in anger. — Never mind, by autumn it will be decided who will rule this country, worthy pure-blood wizards or despicable Muggle-lovers. Go, Antonin, and prepare yourself. I will summon you when the time comes to act," the Dark wizard smiled maliciously. "Now continue training the fighters. We will all need their power soon."
Dolohov bowed and left the office. His thoughts were filled with anger and bitterness. Yes, he had avenged his family and destroyed the villains. But for some reason, it had brought him nothing. The pain lingered inside him. He had nothing left to live for and nowhere to return to. All that remained was ashes. But he still had a chance to settle the score with all of Dumbledore's minions, to take revenge on everyone. After saying goodbye to Rabastan, who had accompanied him, he apparated to the Death Eaters' combat training camp.
***
Appearing suddenly on Montmorency Street, opposite an inconspicuous stone house at number fifty-one, the man looked rather unusual to the locals. His large white beard and long purple robe would have seemed strange and insane to ordinary people, but no one could see this man. He waved a gnarled stick and the inscription on the building "We, the farmers, men and women, living here and dwelling under the roof of this house, built in 1407 AD, are obliged to pray to the Lord every day, reading the Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary, asking the Lord to forgive the unfortunate dead sinners. Amen," was replaced by "House of the alchemists Nicolas and Pernelle Flamel, 1407." Smiling into his beard,
Dumbledore examined the bas-reliefs depicting the famous couple and rang the bronze bell above the door. The door immediately opened, and an old house elf appeared on the threshold, staring at Albus with his dim eyes.
"Good day, Headmaster Dumbledore," he said in a squeaky voice, "the master is waiting for you."
The wizard stepped over the threshold and, as expected, found himself not on the way to the small restaurant, but on a sun-drenched lawn surrounded by a hedge and ivy, where a small mansion of exquisite beauty in the old Flemish style stood. High windows, ceilings with decorative wooden beams, comfortable armchairs standing in spacious, bright rooms — all these memories made Dumbledore sigh nostalgically. He was glad to be back in his teacher's house, where he had spent several wonderful years.
"Hello, Albus," the famous alchemist Flamel was waiting for Dumbledore at the door. "Come in."
"Hello, Nicolas, you've aged a little since we last met," Albus smiled.
"Oh, you've only just noticed that I'm old?" Flamel smiled kindly. "I'm well over six hundred years old, and that leaves its mark on my appearance. Besides, unlike my dear Pernelle, I haven't cared about my looks for a long time."
Teasing each other, they slowly made their way to the living room, where they settled into comfortable armchairs.
"I'm listening, my friend," said Flamel seriously. "What happened in England that made you decide to come yourself instead of sending an owl, as usual?"
"Trouble has come, Nicolas," Dumbledore replied sadly. "My friend, Alastor Moody, has fallen victim to some kind of dark magic spell, so powerful that it destroyed everyone at the scene of the attack and even managed to destroy the altar of an ancient pure-blood family," Dumbledore said with a grimace of disgust. "Despite all the protective amulets, Alastor is literally rotting away alive. The medics managed to freeze time on his body, but, as you know, it cannot be sustained for too long. They have tried everything they have, all the spells, potions, rituals, but to no avail. This is something ancient, not of our world.
Flamel looked thoughtfully at Dumbledore and said,
"I understand what you mean. Deep in the ages, there is knowledge that must be forgotten forever for the greater good. Your old friend, Grindelwald, studied it, but he too began to go mad with the power he gained. We all know how that ended for the world — not well.
Dumbledore shook his head and sighed:
"Yes, Nicolas. That story weighs heavily on my heart. I didn't warn him, I didn't stop him. His brilliant ideas, sharp mind and magical power, his charisma could have led any wizard astray. What a pity that he traded himself for power and dark magic instead of developing science and promoting ideas of equality and the greater good. If things had turned out differently, how much better the lives of wizards would be now. We must integrate into Muggle society on equal terms. Together, we can bring prosperity to this planet. We can reach unprecedented heights in development. Their technology and our magic, in symbiosis, can give humanity the stars. But the narrow-mindedness of the pure-bloods prevents us from realising these ideas. They are afraid, locked in their own little world, and consider themselves the pinnacle of creation. But over the years, I, and even more so you, have seen how rapidly humanity is developing. From stupid savages with bows and arrows, they have already turned into civilised people who are capable of advancing science. Their information processing mechanisms alone are worth a lot. A little more and they could appear in every home, in every family. This would give an incredible boost to development.
"You know, Albus, there is almost no escape from some dark ancestral spells. I cannot restore your friend's health, but I can save his life," said Flamel thoughtfully. "Using his blood and an extract of the philosopher's stone, I will create a medicine that will stop the destruction in his body and even strengthen his source of magic a little. He will, of course, remain crippled, but at least he will be relatively intact and will be a wizard again.
"Thank you, my friend," Dumbledore bowed his head emotionally. "His life is very important to me. With each passing year, we have fewer and fewer people we can trust to have our backs in battle."
"Then let's not waste any time," said Flamel, and both wizards rose and went down to the basement, to the alchemy laboratory.
***
In Godric's Hollow, in a small two-story cottage, where Harry Potter, who had just turned one year old today, was sleeping in a crib on the second floor, a motley group of old friends had gathered in the living room on the first floor. The sharp and impulsive Sirius Black in his Auror robe, Remus Lupin, all grey and inconspicuous with a perpetual apologetic smile on his haggard face, and the fat Peter Pettigrew, whose small, darting eyes constantly jumped from one interlocutor to another.
Frank and Alice Longbottom sat on a small sofa. Frank, an unassuming, big-eared man, was nevertheless a strong and experienced Auror, and his wife, a beautiful woman with short dark hair, laughing eyes and a cheerful smile, seemed to illuminate everything around her with a soft and kind light. Their one-year-old son, Neville, had also celebrated his birthday with his family yesterday, and today he was left in the care of his grandmother and the house elves, which undoubtedly added to the joy of his young parents.
James and Lily Potter were also sitting nearby, by the stairs to the second floor. After putting Harry to bed, they were happy to meet their friends and celebrate this wonderful day. Raising a glass of firewhisky, James exclaimed with a smile:
"Here's to us, guys, to us and our children! May their lives be joyful and happy."
Everyone responded with a unanimous roar and drank together. A meaningless conversation ensued. Black teased Peter, who responded with a lazy retort. Remus watched with a smile and periodically interjected phrases supporting one side or the other. Alice and Lilly exchanged interesting stories about raising young wizards, while James and Frank simply sipped their firewhisky, listening intently to their wives' conversation.
James and Sirius went out onto the porch to get some fresh air. It was dark outside, and only a few windows in the houses along the street still glowed with a faint yellow light.
"Jay, are you sure it was a good idea to make little Peter a Keeper of the Snitch? He's been acting strange lately. He's withdrawn, nervous, afraid of everything."
"What's going on with him?" Black asked thoughtfully.
"I don't know, Sirius. You and Frank and I are constantly on raids. We risk getting into trouble every day when we encounter the Devourers. I've only managed to escape Voldemort's attacks three times by sheer luck. He's incredibly strong, definitely not weaker than Dumbledore. So I hope that Peter, who has nothing to do with this war, will be the one to keep our home safe. After all, if something happens to you or me, Lily can only count on the protection of the Fidelius and the Order of the Phoenix. You know she's a Muggle-born, and my ancestors refused to accept her into the family and connect her to the altar. That's why Lily had a hard time giving up her burden; she lost about two-thirds of her magical power, and Merlin knows, it'll take her a couple of years to recover.
James shrugged and continued:
"You know I've never cared about these pure-blood nonsense. I'm all for progress and I trust Dumbledore. Last year, I gave him my family cloak for research. He promised to look for a way to transfer its unique properties to the entire house.
"Remus has also distanced himself from us since leaving school," said Sirius. "With his 'furry problem', he's afraid of hurting everyone.
"You know, Jay, werewolves are switching sides en masse to join the Death Eaters, who promise them equal rights with wizards. I'm afraid Lupin might switch sides too."
"Come on, Sirius, that can't be true. Remus showed even at school that he was the most conscientious of us all. We were the darlings of fortune, from rich, respected families, spoiled by the privileges of the golden youth. Remus and Peter were cut from a different cloth from the start, so if we hadn't lived in the same room together since first year, it's not certain that our close-knit group would have formed.
"Marauders!" they suddenly shouted in unison in the silence and immediately burst out laughing.
"Ah, those were the days," James continued. "If only that Nynius hadn't been constantly getting in the way.
"Snape is a Death Eater now," said Sirius. "The crybaby found himself a new master, their gang paid for his training as a master potions maker after school, and now he supplies their entire organisation with select potions.
"A good investment," James replied. "A skilled potions master is useful everywhere. Especially one as talented and stubborn as Snape. Remember how his old man, Slughorn, couldn't stand him because the slime ball had an intuitive feel for potions. Slughorn, though a master potion maker, is a craftsman. Severus, despite his repulsive character, is still a genius.
"Genius, my ass," Sirius muttered. "But as a person, he's a piece of shit..."
They both silently agreed with that. There was no telling how much blood Snape had sucked out of their group in his time. And he had had his eye on Lily since childhood.
"Okay, Jay, time to go home. Tomorrow morning we're back on duty, see you at work." Black spun around and apparated.
Potter glanced at the stars once more and headed for the house. Despite the fact that the evening had gone well, his intuition was nagging at him. He felt like something bad was happening around him. It was as if someone's hand was squeezing his neck. But when he entered the house and fell into his wife's arms, he forgot all his fears and premonitions for a while.
***
***
Sitting in his favourite wicker chair by the pool, Cassius glared at the small ball of Dorper wool. His task for this month was to make it move at will. He had been studying at Chibuzo Inu's house for a year, mastering meditative practices and learning to see magical lines. But moving objects with the power of his mind, or telekinesis, as Master Inu called it, was something he couldn't do.
He saw a thin thread stretching from his hand to the cursed ball of wool, enveloping it and trying to move it. But at the very moment when the ball should have started moving, the thread vanished. For the thousandth time that month, Cassius strained his imagination and stretched the glowing thread towards the ball. This time he was determined to move it at least an inch. And just as the boy was about to do so, a light gust of wind blew the ball off the table towards the pool. Unexpectedly, Cassius mentally grabbed hold of it and pulled it back. The ball hovered calmly, not reaching the pool, and slowly moved back to the table.
"I did it!" Cassius shouted, startling the house elf, who had been lazily watching his exercises.
"Little master, it's lunchtime," grumbled the house elf angrily, "it's time to go to the dining room. The master has just returned from his trip.
"Right, I must show him everything right away!" Malfoy rejoiced and darted upstairs to his room to tidy himself up and go down to the dining room.
After his first lesson, the boy had decided that now they would start teaching him scary dark magic, but in fact, Chibuzo Inu began with the very basics that are taught to noble children from African families. Physical exercise, meditation, memory development and control exercises. This was not Occlumency, of course, but preparation for it. The boy absorbed the knowledge like a sponge, and even now, a year later, he was completely different from his former self. He was tall for his age and strongly built, like many other boys, albeit of a different colour, who filled the streets of African cities.
Wearing a special amulet that changed his appearance to that of a typical boy from the Luba tribe, he walked through the residential areas of Kinshasa under the watchful eye of a vigilant guardian. He had to fight with strange boys and run away from adults when they caught them near the Bonobo Paradise reserve, where they and other children were throwing stones at small monkeys.
In general, Cassius blended into the friendly company of local urchins and did not feel lonely at all. On the contrary, the large number of children he knew allowed him to grow up not as a pompous snob, but as a lively, cheerful child.
When he came downstairs, he saw his teacher sitting at the head of the table, eating with one hand. The other hand was resting on a sling, which greatly surprised Cassius.
"What's wrong, teacher?" he exclaimed. "Are you hurt?"
"It's nothing serious," replied Chibuzo, "just the effects of an unpleasant curse from an acquaintance of mine in West Africa. This scoundrel returned from Haiti, where he trained as a voodoo master, and decided that he would now be the new Dark Lord of the West and East of our blessed lands. He enlisted the support of powerful Loas, turned his fellow tribesmen into zombies, and began attacking our neighbours. They couldn't handle him, so they told me. Of course, I had to work hard to calm him down. However, when we finally met face to face, he managed to surprise me. Perhaps his father, Legba, favoured him. The spirits that this scoundrel set on me turned out to be incredibly vicious and powerful. But our magic, which is within us, is no weaker than the forces that a voodoo sorcerer can summon to his defence. Therefore, as soon as I sent his Loa back to the spirit world, he could no longer oppose my power.
"I managed to move that damn ball after all. I guess all your dorpers died while I was cursing that nasty lump of wool," Cassius smiled crookedly.
"Ha ha," Chibuzo laughed, "you have a good heart after all, kid. First you curse, then you worry about the fate of the cursed sheep. Don't worry, I immediately applied 'flesh cutting' to your trainer, as I still remember how my mother chased me when I cursed our rooster's feather, which I was using to learn 'Wingardium Leviosa'. By tapping my head with a dead rooster, she hammered into me the idea that I should foresee the consequences of my actions.
"Yeah, right," Cassius scratched his backside cautiously, "now I understand where your teaching talents come from."
"Black magic is traditionally strong on our continent," replied Chibuzo Inu. "Wizards, cursers, ritualists, potion makers. Of course, it is difficult and time-consuming to study all of these disciplines, but when your life is as long as that of a wizard, and the stronger we are, the longer we can stay in this world, then if you are not lazy, you can study all of them. I am, of course, an experienced magician who does not shy away from even magic unknown in our lands, but I do not know everything. So remember, Cassius," he continued seriously, "never underestimate your enemies. A dead enemy always smells good.
The boy nodded intently.
"And now," continued Chibuzo Inu, "show me, my young apprentice, what you have learned this month while I was away."
In the evening, Cassius contacted his mother through the two-way mirror and, with the solemnity befitting a young wizard from a noble family, shared his achievements and experiences. He contacted his parents and grandmother Valburga every day, simply to find out how they were doing, to share his achievements or, on the contrary, to ask for sympathy.
Over the past year, his parents had visited him three times, but on the last visit, which was the day before Chibuzo Inu left for West Africa, he had a serious conversation with his father. The elder Malfoy warned his son that the dark Lord Voldemort had chosen the Potter family as the ones who had given birth to the child of prophecy, who had the power to defeat the Dark Lord. And now he was looking for a way to overcome the power of the Fidelius spell and find out where their house was located. When that happened, and the elder Malfoy had no doubt that it would happen sooner or later, everything could change.
If they seize power in England, the Malfoy family will be at the very top. What's more, all financial flows will go through them, and that is simply unreal power and wealth. The family will rise even among other pure-bloods. But if Lord Voldemort fell, hard times would come for all the aristocrats and ordinary wizards whose families supported him. The authorities, scared out of their wits by the Death Eaters, will start taking revenge on everyone. Both the righteous and the guilty, without much distinction, and under the guise of destroying their personal enemies.
"We will, of course, be able to survive in that case," said Lord Malfoy, raising his head proudly, "but I am much more at ease knowing that you will be staying out of these events. If anything happens to us, it is your duty to grow up to be a powerful wizard and restore the power of our family. Even if you have to spill the blood of all England to do so," Lucius said sternly, looking at his son.
"I promise, Dad," little Cassius looked at his father just as seriously, "our family is above everything else."
***
Severus Snape sat in his house drinking. Cold autumn rain drummed against the window, but Severus paid no attention to it. He understood that his love for Lily Evans was hopeless and insane. Severus couldn't even bring himself to call her Potter in his thoughts; it would lead to nothing good. Having known her since childhood, Snape adored her cheerful, spontaneous nature, which made even him, a sullen, unsociable teenager, smile.
"I must have got it from my mother," Severus grimaced bitterly. "She was hopelessly in love with that disgusting Muggle, my father, and forgave him everything, even beatings and humiliation. And I'm just like her, a hopeless fool who can't forget the woman who chose my school enemy as her husband. Last year, when I brought that cursed prophecy to Lord Voldemort, I never dared to think that it would affect my Lily. How many children are born at the end of July?
And how many fools and lucky ones can challenge him three times and stay alive?" Snape groaned and grabbed his head. "I begged the Lord to spare her, but all I got were vague promises that if she didn't get in his way, he would let her live for me."
"A mother will step aside and give up her child to death?" The thought flashed through his drunken mind. "I have completely lost my mind in my pursuit of power and authority." Snape stared blankly out the window. "What am I to do? I cannot save her myself; the mark will not allow me even to think of attacking the Lord, but I can tell Dumbledore everything and hope that he can stop Voldemort and save her. It is decided," thought Snape, downing another glass of firewhisky.
He scribbled a short note requesting a meeting and sent the owl to Hogwarts.
***
Dumbledore walked quickly down the corridor of the Mungo infirmary and knocked on the door of Smetwick's office.
"Good afternoon, Hippocrates," he said. "How is Moody?"
The healer looked pale and tired; maintaining the freezing spell for several months had drained all his strength. He felt he was at his limit, but removing the spell would surely kill Moody. Dumbledore had promised that he would soon find a cure, so Smetwick held on with all his might.
"Alastor is in stasis, what will happen to him?" he said wearily. "Have you found a cure?" Smetwick looked hopefully at Dumbledore, who was beaming with joy. "I have, my friend," Albus smiled, "and I ask you to go to Alastor immediately to begin treatment. This potion," he took a small potion bottle from his pocket and waved it in front of Smetwick's face, "which my friend and teacher Flamel and I brewed, will definitely help Alastor overcome the curse. The main thing is that Moody stays alive, the rest can be fixed.
"Wounds from dark magic cannot be healed so easily," Hippocrates shook his head, "All right, Albus, let's not delay. They quickly left the office and headed for a separate ward, where Moody lay in stasis on a bed.
"Go ahead, you remove the freeze, and I'll pour the elixir into him right away, and then we'll hope for a miracle," Dumbledore said tensely and prepared himself.
As soon as Moody's body went limp, he confidently opened his mouth and emptied the crystal vial with the bloody liquid into it. The effect was immediate, and the dark wizard's body was gently enveloped in a pearly golden glow. The swollen torso suddenly began to take on its proper shape, and the festering sores covering the skin began to close, albeit leaving behind ugly scars. Ten minutes later, Alastor took a deep breath and opened his one remaining eye. The other, like the tip of his nose, was gone. The ugly scars snaking across his face made him look terrifying.
"Albus," he called softly in a cracked voice, "am I still alive? The last thing I remember is the gates of Pruett Menorah falling and a figure in a devourer's mask waving some kind of staff. What hit me and where am I now?"
"We're at Mungo's, my friend," Dumbledore replied, smiling into his beard. "We managed to save your life, but you didn't come out of this fight unscathed. You're missing an eye and a leg; you were transported here without them. You must have lost them in the battle.
"You won't live as a cripple, I won't let that happen. Remember, I have connections in the Department of Mysteries. I'll write to the Inquisitor today and ask them to find you the best prosthetics. Now try to feel your magic." Flamel said that the effects of this elixir should even increase your reserves. Recover quickly, my friend," said Dumbledore with a slightly sad smile, and he and the healer left the ward.
"This potion works wonders," Smetwick exclaimed enthusiastically. "Could you help us get some for our hospital?"
"Alas, healer," Nicholas Flamel would hardly agree to supply Mungo's Hospital with his potions in sufficient quantities. He is too old for that now.
Alastor Moody remained lying in the ward they had just left, thinking about what had happened. Born into a poor but pure-blooded family, he had devoted his entire life to the Auror Corps. He had served honestly and, over time, had become a strong and skilled fighter. As he grew older, he began to pass on the difficult art of dark wizardry to young cadets. But now, lying in the ward, having lost an eye and a leg, he did not feel old or crippled. Energy surged through him, healing the organs destroyed by the curse and strengthening his muscles and bones. In terms of magic, he felt twice as strong as before. And Alastor had been a pretty powerful wizard in the past. Now, of course, Moody wasn't a great wizard, but he could easily take down a couple of devourers on his own without even breaking a sweat.
"If Albus helps me sort out the prosthetics, I'll catch all the devourers. No one will escape justice. And together with Dumbledore, we'll be able to stop Voldemort. All his dark magic won't help him." Lost in these thoughts, he didn't notice when he fell asleep. And it was a good sleep, the sleep of a man recovering from illness.
October 1981 was particularly cold. Frequent rain and a chilly wind forced wizards to wrap themselves in cloaks and move quickly through the streets. But it was even colder and scarier in people's hearts. Constant attacks by Devourers, the horrific deaths of innocent Muggle-borns and half-bloods. Entire villages and settlements were depopulated after raids. A veil of fear covered all of magical England. Lord Voldemort knew no mercy, he raced across the country like a madman, as if searching for someone.
Skirmishes with the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix followed one after another. And in most cases, the terrible figures in silver masks were victorious. Often they did not even kill, but left the Aurors and Phoenixes immobilised on the battlefield.
"We have no need to spill pure magical blood," they said contemptuously. "There are so few of us true wizards left."
Everyone was terrified, because no one knew who was behind the silver masks. However, it was clear that they were pure-blooded wizards of noble birth, endowed with considerable magical power and knowledge.
***
Dumbledore sat in Hogwarts, seemingly waiting for something. Today, he was relaxing in his office, stroking the phoenix's head and feeding it nuts. Suddenly, an inconspicuous owl tapped on the window, and Dumbledore waved his hand to open the window, letting the bird inside. Dropping the letter on the table, the bird hooted, spread its wings, and fluttered closer to the fireplace to warm itself. Dumbledore unfolded the letter and, taking some owl biscuits from the table with his free hand, threw them to the bird. It deftly caught the treat and turned back to the fireplace.
In the letter, Severus Snape, the youngest potions master of this century, sounded somewhat upset and asked him again for a meeting. The boy regularly reported on all the movements in the Death Eaters' camp, completely free of charge. "Perhaps he has decided to demand something after all?" Dumbledore did not think long and, creating a Patronus, dictated a message to it. The transparent phoenix immediately disappeared through the castle wall, and Dumbledore looked at the postwoman:
"Rest, my dear. Your master will be here soon."
The owl hooted in agreement and, spreading its tail, turned sideways to the fire. Suddenly, an emerald flame flared up in the fireplace, and Severus Snape stepped into the office, shooing away the disgruntled bird. He was sober after the effects of the hangover potion, but terribly pale.
"Sit down, my boy," Dumbledore said, pointing to the armchair. "The weather is rather unpleasant, isn't it?" He insistently pushed the cup of tea closer to his visitor. "What brings you to me at this hour, Severus?" Dumbledore looked at Snape intently and sternly over his half-glasses.
The young man wrung his hands and remained silent, unable to begin the conversation. Finally, after taking a sip of tea from his cup and calming down a little, he said:
"You remember, sir, that I am part of the organisation known as the Knights of Walpurgis?"
"I know, Severus, although I more often hear the name Death Eaters," Dumbledore smiled.
"Sir," Snape continued, "it has come to my attention that the Lord has begun hunting the Potters, as they fall under that cursed prophecy."
"Yes, Carl and Dorea were killed shortly after James and Lily's wedding, and their manor was completely destroyed. The Potters traded their cosy flat in London for a house in a magical village," Albus nodded.
"I know, sir. Lily came to me for potions during her pregnancy, so I know where you hid them.
"And you didn't tell your master?" Dumbledore asked, genuinely surprised.
"No, of course not. I always considered Lily my first friend, and I would never do anything that could lead to her death," Severus replied indignantly.
"Even though you continue to hate James and his friends with all your heart," Dumbledore smiled. "So what do you want from me, my boy?" he said, flashing his glasses mischievously.
"I'm asking you to save Lily, and I'm willing to do anything to get her back," Snape replied, as if throwing himself into icy water.
"Save her," Dumbledore repeated thoughtfully. "Not the entire Potter family, just her? It seems to me that the rumours about you being in love with her, Severus, are quite close to the truth?"
Snape turned even paler, but found the strength to reply:
"Yes, sir. She is forever in my heart and will always remain there. No matter what happens, I will love her just as much.
"Youth, youth," Dumbledore shook his head reproachfully. "I cannot trust you, Severus, while you have that mark on your arm. There can be no question of trust. The symbol of Voldemort can only be blocked by oaths no lower than the level of an unbreakable vow. Only this will help to keep the mark's influence at bay.
"I'm ready," Snape sighed nervously. "I'll take any oath, just to save her."
"Very well," Dumbledore concluded. "I will now call Miss McGonagall to record your oaths. You will swear to serve our Order and me faithfully, and I promise that I will do everything in my power to prevent Lily Potter's death, if I have the opportunity."
The oaths bound Snape's hand with invisible patterns, and he went home, somewhat reassured by the promise of help. Of course, from that moment on, Severus became Dumbledore's slave, obliged to tell him everything that was happening in the Death Eaters' camp and carry out all his orders, but in return, Dumbledore promised to help save Lily from death. And she meant much more to Severus than life and freedom.
***
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