Chapter 11

With a name like "Sunny Acres," Albus was expecting the retirement home to be a pleasant place for one to spend the sunset of their life.

His mind had conjured up the image of a palatial building surrounded by rolling lawns, with copses of oak trees and birds flitting from one feeder to another. Perhaps there would be butterflies, their gossamer wings making the air dance. There would be streams running through the gardens, with little ivy-trellised bridges crossing them.

Once again, he was proven entirely wrong. Sunny Acres was a large squat building, its peeling paint a horrifying urine-yellow. There was a small garden, but it looked more suitable for an ant adventure than for an elderly person to relax and commune with nature.

He sighed, glancing at Gellert for a moment, all but certain that his friend would not miss the opportunity to point out how muggles clearly need the hands of Wizards to guide them.

Gellert said nothing. He was staring at the building with a slight frown, and he appeared to be calm.

Albus, however, could see the storm raging beneath the surface.

They'd had another argument that morning, precipitated by the previous evening's meeting with Kingsley. The Ministry, Gellert claimed, was certain to declare Albus an enemy at any moment. If he wanted to win, he would need to attack before the Ministry had the chance.

There was undoubtedly some truth to his claims. It seemed very likely that the Ministry would break away from him, in truth as well as ideology.

And yet, Albus was reluctant to act against them. It would be impossible to ensure the safety of innocents in such a confrontation. While he was willing, perhaps, to kill Death Eaters out of hand, he would not be so flippant toward Aurors, who, though misguided, wished to make Britain safer.

He could not be flippant toward them, not if he wished to tell himself that he was still the moral man he'd been for so long.

Well, he had set his mind and would not be changing his opinion, regardless of how much Gellert wheedled. Fighting the Ministry, unless they put him in a position where he had no other choice, would be crossing a line.

'As if you haven't crossed so many already.'

His left hand stroked his beard absently, his right wrapped around the wand in his pocket, his eyes still locked on the building before him.

Yes, he had crossed lines. Freeing Gellert, attacking the Malfoys, using fear to influence the government: he had crossed many lines in a very short period. Nevertheless, with the exception of what he had done to the Malfoys, he did not truly regret anything he had done.

He could not. If he allowed his guilt and morals to bog him down, he would never succeed in vanquishing Voldemort and everything would have been for nought.

Even if he did destroy Voldemort, unless he changed the fabric of the Wizarding World, there'd be a new Voldemort in just a paltry few decades.

No, the Wizarding World needed to be reformed. Regardless, Voldemort needed to be destroyed before any of Albus' hopes could be realized.

And thus, Albus was here, standing before a decrepit old age home. He was, in fact, grasping at straws in an attempt to push off having to invade Gringotts. That certainly was not going to be an enjoyable experience.

As if he were hearing Albus' thoughts, Gellert chose that moment to speak.

"Do you really believe that we're going to find something of value here?"

"As I have already explained, I believe the cave where he tormented those poor Muggles would hold great significance for Voldemort. As far as I can tell, this was the first time he truly demonstrated his superiority over them."

"You said that he had already been terrorising them in his orphanage. He murdered that boy's rabbit, did he not? Positively diabolical of him."

"I'm glad you were paying attention," Albus said, "but you are forgetting something rather important. While at the orphanage, he was not truly in control. He may have exhibited his abilities, but he was still under the thumb of Muggles. Near as I can tell, the first time he had anyone entirely in his power was the cave."

"Yes, but-"

"Besides, do you really think, for a moment, that he would hide a piece of his soul in the place he so desperately hated and wished to escape? No, the cave is a far more likely location."

"You're desperate," Gellert said bluntly, "I tell you; we capture one of his most trusted, that's how we'll find another. Didn't we already find one that way?"

"Indeed, we did, and you agreed with me that it would be best to leave Gringotts alone for the moment."

A car honked at them as it drove past, the passenger's shout lost in the wind.

From the tone, however, it seemed humorous. Perhaps they had actually appreciated Albus' choice of clothing. He and Gellert were once again wearing their Muggle outfits: his suit was velvety silver and seemed to change colour in the sun, while Gellert's was a frankly boring dark purple.

It really was a terrible shame that people were such conformists when it came to their clothing.

"Of Voldemort's most trusted followers," Albus said, "only Bellatrix still lives. We already know that she was entrusted with a Horcrux, just as Lucius Malfoy was. Severus has confirmed what I already suspected; these were the most trusted Death Eaters Voldemorthad since his rise to power all those years ago. Perhaps Barty Crouch Junior could be listed among them, but he too has passed beyond our reach. Besides, I highly doubt Voldemort would have trusted more than two of his Horcruxes to his followers. Even two is two more than I would have suspected."

"You do realize that the dead are not beyond our grasp, don't you?"

"Of course, I do," Albus replied with a nod. "And we may soon need to summon the spirit of Evan Rosier. But there are only two Horcruxes whose locations are unknown: the one which I believe to be in Hogwarts, and the one which I believe we will find shortly."

"Well then, shall we enter? Or are you afraid of losing your mind within the senile mess we shall find?"

Steeling himself, Albus eyed the decrepit building and nodded again.

Thankfully, the inside of the nursing home was in better shape. It looked rather comfortable, in fact. Lovely paintings decorated the wall, and colourful fish swam lazily in large tanks.

The people he saw seemed far happier than the exterior would have led him to believe. There were many of the home's residents in the lobby; playing chess, or struggling with crosswords, or simply sitting and chatting.

Their laughter was uplifting, though it pained Albus to see people who were certainly younger than him looking so ancient and worn.

It was always a shock when he considered how poorly muggles aged.

It was easy enough to find Mr Bishop's room; they came across a cheerful-looking staff member whose name tag identified him as Fred Graham, and he was happy to point them in the right direction with nary a question, especially after being hit with Albus' Confundus.

"Good luck with him," Fred said as they arrived at the door to room 237. "His caretaker had to go back to Dublin for a family emergency, and she's the only one who can get him to talk. Hell, he's barely even let the rest of us clean his flat."

"Thank you," Albus said brightly. "You've been most helpful. Have a wonderful rest of your day."

A look of confusion flickered across Fred's sunny face for a moment, a frown appearing and vanishing in the blink of an eye.

"You as well," he said. "I'm sure Mr Bishop will appreciate that...friends of his have come to visit."

The scene that greeted them was rather depressing, to put it mildly.

From what Albus could see, the apartment was bare, with only a token picture of a forest hanging on the wall. Dirty plates and glasses were piled up in the sink. The buzzing of flies and humming of the refrigerator filled the small kitchenette, emanating into the rest of the flat and burrowing into Albus' ears.

Dennis Bishop was in the lounge. His wheelchair had been placed next to the couch, and in it, he looked remarkably like a mummified body Albus had seen on his last trip to Peru.

His skin was the colour of old parchment. It drooped off of his hands, portraying a strong man gone to waste. He was draped in a fraying tartan blanket despite the warmth of the day, and his face seemed as empty of thought as his head was of hair. A thick line of spit draped out of his mouth to a small pool on his chin.

Looking at him, it was very difficult for Albus to believe that he was nearly double this man's age.

Dennis had been placed directly in front of a television set. If he was paying attention, he was watching an extraordinarily handsome man complaining to a likewise absurdly beautiful woman about her infidelity.

Gellert's wand appeared for an instant in the corner of Albus' vision: the television went black as a plume of smoke erupted from it.

"Was that really necessary?"

"The inanity bothered me," Gellert said.

"And you couldn't have simply turned it off?"

"No. Don't pretend this man will ever have a need for it. Perhaps now, his 'caretaker' will actually be forced to pay attention to him."

"Be that as it may-"

"Oh, shut up, Albus. Focus on your stupidly dangerous task, and on trying not to get lost in a vegetable's mind."

Albus bit down on the sharp retort that tried to make itself heard and smoothed his face, washing away all emotion.

Though the point could have been made in a slightly...kinder way, Gellert was entirely correct.

Using the Mind Arts on people with serious mental or intellectual issues was one of the riskiest propositions Albus could imagine. There was a very good reason that Legilimency or the like had never been sanctioned for the treatment of people like the poor Longbottoms. No Legilimens would agree to face the very real possibility of having their mind destroyed by the person they were trying to save.

His knees cracked as he knelt, locking his eyes with those of Dennis Bishop.

"Do not disturb me," he warned.

"Do you think me a fool?"

Albus returned to ignoring his partner, to ignoring everything except the pair of cataract-clouded brown eyes before him.

For the next ten minutes, he didn't move a muscle: he stayed there, not even blinking, cementing his will and emptying his mind of all thought but the need to discover the location of the place Tom Riddle had once taken this man, a lifetime ago.

Was that a hint of awareness, lurking behind the senility? Was there a shadow of the man Dennis Bishop had once been or was it just a trick of the light making his eyes look alive?

Whether it was a sign of a functional mind or not, Albus finally felt ready.

He raised his wand, for once glad that he held a totem of such wondrous power. For an endeavour such as he was undertaking, he would happily accept the extra power it offered.

"Legilimens!"

Albus had performed Legilimency on many, many people over the years. None of his past experiences had prepared him for Dennis Bishop's mind.

Usually, a person's mind worked in a relatively linear, sensible fashion. When using Legilimency, one could see the train of thought, could trace the connections being made that pulled up specific memories. It was a process of disconnecting from one's own mind and viewing the thought process of another, of seeing the associations being made and the thoughts being created. Through an assertion of will, specific memories could be called up, enabling a Legilimens to ascertain what had occurred.

At least, they could if the mind in question was not a haven of chaos.

A film of black coated his vision. This was no ordinary darkness, no mere absence of light. This was the oppressive icy-cold of the void, thick and heavy, weighty as a boulder.

He shouted into the darkness, roaring out a wordless command that was nothing more than an extension of his will.

'Tom Riddle. I need to see your memories of Tom Riddle.'

A blindingly bright light exploded, smashing Albus off of his metaphorical footing.

A thousand memories attacked him, swooping over and into him like a pack of angry birds.

They ran over him, snatches of jumbled and confusing scenes appearing and consuming him for a fraction of a second each before disappearing.

It was a sunny day, the sound of children playing loud in Albus' ears. He was standing in a park, watching as a far younger Dennis Bishop leaned over on his picnic blanket and kissed a beautiful woman. As the memory began, her face twisted into a shapeless void and a patch of darkness appeared in her chest and began to spread. The memory crumpled at the edges, the children's voices becoming an indecipherable buzzing sound. Then it tore apart like a wet tissue, fragments of it flying in all directions like shattered glass.

Before Albus could do anything, another scene from Dennis' life enveloped him.

He was standing in a cubicle. Dennis was seated at a desk just in front of him, writing something.

"Hey, Bishop."

"Yes, Martin?"

The newcomer was leaning against the entrance to what was obviously Dennis' office, a coffee mug clutched in his hand.

"Are you coming to the pub tonight?"

Something strange happened to Martin's voice in the middle of the sentence. It deepened and slowed, growing louder as it morphed into an earthshaking growl.

As with the last one, the memory suddenly paused, black spots appearing and spreading, that unbearable darkness once more taking over.

Memory after memory took Albus into their fold, invariably falling apart mere moments after their beginning. He heard snatches of voices, saw flashes of faces, all of them melding into one another and forming an amorphous mess.

He was tugged through Dennis' life, only seeing bits and pieces of scenes as they unfolded. None of them lasted long enough for him to understand their purpose, or even who the people in them were.

He felt Dennis' pain at these memories. The anguish burned as he saw Dennis trying, trying so hard and failing to remember the names of his friends and loved ones.

And as suddenly as they had come, the memories vanished, leaving nothing but the incredible darkness of an empty mind.

Albus reeled, tears prickling in his distant eyes.

Suddenly, the darkness changed. Nothing was visibly different, but it suddenly felt...warm. Warm and welcoming, comfortable and entrancing.

How could he have thought it was cold? It was lovely, with its tendrils reaching out and stroking up against his own thoughts.

'I was looking for something,' he thought, but the desperate need that had so recently driven him was gone. 'It was important.'

But what was it?

'Tom Riddle.'

Terrible fear seized him, the Elder Wand nearly falling from his suddenly-trembling fingers.

He had almost lost himself. Just a few more seconds, and he'd have remained there forever, becoming as much a shell as Dennis himself was. His stomach roiled, the desire to vomit rising.

In an instant, he gathered up all his strength, forging a hammer from his will and spirit.

'SHOW ME TOM RIDDLE! SHOW ME WHERE HE TOOK YOU!'

The blackness fled from before him.

Again, a myriad memories attacked, but Albus paid them no need.

Bodiless, he strode forward, mashing aside the irrelevant remembrances as they came.

And then-

He was on a rickety bus, standing in the aisle. A young boy was whispering something to the girl on the seat next to him.

"Dennis!" She said, her shocked expression matching her voice perfectly. "You wouldn't be so mean to him today! Come on, we're going to the seaside, just enjoy it."

Dennis coughed, twisting around in his seat and glancing at the boy in the back row.

The boy to whom Albus had once given a Hogwarts letter.

"He's not normal," Dennis hissed, a scowl appearing on his chubby face as he turned back to his friend. "He's not-"

The memory began to shake, the light slowly draining from it.

'No,' Albus thought desperately, 'No, this is it-'

The very air rent itself in two, nothingness seeking through the crack.

'NO!'

He bore down, overpowering Dennis' mind, forcing the memory to go on.

And then he heard it. The voice of the matron, Mrs Cole, as she made an announcement.

"We'll be visiting what is known as the Jurassic Coast. Specifically, we'll be-"

The memory collapsed.

He pushed with everything he had, demanding more.

He had been so close. There had to be more, another memory, something.

'WHERE DID TOM RIDDLE TAKE YOU?!'

Everything was shaking, lights dancing before his eyes. He felt Dennis' poor, weakened spirit crashing up against him, trying in vain to force him out of his head.

He would not allow that to happen. Painful as it obviously was for Dennis to revisit those memories, Albus needed them.

He bore down, pulling up reserves of will he didn't know he had and launching them against Dennis' attempted defence.

Dennis' will lasted another fraction of a second before vanishing with a sickening ripping sensation.

Flashes of locations shot before his eyes: he saw cliffs, a beach, children running into the ocean with wild abandon.

The darkness was closing in again, the memories starting to pull away from him.

But he needed more. He pushed on, moving through Dennis' memories as if he were swimming through molasses.

A cliff appeared; a cave entrance just barely visible near its foot.

And then he was abruptly thrust from Dennis' mind, torn away as if seized by a wild hippogriff.

Nearly a minute passed before Albus realized that he was back in his own body. He was lying on his back, and his face felt extremely warm. He was also quite sure his head had never hurt as badly as it did right then.

His vision was cloudy: the only thing he could make out was a dark shape hovering in front of him.

"Albus! Can you see me? Can you hear me? Are you here?!"

"One moment," he murmured, closing his eyes, "just one moment, please."

When he opened them again, he could see clearly.

Gellert looked like he had aged ten years in the last few minutes.

"You stupid, arrogant old fool!"

Albus brushed his fingers against the warm wetness on his face. When he looked at them, his suspicions were confirmed.

His nose was bleeding, and he'd bit his lip enough for there to be another source of blood.

"Please, help me up."

Grumbling and cursing to himself, Gellert did so, his hand squeezing around Albus'.

"Had I not pulled you out of there-"

"I would have lost myself."

"And that would have been even worse than what happened to him," Gellert hissed, his cheeks going white. "Look!"

Albus followed Gellert's outstretched hand, and his heart skipped a beat.

Dennis Bishop was clearly dead. Blood was caked across his face and chin from where it had apparently erupted from his nose and mouth. Thick, dark trails leaked from his ears. The whites of his eyes had gone a dark purple.

"I killed him. I-"

"Don't start," Gellert snarled, whirling around and thrusting a pencil-thin finger in Albus' face. "You almost met his fate! Did you at least find what you were searching for?"

Albus tore his attention from Dennis' sightless, accusing eyes and thrust the guilt away.

He'd have time to dwell on it later.

"I found something," he whispered. "But...I must rest."

Albus had barely finished talking before it became apparent that he would not get the chance to rest, at least not immediately.

Severus' Patronus appeared, forming into a doe the instant it entered the room.

As always, the sight of it brought intense sadness.

"I need to meet with you, urgently." It said, Severus' voice sounding more like Minerva's than Lucius', a sure sign of stress. "If you can bear to spare me the time. I will be at Grimmauld Place in half an hour."

"Albus," Gellert said immediately, speaking before the Patronus had even begun to dissipate. "You need to rest. You could have died-"

"If Severus has urgent information to impart, I need to hear it."

"Then send me!"

Albus shook his head, tired beyond description.

"Not for Severus. Not yet."

"Albus-"

Albus looked back at Dennis' corpse, nausea and terrible heartache flooding him once more.

He'd died for no reason other than Albus' need for information. It may have been a release for him from the torment of his constant forgetting, but that didn't stop Albus' stomach from twisting.

The worst part was, he knew he would do it again if need be.

"Not yet, Gellert. Soon, but not yet. I do not wish to be alone right now."

A sneer pulled at Gellert's lips, but then his face softened.

"Fine. On your head be it."

And though his tone was harsh, he squeezed Albus' hand again.

He raised the can to his lips, the cold soda flooding his throat.

Merlin, he wished he could have something stronger, if only to make the information Aberforth had given him seem slightly less ominous.

Unfortunately, the full moon was only a few nights away, and bitter experience had taught Remus that drinking so close to it was a bad idea.

He could already feel the precursors to the coming change: his heartbeat was up and he felt itchy all over, and the sharpened lights and scents around him were stabbing into his brain.

He'd have a migraine in an hour, sooner if he didn't stop thinking about what Aberforth had told him.

After dropping Harry off with McGonagall, Remus had returned to the Hog's Head, confused and determined to find out what Aberforth had been talking about.

It hadn't taken long for Aberforth to spill the beans. Remus was quite sure that if not for the fact that Aberforth had never spoken about it before, it would have been a far more onerous task. He'd barely spent a few minutes cajoling before Aberforth launched into the whole sad tale.

Frankly, Remus half-wished he hadn't returned to the Hog's Head. He'd know far less, but at least his mind would be calmer.

He drained the can and twisted slightly, tossing it into the rubbish bin beside the bench.

The park he and Kingsley had agreed on for their meeting was almost completely empty. The only other person Remus could see was a young man walking his dog under the setting sun.

A gentle breeze rustled through the trees, the scent of honeysuckle wafting over him.

For a moment, he felt almost peaceful, but then his thoughts returned.

If anyone besides Aberforth had told him about Dumbledore's history with Grindelwald, Remus would have laughed in their face.

But it hadn't been anyone else. It had been Aberforth to tell him, choking up and crying a bit as he did so.

And it made horrible sense. They'd all been wondering how Albus had come to trust Grindelwald, but even their wildest theories hadn't come close to this.

To know that Albus and Grindelwald had been lovers was one thing, but to know that Albus had actively helped Grindelwald plan for world domination was entirely a different story.

And to know that this had led to Albus' sister's death and that Albus had somehow decided to go back to Grindelwald…

Well, that was simply mind-boggling.

From the first Order meeting after Albus had freed Grindelwald, Remus had been unnerved by the rhetoric being spouted. He'd always been interested in history and thus had been perfectly placed to recognize what Albus was saying as being all too similar to the ideas Grindelwald had espoused. Now, to find out that Albus had actually helped create that ideology in the first place, well, it answered a few of his questions.

And absolutely terrified him.

Before hearing Aberforth's tale, Remus had been on edge, unsure if staying on Dumbledore's side was the moral decision. In truth, he owed far too much to Dumbledore to simply walk away from him. If Dumbledore had been more like his predecessors, Remus would never have been allowed to go to Hogwarts. If not for Dumbledore's influence, he would never have found employment at all, even if the jobs he did get were usually dirty and short-lasting.

Then Dumbledore himself had hired him, giving Remus the chance to teach as he'd always wanted to.

How could Remus just abandon him, even if he thought what Albus was doing was wrong?

He'd been faced with an impossible choice, and then he'd met Aberforth.

Now, his choice had been made for him, bringing cold disillusion with it.

He could have accepted, maybe, that Dumbledore made horrific mistakes in his youth. He could have reconciled the image of the kind, caring mentor he knew with that of a brilliant teenager who realized too late that he was starting to travel a terrible road.

But for Dumbledore to return to Grindelwald, to happily re-tread the path he'd abandoned when his sister had been killed, that Remus could not bear.

Frankly, it enraged him. He realized, of course, that he had no right to feel as if Albus had betrayed and lied to him.

And yet, he still felt it.

The only real question which remained was whether he was brave enough to act on his decision, or whether he would follow his old pattern of running from his problems.

It would be easier to run, far easier. He wouldn't have to face Tonks, wouldn't have to face Sirius. Tonks would be furious if he joined the ministry, grieving as she was, but Sirius would be worse; Sirius would view it as a worse betrayal than anything Remus had ever done.

Tonks would certainly not even think about abandoning Albus, not after what Bellatrix had done. As for Sirius...

There'd always been a wildness to Sirius, a bloodlust lurking deep beneath the surface. Back in Hogwarts, the pranks and tricks which Sirius played were always more likely to lead to serious injury than anything Remus, James, or Peter thought of. There was the time he'd trapped Macnair in a closet with a Boggart, the time he'd sabotaged Dolohov's potions, and, of course, the time he'd tried to lead Snape to his death.

No, Sirius was already too inflamed by Grindelwald's presence and the promise of battles to come. Not to mention that Albus was more interested in Harry's safety than the Ministry. Sirius, Remus was quite sure, would be more than happy to die for Harry, if only to leave one part of James still alive.

There was no chance of either Sirius or Tonks going with Remus. Whatever he chose, he would be doing it alone.

Alone, as he had been for so many years.

He could do it, he knew. He could run away, make his way to his cousin in Iceland, and live out the rest of his life in obscurity, always debating if he'd made the wrong choice.

Or he could stay and fight. He could continue his work with the werewolves, he could be an extra wand to aid the Ministry.

He could fight his friends, go to war against people he loved.

But would he even be achieving anything?

Well, that depended, at least in part, on what Kingsley had to say.

The sun had completely set by the time Kingsley arrived, the last light having long faded from the horizon.

The crunching of leaves preceded his arrival, but Remus had already gotten a whiff of his aftershave, just sharp enough to make him want to be sick.

Sometimes, he really wanted to execute Greyback.

Kingsley was wearing his Muggle garb. Remus had to admit, he pulled off a dark suit better than most Muggles, let alone the wizards who would try to put their hands through the trouser legs.

Kingsley dropped into the bench with a muted grunt.

"Good evening," he said.

From the corner of his eye, Remus saw Kingsley's hand casually drifting into his pocket.

There was no point in beating around the bush. Kingsley was on his guard, no doubt half-expecting Remus to attack.

"Sirius says you've left the Order."

"Dumbledore knows I have as well," Kingsley said. He smiled innocently and scratched his scalp, giving the impression of harmlessness. Remus knew better than to fall for that.

"He didn't seem too bothered about it, in fact. Are you going to try and convince me that I made the wrong decision?"

Remus couldn't hold it in any longer. He needed to explain, to tell someone, someone he considered a friend, what he'd heard.

"I bumped into Aberforth yesterday. He had a lot to say."

"Did he, now?"

"They knew each other, Kingsley! Back before Grindelwald started conquering, they knew each other! Hell, they were planning on taking over together!"

Remus halted for a moment, surprised at the force with which the words have left him. He'd been damn near shouting.

But once he'd started talking, he found he couldn't stop. As he spoke, Kingsley's face shifted through a wide variety of expressions: from shock to horror, grim understanding to determination.

Remus spoke himself hoarse, interrupting only to conjure a glass and fill it with water.

By the time he was done, Kingsley's hand had left his pocket.

"I can't stay with him," Remus said, hating the plaintive note in his voice. "Even...even if Sirius and Tonks do, I can't, not now that I know this."

Kingsley rested his elbow on his knee and rubbed his chin, eyes distant.

"I thought-I could carry on what I'm doing with the werewolves, but unless the Ministry is willing to make real promises-"

"Unlikely," Kingsley interrupted as he straightened up and adjusted his tie. "You didn't hear this from me, but Moody convinced Scrimgeour and Amelia Bones. They've got their hands full trying to gather up enough Wizengamot support. If they were to try and convince those codgers to vote for werewolf rights, they'd lose any support they have."

Remus slumped, his head falling into his hands.

That was it. The one possibility he had of doing anything other than fighting had been shot down, ground beneath the heels of politicians with more Galleons than sense.

"What do they need that support for?"

Kingsley shifted in his seat and glanced around.

"Hiring mercenaries," he said, "Making deals with the goblins to shut down Death Eater vaults. Drafting people to the Hit-Wizards. None of those can be done without Wizengamot support."

"Fuck."

Nodding, Kingsley put a hand on Remus' shoulder.

"If I were you," he said, "I'd get out of Britain. You're already under suspicion for being part of the Order, and for being a known werewolf. Unless you're willing to fight…"

Kingsley trailed off, clearly sensing Remus' feelings on the matter.

Remus' hands balled themselves into fists. His head was pounding now.

Either fight his friends or run away with his tail between his legs.

Just another horrific situation the universe deemed fair to thrust onto his shoulders.

"Maybe I'll have to," he said, standing up and stretching his legs. "What will you do?"

"Whatever I have to."

By all appearances, Severus was not pleased with being kept waiting.

Of course, he kept his true feelings hidden deep beneath the surface, only the flaring of his nostrils and absolutely minuscule white spots in his cheeks betraying him.

Albus often thought that Severus would be a far happier man if he didn't bottle up his emotions so much. If he was feeling slightly more himself, he would needle Severus into a furious explosion, giving him the chance to vent his frustrations and aimless, ever-present rage at someone who was not an innocent child under his care.

Unfortunately, Albus was most definitely not feeling his usual self.

His legs were screaming, and his temples felt as if they would burst at any moment. This merely exacerbated the odd sensation he was experiencing: his thoughts seemed to be crossing a vast ocean to travel from one point to another as opposed to the usual flashes of insight he had.

Thankfully, his nosebleed had stopped.

It had taken them longer than expected to leave Sunny Acres and travel to Grimmauld Place. Albus had been determined to ensure that Dennis' body was not left too long, and since he forbade Gellert from using the Imperius, it took more time than it could have, especially once they had to cast all the Memory Charms.

Even so, they were still early for their meeting. Severus had said half an hour, and it had only been fifteen minutes since his Patronus' arrival.

Nevertheless, Severus was displeased.

They found him sitting in the lounge, a familiar sneer plastered on his face as he read some book, doubtless 'borrowed' from the Black family's library.

"I'm glad you saw fit to meet me," Severus said, his sneer morphing into the scowl he usually donned for Albus. "It's not as if I'm risking my life for you or something equally idiotic."

Gellert chuckled. Before he could say anything to ignite Severus, Albus shook his head slightly.

"I'm sorry to have kept you," Albus said.

A quick glance revealed that his preferred armchair had been cleaned recently. He would have to make sure to thank Kreacher for that.

He sank into it, thighs sighing in relief, and gestured for Severus and Gellert to mimic him.

Gellert took to the couch and lay on his back, scuffing the cushions with his boots.

Severus, it seemed, was more agitated than Albus had originally thought. In lieu of sitting, he began to pace, potion-stained fingers rubbing his forehead.

"I was explicitly forbidden to tell you any of this," he spat. "If I know you, you will act on this information in a way that will immediately make it clear I told you."

"Have I ever done so, Severus? Has he ever had an inkling that you are telling me anything against his will?"

Severus' scowl deepened, his jaws beginning to grind together.

"Will you sit down already?" Gellert asked, "Or at least stop pacing. You're giving me vertigo."

Severus halted, his shoulders stiffening. Then he sighed deeply and sat.

"He has become far more paranoid, as he was in the last days of the war. He has begun limiting our communication with one another, forbidding us to speak of missions we have been assigned. Similarly, he has become far vaguer about his plans."

"So, what you are saying is that you are useless."

Severus did not rise to Gellert's bait, thankfully.

"Still," Severus continued, his nostrils flaring wider. "It is clear that he is planning something for this weekend. Albus...he asked if it is a Hogsmeade weekend, and if there truly will be Aurors present. And he is overly knowledgeable about goings-on in the castle."

"Students?" Albus asked quietly.

Severus nodded, a grim look replacing his scowl for a moment.

"Yes. Draco Malfoy is not at school, obviously, but he is in contact with his friends, many of whom are themselves related to Death Eaters. Draco himself has been pulled into the fold. And... many of the other Slytherin students are being actively recruited."

"Did he give any hint of his plans for Hogsmeade?"

Greasy hair waved wildly as Severus shook his head.

Of course, it was eminently clear that Voldemort would not simply murder children willy-nilly. Not, to be sure, because he had any moral compunctions preventing him from doing so. Rather, he was clever enough to understand that he could only push people so far. There was a fine line between intimidating someone and forcing them to revolt, and Voldemort would walk that line as carefully as he could.

"There is more. He has plans that involve a giant, and on the full moon, there will be a series of werewolf attacks. I know no more specifics."

Albus nodded, almost too tired to think it over. He was reasonably certain that Voldemort would use the giants on the Hogsmeade weekend, if only to give Albus, and the Ministry, more situations to deal with at once.

"Is there anything else?"

"Because giants and endangered schoolchildren are not enough for one time," remarked Gellert.

"He has someone in the Aurors," Severus said slowly. "Or perhaps the Hit-Wizards. Whoever they are, they were meant to modify the memories of those people in Moulton. They did not manage; you'll be pleased to know."

"I assume he wished then to remember Gellert and I being the ones to attack?"

"Obviously."

"Indeed. When he next asks, tell him that we are busy building up a network of supporters. Tell him we have numerous spies in the Ministry and that you do not know their identities. And tell him that we have made plans for the eventuality that the Ministry moves against us."

Albus pushed against the chair's arms and rose.

"Thank you, Severus. I cannot exaggerate the importance-"

"Wait."

"As long as you wish," Albus said, nodding at Severus. "Please, go on."

"There...may be something I can do to entrench myself in his good graces."

Albus found himself frowning slightly at Severus' apprehension.

"If I were to encourage those Slytherins who he is already recruiting...If I were to push them closer to his service...He has always shown the most favour to those who brought others to him."

Albus' heart constricted, sudden guilt barraging him.

Dare he do it? Dare he encourage children to join the enemy, to kill their joy and youthful innocence for no reason other than to secure a spy? Dare he add this to his litany of sins?

And, did he dare not?

He closed his eyes and swallowed heavily, shunting the pain to a corner of his mind where it could not bother him.

"Do not force any of them," he said. "And make sure that you are only dealing with those who are already being recruited, and who you think are likely to join him even without your efforts."

"And what will you do?" Severus replied, his voice a silken blade.

"I will plan my next move."

Severus' expression forced a smile onto Albus' face, even despite the weight of the order he had just given.

"Voldemort used a chess analogy when talking with you the other day, correct?"

Severus nodded, his scowl making a reappearance.

"I find it rather ironic," he said, "that he betrays a Muggle mindset in this respect."

Gellert smiled, but Severus just rolled his eyes, a nerve in his cheek jumping. "Would you mind explaining what exactly you are talking about?"

"Gladly." Albus looked down his nose at the man. "Tell me, Severus, what is the only difference between Wizarding and Muggle chess?"

"In wizarding chess, the pieces have been enchanted with-"

"No." Albus raised his finger. "In wizarding chess... the pieces are alive."