Postal

Ten

Severus Snape paced the length of his chambers, crossing from the book-laden desk to the cold stone hearth. Unconsciously, his impatient fingers raked through his tangled raven hair, taking care to avoid the nasty welt where he had failed to dodge Black's fist. For the first-no, he corrected himself-the second time in his life, he felt completely and utterly helpless. And he had no one to blame but himself for her disappearance. They had to find her soon. If only Dumbledore hadn't appeared when he did, her life wouldn't be in Black's hands. His fist pounded the wall beside him.

Could he really trust Black? And that mockery of a reconnaissance team, he thought wryly-Potter, Granger and Weasley. They were just children. Oh, Merlin-he tugged more fiercely at his hair now, shaking his head despondently-she's as good as gone.

"Severus, you know as well as I that negative thoughts only serve to weaken the spirit and have no utilitarian value." Snape jumped nearly three feet to the side. In the hearth, Dumbledore's head had appeared again, the long white beard fading somewhere in the direction of the ashes. The Headmaster had impeccable timing. Snape had always suspected that Dumbledore knew more or less all the goings on at Hogwarts. But recently, the Headmaster's synchronicity with his own thoughts had been staggeringly accurate.

Severus quickly recovered. He drew himself up, immediately letting the words spill forth. "Sir, you must let me go. Let me help them, at least. It was my fault that she-"

"It was through no fault of yours that Esmerelda was captured. No fault," repeated Dumbledore, fixing Severus with a firm glare through the glinting half-moon spectacles. "You must understand that."

Snape's gaunt face, paler and even more drawn than in the previous nights, turned away. He couldn't bring himself to let Dumbledore see the anger in his face, and the despair. He felt trapped at Hogwarts, not being able to leave unless his departure was necessitated by being called to Voldemort's side. He felt for the Dark Mark on the inside of his left arm. He knew it was there, but it was no longer burning as it ought to have been for a summoning. Not even the merest tingle. And there was nothing he could do to alleviate his worry-and not a drop of wormwood or asphodel in his supply cupboard to brew his most effective sleeping potion. If he didn't do something, he was sure to go mad. Maybe if he were to slip out for a walk to the Forest after dinner-

"-and you know full well that it would be... unwise to try and find Esmerelda on your own." Dumbledore's head sighed and looked down, vaguely in the direction of the slate floor. "Ah, but you always had a bit of the Gryffindor in you, Severus."

Snape started, whipping round to the fireplace, frankly shocked at the suggestion. As if Dumbledore had said he was somehow related to Sirius Black.

Dumbledore's beard twitched and his eyes, tinged faintly green from the fire, twinkled in amusement. "Oh, don't look so surprised. You have demonstrated more than adequately your own bravery and loyalty. It is only too natural that you should feel the need to rescue her." The Headmaster's eyes turned gravely toward Snape. "Unfortunately, that is precisely what Voldemort wants. Only your presence can complete the Dark Knight Spell."

The spell. Veniat Eques Malus. Severus heaved a leaden sigh; he wished he hadn't had that idea in the first place. Wished moreover that he hadn't let Esmerelda convince him to involve her. But he knew he'd been weak where she was concerned. He always had been.

Snape frowned, pulling back his sleeve to gaze at the pale imprint of the skull on his arm. "And what if I should be called?"

Dumbledore paused, but only for a moment. "We will have time to discuss that after you have completed your task"-eyebrows raised, Severus blinked at the Headmaster curiously-"should you choose to accept it."

"Task?"

"Peppermint imp, Severus?" A hand popped through the flames, holding out a small tin of little extra spicy red mints.

"No, thank you," he snapped, somewhat impatiently and was rewarded only with a twinge of guilt. He knew it was wrong of him to take any of his frustration out on the Headmaster. Only Dumbledore knew his true history with Esmerelda, and Snape knew he only meant to help.

Dumbledore sighed and the hand recoiled, disappearing from view.

"I have received this morning a communication from Cornelius Fudge. The Ministry need you to locate and bring back one of Voldemort's special attach»s who is currently posing as a member of the Muggle community and whom we believe has been responsible for the disappearances of several Muggles in the past six months. If he is not apprehended soon, there is a risk that he will again be called into the service of Voldemort's army. If that were to happen, I cannot tell you how devastating that would be to us and the Order."

"Why me?" he asked. "Why not Moody or... someone else?... Black, perhaps?" he offered, almost hopefully.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Believe me, Severus, I argued against them choosing you, knowing what you must have on your mind at this time. But the Council has agreed that you would be the logical choice since you may be more familiar with him than anyone on our side."

Snape looked grave. "Who is it?"

"Callum Rosier."

The hairs on Snape's arms suddenly stood on end. Rosier. Yes, he knew him. In Voldemort's first reign, who didn't. A quarter giant to Hagrid's half, but easily twenty times more ruthless, cruel, and blood hungry. He preferred first, not just to break, but to utterly destroy one's spirit and torture the mind, before slowly putting his victims through even lengthier physical suffering that he somehow managed to convince them they deserved. Next to Rosier, an army of Dementors looked like a Muggle parish garden party.

With a jolt, he recalled Potter's voice from the other night. Professor Snape, there's someone in your rooms. Not Esmerelda Plofufnik. I mean, not just her, sir. Callum Rosier, Alphonso Wilkes and Lucius Malfoy.

Snape gave Dumbledore a controlled nod, trying not to look as savage as he felt. "Tell me where he is."