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Too dark, too thick, too pink. Severus' hands trembled as he rummaged through the various bottles of potions and creams he made for Narcissa. Where was that concealer he'd developed last month for Aleister Parkinson's wife? That'd be the right shade-/Aha!/ He breathed a sigh of relief and poured a measure over his Dark Mark.

He frowned at the skin as he smoothed the enchanted liquid across the tattoo. This-this was unexpected. His Mark was as dark and clear as the day he'd been branded by his Lord. And yet-why had he not been summoned? Why had Lucius not contacted him?

The belltower clanged the hour and he cursed. If he didn't get breakfast he'd never survive the morning's classes.

**

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at him as he stalked into the room. "Ah, Severus," the old man said pleasantly. "Were you enjoying your sleep this morning?"

His mind raced. "Misplaced something," Severus replied shortly. He pulled the plate of sausages closer and nodded. "I've sorted things out. Don't worry yourself, Headmaster."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at him. "Of course not, my dear boy. By the way, Severus. Might you come to my office and talk with me this afternoon? I find I need your opinion on certain matters..." He trailed of delicately and popped a grape in his mouth.

Old coot. Severus affixed an attentive gaze upon his face and nodded obediently. "Yes, Headmaster. I'll be there directly after my afternoon classes."

"Good, good!" Dumbledore beamed at him.

Severus complimented himself silently on not reaching for his wand.

**

After five hours, two exploded cauldrons, and twenty-seven points taken from the student body at large, Severus made his way wearily to Dumbledore's office. Damn the old coot. He just has to put the Gryffindors in with my snakes. Flitwick shot him a sympathetic glance as he toddled by, levitating a stack of textbooks. Severus ignored him and strode up the spiral staircase furiously.

"Headmaster, I cannot teach under these circumstances," he declared angrily. He leaned against the wall just inside the circular room. "If you insist on putting those thrice-damned Gryffindors with my Slytherins for Potions, I won't have a classroom by the end of the school year!"

Dumbledore looked up from his desk and smiled disarmingly. "Ah, Severus. How good of you to come. Would you like a sherbet lemon?"

"No, Headmaster, I would not like a sherbet lemon/," he sneered. He spat the words out as if they left a foul taste in his mouth. "I would /like to separate the Gryffindors and the Slytherins during Potions. House unity be buggered, pardon my language, Headmaster. My classroom is not the place for your grand social experiment."

"I think you sell the children short," Dumbledore chided. "Adverse situations breed strong spirits."

"And familiarity breeds contempt," Severus retorted.

Dumbledore just smiled. "I can see we won't agree on this." Severus mentally translated this to 'Don't think you'll get your way, Snape.' "Now, I had something I wanted to talk to you about."

"The 'Harry Potter Scandal,' I suppose," Severus said. He rolled his eyes. "McGonagall told you that family was rotten. I could have told you not to leave a wizard child with muggles, Headmaster. Still. What's done is done, and the Dark Lord is long gone." He shrugged.

"Severus!" Dumbledore scolded.

"Of course, as there's no guarantee that he would have been another James Potter, and his life was-what did Skeeter say?-'tragically cut short,' it is, naturally, a shame," Severus added.

"Hmph." Dumbledore frowned heavily at him, but moved on. "That wasn't what I wanted to talk about, actually. I was wondering if you had any insight on the apparent suicide pact by the incarcerated Death Eaters."

"Looked like they all took poison, didn't it?" Severus asked. He had to wonder...

Dumbledore interrupted his musings. "Yes, although the Aurors can't tell quite what it was."

"Hm." Severus made a split-second decision. "It's possible, Headmaster, that they were waiting for the chance to avenge their Lord, and when those filthy muggles killed the boy, they felt they had nothing left to live for." He waited for Dumbledore's response with bated breath.

"And Sirius Black?" Dumbledore asked. "Why didn't he kill himself as well?"

Severus sneered. "Who truly understands the mind of a psychopath?" He turned to leave. "If you'll excuse me, Headmaster, I'm going to write to Lucius Malfoy. He usually has answers."

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore said genially. As Severus cracked the door open, he called after him, "Severus?"

He hesitated in the lintel of the doorway. "Yes, Headmaster?"

The elderly man's voice had a sharp undercurrent to it. "Your arm isn't troubling you, is it?"

Thank Salazar I found Lucrezia Parkinson's concealer this morning. Severus turned and met Dumbledore's gaze without fear, his mental shields firmly in place. "No, Headmaster," he said calmly. He pulled his left sleeve up boldly to bare a pale, unmarked forearm. "My arm isn't troubling me at all."

**

Dumbledore put dropped his head in his hands as soon as Severus was out the door. What a mess! He was lucky he had Severus as a spy. He knew he was. But did the man have to be so unpleasant? Still, the information the dear fellow brought him was invaluable, even if it was often incomplete.

He hadn't even told Severus all of it-the worst of it.

No. He could barely believe it himself.

For, indeed, who would believe that the Peverell family was back in the British Isles?

He let out a soft groan and unwrapped a sherbet lemon for himself. This isn't good, Albus. Another Heir of Slytherin right on the heels of the other was hardly good for his health-and at his age! He should be tending his rhododendrons back at his home in Devon, not playing at being a political mastermind.

He sucked on his sherbet lemon sadly. What a mess. What a terrible mess. He smiled to himself. Dear Severus would figure things out. He was such a bright boy.

**

Draco, being an exceptionally clever nine year old, knew something exciting was happening. His mum and father weren't talking about it, whatever it was, in front of him, but he knew. Why else would his famous aunt and uncle be staying with them?

He'd grown up on stories about Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus, and Uncle Rodolphus' brother Rabastan, and their fight against muggle-lovers. They'd even gone to Azkaban for the cause! When he'd first met them he'd thought that his uncle, with his quiet voice, who never left his father's side, and his aunt, who laughed nervously and kept touching his mum's arm or shoulder with careful fingers, were much less fierce than the stories made them out to be. But his uncle knew a lot of good stories, and his aunt ate orange slices on the balcony with him and tickled him until he could hardly breathe.

Yes, having Aunt Bella and Uncle Rod with them meant that something special was happening. He was tempted to ask, but what was the fun in that? So he hung around his father's study and listened very carefully. Who was the heir? Heir of whom? And if the Dark Lord was back-/oh, that/ was /exciting/-then why weren't they fighting the muggle-lovers again?

"...ing...visit...Karkaroff..." His father. "...McNair...with me."

"...Draco...meet Harry today." His mum. Who was Harry? "Will you...there?"

Draco shifted closer to listen. He didn't notice his foot catch the base of the pedestal displaying the bust of Aesculapius until it was too late.

The thud of the marble bust hitting the thick carpet brought his father to the door. He stared down at Draco with an amused smile on his face. "Well," he said finally, "I think it will be good to get him out of the house for a while, even if it does give him another partner in crime."

Narcissa joined him in the doorway. "I see what you mean," she said dryly. "If the Dark Lord doesn't hex us for inflicting such an inquisitive creature on his manor, I think Harry and Draco would get along splendidly."

Draco grinned. Oh yes. Things were very exciting around here.

**

Lucius and Walden met in the vestibule, as per their previous arrangement. The executioner grinned wolfishly at his aristocratic friend and adjusted the large hunting knife hanging from his belt.

Malfoy bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. "Excellent," he said softly, playing with the ornate rings on his hands. "We're agreed, then? No magic?"

"The scum is beneath it," Walden growled.

Lucius smirked. "What do you want to bet he's locked himself in his office?"

"Ha!" Walden gave a barking laugh. "I'll do you one better and say he's drinking himself silly behind locked doors."

"Let's go remind him why oaths should never be reneged upon," Lucius said grimly.

Walden nodded. "For Augustus," he agreed.

They stepped into the bright blue flames of the I-Floo system and were whirled straight to Karkaroff's office.

**

"Look, Walden," Lucius drawled. He smirked as the figure in the Headmaster's chair gave a violent start. "He's locked himself in, turned off the lights, and made friends with a bottle of vodka."

Walden chuckled darkly. "You'd think he was expecting an attack, wouldn't you?"

They advanced on the bleary-eyed figure. Walden pulled his wand out of his pocket and lazily cast an Imperturbable charm on the door.

"That's the only magic you'll see tonight, Igor," Lucius said silkily. "We came to the conclusion that you're not worth wasting magic on."

Karkaroff whimpered. "I thought he was gone," he muttered. "He wasn't supposed to come back...I didn't mean..."

"Spare us your excuses, Igor," Lucius snapped. "We want to kill you-"

Karkaroff cringed and drew into himself.

"Want to," he continued, "but won't. You see, Igor, you owe us. You owe our Lord."

Karkaroff looked up into Walden's smirking face. The Ministry executioner ran his thumb across the blade of his knife, and the schoolmaster paled.

"We're going to let you live, Igor," Lucius said. His eyes bored into Karkaroff's. "You will keep your eye out for the best and brightest-purebloods, halfboods, even muggleborns. You'll send them to us after they graduate. We're going to create a network in Eastern Europe. This is a political coup, Igor, not that you would understand the intricacies. Just do your job and make sure we don't have cause to regret letting you stay alive."

"I won't fail Him again," Karkaroff said, voice cracking. Fear made him sober.

"Good," Lucius murmured. He smiled, and Karkaroff's eyes widened in apprehension. "Before we go..."

Crack! Lucius shook his hand out and stared down at the traitor's sprawled-out body, lying on the carpet from where he'd backhanded him. /Ugh, I have his traitorous blood on my family ring/. "That was from Augustus," he said conversationally.

Karkaroff's breath hitched in fear.

"I see you remember who Augustus is. I must admit, Igor, that Walden and I are looking forward to delivering the rest of his message." He paused. "And it's a very, very long message, Igor."

Walden grinned ferally as Igor began to hyperventilate. "Take it like a Death Eater, Karkaroff," he said scornfully. "Or can't you remember how?"

The knife flashed. Lucius' fist flexed. Karkaroff closed his eyes.