Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter Twenty-Six

Lily had never in her life wanted to get so drunk that she couldn't see straight before.

When pressures had been exerted upon her, she felt as if she always had someone to turn to. She had her parents, and when they were gone, she had James, and now, she had nobody.

So she turned to a giant bottle of Vodka.

She could only stand to be at Dorcas' funeral for five minutes before she had to leave. She didn't want to see Sirius, she didn't want to see Dorcas' family, she didn't want to see Alice or Frank, she didn't want to hear their questions of "What did she say before she died?"

She wanted to be alone. And she wanted to forget everything.

Because now that she was halfway through her bottle of escape, the guilt was being replaced by a selfish relief that she had not gone in with Dorcas. Oh no, that would have made it too easy for Voldemort, who Dumbledore had found out, was the one to go after her. Lily wanted to make it difficult for him to get her, because if she was going to go, she wasn't going to go without a fight.

She downed another cup. It had stopped tasting like mouthwash, and had started tasting mildly sweet.

Remus told her that she had run into the Auror offices shaking and trembling and babbling words. Lily was ashamed of herself; other people had died around her, and she'd not fallen to pieces like that.

She took another drink. There were now two bartenders who were staring at her with the same expression of pity and confusion.

She supposed she looked a site. She could barely remember the past four days, let alone remember what she dressed herself in this morning. She dared a peek down at her black skirt and saw that it was, in fact, wrinkled.

Who cares, she thought as she drank two more glassfuls. She certainly didn't now.

Against her will, she remembered the look on Sirius' face when he comprehended what she had just said. She'd never be able to name what he looked like, and she'd probably never see it again. She didn't dare tell him that Dorcas was talking about marrying him before she died.

She remained tight-lipped about everything before Dorcas died. Moody told her that he needed to file a report, and Lily didn't remember much after that except that for the first time he looked scared of her and that her throat was scratchy.

She didn't want to tell anyone; it would break their hearts. It broke Lily's, as she took another drink.

Almost out, she noticed, reaching her hand down to her purse and trying to count out the right amount. It seemed easier about two hours ago, but now she couldn't seem to keep a count straight in her head.

She pulled her purse on top of the counter and counted each pound carefully. She rubbed her forehead and was surprised to see that it was very sweaty, even though she was shivering slightly.

She continued to count her money when the door to the bar opened and a very irate looking man stormed inside.

For the second time in two months, Severus Snape had gotten an anonymous owl telling him that "something of interest" would be at such-and-such bar. The first encounter, with Sirius Black and his boozed-up brother, was less than satisfactory, so he was less inclined to go to this place of "interest." His curious nature got the better of him, and he showed up at this bar in the middle of the afternoon.

His sharp gaze swept the room and saw nothing of interest to him. He assumed that whoever it was, probably had fallen to the floor already, and was not going to do anything for Snape. He was about to leave when he heard quiet, feminine crying from a shady corner.

Lily was so frustrated that she couldn't put her pounds together that she had burst into tears. She tried for the umpteenth time to count out how much money she needed to replace her now empty vodka bottle, when she realized she didn't know how much another bottle cost. A simpering whimper escaped her lips and she pouted, poking her pound notess moodily.

Snape, assuming that this spectacle of female drunkenness was the "interest," skulked over to see why the Head Girl in his year was sobbing over a bunch of money.

Lily looked up and was not surprised to see Snape. Or maybe she was too far gone to notice that someone she hadn't seen for near two years was standing in front of her. She made a grunting sound and pointed to her pounds, nudging them towards him, asking him to count them for her.

Snape, not a speaker of drunk!Lily, was a bit confused, to say the least. He slid onto the barstool next to her and watched her interested. He'd never seen her in such a vulnerable state; this simpering fool was a far cry from the girl who he used to know.

Deciding nothing was getting done by just watching her poke her money sadly, he cleared his throat. "What are you doing here?"

Lily had apparently lost the ability to speak coherently sometime during her bottle. She raised her wand (Snape raised his eyebrow; he was sure this was a Muggle establishment) and went "POOOOOOF!" and then slid back down into her arms, sighing sadly.

"That made no sense," he stated, plainly.

"Merr!" Lily grumbled, burying her head into her arms. "Lone!"

Snape sighed and looked around the bar, bored. Most of the other patrons were too absorbed in their own drinks (for they were the only ones that frequented the bar at four in the afternoon) to notice the girl who was using sign language to communicate.

"Poooooof!" Lily tried again. "Grrr!"

Watching her was slightly amusing, in a twisted sort of way, but he was still no closer to figuring out why he was here and why she was drunk.

Realization hit him. He remembered hearing Lucius talking about the Dark Lord killing one of this grand Order of the Phoenix a few days ago. He wasn't sure which one it was, but he knew it was a girl, and he could only assume that she was friends with Lily.

But that still didn't answer why he was here.

Lily wasn't looking too good anymore. Her head was lolling from side to side on her folded arms and her skin was ashen.

"Damn my conscience," Snape muttered, standing up. She didn't protest when he pulled her into a standing position, but then her knees gave out on her. Snape was quick to catch her and pull her upright, slinging her arm over his shoulder.

"You're welcome to use the fire, if you want," the bartender grumbled, nodding to the roaring fireplace. Snape snorted; apparently it was a wizarding establishment. He tried to help her walk towards it, but she wasn't working with him. Finally, he hooked his arms around her knees and carried her to the fireplace. Grabbing a pinch of Floo powder, he said, very clearly, "Albus Dumbledore's Office."

"Ah, Severus, I wondered when you would come," Dumbledore said, looking up as Snape left the fireplace. Snape stopped short.

"You were...expecting me?" Snape said, feeling quite odd holding a near passed-out Lily in his arms.

"First thing's first," Dumbledore smiled, conjuring a nice fluffy couch. "Miss Evans needs to sleep." His eyes twinkled. Snape jerkily placed Lily on the couch and Dumbledore conjured her a blanket and then returned to his desk. He gestured for Snape to sit in the chair in front of his desk.

"I am afraid I don't understand-" Snape said, as he sat down. "Was it you that sent me those letters?"

"Naturally," Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling merrily.

"But...why?"

"I was conducting a bit of an experiment, I apologize for using you without your knowledge, but had I informed you, I do not think that you would have gone along with it."

Snape was silent.

"You see, Severus, I have, for a very long time, kept the notion that you were not who you say you are."

"I...beg your pardon?" Snape asked.

"I do not think you are who you say you are," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling madly.

"Who...do I say I am?" Snape questioned, slowly.

"A follower of Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said, plainly. "Or at least, one that believes in the same thing he does."

Snape felt his face flush. How dare Dumbledore insinuate-

"I do not know what you are talking about," Snape seethed.

"If you truly were a follower of Lord Voldemort, you would not have brought Miss Evans here to me; you would have killed her without thinking. She was very incapacitated, very weak, very vulnerable. If it had been anyone else, she would have suffered the same fate as Dorcas Meadowes."

Snape swallowed. He hated it when Dumbledore was right.

"So?" he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Are you suggesting I turn in my resignation to the Dark Lord?"

"Severus, you know as well as I do that resignation is death," Dumbledore said, sadly. "However, if you truly are the man I think you are, you know what it is I am asking of you."

Snape knew; he wasn't a simpleton. "Why me?" he asked.

"You are the only one I felt I reached," Dumbledore stared at him over his half-moon spectacles. "Out of all of the children that passed through here who have gone on to become those who call themselves the Death Eaters, you were the only one which showed compassion."

Snape felt ill. "I am compassionate for no one."

"Why then, Severus, did you not tell your master that Regulus Black had told secrets to his brother? It would have been the perfect opportunity to raise your rank in his eyes; not to mention the revenge upon Sirius Black." He added the last part with an air of exasperation.

"I..." In truth, Snape had not an answer to that question.

"Why, Severus, did you not kill Lily Evans just now? Even more so, why did you bring her here?"

"It is not right for someone to die drunk," Snape sniffed. "I would rather the satisfaction of fighting them when they are at their best."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrow. "Lord Voldemort and his followers have no respect for those they deem lesser than they, most especially someone of Miss Evans' genealogy."

Snape opened his mouth and then closed it. He knew, and he knew Dumbledore knew, that he was not a Death Eater in spirit.

The unspoken question lingered in the air.

"I understand that this is a very risky operation, Severus, and that if you are discovered, you will be killed. But you must ask yourself, is the live you lead right now worth living?"

Snape turned away. Dumbledore had touched a nerve.

"If you leave this office, I will not mention a word to anyone. No one will know we have spoken, no one will know what I have said to you. I have it in good faith that Miss Evans won't remember a thing."

Lily gave a squeak on the couch and flipped on her side, snuggling with a pillow.

Snape knew not what to say. He knew what was in it for him, he knew what was at stake, he knew everything there was to know, because he had been considering the possibility for some time now. The feeling when he watched Voldemort murder children left him cold and sick.

Dumbledore was staring at him patiently over his half-mooned glasses, as if Snape had all the time in the world.

"There is..." Snape started, keeping his eyes fixed on some of Dumbledore's trinkets in a cabinet against the wall. "Something large that is going to happen very soon. I don't know what it is, exactly. The others are very excited about it. When I learn more....I shall let you know..."

With that, Snape swept to the fireplace and disappeared into the roaring flame.

"My pony," Lily mumbled.

"Ah, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said, turning to her, a look of happiness in his eyes. "I do believe I owe a letter to Mr. Potter about your whereabouts."