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Severus Snape couldn't move a muscle.
He could only stare up at the ceiling of the compartment, listening to the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of voices around him.
As he pondered how he might defend himself before the Wizengamot and how Sirius Black had managed to escape Azkaban, a deafening bang jolted the Knight Bus into motion.
The bus lurched forward at such a breakneck speed that his body slid a short distance toward the back.
"Mum, Severus is still lying on the floor."
He recognized Marlene's voice.
Then, he felt the sensation of magic lifting him gently from the ground and settling him onto a bed.
Sinking into the feather mattress, he thought to himself that at least he wouldn't have to endure the infuriating vibrations against his back anymore.
Time slipped by almost imperceptibly.
Another ear-splitting bang sent the bed frame sliding a foot or so toward the front of the bus.
Hogsmeade had arrived.
As he floated, face-up, off the Knight Bus, a vast expanse of starry sky filled his vision.
The squelching sound of wooden legs pulling free from mud and the sharp tap of footsteps on cobblestone accompanied their entry into a dimly lit house.
A familiar, musky scent of sheep assaulted Snape's nostrils.
The Hog's Head? he wondered to himself.
"Aberforth, looks like you got my message," Moody's gruff voice rumbled.
"Is Albus here? And could you trouble yourself to find a place for Ern to rest?"
After a soft snort, Snape felt himself being lifted slowly upward.
The creak of wooden stairs gave way to a firm knock on a door.
"Come in," came Dumbledore's unmistakable voice.
"Good evening, Albus," Moody said.
"Good evening, Alastor. Tell me what happened today," Dumbledore replied, his tone grave.
"And what's wrong with the boy?"
Snape was lowered to the floor.
He heard the harsh scrape of something being dragged across the floorboards.
Moody seemed to pull over a chair and sat down heavily.
"Let McKinnon fill you in. I only showed up after his signal."
So, Mr. McKinnon recounted everything he knew in full detail.
Marlene chimed in, adding what had happened after Snape lost consciousness.
"Are the bodies downstairs?" Dumbledore asked.
They descended, leaving the room silent.
After a while, Snape heard footsteps returning. Someone had entered the room.
A flash of red light broke the spell binding him.
He shot upright, locking eyes with Dumbledore, and spoke urgently:
"Professor, could you send a letter to my family?
"Just say I ran into you in Diagon Alley, that you had school matters to discuss, and I'll be back a bit late. Please?"
Dumbledore's bright blue eyes studied Snape through his half-moon spectacles for a moment.
Then, with a nod, he waved his wand, summoning an owl, parchment, and quill.
Moments later, the owl soared out the window into the inky night.
"Can I have my wand back—er—"
Snape hesitated, then quickly added, "Never mind. But there's a spell to prevent eavesdropping—Muffliato. I suggest we use it."
Dumbledore cast the spell with a flick of his wand, then lowered his hands, fixing Snape with a steady gaze.
"Is there something you need to tell me, Severus?"
"Yes, Professor," Snape said with a nod.
"The Knight Bus was ambushed by old Avery. He stunned Ern Prang and used the Avada Kedavra curse to kill Todd Shunpike."
He pressed on without pause:
"Old Avery is a Death Eater, and he wasn't under any Imperius Curse.
"He recognized me right away and tried to make me use an Unforgivable Curse to kill Marlene."
"Anything else?" Dumbledore prompted.
Snape hesitated briefly before continuing:
"There's a group at Slytherin called 'Walpurgis.'
"We—they hold regular meetings. At these gatherings, Death Eaters teach dark magic.
"The Unforgivable Curses were taught by Bellatrix Lestrange herself."
"Walpurgis?" Dumbledore repeated softly, as if tasting the word.
"Professor," Snape said, addressing his confusion, "it's a name the Dark Lord—er, Voldemort—gave to his Death Eaters in the early days.
"They stopped using it later and passed it on to the student recruits at school."
Someone nearby shivered audibly, as if the mere mention of the name had chilled them to the bone.
"Do you know why the Death Eaters were after McKinnon?" Dumbledore asked calmly.
Snape shook his head. "No. Is there something special about him?"
Dumbledore rested a hand on his crooked nose, clearly deep in thought.
"And the two who died—did you kill them?"
"No, Professor," Snape said, meeting Dumbledore's gaze unflinchingly. "They were Death Eaters."
Dumbledore rose and paced before the dark fireplace.
"If the first was a matter of necessity, why did you act against Macnair?"
"This is war, Professor," Snape replied curtly.
"That's not enough to convince me not to turn you over to the Ministry come morning."
Snape took a deep breath, steeling himself. You're forcing my hand, Professor.
He decided to turn Dumbledore's own principles against him.
"Don't pity the wicked, Professor.
"Pity the innocent, and those willing to fight for them."
He gestured toward the McKinnons.
"What would have happened if the Death Eaters had taken them?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pressed on:
"There are people out there too terrified to even say—Voldemort's—name.
"Their greatest fear is returning home to find the Dark Mark hovering over their house, knowing what they'll find inside.
"I'm part of Walpurgis. To the Death Eaters, a traitor is far more tempting than an enemy or an innocent.
"I have a family, too. I'm just as afraid of coming home to see the Dark Mark."
He locked eyes with Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze and said heavily:
"Professor, I refuse to lose the people I care about most for the sake of procedure, justice, or some 'greater good.'"
"He would face trial and be sent to Azkaban. He'd have no chance to harm your family," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying a hint of hoarseness.
Snape's lips curled into a bitter, mocking smile.
"Azkaban?
"You mean the prison guarded by Voldemort's natural allies?"
Silence hung between them until Dumbledore spoke again:
"Severus, sometimes change brings good outcomes, but sometimes it does not.
"We can keep today's events quiet.
"But I ask that you reflect carefully on your actions and the path you choose moving forward."
"Thank you, Professor. I will," Snape replied.
Then, deliberately, he asked, "I used magic today. That won't be a problem, will it?"
"Oh, you needn't worry. The Trace can't pinpoint the specific caster," Dumbledore assured him.
Snape nodded thoughtfully.
"One more thing," he said, a sudden thought striking him.
"Tomorrow morning, could you ask Mr. Moody—or someone else—to escort me to Diagon Alley and then home?
"I need to buy an owl."
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