A little update on this story. I was just going to add this onto the main body, but it got too long and so I thought it might as well go in a chapter on it's own. Thanks for reading, I hope you like the editing I've done on the second chapter.


It was a quiet night. No rain lashed at the widows, no wind howled ferociously through the trees. It was quite unlike the night, over a year ago, on which Snape had relayed the prophecy foretelling the Dark Lord's doom. It was strange that this calm and peaceful night should see the end of the Dark Lord's, a wizard who had caused a whirlwind of pain and terror among so many.

Severus Snape paced anxiously up and down in the small, book lined sitting room of his house. In the background a kettle whistled desperately, but Snape paid it no attention. He merely continued his pacing. Up and down, pausing only to turn at each end of the room. Suddenly, there came a great banging from the door that led to the cobbled street outside; someone was banging their fists hard upon it.

He strode to the door and threw it open, glaring at the person stood on the otherside for daring to interrupt his solitary progress up and down the room. Almost at once, a cloaked figure slipped inside, not waiting for an invitation. Snape turned to his guest, a strange look upon his face, as the man threw back his hood to reveal a shaggy mass of mud coloured hair and a dark, unpleasant face.

'Rosier,' Snape greeted the man coolly, not wanting to his his distaste at being disturbed. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

His voice was steady, though judging by his earlier agitated countenance, this was achieved with some difficulty.

'The Dark Lord has left,' Rosier informed him shortly, his eyes sweeping the room with apparent distaste. 'I thought you might like to know.'

Snape gestured for him to take a seat on one of the old sofas, sinking into an armchair as he did so. The kettle had stopped whistling now, perhaps it had given up, and Snape did not offer his guest any refreshment. He merely watched Rosier perch himself gingerly on the edge of his seat, as if he did not want to come into too close contact with his surroundings.

'You thought I might like to know that the Dark Lord has gone to kill the Potters?' Snape asked with a sneer. 'Why would I want to know when he sets out on one of his kills?'

Rosier's eyes snapped sharply back onto Snape's face.

'I thought that seeing as you were the one who brought this plan about, you might want to know when it is being executed.' he replied defensively.

'Did the Dark Lord send you?' Snape asked suspiciously, tilting his head to one side.

'No,' Rosier said, looking uncomfortable as he shifted on the sofa. 'I was merely acting on my own intuition.'

'I see,' Snape said softly, his voice laced with danger. 'Is it also of your own intuition that you come here to find out more about what I am up to?'

Rosier took a while to answer, evidently trying to decide if the truth was better than a lie.

'Yes,' he conceded finally. 'Well, you don't exactly behave in a way that clears you from suspicion, Snape! Your absences from the circle have been noticeable of late. I am not the only one who begins to question your whereabouts.'

'Just because I am not there does not mean I do not still carry out the Dark Lord's wishes, Rosier.'

'What is you mission then,' Rosier asked, a hopeful look crossing his face. 'It would put our minds at rest.'

Snape caught the tone of Rosier's voice, and his the look on his face turned into a haughty sneer.

'That is between myself and the Dark Lord,' Snape replied looking away from Rosier for the first time. 'It is not my problem if he does not choose to share certain information with you.'

Rosier's cheeks coloured in anger.

'How dare you suggest –'he spat, but before he could continue, Snape held up a had to silence him.

'It is top secret,' Snape explained. 'I cannot share it with anyone except the Dark Lord. If you wish to discuss it, I suggest you take it up with him.'

Snape rose from his seat, closing the conversation.

'Oh, I will, Snape. I can assure you of that,' Rosier's tone was dangerous now, and his cheeks remained coloured as if to show that he was not happy with being snubbed like this.

Snape opened the door again as Rosier drew up the hood of his lack cloak, turning his back to Snape and refusing to make eye contact.

'Goodnight, Evan,' Snape said as Rosier stepped out into the silent night.

Rosier merely grunted as he stepped over the threshold and walked away without as much as glancing back.

Snape slammed the door shut, finally letting his calm mask drop. In Rosier's absence, he resumed his pacing, first checking the clock placed on a book free shelf. Eight 'o' clock.

Despite what he might have said otherwise, Snape was glad of the news that Rosier had brought him. It meant that he knew roughly what was happening. He closed his eyes, his heart thumping loudly in his ears and his mind wandered to Lily. Was she safe? Was the Dark Lord this very moment sparing her life? Or was she still blissfully unaware of the fate assigned to her loved ones? He dared not think of the other option, could not even bring himself to think of the word. Surely the Dark Lord would spare her as he had asked. He was, after all, the reason that he knew of this prophecy and the reason that there would be no enemies standing in his way.

He looked at the clock again. Quarter past eight. He longed for the burn in his arm that would summon him to the Dark Lord's side so he could know what had happened. He did not waste any thought feeling sadness for the boy or the father; it was not they he loved, in fact it was quite the opposite. There was no one he hated more than James Potter.

It happened suddenly. He had just turned away from the shelf with the clock to continue his pacing ritual when he felt his forearm explode with pain. It was almost unbearable. He collapsed to the floor with a piercing scream and tried to clutch at his arm, but the Mark was so hot his hand was scalded. He felt his blood boil and his skin scorch as flames shot up and down his arm, setting fire to his nerves and searing his flesh.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain subsided, and Snape's mind cleared. Shaking, he turned his arm over to look at his Mark and gasped at what he saw. The skull and it's snake that had been as clear as fresh ink on parchment only moments ago had faded to a pale grey, the outlines barely visible on his pasty skin. What did this mean? What had happened? He was sure that the others had felt the anguish that he had, and experienced the same agony. They would be meeting, right now at the Headquarters, but Snape had something more important to do, someone more important to think of. His heart bounding in fear for her, he turned on the spot and Disapparated.

He reappeared again in front of towering stone gates, the turrets and spires of a mighty castle just viable over the top of the wall. He waved his wand and sent his Patronus bounding through and towards the castle. Moments later, the gates opened and Snape hurried through, dashing up to the castle, through the Entrance Hall and up the marble stairs, working his way through the corridors, ignoring the people he met, until he came to the already revolving statue waiting to take him up to Dumbledore's office.

He burst into the room to find Dumbledore standing at the window, staring out at the silent, pitch black grounds, an unreadable look on his face.

'What's happened, Dumbledore?' Snape voice shook as he spoke.

Slowly, the old wizard turned to face him.

'You had better sit, Severus.'

Breathing deeply to try to calm himself, Snape sank into the chair Dumbledore had indicated, every nerve in his body quivering in both feverent hope and terrible fear.

'Dumbledore, what is going on?' he repeated. 'I felt the Mark burn. What has happened?'

'It would seem,' Dumbledore said slowly. 'That Voldemort has gone.'

'Gone?' echoed Snape. 'What do you mean gone? Is he dead? What about Lily, is she-'

Dumbledore held up a long slender hand to silence him.

'Yes, it would appear he is dead.'

'What about Lily?' Snape cried, raking Dumbledore's face for any signs that would contradict what his body language was telling him.

'I am so sorry, Severus.'

Snape sank back into the chair in horror at what Dumbledore's words meant. Surely, surely he was wrong.

'She did not survive.'