Chapter Text
June, 1979
"We need a spy."
The truth was spoken plainly, the speaker's expression grim. The meeting had already been going on for half an hour, detailing recent battles. Mourning recent losses. Molly and Arthur were not present, away grieving the loss of the Prewett brothers.
Albus Dumbledore listened attentively, his usually sparkling cerulean eyes dulled by the relentless trudge towards defeat. Defeat was not an option, but, increasingly, victory looked unattainable.
"We need a spy. We're outnumbered and outmatched." Mad-Eye continued his gruff tirade. "We need a way to know what's on the inside— one of his inner circle."
Sirius Black scoffed. "Who do you imagine we could convince to our side, eh? Crouch Junior, perhaps? Malfoy? Maybe dear old cousin Bella?"
"I'm not suggesting that we try to turn one," growled Mad-Eye, rolling eyeball swivelling over to stare unnervingly at Sirius, "I'm suggesting we grow one. Take a seventh year, loyal to the cause, and have them infiltrate from the ground up."
Shouts of protest erupted throughout the room in which the Order was sequestered– one of the Potter properties that James had dedicated to the cause. The man's fiancée glared at Mad-Eye.
"You want us to send a schoolkid into the ranks of the Death Eaters? Have them marked for the rest of their lives? What good is the Order if we're no better than the other side?"
"What good is the Order if we're all dead?" came the aggressive rejoinder. "Which we will be unless we stop pretending that we can fight a war without getting our hands dirty!"
"There are some lines not meant to be crossed!" countered Lily. "How can you even consider such a thing?"
"I've lived through countless battles and no longer have the luxury of moralising from my bloody ivory tower!"
"Don't speak to my fiancée like that!" barked James, rising to his feet.
"We lost five good people yesterday, Potter, and I'll say whatever I need to to prevent that happening again. Your sainted girlfriend has been arguing against my plan for months and I'm stuck here watching your bloody pride and morals doom us all! I'm sick of it!"
"Enough!" The stern voice of Albus Dumbledore filled the room, seeming to shake the very chandelier.
The squabbling Order members fell silent, seating themselves once more around the table.
The old man sighed, steepling his fingers as he rested his elbows on the gleaming mahogany table before him.
"As much as it pains me to admit it," he said, heavily, "I believe that Alastor is correct. We do require a spy if we are to win this war, and the only way to acquire one may be to plant one in the recruiting grounds for the Death Eaters."
"Hogwarts?" Lily gasped. "Please— " but the headmaster held up a palm to stop her protest.
"I believe it is necessary for the greater good," he said, his voice solemn as he made eye contact with every member in the room. "And the time for discussion on this point has unfortunately passed. I shall consider the young people that we may safely approach about this requirement."
The meeting moved on to other matters, but as it ended, Lily stood up and made her way hurriedly over to Dumbledore.
"Headmaster," she said urgently.
Dumbledore smiled at her. "I think we can use first names now, don't you, Lily?"
She nodded, undeterred, "Albus, then. Please reconsider. Can't you see how wrong this is?"
He looked at her wearily. "Of course I can, my girl. Unfortunately, it is the best option open to us. The only option."
She paused for a moment, as if weighing something up. "What if," she began, hesitantly, "What if I could get you a spy, someone already grown, already in the middle-ranks of the Death Eaters?"
Dumbledore frowned at her. "I would wonder at this fictitious spy's motivation, and be unable to fully trust them, as I would need to." He looked down at her consideringly, and continued, his voice gentle. "If I may, Lily, I would extend to you my advice not to seek a reconciliation with young Mr Snape." He chuckled at her look of surprise. "Yes, I well remember how close you two were. I am sure that he is no small part of the reason you are so vehemently opposed to recruiting spies among the Hogwarts students."
He sobered, lowering his voice. "I believe Mr Snape has unfortunately chosen his path, Lily, as you have chosen yours. I hope you are not considering going to him on the Order's behalf. It would be reckless folly to do so; he is not the same young man you brought with you into the Great Hall to face the sorting hat all those years ago. It would be extremely dangerous for you to seek him out now."
At her answering nod, he clapped his hand on her shoulder briefly, before he swept away.
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June, 1994
The moonlight filtered down through the trees, illuminating the hooked nose and closed eyes of Professor Severus Snape. A wolf howled in the distance, and his eyelids twitched, then blinked open. He stared at the trees above him for a moment, the faintest furrow appearing in his brow at the sight of the overhead branches, waving softly in the breeze, before jolting suddenly upwards, as if abruptly shocked by a bolt of electricity. He raised his wand, looking warily about himself, noting the three unconscious children nearby and— he could barely believe his eyes— the unconscious form of Sirius Black. The latter he immediately bound with a swift flick of his wand.
He rose, slowly, and, seeing no immediate danger, began to conjure four stretchers. The shafts of moonlight caught the faces of the students as he levitated them one by one onto the floating stretchers, affording him snatches of their features. The Weasley freckles, stark against skin that shone like alabaster in the pale moonlight. The untamed frizz of the know-it-all. The gaunt, sunken cheeks of Britain's most wanted. And, lastly, the boy-who-lived himself.
Severus barely gave the boy a glance— merely catching the glimpse of moonlight upon spectacles— as he levitated the dunderheads up to the castle infirmary. His head was full of what he would say to the minister, who would no doubt wish to speak to him, and before he knew it he was in the infirmary. He would have left immediately to alert the minister, having seen the students safely into Poppy's care, but for her startled, “Severus!”.
Severus turned back, quickly; it took something truly alarming to unsettle Poppy. She was bending over one of the stretchers, but not the one holding Black.
“Who is this?” Poppy breathed. Severus frowned. Judging by the other stretchers, she could only be looking at Potter.
A small twinge of panic gripped Severus; had something happened to the boy? He strode over, and upon laying eyes on Potter, all thoughts of the minister fled.
The child in the stretcher was not Harry Potter. This child was sallower in complexion, while his cheek bones, his jaw, his nose… everything was different, and decidedly not Harry Potter.
Poppy had her wand out, murmuring a spell. She let out a sigh of relief. “He is Harry Potter.” Severus felt his chest relax. She frowned, and waved her wand once more. “He's not under any enchantments that I can see, however. It's not transfiguration.”
“Polyjuice?” offered Severus, darkly. “I suspect it wouldn't be the first time.”
Poppy didn't seem to hear; she had moved on now, casting spells at Weasley, Granger and Black, lighting them up like informative Christmas trees, triaging them, Severus knew. It took only a moment before she exhaled. “Nothing that can't wait five minutes,” she announced, before frowning again at Potter. “Polyjuiced as who, though?” she went on, as if continuing a conversation they'd just been having.
“Does it matter?” asked Severus, irked at being kept from his task. “Black is here. I must inform the minister.”
Poppy waved her hand dismissively. “He's not going anywhere, I assure you. Now—”
She was interrupted by a sudden bang of the hospital wing doors. Severus groaned internally. Dumbledore would never call the minister about Black; he had always favoured the Gryffindor. Trust blasted Potter to get in the way. Black would undoubtedly be teaching defence against the ruddy Dark Arts next year if the headmaster had his way.
“Albus!” Poppy commanded, “Come and look at Mr Potter. I've never seen anything quite like it.”
Dumbledore did indeed go and look, and Severus fancied that he saw the tiniest widening of his eyes as they took Potter in.
“Ah,” he said cheerfully, “I take it Mr Potter has been experimenting with Polyjuice again? Not to worry, I'm sure he'll be back to normal within the hour. I think the more pressing concern is Mr Black. Severus, if you could go and alert the minister?”
Severus took half a dozen steps before he paused. Something felt wrong. He was in total agreement with Dumbledore. He was never in total agreement with Dumbledore. Poppy seemed to have a similar thought, because she gasped. When Severus looked back at her though, it was not Dumbledore she was looking at. It was Severus.
She looked between Potter and Severus rapidly, several times. “Merlin save us,” she whispered.
“The minister, Severus!” reminded Dumbledore, urgently. “I believe they'll be finishing up the paperwork at Hagrid's. I was just there myself. Poppy, if you'll curtain off Mr Black while you tend to him?”
Both Severus and Poppy ignored him. Poppy flicked her wand and whispered something under her breath, which caused the boy on the bed to glow. She gasped again. Severus felt a strange tingling and looked down at his body to see it glowing as Potter's did.
“Albus,” came the hollow voice of Madam Pomfrey. “What have you done?”