Chapter Three

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Disclaimer: Imma don't own Harry Potter, nor the characters that live in that magical world

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 Severus walked slowly back to his house, his hands deep in his pockets, trying to think of another way to get his mother back with minimal damage to everyone... except perhaps that bastard Malfoy. As he walked through his front door (failing to see that it was back on its hinges) his face was set firmly in his trademark scowl and his eyes were aflame. Dumbledore was still there, sitting on the damned couch, there were no longer the signs of a duel that had been there when he left.

"I took the liberty of fixing your house," Dumbledore said as he stood up and Severus nodded tersely, his face settling into a darker scowl, looking fit to kill. "I cannot, in good mind, leave you here until your mother is safely returned, so I suggest you pack your belongings for the year."

Nodding again, Severus brushed past the older wizard with silvery auburn hair and went upstairs; placing what few things he would be taking with him in his tattered trunk and in his favorite rucksack. He only took his potions journal and his summer homework, which he did out of sheer boredom during his first week home. His school clothes that would still fit him by the beginning of the school year, his few non-embarrassing night clothes, and his favorite picture of him and Lily.... With one last sweeping glance around his room, he went back down the stairs to find that Dumbledore was still exactly where he had left him.

"Good," Dumbledore said as he saw Severus's trunk and bag, a sad twinkle in his eyes. "Now if you will take my arm, we will be off," as he said this, the said arm was lofted up.

"Where are we going, exactly?" Severus asked cautiously, stopping just in front of the headmaster, not making any attempt to reach for his arm.

"That is the question, isn't it?" Dumbledore said cryptically, not answering Severus's question. Severus sighed and grudgingly placed his hand over the headmaster's arm, keeping a tight hold on his trunk. He felt Dumbledore's arm twist away from him and re-doubled his grip: the next thing he knew everything went black; he was pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his ear-drums were being pushed deeper into his skull.* He was suddenly able to breathe again, and he did so with great relish, leaning over to help stave off his sudden bout of dizziness. That wasn't the first time he had apparated, having done it once with his mother over a short distance. He straightened up and looked around, quickly noticing a house that looked like it was ready to collapse and was several stories too high.

"How are you my boy? Apparating can leave even the most experienced wizard disoriented." Dumbledore said. He was starting to see this Slytherin as something other than what he and many others had branded their house as: sly, cheating, no good snakes. He was ashamed of himself for doing that.

Severus growled through his teeth, "For the last time, I'm NOT your boy." He looked around again and asked, "Where are we?" He was doing his best to ignore the pitying look he was getting from the headmaster. In light of recent events, there were only two things that he hated more than pity: Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Even then, it was a close call between the three.

Dumbledore's concerned eyes lingered for a second longer on the troubled Slytherin before answering, "The unofficial headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix." As he said this, his eyes lit up with unmistakable pride along with a rather large hint of pride in his voice. He brandished his wand and walked inside the house with Severus following him closely.

They were met by a plump woman who had her wand out also, "What was my mother's middle name?" she asked, making Severus arch an eyebrow at her. What kind of question was that?

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