Snape stormed towards the front door, their laughter ringing in his ears. "Severus! Wait!" Dumbledore called, but even he was hard-pressed to stifle his chuckles. The potions master flung the door open as violently as possible and hurled himself through it, stalking furiously down the stoop and across the grounds to the front gate.         His anger drove him all the way to Hogsmeade, his thoughts swirling so fast and bitterly that he never once paused, physically or mentally, to consider the danger in his actions. How dare they? How DARE they? Sanctimonious, pompous, ignorant, self-righteous cowards, all of them! he fumed as he stormed through the night. Only when he reached the outskirts of town and saw the first unfamiliar wizards draw up short at the sight of him did he realize what he'd done.         He shouldn't have come here. How could he have come here? He was Severus Snape, Severus the suspect. He had enemies on both sides of the conflict, many of whom wanted him dead. And this, he suddenly realized as he and the wary wizards of Hogsmeade stood stalk still, sizing each other up through the murky evening air, was the first time he'd left Hogwarts, the first time he'd strayed from the protective side of Albus Dumbledore since the night the Potters died.         This was a mistake.         The realization was horrifying. Worse, still, was the knowledge that followed closely on its heels. He was trapped. He couldn't very well turn tail and run back to school, could he? He would have to press on. Closing his hand over the wand in his pocket as unobtrusively as possible, he began to move cautiously forward, slowly at first, never taking his eyes off the clump of wizards watching him from the nearest doorway. It was several steps before he realized he wasn't breathing.         They hissed as he passed, and he felt their eyes boring into his back as he made his way up the street. But they made no move to cast or pursue. Snape breathed again.         Now he had a decision to make. Where was he going? He had to go somewhere. He couldn't just stalk the streets like a maniac.         The only two choices this time of night were the Hog's Head or the Three Broomsticks. The first might be sheltering ne'er-do-wells and secret or slippery supporters of Voldemort. The second would be full of self-righteous citizens who wanted every former Death Eater dead. He slowed a bit to give himself time to think, constantly aware of the villagers' eyes upon him. Some were watching from their windows now. How had they known he was there, Snape wondered?         He thought for a moment of the conquered German soldiers of World War II. Already starving, they would risk walking another fifty miles through dangerous, treacherous terrain to surrender to Americans instead of Russians. With a nod, he made his decision. He increased his pace, strolling purposely up to and through the front door of the Three Broomsticks.         The sheer intensity of the drop in volume when they all froze at the sight of him glued him to the threshold.         Once again, Snape's breath caught in his throat. He swallowed quickly and scanned the premises. One face. He just had to find one face. If he could find one neutral, familiar face, he could nod curtly and enter. Was there anyone from the staff who'd been missing during that humiliating incident at Hogwarts? He examined the nearest tables, the coat racks, the bar...         The hatred on the barmaid's face almost made him flinch. Transfixed by her damning gaze, he braced himself against the memory that came rushing back.         Death Eaters had killed Rosmerta's husband.         This was a mistake.         Snape tried not to groan. How could he have forgotten about Rosmerta's husband? I should have gone to the Hog's Head, he berated himself as he stood immobile in the dooorway. They would have feared me too much to molest me. Here, ignorance put him at risk, ignorance of what he was capable of, ignorance of what goodness truly meant. Yet he could not perform an about face and flee. They would laugh, the same raucous laughter he'd just suffered at Hogwarts. He couldn't bear that again. So he entered, stiffly, to keep his robes from billowing, and made his way to the nearest unoccupied booth. It took a concentrated effort to bend his knees and sit down.         Now what? he wondered as he folded his hands neatly on top of the table. He would look just as stupid sitting there, ignored, as he would have retreating from the doorway. If only he'd brought a book!         The patrons of the tavern stared at him. Snape looked solidly ahead, as if listening intently to an invisible person sitting across from him. Eventually, the other customers began to move again, turning back to each other, talking softly, clinking goblets, stealing furtive glances at Snape.         At the bar, Madam Rosmerta shook her head at a pleasant young witch sitting across from her.         "The nerve!" she seethed, glaring openly at Snape. "Twould serve him right if I poured a pitcher over his greasy head!" She picked up a rag and wiped down the bar, making an obvious display of keeping herself too busy with menial tasks to approach Snape and take his order.         The young woman made no response. She sat quietly, studying Rosmerta, studying Snape, surveying the other patrons. After a long moment, she placed a hand on top of Rosmerta's, stilling the motion of the sudsy bar rag.         "I was at school with Severus, Rosie," the young woman murmured. "Please don't pour anything over his head."         With that, she rose and leaned across the bar to fill a goblet with mead. Then she crossed the crowded floor and, as everyone watched, took a seat across from Snape. Silently she slid the glass across the table to him. Then, unsmiling but gentle, she told him,         "I'm Elizabeth. I was in Ravenclaw."         After a moment, Snape nodded, almost imperceptibly.         A silence began to grow. Elizabeth stared quietly at him and Snape realized he was obligated to speak.         "Do you come here often?"         Oh, God! It had to have been the stupidest utterance of his life. Well, not quite, Snape thought sourly, and the resultant twist of his lips brought a smile to Elizabeth's face.         "Yes, actually. We help Rosie."         "We?" Snape pounced on the non-confrontational topic of conversation.         "A bunch of us single gals," Elizabeth told him with a smile and a shrug. "Now that she's alone, we come by quite a bit, lend a helping hand... a listening ear... whatever she needs."         Snape nodded again, bigger this time, hoping everyone was noticing this nice, normal conversation. He picked up his goblet and took a healthy drag of mead. At the bar, Rosmerta stood watching, ignoring all requests for service, the rag dripping in her hand. The volume in the tavern slowly increased as more and more patrons turned from their observation of Snape and Elizabeth to their own conversations and activities.         Swallow by swallow, Snape drank his mead. He concentrated intently on what Elizabeth was saying, unspeakably grateful for her tact in posing only questions that required a yes or no answer. As his glass grew empty, his nervousness returned. How would he handle the need for a refill? Did he dare offer to visit the bar to procure another round for them both? Perhaps he could simply thank her for her hospitality and leave. Yes, that would be the best choice. He drained the last swallow from his glass and put the goblet down with a confident thump of finality.         "Well, I..."         "Would you like to go someplace a bit more private?"         Snape's eyes flew open, and only the fact that Elizabeth rose without waiting for an answer kept the patrons of the Three Broomsticks from seeing him stammer. She took him by the hand and led him to the door without another word.         At the door, they met another witch coming in. "Loreli," Elizabeth nodded pleasantly as she led Snape out of the tavern and into the chilly night. The door slammed shut and Loreli stood gaping at the occupants of the pub who stared silently, bewilderedly back at her. She thrust her hands on her hips and, as if they were somehow to blame, demanded to know,         "What the bloody hell?"                         She was still there when Elizabeth returned the following morning. Several others had arrived, too, to help Rosmerta tidy up after a late night. They were deep in conversation when Elizabeth walked in. At the sight of the deeply contented smile on her face, Annabel, Rosemerta, and Bedelia shook their heads in disbelief. But Loreli exploded.         "How could you?" she sputtered, full of anger and disgust. "Elizabeth, how could you?!?"         Elizabeth's smile grew until she was positively beaming. She strolled smoothly over to the bar and leaned against it, beckoning to her associates like a beneficent goddess willing to share her treasure. When they had gathered close together, she bent her head nearer to theirs and whispered.         "I'll tell you a secret about men like Severus. They have something to prove."         The women drew back, processing the declaration. They glanced at one another, checking to see if others were coming to the same conclusion.         Then they smiled.                         After that, Snape had only to enter the Three Broomsticks and sit down in an empty booth on a Friday night. Within moments of cracking a book, he would be joined by one of the fine young women of Hogsmeade, friends of Rosmerta's who would slide into his booth and smile,         "Hello, Severus." Suddenly Severus