Disclaimer:  This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  The character of Caius the raven belongs to Draquonelle, who has kindly allowed me to borrow him (Vesta McGonagall is hers too, though she owes something of a debt to the Ingrid Berman character in Alfred Hitchcock’s “Notorious”).   In addition, I got the name Polaris Black for Sirius’s sister from someone else’s fanfic, but I can’t remember whose (her character, however, belongs entirely to me and Draquonelle—and to Victor Hugo, I suppose, since she’s based partly on his Inspector Javert).

 

Posted by:  Elspeth (AKA Elspethdixon, L Squared).

 

Ships:  Sirius/Claire Sinistra and a potential Snape/McGonagall

 

Chapter Eleven:  In Which There are Revelations and Reconciliations.

 

            Polaris Black sat in front of the fireplace in Headmaster Dumbledore’s office, waiting nervously for the appearance of the Ministry operative who would soon be contacting her.  She had sent off her report this morning, a masterpiece of half-truths, misdirections, and a few outright lies.  It had been the first time in her entire career as an auror that she had ever omitted anything from a report.  The first deliberate lies in twenty years of service.  Falsehood number one: Nowhere in the report did she discuss Severus Snape’s role in allowing the Death Eaters access to the Hogwarts grounds (this had never been mentioned to her in so many words, but she could put two and two together, and when a system of defences could only be lowered by one of the Heads of Houses, and the Head of Slytherin just happened to be a double agent…).  Falsehood number two: Snape’s injuries were attributed to his role in defending the castle, and no mention was made of his spying activities.  Much as it galled her to compromise herself to protect the man, even she had to admit that the information he provided was valuable, and that they could not afford to have his cover blown.  And falsehood number three: She had made no mention of her brother anywhere in the report.

            It was that last evasion, perhaps the biggest one, which troubled her conscience the most.  The first two omissions could be justified as minimizing intelligence leaks, but the last…

            Any sighting of Sirius Black was to be reported to the Ministry at once.  It was standard operating procedure for fugitives, and helping to hide him would count as aiding and abetting.  But if she turned him in, delivered him to justice, she had no doubt in her mind that he would be given the Dementors’ Kiss immediately.  She couldn’t face that, couldn’t participate in it.  Even when she had believed that he deserved it, the thought had hurt, and now that she knew he was innocent…  Her own words to Snape echoed mockingly in her ears:  “Innocent blood never washes off.”

            A good auror never flinched from his or her duty, never made exceptions based on personal feelings.  Personal wasn’t the same as important.  But a good auror also protected the innocent.  And fourteen years ago, when it had mattered the most, she hadn't.  She wasn't going to hand her little brother over to be tortured again.

            But this secret keeping, Polaris mused worriedly, as the earnest, bespectacled features of a minor Ministry employee appeared in the fireplace before her, is going to be difficult.

            "Auror Black, ma'am," the young man said rather pompously, after she had managed a semblance of a polite greeting.  "My supervisor has directed me to tell you that she has decided that the circumstances warrant a direct visit by the Department.  We will be arriving in Hogsmead later today.  She, er, wants to interview the students and faculty personally."

            "Which supervisor would that be, Mr… ah, Weasley, isn't it?"  With that hair, he had to be one of Arthur's boys.

            "Agent McGonagall, ma'am."

            "Oh," Polaris said, feeling a sinking sensation in her stomach.  "Yes, I know her."  How was she ever going to manage to lie to Vesta?  Her ex-partner had always had an uncanny gift for reading people.  "What time will you two be here?" she asked, hoping that it would be well into the afternoon, so that Snape would be out of the hospital wing.  Perhaps Vesta would be distracted enough by the sight of his injuries that she would neglect to ask about Sirius.

            "Around six o' clock, ma'am.  I asked Agent McGonagall if she could be a bit more exact," he added apologetically, "but all she said was 'around sixish.'"

 

^_~

 

            When Sirius woke up again, mid-afternoon sunlight was slanting in through the hospital wings windows, illuminating a mostly empty ward that was a distinct contrast to the crowded chaos of the previous night.

            "Remus?  Harry?"

            "I sent them back to their rooms to get some sleep."  Madam Pomfrey materialized at the side of his bed, hands laden with bandages and potion jars.  "They're probably in class now.  Sit up please.  I need to check that slash on your back."

            Sirius sat up slowly; bracing himself for pain as the motion pulled at the slash bisecting his back from shoulder to hip.  To his surprise, there was none, only a slight feeling of tightness.  Forgetting for a moment that a human spine was not quite as flexible as a canine one, he twisted his head around to try and get a look.

            "Hold still," Madam Pomfrey said absently, as she began peeling bandages off--taking all the hair and half the skin off his back with them, it felt like.

            "Ow!"

            "I said, hold still.  Hmm…  Healing nicely.  Another twenty-four hours and it should be as good as new.  I'm afraid you're always going to have a scar though."

            Sirius finally succeeded in catching a glimpse of the three-quarters healed scar on his back out of the corner of his eye.  It looked a good half-month old, cleanly mended and with no sign of infection.  He had forgotten how good wizarding medicine was.  "It's almost gone!"

            "Of course."  Madam Pomfrey looked mildly affronted.  "I've put enough students back together after quidditch matches to make a simple laceration easy work.  You haven't taken a forty-foot fall off a Cleansweep.  This time."  She pursed her lips and studied him consideringly.  "Do you still feel cold?  I can give you more chocolate." 

            "No," Sirius said.  It was mostly true.  "I'm fine."

            "In that case, I think I may be able to discharge you later this afternoon, provided you promise to do nothing strenuous."

            "Do animagus transformations count?"  If he couldn't resume his disguise as "Snuffles" there would be little point in leaving the hospital wing at all, unless he snuck out under James's old invisibility cloak.

            "Probably," Madam Pomfrey said.  "But as you obviously can't go walking around the castle as a human, I suppose there's no choice."  She sounded vaguely disapproving.  "It's enough of a danger having you in here as it is.  It's only a matter of time before one of the students comes in."

            Sirius was seized by a momentary urge to protest that getting hurt hadn't been his fault, but managed to quell the impulse.  He had spent too much time in here as a student, visiting Remus after the full moon, suffering under Madam Pomfrey's disapproving eyes after quidditch matches ("Was it really necessary, Black, to break the Ravenclaw chaser's arm?"), or attempting to convince her that yes, he and James and Snape and Evan Rosier had all somehow managed to fall down the stairs on the same day.  And no, he hadn't pushed any of them.  "I could change now, if you want me to?" he offered.

            "No," she shook her head decisively.  "Not yet.  I'd like to keep you in human form for as long as possible.  It's not healthy for an animagus to spend as much time in animal shape as you've been, especially after any sort of psychological trauma.  Psychological, and even some physical traits can start being carried over into human form."

            Sirius cocked his head to one side and looked at her inquiringly.

            "Then again, perhaps it's too late."

            A smile began tugging on the corners of Sirius's lips.  He had never heard the mistress of the hospital wing crack a joke before.  He tipped his head toward the other side and did his best impression of a canine whine.  It was a very accurate impression.  Madam Pomfrey didn't laugh, but she looked for a moment as though she wanted to.

            "Where's Polaris?" Sirius asked, suddenly remembering that she, unlike Remus and Harry, did not have any classes to teach or attend in the afternoon.  Dueling classes were held in the evening.  "Has she… has she reported to the ministry yet?"  Polaris had said the night before that she wasn't going to turn him in, right?  Actually, he remembered, what she said was that she believes I'm innocent, which isn't necessarily gonna stop her from handing me over to justice.  "The innocent," his sister was fond of saying, usually just before she hauled somebody in for questioning, "should have nothing to fear from the law."

            "Auror Black," Madam Pomfrey said stiffly, no longer looking as though she felt at all like laughing, "contacted the Ministry this morning.  She came here to tell you that she had left 'all information of a personal nature' out of her report, but you were still asleep, and she was bothering my other patient, so I made her leave."

            "Other patient?"  Sirius's eyes followed Madam Pomfrey's gaze across the ward to where Minerva McGonagall sat sound asleep in one of the hospital wing's legendarily uncomfortable chairs.  Her hair was coming loose from its bun, but she had exchanged the flannel tartan nightgown of the night before for her customary Victorian-style green robes.  Stretched out in the bed next to her was an equally comatose Snape, his left hand splinted and bandaged and his face disfigured by a mass of swollen purple bruises.

            Sirius whistled.  "What happened to him?"

            "Oh, that's right.  You missed most of the excitement in here last night, didn't you?"

            "What sort of excitement?"

            "An hour or so after Remus brought you in here, he showed up again with Severus.  And that wretched bird."  She nodded toward the small black raven perched like a gargoyle on the headboard of Snape's bed.  "I hate that thing, and it hates me.  Have you ever tried to set three broken fingers while a vicious-tempered crow demon glares at you out of its beady little eyes and makes as if to peck you every time your patient flinches?"

            "No," Sirius said.  It was obviously a rhetorical question.  "How did Snape break his fingers?"

            "He wasn't very specific, but I think someone stepped on them."

            "Oh, what a shame."  Too bad it wasn't me.

            Madam Pomfrey chose to ignore the sarcasm.  "Speaking of fingers, now that I know you're up and in relatively good condition, I had better go wake up Severus and take the splints off his hand."  She sighed.  "I wish I could let him sleep for a little bit longer, but the Ministry is sending an official in to interview the staff later this afternoon, and they'll almost certainly want to talk to him.  I don't think I'll disturb Minerva just yet, though.  She was awake all night and half the morning.  You just sit tight, and I'll have the house elves bring you some breakfast, or lunch, rather, in a few minutes."

            Sirius sat cross-legged on the bed and leaned his chin on his hand, watching as Madam Pomfrey crossed the room and bent over Snape, shaking him awake.  He noticed that she stayed as far away from Caius as possible.  If this was the same Caius Snape had had in school, he didn't blame her.  He still had vivid memories of Snape's annoying and over-protective familiar.  He and James had tried to make friends with the thing by feeding it, but had given up when it bit them.  James still had the scar on his finger.  Would have still had it.

            Madam Pomfrey was talking to Snape, using a low, quiet voice so as not to wake up McGonagall.  Unfortunately, it had the additional effect of making it impossible for Sirius to overhear the conversation.  He really missed Padfoot's ears when he was in his own shape.

            Snape sat up, extending his arm forward for Madam Pomfrey's inspection, and Sirius sat up straighter, feeling one of his eyebrows go up.  The Potions Master had been worked over by somebody, or several somebodies, who had been very enthusiastic.  And they hadn't been out for information, either.  Livid bruises in a panorama of colours shading from purple into black were stamped across his torso, and his face was a battered mess, one eye swollen shut.  Interrogation subjects were rarely hit in the face--one couldn't talk through a broken jaw.

            He doesn't have any defensive wounds on his arms, Sirius realized, as he watched Madam Pomfrey go to work removing the gauze and splints from Snape's left hand.  Which meant that either Snape hadn't fought back or tried to defend himself--unlikely--or someone had prevented him from doing so.  Odd.  Sirius had fantasized for years about having somebody hold Snape back while he himself punched the daylights out of him, but now it looked as though someone else had done exactly that, and for some reason he didn't feel very happy about it.  Voldemort and his Death Eaters must not have been too happy about being led into a trap last night.  Spying looks to be rather a high-risk job.

            "There," Madam Pomfrey said, as she used her wand to sever the last bit of adhesive tape and pulled away the final splint away.  "Everything has healed up rather nicely, if I do say so myself.  A few days, and even a muggle x-ray wouldn't be able to tell that anything had been broken."

            "If everything's healed, why won't my fingers move?" Snape asked, sounding uncharacteristically worried.

            "You've sustained some fairly severe bruises," she explained reassuringly, "and your fingers are going to be somewhat stiff and painful for a while.  Unfortunately, modern medical magic has yet to come up with a way to heal bruises overnight."

            Snape inspected his swollen, purple and black fingers carefully, as though they were some unknown potion ingredient.  Sirius surveyed the other wizard with interest. Snape had his hand raised so that, from where Sirius sat, the inside of his forearm was visible.  Sirius had never really seen a Dark Mark before--he had been in animagus form when Snape had displayed his Mark to Fudge after the Triwizard Tournament, and Padfoot's eyes were not as good as a human's.

            The livid red scar tissue of the skull and serpent design stood out against Snape's pale skin as clearly as the glowing green sigils of Death Eater raids against the night sky.  The scar had to be fifteen years old at least, but it looked raw and barely healed, fresher than the still-tender slice across Sirius's back.  A handful of thin white lines bracketed it, faint and long healed.  Sirius made a faint sound in his throat as his eyes landed on them, and suddenly he was seeing through Snape, past the hospital wing and into another, much smaller and darker room.

            Travers and Wilkes had both tried to claw their arms off, near the end.  For a second, he could see Kitty Wilkes again, face contorted with hysterical laughter and fingernails red with blood and scraps of flesh.  She had gouged her forearm almost to the bone.  The Dementors had swarmed in, drawn to the sound and to the smell of blood, and her laughter had turned to screams.

            "Is there a problem, Black?"

            The sharp inquiry jolted Sirius back into the present, and he realized that he had unconsciously hunched his shoulders and wrapped his arms around himself as if to ward off the cold.

            "Wilkes clawed her arm half off.  In Azkaban, I mean.  So deep you could see bone."  Sirius answered before he could stop himself, still half caught in the memory.  "It went gangrenous.  That's how she died."

            "That's absolutely charming," Snape sneered, voice as sarcastic as ever but slightly hoarse.  "Thank you so much for sharing.  Is there any purpose behind that complete non sequitor, or did you just feel like being disgusting?"

            "I was just... remembering," Sirius said.  He shivered, and realized suddenly that there were goosebumps on his arms.  "I'd forgotten about it until now."

            "I'm sure you must be delighted to dredge something up out of your addled brain, however, I'm not interested in your recovered memories."  Snape's words fairly oozed with dislike for Sirius, and Sirius was sure that there was a scowl somewhere under those bruises.

            He doesn't want me looking at his arm, Sirius realized suddenly.  The other wizard didn't want to anyone to know about those scars, and he was trying to distract him by picking a fight.  Really, after waving Sirius's wrists around in front of half the faculty, Snape more than deserved a taste of his own medicine.  Still, he decided to have mercy on the bastard and change the subject.

            "My scars are nastier looking than yours," he said childishly, holding his wrists up in Snape's direction.  "And I've got more of them."

            "Mine were more painful."

            "How do you know?" Sirius demanded indignantly.

            "Because burns are always more painful than lacerations."

            "It is not a competition," Madam Pomfrey snapped, looking annoyed.  "Men," she muttered.  "Asclepius save me from men and quidditch players.  If anyone needs me," she added, "I'll be in the next room.  Try not to kill each other in my absence."  And she bustled out of the room, irritation fairly steaming off her.

            Snape and Sirius looked at each other for a moment.  The situation was far too familiar--both of them in bandages and an impatient Madame Pomfrey scolding all present impartially before going to fetch the wrath of the school authorities down on their heads.  Except this time, they had not caused each other's injuries, and there were no angry professors waiting to descend on them with detentions--only the Ministry.

            In the sudden, uncomfortable silence, Sirius became aware of a faint rumbling sound coming from across the room.

            "What's that?" he asked, glancing around in sudden suspicion.  Intellectually, he knew that there was no way Death Eaters or Dementors could have snuck into the room, but still…

Snape was staring at the slumbering McGonagall, looking as though his birthday had come early.

 "She's purring," he said, almost gleefully. "Purring. I am going to treasure this memory for the rest of my life. I'm going to make sure that she treasures it for the rest of her life. Every time she tries to get me to help chaperone a student dance, or cover someone else's classes, or tells me to go easier on Potter or Longbottom, I'm going to remind her that she purrs."

            Sirius began to laugh.  He couldn't help it; the concept of McGonagall purring was something it was impossible to consider with a straight face.  "She's purring?  I was right!  She does purr!  James and Remus owe me three galleons!" he cried triumphantly.  Then he broke off, remembering that James owed no one anything anymore, would never owe anyone anything again. 

            The purring suddenly stopped as McGonagall began to stir, awakened by Sirius's momentary shout of laughter.  "What is it?" she demanded, sitting up straight in her chair.  "What's going on?'

            Snape's one open eye was sparkling with malicious delight.  "You were purring," he informed her.  "Exactly like a kitten.  It was adorable."  He shook his head, then halted, wincing slightly at the movement.  "And all these years I thought you snored."

            "I was doing nothing of the sort!"  McGonagall protested, highly affronted.  "I've never purred in my life, in animagus form or out of it.  And I don't snore either."

            “Meow.  Me-ow,” the crow cawed from its place on Snape’s headboard.  Minerva ignored it, though her lips tightened and her face flushed slightly.

            "Nevertheless, you were purring,” Snape said smoothly.  “Just ask Black."

            McGonagall looked sharply at Sirius, obviously finding confirmation of Snape's words in his face.

            "It could be worse," he volunteered.  "You've never accidentally hissed at someone.  I growl at people all the time.  And Remus says I twitch my feet when I dream, like a dog, but I think he's making that up."  Something suddenly occurred to him.  "What were you doing asleep in here anyway? The chairs are bloody uncomfortable, if I remember right."

            "I..." she paused, glancing at Snape, an unreadable emotion on her face.  "Poppy asked me to stay.  To keep Severus awake for her, last night.  I suppose I must have fallen asleep this morning."

            "Why on earth didn't you go back to bed once she told me that could go to sleep?"  Snape demanded.

            McGonagall didn't answer, but Sirius could have sworn she blushed, just a bit.  Inspiration struck. No, it couldn't be.  I've got to be imagining things.  Still…  the way the two of them were sitting, staring at each other, each trying not to meet the other's eyes…  His lips began to twitch.

            "You two are so," Sirius paused, searching for an appropriate adjective, "cute together."  The other two looked startled, then indignant.  Unable to resist, he continued,  "Beauty and the Beast.  No wait," he added, anticipating Snape's response, "that's me and Claire.  The pair of you are more like Jane Eyre, or maybe Faust.  Or Phantom of the Opera."

            "I resent that," McGonagall said.

            "Thank you," Snape said to her.

            "I do not in the slightest resemble Christine Daae!"

            "No, she was prettier.  And much, much younger."

            McGonagall's eyebrows went up, and her lips thinned angrily.  "Severus, how would you like to spend the rest of your life as a bat?"

            Snape was saved from answering when the hospital wing door began to swing open.  Instantly, without even needing to think about it, Sirius became Padfoot again.  Bloody Hell!  That was close!

            A pair of Hufflepuff seventh-years edged uneasily into the room.  When they saw Snape and McGonagall, they stopped.  The shorter of the two girls blushed bright red and put both hands up over her face.

            The taller girl approached McGonagall apprehensively.  "Is… is Madam Pomfrey here?" she asked tentatively.  "Melissa, er, needs to talk to her.  She thinks she might be, er…" she looked at Snape, faltered, and broke off. 

            "I'm not gonna get kicked out of school, am I?" the shorter girl, presumably Melissa, blurted out.  "My parents are going to kill me."

            McGonagall stood up, exuding an almost tangible aura of disapproval, and led the two girls into the adjoining room to speak with Madam Pomfrey.  She returned almost immediately, now minus the students and shook her head, sighing.  "Seventeen year-olds.  I feel almost sorry for the poor girl.  When I get my hands on Geoffrey Heddleby…  I suppose I had better go and get Amaryllis."  She paused in her muttered tirade and looked at Snape, whose efforts at keeping a straight face had not been entirely successful.  “Why are you smirking like that?”

            “Because," he said, with all the satisfaction of someone watching a messy situation descend on someone else, while knowing that he does not have to get involved,  "I am not Amaryllis Sprout, and this is not my problem.”

            Minerva pursed her lips.  “I seem to remember Azrael Bale storming into the staff room not so many years ago complaining about the reckless fifth year Slytherin who had poisoned half the dormitory.”

            “That wasn’t my fault!  I told Evan Rosier to leave the lid on that cauldron so that the poisonous vapors wouldn’t escape, but he didn’t listen to me.  I mean…  Nevermind."

 

^_~

 

            Remus entered the staff room that evening to find most of the rest of the faculty already there, waiting somewhat nervously in small clusters, grouped along House alignments.  Flitwick, Vector, Claire, and Ogham from Ancient Runes were grouped near the fireplace, while Minerva and Hagrid stood together by the far wall.  Franklin Watson, the Muggle Studies professor, was seated on the couch next to Xiomora Hooch, and Trelawney hovered somewhere in the middle of the room, presumably driven away from the Gryffindor group by Minerva's pointed sniffs.  Dumbledore, ensconced in an overstuffed brown velveteen armchair with his feet up on a small matching ottoman, ignored the byplay around him with the ease of long practice.

            At six o' clock precisely, Polaris strode determinedly into the room, heading straight for the green leather armchair in the darkest corner, where she would have an unobstructed view of the door.  As she shifted copies of Alchemist's Journal, Apothecary  Quarterly, and the Oxford Journal of BioChemistry out of the way and sat down, Filch, who had been occupying the next chair, unobtrusively moved to another seat.  Remus wondered if she knew whose chair she was sitting in, and what she would do when she found out.

            His musings where answered a few minutes later when Snape limped into the room, with Padfoot following a few pointed steps behind him.  Padfoot made straight for the rug in front of the fireplace (which, incidentally, put him right between Claire and Remus, as well as at the very edge of the Gryffindor group).  Snape paused by the door, staring coldly at Polaris.  Caius, perched on his right wrist, eyed her with equal dislike.

            "Poppy and Amaryllis should be along shortly," he announced, "as soon as they finish dealing with some… student related issues."  He smirked slightly.  "I imagine Miss Parker and Mr. Heddleby are currently very, very unhappy."

            Minerva sniffed in obvious disapproval, though who the subject of the sniff was--Snape or the two Hufflepuffs--Remus couldn't tell.

            Snape was continuing to stare at Polaris, a pointed, unblinking stare guaranteed to disturb and intimidate and make any excuses for unfinished homework die upon the victim's lips.  The fact that his left eye was still purple and swollen half shut diminished the effect only slightly. 

            "What?" Polaris snapped defensively.

            "You," Snape said, imbuing the word with the sort of disgust he usually reserved solely for Harry Potter, "are in my seat."

            Polaris looked for a moment as if she were about to start an argument with him, and then, probably realizing how juvenile it would sound to fight over a chair--especially with someone who still had one arm in a sling--she got up and moved one seat over, into the chair that had been occupied by Filch (now sitting on the "Hufflepuff" couch).  Snape and Caius immediately took up possession of the armchair, and he and Polaris proceeded to ignore each other industriously.

            Remus had listened to the preceding conversation with only a corner of his mind.  From the moment Snape and "Snuffles" had walked into the room, most of his attention had been on Padfoot.  The giant black dog was moving a bit stiffly, as if the remnants of yesterday's injuries still pained him, and he had made straight for the warmest spot in the room.  Still, he was there, not hiding under a bed in the hospital wing, which is what Remus felt that he probably would have been doing, had he been the one attacked by Dementors.  Interesting, that Padfoot had come straight to him and Claire, instead of going over to Polaris…  His thoughts were interrupted when a cold nose shoved itself into his hand, demanding attention.  Sometimes it was very comforting to just sit and pet a dog.  Even if you know that he's just laying his head on your foot because it gives him the best angle from which to look up Claire Sinistra's skirt.

            The minutes crawled by.  Poppy and Amaryllis had just made a rather belated appearance, and Hagrid had begun to offer around a tray of scones the consistency of hard tack, when the Ministry delegation finally made their appearance.

            Percy Weasley strode briskly into the room, coming to a slightly hesitant halt when he realized that he was surrounded by all of his old teachers.  In the traditional grey ministry robe, he looked, Remus thought, rather like a hot coal on top of a pile of ashes.

            "Good evening, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir," he said, nodding towards the old wizard.  "I apologize for our lateness.  We would have been here sooner, but-"

            "Oh, for God's sake, Weasley," a woman's voice said scoldingly from the doorway, "stop apologizing.  The Ministry never apologizes; we make other people apologize to us."  Remus turned towards the door to recognize Vesta McGonagall, draped against the door-jamb in a dramatic pose.  Her auburn hair fell forward over one eye like a nineteen-forties movie star's, and her non-regulation black and white robe clung to her well proportioned curves.  She was wearing a great deal of make-up, which failed to conceal the fact that she was obviously well over thirty.  She was, if he remembered correctly, pushing forty, and she looked as though she were trying to push it as far away as possible.

            "I got your report, Pub," she continued.  "And there are some…" Vesta broke off abruptly as her eyes landed on Snape, and let out a low whistle.  "Sev Darling, you look like absolute hell."

            "Vesta," Snape said coolly.  "Charming, as always. "  From the back of his chair, Caius let out a creaky imitation of a wolf whistle.  "Ves-tah," he croaked.

            "My God," Vesta continued, ignoring both Caius and Snape's less than cordial response, "how long has it been?"

            "Well, assuming the interrogation room at auror headquarters doesn't count, I think the last time we saw each other was at Evan Rosier's funeral."  The air temperature in the room suddenly seemed to drop several degrees.

            Vesta drew herself up straight and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.  "Severus," she began, voice minus its usual affected drawl.  "I really am sorry about Evan.  Things weren't supposed to happen the way they did." 

            "It wasn't… entirely your fault," Snape said, rather grudgingly.  "Your squad would never have gotten near Rosier if someone hadn't sold him out."

            Vesta's eyes widened slightly, but she displayed no other evidence of surprise.  "That would explain a great deal," she said speculatively.

            Polaris shook her head in exasperation, setting her braid swinging.  "Vesta," she interrupted brusquely, "just drop it.  It was self-defence.  Rosier was a criminal resisting arrest.  If he'd lived, he would have spent the rest of his life in Azkaban.  You probably did him a favour!  Anyway," she went on, "you and Severus can reminisce about old school friends later.  We have business to take care of."

            Remus wanted to cheer at the change of subject.  The air in the room had been growing so heavily laden with emotional tension that he'd nearly been able to smell it, and the rest of the staff had begun to look extremely uncomfortable.  Not to mention Percy Weasley, who had begun to asphyxiate with horrified disbelief when he'd heard Vesta refer to Snape as "Sev Darling."

            "Ah, yes," Vesta seized on the new topic eagerly.  "Business.  Pub, that report you sent in this morning was a marvel of succinctness.  I should very much like to know just how the Death Eaters managed to get onto the grounds in the first place, not to mention why Severus looks as though he's been run over by a basilisk.  And my superiors," this to Dumbledore, "want to know how you plan to prevent any further attacks in the future."  She snorted in a surprisingly unladylike manner.  "This incident seems to have finally tipped Fudge over from denial into panic.  You can expect a deluge of owls begging for advice any day now."

            "I'm sure the Minister knows what he's doing…" Percy offered half-heartedly.

            "Rubbish."  Vesta and Polaris exchanged identical disgusted glances.  "He's too concerned about alienating his constituency to do anything useful."'

            This time, Dumbledore didn't even try to defend Fudge.  "Agent McGonagall," he said instead. "Perhaps you and Mr. Weasley should interview the staff individually, so as to get the fullest possible picture of last nights events."

            "Excellent idea," Vesta said.  "Weasley?"

            "Yes, Ma'am?"

            "We'll take them in threes.  You can start with Flitwick, Hooch, and Hagrid.  I want to finish this up before the Hogshead closes up for the night."

            Percy dutifully collected the first three professors and retreated with them into the smaller room off the staff room to start interviewing them, an immense notepad clutched in one hand.

            "Right, then."  Vesta crossed over to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel.  "Lupin, Severus, Minnie," she pointed one green-painted fingernail at her older sister, "I'll start with you three.  Then Sinistra, Trelawny, and Vector."  She paused, glancing down at Padfoot, who was sprawled out across the hearthrug at Claire's feet.  "And who is this handsome boy?" she cooed, bending down to pet him.

            "Careful, Vesta," Snape said, before she could complete the motion.  "He bites. Just ask Nott."

            Padfoot gave a momentary snarl, and snapped his teeth once in Snape's direction, making an audible click.

            "There's something familiar about him," Vesta continued, ignoring Snape's remark.  "Whose is he?  Hagrid's?"

            "Mine," Remus said, at the same time that Claire said, "Mine, I think."

            "He's something of a Gryffindor House mascot," Minerva said.

            "Hmm," Vesta responded, ignoring Snape's advice and rubbing Padfoot's ears.  She seemed oblivious to the glares she was receiving from both Claire, who was observing Padfoot's response to the caress suspiciously, and Minerva, whose eyes had started to shoot daggers about the time Vesta had first begun talking to Snape.  "His eyes are the same colour as Polaris's," she observed.  Then she straightened, brushing the dog fur off her sleeve.  "And now down to business."

            "You may use my office for the interviews, if you need to," Dumbledore offered.

            "Thank you, but we'll be fine right here.  I'll just cast a Cone of Silence around the four of us.  No, Severus, don't get up.  The rest of us will just sit around you.  Pub, find a new seat."

            Remus and Claire obediently shifted seats, Claire moving into the one Polaris had just grudgingly vacated.  Padfoot slunk unobtrusively--at least, as unobtrusively as a dog the size of a small bear was capable of slinking--into the corner after them, obviously intending to listen in on the conversation.

            "Alright," Vesta said as soon as she'd finished casting the sound-deadening charm.  "Will one of you please tell me what the Hell happened last night?  Pub's report placed you in the Great Hall, Severus, and while Dementors are very nasty things, they're not known for beating their victims black and blue, so what did?"

            There was a long pause.

            "Would I be correct in assuming that it was your former comrades who decided to pound you into oblivion?"  Vesta looked around her at the instant expressions of chagrin on the interviewees' faces and snorted.  "Yes, Sev, I know what you've been doing.  Who do you think Albus sends the information you collect in to?"  She shook her head.  "Everyone's so afraid of another Rookwood that we end up keeping more secrets from our own side than we do from the enemy.  Do you know that idiot Fudge actually suggested removing all the Slytherins from Department of Mysteries?  Some department he'd have been left with; a dozen Ravenclaws and a handful of Hufflepuffs, and no field operatives.  Fortunately, deputy department head Croaker is a Slytherin, and he put a stop to it.  But I digress.  You.  Bruises. Explain."

            Snape eyed the long green nail pointing at him uneasily and began to talk.  He gave a short account of what had happened when the Dementors broke in to the Great Hall--very grudgingly acknowledging Harry's role in driving them off--and then began on the Death Eater meeting, sounding unusually vague and terse.

            "After the attack was over, I was summoned to a gathering.  I escaped from your harpy of a former partner and apparated there.  The Dark Lord was… somewhat displeased with night's events, and decided to make his displeasure felt.  Circumstances indicated that our plans had been leaked, by someone with access to Dumbledore.  Fortunately, The Dark Lord believes that the leak was accidental.  He delivered an object lesson on the inadvisability of failing him, and then dismissed us.  I returned to Hogwarts and to my office, and stayed there until Lupin came and suggested that I go talk to Poppy Pomfrey."

            "In other words, You-Know-Who had one of his minions, probably Matthew Avery, beat you bloody because he thought you'd accidentally let slip that there was going to be an attack.  And then you came back here and hid in your office like a wounded animal until Lupin came down and dragged you to the hospital wing.  Am I right?" she glanced inquiringly at Remus and Minerva.  Remus nodded.

            Vesta turned back to Snape.  "I assume you did more at the meeting than just serve as a punching bag?  How badly are Voldemort's people hurt?"

            Caius fluffed his feathers uneasily as Vesta said the name, shifting from foot to foot.  "Snake.  Ten points from Sly-ther-in."  They ignored him.

            Snape looked at Vesta, meeting her eyes for the first time.  "Goyle's arm was injured in the attack.  And Antoine Lestrange and Ripley Nott are dead."

            "Too bad."  Vesta said flatly.  "Death was too easy for Lestrange.  He and his wife deserved to suffer in Azkaban forever for what they did to Denise and Frank."  She shuddered.  "I was the one who found them.  You have no idea…  Well, maybe you do.  How did he die?"

            "Auror Black cast an avada kedavra on Lestrange," Minerva said, her voice neutral.  "Nott I didn't see, but from what I've heard I gather his end was a bit… bloodier."

            "Snuffles bit him," Remus volunteered, hoping to keep the discussion on that topic to a minimum.  Sirius, in animagus form or not, was not something he wanted to talk about to a Ministry official, even if she was Minerva's sister.  Though, come to think of it, they weren't exactly looking at each other with sisterly love.  More like two cats eyeing each other up while deciding whether or not to fight.

            "Bit is rather an understatement," Snape said dryly.  "I thought at first that it had to be a curse of some kind.  His entire throat was gone.  You could see his spine."

            Padfoot made a faint whimpering noise and hung his head, looking guilty.

            "This adorable thing?" Vesta sounded surprised, but darted an appraising look at Padfoot's teeth.  "I suppose he could be rather dangerous, at that."

            "Don't worry," Remus said, ruffling Padfoot's ears affectionately.  "He's usually very sweet."  It was rather ironic really.  Remus had lived most of his life with the pervasive fear that he might attack and savage somebody one full moon, and yet in all this time he had never killed another human being, either as a man or as a wolf.  Vampires, ghouls, and lethifolds, yes, but never another human.  Instead, it had been Sirius who had ended up inflicting death with tooth and claw.

            "Sweet?" Snape sneered.  "He's bitten me on the leg twice."

            "Perhaps if you hadn't kicked him, Severus," Minerva said tartly, "he would not have."

            "You say Pub killed Lestrange?" Vesta asked, pulling the topic back to the previous night.

            "I wasn't there," Snape said, still sounding faintly resentful of the fact that he had been kept out of the fight, "but it's exactly the sort of thing one would expect from her."

            "It was a bit chilling, Vesta," Minerva admitted.  "He was standing, ready to put a curse on her, and she didn't even hesitate, just pointed her wand and flash."

            "His wife tried to attack her then," Remus put in, "and she disarmed her and knocked her out, cool as you please.  She's really a very impressive dueler, almost as good as Flitwick."

            "Pub?  She's better than Flitwick."  Vesta shook her head.  "I think she may be even better than Severus, and he's death on two legs.  She might be as good as Moody.  She uses curses he won't touch--he always tried to bring them in alive."

            "Ms. Black appears to have no such qualms," Snape said.  "Therezia Lestrange spent the whole meeting huddled over Antoine's dead body, swearing to wreak bloody retribution on his killer."  He sounded faintly pleased at the prospect.

            "I'll have to congratulate Pub.  She's acquired her first personal vendetta."  Vesta gave a slight smile.  "When you collect ten you get to join a club," she said brightly.  "We have a secret handshake and everything, right, Sev?"

            "I would never belong to any organization juvenile enough to have a secret handshake."

            "No," Vesta said.  "You lot just give each other silly-looking tattoos instead."  Remus and Minerva exchanged identical horrified looks.  No one on the faculty ever mentioned Snape's Mark; it was a subject as taboo as Remus's lycanthropy. 

            "It's a brand, not a tattoo," Snape snarled.  "As you know perfectly well."

            "Don't worry, Sev Darling," Vesta said airily.  "I find it quite sexy."

            "Obviously."  The word dripped acid.

            "Oh, come on.  Wilkes, Travers, Dolohov, they were all just business.  You were the only one who ever meant anything."

            "That's interesting, considering that you only dated him twice.  At Hogwarts," Minerva commented, very dryly.  She sounded almost… jealous?  Remus considered this, then dismissed the thought.  Surely not.

            "Oh, but his image has been enshrined in my heart."  Vesta fluttered her eyelashes and gave a breathy sigh.

            Padfoot sneezed in a pointed manner.

            "For once," Snape said, "I agree with the dog."

            "No, it's true," Vesta protested.  "You were so tall, dark, and… interesting looking.  Plus, you were the only boy in Slytherin who didn't fall all over me.  You were too busy having a hopeless crush on my-"

            "One more word, Vesta," Snape interrupted, "and your Ministry career will come to an abrupt and green-lit end."

            Vesta's face slid into a pretty but obviously feigned pout, however, she heeded the warning and returned to her interrogation.  "You have no sense of humour, Sev.  You're almost as much fun to tease as Pub is.  But I'll be good.  Now that I've found out who rearranged your face, I'd like to know precisely how your, shall we say, associates, got inside the castle's wards.  And" this to Remus and Minerva, "how you managed to drive them off."

            "The wards were temporarily lowered," Snape said, not meeting anyone's eyes, "to allow the Dark Lord's people access."  Absently, he reached up with his good hand to preen his fingers through Caius's feathers, then stopped abruptly as he realized that the others were watching him.  Perhaps he was ashamed of being caught displaying affection towards the creature in public. 

            Vesta looked mildly surprised for a moment, but then the wrinkle between her eyebrows smoothed out.  "That's right.  You bragged so much about earning a Masters degree in potions so young that'd I'd almost forgotten about your getting a NEWT in Charms."  She chuckled.  "Flitwick must be foaming at the mouth to find out which weak spot you exploited."

            "He can't tell you, Vessie," Minerva interrupted.  "It's classified."

            "Was I asking?"

            "No, you were going to bat your eyelashes at him until he told you."

            "You don't have to protect me from your sister's dubious feminine wiles, Minerva," Snape said dryly.  "I can assure you, no one ever bats their eyelashes at me unless they want something."

            "The Death Eaters and Dementors left when the school's wards came back up," Remus announced, ignoring the byplay.  "Flitwick and Headmaster Dumbledore drove them off.  Well, everyone's expecto patronus spells helped some."

            "Hmm..." Vesta looked thoughtful.  "Pols's account of the end of the battle got a bit… sketchy."

            "Well, things did get rather confused for a bit," Minerva hedged.  "Especially when Remus started lighting the Dementors on fire."

            Two slim reddish eyebrows arched in surprise--but only a little, so as not to cause wrinkles in her forehead.  "Dementors burn?"

            "Their robes do, if you cast an incendiary charm on them," Remus's words very nearly came out in a growl.  Just the memory of those things circling in around Sirius put his hackles up. "They tend to run away when the flames ignite."

            There was a brief silence.  Finally, Vesta stood.  "I suppose that's all I'm going to get from the three of you," she said.  "I can amass detailed descriptions of the fighting from the others--or rather, I can let young Weasley amass them.  He's very good at that sort of thing."  She smiled.  "I've got what I needed to know, at any rate.  That bit about the bite on Goyle's arm could be useful.  A pity it wasn't Lucius Malfoy that our boy here decided to bite, but I suppose one can't have everything."  She bent down to ruffle Padfoot's ears one more time.  "Who's a good boy, then?" she cooed.  "Who's a good biter of Death Eaters?"

            Snape looked as if he would have dearly liked to make some sort of caustic comment, but managed to restrain himself.

            "Are we dismissed, then, Agent McGonagall?" Remus asked.  Thank goodness we got through that without anybody mentioning Sirius.  He wouldn't have put it past Snape to commit an "accidental" slip of the tongue where his old nemesis was involved.

            "Yes, yes," Vesta said, waving her hand at them in a shooing gesture.  "You're dismissed.  You can go along to dinner or whatever now.  If you pass Weasley on the way out, tell him that he has permission to go visit with his brothers after he's done with his interviews.  If he's discreet, which I'm sure he will be.  He can meet me at the Hogshead later to compare notes."  She shook her head wearily.  "I suppose I'd better call that old bat Trelawney over now.  I just know she's going to tell me that she predicted the whole attack in her crystal ball, or some such twaddle.  I am definitely going to need a drink when all this is over."

            The three of them--four, counting Padfoot--stood up, a procedure accompanied by a series of painful winces on Snape's part.  Caius made a short, fluttering hop from the back of the armchair to Snape's right shoulder, where he immediately began to nibble on the Potions Master's long, greasy hair. 

            Minerva paused for a moment before leaving the charmed Cone of Silence, turning back and extending her hand, somewhat awkwardly, to her sister.

            "Vessie."

            "Minnie."  Vesta took Minerva's proffered hand and shook it.  "A word to the wise, before you go.  Steer clear of men in, ah, my profession.  They tend to have rather short life expectancies."

            Minerva copied her sister's raised eyebrow expression.  "What brought that on?"

            "Oh, just a… feeling.  Call it Unspeakable's intuition.  Not that I don't wish the both of you luck," she added hurriedly.

            "The both of whom?"

            "Nevermind."  Vesta glanced up at Snape through her eyelashes, then turned back to Minerva.  "We'll be seeing you at Tygwers Keep over the summer?  The old place just isn't the same without you there.  For one thing, the mice are getting quite out of hand."  She broke off as Minerva pinned her with a steady glare.  "And it will give Diana a new target for her 'Why aren’t you married with brats yet?  You're letting down the McGonagall bloodline,' diatribe."

            "I'll think about it." 

            "Do.  Lovely to see you again, Lupin.  Sev.  The two of us old Slytherins ought to get together for a drink sometime."

            Snape shook his head.  "Retire from the Ministry, Vesta, and I'll consider it.  As long as you work with the likes of Moody and Ms. Black…  And don't call me Sev," he added tightly.  "It's demeaning."

            "If you didn't look so annoyed every time you heard it, I wouldn't."  She winked, and ushered them out of the corner, beckoning to Claire, Sybil, and Vector to come join her.

            Polaris descended on Remus and the rest as soon as they neared the door. Obviously, she had been waiting to pounce on them the moment they finished speaking with Vesta.  However, regardless of her impatience, she wasn't impetuous enough to blurt out her questions before the ears of half the staff.  She kept silent, her lips pressed into a thin line, until the heavy wooden door swung closed behind the five of them.

            "How much did you tell her?" she demanded as soon as they were safely out of earshot.  "Severus, you didn't mention…" she let her voice trail off.

            Snape glared at her.  "Your brother the escaped murderer?  No, I didn't.  I might not like him, but as long as the Headmaster wants him here, I will keep silent."

            "I trust you didn't conceal anything else?"  Polaris leveled an arctic stare at the three teachers.  Obviously, this new leniency about Ministry policy extended only to protecting her brother.

            "Vesta didn't give us the opportunity," Minerva said.  "She always was perceptive, even as a girl."

            "She likes Snuffles," Remus assured Polaris.  "She thinks he's cute.  But she was much more interested in what Severus discovered in the course of his, ah, activities last night than in my pet."

            Padfoot, standing beside Remus, gave him a reproachful look, obviously offended at being referred to as a pet.

            "Now that you know we haven't tattled on your idiot brother," Snape sneered, "why don't you go back inside the staff room and wait to be interviewed like a good Ministry flunky?"

            Polaris's eyes flashed with surprised rage, but she obediently turned back to the door.  Just before she opened it, however, she turned back to deliver a parting remark.

            "Better a 'Ministry flunky'," she said coldly, "than a minion of evil.  Even a former minion of evil."  She closed the door very firmly behind her, before Snape had a chance to respond.

            "Such a charming woman."  Snape's nostrils flared and his wand hand twitched slightly, as if he were thinking longingly of the things he could do to Polaris with thirteen inches of yew and unicorn hair.  "It must run in the family."

            "At least she allowed that you weren't a minion any longer," Remus offered.  He shook his head.  "Twenty-four hours ago, she wouldn't have."

            "Has it really been only twenty-four hours?"  Minerva sighed.  To Remus's ears, she sounded distinctly weary.  She even smelled exhausted, underneath the scent of the lavender she packed her clothes in.  "It feels as though it's been so much longer."

            "You cannot begin to imagine."  Snape quite obviously agreed with her.  He still smelled like pain, plus the usual mingling of wet stone and apothecary's shop.

            They were well past the doorway to the Great Hall by this point, and the sounds of the students talking over supper had completely died away.  Padfoot glanced briefly up and down the hallway and transformed smoothly into Sirius.  With a groan, he stretched his long arms up over his head and arched his back until his spine popped.  "Tell me about it.  There are bits of it I still can't remember."  He paused, and cocked his head to one side slightly in a very dog-like manner.  "And bits of it I wish I didn't.  Did I really tear Nott's whole throat out?"

            "Yes," Snape said shortly.  "I'm beginning to think that I've spent twenty years worrying about being eaten by the wrong Gryffindor."

            Remus began intently studying the flagstones.  He could feel the tips of his ears turning pink.  He couldn't remember the incident Snape was alluding to very well, but he rather thought he had been trying to eat him, or at least, had been trying to eat somebody, and it wasn't a very comfortable memory.

            "Don't worry," Sirius said.  He laid one hand on Remus's shoulder.  "I wouldn't eat you if I was starving.  I'd rather eat rats.  I do sort I wish I hadn’t eaten Nott, though.”

            “You didn’t exactly eat him,” Minerva temporized.  “But I understand why you feel guilty.”

            “But I don’t, really.”  This time, it was Sirius’s turn to inspect the flagstones.  “I mean, I feel sorry for his family an’ all.  I s’ppose he must have one.  But I don’t feel all that bad about killing him, just about how I did.  If I had it to do over again, I’d still kill him.”  He raised his eyes again, looking uncertain.  “What does that make me?”

            “An auror,” Snape said flatly.

            “Severus!”  Minerva’s eyes took on that familiar “minus five points, young man” look.

            “It takes three dead Slytherins to equal one dead Gryffindor,” Snape continued.  “Everyone knows that.  It’s basic Ministry arithmetic.”

            “Think of bats, Severus,” Minerva said.  “Think of eating insects.”  Bats?  Remus was lost, but the comment seemed to mean something to Snape.

            “Think of being fired,” he responded.

            “Bat,” Caius croaked.  “Bat bat.  Baaaat.  Ten points from Grif-in-dor.”

            “You be quiet,” Minerva pointed a stern finger at Caius.  “Unless you fancy spending a few days as a pigeon.”

            “I’d forgotten how bloody annoying that thing is,” Sirius muttered.  “D’you think it would taste as much like a moldy feather-duster as it looks to?”

            “Yes,” Remus said.  He looked more closely at Sirius, and drove on through the attempt to change the subject.  “You really don’t feel badly about Nott?”  He could still vividly remember the time Sirius, as a junior Auror, had killed his first Death Eater, and his reaction then had been decidedly different.

            “I think I would’ve, before,” Sirius said, eyes staring off past Remus at something in the middle distance, as if he was looking into last night, or maybe even further into the past, to Voldemort’s first rise.  “Things are different now.  More personal.  But I really… I wanted to do it.  To feel his spine snap and taste his blood.  They were after Harry, and they had no right.”

            Remus felt himself nodding.  It only made sense to defend one’s packmates and territory.  He stopped the gesture as soon as he realized what he was doing.  We’re human, not animals.  Or at least, he’s human.

            “Makes me wonder just how human I still am,” Sirius finished.

            “As human as you choose to be.”  Minerva had pulled her attention away from Snape and Caius and rejoined the conversation.  “I’ve never once pounced on one of Sybil’s wretched floaty scarves, despite years of temptation.”  She paused.  “Perhaps there’s a bit more of your sister in you than you thought.  Not that you’re likely to go around casting avada kedavra right and left,” she added hurriedly, apparently missing the implied condemnation of Polaris.

            "By what twisted set of moral values is ripping someone's throat out considered less depraved than performing the killing curse on them?"  Snape inquired nastily.

            “It’s the difference between out-of-control rage and cold-blooded ruthlessness,” Remus said.  Oh yes, there were definitely buried issues here.  The phrase “I am not a monster like you,” practically hung in the air, but neither he nor Snape nor Sirius wanted to be the one to say it first.  “Most old-school aurors won’t use it, or the other two Unforgivables.”

            “It was one of the things that made us us and not them.  We didn’t AK people, or crucio or zombie them.”  Sirius shook his head.  “There’s a quote from some German philosopher about it, about not becoming the thing you’re fighting.  Moody used to have it mounted over his desk.”

            “What, next to the plaque saying ‘Constant Vigilance’?”  Snape mocked.

            “Actually, it was.”  Sirius actually cracked a smile, a minor miracle considering that he was addressing Snape.  “And he always took his own advice, too.  He de-bugged his office four times a day, every day, whether it needed it or not.  Or rather, he made his subordinates de-bug it while he supervised.  I know how to remove and re-install wooden paneling.”

            The scary thing was, Sirius wasn’t making it up.  Every auror Remus had ever met who had worked for Alastor Moody had a similar story.

            The group of them had reached the entrance to the dungeon stairway by this point, and Snape halted by the beginning of the flight.

            “You can go back to the infirmary if you want to, Black, but I’m getting off here.  If I have to listen to five more minutes of Pomfrey’s babbling about proper nutrition, I will run mad.  Not to mention that the entire wing smells like disinfectant and all of her pain potion dosages are calibrated for eleven year-olds.”

            “Actually, they’re not,” Remus said.  “I think that’s just the ones she gives to you.”

            “She rather resents the fact that you never come to her infirmary when sick or injured unless someone physically drags you,” Minerva added. 

            Snape sneered, and turned to go.

            “Severus,” Minerva ventured tentatively, before he could begin descending the steps, “are you sure you don’t want me to cover some of your classes tomorrow?”

            Snape shook his head slightly, rejecting the offer.  “No.  I took enough of a risk being absent today, I can’t stay out tomorrow too.  If Longbottom doesn’t somehow manage to blow up or dissolve my classroom, the third year Hufflepuffs will.”  He started off down the steps, limping slightly.  Three steps down, he paused for moment, looking back over his shoulder.  “Thank you for the offer, though.”  And then he disappeared down the staircase, robes fading into the darkness.

            Sirius gaped after him in astonishment.  “Did he just say what I think he said?  Without adding something sarcastic?  Well, aside from the thing about the Hufflepuffs.”

            “Just because he’s always rude to you doesn’t mean that he’s unaware that manners exist,” Minerva said.  “I do wish he’d decided to take me up on the offer, though.”  She sighed.  “Severus never takes sick days.  He wouldn’t even when he was a student.  It’s very off-putting to have a student half convulsed with bronchitis sitting in the front row of your classroom taking notes.  Especially when the students in the back row keep throwing things at his head.”

            Sirius carefully looked at everything except Minerva.  Remus’s lips twitched.  My God, we were horrible when we were twelve.  Protesting to Minerva that Snape had started it by hexing James’s spectacles the week before probably wouldn’t accomplish anything.

            “He’s got the right idea about not going back to the Hospital Wing, though,” Sirius said.  “Students keep coming in and out, and Madam Pomfrey mutters meaningfully at you.  Remus, can you smuggle me back into your room?”

            “Certainly.”  Remus smiled at his friend, who was beginning to take on a distinctly worn-about-the-edges look.  The black shirt and trousers borrowed from Snape against his will (he was the only staff member tall and thin enough for his clothes to fit Sirius) made him look unnaturally pale, and there were circles under his eyes.  “I’ve got a package of chocolate frogs hidden in the cupboard.”

            Sirius grinned.  “I know.”

            “There still a few left, aren’t there?”

            “Er, a few, yeah,” Sirius answered.

            “Chocolate frogs.”  Minerva smiled slightly.  “Wonderful candy.  I’ve always wondered why they don’t make other shapes as well, like chocolate grasshoppers or chocolate mice.”  She reached up with one hand to slide her spectacles back up her nose.  “Dinner’s almost over, Sirius, so I suggest you change back into Snuffles before the students start wandering the halls again.  I’m going to go and get something to eat before the House Elves stop serving the meal.”  She paused, looking thoughtful.  “In fact, I think I had better go now.  I don’t even want to imagine what the first and second years are getting up to with no staff members in the Great Hall.  I’m probably going to walk into the middle of a food fight.”  She tuned and strode away down the corridor, heels clicking loudly against the stone floor.

            Remus and Sirius stood looking at each other for a moment, listening to the sound of Minerva’s footsteps dying away.  Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair and successfully pulling yet another bunch of strands out of his ponytail.

            “Y’know, I’m really going to be glad when all this is over and I’m cleared.  I’m getting real tired of wearing a collar.”

            Remus laughed.  “But it looks so becoming.  Especially when you turn back into yourself and forget to take it off,” he mocked.

            Sirius’s hand instantly snapped to his throat to discover the circle of brass and leather still fastened there.  “Shit.  I told you you should have gotten me the one with the spikes on.”

            “Sirius, I don’t really want to imagine you in a black collar with spikes on.  Go discuss that sort of thing with Claire.”

            Sirius started to laugh helplessly.  “Stop it.  She’s not that sort of woman.”

            “Come on, ‘Snuffle-wuffles,’ let’s get out of here before the students come and find us.”

 

^_~

 

Next up:  The Epilogue, in which Lingering Plot Elements are Tied Up and There is Finally Snogging.

 

Will it be Snape and McGonagall?  Vesta and Percy (he wishes)?  Claire and Sirius?  Sirius and Remus? (Sorry, this isn’t that kind of fic.  Go read “Gravity”).