Dear Lupin,

Things are not going well. I have the feeling that Mad-Eye Moody already has a cozy prison cell awaiting me at Azkaban, and he and Draco Malfoy had a little run-in. Malfoy and Potter got into a squabble, and Draco threw a curse Potter's way, which I admit was stupid, but Moody overreacted. He turned Malfoy into a ferret and bounced him across the room! The Gryffindors are still laughing about it, and Mr. Malfoy is still traumatized by the incident. That might turn out to be a good thing, though; it's the first time he's ever realized that there could be consequences for his actions, and trouble that his father might not be able to buy his way out of.

As for Mr. Rosier, his behavior has been impeccable, even around Moody, but I confess that makes me a little nervous; he seems too self-contained for such a young boy. I can already hear you saying, "But so were you, Severus," so don't waste your breath! I and many of my housemates learned such self-control at an early age, but that is not necessarily a good thing. We were drilled in discipline and the Dark Arts long before we reached Hogwarts, and were already on the road to becoming potential Death Eaters. This younger generation, though, is softer--even Lucius's own son. They are spoiled and selfish and mean-spirited, but still behave like children, so perhaps there is some hope for them. But Dylan is more like the Slytherins of my time. Oh, except when he talks about his father--it's clear that Ariane has brought him up to idolize Evan, and he has asked if I will tell him what his father was like at school! What am I supposed to do, Lupin?! Tell him how Lucius Malfoy enlisted us in the Dark Lord's service? Tell him about the jolly old times when we Death Eaters went out hunting Muggles? The Headmaster has asked me to "be a friend to Dylan". I'm a Potions Master, not a baby-sitter! I might as well turn the dungeon into a nursery, what with all the brats crawling around my office! I don't know how to be a friend to these children, Lupin! I don't know how to keep their parents from turning them over to the Dark Lord! I wish you were here--you're the one who was good with children; you might be able to get through to Dylan at least, if not Malfoy...

Well, it's my own fault that you're not here, so I suppose I shouldn't complain. But I miss you, Remus; this would all be easier to bear if you were here with me. Take care of yourself, and let me know if you need anything. I'm sending along your monthly dose of Wolfsbane Potion; remember that you must heat it to boiling and then let it simmer to be effective.

Snape

P.S. Albus, if you're reading this, you should know that I have placed a hex upon this letter that will cause warts to grow on anyone who opens it other than Lupin.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Severus,

I miss you too, and you can complain to me anytime you wish. I would rather you vent to me than try and bottle it up inside; if you keep that up you'll find yourself exploding one day. (Though that would be a sight to see!) Thanks for the potion; I wish you were here to keep the wolf company. I think I'll rather miss being scratched behind the ears!

By the way, you complain about Moody being paranoid--look at you! I'm sure Albus would never read our personal correspondence. And besides, do you really think the Headmaster of Hogwarts can't disable a simple wart-hex?

As for dealing with the children...well, I am not there, so you will have to handle it on your own, Severus. I have confidence in you, even if you do not. Simply lead by example, and be yourself. You may not be the most charming person in the world--and anyway, you'd probably give the children heart attacks if you started being nice to them, but you have always followed your own code of honor. Let the children see that; let them see a teacher who does what he thinks is right, no matter how difficult it might be, no matter how unpopular it makes him. For that is that is what I see, what I have always seen in you, even when others could not. Perhaps not all the children will be able to pick up on it, but the more perceptive ones will.

I am doing well and keeping busy; Albus has steered a few translation jobs my way, and I am working hard on improving my Japanese. Naoto has said translators who are also wizards are in short supply there, especially ones who can speak French and German as well as English, and he should be able to find plenty of work for me once I become fluent in Japanese. It is a truly beautiful language, and I am enjoying myself even though I am working as hard as I ever did at Hogwarts.

With love,
Remus
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lupin,

"Lead by example"; "be yourself"--thanks for the advice, but easier said than done! As for Albus, he's a nosy, meddling, old busybody! Now you've got me paranoid that he's reading our letters even though the hex hasn't been triggered; thanks a lot!

Oh, and be sure you tell Naoto that any translation work he gives you has to be done from home! I don't want you traipsing off to Japan to flirt with some kitsune or werewolf!

Snape

P.S. And what's with the crack about me not being charming? I seem to recall YOU found me plenty charming, especially whenever it was close to the full moon...
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Severus,

How can I resist you, when you're such a smooth sweet-talker? Do you think you can manage to sneak away for a weekend? You're driving me wild with desire!

Love,
Remus
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Lupin,

Sarcasm does not become you. It's very busy here, with the preparations for the Tournament, but I'll try to get away for a day or two. Dumbledore seems to take a rather unseemly interest in our relationship; though it galls me to have to ask him for a favor, I'm sure he'll cover for me. Besides, he owes me one, what with this "befriend the Rosier boy" business. I'll let you know when I'm coming.

Snape
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dylan Rosier found the hectic life at Hogwarts a little overwhelming, after living on a distant estate in Wales, not seeing much of anyone but his mother, his great-uncle and aunt, and the servants. But at the same time, it was quite exhilarating. He made plenty of "friends" in Slytherin, thanks to Draco Malfoy's influence; some of them he even liked, but following his mother's advice, he was careful not to trust any of them. The other Houses normally didn't associate with the Slytherins, but Dylan, again following his mother's advice, tried not to alienate the other students, and was as friendly to them as he could get away with, without offending Malfoy. Thus he became an oddity, a Slytherin who was popular--especially with the girls. The boys from the other Houses treated him warily, but seemed to regard as him as "all right for a Slytherin," except for the Gryffindors. But the girls of all the Houses fell over themselves to flirt with him and offer to help him with his homework--or ask him to help them with theirs. Draco started to become jealous of all the attention he was getting, but Dylan disarmed him by deferring to the older boy, somehow managing to be respectful without being sycophantic like Crabbe and Goyle. He was quick to ask Draco for advice, pleading ignorance and inexperience, and the Malfoy boy puffed up with pride when Dylan humbly asked Draco to teach him how to play Quidditch.

"You see," said Dylan, "there were no other children on the estate, so I never had a chance to play before. And you being the Seeker and all...I thought maybe you could give me a few pointers. If you don't mind."

Draco beamed, and he drew himself up, seeming to stand a few inches taller. "Of course I don't mind, Rosier," he said magnanimously, with the air of a king granting his subject a boon. "You've come to the right man!"

Dylan repressed a smile as he thanked Draco. For someone whose father was the terror of the wizarding world, Draco seemed like a bit of a dimwit. No...on second thought, Malfoy did well enough in class, so he couldn't be stupid. {He's never had to work for anything in his life,} Dylan suddenly realized. {He's had everything handed to him on a silver platter.} The other Slytherin students deferred to him because of who his father was, so he had never had to exert himself to win their respect or make them like him. He never questioned the motives behind Dylan's "friendship" because he assumed that Dylan, like all the others, must be sucking up to him because he came from a rich and powerful family. But adversity built character, or so Dylan's mother told him. He had learned to hold his tongue and swallow his pride when his grandmother and uncles berated him or insulted his parents; he had learned to behave like a perfect angel so that he would be given the chance to enter Hogwarts despite his father's reputation. He had learned to evaluate everyone he met with a cynical eye, to see how they might be of use--or a danger--to him, out of sheer necessity. He thought perhaps that gave him an advantage over someone like Malfoy. So with that secret feeling of superiority, he was able to tolerate Draco's patronizing attitude.

He rather liked the girl he had met on the platform, Hermione Granger; it was a pity that Draco despised her for being a "Mudblood"--and for showing him up in class, Dylan suspected. He had conflicting feelings about Mudbloods and Muggles--his father had died fighting to keep the wizard race pure, but Uncle Math and Aunt Goewin, who were the only family members other than his mother to show him any kindness, adamantly believed that people should be judged on merit, not blood. As a small boy, his great-uncle had scolded him when he heard Dylan unthinkingly use the word "Mudblood".
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

"That is a foul word, Dylan," the old wizard said gravely. "You should think before you use it. I believe in judging people by their actions and ability, not by who their parents are. Think of all the people who say cruel things about you, Dylan, who say you will turn out bad because your father was a Death Eater."

"Pure blood is no guarantee of a pure heart," Goewin said bitterly. "Your own uncles are proof of that!" Then she fell silent, realizing she had said too much, and her husband reached over to put a comforting arm around her. Dylan knew his mother's brothers had done something bad to Goewin when she had been a young girl who was apprenticed to Uncle Math. When he grew older, he learned from the whispered gossip of the servants that they had taken advantage of her, maybe even raped her. Mathias had punished them by transfiguring them into beasts, and sending them out to live in the woods like the animals they were for three years. And then he restored Goewin's honor by taking her as his wife, and bestowing upon her all his lands and wealth. The servants felt sorry for her, a beautiful young woman married to an old man, but as far as Dylan could tell, Goewin seemed happy, and adored the old wizard. As for Dylan, he adored his kindly great-uncle and his beautiful great-aunt, and the whispered rumors only gave him more reason to hate his uncles, who despised him and were rude to his mother.

As for his mother, she scolded him severely when she discovered what he had said and that Uncle Math had overheard him. She didn't particularly like the Muggle-born, but nor did she feel the need to exterminate them. However, her main concern was that he might ruin his chances of being accepted into society.

"You must never, ever say such things, at least not where anyone can overhear you!" she said sternly. "You must be beyond reproach, or my mother will keep you locked up here on this estate forever, and you will never go to school, never go out into the world and become the great wizard I know you can be!" His mother's beautiful silvery-gray eyes had filled with tears, and Dylan promised that he would do whatever she said, however hard it was, in order to make her proud of him and become the wizard she wanted him to be. "You will be my redemption, my revenge..." she whispered as she held him close. "Keep your father in your heart, and know that he will understand that you are doing what you must to survive." And from that moment on, Dylan had never faltered in his resolve.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Anyway, it was too bad about Hermione; he liked her attitude--she didn't seem to much care what anyone thought of her, and spoke her mind and did as she pleased. Since she was a year older, they ran into each other only occasionally, but she was always nice to him, although her friend Ron still looked at him like he was a piece of garbage. Harry Potter was never rude to him, but watched Dylan warily as if he were afraid the Slytherin boy would stab him in the back at any moment. Dylan thought Hermione's ideas about house elves were silly, but he bought a S.P.E.W. badge from her anyway, simply because it amused him, though he was careful to keep that a secret from Malfoy. Actually, the idea of the house elves going on strike and rioting through the castle was hilarious; too bad Malfoy and his cronies didn't see it that way. That would be a prank that would make them legends among the Hogwarts students for generations to come; ah well...he had promised his mother and Professor Snape that he would stay out of trouble, after all.

That turned Dylan's thoughts towards his teachers: no one other than Moody was openly rude to him, but most of them regarded him with a certain degree of suspicion; McGonagall in particular seemed to keep a sharp eye on him during class. Only the Headmaster and Flitwick were actually kind to him. Flitwick had been Ariane's Head of House when she attended Hogwarts, and he must have had a soft spot for her, because he went out of his way to be nice to Dylan and try to make him feel welcome even though he was a Slytherin, not a Ravenclaw. The Headmaster treated Dylan with the same kindness and jovial good humor he showed to all the students, but it was difficult to tell what the old wizard was really thinking behind the facade of that kindly smile. Dylan's mother had warned him that Dumbledore was a wizard to be reckoned with, the only wizard that Voldemort had ever feared, and that while he believed in second chances, he was far from stupid or naive.

As for Moody, it was hard to show no emotion, hard not to squirm in fear, when that ugly face glared at him and that horrible blue eye rolled in his direction. But years of insults and verbal abuse from his grandmother and uncles had taught him to keep his face schooled in an expressionless mask. Dylan took Snape's advice and sat quietly, never speaking unless he was called upon, which was rare. Moody taught them about Dark creatures, and how to counter simple curses and hexes. He had them work in pairs; Dylan, who had been tutored by one of the best wizards in the world--his Great-Uncle Mathias--found the countercurses to be child's play.

When Moody saw that, he gave Dylan a sort of backhanded compliment. "Talented in the Dark Arts, eh boy? Not surprising, considering who your father was."

Dylan's face turned red, and he bit his lip to keep from shouting, "You have no right to talk about my father, you filthy murderer!" But then he thought of his mother, who had pinned all her hopes and dreams on him; of his great-uncle and aunt, who had loved him and fought for his right to attend Hogwarts, which had earned them some ill-will and resentment; and finally, he thought of his hated grandmother and uncles, and how they would sneer at Ariane and say, "I told you so," if Dylan were sent home in disgrace. He held his head up high, and his resolve strengthened; he would rather die than be the cause of more torment for his mother. Then he remembered Professor Snape's words: "Don't give him the satisfaction...be a thorn in his side," and he smiled.

"Thank you, sir," Dylan said, in a respectful tone that no one could possibly find fault with.

Then it was Moody's face that turned red, and both his eyes glared at Dylan, who just stared back at him with a blank look of innocence. "I'll be keeping my eye on you, boy, so watch your step!" he growled, then stomped away, moving on to the next pair of students.

Dylan was careful to keep the polite mask on his face, but inside he was gloating. Being in Moody's class wasn't going to be as bad as he thought it would!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Professor Snape wasn't exactly kind to Dylan, but then again, he wasn't exactly kind to anyone. He had a perpetually sour expression on his sallow face, and was strict and short-tempered, tolerating no nonsense in his classroom. He was, however, a very good Potions teacher, and Dylan found his class to be a challenge. That was all to the good, as far as Dylan was concerned; he enjoyed a challenge, and was here to learn magic, not just coast through school until his parents found him a cushy Ministry job like some of his classmates. Dylan found he seemed to have a talent for Potions, and one day Snape gave him a curt nod of approval when he finished mixing a particularly difficult potion, which was about as demonstrative as Snape ever seemed to get.

He had heard from Parvati Patil that Snape favored his own House over all the others, and that he was particularly harsh on Gryffindor. From what Dylan had observed, this was true, but only to a certain extent. It was true that Snape favored the Slytherins slightly, but he tolerated no disrespect or horseplay in class, even from them; in fact, his housemates were complaining that Snape was being especially strict with them this year. Snape did seem to enjoy taking points off Gryffindor, but as far as Dylan could see, he never did so for no reason, although he did penalize them for things that other teachers would let go with a warning. Perhaps it was only the fourth-year Gryffindors he treated harshly, because Harry Potter was in that class. Malfoy had gleefully told Dylan that Snape absolutely loathed Potter, and by extension, Potter's friends. Ariane had told him that Snape and Potter's father were rivals in school, and sometimes when they all took meals together in the Great Hall, he saw Snape staring at Potter with a look of hatred on his face. And then he would see Moody's blue eye swivel in Snape's direction, watching him carefully.


One day, Dylan summoned up his courage, and went down to Snape's dungeon office and knocked on the door. "Come in," Snape called.

"Professor?" Dylan asked hesitantly as he walked into the room. "Do you have time to talk?"

Snape frowned, looking up from a stack of papers he was grading. "I suppose so," he said without much enthusiasm. "I did promise you I would talk to you about your father, didn't I?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape sighed. "Have a seat, then, boy."

Dylan sat down in a chair in front of Snape's desk, but then had no idea what to say next. He felt rather intimidated by the room, which was dark and unwelcoming, the firelight casting eerie shadows on shelves filled with glass jars containing unidentifiable but grotesque and slimy-looking creatures. Dylan wondered whether Snape actually used them in potions or whether he just kept them in his office to frighten his students. The Potions Master was staring at him with an odd expression on his face, not exactly angry, but brooding and unhappy, as if he would rather be anywhere but here, which didn't make Dylan feel any more at ease.

"Well, what do you want to know, Mr. Rosier?" Snape finally asked.

"I...I don't know what to ask, Professor," Dylan stammered. "Just--what was he like when he was a boy?"

Snape sighed again, absent-mindedly rubbing his left wrist with his right hand. "You must understand, although we were yearmates, I was not especially close to Evan, although I did get to know him better when we...got older." He grimaced, perhaps remembering his days as a Death Eater. Dylan would certainly have liked to learn more about those days, but didn't have the courage to ask. Snape paused, appearing to choose his words carefully, then continued, "Evan was always handsome and charming, even as a first-year. He even charmed the teachers; I don't know how many times he sweet-talked his way out of detention. No one else could have gotten away with that." Then Snape actually cracked a small smile. "He even dared to flirt with Professor Blackmore when he was a fourth-year; he asked her for a dance at the Yule Ball. We were all horrified--we thought she would turn him into a toad, or call down a bolt of lightning on him right then and there."

Dylan's mother had told him about the dreaded Professor Blackmore, but he had never heard this story before! "So what did she do?" he asked impatiently, his eyes wide and eager.

Snape was still smiling. "You never met Professor Blackmore, of course, so you have no idea how terrifying she was--"

"As terrifying as you?" Dylan muttered, distracted by thoughts of his father, then realized he had spoken out loud and clamped his hands over his mouth in horror. How could he have been so careless and stupid! "Oh! Professor, I apologize, I wasn't--"

But astonishingly, Snape just laughed. Dylan's jaw dropped open, nearly hitting the floor. Snape grinned evilly and said, "Oh, worse, I assure you--much worse!" Dylan shuddered at the thought, and Snape said wryly, "Difficult to imagine, isn't it, boy?"

Dylan wasn't sure whether it was safe to answer in the affirmative or not. "Ah...so what happened, sir?" he asked in a more subdued voice. "Obviously, she didn't kill him..."

"She accepted. The entire room fell silent; I am still surprised that no one, including your father, had a heart attack. I don't think he really expected her to say yes, but she did, and she danced just the one dance with him, but it made his reputation in Slytherin House--in the whole school, for that matter! He was quite the ladies' man you know--before he met your mother, of course." Snape still seemed amused; Dylan was relieved that he seemed to be in a better mood now. "He pushed his luck a little too far, though. He tried to flirt with her in class, and she gave him detention--scrubbing bedpans in the infirmary for a week. With a toothbrush. And no use of magic allowed." He smiled that evil smile again, and Dylan suspected Snape had co-opted that punishment for his own use; he resolved that he would never find out if that were true or not--he would be a perfect little angel so that Professor Snape would have no reason to ever give him detention...

"My parents met in Professor Blackmore's class, didn't they?" Dylan asked. He knew this story, of course, but he never tired of hearing it, and perhaps Snape might be able to tell him something his mother hadn't.

"Yes. Well, of course, they had known of each other for years, but they didn't become...involved...till their fifth year." Snape rubbed his wrist again, and his expression looked almost nostalgic. "Blackmore decided she wanted promote inter-House cooperation, and paired off students from different Houses to work together on an elemental-summoning project..."


Snape felt a great deal more relaxed; it was proving easier than he had thought it would be to pick out a few harmless anecdotes to tell the boy without delving into their Death Eater years.

"And my parents were paired together," Dylan said, with the air of a child being told a favorite fairy tale.

"Yes. They weren't very happy about it, though. Evan called Ariane a--" Snape broke off just in time, remembering that Dylan was Ariane's son and might not appreciate his mother being referred to as a "snooty bitch". "--A snob," Snape finished, a little lamely. "And Ariane told Evan she would have his head on a platter if he lowered her grade point average. She took her studies quite seriously, you see, and your father did not. He was a clever lad, but spent more time chasing girls and getting into mischief than he did studying."

"My mother said he was a charming rogue," Dylan said, apparently unoffended.

"Yes, he was. I still don't know exactly what happened, but they must have grown close while working together on the project, because after it was over, Lucius Malfoy caught your mother and father kissing in a side corridor. It caused quite an uproar in Slytherin House, as I recall." Snape remembered it well, because he had just come back after sharing his first kiss with Lupin to find Malfoy and Rosier screaming at each other. Those memories were bittersweet; now that he and Lupin were back together again, he could look back upon their schoolboy days with a kind of wistful pleasure, but he could never forget the pain of being betrayed--by Lupin, he had thought, although it was really Sirius Black who had been solely responsible. Nearly twenty bitter years of separation had passed before they had found each other again, and Snape would never forgive Black for that. They were together and happy now, after a fashion, but older, wiser, and more cynical. That was inevitable, Snape supposed, but he still mourned the loss of the innocent, lovesick boys they had been--if a Slytherin could be called innocent--and the sweet feeling of trust, the incredulous joy he had felt when he first discovered Lupin cared about him. They had been full of hope then, and anything had seemed possible...he remembered their silly daydreams about opening a potions shop together, or living in a little cottage complete with picket fence and pet dog...

"Um...sir?" Dylan was asking, looking at him curiously, and Snape shook himself out of his reverie.

"Yes, well," Snape said briskly, "Lucius--Draco Malfoy's father--was not very pleased with your father, but Evan refused to give Ariane up. Ariane's housemates were equally against the relationship, I believe. But they snuck around and saw each other in secret. Lucius eventually gave in when he saw how determined Evan was." Snape grimaced slightly; that was not exactly true, but it was too dangerous to tell the boy what had really happened: Lucius had used Evan's love for Ariane to lure him into Voldemort's service. When her family had tried to separate them, Lucius had told Evan that his Master could give him enough power to make the Donner family bow down to him and consent to his and Ariane's marriage. But it had been a lie...Evan had never had a chance to marry his beloved, and Voldemort had given him nothing but death, leaving behind a grieving lover and a fatherless child. Snape's earlier good mood had dissipated, but he continued with the story. "Your mother's family threatened to disown her if she continued to see Evan, but she defied them. They pretended to break up, but she continued to see him in secret, and as soon as we all graduated, they moved in together. But your mother has probably told you all that." Snape didn't care to cover the years that followed, the years they spent as Death Eaters. The boy was quiet, seeming to sense that the interview was over, and Snape said, "Well, I still have papers to grade, and I believe you still have some Potions homework to complete..." Dylan immediately got to his feet; at least the boy knew how to take a hint.

"Yes, sir. Thank you for your time." The boy hesitated at the door. "May I come see you again sometime, Professor?"

Snape sighed. There was that puppy-dog look again...no doubt Lupin and Dumbledore would tell him he should say yes, and continue to work on befriending the boy. But he wasn't sure that indulging the boy in fantasizing about a near-perfect father was the way to do it. Sooner or later fantasy and reality would clash, and the reality of it was that while Evan Rosier had been a handsome and charming young man, he had also been foolish, arrogant, and callous. Although Malfoy and Voldemort had seduced Rosier by using his love for Ariane against him, Evan's conscience had never seemed to bother him much, and he'd had no qualms about torturing and killing Muggles and Mudbloods. Snape remembered that Evan had laughed at the branding ceremony, when the Dark Mark had been burned into their arms, his eyes shining with excitement and a disturbing kind of pleasure when the masked Death Eaters had sacrificed a Muggle-born wizard, cutting his throat and offering up his blood and life-force to Lord Voldemort. Snape had been sickened, though of course he had hid his reaction. Lyall Wilkes had been branded at that same ceremony as well, and Snape remembered that he had looked a little frightened, although like Snape, he had tried to conceal it. And that was Rosier's other crime, that he had convinced Lyall to join the Death Eaters, and had dragged his best friend down into darkness and death with him.

But Dylan was still waiting patiently for a reply. "Yes," said Snape wearily. "You may come back. But you must understand, things are very hectic now, with the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons set to arrive soon."

"I understand, sir. Whenever you have a spare moment will be fine," Dylan said politely. Then he added, quietly and more sincerely, "Thank you, Professor Snape. It...it really meant a lot to me, you telling me about my father."

"You're welcome, Dylan," Snape found himself saying, surprising both himself and the boy. {Damn it all, is Lupin's goody-two-shoes attitude rubbing off on me?!} He cleared his throat and said in his more normal, abrupt voice, "Run along now; you had better have that homework ready to turn in tomorrow if you wish to get a passing grade, Mr. Rosier."

"Yes, Professor! Don't worry, I will!" Then the boy was gone, the office door swinging shut behind him. Snape pulled up his sleeve and stared at the copper serpent bracelet on his wrist, a gift from Lupin last Christmas. Its tiny garnet eyes caught the firelight and flickered at him, looking almost alive. He stroked the cold metal of the bracelet, wishing that he had Lupin's faith in believing that the words "honor" and "Slytherin" were not incompatible. More than anything, he wanted Lupin's comforting arms around him right now, and he resolved to speak to the Headmaster as he had promised Lupin he would, and see about arranging to take a weekend off to visit his lover.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Snape asked for and received permission to leave the castle for a weekend, and only had to endure a wink and a "tell Remus I said hello" from the Headmaster. He took down a bottle of wine that had been gathering dust on his shelf since last Christmas (one of the many expensive but useless gifts he received from the parents of his students), and stopped by Hogsmeade on to pick up some dinner and a box of Honeyduke's chocolates, then Apparated to Lupin's cottage. Lupin was flatteringly gratified to see him.

"Severus! I missed you so much!" Lupin said, giving Snape a hug and a long kiss. "You brought dinner? And wine and chocolates? Why, Severus Snape, you romantic devil!"

Snape laughed, feeling pleased and embarrassed at the same time. "Just don't tell anyone; you'll ruin my reputation!"

"It will be our little secret," said Lupin, giving him another kiss. "I doubt anyone would believe me, anyway!" But any embarrassment Snape felt was more than made up for by the look in Lupin's blue eyes, promising unspoken rewards for tonight's little romantic display. Snape collected that reward after dinner, both of them a little giddy from too much wine, or maybe it was just their delight in seeing each other after being separated for nearly two months. Just one glance into Lupin's eyes, filled with the wolf's hunger and the man's tenderness, was enough to make Snape feel intoxicated. There was no need for talk that night, save for wordless moans and a few whispered endearments.

The next day, their appetites sated for the moment, they were content to simply lounge around the cottage together. Snape was sprawled out on Lupin's couch, with Lupin snuggled contentedly against him, his head resting on Snape's chest.

"So how are things going at school, Severus?" Lupin asked. "Are you still worried about Malfoy and Rosier?"

Snape idly stroked Lupin's hair, almost as if he were petting the wolf. "Yes, but do we have to talk about such things now? This is supposed to be a chance for me to get away from school."

"Whatever you like, Severus. But you said in your letters that you wished you could discuss these things with me."

Snape sighed. "Malfoy is...Malfoy. It's too soon to tell if my little chat with him has made any difference. As for Mr. Rosier, he came to my office and wanted to talk about his father. I was able to dredge up a few harmless anecdotes, but I don't know how many more I can come up with. He idolizes his father, and to be honest, there aren't that many flattering things I can say about Evan Rosier."

"It's easy to idolize someone who is no longer with you," Lupin said softly. "Easy to build up an image of what you want them to be, when the person is no longer around to contradict that image with the harsh light of reality." {Like James,} he thought but did not say aloud. Harry probably had an idealized picture of James in his head; certainly James had been a better man than Evan Rosier, but he had still had some faults that Harry would likely never be aware of. And Severus, too, had his own carefully built image of James, except he saw only the flaws, the arrogance and unthinking cruelty of a callow youth, and would never acknowledge James's good points, never see that he had matured into a wiser and more compassionate man. Lupin didn't know if his lover would ever be able to let go of that grudge, if those old wounds would ever be healed.

Fortunately, Snape didn't sense the direction Lupin's thoughts were taking; he was still occupied with thoughts of Dylan Rosier. "He worries me," Snape said. "That self-control I mentioned..."

"Does he remind you of yourself, Severus?" Lupin asked quietly.

"A little," Snape admitted. "But he's far more smooth and charming than I ever was. He has girls from all four Houses sighing and drooling over him; it's quite disgusting, really." Lupin snickered and Snape smiled just a little. "He doesn't ooze the same sort of malice Lucius used to, though. And his self-control is not as good as mine was; he gets all boyishly vulnerable and puppy-dog eyed when he talks about his father."

"It sounds as if there is hope for him yet, Severus."

"If I encourage him to idolize his father, he'll likely take the same path Evan did and become a Death Eater. But if I tell him what his father was really like, most likely he'll turn against me and not listen to anything I say. And if he tells Draco, and Draco tells his father..."

"We talked about Evan and Lyall during the summer, Severus, and you spoke with compassion although you did not approve of what they did. Can you show that same compassion to Dylan? Can you help him see his father in a more realistic light without making it seem as if you're trying to turn him against Evan?"

Snape was silent for a moment. "I don't know. I'm not good with words. I'm not good with children. And it might already be too late. I don't know what Ariane has taught him, I don't know how deeply involved she was with the Death Eaters. He and Malfoy might already be a lost cause."

"What made the difference with you, Severus?" Lupin asked patiently. Severus was trying to squirm out of having to make an effort to befriend the Slytherin boys, but Lupin knew his conscience wouldn't really let him abandon them. "What kept you from becoming a Lucius Malfoy?"

"Dumbledore, I suppose. And you."

"I am not there. And while Dumbledore cares about all his students, he does not have time to personally befriend each one. These children have only you, Severus. You will have to make the difference."

Snape groaned. "Then it's a lost cause!"

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Severus!" Lupin said with a touch of impatience. "You are their Head of House; it is your duty to see to their well-being, remember?" In a gentler tone he said, "I have faith in you, Severus. I know you can do it. I will help you and support you as much as I can."

Snape pulled Lupin close and sighed. "I'll try. I wish I had as much faith in myself--and the children--as you did. Most people don't think Slytherins are worth saving, you know. You should hear the way people from other Houses talk about us being 'born bad'."

"I believe in honorable Slytherins, because one of them is my lover," Lupin replied with a smile. He lifted Snape's hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, then pushed back his sleeve and kissed the serpent bracelet and the Dark Mark. "I love you, Severus."

Snape never tired of hearing those words. "I love you, too, Remus," he replied softly. He still was not sure if he could save his Slytherins from Voldemort, but with Lupin's love and support he felt strong enough to try.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived. Unlike most of the staff and students, Snape was less than thrilled. It was chaos around the school, disrupting his routine and making the students unruly as well. He also had no desire to see his former comrade Karkaroff; Snape avoided him as much as he possibly could. The names of the champions were drawn from the Goblet of Fire, and things seemed to be going as planned until the Goblet spat out a fourth name--Harry Potter. Potter! Snape ground his teeth together. How had the little brat pulled that off?! But he had no doubt that it was the boy's doing, despite Potter's protests of innocence, because it was exactly the kind of thing James would have done. And gotten away with it too, no doubt, the golden boy of Gryffindor...

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out the younger contestants, Dumbledore," Karkaroff was complaining.

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said Snape softly, glaring at Potter. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing the line ever since he arrived here--"

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said firmly, though his tone was anything but thankful, and Snape fell quiet, glaring at him sullenly. Of course he was going to take Potter's side; why should anything have changed in the last twenty years?

Dumbledore asked Potter if he had put his name into the Goblet, and of course Potter denied it. Snape gave a little snort of disbelief, but of course no one paid any attention to him.

McGonagall defended the Headmaster against Karkaroff's and Maxime's disparaging remarks, and shot Snape an angry look for good measure as she said, "Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I'm sure that should be good enough for everybody else!" But of course she was Head of Gryffindor and would naturally defend the little golden boy. Everyone else thought Potter was a hero, but Snape could see him for what he really was: an arrogant glory-seeker like his father. For once, Snape was happy that Lupin was not here, for he would undoubtedly defend the boy and tell Snape he was being unreasonable. Snape did not want to be reasonable; he wanted to be free to detest the boy as much as he pleased without his lover nagging at his conscience.

Then Moody started spouting off about how someone must have snuck Potter's name into the Goblet in an effort to get him killed. It was mere paranoia, of course, but Moody said, "It's my job to think the way Dark Wizards do, Karkaroff--as you ought to remember..." Although he was talking to Karkaroff, Moody's blue eye rolled over in Snape's direction as well.

"Alastor!" Dumbledore said warningly, and Moody fell silent. And somehow, over all the protests, it became settled that Harry Potter would compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Snape was furious; he felt his hands clenching into fists. He didn't know why it should bother him so much, that the boy had weaseled his way into the Tournament. Maybe it was the sneaking suspicion that Potter would probably win it, against all odds. He was tired of seeing Potters heaped in glory, breaking the rules and being rewarded for it, getting away with everything. No one had ever made such allowances for Snape, or for the Slytherins in general. Along with the need to appear to be a sympathizer of the Dark Wizards, that was why he favored his own students--because no one else ever would. If the Headmaster and the other Heads of House were going to indulge in playing favorites, then why should Snape not do the same?

And Snape was tired, so tired, of seeing Potter get whatever he wanted. For a moment the images of James and Harry blurred in his head, and he wasn't sure which one he meant. Everything had seemed to come so easily to James; he was already blessed with looks, money, and a loving family when he had arrived at Hogwarts. And he'd quickly become the top-marked student, the star Quidditch player, and gained the adulation of both teachers and students. Sometimes Snape had been so jealous of Potter that he could hardly stand it. Snape's family was wealthy and powerful, but cold to him. He had a certain amount of status in Slytherin House--as long as he catered to Lucius Malfoy--but nobody really liked him; he'd had no real friends. He was ill-tempered and ugly--greasy-haired and beaky-nosed, as Potter and his friends constantly reminded him. All that was bad enough, but what had really turned Snape against Potter, what he had really hated him for, was Dumbledore and Lupin. The Headmaster had been the only person who had ever shown Snape any affection, but he had been shunted aside in favor of Potter; no matter what the old man said, it was clear that he favored Potter and the Gryffindors over Snape and the Slytherins. And Lupin--he couldn't really say Potter had stolen Lupin from him, because Lupin had never been his to begin with. Snape had tried to convince himself that he hated the quiet Gryffindor boy, but followed him around relentlessly, secretly longing for those little, apologetic smiles Lupin gave him when Potter and the others were taunting him. It ate away at him inside, that Lupin could never be his friend; from those little smiles Lupin gave him, Snape thought the other boy might have befriended him if he were free to. But he was not free to, because Potter would never allow him to befriend a Slytherin, and who would be insane enough to give up the friendship of the golden boy for likes of Snape? And Snape hated Potter for that.

Then a miracle had happened and Lupin had become his friend after all, and even more miraculously, his lover! They'd had to keep it a secret from the golden boy--and Malfoy, of course--but Snape hadn't cared. He was happy just to have Lupin at all. Then Potter and Black had taken even those few precious, stolen moments he and Lupin shared by sending him to the Shrieking Shack on the night of the full moon. Snape was still consumed with hatred whenever he thought about it, even though the rational part of his mind knew that it was partly his fault for refusing to forgive Lupin or even hear him out at the time. Snape had lost the only person he had ever loved, the only person who had ever loved him back, and Potter went on to have the perfect life, the perfect wife, the perfect marriage. Lily Evans had been all right for a Muggle-born; she had even stood up to Potter for Snape's sake once, although he had certainly never thanked her for it. If he had let a Mudblood girl rescue him from Potter, he would have been laughed out of Slytherin House. But he'd never forgotten what she had done, and he had been angry and disgusted when she took up with that worthless bastard Potter. And furious that Potter got to live happily ever after with his true love when Snape had lost his.

{Except that he didn't live happily ever after,} Snape's inner voice reminded him. {He was killed, remember, by your Master, while his perfect marriage was still new, and his son still a baby.} But even in death, Potter had thwarted him, dying and leaving Snape in his debt, forcing Snape to watch over his son in an effort to repay that debt.

{James is dead, and Lupin is yours now,} the voice said, but that didn't comfort Snape as much as it should have. He kept thinking of the nearly twenty years they had been parted, and how lonely and bitter those years had been.

Snape went back to his quarters. More than anything, he wanted to see Lupin and be reassured by his loving presence, but he had no time right now to sneak off and visit his lover. Then he had an idea; he went to his dungeon workroom, and lit a fire in a small charcoal brazier. The fireplace would be better for his purposes, but there would be less chance of being spied on this way. He grabbed a fistful of powder from a nearby jar and threw it on the flames. They flared up high with a sizzling sound, and took on a green tinge. "Lupin," Snape called into the flames. "Lupin, can you hear me?"

For a moment, he thought the spell had failed, but then Lupin's face appeared in the flames. "Severus?" he asked anxiously. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Snape said, feeling foolish now. Lupin would want to know why he'd gone to the trouble of making direct contact, and how could he tell Lupin that he wanted to be reassured because he was feeling jealous of Lupin's dead best friend? "I just...I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh," Lupin said, still looking puzzled and concerned. "Has something happened?"

"The Goblet of Fire chose three champions, one from each school. And then a fourth--Harry Potter."

"Harry?!" Lupin exclaimed. "How could that happen?"

Snape scowled. "Nobody knows. I can't figure out how he did it myself."

"Harry put his name in, even though it was forbidden?" Lupin sounded startled.

"Well, of course he denied it!" Snape snapped. "But it's the sort of thing he would do; it's the sort of thing his father would do!" His voice had turned sharp and shrill.

{Maybe this was not such a good idea...} said Snape's inner voice.

"Why did you contact me like this instead of just writing to me, Severus?" Lupin asked softly. "There's not much I can do from here. Is anyone hurt?"

"No," muttered Snape. This really had been a bad idea, after all. "Though Moody thinks someone deliberately put Potter's name in the Goblet in an attempt to kill him. The Tournaments traditionally being dangerous and all."

"Well, Moody's a bit paranoid," Lupin said. "Although I guess it is a possibility that someone might try to arrange an 'accident' to befall Harry. Seems kind of a roundabout way to get to him, though. But you still haven't answered my question, Severus. Why did you call me?"

Snape hung his head. "I don't know," he muttered. "I just missed you, I guess."

Now Lupin really began to look alarmed. "Severus! What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," Snape said, trying to twist his lips into a smile without much success. "I didn't mean to worry you. I was just...brooding about the past, I suppose."

"Severus," Lupin said gently. "I'm sorry I can't be there with you now. But I love you, very much. I'm happy to listen, if you just want to talk."

Snape sighed, feeling the knot in his heart loosen slightly. "That's all I really wanted to hear," he admitted in a whisper. "That you love me."

"Oh, Severus," Lupin whispered, his eyes filled with tenderness, but still looking a little worried. "Of course I love you. No matter how far away you are, you are always in my heart." He reached out with one hand, as if trying to touch Snape through the flames.

Snape reached out and held his own hand just above the flames, not quite touching Lupin's. "Thank you, Remus. I'm sorry if I made you worry. I'm all right now."

"Well...if you're sure," Lupin said, not looking convinced. "But write to me, and tell me everything that's happened. And...maybe you could get away from school for another weekend?"

"I'll try," Snape said, able to manage a real, if small, smile now. "And Remus...?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"I...I love you."

Lupin smiled at him through the flames. "I love you, too," he said, and then Snape broke the spell, and the flames vanished, dying down into a pile of ashes.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

There was a commotion going on outside his classroom when Snape arrived to teach his fourth-year Potions class. Potter and Malfoy seemed to be at the core of it. Of course. Snape scowled; he was not in a good mood to begin with, still annoyed that he couldn't figure out how Potter had fooled the Goblet, and now it seemed his day was only going to get worse. "And what is all this noise about?" he asked in a soft, deadly voice. The children began clamoring to give their sides of the story. He pointed a finger at Malfoy and said curtly, "Explain."

"Potter attacked me, sir--"

"We attacked each other at the same time!" Potter protested.

"--and he hit Goyle--look--"

Snape briefly examined Goyle, whose face now bore a remarkable resemblance to a poisonous toadstool. It didn't much affect his looks though; if anything, it might even be a slight improvement... "Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.

"Malfoy got Hermione," said Weasley, pushing the girl forward. "Look!" Granger was trying to hide her teeth behind her hands, but they had already grown down past her collar.

"I see no difference," Snape said coldly. Granger whimpered, her eyes filled with tears, and she turned on her heel and ran down the corridor.

{Well, that was rather petty,} Snape's inner voice said in a disapproving tone.

{Oh, shut up!} he told it. When had his inner voice started to sound like Lupin? The werewolf's attitude WAS starting to rub off on him! {I will be as petty as I damn well please!} he told the voice.

{You're talking to yourself again,} it pointed out, sounding almost amused, and again, remarkably like Lupin.

Snape almost started to argue with it, but realized he would only be proving its point. Meanwhile, Potter and Weasley were shouting at him furiously. Their two voices shouting over each other, along with the echoes of the dungeon corridor, prevented him from making out their exact words, but he got the gist of it. "Let's see," he said in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions." The two boys slunk into the classroom, shaking with anger, and suddenly Snape felt much better. {How's that for petty?} he taunted his inner voice, but this time it remained silent. He saw Potter glaring at him from the back of the room, with a "if looks could kill" expression on his face.

"Antidotes!" snapped Snape. "You should all have prepared your recipes by now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one..." Snape's eyes met Potter's, and he smiled, just the slightest bit; they both knew whom Snape had chosen as his guinea pig. Of course he had a selection of real antidotes on hand in case the students had not brewed theirs correctly, and he wouldn't really let the boy die...just let him squirm and suffer a little before he administered it. Maybe he would try Longbottom's antidote on Potter...the thought gave him a bitter surge of pleasure. Then again, he didn't REALLY want to kill the boy...

A knock on the dungeon door interrupted Snape's thoughts. Colin Creevey opened the door a crack and edged into the room, giving Potter a smile, then walked up to Snape's desk. "Yes?" asked Snape curtly.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs."

Snape stared down at the boy, scowling, and watched the smile fade from Creevey's face. "Potter has another hour of Potions to complete," he said coldly. "He will come upstairs when this class is finished."

"Sir--sir, Mr. Bagman wants him," Creevey said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take their photographs..."

Snape's brief good mood was rapidly dissipating. "Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."

"Please, sir--he's got to take his things with him. All the champions--"

"Very WELL!" shouted Snape, losing his temper. "Potter--take your bag and get out of my sight!" He watched the boy grab his bags and run out the door, and the sight of Malfoy's "POTTER STINKS" badges didn't comfort him one bit.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Things only got worse from there on. Potter passed the first test with ease--Lupin would no doubt be thrilled--and was tied in first place with Krum. The dragon nicked Potter with its tail, but it was only a flesh wound, and probably only served to make him more of a hero to the Gryffindors. Snape left as soon the judges gave their scores; he had no desire to stay and watch everyone fawn over Potter.

He managed to sneak in one more weekend with Lupin, but that was the last time he was able to get away for the rest of the term. He was kept very busy with his classes and brewing healing salves and potions for the upcoming Tasks, in case any of the precious champions injured themselves. But worst of all, the Mark on his arm was gradually becoming darker and clearer. He tried to pretend at first that it was just his imagination, but finally it became dark enough that he could no longer lie to himself. And Karkaroff was clearly nervous, and kept trying to corner Snape and talk to him about it--as if that would do any good! He had despised Karkaroff when they had been Death Eaters, and Snape didn't like him any better now.

Someone knocked on the door of his dungeon workshop and he snapped, "What is it?!"

Dylan Rosier cautiously opened the door and peered around it. "Er...do you have a minute to talk, Professor?"

Snape looked up from the cauldron he was stirring and said in a brusque voice, "As you can see, Rosier, I'm rather busy at the moment. I don't have time right now to make chitchat about the old days."

If Rosier was frightened or offended by his tone of voice, he didn't show it. He just said calmly, "Then is there anything I can do to help, sir?"

"Um...well...yes, I suppose so," said Snape, momentarily disarmed by the unexpected offer. He set the boy to work chopping ingredients, and he worked quickly and efficiently, as he always did in class. Although he looked somewhat like his father, he behaved nothing like him; Evan had never been as quiet, studious, and obedient as Dylan. They worked in silence for awhile, but he kept hearing Lupin's and Dumbledore's voices in his head, nagging at him to "befriend" the boy. He cleared his throat and said a little awkwardly, "So...how are you getting along in your classes, Mr. Rosier?"

"All right, sir. I've kept up with my homework, and my grades so far seem to be good."

That was an understatement; he was at the top of his Potions class, with no need for any favoritism from Snape, and he seemed to be doing well in all his other classes. Flitwick had happily told Snape that Dylan was doing quite well in his class, and that he was "a real natural at Charms, just like his mother". But then, Flitwick had always been fond of Ariane, for some reason. "Staying out of trouble, I hope?" Snape asked, although he had been watching the boy carefully and seen no sign of it, and none of the other teachers, not even Moody, had complained to Snape about him.

"Yes, sir."

"You haven't let Mr. Malfoy talk you into joining him in any mischief?"

"No, sir. Well...except for this..." Dylan tapped his "POTTER STINKS" badge, almost entirely hidden by the folds of his robe. "I didn't want to offend Draco, but I didn't want to offend the other students either, so I sort of tried to compromise."

"Clever," Snape said, giving the boy a grudging smile. "You are getting along with the students from the other Houses, then?"

"I try to," Dylan said. "I get along with the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs okay, but the Gryffindors don't like me. Except for the girls," he added with a rakish grin.

"It seems you are your father's son," Snape said dryly. "All well and good, but do try to be a little more circumspect than he was."

"Yes, sir." Dylan was quiet for a moment as he continued to chop roots and herbs, then asked, "Professor Snape?"

"Yes?" asked Snape, as continued to stir the potion in the cauldron.

"Why do all the other Houses hate the Slytherins so much?" Snape was a little startled by Dylan's question, but didn't reply. "I mean, my father was from a pureblood family of wealth and distinction. When he met my mother he hadn't yet joined the Death--"

"Don't talk about such things here!" shouted Snape, slamming the spoon he'd been using down on the table, and Dylan jumped. "Leave them in the past! Didn't I just tell you to be circumspect? Didn't I warn you at the start of term that your behavior must be beyond reproach?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir," Dylan said hastily, turning a little pale. Then he gathered up his courage and continued, "But why was my mother's family so opposed to him when he...um...hadn't yet done anything wrong?"

Snape calmed down a little and sighed wearily. "Because many of us have sought to expand our knowledge beyond the bounds of what is considered safe and appropriate, because many prominent Slytherins have indeed turned out to be Dark Wizards, the rest of the world mistrusts us. 'Bad blood', they say," Snape said sourly, recalling Hagrid's words at the hearing. Of course Snape and his classmates had done little to refute that image...

"That's not fair," muttered Dylan under his breath, but Snape overheard him.

"The world is not fair, Mr. Rosier," Snape said coldly. Where on earth did these children get the idea that the world was supposed to be "fair"? He would expect such idealistic nonsense from the Gryffindors, but not from the Slytherins. {If the world were fair, Black would be in Azkaban, and Lupin and I would have been together these past twenty years...} "The sooner you realize that, the better off you will be."

"Yes, sir," mumbled Dylan.

Belatedly, Snape realized that his little speech probably wasn't doing much to steer Dylan away from the Death Eater track. He paused to gather his thoughts, then said in a gentler voice, "I don't know if things would have turned out differently for your parents if the world viewed Slytherins in a different light. I do know that a great many people, including most of your mother's family, are waiting for you to fail. Make a success of yourself and prove them wrong." Dylan looked a little more hopeful at that. "You are doing well, so far. Keep up the good work, and don't ruin it by doing anything foolish, do you understand me, Dylan?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Good. Now, if you're finished chopping those roots, put them in this cauldron, and we'll start a new batch of healing potion..."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dylan left the dungeon feeling very pleased with himself. He had enjoyed working on the healing potion, and he knew he must be doing better than "all right" in Potions class if Snape trusted him to work on a potion that would actually be used on someone other than his classmates. He was a little surprised to discover how much Snape's good opinion mattered to him. And he had learned a couple of interesting tidbits: the first was that this was the second time Snape had warned him about Draco Malfoy. Perhaps he wasn't as much Lucius Malfoy's lapdog as everyone thought. His mother would find that very interesting, but he couldn't put that in a letter for fear of it being intercepted; it would have to wait until he saw her in person. And second, Snape had grown quite agitated when Dylan had brought up the subject of Death Eaters. He seemed afraid that someone might overhear them, but was he worried about Dylan's reputation--or his own? Dylan wondered where Snape's real loyalties lay...if he was still a Death Eater, or if he had truly renounced the Dark Lord. Ariane seemed to think Snape's loyalties lay solely with himself; if had repented merely to save his life, what would he do if and when the Dark Lord returned? And was he really trying to push Dylan away from the Dark Arts and the Death Eaters, or was he just biding his time, waiting to see if Dylan was a worthy candidate...?

"Um...Dylan?" a girl's voice said hesitantly, breaking into his thoughts. He turned around to see Lisa Turpin, a Ravenclaw girl who was a year ahead of him. They didn't share any classes together, of course, but they had grown somewhat friendly over the past few months. She had sought him out and talked to him because their mothers had been friends at school. She was a quiet and serious girl, like most Ravenclaws, and was very pretty, with shoulder-length blonde hair and green eyes.

"Oh, hi Lisa," said Dylan. "What's up?"

"Um," she said again, blushing slightly. "I was just wondering if...well...if maybe you'd like to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

"Oh!" Dylan exclaimed in surprise. He was a third-year, so he had not expected to be able to attend the Ball, since it was open only to fourth-years on up. But younger students were allowed to go if an older student invited them. He quickly regained his composure and said, "I would love to! Thank you very much for asking me."

She smiled at him, face still pink but looking relieved. "That's great, then! Um...well, I'll see you around then, Dylan."

"See you around, Lisa." Dylan smiled to himself as she hurried on her way, remembering Snape's words: "It seems you are your father's son." {What do you think of that, Dad? Are you pleased that I have your touch with the ladies?}
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Gossip spread quickly around the school, and Draco Malfoy was not pleased to hear that Dylan would be attending the Ball with a Ravenclaw. "How dare you escort a girl from another House, Rosier?" he snarled one day as they sat in the Great Hall at dinner.

Dylan stared at him wide-eyed, feigning innocence. "I didn't know anyone would be upset about it. I wasn't planning to attend the Ball, but Lisa asked me out of the blue and I thought it would be fun to go. After all, unless I go with her, I won't be able to attend a Ball till next year--"

"What's wrong with a Slytherin girl?" Pansy Parkinson snapped. "Not good enough for you?"

"Of course I would have gone with a Slytherin girl--if anyone had asked me," Dylan said calmly, in that same innocent voice, as if he couldn't understand why his housemates were offended. "It wouldn't be proper for me to ask anyone, since as a third-year I'm not really allowed to attend on my own."

The Slytherin girls looked furious that they hadn't thought of asking him first. "It's not proper for a girl to ask a boy to the Ball!" Pansy said in a huffy tone. "That Turpin girl must be a real hussy!"

Dylan just smiled. "Lisa's mother was a friend of my mother's," he said mildly. "I didn't think it would be a big deal."

"Well, it IS a big deal, Rosier!" said Malfoy. "You should have cleared it with me, I'm in charge of Slytherin House--"

"That's strange, Mr. Malfoy," said a cold and very familiar voice behind them. "I was under the impression that I was the Head of Slytherin House."

Malfoy turned around to see Professor Snape standing behind him, hovering over him like a giant bat, the folds of his voluminous black robe hanging from his shoulders like wings. Dylan was very impressed; he was almost as good at sneaking up on people as Moody was, even without a magical eye.

"Of course you are, Professor!" Malfoy said hastily, turning pale. "I--I just meant, that I, uh, take it upon myself to make sure the younger students behave themselves...to...to make things easier for you, of course!"

"Of course," Snape said in that cold voice, his black eyes boring into Malfoy's pale ones like daggers. Malfoy squirmed in his seat, looking terrified.

Dylan had never seen Malfoy look so rattled--at least not since Moody had turned him into a ferret--and he was quite enjoying it. But he knew Draco would blame him for it unless he did something to intervene. "It's my fault, Professor," he said in a humble voice.

Snape's gaze turned to Dylan, and Malfoy looked extremely relieved. "Oh?" asked Snape, raising an eyebrow.

"Being inexperienced, I seem to have committed a breach of etiquette that could have been avoided, if I had sought the advice of one of the older students," Dylan said. He gave Malfoy a placating smile. "Next time, I'll seek out Draco's counsel first."

"And this great breach of etiquette is...?" Snape asked sardonically.

"He's taking a Ravenclaw girl to the Ball!" Pansy said indignantly.

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" said Snape, sounding disgusted. "All this fuss over a silly dance! I have a great deal of work to do--unlike the rest of you, it seems--and I don't have time to be bothered with such trivial nonsense! Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," the Slytherins mumbled, and Snape swept off, his black robes billowing around him. Draco sulked, but dropped the matter, and Dylan was careful to be very respectful and deferential towards him for the next few days.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Snape was in a very foul mood as the holidays drew near. He had planned to spend the holidays with Lupin, but with the Ball and the Tournament and all the extra students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, the Headmaster had asked all the teachers to remain behind and help with the planning and chaperoning. And that little twit Malfoy, preening and claiming to be in charge of Slytherin House! Snape let him get away with a great deal, for Lucius's sake, but he could not let a remark like that pass. He had put the fear of God into Mr. Malfoy, although Dylan had quickly smoothed things over. All the fuss, it turned out, was over Dylan and some Ravenclaw girl--he was indeed his father's son! Snape wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused.

But he absolutely could not let Christmas pass without seeing Lupin at least once. So, with the Headmaster's permission, he made elaborate plans to sneak Lupin into the castle for Christmas. Lupin would Apparate to Hogsmeade and wait in the Shrieking Shack. Snape would give Lupin an invisibility potion--which was extremely difficult and time-consuming to make; it was a pity he couldn't simply borrow Potter's cloak--and then sneak Lupin down the secret tunnel and into his quarters. He tried not to think about the fact that this was the sort of stupid, complicated, reckless stunt the Marauders would have pulled, and Lupin kindly refrained from pointing it out to him.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dylan's mother was a little disappointed that he would not be coming home for Christmas, but she was delighted that he had been invited to the Yule Ball. "You are your father's son, Dylan!" she wrote in a letter. "Didn't I tell you that you would be breaking hearts at school?" Uncle Math and Aunt Goewin wrote that they loved him, and that they were happy he was making friends. The three of them sent him an early Christmas present: a set of new dress robes to wear to the Ball; they were silvery-gray, with a subtle sheen to the cloth that seemed to reflect the color of his eyes, making them look more silver than gray. There was also a silver clasp in the shape of a feather to tie back his hair, and a matching cloak pin to fasten his robes at the throat. He couldn't keep from admiring himself in the mirror for a minute or two, until his roommate and friend--a real friend, one he liked instead of just tolerated--Damien Pierce laughed at him.

"Oh, stop that, you peacock!" said Damien, a handsome enough boy himself, with dark auburn hair and a sly smile. "Everyone knows you're the most beautiful student in Slytherin House, including the girls!" But his teasing was good-natured; Damien grinned and said, "I wish I had older women throwing themselves at my feet!"
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dylan entered the Great Hall with Lisa Turpin on his arm; she looked quite lovely herself, in blue-green robes, with just a touch of frothy lace at the wrists and neck creating the illusion of foam on waves. He knew he was being vain, but he felt a little smug, knowing that they made a handsome couple. He drew a number of envious stares, including one from Draco. As he passed by the Tournament champions, who were stationed near the doors, he saw Hermione Granger standing next to Viktor Krum, and his mouth dropped open. She looked absolutely stunning--her bushy hair had been tamed into something sleek and shiny, twisted up in an elegant knot at the back of her head, and she was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material. Maybe it was merely the absence of the huge stack of books she always carried around, but she carried herself differently tonight, with an air of grace and dignity.

He soon noticed that Lisa was frowning at him, and he quickly turned his attention back to her, giving her his most charming smile, and said, "Your dress is so lovely; it really brings out the green in your eyes." Her frown faded, and she beamed at him. Dylan continued making small talk as they made their way to their table, but he was still a little distracted, although he was careful to hide it. He had never thought Hermione was ugly, but neither had he thought she could look so beautiful--how could a different hairstyle and a pretty dress make so much difference? Her teeth were smaller and more even after being treated for the misfired curse, but it hadn't been her teeth that had made Dylan's jaw drop. Whatever it was, all the other students noticed it, particularly the boys; even Malfoy looked for a moment like he had forgotten that Hermione was a "filthy Mudblood".

Dylan enjoyed himself immensely at the Ball. He wished he had the courage to ask Hermione for a dance, but he knew Malfoy would never forgive him, and Lisa probably wouldn't be too thrilled, either. But he did enjoy Lisa's company, and had a good time dancing with her. Even the teachers seemed to relax and enjoy themselves a little; Dumbledore danced with Madame Maxime and Professor McGonagall, and Mad-Eye Moody, of all people, danced with Professor Sinistra. Professor Snape did not dance with anyone, though; he just sat at the teachers' table looking even more sour than usual. When Dylan happened to glance that way again about halfway through the Ball, Snape was gone.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Snape slipped away from the teachers' table, intending to sneak off to his quarters and join Lupin, but Karkaroff followed him and would not leave him alone, so they went out in the garden to talk. "I don't see what there is to fuss about, Igor," he said impatiently.

"Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!" Karkaroff said in a hushed and anxious voice. "It's been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can't deny it--"

"Then flee," said Snape curtly. "Flee--I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts." In between talking to Karkaroff, Snape chased amorous students out of the rose bushes. He was feeling rather testy right now, and if he couldn't be with his lover, he wasn't going to let anyone else have a good time, either. He pointed his wand at a rosebush and blasted it apart. "Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett!" he snapped as a girl ran past him. "And ten points from Hufflepuff too, Stebbins!" he added as a boy rushed after her. Just then, he caught sight of Potter and Weasley walking on the path ahead of them. "And what are you two doing?" he snapped.

"We're walking," said Weasley in a snippy tone. "Not against the law, is it?"

Snape was tempted to take points off Gryffindor for that, but he was in a hurry to get rid of Karkaroff and get back to his quarters. "Keep walking, then!" he snarled and brushed past them as Karkaroff hurried after him.

"Severus, what are we going to do?"

"I've already told you what I intend to do," Snape said coldly. "I don't really give a damn what you do, Igor. Run away if you want, for all the good it will do."

"Don't you think the Dark Lord will be angry at us when he returns--" Karkaroff began to ask in that same hushed tone.

"Don't mention that name where the students might overhear you!" Snape hissed. "Those two brats we just ran into were already looking at us suspiciously. Do you want people to start talking about conspiracies--?"

"I'm more worried about one person in particular," Karkaroff said darkly.

"Well, I value my job even if you don't," said Snape. "And I don't know what you expect me to do for you, anyway. As I said, if you want to flee, I'll cover for you, but that's all I can do. Now get back to the Hall before people start wondering why we're walking through the garden together!" He added with a sneer, "I doubt anyone will believe we wanted to enjoy a moonlit stroll together." He noticed the leaves of another rosebush twitching slightly, and blasted it apart, as another couple squealed and ran away. "TWENTY points off Gryffindor, Smith and Connolly!"

Karkaroff stared at him sullenly for a moment, then turned and walked back to the castle. When Snape was sure he had really gone, he headed back to the castle in a different direction, and hurried to his quarters.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lupin was sitting beside the fireplace, reading a book. An empty plate and a half-empty glass of wine sat on the table beside him; Snape had smuggled in some food for Lupin since he knew he wouldn't be able to get back until after dinner. "Severus!" Lupin exclaimed with delight, jumping up to throw his arms around Snape when he walked into the room.

"Merry Christmas, Lupin," Snape said, hugging him back. God, it felt good to have Lupin in his arms again! "Sorry I took so long, Karkaroff wouldn't leave me alone. You must have been bored."

"I'm just happy that I'm able to spend Christmas with you," Lupin said, giving him a kiss. "Shall we exchange presents now?"

Snape gave Lupin a new set of robes--midnight blue, this time--and a brooch shaped like a wolf's head, with tiny blue sapphires for eyes. Lupin seemed quite pleased with his gifts; he tried on the robe and pinned the brooch at his throat, then spun around playfully, letting the robe billow out around him. "So what do you think?" Lupin asked.

Snape thought he looked gorgeous. "I'd say it's the gift that keeps on giving, because I think I'm enjoying it as much as you are," he said with a grin.

"Why Severus Snape, you sweet-talker!" laughed Lupin. "Here are your presents." Lupin gave him a box of chocolates and a wood carving he must have done himself. It was serpent that looked quite lifelike, as if a real animal had been frozen in the act of raising its head up above its coiled body. Every scale on its body was carved in detail, and its eyes had a wise, somehow amused look about them.

"It's beautiful, Lupin," said Snape sincerely. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Lupin said, smiling. "I started carving again, after I helped Miyako with the fox carvings during the summer. Oh, and I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?" Snape asked suspiciously, because there was a mischievous twinkle in Lupin's blue eyes.

Lupin brought out a small mahogany box--a jewelry box perhaps? The workmanship was nice, but it was little gaudy for Snape's taste; the cover of the box was set with numerous semiprecious stones in various colors. Lupin touched one of the stones, then opened the lid, and it began playing music, not just the tinny strains of a normal music box, but the sound of a full orchestra. He closed the lid and the music stopped, then touched another stone and opened it again. This time it played a different song, one that sounded rather like the Weird Sisters group that had been playing at the Ball.

"An old classmate of mine is an inventor," Lupin said. "He sent me this sample model; it's just come out on the market, but I hear it's all the rage. He got the idea from those cd player things the Muggles use. You can hear your favorite song anytime you want; each stone is enchanted to hold a different song. You can take the stones out and exchange them for new ones too, if you want."

"Clever," said Snape, mildly impressed.

Lupin set another song to play, a traditional waltz this time, and bowed to Snape with a courtly flourish. "May I have this dance, sir?"

Snape scowled at him. "You must be joking."

"No, I'm not, Severus." Snape crossed his arms over his chest, still scowling, and clearly didn't intend to budge from his seat. "Oh, come on, Severus," Lupin said in a wheedling tone. "After all, you were down at the Ball having fun--"

"I assure you, Lupin, I was NOT having fun!"

"--while I was stuck up here, all alone for the past few hours, not to mention the time I spent waiting in the Shrieking Shack for you." Lupin sighed dramatically.

"Oh, very well," Snape said, giving in with ill grace. He could see Lupin wasn't going to let up until he got his way, and he did feel a little guilty about Lupin having to wait for him so long. He rose from his chair, and put one arm around Lupin's waist and held Lupin's hand with the other. He moved a little stiffly, letting Lupin push and pull him around the room while he concentrated on not stepping on Lupin's feet.

"Relax, Severus," said Lupin. "It's just the two of us, after all. No one's going to see or care if you make a fool of yourself."

"That's very reassuring," Snape said sourly, but after a couple of minutes he did begin to relax a little. His mother had drilled him in etiquette years ago as a child, and one of his least favorite lessons had been dance lessons. However, in their social circles, it was inevitable that one would be called upon to dance at some ball or party, and so Snape had learned to dance, like it or not. He had never really been good at it, but had learned enough not to embarrass himself, and he found the old lessons coming back to him. It helped that the song was an old and traditional one, played at many formal balls, and he found himself moving through the steps more easily. Lupin smiled and moved closer to him, and Snape almost began to enjoy himself. The sensation of Lupin in his arms was a pleasant one, and once Snape felt confident that he wouldn't trod on Lupin's feet, he was able to lift his eyes from the floor and watch Lupin. His werewolf lover was light and graceful on his feet, and he looked very beautiful, a contented smile on his face, the firelight casting a glow on his golden-brown hair.

Snape was almost disappointed when the waltz ended, so he did not object when Lupin set the music box to play another song, and the melancholy strains of the old ballad "Greensleeves" began playing. "This is one of my favorite songs," Lupin murmured.

It was a version Snape had never heard before, with an intricate guitar arrangement and a female singer who had a lovely, haunting voice. It was slightly more fast-paced than the versions Snape was familiar with, and he was concentrating on following the rhythm of the music, so it was a little while before he noticed that Lupin was singing along softly:

"Alas my love, ye do me wrong
To cast me out discourteously
And I have loved you for so long
Delighting in your company..."

For one paranoid moment, Snape wondered if this was some sort of subtle dig at him, at the fact that he had wronged Lupin nineteen years ago by casting him aside after seeing his transformation in the Shrieking Shack. It was after all, a song about a lover's betrayal...but no. There was nothing on Lupin's face but innocent pleasure; he was merely singing along with a favorite song. Snape sighed in relief; he should have known better. It was not really in Lupin's nature to hold a grudge--that was more Snape's style. So he relaxed, pulling Lupin a little closer to him, and lost himself in the dance and the music. Lupin continued to sing, his voice blending in nicely with the female vocalist:

Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight
Greensleeves was my heart of gold
And who but Lady Greensleeves...

When they were done, Snape gave Lupin a courtly bow of his own, then lifted his lover's hand to his lips and gently kissed Lupin's fingertips. Lupin smiled at him, his face slightly flushed--from the dancing, perhaps, although Snape was hoping it was more than that...

"Would you like another dance, Severus?" Lupin asked.

"Yes, I would," Snape said, but stopped Lupin when he reached for the music box. "Ah...actually, I had a different kind of dance in mind."

"Oh?" Lupin asked, tilting his head slightly as he smiled up at Snape. There was a dreamy look in his eyes, and he was looking just a little more flushed...

Snape leaned over and purred softly into Lupin's ear, "A horizontal dance, no music required. Or rather...we can make our own music."

Lupin slipped his arm through Snape's and followed him to the bedroom. "Why Severus," he murmured. "You can be quite charming when you put your mind to it..."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
 

Next