Phoenix Rising 2 continued

Things were not exactly going badly for Harry at school, but he wasn't sure he could say they were going well, either. He was kept very busy with all his classes, and while he was proud to be the new Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team (the look of outrage on Malfoy's face when he heard had been quite satisfying), his new duties, combined with his homework, left him very little spare time. And on top of all that, he still had to take Occlumency lessons.

"From Snape?" Harry wailed. "I know I have to take the lessons, but why does it have to be Snape?"

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore reminded him.

"Why do I have to keep taking lessons from Professor Snape, sir?" Harry asked. "You said he was giving me lessons during the summer because you were too busy, but I thought you'd take over when school started!"

"Well, I was going to," Dumbledore replied with a smile, as his eyes twinkled mischievously behind his half-moon glasses. Harry thought darkly that he didn't find the situation one bit humorous. "But it really is better for you to learn from one teacher if possible--consistency is important, Harry. And Professor Snape tells me that you are progressing well in your lessons."

"That's news to me," Harry said skeptically. The most Snape ever said to him was a scornful, "Not bad for such an undisciplined amateur such as yourself, Potter," or "Well, I suppose you weren't as incompetent as usual today, Potter".

Dumbledore's eyes kept twinkling. "Professor Snape is not very demonstrative in his praise, it is true--"

{That's got to be the understatement of the year!} Harry thought.

"--but I assure you, he does believe you are making progress."

"I'd make more progress with you, Professor!" Harry said desperately.

"Besides," Dumbledore added, looking a bit more serious, "I think it is important for you and Severus to learn to get along with each other."

"But--" Harry protested.

"You don't have to like him, Harry," Dumbledore said sternly. "But you do have to learn to work with him, and respect him, like it or not. He is a valued member of the Order of the Phoenix, and we are all working towards the same goal, and I will not allow petty dislikes to jeopardize something so important."

"'Petty dislikes'? He hates me!"

"No," said Dumbledore quietly, "he hates your father."

"Yeah, well, he seems to have the two of us a little mixed up!"

"Harry," Dumbledore said, sounding...not exactly impatient, but a little disappointed. "I know you have seen a different side of Professor Snape this summer. You know he saved Sirius at the risk of his own life. You know about his relationship with Remus. And you know that he volunteered to give you the Occlumency lessons this summer in an attempt to make up for his earlier mistakes. It takes a very brave man to admit that he is wrong, Harry."

"I suppose," Harry muttered, and suddenly he remembered that he had never apologized to Snape--as he had told Professor Blackmore and Lupin he would--for spying in the Pensieve. He felt a little guilty about that, although he tried to tell himself that Snape was unlikely to accept such an apology, anyway.

Dumbledore smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. "I know it won't be easy, but you are a brave boy, Harry, and I believe you are up to the challenge. And you may always come and talk to me anytime you wish."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, resigning himself to the inevitable. Well, at least the Headmaster wasn't going to keep him in the dark and avoid him like he had last year. It was a little disconcerting--not to mention frightening--to learn that the adults he trusted, even one as wise and powerful as Dumbledore, could be fallible and make mistakes.
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"Six o'clock, every Monday and Wednesday evening here in my office, Potter," Snape said coldly. "Don't be late."

"And what's my excuse to be this year? Sir?" Harry said through gritted teeth. "I can hardly be taking Remedial Potions if I'm in your advanced class. Sir."

Snape gave him a sour look. "Don't be cheeky, Potter. I assure you, I'm not enjoying this anymore than you are. You are here for extra tutoring, to keep up in class." He sneered a little. "Since the Headmaster forced me to accept you, even though I told him you were not ready."

"Why do you hate me so much?" Harry burst out, unable to hold it in any longer, although he knew that he was probably going to earn himself a detention.

"Let's see," Snape said sarcastically. "There are so many reasons to choose from: your insolence and arrogance, your constant rule-breaking--"

"You've had it in for me from the beginning!" Harry retorted. Snape was going to kill him, but somehow, he didn't care. "Before I had broken a single rule!"

"I knew from the moment I first set eyes on you that--"

"I'M NOT MY FATHER!" Harry shouted. {Okay, I'm dead!} he thought, but at the same time it felt satisfying to finally get years of resentment off his chest.

Snape looked more stunned than angry, though. "I assure you," he said in a slightly unsteady voice, "that you are very much like your father."

"Look," Harry said, in a quieter voice, "I'm sorry about how my dad treated you, but--"

"I don't need your pity, Potter!" Snape snapped, looking a little wild-eyed and paler than usual.

"But I'm not like my father," Harry finished. "Not that way. At least, I don't want to be." Snape just stared at him, apparently having gone beyond anger straight to disbelief. "And..." Harry hesitated, then swallowed hard, remembering Dumbledore's words about it taking a brave man to admit he was wrong. "I...I'm really sorry that I looked into the Pensieve, sir."

"Sorry that you saw what your father was really like you mean," Snape spat contemptuously.

{See, I knew apologizing wouldn't do any good,} a sullen corner of Harry's mind said. But another, more reasonable, part of him thought that he would have a hard time forgiving anyone who had seen him so thoroughly humiliated--especially if that someone just happened to be the son of the person who had humiliated him. "No," Harry said quietly. "I mean, that too. But I'm sorry, because what I did was wrong."

Snape's jaw dropped, and he just stood there with his mouth hanging open, looking absolutely flabbergasted, and Harry had to repress a smile in spite of himself. Snape recovered quickly, though, and scowled and said, "A thoughtless sort of prank like that is exactly the same sort of stunt your father would have pulled."

"It wasn't a prank, sir," Harry argued, then Snape glared at him, and he thought perhaps he should have left well enough alone.

"Then what was it, Potter?" Snape asked coldly.

Harry flushed and mumbled, "I thought...I thought, at the time, that maybe you were still working for Vol--for You-Know-Who, and I thought maybe you were hiding something about the Department of Mysteries in there..."

For a moment, Snape looked shocked, angry, and...something else. Hurt? Disappointed? Resigned? Then the emotion drained out of his face, to be replaced by an expressionless mask. "Ah, I see," Snape said sarcastically. "It was not a schoolboy prank, but merely delusions of grandeur."

"I said I was sorry!"

"Well, guess what, Potter?" Snape retorted. "Saying 'I'm sorry' doesn't magically make everything all right, nor does it obligate me to forgive you. Forgiveness is something that must be earned."

Harry flushed, anger beginning to replace guilt. Yes, what he did was wrong, but did Snape have to be so nasty about it, especially when he was trying to apologize?

"Control, Potter," Snape said coldly. "We've wasted enough time already. Prepare yourself." He took out his wand, and Harry braced himself, trying to get his emotions under control. "One...two...three...Legilimens!"

Harry felt Snape attack his mental "wall," and memories began to escape: young James Potter playing with a Golden Snitch...Ron being attacked by a brain-like creature in the Department of Mysteries...Lupin kissing a struggling Snape in the Headmaster's office while a just-healed Sirius looked on in outrage...

Snape's attack faltered, and Harry pushed back with his mind, and was a little sorry he did so, because suddenly he was in Snape's head again: Dumbledore patting a young James Potter on the shoulder affectionately...a teenaged Lupin laughing as James described a Quidditch play he'd made, accompanied by expansive gestures...James hovering protectively over a tired and ill-looking Lupin in class...and watching from the shadows, in every scene, a young Snape, with hungry and jealous eyes...

"ENOUGH!" shouted Snape, breaking off the spell. Harry stared at him nervously, expecting to be yelled at, to be given detention, maybe to have a few jars thrown his way, but strangely enough, Snape looked more weary than angry. "Enough," Snape repeated, in a softer voice. "Enough for tonight."

"Sir?" Harry asked, beginning to feel concerned. Was Snape feeling sick or something? It was extremely rare for Snape not to be able to summon enough energy to get angry at him. Unheard of, in fact.

"Get out of here, Potter!" Snape snapped, sounding more like his old self, and Harry felt oddly relieved. "And you had better show more control at your next lesson!"
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Snape watched the boy flee the room, thinking to himself, {Control. I'm the one who lost control tonight. I need to get a better grip on my emotions; I'll be dead if I ever try to face the Dark Lord like this.} But he had been profoundly shaken by Potter's apology, by his remorse--awkwardly expressed, but apparently sincere, and by the hint of sympathy in his eyes. That last, Snape could not abide; he would be damned if he would accept pity from James Potter's son!

There was also Potter's impassioned protest that he was not his father. Snape did not want to be reminded of that. Nor did he want Potter's apology. The truth was, despite all his complaints about the boy's behavior, Snape did not want Potter to stop being insolent and arrogant, did not want him to suddenly become as studious and obedient as Dylan Rosier, because then he would have no rational excuse to keep hating Potter. And he needed very badly to be able to hate him...

{It's just not fair,} a childish voice inside him whined. {It's not fair that Potter--} And now it was James Potter that he was thinking of; his thoughts shifted so easily from one to the other. {--should have had so much, and I so little: looks, brains, friends, a family that loved him. And of course, Lupin...}

{Aren't you always telling your students that life isn't fair?} the sarcastic part of him retorted, and Snape sighed wearily. A former Death Eater, of all people, should know better than to expect the world to treat him fairly. {And what about forgiveness?} that annoying voice continued. {You told Potter that forgiveness must be earned, but how many times has Lupin forgiven YOU...?} He had done the unforgivable to Lupin so many times, but Lupin always forgave him, no matter what he did...

And why did Potter's confession that he had been spying in the Pensieve because he had thought Snape was still a Death Eater bother him so much? It wasn't as if he cared what the idiot boy thought of him. And it wasn't as if he hadn't deliberately cultivated the image of a Death Eater; at least he knew that he was successful at it. But... {Forgiveness must be earned,} his inner voice said, mockingly repeating the words he'd said to Potter. It was one more reminder that no matter what he did to make up for his mistakes, the world would always see him as a Death Eater, that most people would never believe he had really repented.

But there was one person who had forgiven him and did believe in him. He returned to his quarters, threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, and called out, "Remus? I need to see you."


A moment later, Lupin stepped out of the fireplace, smiling as he dusted ashes off his robe. "Hello, Severus, I thought you'd still be giving Harry his les--mmph!" His eyes flew wide open as Severus grabbed him without warning, pulled him close, and kissed him hard on the mouth. His lover's fingers dug into his flesh with almost painful force, but Lupin didn't protest, and returned the embrace and the kiss. "What's wrong, Severus?" Lupin asked softly, when they finally came up for air.

"I need you, Remy," was the only reply Severus gave him, as he hungrily kissed Lupin again and began tugging urgently at the fastenings on his robe.

Now Lupin was more worried than ever, but all he said was, "I love you, Sev." Then he growled in a low voice, letting the wolf take over, and deliberately tilted his head back, exposing his throat in submission. Severus let out a frantic little moan, then Lupin felt teeth bite down hard on his throat, and that sweet haze of pain mingled with pleasure clouded rational thought. He moaned out loud himself and began tearing at Severus's robes, and put up absolutely no resistance as Severus practically dragged him into the bedroom and threw him down on the bed. Robes and clothing fell to the floor, and flesh slid against flesh with nothing between their bodies but a thin film of sweat, and Lupin could think of nothing but pleasure and need and desire...

Much later, they lay in each other's arms, Lupin feeling so drowsy with satiation and contentment that he had forgotten he was worried about Severus until his lover mumbled sleepily, in an almost childlike voice, "You love me, don't you, Remy? Better than anyone else?"

Lupin frowned a little and raised his head from where it had been pillowed against Severus's chest. The Potions Master's eyes were closed, dark lashes resting against white skin, and he seemed to be more asleep than awake, and not quite aware of what he was saying. "Yes, Severus, I love you," he said tenderly, and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"Better than Potter?" the half-asleep Severus whispered, and Lupin, overwhelmed by love and guilt, felt like his heart would break. He wished he could go back in time and grab his dearly-loved but narrow-minded friend and shake him vigorously as he shouted, "Look at what you've done to Severus!" He wished he could go back in time and smother a needy, insecure young Snape with so much affection that Severus would never again doubt that at least one person truly loved him. But that was impossible, so he did what he could, which was to put his arms around Severus, pull him close, and whisper, "Yes, Severus, I love you best. Better than anyone. You will always be first in my heart."

Then Severus finally smiled contentedly and slipped fully into slumber, but Lupin lay awake for quite awhile more, cradling his lover in arms, gently stroking Severus's thick, black hair, while tears spilled out of his blue eyes and left hot, salty trails along his cheeks.
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Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room, knitting scarves and hats and mittens for the Hogwarts house-elves. Despite her friends' mockery, she was still determined to free the house-elves, and she had been encouraged by Dumbledore's private admission that he felt she had been right to treat Kreacher kindly. It was horrible what had happened, but of course it wasn't Kreacher's fault that he was...unstable...after the way he had been treated by the Black family. Mrs. Black, judging by her portrait, had been a thoroughly nasty woman, and even Sirius, although he was mostly a nice person and loved Harry very much, was sometimes reckless and thoughtless. He had not treated Kreacher very nicely, though she understood now that the Headmaster had explained it to her, that it had been because Kreacher reminded him of his unhappy childhood. Still, that didn't make it right, and Kreacher was just as much a victim of the elder Blacks as Sirius had been--more, because Sirius had been able to run away from his home, and Kreacher had not.

And Hermione had been a little shocked by the cruelty of the Shrieking Shack "prank". She had thought it a little odd at the time, when Lupin had first told the story to them back during their third year, that someone would pull a such a dangerous prank just for fun, but had taken Lupin at his word, and assumed that it was more youthful idiocy than true malice on Sirius's part. But he had deliberately tried to break up Snape and Lupin, deliberately tried to separate his best friend from the person he loved in a particularly cruel way, by trying to get Snape to see Lupin as a monster. She wasn't sure that Sirius deserved to be forgiven--although Lupin clearly had forgiven him--not so much because he had behaved cruelly (although he had), but because she wasn't sure that he was really sorry for what he had done.

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked up startled, to see Ginny standing in front of her.

"It's getting late," said Ginny. "Aren't you going to bed?" She smiled. "You wouldn't want to fall asleep in class tomorrow, would you?"

"I would never fall asleep in class," Hermione declared, but yawned and said, "I guess you're right, though. I should call it quits for tonight." She had lost track of the time; she and Ginny were the only ones left in the common room. Apparently everyone else had gone to bed. But since they were alone, it would be safe to tell Ginny she had spoken to Dylan. "I ran into Dylan at the library."

"Oh?"

Hermione hesitated. She couldn't tell Ginny what Professor Snape had told her about Dylan, but... "He's sorry about what happened. I think...Draco Malfoy has such control over Slytherin House, and he's afraid of what Draco will do if he thinks Dylan is being too friendly with a Gryffindor."

"Is that why Dylan stopped being friends with you?" Ginny asked sympathetically, and Hermione bit her lip and nodded. "Look, my feelings were hurt, but I'm over it now. It's not that big a deal." She smiled knowingly and said, "I think you were bothered by it more than me." Hermione blushed. "But I'm glad he didn't really mean it. I always thought Dylan was pretty nice, so I was surprised when he acted that way in class." She giggled. "And I was even more surprised when Professor Lupin gave him detention! Lupin never gave anyone detention back in second year, not even when Draco made nasty remarks about his shabby robes." She shook her head. "I guess I can understand that Dylan's afraid of being expelled from Hogwarts, but aren't any of the Slytherins brave enough to stand up to Draco? Besides, Lucius Malfoy is in prison now..."

"I think they're afraid he's not going to stay there," Hermione said. "A lot of people think that Azkaban's not secure anymore now that the Dementors are gone." She sighed. "I don't know how the Houses are supposed to unite when the Slytherins are too afraid of the Malfoys to associate with Gryffindor, and when the Gryffindors hate the Slytherins just because they're Slytherins! I mean, I know Draco and some of the others aren't very nice, but not all of them are like that!"

Ginny nodded. "Some of the ones in my class seem okay, like Dylan and his friend Damien. I think they're even happy that Professor Lupin came back, but they don't want to say so because they're afraid of Draco."

"Even Ron and Harry, who should know better, are always fighting with the Slytherins!" Hermione said crossly. "Professor Lupin deducted points because they were taunting Draco about his father during class. And Ron is always saying nasty things about Dylan when Dylan has never done anything to him--"

"Oh, he's just jealous!" Ginny giggled.

Hermione looked a little puzzled. "Well, he's always been in his brothers' and Harry's shadows, and I suppose it's even harder for him to see a Slytherin who's so popular..."

Ginny looked like she was about to say something, so Hermione fell silent, but all Ginny said was, "Uh, right. Come on, let's go to bed."

Hermione shrugged, picked up her knitting, and they headed for the girls' dorm.
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Snape found that Lupin was unusually affectionate and solicitous towards him, after that night he had summoned Lupin to his room after Potter's Occlumency lesson. Not that he minded, but he was a little puzzled by it. Well, Lupin was very good at picking up on his moods, and no doubt he had startled Lupin by pouncing on him as soon as he'd stepped out of the fireplace.

As Snape sat at his desk in his quarters grading papers, Lupin brought him a plate of cookies and a cup of tea, heavily laden with cream and sugar, just the way he liked it. He kissed Snape on the cheek and nuzzled his neck, murmuring, "I love you, Sev."

"I love you, too, Remus," Snape said. "But didn't you just tell me that fifteen minutes ago?"

"Just making up for lost time," Lupin said with a grin as he kissed Snape again. "But I won't do it if it bothers you."

"I didn't say it bothered me," Snape hastily demurred. "I never get tired of hearing you say that."

"Good, because I never get tired of saying it," Lupin said, slipping his arms around Snape from behind. "I love you, Severus."

"I love you, Remus," Snape repeated, still feeling bewildered. "You know, I was a little upset the other night, because Potter broke into my thoughts during his Occlumency lesson, but I'm fine now."

"I know," Lupin said, still holding him.

"As long as that's clear," Snape said, not sure that it was. "Um...it's a little hard for me to grade papers while you're doing that."

"Sorry," Lupin said, letting go of him. Snape picked up his quill again, then suddenly found that he had a werewolf sitting on his lap.

Snape laughed. "Did the full moon come early this month or something?"

"Or something," Lupin said, wrapping his arms around Snape's neck and kissing him.

Snape still had no idea what had gotten into Lupin, but he decided to just enjoy it. "I suppose the papers can wait," he said, then suddenly stood, scooping Lupin up in his arms as he did so. "Oof! You're a bit heavier than you look, Lupin!"

Lupin laughed. "Well, I'm not the one who eats nearly a pound of chocolate a day!"

"You exaggerate, Lupin," Snape said, trying to decide whether he could actually manage to carry Lupin to the bedroom without pulling a muscle.

"I appreciate the romantic gesture, Severus," Lupin said mischievously, "but we'll get to the bed faster if you put me down and let me walk."

That decided the issue for Snape. He quickly set Lupin down, and they ran hand in hand to the bedroom, laughing like a couple of carefree teenage boys.
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Not all of Snape's days were so carefree, of course. He spent a great deal of time worrying about his students. There was Dylan, of course--waiting for the Dark Lord to summon them and reveal his plans for Dylan was nearly unbearable to Snape; he almost wished the Dark Lord would summon them now and get it over with. Almost. And there was also Draco, who was more moody than usual, with his father in prison. He wavered between temper tantrums and rare--but increasing--moments of vulnerability. That vulnerability was useful; they had a rare opportunity that might soon vanish when the Dark Lord got around to freeing Lucius and the other imprisoned Death Eaters. Lupin continued to treat a confused Draco kindly in his class, while Snape also tried to befriend the boy--which didn't exactly come easily to him. He appointed Draco Captain of the Quidditch team, which eased some of the temper tantrums, and tried to pay more attention to him during class, making a point of complimenting his work. The other students, both Gryffindor and Slytherin, seemed to assume it was merely another sign of his being Lucius Malfoy's "lapdog," but Draco seemed pleased. He also loaned Draco an advanced potions text, similar to the one Lupin had forced him to buy Granger last Christmas, and suggested that he would find it interesting reading. The boy had beamed, looking happy to be singled out for special attention by his teacher; Snape only hoped that he wouldn't use the book to brew poisons to try out on the Gryffindors.

There was another reason for him to pay more attention to Draco. He had seen the way Draco had glared at Blaise Zabini on the first day of class when Snape had praised his potion, even though he had pretended not to notice. Snape had never considered the Zabini boy a problem before; he was quiet and well-behaved, and since his family was unimportant, unlikely to be recruited into the Death Eaters. But the boy was shaping up to be a promising Potions student, and while he certainly didn't want to discourage that talent, he would have to be careful that Draco's resentment didn't get out of hand. Normally, he wouldn't worry so much about it, but Draco was on edge, and there was the slight possibility that Malfoy's revenge might move past simple harassment and into violence, which would be disastrous for both boys, not to mention Snape, who didn't want to have to tell Lucius Malfoy (when he finally got out of prison) that Draco had been expelled from school.

And Zabini seemed to have become part of Dylan's inner circle of friends, along with Damien Pierce and Theodore Nott. It was an odd combination: two sons of Death Eaters and two boys from lower-ranked pureblood families. Pierce was a simple, good-natured lad, who paid only lip-service to the Slytherin ideals of blood purity, and seemed to be more interested in chasing girls and having a good time than in taunting Mudbloods or, unfortunately, studying. However, under Dylan's influence, he seemed to be buckling down a little. Actually, Pierce reminded Snape a bit of Lyall Wilkes, although he was unlikely to become a Death Eater the way Wilkes had; the younger Rosier had no desire to drag his best friend into the Dark Lord's service, and Pierce's family was not wealthy or important enough for Malfoy to recruit him.

Nott was more problematic. He had assumed that Nott was one of Draco's diehard cronies, like Crabbe and Goyle. But over the past year or so, he had been spending more time with Dylan's crowd, and he had actually seen the perpetually sullen, gloomy-looking boy smile and laugh a few times with his new friends. The elder Nott was an unpleasant, sadistic man who had taken a great deal of pleasure in torturing Muggles and Muggle-borns back in the old days. Snape had assumed that the son would turn out much like the father, but now he thought he might be mistaken. He resolved to keep a closer eye on Theodore; perhaps this one, too, he might be able to save from the Death Eaters.

Snape wasn't so sure about Crabbe and Goyle. The two boys were as stupid as their fathers, and were shaping up to be bullies like them as well. But Lupin claimed that they were still redeemable. "I know that academics is never going to be their strong point," Lupin had said with his typical tactful understatement, "but I don't think they're so bad, at least when Draco isn't egging them on. They seem eager and grateful to receive a little praise and attention. I don't know if they really want to be Draco's henchmen, or if they just do it because it's expected of them, and they can't conceive of doing anything else. Draco's always telling them how stupid they are; that can't be very pleasant." Snape had to admit that Lupin had a point; Crabbe and Goyle were even more sheep-like than Wilkes had been, and blindly followed Draco's lead in all things. Well, in a way, that made things simpler. If Snape could convince Draco to turn away from the path of a Death Eater--and that was a very big if--Crabbe and Goyle would probably follow his lead. {Three for the price of one,} Snape's inner voice said with sardonic amusement.

Which brought him to the last of the Death Eater offspring in his House: Serafina Avery. "Serafina" meant "heavenly angel," which was a rather ironic name for a Death Eater's child in general, and this girl in particular; there was nothing angelic about her. She always had an oddly blank expression on her face--not a mask to hide her emotions, like the one Dylan wore; it was more as if she had no emotions to hide at all. She always completed her assignments efficiently, and she spent a great deal of time in the library reading, but she took absolutely no interest in any of the people around her. She had no friends, which was not surprising. What was surprising was that no one in Slytherin harassed such a peculiar, antisocial girl. Well, perhaps they had heard the stories of how she had hexed her own father as a little girl--not that the elder Avery hadn't deserved it. The man was a sadist and a bully, much like his friend Nott. Everyone knew--though no one discussed it--that Avery beat his wife, but Snape was pleased that he no longer abused his daughter. Uneasily, Snape wondered if Nott abused Theodore; he had never seen any marks on the boy, but Nott was more subtle than Avery...and Snape's father had never left any physical marks on his son, either... No wonder Serafina had turned out so strange, and Theodore so sullen, with parents like those. They were not very pleasant children, but few of the Slytherins were, particularly those whose parents had been Death Eaters.

{It's difficult to turn out pleasant, well-adjusted children when death and violence and hatred are a part of their everyday lives,} Snape thought sourly. Maybe...just maybe, if Serafina and Theodore really did hate their fathers, he could more easily steer them away from the Death Eaters. Although there was always the possibility that their hatred could have the opposite effect; Snape suddenly remembered Lorcan Foley, one of the three Death Eaters who had been slain during the attempt on Branwen's life. Foley had joined the Death Eaters to gain revenge on his abusive father; the Dark Lord had readily granted his wish. Snape still remembered seeing Foley torture his father to death during one of the Death Eater ceremonies, and shuddered a little at the memory. Not that Snape felt much pity for Foley's father, but his death had been extremely drawn-out and gruesome. And Foley, who had always been mentally unbalanced to begin with, descended deeper and deeper into madness during his tenure with the Death Eaters. Snape knew that even though Foley had tried to kill her, Branwen still regretted his death, and regretted that she hadn't been able to save him, because he had been one of her students.

For the first time, Snape truly understood the despair Branwen must have felt as she watched her students fall, one by one, into Voldemort's clutches. He suddenly realized that he did not want to save just Dylan; he wanted to save all his students, from that arrogant twit Draco to strange little Serafina, and even those two idiots Crabbe and Goyle, and he wasn't sure that he would be able to save any of them.

It was a little strange that Branwen, a former Ravenclaw, had been the one to fight so hard for the souls of the Slytherin students all those years ago. Professor De Lacy, the Head of Slytherin, had been too afraid of the Dark Lord to speak out against him. He had not tried to keep his students from turning to the Death Eaters, and had turned a blind eye to Lucius Malfoy's recruitment tactics. Still, Snape could not bring himself to hate the man. The old Potions Master, while not exactly a warm and encouraging mentor like Dumbledore, had still recognized young Snape's talents and taught him a great deal, saying, "One day, Mr. Snape, you will be even better than me. I am a good Potions Master, but you have the potential to be a great one." Rather than sounding resentful, he had sounded pleased, in his slightly remote and detached way. De Lacy had quietly sat out the war, neither helping nor hindering Dumbledore's efforts, hoping only to survive long enough to enjoy retirement. And for a short time, it seemed like that wish would come true: Voldemort was defeated, and the Death Eaters left in disarray. The Potions Master submitted his resignation to Dumbledore, planning to retire to his family's country estate and peacefully conduct Potions research and publish papers in academic journals. Then one morning, his body was found lying in Diagon Alley, with the word "TRAITOR" written in his own blood on the wall above him. Later, Snape would learn that the Lestranges had killed him. After Voldemort's fall, they remained loyal and traveled the country searching for their master and killing those they deemed enemies or traitors. De Lacy, they declared, was a Slytherin who had not stood up for Salazar Slytherin's ideals, who had not given his support to his rightful Lord, but instead had cowardly sat out the war as Dumbledore's pet. If more of these cowards and fence-sitters had done their duty, they said, perhaps the Dark Lord would not have been defeated. Snape wondered with dark amusement if his parents, who had also been "fence-sitters" according to Lucius, had felt a pang of fear when they heard that. Fortunately for them, the Lestranges had been captured soon after that. And whatever mistakes De Lacy had made by not protecting his students better, he had paid for in blood. Although he had not cared for Professor De Lacy the way he had cared for Branwen, Snape had mourned the old man's death.

It was quite possible that Snape would die as De Lacy had, especially since he actually was a traitor. But he promised himself that he would not die in vain, and that he would do his best to save his students; he would not simply stand by and let Voldemort take them, as De Lacy had. They might be a thoroughly unpleasant and unlovable lot, but still, they were HIS children, and he would save them--from Voldemort, from their own parents, from themselves, if necessary.

{Listen to me,} Snape thought to himself with a touch of amusement despite his somber mood. {"My" children--I'm starting to sound as sentimental as Branwen and Lupin!}
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Draco was still worried about his father, of course, but life was not all bad for him at Hogwarts. He was the new Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, a source of great pride to him, and Professor Snape had lately been singling him out for more attention than usual. He said that Draco was showing a great deal of promise in Potions, and gave him a textbook, saying, "You might find this interesting; it's a bit advanced, but I think you're up to the challenge." Draco was pleased; it seemed that Snape really did think he was a good student after all, and wasn't just catering to Draco's father, who was still in prison anyway, and not present to see how Snape was treating his son.

It seemed that Dylan Rosier had learned his place, because he had been keeping a low profile of late, although Draco knew that Zabini and Nott still hung out with him. Draco felt a little--okay, more than a little--uncomfortable that Dylan might have seen him crying, but the other boy hadn't used the information against him, and apparently had not told anyone about it, not even his closest friends. Maybe Rosier's words about understanding how Draco felt had been sincere, and not just the usual sucking-up. They had a couple of private talks about their fathers' schoolboy days, and Dylan had been delighted to hear the stories about Evan Rosier and Lyall Wilkes. To his surprise, Draco had enjoyed himself as well; it was kind of nice, almost like having a real friend, and not just someone who did what he said because his father was a big shot. (Although that had always been satisfying, but somehow it seemed less so of late.)

But Lupin continued to puzzle Draco. The werewolf treated Draco as kindly as he did Potter and Weasley, which utterly confused all three boys. Of course, the softhearted werewolf was nice to everyone, but he seemed to be going out of his way to be kind and understanding to Draco. Well, he didn't need a werewolf's pity! For the most part, Lupin ignored Draco's usual rudeness, but he was stricter than he had been three years ago. He mostly gave warnings, but if the insults between Draco and the Gryffindors started going too far, he took off points. He had even threatened detention, but so far had not followed through on it. And he was blatantly cultivating Crabbe and Goyle, lavishing praise and encouragement on their feeble attempts at spell-casting. The two idiots lapped it up like puppy dogs; it was quite sickening, really. Oh, they pretended to hate Lupin like they always had, after Draco's last warning, but Draco could see the way their eyes lit up whenever Lupin threw a kind word their way, as one might toss a bone to a stray dog. Draco couldn't understand why the werewolf would want to bother with trying to win over Crabbe and Goyle; could he really be that softhearted?

Professor Blackmore was a mystery to Draco. He knew about the rumors of her demon blood, which were ridiculous, of course. She did have a very intimidating air about her, but Draco had listened to and compared all the stories he had heard about her days teaching his parents and his classmates' parents at Hogwarts, and concluded that while everyone was terrified of her, she had never done anything worse to her students than make them serve particularly odious forms of detention, such as bedpan-scrubbing. Which was certainly unpleasant, but hardly life-threatening. Yet Professor Snape was still clearly cowed by his old teacher; she was the only one who could make him leave off baiting and insulting Lupin at the dinner table. And of course, there was the little matter of the three Death Eaters who had been killed right before her mysterious disappearance. She might not be a demon, but Draco had no doubt that she was well-versed in the Dark Arts. However, he was fairly confident that Dumbledore would not let her do any real harm to a student. Then again, turning a student into a ferret was against the rules, too, but that hadn't stopped the fake-Moody from inflicting that punishment on Draco...perhaps it would be wise to tread carefully around Professor Blackmore after all...
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But Draco was not as careful as he should have been; it was all that stupid raven's fault. It kept a close eye on the students, cawing loudly to alert his mistress when they got up to mischief behind her backs. It even occasionally patrolled the dungeon halls; it caught a couple of idiotic young Hufflepuffs trying to sneak into Snape's office on a dare, to steal the ingredients for a "love potion". The raven had made enough to noise to wake the dead (and indeed, several of the school ghosts had turned up to see what all the fuss was), and a furious Snape had taken fifty points off Hufflepuff, sentenced them to a week's detention of gutting and dissecting slimy creatures for his Potions stores, and, after taking a look at the recipe for their "love potion," told them to go the library and do some research, then write him an essay on why their potion was totally ineffective. Actually, they'd gotten off easy; if they had been Gryffindors, Snape probably would have had them expelled.

Blackmore had not allowed them to summon anything yet. A Summoning spell, she said, was composed of several different steps. First, they must study the type of creature they wished to summon; some were eager to serve, while others had to be carefully bribed or compelled, and some could cause serious harm if the summoner lost control of them. Next, they had to master drawing the protective runes and circles. Certain Summoning spells called for special incense, herbs, or potions, and they had to learn how to prepare these mixtures--it seemed that Snape's teachings would come in useful here. And last but not least, an incantation had to be recited to trigger the spell. Only when they had mastered all these individual steps, would they be allowed to actually cast the spell.

One day they had split into four groups to practice drawing protective circles on the classroom floor. To Draco's irritation, Potter's group was doing much better than his, mainly because that Mudblood girl Granger was doing most of the work, while Draco's group consisted of Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle. Nott was actually quite good at drawing runes, but Crabbe and Goyle were hopeless.

"You're doing it all wrong, you stupid louts!" Draco berated them. "A five-year old can write more neatly than you two!"

"Sorry, Draco," they mumbled.

"Oh, move over," Nott grumbled, erasing their mis-drawn runes with a flick of his wand. "I'll do it."

As Crabbe and Goyle shuffled out of the way, Draco heard a couple of snickers behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know that they came from Potter and Weasley. Draco saw that Blackmore was busy assisting Parvati Patil's group on the other side of the room, so he took a couple of steps backwards, as if to get a better look at his own team's circle, and "accidentally" trod upon Potter's circle, dragging his foot to smear the chalk lines and runes.

"Hey, watch what you're doing, you clumsy git!" Weasley snapped.

"You did that on purpose," Potter accused, glaring at him.

"Accidents happen, Potter," Draco said in a falsely sweet voice.

"Let it go, Harry," Granger said. "It's no big deal; I can fix it."

That irritated Draco, who hated being ignored, so he leaned down and whispered menacingly, "So many accidents can happen, to Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers..."

Potter's and Weasley's faces turned red with fury, and they reached for their wands; Draco automatically reached for his in response. Just then, Bane flew over them and started cawing at the top of his lungs.

Blackmore was at their side as quickly as if she had Apparated across the room. Bane fluttered down and landed on her shoulder. She turned her cold green eyes on each of the three boys in turn, and Draco found himself cringing and breaking out into a cold sweat, despite his earlier certainty that she would never really harm a student.

"M-Malfoy started it," Weasley stammered. "He deliberately messed up our circle!"

"I did not!" Draco protested. "It was an accident!"

"It was not!"

"Was too!"

"Was not!"

Blackmore let them go at it for a minute or two, as she leaned against a nearby desk, drumming her fingers impatiently on the desktop. Finally she dragged her nails across the desk, which made a loud screeching noise that made the boys jump with a start, and caused the hair on the back of Draco's neck to stand on end.

"I don't care who started it!" Blackmore snapped. "I will not tolerate any of this inter-House sniping in my class, is that clear?!"

"Yes, Professor," the three boys mumbled.

"And if I ever catch you drawing a wand in my class again without my permission, you will be very, very sorry." An evil smile spread slowly across her face, and suddenly those rumors about her demon blood no longer seemed so silly...

"Y-yes, Professor," Draco stuttered, and the two Gryffindors echoed his words in equally shaky voices.

"Twenty points off your Houses for each of you," Blackmore said. "That is, forty from Gryffindor, and twenty from Slytherin." Weasley and Potter looked glum, and Draco's only consolation was that at least Gryffindor had lost twice as many points as Slytherin had. "And for your detention, let's see..." Blackmore paused to consider as the boys waited anxiously. Then she smiled, looking almost cheerful, which Draco thought boded ill for them. "I think...we shall try a little exercise in cooperation. You three can clean the Owlery together; report to Hagrid after school."

"Yes, Professor."

"With no use of magic," she continued. "I expect it to be sparkling clean when you're finished, and if you three start fighting during your detention, I will find you a punishment that is even worse."

"Yes, Professor," the boys chorused, looking gloomier by the minute.

The bell signaling the end of class rang. "Class dismissed," Blackmore said. "I still need to finish examining your circles, so be careful not to step on them on your way out."

His group would probably not get full marks for their circle, Draco thought sullenly, since they had not finished it, and it was all Potter and Weasley's fault! He reached over to grab his bag and books, but froze when he saw his desk. It had been his desk Blackmore had leaned against, and there were five shallow grooves carved into the desktop where she had dragged her fingernails across it. The desks were made of very strong, sturdy, and possibly enchanted wood, because they were meant to survive potion spills and misfired spells, not to mention mischievous students trying to carve their initials into their desks with penknives. Draco scraped the top of the desk with his thumbnail as hard as he could; it didn't make the slightest scratch or dent in the wood.

"Draco?" Nott asked cautiously. He and Crabbe and Goyle were staring at him curiously as they waited for him. The other students had already left. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Come on, let's go." But he glanced back at his teacher as they headed for the door. She stared back at him impassively, her arms crossed over her chest; her long fingernails appeared to be undamaged. Bane cawed out a mocking laugh in his hoarse, croaking voice, and Draco flushed as he hurried out of the room.

{Bane,} he thought to himself. {Mother said that was her familiar's name back then, too.} Could it possibly be the same bird? How long did ravens live, anyway? But if Blackmore had remained youthful all these years, then why shouldn't her bird have done so as well? Where had she been all these years, and what had killed the three Death Eaters who attacked her...?

Those questions kept him preoccupied all day, even through his detention. Potter and Weasley watched him suspiciously, but he remained sullenly silent all afternoon as they swept up owl feathers and scrubbed owl dung off the floor, and said not one word, not a single insult to the two Gryffindor boys.
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Professor Lupin's classes were having difficulty with their Patronus Charms, and he had told them he thought they might make more progress if they had something to practice on, and had promised to bring a "surprise" to class today.

"What do you think it will be?" Ginny Weasley asked eagerly.

"Another boggart?" Colin Creevey suggested.

"A boggart wouldn't be much of a surprise," Damien snorted.

"So who asked you?" Creevey retorted.

Before Damien could reply, Lupin entered the classroom, and everyone stared at the odd creature perched on his shoulder. It was a winged, lizard-like creature about the size of a cat; it looked like a miniature dragon, but it seemed oddly insubstantial, as if it were made of black smoke.

"This is an elemental creature," Lupin explained cheerfully, "that has been summoned for us by Professor Blackmore. His name is Soot, and he has agreed to help us with our lesson today." The smoke-dragon dipped its head politely in greeting.

"What kind of elemental is he, Professor?" Ginny asked.

"He is a creature of air and fire," Lupin replied, gently chucking it under the chin. "Soot will attack you, and you will try to repel him with the Patronus Charm." The students looked nervous, and Lupin grinned. "He won't actually hurt you, but there will be...ah...consequences if your spell fails."

"The Patronus Charm won't hurt him, will it?" Ginny asked anxiously.

"No, Ginny," Lupin said with a smile. "Professor Blackmore would be quite upset if I hurt one of her friends, and it would take a braver man than me to cross Professor Blackmore!"

The class laughed nervously, and lesson began. Ginny went first. Soot launched himself into the air and lunged towards her, smoky claws extended, and his mouth opened wide, exposing sharp fangs as he spat forth a little tongue of flame. Ginny went a little pale, but raised her wand and said, "Expecto Patronum!" in a firm voice. A silver cat interposed itself between the girl and the elemental, and Soot broke off his attack.

Brad Doherty went next, and the class saw what the "consequences" Lupin mentioned were, and why "Soot" was an appropriate name for the elemental. Brad was only able to summon forth a small silver wisp, which Soot flew right through. Brad threw his arm up to ward off the attack, but all the elemental did was blow a cloud of black smoke into his face. Brad doubled over coughing, and when the smoke cleared, he was left with a black, soot-covered face. The class--both Slytherin and Gryffindor--burst into laughter, and Brad glared at them.

"That's not very nice," Lupin chided them, handing Brad a towel so he could wipe off his face. "Besides, you don't know how many of you will end up with a faceful of soot as well." The class subsided, and Lupin said kindly to Brad, "I'm sure you'll do better on your next try." Brad just scowled and flung the towel back at Lupin.

Creevey went next. His silver cloud repelled most of Soot's attack, but he did end up with a few smudges on his face. The students began treating it like a game, laughing and giggling, and apparently Soot felt they were not taking him seriously enough, because when it was Damien's turn, he suddenly grew larger--his claws and fangs growing in proportion--and he didn't look quite so insubstantial.

Apparently, fear was a good teacher. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Damien shouted frantically, and for the first time, he cast a full-fledged Patronus, a shining silvery hound that leapt protectively in front of the boy and bared its teeth, sending a suddenly diminished Soot winging back to the safety of Lupin's shoulder.

"Very good!" Lupin said, applauding, and Damien beamed proudly. "Dylan, you're next."

Dylan stepped forward, raising his wand as the smoke-dragon attacked. "Expecto Patronum!" A cloud of shining mist emerged from his wand and shaped itself into a huge silver rose with wicked-looking thorns growing along its stem. Soot came to a complete halt in mid-air and just stared at it.

"Ooh, it's so pretty!" one of the Gryffindor girls squealed.

"That's...very unusual," said Lupin, turning a little pale. "A Patronus usually takes animal form."

"Did I do it wrong, Professor?" Dylan asked, feeling a little hurt and disappointed at Lupin's reaction to his first successful casting of a Patronus.

"No, no," Lupin said hastily. "You did very well, Dylan!" But his smile was a little forced, and his cheerful tone falsely hearty, and there was a very worried look in his blue eyes.

Soot still seemed bewildered by the rose, not sure if it was a threat or not. He made a tentative feint at it, and the rose stem suddenly lengthened and lashed out like a whip. The elemental let out a frightened little yelp and fled back to Lupin's shoulder, hiding beneath his long hair.

"Well, it's certainly effective," Lupin said, although he still looked a little worried. "Well done, Dylan."

Still feeling puzzled and hurt, Dylan dispelled the charm and let the next student take their turn. Lupin had to pet and coax Soot for a few minutes before he would come out of hiding and resume his work. The rest of the students were able to at least partially repel the elemental's attack, and Serafina Avery was also able to cast a full Patronus. Like Dylan's, hers took a somewhat unusual form: this time it was the vague silvery outline of a woman clad in long robes, with a magnificent set of silver-feathered wings sprouting from her back. The class gasped in awe.

"My, my," Lupin said, his eyes wide. "Another unusual Patronus; quite remarkable." He didn't seem troubled by Serafina's Patronus, as he had by Dylan's, though. He smiled at her and said, "Very beautiful, and very appropriate." Some of the class looked a little puzzled. "Serafina's name means 'angel,'" he explained, "and it seems that is the form her Patronus has taken."

"A devil would be more appropriate," one of the Gryffindor boys muttered.

The expression on Serafina's face did not change, but Lupin looked angry. "Ten points from Gryffindor!" he snapped. "I will not have that kind of talk in my classroom, do you understand?"

The Gryffindor boy looked surprised, and a little resentful. "But everyone knows that her father's a Death Eater--"

"Have you learned nothing during the past four years?" Lupin interrupted. "Hasn't the Headmaster taught you to judge people as individuals, not by what 'everyone' says? After all," he continued in a sarcastic voice, "'everyone' knows that giants are evil and that werewolves are monsters." Some of the Gryffindors looked shamefaced, but the boy still looked resentful.

"I don't care what they think, Professor," Serafina said indifferently. "And you're wasting your breath; they won't change their minds."

"Well, I care, Serafina," Lupin said gently. "And I think you're wrong; I think people can change their minds. I always hid the fact that I was a werewolf because I thought people would hate and fear me. But here I am, teaching at Hogwarts."

"No thanks to Snape," one of the Gryffindors muttered under their breath.

Lupin smiled. "Actually, Professor Snape did me a favor." The entire class stared at him in shock; even Serafina allowed a little surprise to creep into her usually expressionless face. "After he exposed the fact that I was a werewolf, I found out who my real friends were. Some people rejected me, it is true, but others stood by me, more than I thought would. I'm sure some of you were frightened when you first heard, but still, you have welcomed me back as your teacher. That is because you have learned to see me as a person, and not just a werewolf. You should also learn to see your classmates as people, as individuals, and not just as Slytherins or Gryffindors, or the children of Death Eaters."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, then Lupin resumed the lesson. The much-subdued class went through a second round of attacks, and this time, most of them, even Brad, did much better. Lupin congratulated them on their progress and doled out points; Slytherin came out slightly ahead, due to Gryffindor's lost points, and because Damien, Dylan, and Serafina had each earned extra points for conjuring a full Patronus. But Dylan left class feeling a little uneasy as he wondered why his Patronus should have disturbed Lupin so deeply.
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Lupin used the short break between classes to go to his office and compose himself. He felt warm breath on his cheek, and realized that Soot was nuzzling him in concern. He absent-mindedly petted the elemental, getting soot all over his hand, which didn't really bother him, because his hair and robes were already covered with black streaks and smudges anyway, from Soot perching on his shoulder and hiding under his hair. It would have been easier to find a boggart rather than have Branwen go through the trouble of summoning up an elemental, but Lupin was afraid of what form the boggart might take. Dylan's worst fear was probably Voldemort, and more damningly, Lupin's worst fear was no longer the moon...he suspected that the boggart would probably take the form of a slain Severus Snape when he faced it, and that would be a dead giveaway as to his true feelings for Severus. Not to mention that Lupin had no desire to see even an illusion of his lover lying dead on the floor.

Lupin was badly shaken by the sight of Dylan's rose Patronus, which brought to mind Miyako's vision of bloody roses, and Kingsley Shacklebolt's story about flowers on the Rosier estate that attacked all intruders. He should be pleased that Dylan was able to cast a full Patronus, because no doubt he would need all the protection he could get, but he could not shake the feeling that the silver rose had been a very ominous portent...
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It was a Friday night in early October, and Snape was relaxing in his quarters with Lupin. They were sitting on the couch sharing a bottle of wine, and Snape had just set down his glass so he could lean over to kiss Lupin, when suddenly a burning pain erupted in his left arm.

"Severus! Are you all right?"

Snape looked up to see Lupin's blue eyes gazing at him anxiously. He forced himself to sit up straight and unclench his fingers from around his forearm; he did not remember doubling over in pain and grabbing his arm, but apparently he had. "Yes," he hissed, but Lupin didn't appear to be comforted.

"Is it...Voldemort?"

In reply, Snape pulled up the sleeve of his robe; the Dark Mark on his arm had turned a deep black and was clearly visible.

"Oh, Severus," Lupin whispered, reaching out to touch it. Snape knew from experience that it was burning hot to the touch; Lupin flinched slightly but did not pull away. He caressed the Mark, then kissed it, and the gentle touch of Lupin's lips seemed to ease the pain slightly. "You weren't expecting this, were you?"

"Not at this moment, no," Snape said, "but I have been expecting a summons for some time now. He hinted during the summer that he wanted to see Dylan again..."

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and Dylan's frightened voice called out, "Professor Snape?"

"I'll be right there, Rosier," Snape called back. "Go hide in the bedroom," he whispered to Lupin, who nodded and obeyed, closing the door behind him.
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Dylan was in his room, playing Exploding Snap with his friends, when suddenly it felt like his left forearm had caught fire. He cried out, and at the very last second, realizing what it must be, managed to stop himself from clutching at his arm. His friends were Slytherins, and Theodore was the son of a Death Eater, and grabbing his arm would be a dead giveaway that he himself was a Death Eater. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his stomach.

"Dylan!" Damien exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

"No," Dylan said, not having to feign a groan of pain. "I think I'm sick."

"What's wrong?" Blaise asked anxiously. "Do you have a stomachache?"

Damien frowned. "Snape made us test our potions on ourselves today, but Dylan never makes mistakes in Potions class..."

"I must have done something wrong," Dylan said. "Or maybe one of the Gryffindors poisoned my dinner."

"Maybe you'd better go to the hospital wing," Blaise suggested.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," Dylan said.

"Want me to go with you?" Damien asked.

"No, no, I'll be fine," Dylan said hastily.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, really, I'm sure it's nothing," Dylan replied. "I probably just ate too much candy before dinner. I'll just get Madam Pomfrey to give me a tonic."

"Well, if you're sure..."

As Dylan left, he noticed Theodore staring at him with a worried and suspicious look on his face. Theo was no idiot; he probably suspected the truth, but Dylan didn't have time to think about that now. He ran, not to the hospital wing, but to Snape's quarters and knocked on the door urgently. "Professor Snape?"

"I'll be right there, Rosier," Snape answered, and a moment later, his teacher answered the door and ushered him in.

"Professor," Dylan said, pulling up the sleeve of his robe.

"I know," Snape said. "I felt it, too. Wait here a moment while I get our robes." Snape went into the next room, presumably the bedroom, and closed the door behind him. Dylan paced back and forth in the sitting room, wondering what was taking Snape so long, then suddenly he noticed something odd. There were TWO wineglasses sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch, along with a half-empty bottle of wine. Had Snape had company tonight? Had that person left, or was he or she hiding in the bedroom? But who on earth could Snape's mysterious companion be? Dylan couldn't really picture Snape sitting around sharing a friendly drink with anyone on the staff...
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Snape fetched his Death Eater robe from the back of his closet, along with the smaller one that he'd had made for Dylan over the summer. Lupin opened his mouth, but Snape laid a finger across it to silence him. "I only have a minute," he whispered, "so listen carefully. I want you to go to Black's house and wait for me. If anything goes wrong, I'll take the boy there; Dumbledore has given me special dispensation to bring Dylan there in the event of an emergency." He didn't know if Dumbledore had informed Black of that little matter, but that wasn't Snape's problem. "It's the safest place I can think of, other than this school, and I can't Apparate directly into the castle. I'm not going to waste time hiking across the grounds if Dylan is injured or if I have a pack of Death Eaters chasing after me."

Lupin nodded. "Should I gather reinforcements?" he asked softly.

Snape paused to consider. "I don't really think that will be necessary, but perhaps you can take Branwen with you, just in case. And inform the Headmaster where I've gone, and that I've taken Dylan." Lupin nodded again. "Hopefully, nothing will go wrong, and we'll simply return to the school, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Either way, I'll send you a message as soon as I can."

"Be careful, Severus," Lupin whispered. "Come back to me."

"As soon as I can, Remus," Snape replied.

"I love you, Severus," Lupin whispered fiercely, throwing his arms around Snape.

"I love you, too, Remus," Snape said, returning the embrace. He held his lover tightly for a moment, then reluctantly let him go, giving him a quick kiss before returning to Dylan.
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Snape emerged after a couple of minutes, carrying two black robes. "A gift for you, Rosier," he said with a mirthless smile, holding one out to Dylan. It had a black hood, with two eye-slits, that could be pulled down over the face. "Put it on after we get off the school grounds."

They left Snape's quarters and went down a dungeon corridor that led to a dead end. Snape touched three bricks in the wall in quick succession, and a secret door slid open. "You are not to use this passageway unless I am with you, or in a life-or-death emergency, because I will kill you myself if I catch you sneaking out on some boyish prank, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Dylan replied. Sneaking out of the castle held little appeal for him; he would much rather stay in school, safe and sound, protected by his teachers, especially tonight.

"I'll show you how to get back in, too," Snape said grimly. "Just in case...something happens...and you have to return alone."

Dylan turned sheet-white. He had the feeling that if "something happened" to Snape, his chances of returning to Hogwarts would be next to nil, anyway.

"Of course," Snape continued, "I expect to be returning with you, but it's always best to be prepared."

"Yes, sir," Dylan whispered.

"Remember your Occlumency lessons, and remember to keep control of your emotions."

"Yes, sir."

"And stay alert. If..." Snape hesitated. "If anything goes wrong, I may have to Apparate us out of there. If I say, 'to me,' I want you to run to my side instantly, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Dylan repeated miserably. {Why did I ever want to be a Death Eater?} he asked himself despairingly.

"Control, Rosier," Snape said sternly, but he laid his hand on Dylan's shoulder for a moment, in a comforting manner.

That brief touch did give him comfort, and strength. He took a deep breath, steadied his emotions, and reinforced his mental walls. Snape nodded approvingly, and they continued down the passageway.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Snape Apparated himself and the boy blindly, following the call of the Dark Mark. He found that they had not reappeared in the Dark Lord's underground chambers, but outside a large mansion. The black iron fence surrounding the mansion was flecked with rust, and the grounds were overgrown with rosebushes, the vines growing up along the walls of the house, nearly obscuring it from view. Two dark-robed figures stepped forward out of the shadows.

"Where are we?" Dylan whispered nervously.

Voldemort threw back the hood of his robe and smiled. "Do you not recognize it, Dylan? Ah, but that's right--you have never seen it before. This is your ancestral home, the Rosier estate."

"My father's home?" Dylan asked, and his eyes widened as he stared at the mansion.

Snape frowned at the almost eager tone of his voice. It was natural for the boy to be fascinated by his father's home, but he hoped that Dylan wouldn't forget the danger they were in. The Dark Lord would not have summoned them here just so that the boy could bond with his father's memory.

"There were a couple of Aurors keeping surveillance on the mansion," Voldemort said in an almost casual voice. "I had to have some of the others provide a distraction to lure them away. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Severus?"

"No, my Lord," Snape replied in a level voice. "But Mad-Eye Moody is convinced that Dylan will follow in his father's footsteps. He has tried to persuade Dumbledore that the boy cannot be trusted, and I suppose it is possible that he got some of his contacts at the Ministry to take him seriously. It is a logical assumption that Dylan might one day go to his father's estate, and try to claim whatever spellbooks or magical items there might be in the mansion. I'm sure Moody has visions of Dark Magic items lying about for the taking..."

"Perhaps," Voldemort agreed, although he didn't sound convinced. "I wonder why...my source...at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement heard nothing of this."

Snape grinned beneath the hood of his robe; Voldemort's "source" was Gwydion Donner, of course. He maliciously hoped that Donner would get in trouble for not keeping his Master properly informed.

"No one has been able to enter the estate for over fifteen years," Voldemort said to Dylan, "since your father's parents died. You see, only a Rosier can safely bypass the guardians." He motioned towards the rosebushes. "Though many have tried, to their detriment." He gave the Death Eater standing next to him a pointed look.

"I was only trying to obtain that which you desired, Master," Bellatrix Lestrange said sullenly, and suddenly Snape understood how she had sustained the injuries that had nearly killed her during the summer. She had tried to break into the Rosier mansion, and had been attacked by the magical roses; the scratches and puncture wounds were not bite and claw marks, but had been caused by the thorns of the rosebushes.

"You were trying to redeem yourself in my eyes after your failure to obtain the Prophecy!" Voldemort snapped. "And you failed yet again! You are a fool, Bellatrix; I told you no one but Dylan could get past the roses, but you did not believe me. I should have let you die for your stupidity and insolence, and I would have, had not most of your comrades been in Azkaban!"

No Death Eater was foolish enough to talk back to the Dark Lord, and Bellatrix bowed her head humbly, but Snape could feel her seething with anger and resentment. He would have to watch her carefully to make sure she did not try to take out her resentment on Dylan later.

"So you see," Voldemort said, motioning for Dylan to step forward, "I have a very important task for you. Lead the way, child, and claim what is yours by right of birth."

"I am honored, my Lord," Dylan said in a steady voice. He stepped forward and hesitantly reached out to touch the gates. They, along with the fence, were made of black iron bars topped with sharp spikes, and the lock in the center of the gate was wrought in the shape of a rose. As soon as he touched it, the rose-shaped stone in his ring began to glow red, and the gates swung upon with a loud creak. Dylan jumped a little, then took a deep breath, and stepped through the gates. The roses pulled back with a soft, rustling noise, clearing a path for him. Dylan nervously followed that path to the house, and his companions followed behind him. The roses let them pass, although Snape noticed that roses were drawing back together after they had gone by, closing off any possible avenue of escape.

They reached the front door; there was a knocker on it shaped--of course--like a rose. Before Dylan could even touch the door it soundlessly swung open, and they entered the house, finding themselves inside a dark hallway.

"Who dares enter the House of Rosier?" a deep voice boomed, and Dylan jumped back with a start, pulling his wand out of his robes.

Snape jumped a little, too, but he recognized the voice. "It's all right," he said softly. "That is your great-grandfather." He took out his own wand and said, "Lumos." The tip of the wand lit with a dim glow, illuminating the hall just enough so that they could make out the portraits hanging on the wall. An elderly man was glaring out of one of them; his features bore a resemblance to Dylan's, and despite his white hair and wrinkles, he was still handsome, but there was a cold hardness to his dark eyes that gave him a menacing appearance.

Dylan pulled back his hood and said boldly, "I am Dylan Rosier, son of Evan, and I have every right to be here!"

The elder Rosier peered more closely at him. "Evan's boy? I did not know he had a son, but we have been cut off from the outside world for many years. You certainly look like him, and the roses would never have let you pass, otherwise. I suppose he got you upon that Ravenclaw girl he took up with." His voice turned scornful. "I knew no good would come of that, but did Evan listen? No, he was always a stubborn, willful--"

"Those are my parents you're talking about," Dylan said in a cold voice as he raised his wand threateningly. "Speak of them with respect, or I'll--"

"Or you'll what?" the portrait sneered. "Blast me into pieces? A young whelp like you? You haven't the power for that."

"But I do," Voldemort said in a dangerously soft voice as he stepped forward into view of the portrait. "Hello, Armand."

"You!" Armand Rosier gasped, a hint of fear entering his voice. Then his eyes filled with hatred and he hissed in a low voice, "You were the one who got my grandson killed!"

"Aurors killed your grandson," Voldemort said coolly, "not I."

"They killed him because he was fool enough to join your cause," Armand snarled.

"As I recall, once upon a time, you did not think my cause was foolish."

"Would I like to see the world rid of Mudbloods and half-breeds?" Armand retorted. "Yes, of course! But to make open war upon the wizarding world was a fool's errand. It was too dangerous, and I told Evan so, but he did not listen. I told his parents to stop him, but they always overindulged the boy and had no control over him! And they, too, were enamored of your ideals..." Suddenly Armand's voice changed from angry to bitter and weary. "Their deaths, too, I lay at your feet. This house lies empty and abandoned because of you. Are you now going to get my very last descendant killed, Voldemort?"

Voldemort laid a hand on Dylan's shoulder; Dylan turned pale, but did not object. "I intend to take good care of Dylan," he purred. "He is, after all, the son of one my most loyal followers, who died rather than betray me." He caressed Dylan's cheek with his white, bony fingers, and the boy trembled, not quite able to hide the fear in his silver-gray eyes. "You are eager to serve me, are you not, Dylan?"

"Yes, Master," Dylan whispered.

"You are a fool, boy," Armand said.

"Serve me well, child, and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams," Voldemort said, in a voice rich with promise, and Snape remembered how persuasive that voice had seemed to a couple of Slytherin boys who were eager for power and revenge.

"Your only reward will be death," Armand said in a hollow voice.

"You are wrong," Bellatrix said defiantly. "Those who oppose the Dark Lord are the ones who will die!"

"That voice I recognize," Armand said slowly. "Bellatrix Black...no, it's Lestrange now, isn't it? One of Evan's foolish friends..." His eyes turned to Snape. "And you..."

Snape glanced at Voldemort, who nodded slightly, and he pulled back his hood from his face.

"Judging by that nose," Armand said dryly, "you must be a Snape. Yes, I remember you now; Evan brought you by the house a few times. Severin, was it...?"

"Severus," Snape growled.

"Why are you still alive when your friend, my grandson, is dead, Severus?" Armand asked coldly.

"Severus does not answer to you," Voldemort said sharply. "He and your great-grandson answer only to me. This has been amusing, Armand, but we have no more time to chat with you tonight."

Armand stared back at him with defiant and despairing eyes. "You are using my great-grandson to get your hands on the treasure of the Rosier House!"

Voldemort pointed his wand at the portrait, and Armand vanished, leaving behind a blank canvas. The Dark Lord pocketed his wand and laughed scornfully. "You are a coward despite all your bold talk, Armand!"

"Wh--what should I do next, my Lord?" Dylan stammered.

"What we want is upstairs, on the very top floor. Severus, perhaps you can help him find his way."

Snape nodded, and still holding his lit wand aloft, said, "The staircase is this way."

There were other portraits lining the walls of the hallway, but the people in them quickly averted their eyes as the Death Eaters and their Master passed by. "Are any of these my father's parents?" Dylan asked Snape softly.

Snape looked at the paintings and shook his head. "No, I don't think they ever had portraits made of themselves. No one expected them to die so young."

Everything in the house was covered with a thick layer of dust, as Dylan found out when he placed his hand on the bannister of the staircase. He quickly jerked his hand back and wiped it on his robe. There were also cobwebs hanging in corners and from the dusty chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. They saw no sign of the spiders that had spun them, though; they saw no sign of anything living in the house other than themselves. Finally, they reached the topmost landing, and found their way barred by a door that was painted black and covered with red runes of warding.

"It will open for the heir of the house," Voldemort said, and Dylan placed his hand on the doorknob. His ring briefly glowed red again, and the doorknob turned easily under his hand. The door opened into a small room that appeared to be a wizard's workshop. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with spellbooks and tomes on Dark Magic, and there was a long table that held beakers and bowls and jars filled with ingredients that had long ago dried up and turned to dust. On a small round table in one corner of the room sat a black ceramic flowerpot painted with the Rosier crest, a red rose in bloom. Growing up out of the pot was a single white rosebud, its petals still tightly furled.

"Pick up the flowerpot, Dylan," Voldemort ordered. "Be careful to touch only the pot, and not the flower."

Dylan looked a little puzzled, no doubt wondering why the Dark Lord had gone to all this trouble just to retrieve a flower, but he knew better than to question his Master's orders. "Yes, my Lord," he said obediently, and carefully picked up the flowerpot. The rosebud quivered a little when his hands touched the pot, and Dylan stared at it apprehensively.

"We must leave now, quickly," Voldemort said. "There is a spell on the house and grounds preventing anyone but a Rosier from Apparating in or out."

They went back down the stairs, Dylan carefully holding the flowerpot in front of him. Armand was back in his portrait; he frowned unhappily as they left, but said nothing. As soon as they were outside of the gates, Voldemort said, "I will go first, and summon you to me."

Voldemort had not entrusted his followers--at least, he had not entrusted Snape--with the exact location of his hideout; they knew only that it appeared to be an underground complex of rooms, perhaps a hidden system of caverns, or the basement of some old, ruined manor. Thus, Voldemort always summoned them by using their Dark Marks, which allowed them to Apparate blindly to their Master's side. Voldemort Disapparated, and a moment later Snape felt his Mark burn. Dylan winced, but was careful not to drop the flowerpot. Bellatrix vanished, and Snape put an arm around Dylan, pulling him close--though he was careful not to touch the rosebud--and Disapparated as well.

They re-emerged in the usual place, Voldemort's underground chambers. Bellatrix was there, as well as a few other Death Eaters, but--since there was no cry of shock and outrage when they saw Dylan--Snape assumed that the Donner brothers were not among them.

"Do you know what you are holding, Dylan?" Voldemort asked.

"No, my Lord," Dylan replied.

"That is the great treasure of the Rosier family, which can be safely wielded only by the head of the clan," the Dark Lord said, smiling with amusement as his Death Eaters gasped in shock. No one wanted to ask the obvious question, but Voldemort knew what they were thinking. "It doesn't look like much, does it? That is because it is dormant. Set the pot down in that corner, child." Dylan obeyed, kneeling down to set the flowerpot on the floor in the far corner of the room. "The blood of a Rosier is required to awaken its powers," Voldemort said; Snape did not much like the sound of that. "Reach out and touch the thorns on the rose, Dylan."

Dylan's gray eyes flickered nervously to Snape, and Voldemort frowned. Praying that he was not making a fatal mistake, Snape said sharply, "What are you looking at me for, boy? Your Master gave you an order!"

Dylan quickly reached out and touched the stem of the rose, allowing the thorns to prick his fingers. He cried out in pain, and thin trickles of blood began running down his hand--more blood than should be flowing from such small wounds. But no one other than Snape seemed to notice, because the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord were captivated by the sight of the rosebud, which slowly turned from white to pink to deep red, and its petals opened and unfurled; it was now a rose in full bloom.

The Dark Lord let out a little sigh of satisfaction, and Dylan tried to pull his hand away from the flower, but the thorns had bitten deeply into his fingers and would not let go. An increasing sense of franticness filled his eyes as he tried unsuccessfully to tug his hand loose, then suddenly the stem of the rose began to lengthen and put out offshoots; soon it was not a single flower but a series of long vines bearing one red rose and several white rosebuds; the black flowerpot also seemed to expand in size to accommodate the growing plant. The vines snapped out like whips, wrapping themselves around Dylan's arms and torso, and the boy screamed in terror.

Snape started to reach for his wand, but Voldemort's crimson eyes instantly shifted from the rose vines to Snape. "No, Severus," he said sternly, then smiled. It was not a reassuring sight. "Become fond of the boy, have you?" he asked in a light, almost joking tone, but his eyes were watching Snape carefully. "It is not like you to be so sentimental, Severus. Are you worried about your young student?"

Snape let his hand drop back to his side, and said in a sour voice, "I am more worried about what will happen if I return to the school with a bloodless corpse." The rose vines' long, needle-like thorns had torn right through Dylan's robes to bite into his flesh; he was drenched in blood, and still screaming and struggling wildly. Snape fought to ignore those screams and remain outwardly calm and emotionless. "It would be difficult to explain a student's death or disappearance," Snape continued, as if he were speaking of a minor annoyance. "Are the roses really supposed to be doing that? It rather defeats the purpose of having a family treasure if that treasure kills the last living heir."

Voldemort chuckled, as if reassured by Snape's response. "I don't want the boy to die anymore than you do, Severus; I need him to control the roses. But they have been dormant for many, many years--possibly generations, and they are thirsty. There is a reason why Dylan's grandparents never used this weapon, not even when they set out on their suicidal mission of revenge after Evan was killed. The roses will obey the true head of the family once they have tasted that person's blood, but will kill one who is weak or unworthy. Family legend has it that the roses were gifted to the founder of the Rosier clan by a demon, and it is indeed the sort of double-edged gift that a demon might find amusing. But since young Dylan is the last surviving member of the family, and he does seem to be quite a strong-willed lad, I do not think the roses will kill him."

Snape did not want to leave Dylan's life up to chance, and might have broken his cover to rescue Dylan and take him to safety, but with Voldemort alerted and watching him so closely, he knew that he had little chance of succeeding. To his great relief, the vines released Dylan and let him fall limply to the floor; they settled back quiescently into their pot, now bearing a dozen healthy-looking blood-red roses.

Snape cautiously approached--he wanted to run, but did not dare let the Dark Lord or the Death Eaters see how concerned he was about the boy--and dragged Dylan out of reach of the roses. The boy was pale, but still conscious, and he whispered, "Professor..."

Voldemort leaned down to examine Dylan. "He lost a lot of blood, but he should live," he said in a dispassionate voice. Then he reached into his robes, took out a small glass flask, and filled it with blood from one of the still-flowing wounds on Dylan's arm.

{Control,} Snape thought to himself, reinforcing his mental walls, ruthlessly suppressing his emotions. He could not afford to feel anger, horror, or outrage right now; that would have to wait till later. But he knew what Voldemort must want the blood for; the Dark Lord would want to control such a powerful Dark Magic weapon himself, and not have to rely on a teenaged boy to do it for him. He would use Dylan's blood in an attempt to create a spell or potion that would allow him to control the roses directly, without having to use an intermediary. "Dylan," Voldemort said, "break off one of the blossoms for me. Just the blossom, mind you, and not the stem or thorns." Dylan hesitated, eyes still filled with fear, but for once the Dark Lord did not punish that hesitation, and said almost indulgently, "The roses acknowledge you as their master now; they will not harm you."

"Yes, my Lord," Dylan said. He crawled back to the roses--he was so weak that Snape had to support him--and reached out and grasped one of the red blossoms; it broke off easily, almost falling into his palm, and the vines remained quiet and still. Voldemort's words were true, it seemed. Dylan placed the rose into the Dark Lord's eagerly outstretched hand.

"You did very well, Dylan; I am pleased with you," Voldemort said approvingly. "I am sure your father would be proud of you."

"Thank you, my Lord," Dylan replied in a soft but steady voice, sounding genuinely flattered. "I am honored to serve you."

He didn't know if Evan would have been proud of Dylan, but Snape knew that he was very proud of the boy. He had been attacked and nearly killed by demonic roses, had lost so much blood that he couldn't even walk, but he still managed to stay in control of himself and keep up the appearance of a loyal Death Eater.

"You may go now, Severus," Voldemort said, now more concerned with the flower and flask of blood than he was with the bleeding boy lying on the floor at his feet. His crimson eyes had a distracted look to them; no doubt he was eager to begin his magical research. As usual, once he had what he wanted, he showed little concern for the minion who had been wounded in his service. "You had best get Mr. Rosier back to school and tend to his wounds."

"Yes, my Lord," Snape said. He bowed to his Master, then gathered Dylan into his arms and Disapparated.
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Sirius missed Lupin and Branwen and the children when they left in the fall. He was so lonely and bored that he even missed arguing with Snape, for Merlin's sake! So he was happy to have the company of the little hob, who made the house a much nicer place to live in. The house seemed brighter and more cheerful somehow, even though a hob had only very small magics. Faded, peeling wallpaper was magically repaired and its colors restored--no changed, to colors more cheerful than Mrs. Black would ever have allowed in her home. Similarly, moth-eaten curtains and worn-out carpeting soon looked like new, and Hob drew back the heavy drapes from the windows to let the sunlight in. (A spell, cast by Sirius's paranoid father, allowed the occupants of the house to look out through the windows, but people from the outside could not see in.) Sirius thought that his mother's portrait would have a fit when she saw what Hob was doing to her house, and indeed she did loudly object the first time she saw him in her hallway, but Hob's little repairs lessened the chances of noises awakening her, and the comfortable, homey air that Hob's presence created seemed to send the portraits into a dormant slumber.

Sirius considered moving to Hogsmeade to be closer to Harry and the others, but he did not want to leave Hob behind; a hob would not be happy in an empty house, and Sirius felt grateful to Hob, who had brightened his gloomy home, and always had the fire started and a pot of tea ready when Sirius woke up in the morning, and who would play chess with Sirius in the evenings to ease his loneliness even though hobs didn't really care for such games. Of course, a hob was bound more to his people than a particular place, so he could take Hob with him if he moved, but when Sirius went down to Hogsmeade to look at apartments, he did not like the reaction he got...

Sirius and Hob were playing chess one evening in the drawing room. Hob was puffing contentedly on his pipe in between sipping a cup of tea and nibbling on a chocolate-covered biscuit; the little household spirit had a sweet-tooth as strong as Snape's. He moved his chess pieces seemingly at random, with no thought to strategy, but a hob's luck was so strong that occasionally he won a game through sheer good luck. Sirius heaved a heavy sigh.

"Mister--excuse me, Sirius--is unhappy?" Hob asked anxiously.

"Just bored, I suppose," Sirius sighed. "I miss Harry and Branwen and the others."

"The house is quiet without them," Hob agreed. "Wasn't Sirius thinking of moving to Hogsmeade, though? Hob does not mind; Hob can keep house anywhere."

Sirius sighed again. "There's no point to it, really. Harry and the others are too busy with school; I wouldn't be able to see them except on the weekends, and maybe not even then if they have a big project to work on. But mainly..." Sirius grimaced. "But mainly, I didn't like the reception I got when I went to Hogsmeade the other week. Even though my name has been cleared, people still look at me fearfully, and cross the street when they see me coming. They act like they think I'm still a murderer."

Hob looked uncomfortable; such problems were beyond his powers to solve. "That will change with time," he said, sounding hopeful but not at all certain of that. "But it isn't really good for Sirius to be alone, with only a hob for company. Perhaps the Mister should find himself a Missus, and perhaps have a few Babies?"

Sirius had to chuckle at the even more hopeful expression on Hob's face; a hob was not really happy unless he had a family to take care of. "Well, maybe someday," he said, then smiled wryly. "It's not like there are a lot of women standing in line to be the next Mrs. Black."

Before Hob could reply, they heard the front door open and slam shut. Sirius jumped to his feet, grabbing his wand, and Hob vanished. A minute later, Lupin and Branwen walked into the room.

"Oh, it's you," Sirius said with relief, pocketing his wand, and Hob became visible again. "What's up?" Sirius frowned. "This isn't just a friendly visit, is it?''

Branwen looked solemn, and Lupin looked pale and worried. "Severus has been summoned by Voldemort--along with Dylan. He told us to come and wait here in case--" Lupin's voice faltered for a moment. "In case anything goes wrong."

Sirius was not too thrilled about Snape using his house as a refuge, but he could hardly object, since it was the Phoenix headquarters. Besides, Lupin looked troubled enough as it was, without Sirius adding to his burden by behaving selfishly, as he had done in the past. So he swallowed his objections and motioned for his friends to take a seat on the couch, and without being bidden, Hob quietly fetched two more cups of tea and another plate of biscuits. The tea went mostly untouched, and Bane ate most of the biscuits. Branwen and Lupin attempted to make small talk about school, but their efforts fell flat, and they finally gave up and waited in silence. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably an hour or two, the front door slammed again and they heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase. As the three wizards jumped to their feet, Snape entered the room, carrying Dylan Rosier in his arms; the boy's robes were torn and soaked with blood.
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Dylan was just barely conscious; he could see and hear, but everything seemed hazy and somehow removed, as if it were being filtered through a thick glass window that muffled and distorted sight and sound.

"Oh my God!" an unfamiliar voice exclaimed; it belonged to a tall man with long, dark hair.

"Severus, are you all right?" Professor Lupin cried. "What happened?!" Dylan frowned; what was Lupin doing here? Where were they, anyway? This didn't look like Hogwarts...

"Lay him down here," Professor Blackmore said. Maybe they were at Hogwarts, after all...

"Shacklebolt's guess was right, after all," Snape said. "The Dark Lord wanted to use Dylan to get his hands on a weapon--some sort of vampiric roses that require the blood of a Rosier to waken their powers. I think they drank more blood than they should have; the Dark Lord said they were dormant for a long time..."

Professor Blackmore looked down at Dylan, her green eyes filled with concern, and she touched his face gently, the way his mother would have. He blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating. "This is bad," she said. "The wounds are not fatal, but they are not healing properly, and he has lost a lot of blood. I sense the taint of Dark Magic, possibly even demonic magic...maybe Dedalus Diggle wasn't just talking through his nose after all, when he said the Rosiers were once demon-worshippers..."

"Perhaps we should take him to St. Mungo's," Lupin suggested.

"Only as a last resort," Snape said. "They will ask questions we cannot--or should not--answer about how he got these wounds."

"If we do nothing," Blackmore said, "he will not die, but he will be a long time healing, and in a great deal of pain--for weeks, perhaps. He needs magical healing, and none of us are true Healers. But there is one spell..." She exchanged a significant look with Snape.

"Sanguis Sanatio," Snape said quietly, and Blackmore nodded.

Sanguis Sanatio...Blood Healing? Dylan had heard of that spell, had read about it in the Dark Magic books his mother had secretly given him. It was blood magic, Dark Magic, and banned by the Ministry of Magic.

"Hob, fetch me a knife, please," Snape said, and suddenly a round little man less than three feet high appeared out of nowhere and handed Snape a paring knife.

"It's too dangerous for you to perform the spell on yourself," Lupin said in a tone sterner than any he had ever used on his students. "You nearly killed yourself when you healed Sirius, and I won't let you do it again!"

Sirius? That name sounded familiar...and suddenly he connected the name with the face of the strange man who was hovering over him along with Snape, Lupin, and Blackmore. It was Sirius Black, whose picture Dylan had seen in the Daily Prophet, along with an accompanying story about how the supposed mass-murderer had really been innocent all along. Snape had healed Sirius Black with a Blood Healing spell? That made no sense at all...

"The spell is less dangerous if Severus performs it on a separate donor," Blackmore was saying in a soothing voice.

"Then I will be the donor," Lupin said.

"No," Snape said firmly. "Even though you're only supposed to be contagious during the full moon, we don't know what effect the transfusion of a werewolf's blood might have on the boy. And things are complicated enough as it is without having Dylan turn furry on us every month."

"SNAPE!" Sirius Black yelled, giving Professor Snape an evil look.

Snape glared back at him, but flushed slightly and said to Lupin apologetically, "Sorry, you know I didn't mean it that way--"

Was Snape actually apologizing to Lupin?! Dylan decided that he really must be hallucinating, probably from blood loss...

Lupin just chuckled. "'Turn furry'--I actually kind of like that description!" Sirius Black rolled his eyes.

"Then I'll do it," Blackmore volunteered.

"Meaning no offense, but you are not entirely human, Branwen," said Snape. "I don't know what effect demon blood would have on him, either. Possibly none, but I don't care to use Dylan as a guinea pig."

"Demon blood?" Dylan whispered, but so softly that none of the adults heard him. So the rumors about Professor Blackmore were true after all!

"Then who will you use as the donor?" Lupin asked in frustration.

"Branwen can perform the spell on me," Snape started to reply, but Sirius Black interrupted him.

"I'll do it," Black said, then scowled at Snape's shocked expression. "I owe you one, and quite frankly, I don't like being in your debt, Snape."

Snape recovered quickly. "Fine. But don't think that this makes us even. You still owe me."

"Argue later, you two," Professor Blackmore snapped.

Black held out his arm, and Snape made a shallow cut on his wrist with the paring knife. Then Snape raised his wand and said, "Sanguis Sanatio!" Blood dripped into Dylan's mouth, and for a moment he almost gagged, but then suddenly it tasted better than anything he had ever tasted in his life; it was hot and rich and salty-sweet, and he found himself drinking it eagerly. He drank, as if in a drugged stupor, and he felt the pain receding from his body. Then the flow of blood ceased, and Dylan looked up and saw Snape's black eyes staring down at him. Surely those were not tears he saw shining in the Potions Master's eyes; it must be a trick of the light... Then Snape touched his cheek, as gently as Blackmore had, and said softly, "You'll be all right, Rosier," and Dylan lost consciousness and knew no more...
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hob watched in horror and dismay as Snape, the one whom he thought of as the Dark Man, turned up with a badly wounded boy in his arms. The boy was not one of the children who had lived in the house earlier, but all the wizards seemed to recognize him. The Dark Man ordered Hob to fetch him a knife, and Hob obeyed, then in an almost offhand remark, Snape revealed that Lady Blackmore had demon blood! So that was why she radiated such a strong aura of power! But how could Lady Blackmore be a demon when she wasn't evil? The thought was making poor Hob's head spin. Then, further confusing him, Snape and Sirius performed a Dark Magic spell to heal the wounded boy. But the Dark Man's hand trembled with relief as he caressed the boy's face, then gently lifted the child in his arms and carried him to the rooms he and Lupin shared. Whatever else Lady Blackmore and the Dark Man might be, they were not evil, Hob decided, and that was all he needed to know. Lupin and Snape stripped off the boy's bloody robes, and Hob fetched a basin of warm water, some towels, and a clean nightshirt; the two wizards smiled at him gratefully. They bathed and dressed the boy, and tucked him into bed.

"I should go inform Dumbledore and the boy's family about what has happened," the Dark Man said in a weary voice. "Though I don't much fancy telling Ariane what I let the Dark Lord do to her son."

"Branwen or I can take care of that, Severus," Lupin said, holding Snape's hands between his own.

"Are you sure?" the Dark Man asked, but he sounded relieved. "I really should be the one to go; after all, I am responsible for him..."

"You can face the Donner family's wrath later," Lupin said firmly. "You are the one Dylan is closest to, so you should stay here with him. What happened tonight is enough to give anyone nightmares, and you should be here at his side in case he needs comfort and reassurance."

"All right, Lupin," the Dark Man said, sounding too tired to argue.

"I'll be back later, my love," Lupin said, kissing Snape on the cheek, then he left the room.

Hob whispered a small charm of blessing to ease the boy's pain and help him sleep peacefully, then blended into the shadows in a corner of the room, invisible to human eyes, even those of a wizard, and settled down to keep watch over this new member of his household. The Dark Man pulled a chair up next to the bed to watch over the boy as well, but Hob's charm seemed to be working on him, too, because he kept yawning and his eyelids kept drooping, and finally they closed and remained shut as he slumped back in his chair. Eventually, the slow, even breathing of the two humans lulled Hob to sleep as well.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dylan woke up, feeling weak and groggy, to find himself in an unfamiliar bed. He looked over, and to his surprise, saw Professor Snape slouched down in a chair next to him, fast asleep. Dylan had vague, hazy memories of being attacked by the roses, and being carried to a strange house where he was healed by Snape...and Sirius Black? Had Snape been watching over him all this time, while he slept? Perhaps he was still asleep, and this would all turn out to be a dream...

Then Professor Lupin opened the door and tiptoed in, carrying a blanket over one arm. To Dylan's further shock, Lupin smiled tenderly at Professor Snape and carefully draped the blanket over him, tucking it securely around his shoulders, then bent down and kissed Snape on the forehead. Snape did not stir or wake, but a contented smile--one that Dylan had never seen before--spread across his face.

Dylan felt like an idiot as he suddenly realized what the expression on the young Snape's face had been in his Occlumency memories; it had not been hatred, or at least, not solely hatred, although there might have been some of that mixed in. No, it had been obsession and desperation and longing...hitting Dylan like a ton of bricks was the realization that Professor Snape had been--still was?--in love with Lupin!

"Professor," Dylan whispered, his sleepy voice slurring the word slightly. But Lupin understood him, or maybe was just reacting to the sound of his voice, because he looked up, startled, and said, "Dylan? You're awake?"

"Y-you? And Pr-professor Snape?" Dylan stammered. He tried to sit up, but Lupin reached out and stopped him.

"No, lie back," Lupin said, gently grasping Dylan's shoulders and easing him back down on the bed. "You need to rest."

Dylan gave in readily, since his attempt to rise had made him dizzy. He felt the bed sag slightly as Lupin sat down next to him. "What's going on?" he whispered. "Where am I? What are you doing here? And did I really see Professor Blackmore and Sirius Black?"

Lupin glanced over at Snape, apparently worried about waking him up, but the Potions Master was still sleeping soundly. "You're in a safe place," Lupin said softly. He hesitated for a long moment, then seemed to reach a decision. "This house belongs to my friend, Sirius Black. It's very well-protected; that's why Professor Snape brought you here. And yes, Professor Blackmore was here earlier, although she returned to Hogwarts once we knew you would be all right."

"Why does Professor Snape pretend to hate you?" Dylan asked.

Lupin smiled sadly. "Can't you guess, Dylan? What would Voldemort do if he discovered Severus was in a relationship with a Gryffindor ally of Dumbledore?"

"Kill him," Dylan whispered. "No--he would kill you first, slowly, and make Snape watch."

"Exactly," Lupin said gravely. "Severus fears for his own life, but he fears for my safety even more. And I fear for his. That is why we keep up our little charade at school."

Dylan's thought process was dulled by fatigue, shock, and lingering pain, but finally he put all the pieces together. "Snape has been working against the Death Eaters," he said slowly. "That's why he tried to warn me off, and why he protected me after the Dark Lord Marked me." Lupin nodded encouragingly. "He...he really did repent, during the first war; he wasn't just pretending, like everyone thought. He's still working for Dumbledore. You all are. You're working together. Against the Dark Lord."

"You're a clever boy, Dylan," Lupin said. "Just like Severus says."

"If I'd been more clever," Dylan whispered, "I wouldn't have this Mark on my arm."

"Shh," Lupin said, gently brushing Dylan's hair back from his face. "You should get some rest now."

"But," he protested weakly, "my friends back at school will be wondering what happened to me--"

"The Headmaster has told everyone that you're sick." Lupin smiled. "You made a small but very crucial error in your potion that had a delayed reaction and made you very ill. You were sent back home to recuperate with your family over the weekend. Professor Snape was a close friend of your father's, so he went with you, to make sure you arrived safely and to pay his respects." He grinned. "Your mother is known to have quite a temper, or at least she did when we were all students together. And old Mathias is slow to anger, but implacable once his wrath is aroused. I think Professor Snape would be anxious to show your family how concerned he is about you, and apologize for his part in your illness; it is not wise to make an enemy of a wizard as powerful as your great-uncle." Dylan managed a small smile. "Now go back to sleep, and get some rest. We'll talk more in the morning." Lupin drew the covers up to Dylan's chin, tucking him in as if he were a small boy once again, and kissed him lightly on the forehead, as his mother often had, as he supposed his father would have done, if he had lived. It was odd, to have his two favorite teachers fussing over him and behaving as if they were his parents, but Dylan found that he didn't mind; in fact, he rather liked it... He drifted back to sleep with a smile on his face.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dylan woke to the sound of a low groan. He opened his eyes to see Professor Snape rising from the chair that sat beside the bed, rubbing his neck and back. The blanket that Lupin had draped over him had fallen to the floor.

"Professor?" Dylan asked. "Have you been here all night?"

Snape blinked, startled, and turned to look at Dylan. "Ah, you're awake, Rosier." Then he flushed a little and said gruffly, "I was just going to keep an eye on you for a little while, but I must've fallen asleep..." Just then, someone yawned, and it wasn't Snape or Dylan. They stared at each other for a moment, then Snape looked down at the floor and said, "Oh, for pity's sake!"

Dylan sat up, crawled to the foot of the bed, and peered down. Professor Lupin lay curled up on the floor in a tangle of blankets and pillow. Snape scowled down at Lupin, prodding him with his foot, and said, "Must you act like a wolf even when the moon isn't full?"

Lupin yawned and stretched, kicking away the blankets, then sat up and said, "Good morning, Severus."

"What are you doing on the floor, Lupin?" Snape asked, glaring at Lupin as if he were an errant student he had caught prowling around the dungeon after-hours.

"I just wanted to keep an eye on Dylan," Lupin replied, smiling sleepily at him. "And you."

"I don't need a werewolf to 'keep an eye' on me!" Snape snarled, his eyes flickering briefly towards Dylan.

"Good morning, Dylan," Lupin said cheerfully as he got to his feet. "How are you feeling?"

"Um...much better, Professor, thank you," Dylan replied, looking at his two teachers nervously. He wondered if he'd dreamed up last night's little incident...

"You can stop scowling at me, Severus," Lupin said, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "He already knows."

"Knows what?" Snape asked, looking a little frantic.

"I thought he was asleep," Lupin said apologetically, although his eyes were still sparkling. "I came in during the night to cover you with that blanket, and he saw me do this." Lupin reached up, pulled Snape's face down, and kissed him on the forehead.

"LUPIN!" Snape howled, his face turning red.

{Guess I wasn't dreaming...} Dylan thought.

"I thought he was asleep," Lupin repeated.

"I'm not sure I believe that, you little exhibitionist," Snape growled. "Why don't you just kiss me at the head table and get it over with?!"

"Don't tempt me, Severus," Lupin said, grinning wickedly as he eyed Snape in a decidedly non-platonic way.

Snape hastily backed away from the werewolf. "Show a little restraint, Lupin, at least in front of the boy!"

Dylan watched his two teachers, feeling very bemused. Well, he had wished earlier that Snape didn't hate Lupin so much--wasn't there an old saying that went, "Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it"?

"Oh, all right," Lupin sighed. "I suppose we wouldn't want to give Dylan a relapse."

Snape turned his glare on Dylan. "And you are not to say a word to anyone--"

"Stop growling at the boy, Severus," Lupin chided. "It's not his fault."

Dylan said earnestly, "Don't worry, Professor, I won't say anything! I know how dangerous it would be if the Dark Lord found out."

Lupin smiled approvingly. "He's a very clever boy, Severus, just as you said."

Snape just grunted irritably. "How are we explaining his absence at school?"

"The Headmaster has taken care of that," Lupin replied, then grinned. "Very convenient that you made your fifth-years test their own potions yesterday, Severus. We're blaming it on a subtle error in Dylan's potion that made him sick enough to go home for the weekend."

"That will still make people suspicious," Snape grumbled. "Dylan is my best student; he doesn't make mistakes."

Dylan flushed with pleasure at that unexpected compliment, and Lupin smiled at him. "Anyone can make a mistake. Besides, it was the best we could come up with on the spur of the moment."

Snape sighed. "It can't be helped, I suppose." Then, looking guilty, he sat down on the bed next to Dylan. "I wouldn't have brought you to the meeting last night," he said quietly, "if I had known what would happen."

"But then you'd have been in danger for defying the Dark Lord," Dylan objected. "I'm all right, really I am!"

"Are you really?" Snape asked, looking concerned. "How do you feel? Answer me honestly."

"I'm fine, really," Dylan insisted. He looked down at his hands and arms; the thorn-inflicted wounds had healed without a trace. "I don't need to stay here; I can go back to school." But then he tried to stand, and found that his legs felt a little wobbly beneath him.

"Back to bed, Mr. Rosier," Snape said firmly, pushing Dylan back down onto the bed.

"I'm okay," Dylan said, but didn't fight him. "I just feel a little weak."

"Not surprising," Snape said grimly, "considering the amount of blood you lost. The spell healed the outward damage, but you still need to replenish your strength naturally. That means food and rest, Rosier."

As if on cue, the door opened slightly and the round little man Dylan had seen the night before left a huge tray laden with enough food for three people just inside the door, then vanished. The tray looked way too heavy for such a small creature to carry, but obviously it wasn't human.

"That wasn't a house-elf, was it?" Dylan asked, frowning.

"No, it's a hob," Lupin said cheerfully, picking up the tray and setting it down on a nearby desk. He poured a cup of tea and added cream and sugar without being asked, then handed Dylan the cup and a plate heaped with eggs and bacon and toast.

"A hob?"

"A hob," Lupin confirmed. "Eat your breakfast, Dylan. You too, Severus."

Snape muttered something under his breath about nagging werewolves, but got a plate for himself, then came back to sit beside Dylan's bed as he ate. Lupin pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, and Dylan had the somewhat dubious privilege of having his two teachers watch over him sternly to make sure he finished his breakfast. However, after the first bite, he needed no encouragement; he found he was starving. Besides, he wanted to wash away the coppery taste of blood that was still lingering in his mouth.

"Hobs don't usually serve wizards," Dylan said between mouthfuls.

"Well, this hob needed a home, and my friend Sirius...um...lost his house-elf, and needed some help taking care of the house," Lupin replied.

Snape scowled at Lupin. "Are we going to tell him everything, Lupin?"

"I recognized Sirius Black last night," Dylan said. "From his picture in the Daily Prophet. He helped you with the Blood Healing spell."

Snape choked on his food. "I wasn't sure if you were conscious," he said, when he recovered. "I didn't think you'd remember all that."

"Well, I do," Dylan said. "I remember Sirius Black, and Professor Lupin, and Professor Blackmore was there, too." Snape did not look pleased, so Dylan added in a small voice, "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's not your fault, Dylan," Snape sighed. "It can't be helped, I suppose. I see we will have to explain some things to you..."

"I think he can be entrusted with as much information as Harry and--" Lupin started to say.

"LUPIN!" Snape bellowed, looking very angry.

"Harry?" Dylan asked, startled. "Harry Potter?"

"I'm sorry, Severus," Lupin said, looking genuinely contrite. "I just didn't think."

"Damn it, Lupin, I've been trying to protect Dylan--"

"Please don't be angry, Professor," Dylan pleaded, seeing how upset Lupin looked, though Snape's anger had never seemed to bother him at the Hogwarts dinner table. But Snape's insults there had apparently been feigned, and his anger now was clearly real. "It's no secret that Harry Potter is working against the Dark Lord; he was he one who defeated him fifteen years ago, after all. And he's the one who revealed the Dark Lord's return. Besides, Professor Lupin must be very tired, and so must you, after watching over me all night."

Snape's anger faded, and he smiled wryly at Lupin. "What magic have you worked, to win over my Slytherins?" he asked.

"You're a good boy, Dylan," Lupin said, ruffling Dylan's hair fondly. "But Severus was right to be angry with me. I was careless, even considering lack of sleep and all the excitement that went on last night. We had agreed to conceal certain things from you, for your own protection."

"I can keep a secret!" Dylan insisted, turning to Snape. "You've been inside my head; can't you tell by now that you can trust me?"

"It's not a matter of trust, Rosier," Snape said sternly. "The less you know, the less you can reveal, in case the Dark Lord becomes suspicious and tries to break into your mind."

"But isn't that what the Occlumency lessons are for?"

"You can pass a cursory examination, Rosier, but I'm not sure you can stand up to a full-scale attack by the Dark Lord should he become determined to actively break into your mind. A great many lives would be in danger if he should learn the truth, not the least of which being yours and mine..."

"I would never betray you, Professor!" Dylan cried out, a slightly hysterical edge to his voice. "I would die before I'd betray you, I swear it!"

Lupin and Snape exchanged alarmed looks. "That's enough, Rosier," Snape said sharply.

"I would," insisted Dylan. "I'd cast a Death Strike spell before I'd betray you, I swear--"

"ENOUGH!" roared Snape, but he looked more frightened than angry.

"You're scaring the boy, Severus," Lupin said, but he also looked frightened, as well as guilty.

"No more talk about death, Rosier," Snape said firmly, but in a gentler voice. "It's my job to protect you, not the other way around."

"But--"

"Hush," Snape said. "I had meant to shield you from all this, but what's done is done. It's more my fault than Lupin's for bringing you here, even though it seemed like the best choice at the time. And he's right, you do have the right to know what's going on." Snape smiled a little, although he still looked worried. "Besides, you're too clever for your own good, Rosier, and I'm sure you'd have figured it out on your own eventually."

"But I--"

"We'll take the proper precautions, Rosier," Snape continued. "I have concealed my true loyalties for over fifteen years, so believe me when I say that I know what I'm doing. I'll put more blocks around your memories if necessary." The expression on his face was very concerned and un-Snape-like. "I don't want you dying for my sake, Dylan," he whispered. "I have enough blood on my hands as it is."

"Professor--"

"Shh," said Snape, picking up Dylan's empty plate and setting it aside. "Lie back and get some rest." Dylan saw Snape take out his wand, and with his free hand, he traced a rune on Dylan's forehead with his finger. "Sleep," Snape said, and Dylan felt the force of magic behind that word. He opened his mouth to protest, but it turned into a yawn. He felt Snape touch his forehead again, but in a gesture of almost paternal affection rather than to cast a spell. He gently smoothed back the hair from Dylan's face, then let his hand rest briefly on Dylan's cheek. "It will be all right, Dylan. I'll protect you. Now sleep."

So Dylan closed his eyes and obeyed.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lupin picked up the tray and he and Snape quietly left the room. Snape, looking weary and haunted, said, "How the hell does he know about the Death Strike spell?"

"I'm afraid I put the idea into his head," Lupin admitted, his blue eyes filled with guilt. "When we were talking about his father during detention, I didn't realize that he hadn't been told the full story behind Evan's death, and I sort of let it slip..."

"Damn it, Lupin," Snape said, but there was no real heat behind his words.

Lupin said remorsefully, "I'm sorry, Severus, I really am. He already knew what a Death Strike spell was, though. I think he knows a great deal more about the Dark Arts than he lets on."

"I'm not surprised," Snape grumbled. "Ariane was practically an honorary Death Eater herself. Besides, most Slytherins have a habit of learning things they're not supposed to." He sighed. "It's my fault the Death Eaters got to him, anyway; if I'd kept a closer eye on him to begin with, Lucius Malfoy wouldn't have--"

"As you said, Severus," Lupin interrupted, "what's done is done. There's plenty of blame to go around. Evan, for joining the Death Eaters in the first place. Ariane, for keeping Lucius Malfoy's visit to her a secret from her uncle. And most of all, Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort for using a child as a pawn to further their own ambitions."

Snape winced at the mention of the Dark Lord's name and fell silent. He followed Lupin to the kitchen, where they left the tray and dirty dishes in the sink. Sirius was sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast; there was a bandage around his right wrist.

"How's the boy?" Sirius asked.

"Like you care," Snape muttered.

Lupin shot him a dirty look, then answered Sirius, "Physically, he's fine. Emotionally, well...he's been through a lot. He's sleeping right now. How are you feeling, Sirius?"

"Fine, considering that your friend drained a bucketload of blood out of me last night." Snape started to open his mouth, and Sirius said, "Take it easy, Snape, I was just joking. I was a little woozy last night, Moony, but I'm fine now."

Lupin smiled. "Thank you, Sirius, for helping Dylan last night."

Sirius looked uncomfortable. "Uh, no problem."

Lupin gave Snape an expectant look; Snape scowled. "If you're waiting for me to thank Black, you'll be waiting for a very long time, Lupin."

Lupin heaved a sigh, in that long-suffering way of his. "He did help heal Dylan--"

"He didn't do it for Dylan's sake," Snape snapped. "And I didn't ask him to do it."

"Severus--"

"Never mind, Remy," Sirius said. "God forbid Snape should be polite to me; the world might come to an end."

"Look who's talking," Snape sneered. "It's not like you ever thanked me for saving your worthless life."

"Well, I didn't ask you to save me--"

"Enough!" Lupin shouted, throwing his arms up in the air, and the other two men jumped. "If you two want to fight, go right ahead! I'm too tired to play referee right now; I'm going back to bed." He turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving his friend and his lover staring after him with their mouths hanging open.

Sirius sat there toying with his breakfast, looking uneasy and a little guilty. Snape stood there for a moment, then started to leave, but Sirius called out, "Snape, wait!"

Snape turned and scowled at him. "What is it?" he snapped. Sirius stood, but hesitated, shuffling his feet awkwardly, looking like a student about to confess some misdeed. "I haven't got all day, Black!"

"You were right," Sirius mumbled.

"What?" Snape asked, sounding irritated and confused.

"I said you were right," Sirius said in a louder voice, sounding rather irritated himself. "I never thanked you for saving my life. So..." He took a deep breath and swallowed hard, as if working the courage to perform a particularly dangerous and loathsome task. "Thank you for saving my life."

Snape's mouth dropped open again as Sirius's face turned red. After gaping at him dumbly for a minute or two, Snape recovered and snarled, "You can save your thanks, Black; I didn't do it for you, I did it for Lupin! If Remus weren't so softhearted that your death would cause him undue distress, believe me, I would have let you die!" He took a deep breath himself, then regained control over his emotions, and said in a cold, haughty voice, "So rest assured, Black, that I need no thanks from you. Now, if that will be all..."

"Wait!"

"Now what?!"

Sirius still looked as if he had a very unpleasant duty to perform. "I suppose I might as well get it over with all at once," he mumbled.

"Did you have something you wanted to say to me, or are you just going mutter to yourself all morning? I swear, Black, sometimes I think the Dementors did permanent damage to your brain--"

"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" Sirius muttered resentfully.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Black, but I see no reason why I should make anything easy for--"

"Will you shut up for just one minute, Snape?!" Sirius shouted.

Snape glowered at Sirius, but fell silent, crossed his arms, and waited expectantly.

Sirius took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then said, "Look, I'm trying to apologize."

"For what?" Snape asked, still angry, but genuinely confused.

Sirius flushed and stared down at his feet. "For sending you to the Shrieking Shack that night. For trying to break up you and Remy." Snape stared at him, rendered speechless with shock. "I already apologized to Moony," Sirius continued, glancing up at Snape, "but he said I owed you an apology as well, and he was right. So...I apologize. I had no right to do that, to try and come between you, and I almost got both of you killed. I'm sorry."

Snape turned white, then red, and he looked absolutely furious. "'I'm sorry'?" he echoed incredulously. "For 'trying' to break us up? You didn't just try, Black, you succeeded! Do you think that an 'I'm sorry' makes up for all the years we spent apart?! Do you think it makes up for twenty years of bitterness and misery and loneliness--" Both his voice and his body were shaking, and he abruptly stopped his tirade, realizing that he was losing control and exposing himself to Black, the very last person, apart from Voldemort, that he wanted to show his weaknesses to. He panted heavily, trying to regain control of himself, reciting, {Control, control, control,} in his head over and over again, like a mantra. "You have no idea," Snape finally hissed, "what you put us through. I don't expect you to give a damn about me, but you have no idea how much Remus suffered all those years. What you did to him, your supposed best friend, is unforgivable." Snape laughed mirthlessly. "You're just as bad as your godson, Black, but at least he has the excuse of being too young to know any better. I'll tell you what I told him: 'I'm sorry' doesn't magically make everything all right. Two simple words don't erase twenty years' worth of pain."

Snape walked up to Sirius and leaned in close until their faces were barely more than an inch apart, his black eyes narrowed and filled with such hatred that Sirius found himself taking a step back. "I will never, ever forgive you, Black," Snape breathed, then abruptly turned and walked out of the room, his black robes swirling around him.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lupin had fallen into bed fully clothed, too tired to take off anything but his shoes. He had not gotten much sleep the night before, but he was rather irritated at Severus and Sirius for continuing with their petty quarrels at a time like this, and that made it hard to sleep. Just as he had begun to doze off, he felt someone climb into the bed with him.

"Sev?" he asked sleepily. He felt Severus's arms wrap around him, and he started to snuggle against his lover, but it seemed that Severus wanted to do more than cuddle, because his hands began caressing Lupin's body and fumbling with his robes. "Severus?" Lupin asked, startled. In response, Severus kissed him hard, his tongue sliding between Lupin's lips. Lupin found himself returning the kiss, then gasped with pleasure--no longer feeling sleepy--as Severus's hands pushed aside his clothing and encountered bare skin. "Severus!" Lupin giggled nervously. "What's gotten into you? Dylan's right in the next room!"

"The spell will keep him asleep for at least a few hours," Snape said in a husky voice. "I need you, Remy, please."

Lupin looked into his lover's black eyes, and saw something there he had not seen since the first time he and Severus had kissed after Lupin had returned to Hogwarts three years ago, when Severus could no longer deny his desire, but had not yet forgiven Lupin: a mixture of anger, need, and desperation. "What's wrong, Severus?" he asked anxiously.

Snape shook his head impatiently. "Later. I'll explain later. Right now I need you. Please." Then he looked a bit shamefaced. "Sorry. I didn't mean to just jump on you while you're sleeping, but...I need you." He kissed Lupin again, hungrily.

"It's all right, Sev," Lupin said gently, running his hands through Severus's hair. Then, hiding his concern, he grinned and said, "I don't mind putting off sleep for this." Despite Severus's assurances about Dylan remaining asleep, Lupin reached for his wand and cast a silence spell, just in case. Then he surrendered himself to his lover's embrace.

In the midst of their lovemaking, Snape panted, "Say you love me, Remus." It was half-plea, half-command.

"I love you, Sev," Lupin gasped obligingly, "I love you so much!"

"More than anyone."

"More than anyone," Lupin echoed, knowing he should be worried by the way this conversation was going--by the fact that they were having a conversation at all!--but the wolf was too aroused and caught up in the moment to care right now.

"More than Black!" Snape insisted, and there was an intense look in his black eyes that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with hatred and jealousy.

"Severus," Lupin said, alarm beginning to break through the haze of desire.

"Say it!" Snape shouted, now looking frantic and close to hysteria.

"I love you, Severus, more than anyone, more than Sirius," Lupin said helplessly, not knowing what else to do. Severus seemed satisfied with that and resumed his lovemaking with renewed fervor. The part of Lupin that was the wolf howled with pleasure, while the part that was the man was sick with worry. But he could not control his body's response, and besides, Severus needed this, needed him, so there was nothing to do but give in and ride out this wave of passion to the end...

Afterwards, they lay next to each other in silence, as Lupin tried to catch his breath and compose his thoughts. "Severus," he said tentatively, reaching out to touch his lover's arm, still not knowing exactly what he was going to say.

Snape turned to face him and his black eyes were sane again, and he looked very ashamed of himself. "Oh God, Remus, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I can't believe I did that."

"I love you, Severus," Lupin said sadly. "I don't know what else I can do to convince you of that. I have tried to put you first, Severus, I swear I have..."

"I know, Remus," Snape interrupted. "And I should never have forced you to make that promise," he added remorsefully, referring to the plea he had made to Lupin the day he had saved Black's life, to be first in Lupin's heart, above Black and Potter. His mouth twisted in something that tried, and failed, to be a smile. "I know it's not in your nature to choose between the people you love, and I keep trying to force you to choose between Black and me. You're generous and compassionate, and that's why I love you, yet I keep trying to make you as small-minded and petty as I am." He laughed bitterly. "The irony of it is, if you really were like me, I would never have fallen in love with you."

Lupin gently stroked Severus's cheek. "I had already made the choice," he said softly, "before you asked me to say the words." Severus looked confused. "I tried to stop you from saving Sirius," Lupin reminded him, although the memory pained him, and he knew it had hurt Sirius when he had found out. "Sirius is my dearest friend, but I just couldn't bear to lose you again. My heart made the choice for me without my even thinking about it. I chose you."

"Remus," Snape whispered, his eyes filled with guilt, tenderness, and awe. He pulled Lupin close and held him tightly. Lupin felt a tremor run through his lover's body. "I'm sorry, Remus. I'm sorry that I keep forcing you to prove your love for me. I know you love me, I really do, I just..." Snape's voice trailed off.

"It's all right, Severus," Lupin said gently. "But I thought...I felt like we had grown closer together over the summer." And the bond between them had grown stronger, with Severus seeming much more content and less insecure, up until now. "What happened to upset you so much? Did you have a fight with Sirius?"

Snape scowled, looking more like his cranky old self. "Black apologized to me," he growled.

"What?" Lupin said, not sure he had heard correctly.

"Black apologized to me," Snape repeated in a louder voice. "For the Shrieking Shack."

"He did?" Lupin was shocked, but he felt proud of his friend for finally having the courage to admit he was wrong, and pleased that Sirius was finally showing some maturity. Then he frowned; why should that bother Severus so much? Lupin might be an idealist, but he wasn't stupid; he didn't really expect his lover to suddenly become friends with Sirius, he didn't even expect Severus to actually accept the apology, but he wouldn't have expected this strong of a reaction. "But...that's good, isn't it? I mean, I don't really expect you to forgive him, but--"

"An apology doesn't make up for what he did!" Snape snapped. "It doesn't make up for all those years--" His voice suddenly choked up and he couldn't continue.

"Severus," Lupin said, alarmed.

"It hurt so much," Snape said in a hoarse voice. "All those years without you, missing you, wanting you...hating you. Hating myself." Unshed tears glittered in his eyes.

"Severus," Lupin whispered.

"I can never forgive Black for that," Snape said, the anger creeping back into his eyes. "I can never forgive him for all the years we spent apart. And for him to waltz in and think he can make everything all right with an 'I'm sorry'--"

"I don't think that's what he--"

"If you want to forgive him, that's your business, Lupin," Snape continued. "It probably makes you a better person than me. But I will never forgive him, not even for your sake!"

"Sirius apologized to me also," Lupin said, "before we left for Hogwarts. He knows that saying 'I'm sorry' doesn't make up for what he did, but he wanted to acknowledge the harm he did to us both."

"I don't care!" Snape shouted. "Tell him to keep his apologies to himself; I don't want them!"

"You don't have to forgive him, Severus," Lupin said gently. "But are you sure that you aren't really mad at someone else?"

Snape flushed. "At myself, you mean, for being too stubborn to forgive you--"

"No," Lupin said softly. "At me."

Snape looked up, startled. "I don't blame you. Well, not anymore--"

"But I blame myself," Lupin said quietly, "for not trying harder. For letting you go. For giving up on you--twice. Once after the Shrieking Shack, and once after you sent my letter back to me during the trials."

"But that's not your fault," Snape protested. "I'm the one who kept pushing you away--"

"But I gave up too easily," Lupin replied gravely. "I should have kept trying. If necessary--" Lupin smiled a little. "--I should have planted myself on your doorstep and refused to leave."

"It might have ruined my cover," Snape pointed out, beginning to smile himself, "to have a lovesick werewolf camping outside my door."

"And it was particularly stupid of me to send you a letter," Lupin added. "I should have come in person, so that you couldn't dismiss me so easily, but I was too much of a coward. I was afraid to see the hatred in your eyes."

"I'm sorry, Remus," Snape said, then looked very uncomfortable. "I suppose it's a bit hypocritical of me," he admitted reluctantly, "to not forgive Black, when I have treated you just as badly, if not worse, and yet you always forgive me."

"Well, that's because I love you," Lupin said, kissing him lightly on the lips. "And we have all made mistakes in the past, myself included. You don't have to forgive Sirius for my sake; no one can force you to change the way you feel. It will come with time, if it comes at all, and that's not what concerns me, anyway. I just don't like to see those old feelings eating away at you like this."

"I love you, Remus," Snape said, gently brushing Lupin's hair back from his face, then letting his fingers trail down Lupin's cheek and across his lips. "Though I'm not sure why you put up with me sometimes."

"You are brave and honorable and loyal," Lupin said solemnly, then suddenly grinned mischievously. "Plus there is the little fact that you're really great in bed." Severus burst out laughing, and a relieved Lupin laughed along with him. "You did say that spell should keep Dylan asleep for a few hours, didn't you...?" Lupin said in a low voice, trying to imitate that throaty, sexy purr of Severus's; he didn't quite succeed, but it had the intended effect, which was all that mattered.

"Yes, indeed," Snape replied, pulling Lupin closer. "Do you know what 'little fact' I like about you?" he purred.

{Nothing like the real thing,} Lupin thought to himself with a grin as that sound sent little shivers up and down his spine. "No, what?" he asked aloud.

"The fact that you're insatiable," Snape purred into Lupin's ear, and Lupin shivered again. Snape laughed wickedly. "One of the advantages of having a werewolf for a lover!"

Lupin growled playfully, baring his teeth. "So show the wolf that you're not just all talk, Professor Snape!"

"You know, Lupin," Snape said with a sly grin, "it kind of turns me on to hear you call me 'Professor' in bed."

"Professor Snape," Lupin said, nipping at his neck, "the wolf requires your attention right now."

"Then I will do my duty by Hogwarts," Snape said, still grinning. "Though perhaps I should ask the Headmaster for hazard pay--"

"Now!" Lupin growled impatiently.

Snape laughed, then kissed Lupin, and they made love again, this time in joy rather than desperation.
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"Ungrateful bastard," Sirius muttered as Snape stormed out of the room, but it was more reflex than anything else; he was much more shaken than angry. He had not by any stretch of the imagination expected Snape to forgive him--this was Snape they were talking about, after all!--but neither had he anticipated this reaction. He had expected Snape to sneer, perhaps, that he didn't want Sirius's apology, or maybe even a "Bugger off, Black! I only put up with you because the Headmaster ordered me to!" What he had not expected was to see such raw pain along with the hatred in Snape's black eyes. The hatred, Sirius could understand, and put up with. But it shocked and unnerved him to realize that the pain of the Shrieking Shack incident was still as fresh for Snape as it had been twenty years ago.

Suddenly Sirius recalled what the Headmaster had said to him that night: "I fear you have destroyed two lives today"--meaning Lupin's and Snape's. Sirius had felt regret for what he had done to Lupin, but up until recently, he had felt none for Snape. Snape was a Slytherin, after all, and Slytherins were all no good...weren't they? He had not believed that Snape really loved Lupin--but for the first time, he realized that there was no other logical explanation for the pair's covert romance. If Snape had just wanted to get laid, there were other options available to a wealthy pureblood, even one as unpleasant and unattractive as Snape. And Snape had nothing to gain by taking Lupin as a lover, for Lupin had several strikes against him: he was a poverty-stuck male Gryffindor werewolf. Despite the rivalry between the Houses, Evan Rosier had gained some status in the eyes of most of his male classmates by winning the heart of the beautiful Ariane Donner, but Snape would only have lost status in Slytherin House if his affair with Lupin had been revealed. The blood-conscious Slytherins would have scorned anyone who slept with someone they considered a nonhuman and little better than a beast, no matter how handsome he was. The "he" was an issue too; plenty of wizards, both male and female, took lovers of the same sex, but it was considered to be in poor taste to flaunt such a lover in the public eye. The elite of the wizarding world were obsessed with status and blood purity, and that meant making marriages and having children with someone of the proper bloodline; love and sexual preference usually didn't enter into the matter. If you were lucky, your parents chose a bride or groom that you could like, or at least tolerate; if not, well, once a suitable heir or two had been produced, no one would object if you turned your attentions elsewhere, so long as you were discreet about it. But fail to do your duty, by taking openly taking an inappropriate lover, by refusing to produce an heir--or worse, by producing a half-Muggle heir, like Tonks' mother--and you would find yourself an outcast in society. Not that Sirius cared about such things, but Snape had seemed to, at least when they were students.

So...Snape loved Lupin; Sirius could no longer deny it. He had seen the pain in Snape's eyes, seen him visibly tremble with emotion, Snape who was always so cold and in control of himself. And his words were significant, too; he had not said, "'I'm sorry' doesn't make up for your trying to kill me," he had said, "Do you think that an 'I'm sorry' makes up for all the years we spent apart?! Do you think it makes up for twenty years of bitterness and misery and loneliness?" {Remus was right,} Sirius thought to himself in consternation. Lupin had once told him, "Do you know why Severus really hates you, Sirius? It's not because you almost got him killed; or at least, that's only a small part of it. He hates you because you took me away from him, because he thought I chose you over him." And finally, Sirius believed him. He still did not like Snape, and probably never would, but finally, Sirius realized that he had hurt Snape as badly as he had hurt Remus.

That realization made Sirius feel small and petty. Although he had never been in love with someone the way Snape and Lupin were apparently in love with each other, he had an inkling of what Snape must have gone through. "Twenty years of bitterness and misery and loneliness": Sirius had spent twelve bitter, lonely years in Azkaban, believing that he had been betrayed by his best friend--which of course he had. He had just been mistaken about which friend had betrayed him. He felt ashamed that he had put another human being--even Snape--through such misery. He would have offered Snape another apology, if he thought Snape would accept it, but that would probably just make things worse. He remembered Branwen telling him once that some things could not be mended by mere words; now he realized how right she was. There would be no absolution for Sirius; he would have to live with what he had done, and its consequences. One of those consequences being that he had helped set Snape on the road to becoming a Death Eater--as Branwen had once told him, though he had refused to listen at the time--by taking away the one person who might have been able to dissuade him from joining. And another consequence being that he had caused great pain to one of his dearest friends. Snape was right about that too, damn him; what he had done to Remus was unforgivable, even though Moony had, of course, forgiven him.

Sirius sighed wearily. He could not undo the past; all he could do was to try and atone for his mistakes. Helping to heal Dylan Rosier was a good start, but Sirius suspected that it would take much more than a few liters of blood to even begin to make up for all the harm he had caused...

He felt a small, leathery hand touch his, and looked around with a start. The kitchen was still empty, but there was a steaming cup of tea sitting on the table, along with with a currant-studded tea cake. Sirius smiled to himself, his gloomy mood retreating just a little. Tea and sweets, that was Hob's answer to everything--well, along with Sirius finding a wife and making some babies for the hob to look after. Sirius sat down at the table and took a sip of tea; it didn't solve any of his problems, but it did make him feel a little better.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Several hours later, Sirius stood outside Snape's bedroom door, feeling a little uncomfortable. Snape had departed to give the Headmaster a detailed report, and to talk to Dylan's mother and "face the music" (as he put it). Facing the family of the boy he had endangered was obviously the last thing Snape wanted to do, but still, he did it. Sirius grudgingly respected him for it, although when he had pointed out that Branwen and the Headmaster had already contacted the Donners and assured them that Dylan was safe, Snape had replied in his usual disdainful, sarcastic voice, "I have a certain duty as Head of Slytherin to see to my students' safety, Black, and I gave Ariane my word that I would look after Dylan personally. But I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand concepts such as 'responsibility' and 'honor'." {Snarky bastard,} Sirius thought to himself. Although it was the typical sort of insult Snape automatically threw his way, and which Sirius usually brushed off, this time it stung, because he was aware that he had not behaved very responsibly since he had gotten out of Azkaban. Well, to be truthful, he had never been very responsible, ever. While Snape, on the other hand, though he complained loudly and bitterly about his unpleasant duties (the most unpleasant being teaching Harry and having to put up with Sirius, apparently), still carried out those duties: teaching, spying, reporting to the Order. He was a bit chagrined to realize that Snape was the one behaving like a responsible grown-up while Sirius was an unemployed former fugitive who had spent most of the past year doing little more than keeping house.

Sirius sighed and shook his head, trying to shake those unpleasant thoughts out of his mind, and knocked on the door. Lupin had sent him to fetch Dylan down for supper, not to stand around ruminating about Snape.

"Come in," a voice called.

Sirius opened the door and walked in. Dylan was up and dressed in his school uniform; Hob must have mended and cleaned it for him. The boy looked surprised; he had probably been expecting Snape or Lupin. "Oh, hello, Mr. Black."

Sirius smiled. "When I hear that name, I think people are talking about my father, not me. Just call me Sirius."

The boy gave him a tentative smile. "I should thank you for helping Professor Snape to heal me, sir. I know it's a dangerous spell--"

Was this polite child really the son of Evan Rosier, whose charm was matched only by his insolence, who had rarely gone for more than a week or two at a time without getting into trouble for some prank? Sirius couldn't help himself, he laughed out loud. The boy looked hurt and a little wary, and Sirius hastily explained, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you. It's just funny to hear someone calling me 'sir,' especially Evan Rosier's son."

"You knew my father?" Dylan asked eagerly, his face lighting up.

"Um...yeah, sort of," Sirius replied awkwardly, cursing himself for mentioning Evan's name. What the hell was he supposed to say to the boy? He knew from Lupin that Dylan loved the idealized version of the father he had never known, much as Harry did James. Sirius didn't have many pleasant and heartwarming stories to tell about Evan Rosier, who had, after all, been a Death Eater. In fact, as a young Auror, he had seen some of the bodies of the Muggle and Muggle-born victims that Evan and his comrades had murdered, but that was not something he wanted to say to the eager, wide-eyed, vulnerable-looking boy standing in front of him. "I mean, we were yearmates, but I didn't know him very well," Sirius temporized, "since we were in different Houses and all."

Dylan's smile vanished, and was replaced by a polite but guarded expression. No wonder Snape liked the boy; it seemed that he was even better at turning his emotions on and off than the Potions Master. "That's right; Professor Lupin said you were a friend of his, so you must have been in Gryffindor House."

"Yes, I was," Sirius replied, and for the first time he wondered if Branwen was right about the division of Houses being a bad thing, if Dylan automatically assumed that a Gryffindor could only be friends with another Gryffindor. It was an assumption that Sirius would never have questioned himself until recently. Part of Sirius wished he could go back to his blissful certainty in his beliefs of right and wrong, of black and white with no shades of gray, but Lupin and Branwen had awoken too many troubling questions in his mind for him to set his conscience at ease again.

"I guess you didn't like him very much, then," Dylan said. "Professor Lupin said his friends didn't get along with the Slytherins."

"Um, yeah," Sirius mumbled, wondering why he felt so ashamed about that now; it had never bothered him before. {It's all Moony's and Branwen's fault,} he grumbled to himself. Aloud he said, "It's nothing personal; that's just the way things were. Gryffindor and Slytherin have always been rivals."

"The Sorting Hat said that Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor were once close friends," Dylan said.

"Don't you hate the Gryffindors?" Sirius asked curiously; he had never met a Slytherin who wasn't hostile towards Gryffindor.

Dylan shrugged. "Not really. I can't be friends with them, because...ah...some of my housemates would object, but I don't hate them. Some of them are mean to me, but others--" He grinned. "--mostly the girls, have been nice to me."

"You are your father's son," Sirius said dryly, and Dylan laughed.

"Funny, how people keep telling me that," he said, with a charming, rakish grin, and at that moment, the boy did indeed look very much like his father. "Well, my mother was a Ravenclaw, after all," Dylan continued, "so I suppose the thought of associating with other Houses doesn't bother me the way it would most of my classmates."

"To be honest, I was a bit jealous of Evan," Sirius found himself admitting. He was surprised to find that he actually liked the boy--he would have never have dreamed that he would ever say that about a Slytherin, much less the son of a Death Eater.

"Really? Why?"

"Well," Sirius said sheepishly, "my friend James and I were pranksters, too, and we felt we had a reputation to uphold. And we didn't like being upstaged by your dad and his friend Wilkes. I remember--well, it wasn't exactly a prank, but did anyone ever tell you about the time Evan asked Professor Blackmore for a dance at the Yule Ball?"

"Yes," Dylan said, grinning widely. "Now that I've met her, I can't imagine anyone having the courage to do that!"

"Nor I," Sirius agreed. "But Evan did, and I was jealous that I hadn't thought of it first."

"Why, did you like her?" Dylan asked. "I mean, she's very beautiful, but I find her a little scary--"

"Like her?" Sirius said, puzzled for a moment before he figured out what Dylan was asking. "Oh no!" he said, blushing a little. "I never thought of her that way! That would be like having a crush on a dragon or a cobra--something beautiful but deadly! No, what I meant was that the whole school was in awe of your father for weeks afterwards. No one could believe that he had the courage or the sheer audacity to do that--and no one could believe that she didn't kill him or turn him into a toad!"

Dylan laughed. "So what were some of the pranks you pulled on Slytherin, and vice versa?"

"Well," Sirius said, pausing to think, "there was the time they cast an illusion on the Gryffindor banner hanging in the Great Hall. I'm still not sure how they did it, but they made it look as though the lion's mane and fur had been shaved off." He had been furious at the time, to see the pink, denuded Gryffindor lion, but now he had to admit it had been quite an impressive prank. "So, of course, Gryffindor had to even the score, which we did by turning the Slytherins' robes pink..."
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