Like Death

by CharlotteBlackwood

The threads of fate and circumstance are frayed and melted together. Every moment of happiness is paid back with ten more of grief and pain. This is the remains of war, and even war itself. The question of sacrifice and how much freedom and life are worth weighs heavily. Every blessing comes with a curse, and every answer only half answers the question. RL/OC, some RL/NT COMPLETE

Dressed in a Hogwarts uniform with a blue and bronze stripped tie, Jossline sat at the Ravenclaw table for the last Sorting Feast in her life. She traced her fingers absently along the grain of the wood as her best friend, Penelope Clearwater, sat beside her, curls bouncing and nose sniffing as she considered the decorum of some of the Gryffindor boys who were entering.

The dementor on the train had come to their compartment, and Jossline's mind was still on the suffocating cold that had washed over her. Penelope told her she'd screamed, but she didn't remember making a sound. Still, rumor was that Harry Potter had fainted, so perhaps screaming wasn't so bad.

Jossline closed her eyes and saw with perfect clarity the face of her uncle, a man who had been out of her life since early childhood. She had forgotten what he had even looked like until the dementor had come close to her.

Evan Rosier was not a kind man, but Jossline couldn't remember how she knew that. She only knew that her father's elder brother was gone, and that after he had done something…horrible, her parents moved her to France and raised her there until she was old enough for Hogwarts. Her parents still lived in France. Her father said that life there was uncomplicated, and the Rosier family had plenty of land there to keep him satisfied. Jossline planned to stay in England when she graduated in June, however. Her recommendations would hold more weight in England than France. She'd lived there long enough to know that first choice went to graduates of Beauxbatons.

The Sorting went forward as usual, and she hardly paid attention. She couldn't be bothered to know the names of the miniscule students who were joining her house. She doubted very much that they would make a dent in her life.

Professor Dumbledore spoke a few words and the feast was available. Jossline and Penelope began to fill their plates.

"Percy was telling me that the Quidditch team is looking for a new Seeker," she said excitedly. When Jossline raised her eyebrow she added, "Our team, not Gryffindor. Potter is, unfortunately, still playing."

"I assumed," Jossline said, grabbing a few drumsticks. "Why are you telling me?"

"Well, aren't you going to try out?"

Jossline had no idea why Penelope was always trying to convince her to try for the Quidditch team. She didn't like anyone on the team. She knew they would never beat Gryffindor. She had no desire to be attacked by her many distant cousins in Slytherin to keep her from beating them. And with N.E.W.T.s coming up, what was the point adding another activity? She was busy enough as it was.

Instead of answering her friend, Jossline focused on her food. Penelope meant well, probably, but she had an annoying habit of herding her friends and acquaintances through their lives as though she knew best. Probably she would make an attentive mother, if not a good one, but Jossline already had a mother. In fact, she was blessed with one of those mothers who kept her child safe while affording them space to grow. The last things she wanted was a second mother.

Dessert was over too quickly, as usual, and Professor Dumbledore gave a welcome speech that Jossline didn't bother listening to. Very little of it mattered. She clapped politely when Hagrid was announced as the new Care of Magical Creatures professor, secretly pleased she wasn't continuing that course in N.E.W.T.s. He didn't seem especially safe.

And then Professor Dumbledore announced that the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be Professor Lupin.

As a tired, scarred, aged man stood, Jossline frowned slightly, clapping and trying to figure out why he looked so…interesting.

She supposed she would have time to figure it out later. After all, she would be taking Defense Against the Dark Arts again. Not that she needed it. To become a Potions Mistress, all she needed was Herbology, Potions, and Arithmancy. Professor Flitwick had talked her into continuing Defense and Transfiguration, just in case she wanted to expand her research. Perhaps more for his own sake, he hadn't bothered asking her to continue Charms. She had a good enough score to do so, but not without great effort. Every first attempt she'd ever had in Charms had ended in some minor disaster, usually with Professor Flitwick as the one suffering the consequences. He took it very well and was still incredibly kind about the whole thing, but she could hardly blame him for not wanting her to continue his class.

"I have to help organize the first years," Penelope said when they were dismissed, as though Jossline had forgotten. "I'll see you upstairs."

But Jossline went to bed before her friend returned. She was too tired to worry about the annoyance of Penelope sure to come in the morning.

/-/

Through most of the roll call in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Jossline looked out the window at the misty treetops. She wasn't outdoorsy. This was her preferred way of looking at nature: in a warm room, through a window. Still, she could appreciate the beauty of it through that window. She always thought nature looked best this way, wild and melancholy, covered in gloom and haze to keep the flaws from being seen too well.

"Rosier, Jossline?" the soft, hoarse voice of their new professor said.

Her head jerked away from the window and she met his eyes, raising her hand.

They were beautiful eyes, she thought. Sad and full and amber. He looked so tired, like he hadn't slept for months. The scars that lined his face and added a pale texture to the wrinkles named him older than she thought he was. The gray at his temples was more than some men in their thirties, but she was certain he was somewhere in his thirties. Because his eyes said so. Because the way he and Professor Snape regarded each other in the hall told her they knew each other well, and Professor Snape was in his thirties.

Hatred like that had to come from either youth or loving the same woman. Perhaps it was both.

But unlike Professor Snape, whose black eyes were an almost unnerving blank slate that told Jossline nothing, Professor Lupin's eyes were kind, soft, expressive.

And something strange happened as they looked at each other. His eyes widened slightly as he looked at her, almost like he recognized her. But this was impossible. They had never met before. She would have remembered a face like his, eyes like his. She always remembered the kind eyes.

After the briefest of pauses, he continued with roll and then began a short speech about the importance of N.E.W.T. year. As they'd had two of those already, Jossline zoned out again. The only one really worth listening to was the next one, Professor Snape's speech. He was the one whose recommendation would make or break her whole career, the person she had to impress. Thus far, he had never shown her any particular ire, but there could be many reasons for that. Her father's longstanding connections to Slytherin, her mother's having been a classmate of his, the fact that she'd yet to explode anything in his class in six full years of study.

Or perhaps that he just hated her a little less than most of her peers. A man could only yell at so many people at once.

Professor Lupin paired them off to practice a series of basic spells while he went around to the pairs, getting to know them, examining their spellwork, getting a sense of what they wanted to get out of the class. Because he paired them by where they were sitting, Penelope and Jossline were put together, mercifully. Jossline had been certain that her friend would be paired with Percy Weasley, leaving Jossline with the girl from Hufflepuff with the freakishly bulbous nose that Jossline could never recall the name of. Did someone really need a name with they could be introduced, remembered, and picked out of a crowd by their nose?

Penelope and Jossline had taught themselves nonverbal spells the year before, as Lockhart hadn't really done much in the way of teaching, so they went through their series of spells nonverbally, which facilitated conversation as they tossed jinxes and hexes and light curses at each other, throwing up shields as appropriate.

"What are your thoughts on this new professor?" Penelope said softly.

By the tone of her voice, Jossline knew her friend was skeptical of him.

Penelope was not exactly a snob, but she was the type to judge first, often to be proven wrong later. At first, she wouldn't even speak to Jossline because of how many Slytherins had sat with her on the train, as though that were a way to judge someone's character. It two years for the girls to become close, after their fashion. Some days, when Jossline was most weary of her friend, she wished that they hadn't bothered becoming close at all. Granted, as Penelope spent a significant portion of the last year Petrified in the hospital wing, Jossline had vowed to be especially patient with her friend this year.

"He's beautiful," Jossline said without thinking.

"What?" Penelope hissed, horrified. "But he's…he's old!"

"I suspect he looks older than he is," Jossline said, shrugging. "Plenty of men go gray early. Remember that Hufflepuff boy last year? He was already halfway to gray, and he was only seventeen."

"Yes, but…but those scars," Penelope whispered as Professor Lupin stood three groups away. "They're kind of…grotesque."

"They're scars," Jossline said, shrugging. "I doubt he added them to his skin because he thought they were attractive. Anyway, it's almost refreshing to have a Defense professor who doesn't look like he's worked especially hard to preserve his looks. It means he probably knows a thing or two about defending himself."

"Or that he wasn't very good at it."

Jossline tightened her jaw, but said nothing as her friend made a comment about the shabbiness of their new professor's robes. As though Penelope wore the latest model of clothes. It took all of Jossline's strength not to point out to her friend that Percy Weasley's robes were quite shabby as well, but Jossline wasn't allowed to say a bad word about him. Not that he would have been attractive with better robes. Instead of bickering, she simply said, "He has kind eyes."

Penelope said nothing to that, but it probably had nothing to do with whether or not she could argue with the point. Professor Lupin had finally come around to their pair.

"Penelope," he said softy. "Jossline. Nonverbal spells?"

"Yes, sir," the girls chorused.

"I wasn't under the impression that your class had been taught nonverbal spells," he said, smiling. "Teaching yourselves?"

"We've had to, sir," Penelope said, head tilted a little higher than natural. Jossline wondered if that posture looked less ridiculous to Penelope when practicing in the mirror than it did to everyone who saw her use it. "It's very difficult to get a solid education in a subject where the professors change every year."

"Oh, yes, I know," he said, smiling. "That was very much my experience when I was a student here. My friends and I taught ourselves a great deal. Luckily, I had very good teachers during my N.E.W.T. years, and I hope that I can support you before you take your exams."

Jossline realized he was avoiding looking at her, although she couldn't fathom why.

"Now," he continued, "what are your plans? What are you hoping to get out of this class, besides a good grade?"

Penelope told him how she wanted to work in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, and about how she wanted to keep people safe from dangerous beasts, especially Muggles who had no way to protect themselves.

"The legal side of things, of course," Penelope continued, not noticing that the eyes of Professor Lupin had changed slightly as she spoke, that the softness had faded and there was almost a darkness to the amber now. "But the theory is important to implement law and order."

"Of course," he said, his voice sounding a bit strained. He cleared his throat and turned to Jossline, not meeting her eyes. "And you?"

"I don't need the class," she said, noticing that his eyes slid up to meet hers, and she supposed the curiosity she saw there was the reason for this shift. She held his gaze, although it made her skin tingle strangely, like when feet hover on the edge of a staircase, half off the edge. "Professor Flitwick suggested I continue it. I want to do Potions research."

His left eyebrow twitched, and that strange look almost like recognition came over him again. There was something about that look, something intriguing. She wanted him to recognize her, even though it was impossible. Her skin tingled more violently, and she felt a sensation in her stomach like floating.

Her mouth went dry as he said, "Well, I will do my best to keep the course both informative and entertaining. I would not want for you to feel regretful of your time spent here."

Normally she would have said nothing to such a statement. She found speaking when it wasn't necessary to be a very obnoxious trait, and he certainly required no response. And yet, she found herself saying, about half an octave higher than normal, "Thank you, professor."

Penelope teased her all the way to lunch about the way she had looked at Professor Lupin, said that Jossline was clearly infatuated, and Jossline simply ignored her best friend. She'd been infatuated before, with a stupid boy in Slytherin who flirted with her until things got serious and he told her he was engaged to someone else.

This was not how she felt about Professor Lupin.

Still, she was certainly drawn to him. She didn't have a word for it yet, and so there was no point correcting Penelope. They went their separate ways after lunch, Penelope to the library, Jossline to Potions.

Jossline did not socialize in Potions, and never had. Even when she had to share a work station with other students in her younger years, Penelope complained that she never took any opportunity to even discuss their work. She believed that Potions was a time for focus, and when she worked off instinct, she used the opportunity for private reflection. She felt the most calm, the most at peace, when she was brewing.

Professor Snape gave them a speech about the dangerous, difficult potions they would be brewing, and the year-long project they would do on their own time to research and invent their own potion, with weekly meetings with him to check on progress. Jossline knew this was her opportunity, to do something truly spectacular and impress him enough to get a perfect recommendation. But what to brew?

They were released to attempt to brew the first stages of a basic truth serum – not Veritaserum, which was well beyond N.E.W.T. level, but a basic, less powerful cousin of it.

Jossline gathered her ingredients, prepared them, and began brewing according to the stages outlined in the book. Professor Snape circled the room, his robes billowing around him as he moved like black smoke through the steam rising off the cauldrons. Jossline had decided first year that the way Professor Snape moved was one of the most aesthetically pleasing things, and so well suited to the atmosphere of his classroom. If he wore lighter-weight material it would be even better, but she knew he needed sturdy fabrics for his line of work.

She finished a complicated stirring pattern and left the base to simmer while she measured out beetle eyes. A quick glance at the potion confirmed that it was shifting from clear to a toasted amber shade as it simmered. She paused, realizing it was growing quite close to Professor Lupin's eye color. It did not hold his kindness, his gentle expression. And it did not seem to recognize her. But still, there was something beautiful and warm in it.

"Miss Rosier," she heard Professor Snape's smooth baritone voice say, right in front of her. She jolted slightly, looking up from her cauldron, nearly scattering her beetle eyes. "Are you unwell?"

How long had she been staring at her potion, she wondered? His eyes showed no concern, nor did his voice, but he would not have asked if he had not been concerned. She had showed up for class with the flu once in third year, and he had been the only professor to notice she was ill. He had insisted she go to the hospital wing, and when she protested that she needed to keep stirring her potion, he had stirred it himself to appease her. He understood how important her professional pride was. It wasn't about the grade. Those were arbitrary and she knew it. It was about knowing she had completed the puzzle, followed the instructions and achieved the nuanced result desired. The knowledge that the thing she had created had the power to alter something about someone else with the right amount consumed.

"I'm fine, Professor," she said quickly. "I…I'm sorry, I just…." She could feel her face growing hot with embarrassment as she stared up at him, recalling inconveniently the kind eyes of Professor Lupin, the tingling sensation on her skin as he had looked at her.

"Try to focus on your work, Miss Rosier," he said, more sharply than he had ever spoken to her. "You have an impeccable record in this course. Do not allow distraction to taint it."

"Yes, sir," she said, feeling thoroughly ashamed of herself, smaller than she had since she was a child, with her father telling her he was disappointed at her for lying about breaking her mother's perfume bottle.

But Professor Snape was no longer listening or looking at her. He had already swept away along the row of cauldrons, examining with a sneer the work of her peers.

It took all her concentration to focus on her potion that day, and just knowing how much effort it took made her all the more ashamed as she turned over the first stage to be kept until the next Potions class.

/-/

Severus had dismissed the initial distraction of his best student as a silly distraction, a youthful infatuation. After all, her work had not suffered greatly, and she was entitled to a few of the foolish behaviors of youth while she was still young. Better that she get such silly things out of her system before the cruelty of the real world came along, when she could not afford silliness.

But almost a month into the school year, Severus realized that her distraction with Remus Lupin was not waning, and the scanning of her memories and thoughts suggested that she did not think of it as an infatuation. Jossline Rosier was levelheaded enough to recognize subtle differences in complex emotions, unlike many of her foolish peers.

At the same time, Severus noticed that Remus Lupin was growing tired and strained with a level not entirely connected with the cycles of the moon. One day when they were alone and mainly ignoring each other in the staff room on their off period, Severus took the chance to test a theory. Lupin's eyes were faraway, like he was lost in thought instead of thinking about the essays he was grading. With a silent spell, Severus scanned the surface of Lupin's thoughts.

Disgustingly, a wild and erratic mix of images and fantasies assaulted Severus's mind, all related to Jossline Rosier. Brief memories of her in Lupin's class or at meals, seeing her in the library, all innocent images mingled with explicit sexual fantasy, fantasy of possession and hunger and control.

The fantasies of a monster, Severus thought, pulling out of the surface of Lupin's mind with disgust. He knew, because in his darkest days he had experienced such fantasies himself, but never of a student. But Lupin's appetites had nothing to do with years of subjugation to the Dark Lord, of losing everything light and good in life.

They were the appetites of his kind, the desires of someone not quite human. And Jossline Rosier was not a whore, but a student, an innocent seventeen-year-old girl completely oblivious to the sort of things Lupin was fantasizing about, by some miracle.

Not a miracle, he knew. But a careful attention of her parents. The younger Rosier brother was lucky to get away from England, from the war, from his older brother with such ease. He was needed in France, and so protecting his daughter, purifying her, was easier than it might have been.

Julian Rosier had not purified his daughter only to have her defiled be a werewolf, and Severus could see a dozen ways to turn protecting her to his advantage, both with revenge and with ingratiating himself to the Rosier clan once more.

Very softly, from across the room, Severus said softly, "I always knew your kind were grotesque, Lupin, but the rumors of defiling young virgins to satiate monstrous desires were merely rumors, I thought."

Lupin's whole body stiffened and he raised his head to look at Severus with just a flicker of fear and a great amount of outrage.

"What did you say?" the wolf said softly.

Compared to most people, compared to his usual tone, those words were dangerous, but Severus was not afraid of Remus Lupin. Because he knew that if things lined up properly, he could ruin him. And he would, eventually. For now, Albus was insistent that they needed the wolf, but that would change. It always changed.

"Jossline Rosier is a quality student, Lupin," he said, smirking. "But she is a student. From an old and wealthy family. She will have whatever she wants in life, whoever she wants. Her head has been turned by something dark and tragic, like so many silly young women, but even in her daydreams, I can assure you, she does not have the kind of salacious fantasies you desire."

Though his face was a mask of calm, Lupin's knuckles had gone white. His breathing was harder. If they had been sitting across from each other, Severus truly believed that he would see pinpoint pupils, that he would hear the rapid pounding of the werewolf's heart. Could he goad Lupin into attacking him? Surely Dumbledore would fire him if he proved himself so unhinged that he was attacking fellow staff members, just like his idiot friends.

"I assure you, Severus," Lupin said, his voice strained, "that I have no intention of touching Jossline Rosier."

"No?" Severus said, amused. "I would give you a list of the things you want to do to her, but the portraits have ears, after all. Some of them are quite…young. Best not repeat such…beastly indecencies."

A quick scan told him that Lupin was now thinking of a violent mix of his fantasies of Miss Rosier, of violence against Snape, and of his experiences of transformation. The pain and self-hatred was palpable.

After what felt like an hour but was likely closer to an immensely tense minute and a half of staring at each other from across the staff room, Lupin took a deep breath, let it out through his flared nostrils, and said, "You are an intelligent man, Severus. There is a great difference between fantasy and reality. I think you'll find that I have a great amount of self-restraint. Unlike some, I have yet to violate the girl, nor do I have any intention of doing so."

Severus was momentarily stunned by the implication, and watched Lupin gather his things and leave the room in silence.

Violation.

The implication that he was somehow harming or violating his best student stung, as Lupin no doubt knew it would. Since the girl had come to Hogwarts, Severus had taken care of her, monitoring her well-being, knowing that her consciousness would be somewhat fragile after her mother's well-meaning but dangerous spellwork. He had been caring for her, hadn't he?

A thin line, Severus knew, between care and harm. He closed his eyes, wishing that the brilliant green eyes would not be there, but they were.

They always were.

/-/

Remus was not naïve. He knew Severus well enough to know exactly why Severus had brought up Jossline Rosier to him. Severus had hoped that by taunting Remus with his desires, with the shamefulness of them, that Remus would be so full of self-hatred and fear that he would torment himself with the thoughts until he quit.

Well, Remus was not quitting, but he was tormenting himself. He stared at the ceiling of his quarters, wondering what Severus would be saying to his students as he covered his classes, wondering what he would say to Jossline.

This had not been the plan. He meant to come to Hogwarts, have a job, do it well, keep an eye on Harry, protect him from Sirius. No distractions. No temptations. No letting Severus under his skin. Doing everything that needed to be done would be hard enough, especially with hiding what he was on top of it all.

But from the moment he met eyes with Jossline Rosier on the first day of class, those sharp gray eyes full of loneliness and unsaid thoughts, he had thought of her far more than he should have. The wolf inside of him recognized her, somehow, and desired her.

She was beautiful, as even the man in him could see, although not conventionally so. Her eyes were the most enchanting part of her, intelligent and perceptive, but as enchanting as they were, they frightened Remus. They seemed to see into him, into his soul, to know him in ways no one should ever know him. Could she see what he was? Did she know?

When he managed to look away from her eyes, he could see her carefully combed hickory brown hair, silky and smooth even to the glance, the way it caught the light with unnatural sheen. He had seen her carefully tuck it over her shoulder and use a Sticking Charm to keep the band holding it in a ponytail from slipping out of her hair. The strands were too smooth to hold the band, and even with the Sticking Charm (which he determined was not a strength of hers) she had to redo her hair every hour or so.

He wanted to pull her hair. He was horrified at the thought, but he wanted to pull it. He wanted to bite her lips. He wanted to scratch and bite and even maybe bruise her flawless, creamy ivory skin. He wanted to taste that skin, and her mouth, and maybe even her blood.

Remus felt nauseous at the thought of burying himself inside of her with the taste of her blood on his teeth as she screamed.

He rolled over as quickly as he could in his weakened state and retched on his empty stomach until the pain of the dry heaving overtook the vicious, monstrous thoughts.

/-/

When he returned, Professor Lupin told them they did not have to do their research essay on werewolves, but Jossline could not stop reading about it. Since she was having trouble sleeping since Halloween, since encountering more dementors in Hogsmeade and nearly fainting, since the break-in of Sirius Black, she had not felt safe enough to sleep. At first she had stayed up all night researching for her Potions project, but now she could not stop reading book after book on werewolves.

Finally, she got up her courage, knocked on the door to Professor Snape's office, and entered when bid. He seemed mildly surprised to see her, but motioned for her to sit.

"Miss Rosier," he said, in that unreadable voice, with those unreadable black eyes in the dim room. "Your meeting about your progress is not until tomorrow."

"I know, Professor," she said, feeling dizzy with anxiety, "but I…I needed to speak with you about…other things."

His expression was meaningless, his eyes intense in their impossibly complex nothingness. For a brief moment, all of her concerns and fears that had kept her up at night were before her at once, the fears about the break-in, the strange and terrible sensation she felt when the dementors came close like someone was about to violate her, and the horrible fear that grew with every book she read that kind Professor Lupin had not gotten his scars from fighting off villains, but from mauling himself on a full moon.

"I see," Professor Snape said, sitting down in a swift, graceful motion. "You have not been sleeping, Miss Rosier."

She shivered, shaking her head. For seven years, she had this horrible feeling that Professor Snape could read minds. Sometimes Dumbledore gave her that feeling as well. Normally she didn't care. Her mind was boring, focused on nothing but her work and annoyance with the petty concerns of her classmates. But now her mind was such a frightening jumble of her waking nightmares that the idea someone might see these flashes terrified her almost as much as experiencing the flashes herself.

"You are not a Gryffindor, Miss Rosier," Professor Snape said calmly, folding his hands on the table, "and it is very unlikely that Sirius Black would attempt to get into Ravenclaw Tower. There is nothing there of interest to him. Even if he tried," he continued with a slight sneer, "I doubt very much that he would manage to get inside. It is not as simple as learning a password."

Jossline nodded. In truth, Sirius Black was the least of her worries. Unlike many of her classmates, she was not raised on bedtime stories of how she needed to be good or Sirius Black would find her, like some kind of murderous boggart hiding under the bed, waiting for her to misbehave. She thought such tales were irresponsible parenting, but then, there was a lot of that to be had.

"Professor, I've been doing the reading you suggested," she said, her shoulders stiffening. "On…on werewolves."

"Indeed."

"I…" Her voice failed her for a brief moment, but he waited patiently. "Professor Lupin. Is he…dangerous?"

Professor Snape's nose twitched, her only clue that he had any reaction to her words, as his eyes were still blank of any emotional cues.

"You know of wolfsbane, Miss Rosier," he finally said.

"Yes, sir."

"You know of its capabilities."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, as long as a werewolf faithfully consumes wolfsbane, and does not add anything to make it ineffective such as…?"

She closed her eyes, trying to think of the structure of wolfsbane.

"Um, sugars?" she offered. "And similar simple carbohydrates?"

"Correct," he said firmly. "If a werewolf follows those steps, and the potion is correctly brewed, there is no danger."

She nodded, understanding. Professor Snape was brewing wolfsbane for Professor Lupin, and as long as Professor Lupin took the potion, he was safe. Somehow, it didn't make her feel much better, knowing that. She could understand the scars now, and the way he had aged before his time, but so much was unknown about werewolves. Even with the potion, they could transmit the bite. Even with the potion, would they be able to have a life? Was the bite the only way of transmission, or could intercourse or procreation spread it as well?

Every book had different answers, but Jossline didn't feel comfortable asking Professor Snape those questions. They seemed inappropriate, anyway, even if phrased in an academic manner.

"The dementors," she said softly, shifting. "I know the effects of their power are proportional to the worst of a person's memories, but I don't have any…any memories that should produce such a strong reaction. And yet whenever I'm around them I feel…" She pursed her lips, searching for the right words. "Small," she finally said. "And weak. And very much afraid."

He leaned forward slightly, but leaned back quickly, like he thought better of the motion. After a long moment he said, "There are many ways to react to a dementor. Sights, sounds, sensations."

Jossline could feel a shiver on her spine and she bit her tongue to keep from shuddering.

"I can feel…cold," she said. "Not like the cold of the dementors, but something else, like…like wearing clothes too thin in wintertime. And I see my uncle's face."

Professor Snape's whole body stiffened when she said what she saw. He stood abruptly, pacing the room rapidly. He said nothing to her, but she watched him pace. She had never seen him so emotive before, and there was something mildly fascinating about it, almost hypnotizing.

"You have a memory block on you," he finally said, stopping and gripping the back of his chair. "It is a…dangerous thing to do even when one is profoundly gifted at Charms. Your mother, as it happens, was never especially good at Charms, something which she has passed on to you." Jossline's cheeks flushed with heat at the mention of her many embarrassing Charms errors.

A memory block? She knew very little of the concept, but she did know that if done improperly at worst someone could become deranged, and at best the block would not hold through time and stress. If it had to do with her uncle, it would have been years ago, more than a decade. And she was certainly under considerable stress.

After what seemed to be hesitation, Professor Snape looked her in the eye again and she felt a strange tugging sensation. The face of her uncle was there again, and she felt dirty, small, helpless. Another tiny tugging sensation, and suddenly, she was a child again, cowering in the corner of the bathroom. The room was steamy. She had taken a shower. Her uncle was over her, saying thing she wasn't listening to, his voice soothing but his eyes full of a heat she did not like or understand. She was cold, but better cold than hot. When he touched her she was warm, and she didn't like it. She wanted to be cold. She didn't want him to touch her. She was crying, but he ignored her tears.

It hurt. His fingers hurt her. Why wouldn't he stop?

She didn't realize where she was for a moment, shivering and blinking up a blank black eyes, almost too close to her. Her face was wet, and she realized she was in Professor Snape's office, and that he was holding her chin with long, cold fingers. His jaw was tight. He was right in front of her.

"He…." She gasped, a shaking inhale of breath that was more sobs than exhaling when she released it. "He…"

"I know," Professor Snape said. "During the war…. Your parents had it added to his legal record."

"I don't want to remember," she whimpered. "Please, I don't want to remember. It hurts. I don't…. Please."

She wasn't sure what she was asking, but Professor Snape seemed to know. He shook his head and took a step away from her, letting go of her face as she hastily wiped her cheeks.

"Removing the memory is unwise," he said, sitting at his desk again, across from her. "Blocking it, even by a skilled wizard, is exceedingly dangerous. You must learn to come to terms with it."

Jossline almost laughed a bitter laugh.

Come to terms with it? Come to terms with the sudden knowledge, the sudden memory, of her uncle violating her as a small child? How could she possibly come to terms with the horrible mix of fear and anger that filled her at remembering? How could she ever feel clean and safe again?

"I will speak with Professor Flitwick and Professor Dumbledore," he said softly. "And your father. We will see what can be done." Jossline nodded and stood numbly, aware that there was nothing else to say. As she turned to the door he said, "Miss Rosier?" She turned to look at him, but his back was to her as he looked down at his fireplace. "I am sorry."

The words puzzled her, but she said nothing, nodding although he could not see her before dragging herself out of his office, walking as though in a daze back to her dormitory where she pulled her curtains around her and shivered, staring blankly at the hangings.

She couldn't get the feeling of those hands off of her skin, and she knew he hadn't touched her in years. She knew it, and yet it felt as though he was right there with her, leering at her, touching her. She shut her eyes and cried silently, praying that everyone thought she was sleeping.

/-/

Remus had debated with himself more than a hundred times since he woke up that morning alone on whether or not to mention anything to Albus. He had thought of saying something to Filius, but there might be questions he could not answer. And although he had considered broaching the subject with Jossline, privately, he did not trust himself alone with her. In spite of what he told Severus, in spite of the wolfsbane, this close to the full moon such temptations were dangerous.

But he had to say something about the circles under her eyes, her increased state of agitation and paranoia, the way she practically jumped out of her skin whenever someone accidently touched her. She was not eating nearly enough, and Remus suspected that she wasn't sleeping, either. The standard of her work was still excellent, but it had made a noticeable drop recently. She barely listened in class, even less than usual.

The wolf in him wanted to protect her, and the human in him was worried someone had hurt her. He hadn't seen someone act this way since Mary MacDonald before her death. Sometimes he still felt guilty for not mentioning Mary's behavior to someone. Sometimes he thought that if he had, she might have lived, at least a little bit longer. Hardly anyone his age survived the war, but maybe she would have at least made it to graduation.

Once he allowed himself to feel the guilt of Mary's death, Remus found himself going straight to Albus's office. Yes, it was the middle of the night. Yes, there would be questions he did not want to answer. But if something was as wrong as he thought it might be, he would not have something like that on his conscience again.

Besides, no one was allowed to hurt her, the wolf inside of him said. No one but me.

He felt slightly sick, and was just about to knock on the wooden door into Albus's office when he heard voices, angry voices. He leaned closer and closed his eyes to focus on them.

"I understand your frustration, Severus," Albus said gently.

"No, Albus," Severus said, with a heat Remus had never heard him use with the Headmaster before. "You only had to inform her parents. You aren't the one who has to tell Julian Rosier that there's nothing to be done for his daughter. You aren't the one who has to explain to his wife that her efforts to protect their child very likely made things worse. They won't let you send her to a counselor, Albus. You know that. The transcripts from such a thing—"

"I know as well as you what the Rosier family has done," Albus said firmly. "Perhaps I did not see it, but do not assume you are the only person who has seen atrocities, Severus. In many respects, Jossline Rosier is exceptionally fortunate."

"Fortunate?" Severus's voice said, so much anger behind the word. "Fortunate? Albus, she was molested by her uncle and had to deal with that memory in one fell swoop!"

Remus felt his heart pounding in his throat. Her uncle. Evan Rosier. Remus recalled fighting him in the war. He was either dead or in Azkaban, Remus couldn't remember which, and Remus thought that he might have been the one who was responsible for taking a bit of Mad-Eye's nose. He briefly wished the man wasn't dead so that Remus could find a way to torture and kill him for hurting his niece.

"Whose fault is that, Severus?"

Albus's voice was like ice with those words. He rarely spoke that way. Remus could count on one hand the times he had heard that tone, and usually it was directed at Sirius Black. Remus curled his hands into fists at the thought of Sirius and listened to the tense silence in the next room.

"The wall would have come down in a week or two regardless," Severus finally said, although he sounded as though he were in pain. "It was incredibly weak from time and wear. The dementors had been weakening it, Albus. Another Hogsmeade trip and it would have been down, if not sooner. I did not intend to break it, but at least she was not alone, or in a class, or in Hogsmeade when it happened. At least I knew what was wrong."

"Indeed," Albus said softly. "But she continues to worsen."

"She needs teaching," Severus said. "Guidance. Albus, if you will not help her there is no one else who can."

"That is not true, Severus. You can."

Another pause.

"Me?"

"Miss Rosier respects you, Severus. She trusts you, or else she would not have come to you in the first place with her concerns." The wolf growled with jealous anger. "Her family respects you. Regardless of my position or capabilities, I know perfectly well that very few old Slytherin families would ever accept me tinkering with the minds of their daughters. You are just as capable of teaching her as I am."

"I am not…. I cannot…. Albus, you are much better at dealing with…emotions than I am."

"Perhaps," Albus said, clearly amused. "But the point is not to coddle her, Severus. If I wanted that, I would send her to Poppy until she consented to eat and sleep, at the very least. The point is to teach her how to manage her memories and emotions, and I know of none more qualified than you."

Severus muttered something that even Remus's keen hearing could not pick up, and Remus held his breath. Perhaps he should go. Perhaps he should consider Jossline's well-being taken care of and try to call it a night. He was just about to leave when he heard Albus call out, "Enter, Remus."

He felt like a child again, caught with his friends for tricking the Huffepuff girls into eating Cockroach Clusters by disguising them as chocoballs. He took a deep breath and opened the door. His surprise at finding Albus alone must have shown clearly on his face, because Albus said, "He took the fireplace. Come. Sit down."

Remus did as he was bid, sitting down across from the Headmaster in that same chair he'd sat in so many times when he got into trouble. Was he in trouble now for listening at the door? It was a stupid, immature thing to do, but he had to know. He needed to protect her.

Before Remus could apologize, Albus, placed his hands on a carefully prepared file. Remus's eyes flickered down to it.

"Jossline Rosier was raised in France, Remus," Albus said softly, sadly, "because during the war, her uncle was discovered to have been molesting her. When her parents learned of this, they found a way to discretely report it to Alastor Moody, and had the Minister transfer them to Paris to act on the Ministry's behalf in France. They could have moved back, theoretically, when Evan was out of the way, but Julian was always concerned that England would bring his daughter's memories back. Her mother performed a block, you see."

Remus did not hide his surprise. Memory blocks were incredibly difficult and dangerous.

"Oh, not a very good one," Albus continued, still so melancholy. "We always knew it would break down eventually, and I am afraid the dementors have done nothing to help it hold up. It has been active for more than a decade now, and even properly enacted ones only last perhaps thirty years. The block has been broken, which is why, as you have I am sure noticed, she has been increasingly troubled. She does not have the emotional capacity to deal with the memories in the way they have come back to her."

"And what can be done?" Remus asked nervously.

Albus glanced at the fireplace for a moment before saying, "There are things Severus can teach her that will help her manage, but it will be a lifelong struggle, I expect. Some wounds never truly heal."

Remus felt slightly dizzy as he realized how terrible his wolf's desires were. The had made him sick before, but knowing what she had gone through…. He was suddenly terrified. If something happened, if he did lose control…. She was weak, she was wounded, and he could make it worse. He could do more than ruin her, he might end her completely.

He had to get away from her. He had to remove himself from the temptation.

"Albus," he said hurriedly, intent on resigning, but the man cut him off, raising a thin hand. There was hardness in those sparkling blue eyes.

"She is a student, Remus," Albus said firmly. "But she is not a little girl. She is legally a woman."

He felt shame on him like he'd been doused in a liquid version of it. It made his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. Severus must have told Albus about Remus's fantasies. He must have already tried to get Remus fired for them.

"Severus has always had a flare for the dramatic, wouldn't you say?" Albus said, amused. "I believe he has read too many poorly written books about werewolves. So many of them floating around out there. Although, he doesn't appear to be entirely wrong about this one. I must say, the concept of a mate is a complicated one."

Remus cringed at the word. It was another of the monstrous rumors that werewolves were drawn to a human mate that they would desire to turn and possess. No young virgin was safe once a wolf recognized her as his mate.

"Albus, I didn't expect you to believe in mates," he said weakly.

He didn't want to believe in them, because if they were real, then Severus was right, and he needed to be as far away from Jossline as possible.

With a joyful chuckle, Albus said, "Oh, not the way the stories would have us believe. But few things in life are quite like the stories, are they? Some are much worse, some much better, and many much more ordinary. I believe in mates as I believe in Seers. They are far fewer and far more complex than the average of intelligence would have us believe. I know very little about such things, Remus, but I do know that the wolf has recognized Jossline when you have never met her before, and I know that in spite of what it may have desired before, you are thinking of her differently now that you know of her past."

With surprise, Remus found that Albus was, as usual, correct. The wolf was not brooding over tasting her and touching her, but of keeping everyone away from her, of curling up around her and never letting her hurt again. Of avenging her and fighting off all threats. His mate was wounded. And he was protecting her.

"I won't let you resign," Albus said, smiling, "not over something like this. Someday, perhaps, you will be glad that I did not allow you to separate yourself from her. In a year, she will no longer be a student. Remember that, and see that your wolf remembers that for now she is still a student, and everything will likely turn out just fine."

Remus nodded, but he said nothing of what he thought about those words. In his experience, very few things turned out just fine.

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She had only just finished nervously sticking her ponytail holder back to her gathered hair when Professor Snape entered his office, looking down at her with a very peculiar expression. Jossline had her notes in her sweaty hands, but she could barely read the words she had written through her bleary vision. She hadn't been crying, but her eyes seemed to only work intermittently lately. Penelope told her it was exhaustion, but no matter what Jossline tried, she just couldn't sleep.

"Miss Rosier," he said, sitting across from her. She wanted to leave. He'd sat there when the memories came back. He was right there when he told her…. She bit her tongue to keep from shivering.

"I have my notes," she said wearily.

"I have no doubt they are sufficient," he said dismissively. "I will read them over the weekend if you leave them here. There is something more important that we must discuss."

She wanted to ask him not to talk about it. Whatever it was, she didn't think she wanted to know. Still, she was fully aware that Professor Snape was the person she needed to impress most in order to have a successful career, and begging him not to bother her with details and truths was not the best way to secure his confidence in her. Instead, she said nothing and waited patiently.

"After discussion with Professor Dumbledore and your parents," he said, "we have determined that I will be giving you extra lessons."

Extra lessons? She blinked, puzzled. She knew that her standards had slipped slightly with her lack of sleep and appetite, but she had tried so hard not to let it hurt her performance in Potions.

Before she could ask him what he meant, he said, "If anyone asks, you are taking an advanced series of Potions lessons from me. Perhaps we will even have time for such things, should you improve satisfactorily." His eyes softened. The mysteries she could not unravel in them were no less mysterious, but somehow those black orbs seemed something like kind for the briefest of moments. "We will instead be training your mind and consciousness."

"What?" she asked.

"There is a branch of magic dealing with matters of the mind," he said. "It is related most closely to Charms, which is why there are charms dealing with issues of memory. We do not teach it at Hogwarts because it is complex, difficult, and in the more advanced levels bordering on the illegal."

"The Imperius Curse," Jossline whispered, realizing that this level of compulsion must be related somehow to the branch he was discussing.

He nodded approvingly and said, "The magic I will be teaching you is similar in many respects to Muggle methods of mental training, such as meditation. They are the keys to controlling your conscious mind, and in the more advanced level of training and attention, even much of your subconscious mind. The things you feel you will not have to feel at the wrong times."

"You mean I don't have to feel anything?" Jossline said eagerly. "I won't have to deal with these emotions anymore?"

Professor Snape hesitated before saying, "You will have to feel the emotions at some point, but those emotions will be accessible when you choose, not when they will inconvenient or dangerous to you. Granted, it is still dangerous not to allow yourself to feel with them, so you must deal with the emotions regularly."

"Catharsis," she whispered, setting down her notes on his desk and wiping her sweaty hands discretely on her skirt. "So that's what you do, why you never emote. When you're alone you sulk." His eyebrows twitched at her word choice and her hand shot to her mouth as she sat, mortified, in front of her professor.

She couldn't believe she had just said that, and even more she was surprised he hadn't even taken points off for it, at the very least.

"A crude but apt description," he finally said. "And yes, this is a demonstration of how not to allow emotion to guide action." She could feel her cheeks pooling with heat, but he continued, "This will be very taxing for you emotionally, especially at first, but I must ask you to bear through it. I will also be giving you sleeping potions for the first three weeks to be certain you have enough rest. You must bring it upon yourself to eat a healthy three meals daily, and if you do not I will order you to take your meals in the infirmary where Madam Pomfrey will personally supervise your eating those meals. Taxing your emotions will tax your physical condition as well, and you are starting from a low physical condition. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

She would eat even if it made her feel sick. She would take those potions religiously. Anything to stop herself from feeling the way she felt. Jossline listened very carefully as Professor Snape outlined for her reading to do over the coming three weeks – which would be low-stress while her body recuperated – and mental exercises they would be practicing during her twice-weekly meetings. This would be on top of her meetings for her project check-in. He also encouraged her to practice the mental exercises frequently throughout her daily life. A series of calming techniques and meditations, particularly upon waking and before bed.

As soon as Professor Snape dismissed her, Jossline went straight to the library. She wouldn't let him down. She would master these techniques, no matter what it took.

/-/

Whatever Severus was doing with her, Remus saw dramatic changes in Jossline Rosier by the time April rolled around.

There were positive changes. She started focusing better, started getting color back in her cheeks, and where she had been thinning she filled in again. The dark circles under her eyes were completely gone within three months, and so when she returned from France after the holidays she looked again like the beautiful young woman Remus had seen in his classroom the first day of classes. The wolf seemed to purr in approval of these changes, and Remus regretted that she seemed to grow more attractive and enticing all the time.

But there were changes that also unnerved him. She had begun to take on Severus's manner. She did not scowl at people, but he could not recall the last time she smiled, the last time he heard her laugh. She walked around with the kind of blankness in her eyes that Severus's often held. That dull, blank gray reminded Remus chillingly of a time when Sirius had been put under the Imperius by Mad-Eye as they practiced fighting the curse during Order training.

Only in Jossline's eyes, there was no struggle, and she was clearly not under a curse. Albus seemed pleased with the progress, but Remus had the impression that he was not alone in concern with her lack of outward display of emotion. Penelope Clearwater, for one, had said several times where Remus could hear that spending so much time with Snape was making Jossline "creepy."

Jossline had not grown angry with her friend, at least not visibly. She had simply told Penelope calmly that if she could not support what Jossline was doing for her career than she wasn't being a very good friend, as Jossline had always been supportive of Penelope.

The girls had not spoken in the whole of March, and Remus was starting to grow concerned as they had yet to speak to each other into April.

He wished he knew more about what Severus was doing with the girl. He both wanted her to keep improving and desperately wanted to extricate her from Severus's influence. It was eerily like Lily, who was always at her most unreasonable and blind where Severus was concerned. It took a massive social disaster for her to see what he was, and that was unlikely to happen with Jossline. As Albus had pointed out, she was a student, and one very much dependent on Severus for not only her career options, but also for her physical and psychological well-being.

Remus was at best uncomfortable with the amount of power this gave Severus over the girl, as if he didn't have enough to worry about with Harry and Sirius.

But Albus trusted Severus, so Remus told himself that everything was fine. This was a stage, he said as he watched her dull eyes. She would improve before the year's end.

/-/

Severus let his wand drop and sighed as he regarded the young woman across the table from him. Just a matter of months prior she had been an entirely different person. He knew she was stronger now, but Severus did not allow himself to wonder whether Jossline Rosier was better or worse off for this newfound strength.

"Very good," he said, motioning for her to have a drink of water. "I doubt very much that your mind will wander without your wish ever again. Also, I have graded your potion. I believe you should submit it for patent, Miss Rosier. I daresay St. Mungo's would be grateful for such a powerful restorative."

At the beginning of the year, her face would have brightened with such praise, but it was an unreadable mask as she said, "Thank you, sir."

He dismissed her after telling her that he would be sending out her recommendations within the week, and that she could expect a very positive assessment of her capabilities.

As soon as she was gone he turned to the cauldron he had brewing in his classroom, where he had to conduct this last of her lessons due to his need for paying attention to the wolfsbane he was brewing.

When the potion was finished he picked up the bag of sugar and touched the spoon at his side. For the briefest of moments he hesitated on behalf of the young woman who had just left his classroom. What would become of her should Lupin find her in his wolf's mind? He was taking a very great risk, and had been all week, but he had also been keeping a particular eye on the Ravenclaw Tower in his nightly prowl of the castle.

If an attempt to mate with or bite a student after escaping his quarters wasn't enough to get Lupin fired, Severus didn't know what was.

With no room for regret, Severus poured a spoonful of sugar into the wolfsbane, the very last dose, and stirred it into the steaming brew. He took the cauldron off the heat and went straight to Lupin's office. If it wasn't delivered on time, if the steam was gone, Lupin would be suspicious.

After all, it was too late to turn back now.

/-/

After exams, Jossline slept through breakfast. By lunchtime, rumors flew around the school about all sorts of things that were supposed to have happened the night before. Jossline heard everything from Sirius Black killing Harry Potter to Harry Potter killing Sirius Black, and she even heard that the two had destroyed each other in a duel that killed so many teachers and Ministry officials that the school might have to close.

Mostly, she ignored the many ridiculous tales, eating her midday meal alone at the far end of the table, away from distraction.

That is, until buzz began at the Slytherin table and grew to a crescendo when one of the students cried out, for everyone to hear, "What do you mean, Lupin's a werewolf?"

Jossline dropped her spoon, feeling strangely cold all of a sudden.

The other student could be heard even over the growing buzz of whispers and gossip, saying, "I mean just that! Professor Snape told me himself!"

She felt sick. She felt angry. She couldn't stop feeling. She looked up at the Head Table where she could see Professor Snape not bothering to hide his smugness. He met her gaze and his expression muted slightly. Obviously she was showing expression, but she didn't care.

Pushing away her half-finished lunch, she hurried out of the Hall and into the entryway. As luck would have it, Professor Lupin had his trunk and was hurrying out of the front doors. She called out to him, and although he paused, he did not turn around, and kept going faster than she could keep up with.

But his trunk was heavy, and she caught up with him up the footpath toward the gates, well before he reached them.

"Professor," she said, so unfamiliar with the breathless urgency in her voice that she thought it might belong to someone else. He paused again, this time long enough for her to catch up to him fully, and he hesitantly looked down at her.

His eyes were exhausted, and she wondered why. They hadn't been this tired since the first day of school. In spite of her attempts to regain her decorum, she couldn't stop feeling, and she felt a kind of pain at the tiredness in his face, in his eyes.

But there was something else in those eyes, a glow in the amber that was so enticing.

"Miss Rosier, I have to go," he said.

"Please," she said. "Please, don't. I…. My parents will write the Ministry, the governors. We have a lot of influence. Please don't leave."

He smiled tightly and said, "You won't even be here next year."

Her vision was blurring, and her cheeks were getting wet, and she didn't know why. Because he was right, he was absolutely right. She wouldn't be at Hogwarts next year, and it didn't matter who was teaching Defense. But somehow it was so important to her that he was okay, and at Hogwarts she knew he was okay. Would he even be able to get a job somewhere else?

"I'm not afraid of you," she said, although it wasn't a full truth. She had been, very afraid. "Please don't go. I can't be the only one who already knew."

She couldn't see his lips through her tears, but based on his voice she thought he might be smiling wryly as he said, "Hermione Granger knew at the least. Miss Rosier, two people is wonderful, perhaps more than I deserve. But you know full well the kind of prejudices that still exist for my kind."

Squeezing her eyes shut tightly in an attempt to stop crying, she nodded. Penelope was just one such example, and she could think of dozens more in Slytherin House alone.

She was sobbing now, and she didn't know how to stop. Hadn't she just let out her emotions four days ago? She shouldn't need this now, and yet she couldn't stop.

Professor Lupin surprised her by setting down the trunk, wrapping his warm, thin arms around her and pulling her into a hug. She could smell parchment and chocolate and dirt and sweat. Had he spent the night in the forest? Jossline gripped at his thin robes and thought wildly that perhaps if she didn't let go of him he wouldn't be able to leave. She would never, ever let go of him.

"I have to go," he said gently, surprising her by burying his nose in her hair, which must have come loose in running after him. Her hair always came loose when she ran. "But you can write me, if you wish. I promise to answer." He breathed in deeply, gripping her a bit more tightly. "Do me just one favor," he whispered.

"Anything."

Anything but let you go.

"I know that Severus has been schooling you in his stoicism," he said with a false levity, "but it's okay to smile sometimes. The people who love you want to see you smile, hear you laugh again." He surprised her with a feather-light kiss to her temple. "You have a beautiful smile, Jossline."

And with that, he left her standing there, trying to stop crying, as he carried his trunk away to Hogsmeade to catch the next train to somewhere else, somewhere not with her.

Standing there, rubbing at her eyes desperately in an attempt to see through the seemingly endless tears. She wanted to see him as he walked out of her life, because in that moment, somehow, she realized what that pull, that tingle was.

Bizarrely, she was in love with Professor Lupin, and before she could see again, he was gone.

/-/

After months and months of work, of writing letters back and forth with Professor Lupin (he had begun to insist she call him Remus, as he was no longer her professor), Jossline Rosier finally had a contract with St. Mungo's, a place of her own to work, and a small apothecary in a wizarding sub-community of Brighton beneath her flat where she could supplement her income.

Life seemed to be in place. Professor Snape even visited once a month to check in on her for her parents, for Professor Dumbledore (who apparently worried).

She had not spoken to Penelope since graduation, especially given some of the things Penelope said about Remus after finding out what he was. In fact, apart from former professors and people she had to see for work, Jossline didn't speak to much of anyone. She found she preferred life that way, without the complications of other people's drama. The bubbling and simmering of cauldrons kept her home from ever being too quiet.

That was enough.

/-/

As soon as Severus returned from his reporting to the Dark Lord, he went to report to Albus, who was standing in his office, looking out over the grounds from his window, the fireplace crackling merrily. It made Severus feel sick, to see that thing crackling in the corner.

"He does not suspect?" Albus asked softly.

"He was hesitant at first," Severus responded as casually as he could. "I did not come away without some measure of…reminder. But he believes that I am still a faithful servant, yes."

"Good," Albus said.

He turned into the room, and even in the firelight Severus could see the years weighing on this man as though they had all caught up in the time Severus was gone.

"He will not believe for long unless I have a plan," Severus said, feeling disgusted with himself for what was required of him, although he did not yet know how to manage it. "We are expected to recruit, Albus. He seems to think that being a professor, I should be able to bring someone to him in spite of you watching me closely. I suppose there are always Slytherin students who will want to join him upon graduating."

"That is not soon enough," Albus said, folding his hands. "And those students will be recruited by their parents. You have to recruit someone who is outside their typical sphere of influence, but still believable."

Severus nodded, looking out the window at the moon. How could he possibly subject someone to that? It would have to be a former student, because he could not bring in a current student. But who could possibly fit that description outside the usual spheres of influence? It couldn't be a Slytherin, and who did that leave?

"Dorcas Meadowes," Albus said softly.

The name tugged at Severus's memories painfully. She had been the Order's attempt in the first war to infiltrate the Death Eaters. She was a clumsy attempt, discovered after only three months and suspected from the beginning. She didn't have the capacity to hide in plain sight like Severus, didn't have the capacity to hide her thoughts from regular assault. Severus had been there when Voldemort killed her himself, and he had never forgotten the look in her eyes before her death.

"What about her?"

Albus stood again, crossing to a shelf that contained books and student files. There were still sets several years back, and Albus ran his fingers along the files Severus knew to be from last year's graduates.

"How recently have you see Miss Rosier?" Albus asked softly.

A chill went through Severus as the implications hit him.

Yes, she was impeccably trained in guarding her thoughts, in Occlumency. She had even regained her natural expressions over the course of the last year, and ever time Severus saw her she had more and more expression in her face, although her eyes were guarded. She had been practicing presenting surface thoughts that were innocuous, and nothing secret or undesired was accessible.

But Severus was not the Dark Lord, and if anyone could break the girl down, it was the Dark Lord.

Certainly, she had the pedigree to be a Death Eater. She would have no questions as to her blood status or her sympathies, nor could her usefulness be questioned. Severus could take her in as an…apprentice of sorts.

"She can go where you cannot," Albus said, "gain trust from those who do not trust you. She could never report to the Order directly, no contact with anyone in the Order. I don't know how I will tell Remus, but he understands the need for such measures. He has done it before."

Severus knew that last tidbit was for his benefit, an enticement to agree to the plan without a fuss. If he submitted her to the Dark Lord as a spy, he would be separating her from Lupin. Out of the jaws of one wolf and into the snake pit. Was it worthwhile?

But Severus knew there was no question in the matter. They needed Jossline Rosier. He needed her, if he was going to continue to do his job, to serve two masters. He told Albus that he would see her in the morning, and then he went to his quarters to sleep off his exhaustion and the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse.

/-/

As Professor Snape related to her the basics in her apartment – because people might be listening in her shop, he said – about how the Dark Lord was returned, and how the Ministry refused to believe, and how Professor Dumbledore was organizing resistance against him as had been done in the first war.

"He wants me to fight?" she asked softly.

That seemed preposterous to her. She had passed her Defense N.E.W.T., but her practical had been alright at best. If she hadn't had such a strong practical understanding of the subject, she likely wouldn't have managed a passing grade. Perhaps he wanted her to brew things, stocking a cupboard for healing, perhaps?

"No," he said, his voice sounding small and strained. She turned to look at him, and found that his face was not the mask it usually was, but that he seemed to be in physical pain. She hurried forward to see if he was alright, but he waved her off. "No, he wants you to spy. As I do. To join the Death Eaters to gather information and plant incorrect information. Well, you would simply gather information."

She narrowed her eyes, tucking her hair over her shoulder.

"Why not the other?" she demanded.

He explained to her a story about a woman named Meadowes who had died in the first war, a woman who had been a spy and was caught. The story caused a shiver in her spine.

She could not have any contact in the Order, he told her. That had been Dorcas Meadowes's weakness: her relationship with a man named Dearborn.

"That shouldn't be difficult," she said. "I don't talk to many people anyway. Mostly just you."

"Lupin is in the Order," he said sharply.

The words were ringing in her ears long after he finished saying them, and the room seemed to spin. If she were to do this, to agree to spy on the Death Eaters, she could not see Remus Lupin, could not write to him.

And if she did not do this, Severus Snape would possibly die. Plus, the information she could gather would potentially save hundreds of lives. She knew enough from the first war to know that the longer things went on, the bloodier and more vicious everything would be.

If she said no, there was no one else. From the story Professor Snape told her, she knew that he needed someone who could shield her mind, like he had trained Jossline to do, like she had been practicing ever since.

"I can do it," she said softly. "I…I want to do it. Just tell me what to do."

His eyes took on a hint of sadness. Perhaps a part of him wished she would say no. A part of her wished she could have. She could see Remus Lupin's amber eyes like they were right in front of her, and a profound sense of loss filled her chest as she and Professor Snape began to plan.

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Remus brought a box with him to Grimmauld Place, feeling sick to his stomach as he had constantly since Albus told him that he was not allowed to write to Jossline anymore, or keep her letter at his place.

"If the other wolves find out about her, you know what they will do," Albus cautioned. "If you want her to be there when this is over, you have to do this."

"Hey, mate," Sirius said, grinning. It was still so strange to see his smile restored after twelve years of Azkaban and two on the run. Of course, it was not as glorious and bright as it had been when they were young, when he laughed with so little provocation and smiled just because he could get whatever he wanted when he smiled. "What's that?"

"I need you to keep these for me," he said softly. "Someone I need to protect and I can't keep the letters at my place. But promise me you won't read them."

Remus must have looked desperate or sick or afraid when he said it, because Sirius's face fell, and his eyes went grave as he said, "Of course, Moony. Whatever you need. I'll keep them in the master bedroom. Maybe seal the box so Buckbeak can't get in?"

They sealed it carefully and put it in the back of the closet in the master bedroom, where no one else would look for it. Albus said that someone would be explaining to her why he wasn't writing, why she couldn't write, why they couldn't see each other until the war was over, but he wished he could tell her himself. He wanted to see her face, to see her gloomy gray eyes just one more time before he had to pretend not to love her for Merlin only knows how long.

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After a month of attending meetings as Severus asked (he was having her call her Severus now, because he did not want to give constant reminders to the other Death Eaters that Jossline had been his student), the Dark Lord had decided that Jossline Rosier was ready to take the Mark, ready to properly join the Death Eaters.

Narcissa was with her upstairs, because they would be marking her in Malfoy Manor. Severus felt a strange anxiety fluttering in his chest as he waited for the Dark Lord to call for her. She had to be ready when he was ready for her. For the third time, Severus went upstairs to see if she was ready, and Narcissa was outside the room they were preparing her in, looking cool and calm. But Severus knew Narcissa well enough to know that she was anxious on Jossline's behalf. She had never taken the Mark herself, but everyone closest to her had, bar her sister Andromeda who had betrayed the family.

"I can't help but think she can't be ready for this," Narcissa said softly to him when she saw him there. "I know what Evan did to her, Severus. Does she remember?"

"She does," Severus said, glancing at the door, wondering if she was listening to them. "But I assure you, Narcissa, Jossline knows what she is getting herself into better than most who have taken the Mark."

If only the words were not so hollow. They sounded as sincere as anything else he had ever said, but he knew that Narcissa was right. Jossline was not prepared for the things that would be demanded of her, the things she would have to do. He knew she was stronger than she had been when she regained her memories, but he was stronger still and most days he thought it might be better to die.

But then he would have to face Lily, and he couldn't do that, not knowing he had left her son before it was done. As soon as this was over, truly over, he would welcome death whenever it came, but before he could not.

Jossline, she didn't even have access to Lupin anymore, the one thing that might have given her the will to live when things became almost unbearable.

"Severus, it is time," Yaxley called from the bottom of the stairwell.

Severus knocked on the door, but Jossline must have heard because she opened the door in the billowing, lightweight black robes that Narcissa had prepared for her. Her silky brown hair was around her face, left to hang naturally and Severus was startled with how ethereal she looked in the candlelit hall, her pale skin contrasting with the dark surrounding it, her gray eyes determined, as they ought to be at such a time.

He had taught her well, but he hoped it would be well enough. When he took the Mark, he had been devoted. No spy had ever managed to get this far and live.

Without a word, Jossline walked down the steps, gliding more than stepping, with the robes billowing around her appropriately. Severus followed behind, but Narcissa could not follow. She was not initiated, and this was not for her to witness. Severus and the other Death Eaters followed Jossline into the Hall, where the Dark Lord, Lucius, and someone already wearing his mask were waiting for the others. Candles surrounded the large room, and the Dark Lord watched her approaching, standing tall and pale and disfigured as always in the flickering light.

Jossline knelt at his feet as she had been instructed, looking at his knees rather than his face. Severus could remember so easily how he, too, had knelt at the Dark Lord's feet like that, younger still than Jossline was now. He had trembled with anticipation as well, but he had been so eager to serve.

"Stand," the Dark Lord said in his high, cold voice, and Jossline did so, standing, holding her arms out straight to her sides as though about to be crucified.

Instead, Lucius (who had put on his mask) and the masked man on the other side, stepped forward at the Dark Lord's gesture and removed the robes.

Severus caught himself inhaling sharply as her naked body was revealed to the room.

He had known she was a beautiful woman, but so often he still thought of her as his student, a girl not yet a woman. Seeing her body in the flickering candlelight, seeing the shadows her figure cast along the floor, the way the light made her figure somehow glow against the darkness of the room….

He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, and he was reminded of Lupin's grotesque fantasies about her, about possessing her and tasting her and tying her down….

Perhaps other men in the room were having such fantasies about her, about bruising her and cutting her and maybe even making her afraid for her life before they achieved their release. Such men certainly stood in that room. Severus, he just felt a desire to touch her, to know if her skin was warm as he thought, or cold like some women's skin always seemed to be. He wanted to know if it was as soft as it looked in candlelight, as flawless as it seemed in the near-dark.

With more effort than he thought should have been required, he pushed the thought from his mind. The ceremony was continuing. The Dark Lord had ordered her to her knees again, and she was trembling at his feet once more, this time with the twitches of someone who had just suffered the Cruciatus Curse.

She had been told to expect this, and she had done so.

At the Dark Lord's order, she lifted her arm, displaying the flesh of it and offering it to be marked. Severus held his breath. There was never any going back, but this was truly the crossing of the Rubicon.

With a knife Lucius handed him, the Dark Lord cut into her skin, just deep enough to draw blood, long enough to be the length of the Dark Mark. Her shoulders stiffened, but no other sign was given that she felt the cut at all. Then the Dark Lord pressed his wand into the wound.

Severus had seen older, fiercer wizards and witches scream, thrash, need to be held in place so that the spell could be completed. He could hear a sharp intake of breath at the first contact, and then he saw her curl the fingers of her free hand into her palm as he dragged his wand up the wound, creating the Mark as he went. No one would have thought less of her for screaming, or even grunting, but Severus knew they would be impressed that she did not make a sound.

Because the spell was agony, like the full power of the Cruciatus Curse was located in one small spot on the arm. This was why the Dark Lord performed the Cruciatus Curse first, to dull the pain with preliminary pain.

A mercy, of a sort.

The Dark Mark glowed an angry black on her arm, and Severus knew the skin was still tender from the spell, the cut (which was only healed in look by the spell, and would stop hurting in several days' time), the curse.

"Welcome home," the Dark Lord said.

There was some applause, which Severus joined in, and the robes and a glass of brandy were fetched for her. Her vows of loyalty and servitude had been done the night before, so she was fully initiated now. Severus expected that when she got back to her flat she would cry, maybe even scream. He had suggested that she let out the emotions at her first opportunity upon being alone, because she could not afford to have them too close to the surface in the presence of any Death Eaters.

When she was dressed once more and had taken the brandy, she walked to him on shaky legs, and he helped her back upstairs as casually as possible.

"How did I do?" she asked with a weak smile as Narcissa helped him usher her back into the guest room.

"You were perfect," he told her.

She nodded, and he allowed himself one brief thought of how she had looked, standing naked in the Hall, before he left the room, left her to be doted on by Narcissa.

Some days, he wanted to kill Albus.

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Shopping for Sirius was a full-time job on its own, but with all the food he had to stock for the Order as well, Remus changed where he shopped frequently, and he didn't always do the shopping. Sometimes Tonks or Kingsley would do it. Remus also made a point of shopping in Muggle areas, because most wizards knew he didn't have money for the kind of food shopping sprees he was having to do.

He was shopping in Brighton one day for a change when he smelled something that made the wolf ache for Jossline, a kind of sandalwood and smoky scent close to what he had smelled when he had hugged her on the Hogwarts grounds, when she was crying because he was leaving. Lost in the memory, he barely noticed the woman walking past him until he ran right into her, knocking her shopping list right out of her hands.

"Oh, I am so sorry, Miss," he said, turning and feeling a moment of shock when he saw Jossline standing there, gray eyes wide, mouth arranged in a stunned sort of shape. The wolf was so pleased, so eager to see her after so long, but he knew he could not forget that they were supposed to be virtual strangers, for her safety. "Ah, Miss Rosier. Apologies. Allow me."

"No, it's fine," she said quickly, and they both leaned down together to reach for her list.

He might have laughed at the way their heads almost bumped, until he saw what appeared to be the tail of a tattoo on her left arm, revealed when her sleeve rode up from the reaching motion. He felt his whole body go cold, and instead of grabbing the list, he grabbed her hand. She tried to pull away as they straightened, but he would not let go.

"What is that?" he said darkly, feeling like he was perhaps disciplining her.

She did not have to tell him, but she said nothing in a small voice, her eyes wide.

Remus held his breath, hoping it was just some foolish, youthful tattoo. Sirius had dozens of tattoos he had picked up in his young adulthood, one for every Death Eater he had killed. Perhaps it was a graduation celebration.

But he had to know.

In spite of her weak protests, he pulled the sleeve up on her arm just enough to reveal the bottom half of what he instantly recognized as the Dark Mark.

His hand went limp and she quickly pulled her sleeve down again as the world seemed to turn cold. His mate was a Death Eater. The only woman he had ever allowed himself to fall in love with, and she had that mark on her arm.

He didn't know what to do, but he had to get out of there. He was about to walk away, but she grabbed his arm.

"No, please," she said desperately, and before he could pull away from her, she turned on her heel. He could feel the world around him compacting, like being pulled through a tube, and when the word was right again he was in an unfamiliar flat, and his hand was bleeding profusely.

"Fuck!" she cried, hurrying to pull out her wand to stop the bleeding.

He wished she wouldn't. He wished she wouldn't touch him, look at him, until he knew what to do. He didn't know what to do yet.

"Please, hold still," she said, tears filling her eyes. "Please, I'm so sorry, I just… I panicked. Here, I have… I have some essence of dittany. Just… There. Does that feel better?"

Remus said nothing.

He tried to catch his breath as she used a towel to clean his hand where she had splinched him, bringing him to what was presumably her flat. It was a nice place for someone her age, small but cozy. More than he could afford, he thought bitterly. More than he ever could have afforded.

"You didn't know," she said, her voice shaky. "Merlin, when they told me I couldn't speak to you, I thought you would know…."

She let out a sob and he finally looked up at her. In that moment, he realized what they had done. She was a spy, with Severus, because of the lessons Severus had given her and her bloodlines. It was an obvious choice, really, if they needed a second spy. And they could not have her speaking to the Order because it put her at risk…like Dorcas, he recalled with a sharp pain in his chest. And he was told he could not contact her because it put her at risk, which it certainly did. But neither was told what the others' mission was, presumably to keep them both safe in case one of them was found out. If he was captured, he could not betray her, and if she was found out, she could not betray him.

Too late for that now, he thought bitterly.

"You know that when this is over," he said softly, "that mark will never go away."

"I know," she said, wiping her eyes frantically. "I know. Severus said it faded a lot when the Dark Lord was gone for a while, but that it's been pretty black since he's been back." She began to shiver. "It was supposed to stop hurting yesterday, Remus, but it still hurts. It won't stop hurting."

All of his anger and betrayal melted away to see her break down like that, and without thinking about it he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest as she quaked with violent sobs. He said nothing, because he knew of nothing to say that could possibly be a comfort in a time like this.

Her hair was still so soft, smelling so smoky and sweet as he buried his nose in it as he had done over a year ago.

"I love you," he finally said, because he had yet to say it, because it needed to be said, and because it was all he had to give her.

The words seemed to have some measure of calming effect, because she pulled back from his chest slightly, looking up at him with a kind of awe.

"I might die," she finally said.

"Me too."

"I might have to kill people."

"Me too."

"I've never killed someone before."

Remus said nothing. The truth didn't matter. He didn't want to say what he had done to her, because that was a lifetime ago, like someone else's necessary sins.

"I don't want to die or kill without…."

She seemed to be struggling to find a word, but the wolf needed no further words, and Remus felt that for once he quite agreed with the wolf. Her skin was already marred, and before she lost anything else from the war he needed to just have this one thing. Because tomorrow, they could both be dead.

So he did not allow himself to think of anything else but that as he kissed her, that and how warm and sweet her mouth was. She took a deep breath, and seemed to be setting something aside mentally before kissing him back. Her hair slipped through his fingers with the coolness and slipperiness of water being poured in his hands.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as they kissed, and he was only vaguely aware of their clothes peeling away from their bodies. Were his hands or her hands doing that, or both? Potentially any of the above, and he only knew it was happening to both of their bodies because his fingers went from holding her clothed torso to tracing the soft curves of her bare skin in what seemed like moments.

It could have been hours that they touched and kissed on her sofa, or it could have been moments, or it might have even been days. He certainly felt like a starving man as he desperately tried to hold her closer, tighter, to devour more of her, to taste more of her.

Her body was more relaxed than he would have expected as he laid her down on the sofa, looking down at her and tracing his scarred hands along her perfect skin. She was pressing her left hand against the back of her sofa to hide her Mark from him as best she could, but his eyes were not concerned with her arms. They took in the glow of her eyes, now glazed with a heat that matched the burn that he felt for her. They took in the swell of her breasts, and how they rose and fell with each eager pant. They took in how her hips, pelvis, and thighs all seemed to point him to one perfect spot.

He kissed his way up her thighs, his mouth already watering before he tasted her. She gasped, her body tensing at the initial contact, but relaxing almost instantly as she grew used to it. After he began to pay her more eager, hungry attention, however, her body began to slowly tense again, this time growing more and more tense until she twitched under his tongue, gasping out her release.

He wanted her to scream, but there was something strangely erotic about how quiet she was, and as she came down from that high, he quickly thrust inside of her, not allowing her a moment to be nervous before penetration. Her eyes widened and he paused, buried deep inside of her, his whole body aching to move but not wanting to move before he thought she was ready.

Finally, when he was almost unable to control himself, she whimpered, "Please."

That was all he needed. He closed his eyes for a moment as he built up a frantic rhythm, until he felt her grabbing at his arms, which he was using to anchor himself. He opened his eyes again looking down at her as she twisted beneath him, trying to get more friction, her nails digging into his skin.

She made no sound, but her face was contorting with desperate ecstasy. This drove Remus slightly mad as he began thrusting more violently, until he could hold on no more.

When he released he felt that it was something like something he had once read – a little death. Purification by fire, he thought absently, collapsing and panting with the exertion, kissing her collarbone sloppily as she raised a shaking hand to his hair, caressing his scalp gently.

"I love you too," he thought he heard her whisper. Even if she hadn't, it was nice to think she had, just in case.

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Over several weeks, Severus was beginning to relax slightly. Jossline had yet to raise suspicion, and she was welcome places Severus was not. For one thing, when the prison breakout happened, Bellatrix seemed to accept Jossline, even though she did not trust Severus. She and Narcissa took Jossline under their wing, and from this Jossline had passed some very significant information on to Severus, who was able to inform the Order in turn.

Things seemed to be working out better than his imagination had allowed him to dare believe, and he almost thought her chances of surviving the war were better than his.

Until one day, Narcissa came to him and said, "I think the Dark Lord is going to interrogate Jossline, Severus. Do you know if she has done something wrong?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, careful to remain completely neutral in spite of the flare of panic that came over him.

"I don't really know. I just heard Lucius and Bella saying something about a wolf."

His blood seemed to be running cold, and he told Narcissa he knew nothing about it, but he went to Jossline's flat as soon as he could justify leaving. It took several knocks on the door before she answered him, groggily, frowning.

"What have you done?" he asked her, and at first she seemed confused.

Severus walked in, looking around for signs of the werewolf, sniffing the air for the scent of him, but if he had been here it was not recently enough for his smell to linger.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"The Dark Lord is going to be asking you some questions," he said darkly. "About a wolf."

The flare of her nostrils said everything. She said softly that it had been once, and it had been weeks and weeks ago, but Severus was not really listening. He was trying to come up with some kind of story, some way of saving her, but he needed to speak to Albus. He did not know enough about what Lupin was up to in order to make the story acceptable.

But he would not have time.

Her eyes grew large and she said, horrified, "I'm being summoned. What do I do?"

He growled slightly and said, "Calm yourself, for one thing. Go immediately to him, and whatever you do…lie. I will come to you as soon as I can."

As he watched her disappear with a loud crack, he hoped it would be soon enough.

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Severus arrived at Malfoy Manor to find Bellatrix cackling, and he asked her what was so funny.

"Did you know," she said, her dark gray eyes twinkling with mad delight, "that your dear Jossline had a secret lover? Seems she had a soft spot for furry creatures."

He raised an eyebrow, trying not to think too much of the past tense.

"Indeed?" he said. "What creatures might these be?"

"Werewolf," Lucius said from the corner. "A pity. Such a pretty young woman could have born good pureblood sons. But to be so defiled…." He shrugged as if to say that there was no scrubbing such a stain clean.

Bellatrix cackled again and Severus asked, "Where is she now?"

"The cellar," Bellatrix said in a sing-song voice.

Severus took a single step toward the cellar, but he froze in his tracks as a scream that seemed otherworldly and anguished. Bellatrix's peel of cackles renewed with vigor and he did not have to ask. He was too late to do anything except pray that she not somehow manage to survive the night.

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Remus walked through the halls of Grimmauld Place like he'd seen a ghost for days, and Tonks decided that this might be a good time to try propositioning him again. They were mostly alone – Sirius was always lurking somewhere, but she had his blessing and a wink of encouragement – and if he was sad perhaps he needed a bit of cheering up.

"Remus?" she said, stepping into his bedroom without knocking, a blonde today. She felt like she'd tried every other hair color, and maybe he had a thing for blondes.

But he barely looked at her, even in one of her more revealing, tight-fitting outfits. Whatever had him down, it was pretty bad.

"Okay, not blonde then," she teased, and he glanced up at her with a weak, pathetic kind of smile. She concentrated on brown, and managed a sandy shade when she saw a strange expression come over his face. Perhaps brunette was the way to go. He sat up slightly.

"I never noticed," he said hoarsely. "Your eyes…"

"What about them?" she asked, hoping he'd say something poetic.

"They're gray."

Letdown, but she wasn't going to let it get her too down.

"Yup, Black family trait," she teased. "Sirius has them too."

"A lot of pureblood families do," he said softly. "Intermarrying." She hummed, taking a step closer, but he was still staring at her eyes.

He was thinking of someone, she realized, and she asked him if the hair was alright. He hesitated, but then he said softly, "Longer and darker."

She complied.

"Darker."

His voice was softer, and Tonks felt a strange melancholy sensation as he reached up to touch it. She could tell from the way his brows twitched that the touch wasn't quite right, but there was only so much she could do with what she knew. She asked if it should be curlier, but all he said was smoother.

And she tried, she really did, but he still seemed ready to cry.

"Who is she?" Tonks asked nervously as he buried his nose in her hair.

"Someone…someone I lost."

Tonks wondered if this was recent, or from the first war, but she was afraid to ask.

The first time they made love, she knew she was a placeholder, a replacement woman for someone he no longer had, and yet she still did it. She still loved it. She still wanted it to happen again, and if she had to wear her hair brown and long every day for the rest of her life to get him to love her, it would be worth it.

As long as he didn't cry when he thought she was sleeping afterward.

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Remus was seething. Albus had broken up the fight between him and Severus before it truly got started, and his blood was boiling. He wanted to rip Severus limb from limb.

"Calm yourself," Albus said sternly.

"He was supposed to protect her," Remus said, gripping at the back of a sitting room chair to keep from striking Albus. "He was supposed to keep her alive."

"And she was supposed to avoid you," Albus said sternly. "And you were supposed to avoid her. And under no circumstances were you supposed to sleep with her."

Remus hadn't realized he'd broken the chair until he felt the splinter stinging his palms. He hissed.

"Do you think Severus does not feel the loss of her as well?" Albus continued, a bit softer, but still like someone chiding their child. "Do you think he is not suffering? But he doesn't even have the luxury of grieving properly. He has to pretend it is nothing to him, and that she got what she deserved. He certainly hasn't gone out and slept with someone to drown his sorrows."

At this, Remus collapsed into the nearest unbroken chair, stunned at the verbal blow from Albus. There was a stifling silence in the room, and Remus wanted to kill Albus, or himself, or anyone at all. If it could bring her back for an hour, it would be worth all the blood Remus could spill.

"It is not wrong for Severus to pretend not to care, because he has to," Albus finally said. "And it is not wrong for you to love again, Remus, if you are ready."

"How can I possibly?" he croaked in response. "She was my mate, Albus. How could I have ever…."

His mouth went dry, but Albus merely said, "I told you that the concept is a complex one, Remus. Because she was your mate does not mean that you cannot love again. Jossline was a kind, giving person. She would not have expected you to live the rest of your life miserable and alone simply because she is gone."

But he didn't understand, Remus thought, frustrated. That wasn't the point!

"I killed her," Remus said softly, looking out the window into the street below. "Severus is right. It was my lack of control. I killed her."

"Greyback killed her."

"He would never have had a chance if I hadn't just controlled myself!" Remus cried, punching the broken chair.

After a brief silence, Albus said, "Again, Remus, it is more complicated than that. If anything, I am the one who killed her by suggesting that she spy in the first place, just as I am responsible for Dorcas's death because I sent her to spy unprepared. The weight of the lives I am responsible for ending, Remus, would astonish you if you could feel it. It does no good to anyone to dwell on every death you might have averted. Whatever you do now, however you punish yourself or others, she will not come back. All you can do is live, and be certain her death was not in vain."

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Severus contemplating setting the library on fire, at the very least. Instead, he curled up in his bed at stared at the ceiling.

Lupin was right. He had killed her. He had not prepared her enough. He had not protected her adequately.

He should not have agreed to recruit her as a spy in the first place. He knew the moment Albus suggested the plot that it could not end well for the poor girl, and yet he went along with it anyway. That was what he was now, Albus's lapdog, against his better judgment. Where did it end?

He contemplating killing himself for what was at least the millionth time since the end of the first war, the loss of Lily, but the thought of Lily and facing her after death was enough to put the thought from his mind.

Besides, he thought as he closed his eyes and begged the darkness for sleep, he now had two women he did not want to meet when he went over to the other side. Not until his work was done.

A/N: WOW you made it. Good job! If you aren't too tired, reviews are appreciated!

This was a dream I had last night. I've spent the whole day using this as a study break, writing it down in one go, no edits. I wanted to get it all down before the details started to fade. So…this is my dream from last night. I kind of wish it had carried out further, but I woke up before Sirius's death, so I thought I'd stay true to the source, so to speak.

-C