DISCLAIMER: An analogy. Ahem: I own Harry Potter the same way the Ninja Turtles own Australia's skiing industry. Does that clear things up?

DEDICATION: I think I'll dedicate this chapter to Deviant Art because I've been having a lot of fun there lately. Check out my page if you want HP-fan art. Woo-hoo!

It Falls to the Young Chapter IX:

"There Are Some Things You Can't Share Without Ending Up Liking Each Other"

–J.K. Rowling

"Okay, so the Quintapeds are probably tracking us by smell, which explains why they didn't follow us after we set off the Dungbombs. We can outrun them but nothing kills them, even Exploding Fluid; they're just allergic to it. They look like giant reddish-brown hairy blobs with too many legs and they smell awful. What else do we know?" Potter asked.

"They want to eat us?"

"Thank you, Black, for that cheerful and oh-so-helpful reminder."

"Shut it or I'll drop you." Severus rolled his eyes; Black scowled but didn't follow through on his threat. The conversation paused temporarily as they navigated around a patch of nettles.

"Actually, Padfoot has a point," Potter continued. "Remember that assignment I did for old Kettleburn? Quintapeds like to eat people more than anything else. So, that's another reason we really need to figure out this Animagi thing. Then they won't bother us."

"James," Lupin sighed, "I just don't know if it's going to work."

"Moony, you're the one who—"

"I know what I said, Padfoot, but let's face it. You've already been working on this for years, you've been practicing all summer—what makes you think you can just figure it all out in two days? And how are you supposed to concentrate with those things following us around?"

The Gryffindors traipsed along steadily, still rowing—more out of boredom than anything, Severus thought. It was about midday and, as there had been no more Quintaped attacks, the hours had lapsed into mind-numbing routine: walk, practice Animagi transformations, walk a bit more, practice a bit more, walk, practice, walk, practice... or at least they're walking.

Severus—despite his protests and ample application of some pain-numbing plants he'd picked during one of their rest breaks—was still being toted around like luggage. Not even Black had agreed to, as he'd put it: "Let you go limping along until you kneel over dead and then get eaten. That's assisted suicide. Do you know what Dumbledore would do to us?"

At these words the miserable feeling Pettigrew had planted in him had reemerged, threatening to strangle Severus completely. Worse, eerily perceptive Lupin had noticed, and he'd had to endure a solid quarter-hour of reassurance that they intended to tell the Headmaster the truth, prevent the Order from sending him to Azkaban, and do all manner of unpleasant things to Wormtail—whether he was under the Imperius Curse, as Lupin hoped, or the ungrateful, power-hungry traitor Potter and Black denounced. Privately, Severus suspected he was simply a spineless rat who, like so many others, had been swayed by a touch of torture and a promise of power... And now he deludes himself, imagining it was his idea to begin with.

Lupin's voice jerked him out of his thoughts. "Want another bean?"

Severus sneered but accepted the sweet. He was hungry; they all were. He watched as Lupin balled up the wrapper and shoved it back into his robes. So it's not another bean, it's the last bean. He eyed the sugary confection critically; it was a bright, cheerful red. Probably blood. Or Gryffindor common room carpet.

It was strawberry.

Ruddy Gryffindors and their ruddy... ruddy... friendliness. Severus examined that thought a minute; there was definitely a problem in there somewhere. He stored it away for later consideration.

The others were still debating the probability of managing the transformation in what was now little more than forty-eight hours. Severus tried to ignore them—I'm supposed to still be mad they aren't letting me walk—and failed. Because I quite agree with Lupin. Even if somehow, miraculously, Black and Potter manage the transformation, I have no chance whatsoever. Severus frowned at his hands. He was having terrible trouble with the concept, despite having read the Marauders' notes and attempted the change a few times—futilely—in the privacy of his cellar. Merlin, how long ago that seems.

Transfiguration was his worst subject, and though he admitted—privately and grudgingly—that the Gryffindors could be decent tutors when they tried, they often lost patience with each other. He had managed grey fur on the back of his hand, a tingly feeling in his shoulders, and that was it. Brilliant. Stage one completed; only five hundred more to go.

It didn't help that he had no idea what sort of animal he was becoming. The Marauders had taken hair samples from each other and asked Hagrid to identify them, so they'd known by this time. He had no such luxury.

Severus glared at Potter's back. Potter was so good at Transfiguration. He probably couldn't imagine what it would be like not to be good at it... or not to be good at Quidditch... or not to be devastatingly handsome and oh-so-popular...

He glanced at his hands again and his glare turned into a grimace; he was still covered with the foul-smelling vomit of those things. He'd tried to wipe it off onto his robes, but the stuff was as adhesive as Magi-glue. I wonder if anyone's ever tried using this in a potion? Probably not... but Quintapeds are magical creatures, after all; it could very well have some interesting properties. Though no one sane would volunteer to collect it.

"Oy! Guys—look at this!" Potter shouted. Severus glanced up curiously as Black strode forward.

They'd rediscovered the stream. Ahead the ground ended abruptly, but the water continued flowing, falling over the edge into a pool several feet below. The pond itself could have been from a postcard picture—it looked cool and clear and inviting. Potter and Lupin had already jumped down and were approaching the water...

"Prongs!" Black called. "Catch?" Potter turned back and held his arms out, smirking. Severus' eyes widened in disbelief and he clawed at Black's robes frantically.

"Don't you dare drop me you—"

Black slid to the ground and snorted. "Hey—I was kidding." He leaned over the embankment's edge and Severus fell about half an inch before Potter caught him. They were being careful but he still couldn't quite contain a short gasp of pain.

"Snape? Are you—"

"Mm'm fine," he muttered.

"I don't believe you," Potter said as Black jumped down. "I bet you'd say you were fine after being half-digested by a Quintaped."

"Don't bring up Quintaped stomach acid. It's bad enough that it's all over me—"

"Sure, Black," Severus drawled. "At least it's not in your hair."

"Since when has your hair ever been anything less than disgusting?"

"Since when have you ever been anything but a self-absorbed git?"

"Since—"

"If you lot are done with the one-upping let's try to get some of this gunk off," Potter interrupted. "It's certainly hot enough for swimming." He lowered Severus to the grassy bank beside Lupin, who'd already unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a nasty cut on his shoulder.

"Remus!" Potter exclaimed. "Where'd you get that? Why didn't you tell us?"

"Last night, when we were being chased. And I can't exactly go see Madame Pomfrey, so there's nothing..." Lupin stopped when he felt long fingers on his arm. Severus rotated the limb slowly, examining the wound for about half a minute.

"It's going to get infected if you just leave it," he said bluntly. "It needs treatment now or it'll get worse."

"Um... how exactly do you plan on fixing that?" Black asked, pulling his own shirt off.

"The same way I'm going to heal my ribs—with the foxglove and knotgrass over there, and a few other things you're going to procure for me."

"I agreed to this?"

"Yes. You were very gracious about it, too. Now, Black, do you know what a caterpillar looks like? Ca-ter-pill-ar?"

Twenty minutes later Severus was smashing between two rocks an ample supply of something that looked, according to Black: "Like green regurgitated oatmeal, except more disgusting." Most of the ingredients for a simple cure-all—which should heal the bruises, cuts and hopefully his ribs—had been easy to find, now that they were by the stream. Only the caterpillars left. No, here's Lupin with a handful— occasionally werewolf senses are an asset.

"Black?" Severus called.

"For the hundredth time, YESI'm sure I know what a caterpillar looks like—they're just hiding!"

"It's okay. You don't have to confess your Entomophobia; Lupin's found some." Severus took the caterpillars and squished them into the mix. Lupin collapsed beside him, obviously worn out. He heard Black and Potter crashing towards them through the underbrush.

"I'm not... Antomaphobic, or whatever. I just couldn't find—eew, Snape, that stuff is disgusting."

"Now you're scared of medicine?"

"That's not medicine; that's just gross." Potter nodded in agreement.

Severus shrugged and scraped the gooey mass together with Black's chocolate frog card; the unfortunate wizard displayed on it had long since fled the picture. He eyed the improvised mixture critically—nowhere near my usual standard, of course, but it'll do. Three quick swipes of the card divided the goop into thirds, then one of the thirds into sixths.

After he managed to convince Black and Potter they needed some too, for the bruises, it was almost a relief to down the foul-tasting mixture—and even more of a relief when the relentless aching of his ribs finally ceased. Severus sighed contently and fell backwards against the grass. Reassured by the fact he was still alive, the Marauders followed suit.

"That's much better," Lupin said. The others murmured their agreement.

"Yes," Severus answered. "It's good to know it worked."

"Wait. You—you didn't know if it would...?" Potter stammered.

"Eighty-four percent sure it would work, nine percent sure it would make us puke, six percent sure it wouldn't do anything and one percent sure it'd be lethal poison."

"We could've died?" Black exclaimed. Severus rolled his eyes. "But... but it did work, right? We're better? Moony's better? You're better?" Severus nodded. "Good. Cause I'm going to kill you!" Before Severus could react Black tackled him; then he was flying through the air... over the water...

SPLASH.

"AHHH! C-c-c-cold!" Severus coughed a few times, trying to catch his breath and shivering in the icy water. "B-B-Black, you b-bastard!"

"Oh, you would've had to get in anyway. Get the Quintaped puke off you."

"You're f-fairly vomit-encrusted yourself, B-Black. Why don't you throw yourself in—then I can watch you three drown each other from here."

"Who said we were going to drown anybo—AHHH!"

"Watch out for Prongs, Padfoot!" Lupin called belatedly. Black emerged from the pool, sputtering and coughing and declaring that he'd get revenge; a minute later the other two Gryffindors were in the water and he was making good his threat.

Severus floated by, luxuriating in his no-longer-covered-in-Quintaped-vomit existence and ignoring both his inaptitude for swimming and the Gryffindors—until Potter dunked him.

The consequences of that eventually evolved into an informal splash war: Severus and Black against Potter and Lupin. Severus got dunked more times than he could count, but managed to get Lupin several times and even Potter once, despite being about half his size. After discussing tactics with Black he dove underwater again, ready for an ambush... when he saw the fish.

It was a monster—big enough to feed half of Hogwarts, let alone four teenagers. It was hiding near the bottom, not darting away like the tiny specimens that were everywhere. Just a bit closer... closer... Severus reached out as fast as he could and wonder of wonders managed to catch it, holding the thrashing beast tight between his arms and chest. He kicked for the surface... broke through...

"HELP! FISH—"

Before Severus could take another breath he was forced back into the water; the fish was fighting hard and its scales seemed razor sharp against his fingers. Then Black was there with a stick, whacking it on the head. The fish went limp and so did Severus. He dropped it, struggling for the surface... Can't find air need air where air fish gone Black surface air where air air air—someone pulled him sideways and he emerged, sputtering and coughing, into the world above the pool.

"Snape? Snape? Say something!" Someone was slapping his face. He blinked and Black slid into focus.

He coughed again. "B-Black?"

"That's good enough. Can you get to shore? Snape? Snape? Merlin!" Potter and Lupin appeared from beneath the water just as Black swore.

"Padfoot? What happened?"

"Snape caught a fish and almost drowned himself. Get him out of the water and I'll get the fish." Black took a deep breath and dove.

Severus, still somewhat in shock, let Potter drag him through the water to the bank. Lupin draped a robe around his shoulders and wrapped some of the fabric around his hands, squeezing them to help stop the bleeding. He coughed again; someone thumped his back and he flinched before realizing it was Potter.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks," Severus mumbled; now that he wasn't panicking the whole situation seemed far more embarrassing.

"Don't thank me—you caught the fish. Finally! Something to eat!" Potter's giddiness concerning this last point was contagious; Severus smiled in spite of himself. They hadn't had a bite to eat in two days—Lupin's sweets hardly counted as actual nourishment. Even fried Hippogriff would taste good right now.

"Gentlemen, I give you—the FISH!" Black emerged from the pond, trailing water and glory as he held their prize high above his head. He dropped it onto a convenient rock while Potter applauded. They all stared at it for a minute. The glazed eyes did not stare back; it was definitely dead.

"So... um, now what do we do with it?"

"We eat it, Padfoot," Lupin explained in a long-suffering tone.

"Raw?"

"No, you prat! We have to cook it first and... er, skin it, I guess..." Potter appeared rather queasy about that point. "I vote Padfoot does the skinning. I have to build another fire."

"Hey! Why do I have to cut it up? I dove down and got it. Moony, you skin it!"

"Me?" Lupin's grip on his fingers suddenly tightened. "I don't know how to skin a fish! And that's... well, gross!"

"For Merlin's sake!" Severus pulled his hands from Lupin's grasp and shook them out. "I'll do it. You'd think none of you had ever dissected something before."

"Er... I haven't," Black shrugged, wringing out his hair.

"Really? What do you do in Potions?" Black grinned wickedly and he added, "Wait—don't answer that; I don't want to know. Well, since you aren't allowed near the fire, Black, could you find me a sharp rock? And let me borrow that stick of yours."

"Of course, mighty omnipotent master of the fearsome fishes in the great pool of horror and dooooom..." Black presented the stick with a flourish and Severus frowned as he took it.

"Was that sarcasm, taunting or simply more random idiocy?"

"You found food. I worship the ground you walk on! All hail—"

"Sure. Just go get me a rock."

Fifteen minutes later Potter and Lupin, by sacrificing the latter's Transfiguration notes to the cause, had a tiny fire blazing—tiny, in case the smoke attracted more Quintapeds. Black was practicing his Animagus form; he'd found a reasonably sharp rock and watched Severus use it for about twenty seconds before turning green and deciding that he'd enjoy eating the fish more if he didn't know what it actually looked like.

The fish itself—or 'the Monster,' as Black had begun calling it—was ready to be cooked. Severus laid the edible parts out on a branch positioned above the fire, supported by two more rocks. Then the foursome fell back onto the ground, labors completed.

"Severus, you're the official fish expert. How do we tell when it's done?" Potter asked.

Did he just call me Severus? Since when are we on first-name terms? He thought over the events of the past few days. Well. I suppose we might be, after all. Who'd have guessed? Severus was startled to discover that, somehow, the thought didn't horrify him quite as he would have imagined.

"When it turns black and crispy and little flames shoot out of it."

"Please tell me you're kidding—"

"I'm kidding, Remus." Lupin—Remus—blinked in surprise before grinning at him.

The fish was excellent. Severus wasn't a big fan of seafood, but after so long without a meal anything would have been delicious—though the fish had seemed a lot bigger before he'd sliced it into fourths. Still, it was enough to satisfy his grumbling stomach. And it's not like I haven't gone a few days without food before.

Tired, soggy and feeling heavy with fish, he laid on the ground with the Marauders, watching the clouds go by.

"There's a duck, a broomstick... the Sorting Hat..."

"Hey, Padfoot—that one looks like a banshee!"

"No, it's too ugly... it must be my mum!" The Gryffindors burst out laughing; Sirius was obviously not on good terms with his mother.

"So you don't get on well with your mum?" Severus ventured.

"Never! The old hag drives me nuts—same as my dad. They're both loony pureblood fanatics; I swear one day they're going to pack up and go join You-Know-Who himself—no offense—and I can't stand their nagging. They're all like," here he adopted a high-pitched tone, imitating his mother, "Be more dignified, Sirius! Don't associate with mudbloods, Sirius! Why can't you be more like your little snot-nosed git of a brother, Sirius?"

James snorted. "He is a bit snot-nosed, isn't he?"

"Definitely. I hate his guts too; he's as mad as the rest of them. If we're still stuck here when school starts I doubt he'll notice I'm gone, and if he does he'll write straight to Mum and Dad, you'll see, and he'll blame this whole thing on me. They'll believe him, too—probably lecture me for three straight hours about how undignified we're all being."

Severus realized the Blacks had a point. They were all lying around half-dressed, waiting for the sun to dry their hair... But then it's not as if there's anyone around to impress.

"Don't know what I'd do if I had a family like that. You make me feel lucky, Padfoot." Remus sighed. "My mum is probably worried sick; you know she can be overprotective sometimes. She never talks about it but I think she feels responsible, somehow... for, you know." He bit his lip. "I miss her. Dad too." Glancing around, he added quickly, "Maybe that sounds sort of thick but—"

"It doesn't," Severus and James said at the same time. I know I miss Dumbledore—and I would kill to have a family to miss. After staring at the sky a bit longer James suggested they continue work on the Animagi transformations.

To think I'd almost forgotten. Forty-eight hours and counting...

Oy! The chapter has ended.

Now is the time for all good readers to come to the aid of their author. What's good? What's bad? What's huggable? What's smelly? How much wood can three animagi woodchucks chuck in one square hour? Please tell me:)