Artemesia Vector wondered once more how she always landed herself in these situations. Dinner the night before had been fine, that was for sure, if one ignored how those completely without tact threatened one another with cutlery. Breakfast had even been fine, as Sirius had been up to form again in his inability to make it to breakfast. Lunch, however, was turning out to be not fine. Auriga had deserted her, and Snape apparently decided to take lunch in the dungeons. That left two empty chairs between her and Sirius. Not good. Not bloody good at all.

On the bright side, Sirius seemed to be a little off-kilter, too. He was reminding her of how he had acted when he and Potter had been in a God-awful fight with each other their sixth year. Artemesia did not really appreciate the comparison. It was not like she had the plague or anything! He could at least acknowledge the fact that she existed! She glanced over at him again. He wasn't even eating anymore, just rearranging his food. Well, if he was going to be that way, she was certainly not going to be the first one to speak.

Artemesia resumed eating her lunch angrily, ignoring how she was eating her chips with a fork. Hm… They needed a little salt. She reached over to pick up the saltshaker, and her hand made contact with Sirius'. They made eye contact, and Sirius murmured a hasty apology and withdrew his hand as if scalded. He resumed staring at his lunch. Artemesia had enough peace of mind to keep herself from looking too perturbed, but she steadfastly resumed ignoring him. See? Vesta was wrong. They could both still behave normally, and no one—none of the students and certainly none of their coworkers—would be any the wiser.

Who was she kidding? They were behaving like awkward fifth-years again, except that this time they were being awkward around each other instead of the endless bickering and assorted declarations of loathing from when they had actually been that age. How was she going to survive the school year with him around? It was hard enough, dealing with Auriga acting like a complete and utter loon most of the time, but now Artemesia had joined the club. She wondered for a moment how utterly insane it would look if she just threw herself into Sirius' arms and exclaimed, "Take me; I'm yours!" Artemesia was actually a little frightened by how little she cared that she would look completely mad. Oh, no. This was exactly the reason that she had hated him back in school. He was such a… Oh, there weren't words for it! And she was not blushing because of him! No. That's what all of their female classmates used to do. Not her. Never her. He'd mock her, and she'd send some sarcastic comment right back. They had never been awkward. That had been Auriga's job. Auriga would sit there, embarrassed that her best friend was telling off the school heartthrob and saying in no uncertain terms that he was an insufferable pain. Why had she fallen head over heels for him after only a year out of school? She had never really liked him.

No, she still did not like him. She liked the idea of him. Yes, that was it. She, Artemesia Vector, had only ever been in love with the idea of Sirius Black. He wasn't even really that much of a rebel when it came down to it. Oh, yes, he had the damn motorcycle and dressed the part, but he had been an Auror, for God's sake. Yes, he could be arrogant, but people expected him to be, so he acted that way. And he could be such an idiot sometimes! Most of the time, now that she thought about it. With him, it was always shoot first, ask questions later. He would never sit down and consider anything. Always got him in trouble…

Artemesia vaguely realized she was crying. Oh, God, she wasn't fooling anyone, except maybe herself, and she was doing a bang-up job at that. She tried to be subtle about wiping the tears out of her eyes, but it was too late. Was she always too late? "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. Bleary-eyed, she turned to look at him. He looked genuinely concerned, and she felt guilty for it. "'Si—Artemesia?" She realized that she had forgotten what color his eyes were (damn blue-grey) and half-forgotten the sound of his voice.

Finally, she found her voice. Smiling haphazardly, she assured him, "I'm fine, really." Her voice wasn't shaking, was it? She hoped it wasn't shaking. She could not—would not make a fool of herself in front of him. "I'm fine," she repeated, wishing that if she said it enough it would come true. It would not, but she could always hope. Maybe he'd believe her?

"Artemesia, you don't look fine," he commented and moved two place settings down to sit next to her. He seemed very hesitant to touch her, even if it was just to comfort her, and settled for watching her with concern. "What's wrong? Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

Artemesia decided to stop it. She could not take his concern or his pity or sympathy. No. She could not get her hopes up. There was no way he could still love her. He was different; Azkaban changed him irreparably. She had to be strong. She said, "I am fine. Honestly. I'm just not feeling entirely well today." She made an attempt at smiling genuinely and added, "Don't worry, Sirius." She quickly excused herself from the table and left the hall before he could say anything more. Artemesia continued walking until she reached her office. She locked the door and calmly walked over to her desk. Once in her chair, she curled up and broke down sobbing.


Sirius did not know what to do. He had only mentioned that she looked upset, and Artemesia bolted. Damn, he knew he should have made an inane comment about the weather. At least that would have just made her indignant and not made her cry. Why did he always have to ruin everything? He contemplated rushing off after her and trying to talk to her. But then what? What could he possibly do? Actually, the only thing he could think of doing was getting down on his knees and begging for her forgiveness.

"You're in my seat," Sinistra declared, nudging his shoulder. "Move over." Sirius mutely obeyed, and Sinistra sat down next to him in her seat and stared at him. "What's wrong?" she asked. "You look like it's the end of the world, but it's a rather nice day today."

Sirius laughed shortly and shook his head. "Oh, it's so much better than that, trust me," he said, feeling rather bitter and glaring at his food. Why could he not have a normal conversation with Artemesia? Was he just incapable of talking to most everyone now? "Apparently, I now have the amazing ability of making our dear Professor Vector cry for absolutely no reason whatsoever," he explained.

"Erk. That sounds like an awful curse," Sinistra agreed. She started building a miniature solar system out of her rice and potatoes. She turned to Sirius and tried to explain: "You see, my friend, Arty is being what most people call paranoid. She is afraid of talking about certain things because she does not want to know the answers to those questions." Sinistra paused and looked at Sirius skeptically. "Please tell me you did not mention the weather," she demanded.

"No, I did not mention the weather," Sirius replied irritatedly. Ok, so he had almost gone on about the weather, but at least he knew what her reaction to it would be. "I know better than that. It's not to say that I didn't think about it, but she just started crying all of a sudden. I asked her if she was all right, and then she ran off," he reiterated.

Sinistra hit him with her spoon. "You are an idiot," she declared and started eating her work of art. About halfway to Jupiter, she deigned to stop and explain the ways of Woman to the man. "Firstly," she said, "in that case, you should have spoken up sooner, you dolt. Secondly, if she did seem like she was depressed in the first case, you should have mentioned the weather. Thirdly, why did you not go chase after her? Fourthly, why the hell were the two of you here alone? I thought Snape would have been here to strike up an argument with you."

"How should I know?" Sirius demanded. "It's not like I can keep tabs on everyone at all times. And I thought you said I shouldn't have mentioned the weather? Which is it, then?"

Sinistra stared at him like he was an uncomprehending first-year. "I thought you would have been smarter than that. How did you convince most of the girls in our year to go out with you?" she wondered. "In any case, I was not finished. Fifthly, you were doomed from the start. If you'd just been any other new Defense teacher, Arty would have just waved it all off or never even been upset in the first place." Apparently Sirius looked like he did not understand, and Sinistra summed up her argument: "It's because it was you sitting there that she was upset."

Well, Sirius felt like an idiot for not even considering the fact that it was his presence that was upsetting Artemesia. "I'm a right fool, aren't I?" he muttered. Sinistra apparently caught what he said and nodded before resuming consumption of her food model of the solar system. "And I was naïve enough to think that the day was actually turning out rather well," Sirius said, rather annoyed with himself.

"Eh, don't worry," Sinistra reassured him between eating Jupiter and Saturn. "It's not like you're in any better shape about it. I mean, back in ye olden days, you'd have both just had a shouting match and ignored each other for a week. After that, everything would be all right again. Nowadays, you're both trying to figure out how to act around another again, and neither of you are really helping yourselves or each other to do so," she mentioned. "I've been monitoring Arty's behavior for the entire summer, and the biggest breakthrough I've seen is that she's now determined not to talk to you until you talk to her. Beforehand, she was just going to avoid you for the entire year."

"You've really put some thought into this, haven't you?" Sirius realized, a little disturbed that she had. "Auriga, you are by far one of the strangest people I've ever met."

Sinistra nodded conversationally. "I hear that frequently. It's just that I know you mean it as a complement," she replied. Suddenly looking a little pensive, she continued, "Look, Sirius, I know I've no right to ask this, and you're certainly welcome not to answer me, but I think I could better advise you on how to approach Arty if you give me a straight answer." Sirius did not protest, so Sinistra asked, "What kind of relationship do you want with her?"

Sirius paused and stared at Sinistra in surprise. To be honest, he was not sure. At the moment, all he wanted was for Artemesia to speak to him again and not bolt every time they were in the same room together. And the long-term goal? Well, that certainly depended on the success of the short-term, but he doubted that they would ever go back to being how they had been before. She would never forgive him for what he had done, and he was not sure he could even forgive himself for abandoning her. There was not really an answer to the question.

"I thought as much," Sinistra said, inferring what she would from his silence. "As far as I can tell, she feels the same way." Sinistra shook her head and grimaced. "The students will notice if you two get up to anything, and what I mean by that is if you two act out of the ordinary around each other, rumors will start. Trust me. I've been on the wrong end of the school rumor-mill enough for one lifetime." She paused and continued, "Especially from back in school. I still wonder who started that one up about me and Snape."

Sirius stared at her for a moment. "There was a rumor about you and Snape?" he asked, a little skeptical. "I'm not sure I want to know who, but why would someone start that?"

Sinistra shrugged and replied, "That's what I'd like to know. Arty thinks it has some merit, though, which I find rather annoying. In any case, just try to talk to her about normal things, like how annoying which of the classes were on any given day. She'll be comfortable talking to you about that sort of thing, and maybe that'll lead to normal conversation." She stopped herself in sudden realization. "How is it that I ended up being the school psychologist? I'm not even all that level-headed myself, and yet here I am giving advice—romantic advice, no less—to the two of you. It's just plain crazy, you know," Sinistra declared, taking a sip from her drink.

"I appreciate the advice, nevertheless, Auriga," Sirius mentioned. He glanced at his watch. "Well, I need to get to class. Wouldn't want to be late."

Sinistra laughed at him. "Oh, don't pull that nonsense. You? Late for class? I thought that was the natural order of things," she commented good-naturedly. Grinning, she continued, "Oh, get going, Sirius. Wouldn't want to give the students a bad impression."

Grinning in return, Sirius asked, "Who, me?"


Terry White really hated his life right about then. Why in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost had he even considered coming back to his country of origin in order to fight a psychopathic megalomaniac bent on world domination and immortality without remembering that he hated every single one of his former colleagues with a fiery passion? Well, Snape was really okay, but that was mostly due to the fact that the potions master was really fighting for the other side. Actually, how in the world had no one noticed that Snape was one of the good guys? Granted, he certainly did not act or look the part, but there was definitely enough information to determine the man's true allegiance. Of course, the data also pointed to Terry's personal opinion about the forces of evil: they all weren't quite there…

For instance, here they were plotting a stupid evil scheme to break certain lunatics out of Azkaban. Really. How incredibly idiotic did you have to be? Break out of Azkaban? The only way that the scenario could get any more amusing was if they tried to call Black for some advice. It was sad, but Terry realized he did not put it past any of the people sitting at the table to suggest it (aside from Snape, who would just sneer at whomever spoke). Terry started drawing on his papers out of sheer boredom. No one seemed to notice.

Snape looked half-ready to fall asleep, but apparently he noticed the random doodles on Terry's copy of the "Grand Master Plan to Break People Out of Azkaban" (GMPBPOA—Top Secret, by Lord Voldemort with aid from Lucius Malfoy, Esq.). Terry just smiled as Snape stared at him like Terry had gone off the deep end. "Are you mad?" Snape hissed, trying not to draw attention to the fact that Terry had indeed lost all respect for the legions of darkness.

"Quite. You see, I've come to the realization that this is all just a figment of some poor sap's imagination, so it doesn't really matter if I snub these, to put it politely, nimrods, because that deluded idiot's probably beneficent and would just be delivering me from this torture were I struck down," Terry rationalized very calmly. He, of course, spoke in the same low tones that Snape had been because, while that could be true, he was not exactly thrilled with the prospect of dying an incredibly painful death at the hands of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. "Have you every realized that our formal title sounds like the name of a rock band?"

Snape, apparently, had realized that but only glared at Terry. At that point, Snape may have noticed that Terry had been drawing certain Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban falling off of cliffs. Snape tilted his head to the side just a little and murmured, "May I ask why Bellatrix Lestrange is impaled on a particularly pointy rock and half eaten by a shark?"

"She was attacked by three of the Aurors in the quadrant at this particular intersection that the plan fails to account for and was driven out the window because she'd rather die (or freeze in the water in her botched escape attempt) than be put back in her cell," Terry explained rationally, gesturing where needed to the particular Auror stations and points on the map. "Plus, sharks are supposed to eat anything, even automobile tires and license plates, so I would imagine that they would find Bellatrix to be quite palatable."

Unamused, Snape mentioned, "You do make a good point about the various holes in the plan, Grey, although it might be more productive if you said them so we could leave."

Terry felt that Snape had a point, although he was not sure he wanted to point out the mistakes. If he did and they fixed the plan, the Death Eaters could in all likelihood take Azkaban instead giving their ranks a get-out-of-jail-free card. It was also rather strange being addressed as 'Grey.' After a long time and quite a bit of scotch, Terry had decided to call himself Darien Grey. He almost regretted not running it past Vesta. Almost. However, it lent to the idea that Snape thought he was completely insane. Most of other the Death Eaters shared the same opinion, but Voldemort thought the name amusing. Terry had almost added that his middle name was Algernon and that they should call him Algie or Dulse, whichever they liked better.

It was at that point that Terry started to wonder if he were sober yet. Judging by the fact that he still found Voldemort's face to be completely hilarious, Terry stopped doodling and started paying attention to the battle plan again. "Excuse me, my Lord, but why are we bothering with Azkaban? If our allies were foolish enough to be arrested in the first place, then why are we taking the risk to free them? The Aurors may very well catch them again," Terry wondered, belatedly realizing he was a right idiot for questioning the reasoning of Voldemort and braced himself for the Cruciatus. It did not come, and Snape looked like he felt a migraine coming on.

"The Unspeakable's got a point," Macnair agreed. "If we don't have a plan for what to do after the break out, then we're likely to be caught. Not that I'm against a good spot of violence."

"We need to free the Lestranges," Voldemort repeated icily for what seemed like the hundredth time. Even he seemed bored with the meeting. Terry did not blame him in the least. After all, if Terry had been stuck with incompetents like Lucius and Crabbe and Goyle, then he'd be on his last nerve, too. Terry wondered why he still had not been put under the Cruciatus for his insolence. After all, he had directly insulted Voldemort. Granted, Voldemort may still be watching to see on whose side Terry really seemed to be. That was not good.

"My Lord, what I meant was that we don't seem to be considering barely any of the Aurors stationed at the prison, and we've left too many hallways unguarded and unaccounted for," Terry explained, hoping that his earlier faux pas could be covered for.

Voldemort smiled wickedly, and Terry realized he was missing a big part of the plan. He did not remember reading anything about how they were going to distract the guards, and they were ignoring the existence of the Dementors. Terry paused and realized in horror that that was how they were going to take the prison. The Dark Lord misinterpreted his attempt at stoicism. "Grey, you may be an Unspeakable, but you certainly are not a credit to your department. The Dementors will be more than willing to let some of their prisoners go with the promise of more," Voldemort reminded him sinisterly, staring straight into Terry's eyes. Terry's breath caught in his throat, and he remembered why he would rather have stayed far, far away from all of the death and destruction for another fifteen years. Thankfully, he had enough presence of mind to keep his Occlumency shields up whenever he was around any Death Eater, much less the Dark Lord.

"Of course, My Lord, I am a fool to think anything else. I apologize for my behavior," Terry muttered, looking down at the table. The discussion of the plan to take Azkaban continued much like it had before Terry had said a word to Snape. He stayed silent for the remainder of the meeting. As he was about to leave once Voldemort dismissed them en masse, the Dark Lord motioned for Terry to remain behind. He walked up to the Dark Lord and bowed on one knee. "What do you require of me, My Lord?" Terry asked subserviently.

"I was wondering, Grey, if you had ever attended a meeting before this one," Voldemort said almost nonchalantly. Terry tried to keep his breathing steady and strengthened his mental barriers. "You see, I remember only three others ever speak out as you have, and only one of them remains my loyal servant. The other two were a spy and one of the Order of the Phoenix. It would serve you well to retain control over your mouth and speak only when spoken to. If you have something meaningful to say, consider it greatly before opening your mouth."

"I am sorry, My Lord; I did not mean to remind you of Dorcas Meadowes," Terry apologized, only belatedly realizing that mentioning that particular woman was rather foolish, seeing as Voldemort just told him to be quiet. Mentally cursing, Terry decided that the only way to redeem himself would be to apologize and throw himself on Voldemort's mercy. Terry stuttered, "M-my Lord, I meant… I am at your service. I apologize for speaking out of turn repeatedly. I am willing to do whatever you wish; I am well aware I am walking on thin ice." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Terry realized how completely stupid his words had been.

"Crucio. Grey, you do not seem to understand the meaning of silence," Voldemort lectured as Terry writhed on the floor screaming. "Speak only when spoken to. Is that so hard to comprehend? I would have thought that the Ministry would rid its agents of such insolence early on," Voldemort continued, shaking his head in disappointment. He stood up from his chair and walked down from the dais to stand next to Terry, who was still shaking even though the curse had ended. "The only reason I do not kill you where you stand, or should I say lie, is that you are the only trusted Department of Mysteries agent to join the Death Eaters. I accept that you have some rather intriguing faults and that you cannot take the Mark, but I do not approve of your insolence. Do you understand, Grey?"

Terry nodded, knowing that speaking at that point would probably earn him another Cruciatus but that remaining silent could have the same effect. It was better to stay silent and show the Dark Lord he understood and would not repeat his mistake.

"Good. At least you can learn," Voldemort admitted. He stared disgustedly at Terry. "Get up," he ordered. Terry took some time to stand, and when he had, Voldemort ordered, "Leave me at once, and tell Lucius to hurt you some more. You had best bring some useful intelligence at the next time we meet. You will be sent a message by owl, as usual."

Bowing once more, Terry left the room as quickly as possible. The rest of the Death Eaters were waiting outside, all having heard the exchange between him and Voldemort. Terry made eye contact with Lucius Malfoy as the door closed behind him. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Terry demanded brazenly, knowing he would gain at least some respect for meeting the torture without fear. They might even leave him alone eventually. Then again, there was absolutely no way to feign Bellatrix's madness.

Malfoy stared at him without feeling and said almost lazily, "Crucio." Terry was vaguely aware of the others joining in. After each of their spells wore off, they stopped. Terry tried to pick himself up and leave, but he could not find the effort to. A number of them laughed at him before Disapperating. Finally, the only one left again was Snape.

"As I neglected to mention earlier, you are an idiot," Snape muttered as he helped Terry stand up. "If I did not know better, I'd say you'd take the prize for being one. Unfortunately, you're currently third, but that's still damned impressive."

"I'm honored, really I am. Second only to the brothers Black? Honestly, that's a … honor," Terry said, acutely aware of the fact that he was making less sense than usual. How he hated the Cruciatus. Almost worse than cough syrup, that one. Oh, Nyquil, you silly medicine.

Snape turned to stare at Terry, surprised by his comment. Terry knew by that point he really was not in control of what he was saying anymore and that he probably said the worst possible thing to Snape. Shaking his head, Snape said, "I have absolutely no clue how on earth you knew what I was talking about, and to be quite frank, I do not want to know. So, if you would please stay quiet, I'll make sure you get back to your flat without passing out in the middle of the streets of London and waking up in a Muggle infirmary."

"They're called hospitals, Sevvie; you know that. May I call you Sevvie?"


"Malfoy Confunded you, didn't he?" Severus continued, completely ignoring Grey's last line. "It's the only explanation," he decided and Apparated with Grey in tow. They were now currently at the plaza in front of the National Portrait Galleries. Grey was hanging off of him like he completely drunk. Severus, of course, had thought that when he had noticed the random drawing of Bellatrix impaled on a rock (surprisingly well rendered) on Grey's copy of the Azkaban Plan, as Severus had taken to shortening it. That plot was turning out had not helped in the least.

"I think I'm a little bit drunk," Grey decided, drawing out the 'I' in little. He looked around, rather confused, and realized, "Hey, aren't we in front of that one museum?"

Severus started to regret deciding to see the idiot Unspeakable home. Steeling himself to what was looking to be a complete waste of time that could be better put to use sleeping, Severus asked as patiently as humanly possible, "Where do you live?"

"Baker Street."

Severus did not even need to ask. He just knew the Unspeakable was speaking absolute nonsense. "No, that's where Sherlock Holmes lives, Grey. Where do you live?" he repeated.

Grey took a breath, considering. Then he shut his mouth and thought rather hard. At least to Severus it looked like Grey was using his total brain capacity in the process. Severus considered trying to undo the Confunding, but he figured that it would be best if the spell just wore off on its own. Malfoy tended to overdo that spell, so if Severus botched the removal of it, he would be held accountable for any and all side effects on the only legit Department of Mysteries agent they had ever bagged. Severus was starting to doubt the legitimacy of the man's assertion when faced with the overwhelming evidence that Grey was actually just insane.

"Downing?"

"Muggle Prime Minister and the rest of their government."

"I think I may be American."

"God forbid." Severus was pretty damn close to just dumping the man off at St. Mungo's and hoping for the best. If he had to suffer any more of the inane babble, he would desert Grey and be done with it. There was no excuse for the behavior, Confunding or not.

In the meantime, Grey had begun to sing a Muggle punk rock song out of key. He continued until he was cut off, "I miss my baby, and it feels so bad; I guess—"

"Please stop singing; I'm trying to think," Severus growled. Wonderful. Could the night get any worse? Well, Black could show up out of nowhere, and that American spy White could, and then they would have the whole name color spectrum. Severus stared at the wizard who had still not ceased singing even if he was a bit quieter and slightly less terrible and realized that Grey might be the American. The theory did not explain the accent, but nobody's perfect, are they? Fed up, Severus let go of Grey and sat down on the steps of the museum.

"Wait, I think I remember my address," Grey suddenly declared as he sat down next to Severus. "I'm definitely British, though. I thought about it. I suddenly remembered my mum yelling at me and my brother to shut up about something, and she was very British about it." Severus was as of yet unimpressed. "I remember living somewhere in Soho," Grey mentioned, and Severus turned to stare at Grey once more. Somewhere in Soho. That was very clear and specific. But when Grey mentioned a specific address, and Severus turned white. That… could not be where Grey lived. At all. An old friend, yes, but Grey was not that man.

Upon further reflection, it made all too much sense, but it was still impossible. Severus had been there during the interrogation, seen the body. He had been unable to bring himself to help dispose of the corpse, because, after it all, the man had been his friend, yet another friend who had not deserved to die in the manner he had. "Are you sure about that?" Severus asked hesitantly.

Grey blinked a couple times and then said, "N—no. No, that was someone else… Not me. Pity what happened to him, a real pity, or so they said." Severus decided that Malfoy had really done a job on Grey. If the man was confusing his identity with that of someone whom he seemed to have never met, there was some masterful spellwork done. "Wait! I remember now!" Grey said another address that seemed halfway normal.

Luckily, it was rather late at night, and no one really paid any attention to the fact that Severus and Grey were wearing robes, not even when they were on the Underground. Granted, the robes that Grey was wearing simply looked like a somewhat strange overcoat with normal (Muggle) clothes underneath. Severus just did not care about the looks people were giving him. After all, they were in a metropolitan area, and he could say they were coming from a costume party. Severus almost regretted taking the Underground, but he felt that it was better in terms of stealth. After all, they might may look a little strange to a Muggle or a wizard, but what kind of Death Eater would take the Underground?

Finally, Severus had returned Grey to his flat. It had taken an hour and a half, but Severus felt that for some strange reason he made the right decision in not Apparating. "Do you remember where you put your keys?" Severus asked, rather tired of leading Grey around. Grey, however, produced the keys immediately and with a flourish. "Finally," Severus said with relief. He could leave and be gone and not deal with the fool again until the next meeting.

Unfortunately, Grey took the opportunity to pass out. Severus felt like punching the wall. He took the keys from Grey and unlocked the door to the flat. Luckily, there was a futon in the middle of the room, so Severus dragged Grey over to it. Severus left Grey's keys on the table next to the futon and was about to Disapparate when Grey seemed to regain consciousness. The left sleeve on Grey's robe fell down as he made to hold his hand against his temple.

Severus realized why Grey was so adamant about not being Marked: he already was. Severus said nothing and waited for Grey to realize where he was and that Severus was indeed present. Grey suddenly looked completely shocked and was a little horrified to see Severus standing there. "Snape, I—where—how—" Words failed Grey, who stared down at the floor and finished lamely, "Thank you."

"You're lucky, Grey. I could have just left you there after Malfoy Confunded you."

Grey nodded knowingly. "I owe you," he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Severus started to reassess the intelligence level of the man as he asked, "What did I say?"

"That you were Sherlock Holmes, the Prime Minister, American, British, and a dead, former Death Eater, in that order. After a point, I decided to ignore you," Severus replied coolly.

"What point?" Grey asked, obviously wary of what Severus had determined.

"Well, you're obviously that American spy, but I'm not quite convinced you're my dead friend, even if it does appear that you were a Death Eater. Goodbye, Mr. White." Before the other man could formulate a reply, Severus left.


Notes: Artemesia gets less weepy, I swear. Really. And, well, Terry's reasons for everything are complicated, but I wrote this part on painkillers when I was stuck in the school infirmary winter freshman year. I apologize if after the edit it's still too crack!fic. Anyways, thanks for reading and reviewing if you have, and please review!

Coming Soon: Auriga can't take it anymore and decides to take action.