Amelia stopped dead, sinking slightly into the drifting snow. Her mind felt heavy and numb.

Severus? A Death Eater?

It just wasn't possible!

"Alastor, now really!" Poppy snapped, sounding quite angry.

"Severus has proven himself time and time again," Filius admonished, in a tone that brooked no argument, "and as you say, Albus trusts him."

"I was merely answering a question," Moody responded, almost sulkily.

"Severus Snape would no more put Potter's name in that Goblet than I would," Pomona barked. "And you know it. Just because you dislike the man, Alastor –"

"Alright, alright," Moody grumbled. "But you can't discount a man with a past like his based on how he acts when the world is at peace and his former master is dead."

"Surely," said Martin, in that voice usually reserved for classroom offenders. "You wouldn't accuse a man without empirical evidence?"

Not for the first time, Amelia recognised the glint of the berserker that she had sometimes seen in her old tutor's eyes.

"The only evidence I need is the mark on his arm," Moody growled, savagely.

Horrified, Amelia remembered the curious tattoo she'd seen on the flesh of Severus's lower arm the previous summer – the same design, she now realised – as the skull in the clouds at the World Cup.

"Now that is quite enough," said Poppy, on the verge of shouting. "We'll hear no more of this nonsense! Come along, everyone."

Moody let them go, watching them silently from the shadows before slinking off in the direction of the Hog's Head.

Amelia fell behind the others as they marched ahead, driven by their outrage.

How could he? How could he?

It was beyond her grasp – a man who she knew would put his life on the line for a student –

A man she knew to be intelligent and brave –

A man she trusted –

No, there had to have been some terrible mistake – Severus would never do that, never in a million years.

She felt sick.

It would explain why he's been avoiding me…

The thought rose unbidden in her mind. She squashed it.

"Amelia?" Martin had dropped back from the others, who were still stuttering with rage on their friend's behalf. "You didn't know, did you?"

"It – how – he wouldn't –" she stuttered, stunned and angry.

Martin sighed and put an awkward arm around her shoulders. He even smelled faintly bear-like.

"I couldn't believe it, either, when I first found out…" he gave a heavy sigh. "I thought he was too clever for that… but we all make mistakes, particularly when we're young. I get the impression that he's paid for his."

Amelia didn't say anything and Martin left her to her thoughts, sadness etched on his face.

She couldn't think.

Martin couldn't be wrong – and the others had known him in school, when Voldemort had first come to power…

She was still frowning deeply as she reached the Entrance Hall, her feet carrying her onwards as her mind floundered. Martin shot her a worried glance as the teachers went their separate ways. Amelia didn't notice. Her head was too full.

She lingered in the shadowy hallway, trying to fit the disparate images of 'Severus, her close friend' and 'Severus, the torturing, bigoted bastard' into one frame. They just wouldn't go.

She thought of the Roberts family at the World Cup, bewildered and terrified – of Neville's parents, tortured out of their wits – Lily and James Potter, lying dead in the ruins of their home – Sirius locked away to rot in a cold cell – Remus, all alone…

A fury like she'd never known was coursing through her body, making her shake with anger. Tiny sparks of magic were spitting from her fingertips, though she was too enraged to notice.

How dare he?

She turned in one fluid motion and stalked towards the dungeons. Now she knew the truth, she found that it was Severus's kindness, his humanity that she could not reconcile.

How DARE he?

She stroke along the corridor, anger sparking from her boots like hammerscale; the few portraits that hung on the dungeon walls eyed her warily.

He was always picking on those that were weaker – those he considered to be inferior. She knew where that sort of thinking led from her own world: camps full of children, piles of shoes with no owners, lampshades made of human skin.

A 'final solution'.

Every inch of her burned with hatred as she thundered around the final turn before Severus's office.

How dare he be her friend?

Not bothering to knock, she slammed the door open with all the force she could muster, which – apparently – was quite a lot. It burst back against the wall with a great bang shaking dust from the ceiling and making the hinges pop and snap in protest.

Severus, startled by her sudden entrance, leapt to his feet, wand raised.

He had less than a second to take in her obvious fury before she was right in front of him, carelessly knocking his wand aside as though it was nothing but a twig.

Very nearly nose to nose with him, she drew herself up and commanded:

"Tell me you weren't a Death Eater."

She glared at him; his pained silence was quite eloquent.

"Tell me you never followed that bastard."

Wishing he were anywhere else, Severus took an unconscious step backwards, he glanced aside as he bumped into the bookcase that ran along the back wall of his office.

She could almost taste his thoughts…

He really didn't want to hurt her, which meant that he'd have to endure the breadth of her ire. Not that he didn't feel that she was entitled…

Merlin knew there were days when he'd wanted to score the cursed thing from his flesh…

"Tell me, Severus, and I'll believe you."

There was an edge of pleading in her voice now, but what could he say? Amelia was (or, he suspected, had been) the closest friend he'd had in his adult life, he wasn't going to insult her further by lying to her – even if it meant losing her.

"Just tell me – that's all you have to do," she demanded. "Tell me that you weren't a Death Eater and I'll believe you. Go on – I'll trust you."

He just kept looking at her, miserably; it was Amelia's turn to take a step backwards.

"Tell me!" she snapped, very nearly begging. "Tell me you never conjured the Dark Mark –"

Even if he wasn't saying anything aloud, his eyes were. He looked wretchedly out of those dark eyes, not quite meeting her gaze.

"Tell me you never took part in a raid on someone's home…" Amelia's voice was becoming less steady with every un-answered question. "You never tortured…," she swallowed. "You never killed…"

Her hands were balled into fists at her side in an effort to stop herself unleashing her fury on her former friend.

"I never killed," he said, quietly.

She stood, staring blankly at him. His voice had sounded odd, distorted by some hidden emotion.

"But you did do everything else?

His nod was like a splinter in her heart.

"Couldn't you see what they were doing? What – how could you not have seen?"

"I did, after a time."

"And, what – you just thought you'd let them get on with it?" she boggled at him.

"Power is a great temptation – and an extraordinary means of control. It all seemed so disconnected – so very far away from what I was doing… at least, at first." There was real weariness in his voice, and something else – self-disgust, Amelia realised. "And when I did see it… I am ashamed to say that there were times I thought it unacceptable – if unpleasant – cost."

"Acceptable?" Amelia spat. "People died, Severus! There are entire families that were wiped out! People driven to the very edge of sanity – and even beyond it!"

Severus stared at her knees – he couldn't raise his eyes any higher. He didn't want to see her disgust.

"You knew some of them, Severus – you went to school with them!" Amelia was aware that the more she shouted, the closer she was getting to punching him. No matter how tempting power could be – and she had no doubt that it was – she found choosing to ignore such blatant cruelty completely incomprehensible.

"I know," he said, heavily. "That was when it stopped being acceptable."

Amelia felt a deep, dark chasm opening up between them; they were teetering on the edge of it, waiting for the fall. Her stomach swam.

"How could you?" she asked him, softly.

He looked up at her, and she saw the despair in his eyes. There was nothing that he could say – no excuse he could give. He shrugged.

It was a small movement, and to Amelia it seemed dismissive, sulky. She snapped. The blind fury that had been driving her finally reached a boiling point and she hit him hard in the mouth, watching with unhappy satisfaction as his head hit the bookshelf behind him with a dull thud. His legs buckled beneath him and he crumpled on the stone floor, clutching his bleeding jaw and staring balefully up at her.

She turned on her heel and stalked away, ignoring the sound of her friend's sobs.

0o0o0o0

Amelia stormed her way back up to her rooms, leaving a trail of startled and gossipy portraits in her wake. She slammed the door behind her, stalked past an astonished Remus – who had half-risen from the sofa to greet her – and stomped straight into the bedroom. She was still so fired up that her fingers couldn't find their way around the clasp of her cloak. She struggled with it for a moment before hissing in frustration and giving in. She dropped onto the bed and rubbed her face angrily; her hand was beginning to hurt and she was aware that some of her earlier rage had begun to ebb – her adrenaline was beginning to spiral down from heated disgust to sheer distress.

It is a horrible thing to know that, on top of everything else, one is about to start crying.

Remus, who had followed her and been watching her from the doorway, sat down beside her and carefully undid the clasp, pulling the cloak from around her shoulders.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked, an arm around her waist.

"Severus was a Death Eater," she spat, hate curling from every syllable. "He willingly followed a man bent on murder and torture –"

Remus sighed heavily, and Amelia froze. She looked up at him, sharply, eyes narrowed.

"You knew?"

He bit his lip.

"I suspected – and then he admitted it…"

"And you didn't tell me?" Amelia's voice was dangerously close to a snarl.

"He asked me not to," said Remus, a little awkwardly. "It wasn't my story to tell."

He gave a kind of half-shrug – almost the same action that had earned Severus a smack on the jaw not ten minutes previously. She rose from the bed and stood away from him, disgusted.

"What else haven't you told me?" she asked, a note of hysteria in her voice.

Who were these men to whom she'd felt so close?

"Nothing," he frowned, surprised.

"How can I be sure? You and Sirius and –" she spat the name "– Snape seem to have all these little secrets and –" Remus must have sensed a note of rising panic as he interrupted:

"Don't be like this," he said, holding out a hand to her.

"Like what? How am I supposed to be, Remus?" she demanded, in the grip of real hysteria. "When everywhere I turn there's some new reason not to trust you – any of you – if it's not you hiding some ridiculous facet of wizarding law that I really ought to bloody know about, it's Sirius defiantly not telling me about how my actions could get you in trouble and Snape lying through his teeth and pretending to be a good man! I mean –"

She couldn't finish her sentence because Remus had risen from the bed and wrapped his arms around her; they were immediately engaged in a brief and fruitless struggle as she tried to push him way, but her adrenaline was ebbing now. She belatedly recalled that as a werewolf he was much stronger than she was. In any case, Remus held her arms in place until she gave in; he held her tightly as she cried, and cried, and cried.

0o0o0o0

The next morning saw a very grumpy and despondent Amelia being dragged out of their rooms where she'd intended to hole up for the week, and out into Hogsmeade.

He insisted that it would do her good, but she highly doubted it.

All around her students were calling out to one another, and rushing about excitedly; she was exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the previous evening and, as a result, was nursing a particularly pervasive headache.

She trailed miserably after Remus as he (ostensibly they) ran their errands, briefly visiting the tiny, extraordinary post office, picking up vital supplies from the student-packed Honeydukes' and the much quieter teashop next door. Her hand, now sporting quite a bruise, ached periodically, making her grimace and frighten nearby students.

By lunchtime, Amelia's headache was nearly unbearable and – since this had a direct relationship with her current mood – Remus was beginning to grit his own teeth. He piloted her into the apothecary for a remedy while he picked up a new quill and some sealing wax from Flourish and Blotts.

Some of the pressure lifting from her skull and neck, Amelia decided to wait for him in the Three Broomsticks.

The pub was packed with students from the three schools, most of whom appeared to be getting on famously – unfortunately, the results of this were quite loud. She collected a couple of butterbeers from the bar and scanned the room for an empty corner. There were pockets of adults in the bar today, including a gaggle of hags clustered around the fireplace, cackling happily.

Amelia spotted Ron, who was sitting with Fred, George and Lee Jordan. Frowning at the lack of Harry or her cousin, she peered over the tops of people's heads until she glimpsed her, alone, at a table at the back of the room. Amelia grimaced. Hermione appeared to be working on her SPEW stuff again, but she waded through the crowd towards her table anyway.

"Hey," she said, setting the butterbeers down on the table. For a second, she could have sworn a look of panic crossed her cousin's face; the girl quickly recovered. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, wearily. "Remus'll be along in a minute."

Hermione nodded in assent and Amelia moved around the table; there were several empty chairs here, but something made her choose the chair opposite Hermione, rather than the one beside her.

"You look exhausted," said Hermione, watching her with obvious concern.

"Long story," said Amelia. "Which you don't get to hear any time soon."

Hermione's ears pricked up at this; there wasn't much that Amelia wasn't prepared to share with her.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to talk about it."

Hermione shrugged.

"Suit yourself," she said, and turned back to her recruitment list. It didn't fool Amelia for a moment.

She sighed and leaned back in her seat, content to watch the general hubbub for a while. As her headache cleared, the urge to glance at the empty chair beside Hermione increased; sudden inspiration gripped her and she guessed that Harry was sitting there under his father's old cloak.

Careful not to look directly at him, she reached out with her mind, and sure enough…

What wouldn't he have given to be one of those people, sitting around and laughing and talking, with nothing to worry about but homework? He imagined how it would have felt to be here if his name hadn't come out of the Goblet of Fire. He wouldn't be wearing the Invisibility Cloak, for one thing. Ron would be sitting with him. The three of them would probably be happily imagining what deadly dangerous task the school champions would be facing on Tuesday. He'd have been really looking forward to it, watching them do whatever it was…

Amelia smiled very slightly, and leaned forward – this ought to shake them up a bit.

"So, Harry," she said quietly. "How's it going?"

There was the muffled sound of someone choking on their butterbeer; Hermione stared at her, wide-eyed.

"Don't worry, I can't actually see you or anything," she said, with a smile. "I'm just weird – as I'm sure Hermione can attest. As far as I can tell, you aren't breaking any rules, so no worries, right?" She paused. "Actually, since I saw that appalling Skeeter woman earlier I don't blame you at all," she continued, conversationally.

There was a disembodied chuckle from the apparently empty chair.

Hermione grimaced.

"Have you read the article?"

Amelia shook her head and Hermione pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet out of her bag and pushed it across the table. Amelia felt a wave of embarrassment and annoyance emanate from the chair.

She picked up the paper.

"Afternoon, Hermione," said Remus, happy to see his fiancée in a better mood. He sat down beside Amelia and nodded at the empty chair. "Harry."

Amelia tried not to laugh as Harry hissed:

"Is this thing broken today or what?"

Remus chuckled.

"It always used to annoy Prongs, too – one of the perks of being a – well, you know."

He watched Amelia read the Triwizard Tournament article, one eye rising as she made her way down the page.

"Well that's utter bollocks," she said, passing the paper to Remus. "Surely no-one believes a word of it?" she asked, correctly interpreting a wave of gratitude from Harry's direction. "Well then, they're all morons."

"That would be pretty much the whole school, then," Harry muttered, bitterly.

Both Amelia and Hermione made identical tutting sounds.

"I see what you mean," said Remus, scanning the offending pages with distaste. "I'm assuming she made most of this up?"

"All of it," Harry hissed, so loud that a Beauxbatons student at a nearby table jumped and looked around, bewildered.

"Can I keep this?" Remus asked, when the boy had turned back to his friends. "I may have a use for it."

Amelia shot him a questioning look, but he just shook his head lightly and went back to his butterbeer.

"Well, the harpy got one thing right," began Amelia, to Harry's obvious consternation. "Hermione's definitely stunningly pretty."

Hermione went scarlet, but smiled up at her cousin nonetheless. Remus (and, she suspected, Harry) laughed at her.

"You know, Hermione, I reckon that Colin Creevey has a bit of a crush on you," Remus teased.

Hermione scoffed.

0o0o0o0

They spent a highly amusing and rather pleasant half-hour teasing the two kids before Remus and Amelia finished their drinks and headed back towards the castle.

On their way back up the hill they passed Hagrid, who looked really excited, and Moody, who looked like he was up to something.

Remus had to take a very firm hold on Amelia's arm as he piloted her up the hill; she was still growling as they reached their rooms.

"He was just telling you the truth, you know," Remus said gently, as he shut the door.

"He upset everyone there, and enjoyed doing it," said Amelia, pulling away from him.

Remus sighed.

"I wonder what's got Hagrid so fired up," he said, deciding that the best way of dealing with Amelia's anger was to ignore it.

"They're delivering the dragons tonight," said Amelia, huffily. "And I think he's got a date with Madame Maxime."

Remus's eyes widened.

"Hagrid? On a date? That's something I'd pay to see…"

Amelia pulled a face at him as he filled the kettle.

"Meanie."

"What? Have you seen that hairy suit thing he wears sometimes?" he shuddered. "Lily and Sirius had a long-running bet on whether or not it was alive."

"Who won?" Amelia asked, fighting a smile.

"Neither of them – it was never satisfactorily proved either way."

0o0

She left him scribbling away at something in the corner that evening and met up with Filius to begin planning the winter concert.

Since Filius was in reasonably good humour, Amelia assumed that Severus hadn't shared their altercation with the staff, so she kept up a façade of carefree jollity for the remainder of the meeting, even inviting Filius (and by extension Poppy and Pomona) up to their rooms to watch Topsy Turvy – the Gilbert and Sullivan Biopic – the following evening.

After several hours of assigning solos and arguing over song choices, Amelia retreated back to her rooms, looking forward to a long, hot bath.

Remus was still writing something as she trudged back in, several scrunched up balls of parchment littered the floor behind his chair. She patted him fondly on the head as she passed him; he shooed her away when she tried to catch a glimpse of whatever he was working on over his shoulder.

Definitely up to something.

He was looking distinctly pleased with himself when she came back out in her pyjamas, squeaky clean, relaxed and humming a tune from The Mikado.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Go on then, what've you done?"

"Composed a rebuttal to that Skeeter woman – here, have a read," he offered, pulling her down onto the sofa.

She made herself comfortable in his arms and began to read the parchment; Remus watched her for a few minutes as she variously frowned, sniggered, and raised an eyebrow.

"Well?"

"Shush," she said, reading it through a second time. "It's brilliant," she told him, once she'd finished. Remus practically glowed.

"But surely you're not going to send it in – I thought we were trying to keep a low profile?" she admonished lightly, as his grin became more mischievous.

"I'm not sending it in," she said, craftily. "Ogien the Great is."

"I'm not sure Ursula Le Guin would approve of your wholesale theft of her character…"

"She wouldn't approve of Rita Skeeter, either."

Amelia laughed. Remus appeared to be getting more and more Maruaderish of late, and she was rather enjoying it. It did her good to hear him laugh.

His smile softened and he kissed her forehead.

"Come on, you," he said. "Let's put something funny on your laptop and forget – well – everything, for a couple of hours. I think we both need a night off."

Amelia sighed, happily.

"Go on then," she sighed. "I could do with a laugh…"

She curled up on the sofa as Remus bustled about with tea and DVDs, watching him work.

"Remus?"

"Yes, love?"

"Do you trust him?"

"Moody?"

"Severus."

Remus looked at her, frowning slightly.

"Yes, I do."

Amelia nodded slowly, and lost herself in thought. She looked up as Remus pushed a mug of tea into her hands; she breathed in the fumes, enjoying the bittersweet aroma.

"Monk Pear?" she asked.

"Mmm," said Remus, resting his head in her lap.

She played with his hair, which was flopping over his face like it, too, could do with a night off.

He smiled drowsily up at her, and her mouth quirked upwards to mirror his.

"Thanks," she said, softly.

"For what?"

"Putting up with me."

Remus snorted.

"These things are sent to try us," he teased, and kissed her while she was still laughing.