Remus stared up into the dark forest, wishing that he'd thought to go after his fiancée slightly earlier in the day.

A voice that sounded a lot like Severus's told him that this wasn't strictly his fault, since she had told him she would be back by dinner, but he still felt guilty.

She'd had every right to be upset by her cousin's abduction into the Tournament, and he'd made sure Pomona and Filius, who seemed to think she was overreacting, knew about it. He'd spent all of dinner trying not to glance at the empty seat between himself and Severus and would have set off immediately if it hadn't been for Hermione, who had waylaid him in the corridor.

Apparently, Mel's innate sense of when her cousin was upset was beginning to work both ways. He'd given her a summary of events and she'd understood completely. He'd been surprised to discover that Minerva had been told that they couldn't refuse, which only made him angrier.

Hermione had been just as frightened as Amelia had suspected she'd be, and when she described the feeling of losing all sensation in her body he'd nearly lost his temper. That hadn't happened to him in a while.

Hermione had made a minor suggestion, before he set off, which he had been happy to follow. They both knew how stubborn her cousin was, after all.

What if something had happened to her?

He ignored the thought and staunchly pushed on, deeper into the woods. She could be anywhere, she'd set off mid-morning, after all, and anger could give a person a full head of steam…

He followed a trail up the hillside, more on instinct than anything else, and paused on edge of a clearing. He hadn't bothered to light his wand – it would have severely reduced his night vision, and besides, he could see pretty well without it. For everything else he had his enhanced hearing…

Every so often, being a werewolf wasn't so bad, he reflected.

He closed his eyes, letting the evening breeze ruffle his hair; he licked his lips, hoping he was on the right track –

There!

He opened his eyes, frowning slightly. Her scent was faint but Amelia had definitely passed this way earlier in the day. He strode up the crisp, crackling path, hoping that she would forgive him for being a part of a world that suddenly seemed so vicious and following his nose.

0o0o0o0

Amelia leaned back against the trunk of the oak tree, staring up at the stars.

She had been wandering through the woods all day, avoiding anything that sounded like it would eat her and encountering the occasional Unicorn. Since she wasn't by any means an innocent anymore they never came too close, but it was pleasant to see them, nonetheless.

It had grown increasingly colder towards the evening, and although she had on thick leather boots and a warm, crimson cloak she was beginning to feel the chill. So far, she had been able to ignore it – along with the nagging sensation that represented her body's attempts to make her see reason and go back to the castle to eat something. She was reasonable certain that she'd missed dinner now anyway.

Each time she considered it she fought the impulse off. She wasn't sure she could face them, just yet. She would have to admit to herself that her friends were a little more callous than she had expected – a result of the world they lived in rather than any cruelty on their part – and a large part of her was worried that she wouldn't be able to forgive them.

Particularly Remus, who she felt a little betrayed by, if she were honest.

Amelia really didn't feel like being honest, right now.

Now, though, the cold was beginning to set into her bones and she was aware that at some point in the near future she would either have to walk a little further (which didn't appeal), set a fire (which could attract exactly the wrong sort of attention in the Forbidden Forest), or head home (which her pride wouldn't currently let her do).

She sighed, her breath forming a great cloud of mist above her head.

It was entirely possible, now that the light had faded, that she wouldn't be able to find her way back at all. While she was a seasoned navigator, she had wandered so aimlessly and for so long that other than 'roughly in a downwards direction' she wasn't totally sure in which direction to head.

She'd picked this hillside in particular because she couldn't see the castle from it.

Now, under the unforgiving starlight, this didn't seem to be such a good idea.

Still, it wasn't like she hadn't slept rough before, and she had her wand on her. Tomorrow was a Sunday, after all, and she didn't need to be anywhere in particular for any given time. Perhaps a night on the cold, forest floor would give her mind a rest from the thousand or so voices that were just beyond her hearing every day.

And you wouldn't have to look anyone in the eye and pretend that you don't have a problem with them being okay with putting four children in a coma for a sporting event…

She shifted inside her cloak, trying to will some warmth into her legs.

The trouble was, she couldn't help thinking about how worried Remus would be if she failed to reappear all night. She'd felt how wounded he'd been when she pulled away from him; she didn't like to think that she could hurt him.

He was such a worried soul, sometimes, as if he thought everyone else got to be so carefree only because he did their worrying for them. It annoyed her at times, but she understood. He worried about people because he knew from personal experience that no matter how much you love someone, you couldn't keep them safe indefinitely, no matter how much you might want to.

It was a kind of psychological shield.

Really, she reflected, he was probably the kindest man she had ever met.

She didn't like to think of him sitting up all night, not wanting to go to sleep in case she was hurt, or lost. She huffed, rubbing some life into her legs.

She was going to have to make the trek, whether she wanted to or not –

Somewhere further down the track, something stood on a dead branch, which cracked and fell apart loudly.

Amelia was on her feet with her wand out before she could even think. Luckily, the something swore and she relaxed slightly in the knowledge that while wizards often killed one another, usually they were a bit choosier than – say – a stray Manticore.

She sat back down against the trunk behind her, glad that it was dark, but wishing that her cloak wasn't quite so obvious, even in the pale starlight of a New Moon.

Whoever it was, was getting closer, and Amelia wasn't sure she wanted to talk to any of her colleagues just yet… She fingered the wand, considering her options.

She could make out a shape in the trees, now, moving quickly up the hill in her direction. Their wand wasn't lit and she couldn't make anything out about them other than that they were there and they were heading straight for her. Just when she was considering running they stopped for a moment.

"Mel?" the someone asked. "Are you up there?"

"Remus?" she said, letting out the breath she had been holding.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he said, climbing up the last few feet to the little plateau she had been calling home for the last couple of hours. "I thought I was going to have to walk all night…"

She laughed, despite herself, though it sounded bitter out loud. She was aware that she was suddenly stupidly relieved, as though her mind had been saving up all her emotions just to swing them at her at the most irritating possible moment.

He was joking, but she could still hear the relief in his voice. He hesitated a few feet away from her, unsure.

"I was worried when you didn't come in for dinner," he said, quietly.

"I'm sorry – I should have come back before now," she said, realising that without quite knowing why, she was holding back tears. "I was so angry when I started walking and then I just wasn't thinking. I sort of went numb…"

"I'm glad you're alright," he said, still oddly hesitant to approach her. "I…"

He fell silent.

Amelia didn't know what to say. Suddenly, she felt incredibly stupid for being so angry, though she knew, deep down, that actually, anyone would have been.

"Thank you for coming to find me," she said, quietly.

"I… I wasn't sure that you wanted me to."

"I didn't," she said, and almost felt his face harden a little. "Not at first. I needed to be on my own for a bit."

"And now?"

Amelia stared off into the night. For someone who chattered away as much as she usually did, sometimes she found she couldn't form words, let alone sentences.

Fortunately, Remus seemed to understand because he sat down beside her, though he still seemed reluctant to get too near – almost as if he was afraid he might frighten her away.

"I shouldn't have brushed you off like that," she said, quietly.

"No, you shouldn't," he said, and picked some invisible lint from his knees. "You never seem to stop and think when you're angry," he said. "I was just as horrified as you were."

"But you accepted it as something that wasn't unusual – you were fine with the thought that they were going to go ahead with it –"

"No, I wasn't," he said, interrupting. "You assumed that I was. I don't think it's an acceptable thing to do at all – and you were right about them needing permission – but you never stop to find anything out before just flying off the handle."

She could hear the frustration in his voice; Amelia paused, feeling wretched.

Vowing to stop herself steamrollering off when she got angry instead of staying put and actually listening to people – particularly Remus – she wrapped her arms around her knees.

"Sorry," she said, in a small voice.

"I know you are," he said, sighing. "So am I. Our world is so stupid sometimes… I wish you weren't the only one around here who could see it. And…" he paused, apparently wondering whether he ought to continue. "And I wish that you would trust me."

"I do trust you," she said, turning to look at his dark profile. His face was hard to read at the best of times, but tonight she couldn't make out his expression at all. "Remus, I do trust you."

"I don't think that you do," he said, softly. "Whenever you're upset you – take yourself off somewhere and I can't help you. It's as if you think I won't be able to, or it's me that's hurting you."

"I – it's not that I don't trust you, or that I don't think you could help – you always help, just by being you," she said. "I just – I know I have a tendency to act before I think…" she began. "It's been a long time since I had anyone I could rely on. Things were never that great with my Mum and then I could never tell Steve anything – he would have just held it over me…

"Leaving at speed has always seemed the best option – that way I can't hit anyone and no one gets to take advantage of my vulnerability –"

"I'm never going to take advantage of you," Remus said, hurt.

"No, I know you wouldn't…"

"Mel…"

"I know, and I'm sorry," she rubbed her eyes. "I suppose I've just got used to dealing with things on my own."

"I'd be the first to admit that living alone for any great length of time means developing coping strategies," he said, after a moment. "Merlin knows I have a few, but we're supposed to be a partnership now."

"I know."

"I'll always be there for you when you need me, or when you're angry or upset, but you have to let me be."

They were quiet for a while, looking out over the never-silent forest, neither of them really paying attention to what they were seeing.

"I'm really sorry," she said again, and he shuffled closer. "I'm a bit crap at this."

"So am I," he said, putting his hand on her knee.

Amelia rested her head against his shoulder.

"I do trust you," she said, softly. "If I didn't, I wouldn't have agreed to marry you."

"Any regrets?" he asked; she could feel the tension in his hand.

"Never," she said, and kissed his fingers.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice sounding tight. "It's not too late to postpone, or back out or –"

"I'm still game if you are," Amelia assured him. "You are still game, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said, letting out a breath. "Absolutely."

"Good," said Amelia, feeling oddly relieved. "I don't throw pond snails at just anyone, you know."

She felt him chuckle.

"I'm glad that I've earned the distinction of being a target for airborne gastropodia."

"I love you," she said. "I'm an idiot a lot of the time, but I love you – and I'll work on the walking away thing. Even if I'm not the only one who does that."

"Guilty as charged," he said, and leaned in to kiss her neck. "Mel, you're freezing…"

"I've not moved for a while…"

"Why do you always insist on running off when it's cold?" he asked, wrapping his cloak around her. "Can't we ever do this in warm weather?"

"At least we don't have to face Poppy when we get in this time," she said, ducking her head under his arm.

"Heaven forefend…" he pulled her close and Amelia was infinitely grateful for the extra body heat. "I love you, as well," he said, into her hair. "Even when you're angry, or talking about obscure Muggle television programmes, or snoring –"

"I don't snore!"

"Yes you do, and it's terribly cute."

"Not as loud as you, anyway."

"You should have heard James," he said, affably. "Sounded like a meat-grinder."

Amelia sniggered.

"Do you often cuddle up to young women in the woods?" she asked, feeling safe enough to tease him.

"Not usually." She could hear the beginnings of a smile in his voice. "Though it doesn't help that you're dressed like Red Riding Hood."

Amelia laughed and slipped her hand inside his jacket; he was delightfully warm and delightfully solid. She nuzzled her head against his neck and breathed him in. He rubbed her back.

"You're affectionate tonight."

"You came to find me, and you've forgiven me for being angry, and you didn't think potentially drowning our schoolchildren was a good idea," she murmured. "And you're sitting on a very cold, slightly lumpy section of forest floor at gods' only know what hour, instead of being tucked up warm and comfy in your bed."

"It's our bed," he mumbled. "And it's not all that warm or comfy without you in it."

Amelia didn't know what to say to that, so she snuggled up as close as she could to him. He gave her shoulders a squeeze.

It was a perfect moment – or would have been, had Amelia's stomach (empty, now, since breakfast time) not chosen that moment to make itself heard.

Remus chuckled softly, somewhere above her head.

"Sorry," she said. "In my haste to disappear I neglected to pack a picnic…"

"Fortunately, your cousin was – as usual – right on the nose…" he pulled out his satchel, which Amelia hadn't even noticed he was wearing. "She assured me that the key to your heart was somewhere in your stomach."

Amelia sat up, astonished, as he pulled out sandwiches wrapped in brown paper, a small cake and a large flask with two cups. It all looked strangely antiquated, as though they had somehow travelled back in time by fifty years. There was even a large, woollen picnic blanket with red and dark green squares on it.

"House Elves?"

"Happy to help, as always," he said, pulling her to her feet so he could spread the blanket out.

"I'm surprised they didn't give you a hamper."

"They did, but I emptied it in my office. The satchel was much less unwieldy."

He offered her a spot on the blanket and she laughed at his gallantry.

"You know, I'm always secretly pleased at your romantic gestures," she told him.

"Good," he said, sitting down beside her. "Because I really have no idea what I'm doing, and most of it is just me, flannelling wildly and hoping it looks as good as when Sirius does it."

Amelia laughed.

"Well, you bluff very well," she said. "And it's from the heart, which makes it count."

"There is that," he said, offering her one of the bakelite cups. "Cocoa?"

0o0o0o0

The dying days of February faded into March, the majority of the castle's occupants still buzzing with the excitement of Harry's unexpected triumph at the second Task. Given that the Hogwarts champions were now tying for first place there wasn't a single person in the castle proper who wasn't dying to see what would happen in the third Task. Except, of course, Amelia, Remus and Severus, who were sick of hearing about it, and possibly the champions themselves, who were probably already having nightmares about what awaited them in June.

As they entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned their hands and faces every time they ventured out of doors. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course.

On a particularly bitter Friday towards the end of the month, the usual suspects were loitering around the door to the dungeon in time for their morning class. Severus, who had no doubt that the sniggering coming from the Slytherin end of the line was bad news, but he chose to ignore it for as long as he could.

It wasn't until the class had finally settled into their usual places and he was writing up the list of ingredients on the board that he picked up the tell-tale sound of gossiping from the back row.

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger," he said, without turning around. "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Five points from Gryffindor."

Predictably enough, the Slytherins tittered away to themselves and he ignored them. He turned to find Potter, Weasley and Granger trying to look as innocent as possible, concentrating on their ingredients.

He gave them a withering look before setting off on his rounds.

Longbottom's effort was – as usual – very poor, but he resisted making his usual caustic remarks, remembering the way Black and Lupin had talked about being proud on behalf of his parents. He remembered Frank and Alice, of course, though he had never been particularly friendly with them.

He glided over to intimidate Patil and Brown. They weren't doing too badly, and both of them ignored his scrutiny. He nodded, approvingly.

He hadn't been particularly friendly with anyone, at school, as he recalled. Frank, though, had been an excellent chess player and if Severus had been anyone other than himself, he would have said that he had enjoyed his company. Alice, he seemed to remember, had one of the best laughs in the whole of the student body. You could often hear it as much as two rooms away.

When he'd studied in the Library with Lily, before that awful day in their sixth year when he'd lost both his temper and his friend, Alice had often been with them. Of all the Gryffindors – save Lily – she had always been the kindest. It had irked his moody teenage self but now that he was older and more used to the company of others he could appreciate the effort.

He had never been the easiest person to bestow kindness upon, after all.

He skirted around the edge of Thomas and Finnegan's desk, rather more warily. Generally speaking, it was a good idea to give their cauldron a wide berth if one wanted to have unscorched clothes.

He loomed over Crabbe and Goyle, who didn't even notice he was there. Their potion was a sickening orange colour and he tutted.

"I would pay more attention to when you add your Horned Slug mucus," he instructed him. Both of them stared up at him in blind incomprehension.

He strode past Parkinson and Zabini, who appeared to be having a silent argument. Zabini was making his potion beautifully, as usual, but Parkinson was sulking, her arms crossed not even attempting to work with her housemate.

Severus made sure he was right behind her before hissing, in her ear:

"As I'm sure you're away, Miss Parkinson, this is a classroom, not a common room."

She jumped, as he'd hoped she would.

"If you don't intend to participate with this potion you could at least deign to make notes. Five points to Slytherin, Mr Zabini, for an excellent Strengthening Solution."

Severus passed by Longbottom for a second time, and glanced in his cauldron.

The potion was almost the right colour this time, and had a promising looking consistency. He paused and took a closer look.

Longbottom met his gaze, a spark of defiance there that he associated with his father. He supposed it must have been because he had seen the boy almost every day for four years, but he had never noticed before just how much he looked like his mother.

He coughed.

"Don't let it boil, or you'll ruin it," he said, before swiftly moving on to his least favourite table.

He could feel Longbottom's incredulous gaze follow him, but he ignored him.

"Miss Granger, since your potion is, as usual, excellent, you would think you could take the time to ensure that your two friends might learn their recipes before they set foot in my classroom," he hissed.

Hermione gave him a withering look, while Potter and Weasley glared at him.

He almost tripped over the bag at the end of the row; as it was, he merely stumbled and no-one except for the back row noticed. The bag fell open, however, revealing a smiling, curly haired witch offering up a plate of cakes.

He looked at Hermione, surprised that Witch Weekly would ever be a part of her preferred reading material. She gave him a look which he recognised from her cousin's repertoire as 'Don't ask.'

It was sufficient for him to steal the pages and stuff them inside his robes. Hermione didn't look best pleased, but nor did Potter, who had gone a funny green colour. He raised an eyebrow, daring either of them to say anything. It looked for a moment like Potter wanted to challenge him but Weasley made a sudden movement and the boy winced, as though his friend had kicked him under the table.

Severus retreated to his desk, where all three teenagers watched him closely, somehow managing not to massacre their potions at the same time.

He spent the next ten minutes dying to see what had made Potter turn green, but with practiced patience he resisted, turning his attention to his marking until, as predicted, Seamus Finnegan's cauldron exploded, covering both him and Dean Thomas in a half-formed Strengthening Solution.

Both of them collapsed in a soggy heap on the floor, the majority of their classmates peering over their desks at them. Blaise Zabini joined them after turning the heat off beneath his cauldron, which would earn him another five points when everyone calmed down.

Severus sighed and got to his feet.

"Mr Zabini, Miss Patil, please escort Mr Thomas and Mr Finnegan to the Hospital Wing. Wrap your jumpers around your hands," he advised. "Or you will end up in the same state. Inform Madame Pomfrey that they have received a powerful dose of poorly made Strengthening Solution. Do not linger."

He watched, for a moment as his students helped their ridiculously floppy classmates out of the room, somehow without laughing.

"Miss Brown, since you and Miss Patil have completed your potions, I'd like you to clear up that," he waved at the desk, which was still dripping potion. "I'd recommend Scourgify, rather than touching it. Miss Granger, your potion must be near completion, you help."

The remaining Slytherins sniggered, but Severus gave them a look. After all, the only reason he wasn't making them clean it up was that he didn't trust them not to injure themselves.

"When you have finished," he added, as Hermione moved to help her friend. "Bottle your own potions. Miss Brown, I think I can trust you to bottle Mr Zabini's as well."

She gave him an odd look, but started towards Thomas's desk.

He settled back in his chair, taking the opportunity to tuck the issue of Witch Weekly beneath his marking. He flicked through it, keeping a peripheral eye on his students. It was full of the usual crap about baking spells and beauty products (though he did spot a decent looking recipe for a stew that he decided to cut out if he had the chance).

He found what he was looking for in the centre pages of the magazine; his eyebrows rose higher and higher up his forehead as he read:

0o0

HARRY POTTER'S SECRET HEARTACHE

A boy like no other, perhaps – yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parent, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know he would be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgaria Seeker and hero of the last Quidditch World Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has 'never felt this way about any other girl'.

However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms which have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.

'She's really ugly,' says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, 'but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she'd quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it.'

Love Potions are of course banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate.

0o0

FOLLOWING HER COUSIN'S FOOTSTEPS?

Miss Granger seems to be following in her cousin's footsteps. Ugliness and a sense of ambition appear to run in the family, if Miss Granger's elder cousin is anything to go by.

Professor Amelia Brown, employed for the past year and a half as the Muggle Studies Professor at Hogwarts, has a dubious reputation when it comes to love affairs. The frumpy and unpleasant teacher – who, this reporter has learned, has no experience in the Wizarding World, having been raised as a Muggle until very recently – has made a name for herself among Wizarding circles as a vapid and disruptive influence.

Following a series of set-tos with important witches and wizards – including the eminent and respected Bartemius Crouch – she has somehow retained her position on the teaching staff at Hogwarts. Her influence on Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore is not unique and extends to several members of senior staff at the School.

Is Professor Brown taking advantage of her cousin's meagre Potion-making abilities?

The use of a Love Potion is the only way to explain the series of hearts Professor Brown has so far trampled on. Her romantic career at Hogwarts began with the seduction of the popular Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Remus Lupin. This gallant and gentle man is not the most attractive or erudite of his colleagues, but his prominent position at Hogwarts has lent him a certain charm in the eyes of the ruthless Professor Brown.

During their first year teaching together at Hogwarts, Professor Brown, a cunning and unfeeling woman, seduced her colleague, so successfully that their engagement was announced over the summer. But, little did poor Professor Lupin realise, he was being drawn into a calculated trap that would eventually break his heart.

Sources at Hogwarts confirm that Professor Brown, unsatisfied with Professor Lupin's status as a mere teacher, has increasingly been seen in the company of Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House. Usually a cold, unpleasant man, he seems to be openly smitten by the callous young teacher.

The pair were seen dancing together at the Yule Ball. One can only imagine the heartache this must have caused the quiet Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher as he was forced to watch his colleagues flirting and cavorting on the dance floor.

This reporter wonders whether the mis-matched pair's wedding – set for April this year – will go ahead, or if Professor Brown has found herself man more suited to her ambition and temperament. Sources close to the pair have hinted that they have been seen quarrelling – most notably following the recent Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament, which Professor Brown's young cousin has carefully made herself the centre of.

One can only speculate at what effect the influence of this uneducated witch of limited talents is having on her students. Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, will doubtless take steps to remove this undisciplined and ineffectual teacher from his staff.

0o0

Severus looked up from the article and met Miss Granger's eyes. She grimaced.

"Miss Granger," he said, clearing his throat. "You, Potter and Weasley will collect everyone's bottled potions and deliver them to me at the end of the lesson."

She nodded, grimly.

He slipped the magazine into the top draw of his desk, thinking hard.

He wondered if Amelia had seen it yet…