Get ready for a seriously shocking chapter, guys! It's also rather long, so it might take you a while to read it... I'm just trying to keep the rest of Book 3 in only a couple chapters, because I don't want it to become too long. Anyway, please enjoy it!


"That was an amazing capture, Malfoy!"

"We were nearly about to lose—perfect timing, Draco!"

"Draco, won't you tell us again about how you caught the Snitch?"

For several days after the match, all the school could talk about was Malfoy's excellent capture of the Snitch that had allowed Slytherin to win so narrowly. There was worse animosity than usual between Slytherin and the other three Houses, since everyone else must have been desperate for them to lose. And they must have been afraid that if Slytherin won the last match, they would get back on their winning streak for another seven years.

Amongst the Slytherins, Malfoy was nearly considered a God, especially by many of the girls. Students of all years would pass the section of third year Slytherins on their way to sitting with their own friends and compliment or thank him for winning the game. Marcus Flint was especially happy, and had thrown a sort of party in the Common Room the night after the match, to which Vesperra had obviously not been invited.

Pansy was pining over him more than ever, practically draping herself on him almost constantly. Malfoy was clearly enjoying the attention, and his smugness had reached maximum levels in a short time. As he had done with the story of Potter fainting on the Hogwarts Express, he told everyone an extremely dramatized version of how he had caught the Snitch at least twice a day.

This had to have been about the fifth time that Vesperra had heard the story, so she tried her best just to block it out while she ate dinner. However, she could still hear it vaguely, like a radio on very low volume playing in the back of her head.

"Alright," drawled Malfoy, his voice raising a single pitch in slight excitement. "So I was directly behind her, and even though my broom's about three times faster than Chang's, I couldn't get ahead, because I would have had to crash into her, and I would never hit a girl. Well, perhaps a Mudblood, but—nevermind." Vesperra resisted the urge to snort into her soup; Right, he won't hit girls, she thought sardonically, but he'll curse me, poison me, and try to set my hair on fire. "Anyway, I knew there wasn't much time left, and I wasn't left with many options. I thought as fast as I could and decided to fly under. Then she was apparently confused, and couldn't stop me in time."

Pansy made sort of a squeeing noise and clung tighter to Malfoy's arm. Vesperra groaned inwardly, tired of him gaining so much admiration. According to what she had heard while walking through the corridors and picking up snippets of conversation about Quidditch, the fact that Slytherin had won narrowly meant that if Gryffindor won the coming match against Ravenclaw, then they'd be in second place. So rather than being praised for being clever at the last second, he should have been berated for not catching it earlier.

And the worst part was, Vesperra couldn't deny that it had, in fact, been very clever of Malfoy to do that. It had not been brute strength or even deceitful tactics that had won the game—that was all Malfoy's brain. But she definitely hadn't gained so much as a drop of respect for him afterwards.

"I'd like to have seen Grease-perra's face when you caught it," said Millicent, convulsing slightly with laughter at her thought.

"That shouldn't be too difficult to imagine," said Tracey, with a cold laugh in her voice. "It'd be a scowl, just like she always has. She never changes her expression, does she?"

Malfoy broke away from the limelight and leaned over on the table to be across from Vesperra, who was staring resolutely down at her bowl, counting the peas in the dregs of her soup in order to more easily ignore what everyone else was saying.

"Yeah," said Malfoy, "even if she was trying to decide whether to be happy that we won or to hate me even more, it would still be a scowl. You ought to smile more, Grease-perra—maybe then you'll be slightly less ugly and the most desperate of boys will start to consider you."

As they laughed, Vesperra's temper rose and her knuckles turned white. It always came to this. No matter what the conversation was about, it always came back to Vesperra, and gave the lot of them ideas on how to torment her best. It wasn't so much the taunts about her being unattractive that had her so angry—she knew she wasn't that good-looking, and she didn't want anyone but Severus, anyway—as it was the fact that they were trying to make her miserable with these insults.

But it was to be expected, and Vesperra had learned to ignore it, however hard it was, a long time ago.

That week, Severus had to brew the Wolfsbane Potion again, and she was admittedly glad. She felt guilty for not brooding over her lack of contact with him for three days, but she wouldn't be bored enough to absolutely need to talk to him this time.

With Severus not being able to talk to her at all, Vesperra hardly found any risk in taking almost daily and sometimes nightly trips to the Room of Requirement to work on the poison, which was coming along rather well. Having researched the dates of the full moon and incorporated Severus's brewing schedule into hers when she had originally planned it, she found it much easier. The only problem was the possibility of her taking the shortcut to her dorm that the Room provided while Millicent was walking down the corridor, and her seeing nothing but a blank wall until the door appeared again. At least, that's how Vesperra imagined it would be.

The free time allowed her to finish all her homework as well, and it even left her time for a decent sleep. She found it quite ironic, however, that Severus had assigned her and the rest of the third years an essay on Undetectable Poisons—needless to say, it was extremely easy, and it was nearly twice the length he had asked for. It was as though her potion-making was paralleling Severus's, though in the opposite sense. However, she didn't feel so bad anymore, knowing that she wasn't stress-free while Severus had a lot of strain put on him from the Wolfsbane Potion.

Rather conveniently, Vesperra thought, the day after Severus was finished with it was a Saturday, which meant a full day of her casting unidentifiable Patronuses in an attempt to strengthen her control over them, and just spending time together after three days of no communication but a significant, shared look at breakfast or dinner. But, since she had to get away to the Room of Requirement later in the day, though not as late as usual, she was extra stubborn in practicing—to the point where she was somewhat emotionally distant from him in order to make herself so tired that Severus would send her off to her dorm himself. She just couldn't stand feigning tiredness, even though it had her almost too exhausted to work on the poison after she left.

The next morning, she woke up still in the Room of Requirement, long-ways on the couch on which she had sat down to relax the night before after having forced herself to complete that night's addition of Peruvian Viper fangs and stirring. Her face was stuck to the arm of the couch with sweat—or drool, she wasn't sure, and there was a rip-like noise when she detached them, getting up to check the cauldron and make sure that she hadn't been so exhausted last night that she had messed it up without realizing it.

Seeing no signs of the wrong amount of fangs having been added or any other possible mistakes, she left through the shortcut to her dorm as quietly as she could so as to not wake up Millicent.

Wednesday couldn't get there fast enough, for that was the day that, according to her schedule, the poison would be completely finished. It was rather strange that the day happened to be a full moon as well. The fact that the lunar cycle was at its peak didn't have anything to do with the poison, but there was an eerie feel to the mere thought of it nevertheless.

For Severus, she knew, the full moon meant the last day for another month that Lupin would have to come to his office for the Wolfsbane Potion, as well as added stress for worry about Sirius Black and Lupin's questionable loyalties. Otherwise the full moon wasn't very significant, but Vesperra had a feeling that it would finalize her time brewing the poison powerfully. It was just that sort of natural magic that you couldn't ignore.

On Wednesday evening, Vesperra's ambivalence was so unstable that she was beginning to have a headache, but she could feel the individual feelings distinctly as she added the final touches to the steaming liquid inside the cauldron. There was the guilt she'd already accepted a while ago of completely breaking her promise to Severus, the undeniable heaviness that came with being an indirect accomplice in a murder, and yet, there was something darkly satisfying about seeing the liquid turn completely still and clear and then holding a vial of it, knowing that you held the power to kill someone in your hand.

Her mind raced, and she thought of all the people that she'd like to use it on. There was a glint in her eye that she saw in the reflection of the glass, and purely ill-intentions briefly shrouded her heart, eliciting a twitch at the edge of her lips. Rather than suddenly jerking herself out of that, however, she sighed and placed the vial in the box that also held the antidote. As she did, she noticed a word appear on the rims of each vial, labeling them as poison and antidote.

Of course, Vesperra was extremely relieved that it was over, and could not help but feel the satisfaction of finishing what she had worked so hard on, no matter what it was meant to do. Aside from everything—her promise to Severus, the illegality of what she had done, and how much time it had cost her, she had brewed a potion so advanced that many adult witches or wizards would not have been able to pull it off. A poison like this was pure power in her hands, not to mention a mark of her abilities. And she always took pride in her abilities.

Stress had been an important ingredient, she realized. Otherwise, it just wouldn't work the same. Not even a potioneer as skilled as Severus or his great-grandfather could have managed this without some level of stress. To only keep one vial for Damien and get rid of the rest would have been a waste….

Just in case, she told herself. It's just in case I ever need it. And, as the Room gave her the pre-labeled vials she required, she filled a couple of them. Really, I'm not further breaking my promise by keeping them, she told herself as she returned to her dorm, carrying the box and other vials and the book of poisons. I'm not going to just poison all the people I hate. There might come a time where it's necessary.

As she pulled on the doorknob and the door swung on its arc to close, a great deal of weight on her chest that she had grown used to over the past month disappeared. Though closing the door did not seal the Room of Requirement away forever, the sense of an end reverberated in the air when it shut. There would be no returning to the Room to brew; she was finally finished, and the burden of stress as well as guilt that had been eating her whenever she was around Severus was gone. The poison business may not have been completely over, but she did feel free from it.

The only thing left to do was to send the box to Damien, and then wait for an answer as to whom she was helping him murder.


Since Christmas, Severus's paranoia had been sedated somewhat. The Firebolt was still in McGonagall's custody, but neither Madam Hooch nor Flitwick was having any luck with discovering what must have been done to it. He knew that he'd be extremely paranoid if no threat had been made on Potter's life at all. If the boy had seemed absolutely safe, he would have known that it was time to worry. What would have been suspicious more than anything would have been Lupin and Black's lack of action, because when all seems calm, it almost always means that something bigger and more threatening is brewing underneath.

However, worry and confusion had began creeping up on him again, for McGonagall had finally allowed him to attempt to reveal any curses on the Firebolt and he had found none. If he couldn't find anything, there was a slim chance that there were any curses on it unless they were so powerfully concealed that only Voldemort himself could have done it. Severus was now spending his nights racking his brains for answers and, after finishing the Wolfsbane Potion, talking to Vesperra about it. Both of them had agreed that it was likely that Black or Lupin had still been the one to send it, but that the broom had been a red herring while they were planning something different.

Vesperra, as expected, hadn't seemed the least bit concerned for Potter's life, and Severus had acted as though he didn't genuinely care, either. He only needed to appear as though he was stressed because he had sworn to keep the students safe, and because he wanted Black to be recaptured and thrown back in Azkaban—or worse. And both of those things were completely true, so it wasn't at all difficult.

Spying on Lupin recommenced, and Severus strained his mind to think of what the werewolf could possibly doing when Severus was looking the other way. He refused to believe that Lupin was doing nothing even while he was ill from it nearly being the night of the full moon or just afterwards, and was beginning to feel the paranoia of waiting for something that never happens—because all he could do at this point was wait and watch.

Talking to Vesperra, however, was still a priority, and he made sure not to neglect her over his self-imposed duties that he couldn't even explain to her. On Saturday morning, he made it clear to her that he felt it necessary to take short breaks throughout the day to find out what Lupin was doing, and she didn't seem to mind.


"We could just use a Foe-Glass in the Room of Requirement like we did two years ago to see if he's doing anything suspicious, though," she suggested when he told her this. They were sitting on the couch in his office, about five inches apart.

"I did think about that," said Severus, "but it wasn't very efficient back then, remember? Quirrell still managed to learn how to get past everything guarding the Stone. And the suspicious thing is that Lupin's not doing anything suspicious. In all the times that I've followed him or found other means to spy on him, all I've seen him doing is staying in his office, talking to the other teachers, or taking a walk around the grounds. And whenever he takes a walk, that's all he does. He doesn't go anywhere else." Severus sighed, and added bitterly, "I don't understand it."

Vesperra automatically reached for his hand to squeeze comfortingly, but she was silent, as she couldn't think of what to say that would reassure him. And, for a moment, she vaguely realized how strange it was for a third year to be trying to reassure a grown man. However, she was experiencing the stress as he did, and had experienced the stress of a lifetime over the past month as well.

"Neither do I," she said after a minute, frowning slightly. "The only thing I can think of is that Lupin's communicating with Black while he's inside his office, which would mean that they're either speaking through the Floo network or that they've got something like our journals that let them talk over long distances."

Severus shifted in his seat, and squeezed her hand back. "Well, I don't think it's through the Floo network, because Lupin's doors aren't soundproof and I would have heard. The second thing, though—that's very possible." He furrowed his brow, frowning at the floor, and swallowed. "But I've also raided his office, so if your theory is correct, he either keeps whatever he uses in his chambers or on his person. So I can do nothing about it."

He looked down at her, and Vesperra inhaled sharply at the slight arch of his brow in the look that he gave her. A moment later, he turned his head to face directly in front of him, exhaled, and stood up, pulling her up with him. Though clearly still feeling rather angsty about Lupin, he said, "But I'm not going to let that ruin your Saturday, and I believe you came here to practice casting your Patronus."

"It wouldn't ruin my Saturday, Severus," Vesperra argued, unsure why she was doing so. "I want Black dead and Lupin caught too; you're not alone in that. But I do want to practice…."

Smiling slightly, but only with his eyes as Vesperra usually did, Severus let go of her hand and stood next to the wall.

Now that she had finished the poison and sent it, and would no longer have to lie to Severus about it, Vesperra was feeling admittedly content to a point. With confidence, she raised her wand, and said, "Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery mass erupted from the tip of her wand, and she strained her mind to focus on it, to make it slow down, to make it distinguishable… But the streaks of light were too quick, and Vesperra could hardly make out anything on the silver creature but for four legs and a whip-like tail. After it soared around the room once and disappeared, she turned to Severus. He knew what her look meant and shook his head—he hadn't been able to tell, either. Both of them knew that she was getting closer, though.

The next couple tries had similar results, but took less energy than it normally did. Instead of taking a break, as Severus suggested, Vesperra insisted that she try one more time. As she took her stance, something in her heart changed—either something was gained, or something disappeared. For the life of her she could not tell, but she knew it was for the better. Breathing hard, she focused with all her might on the few seconds' worth of memory of Severus kissing her, and the explosion she had felt in her chest…

"Expecto Patronum!" Something in her voice had changed as well, and silvery light issued forth from her wand once more, this time not zooming around uncontrollably, but taking a form and gliding gracefully around her, much like Severus's doe had done a few months ago.

To most people, it would have appeared to be simply a jungle cat, but Vesperra knew, without having to research distinctive traits of specific big cats, that it was a jaguar. A large, beautiful, sleek jaguar with a large nose. In total awe, she watched it pounce upward, running around the walls, but not so fast that it became any less distinguishable. Soon she voluntarily let it go, and it vanished with a very soft pop.

Her chest heaving and arms shaking, Vesperra continued to stare at the spot where it had vanished, waiting for the silver streaks to leave her vision. Severus's hand closed around hers and guided her back to the couch, which she needed, since her self-amazement had caused her to not be fully there.

Severus was breathing just as deeply, and his heart was pounding just as hard for what he had witnessed. As powerful and talented as he knew Vesperra was, he was nothing less than amazed that she had managed this—and also quite interested in what animal it had become.

Rubbing her back both to soothe her contained excitement and as congratulatory sentiments, he smiled proudly at her.

"A jaguar," he said softly, intending her to take it as either a question or a statement—whichever she chose.

Vesperra let her shoulders drop to relax, and she felt like laughing with satisfaction at her accomplishment. At Severus's words, she paused, and made a split-second decision that she knew she may regret later—but she would also regret it if she didn't do it.

"I've always thought," she said slowly, turning her head to look at him, "that you were a lot like a jaguar." She locked gazes with him, waiting to hear what he would say.

He inhaled deeply and didn't look away from her as he thought about what she had said. Severus felt like he should have expected this—but essentially, he had: Vesperra's happiest thoughts were all about him. Well, how could they not be, when she had been abused by her parents for years and then bullied relentlessly by even those of her own House once she had come to Hogwarts?

Ignoring the larger, underlying fact of what her Patronus most likely meant, Severus smirked at the thought of him being a jaguar. Now that he thought about it, he could see it….

"You know," he finally replied, squeezing her hand, "I think it's rather fitting."


Snow swirled around the village, sparkling white through the thick darkness. None of the inhabitants of Godric's Hollow were out this late, and only one or two dim, yellow squares shone in the distance amongst the streetlights. Severus could not bring himself to look at the half-destroyed house that had come into view as he passed it for more than a mere moment, nor could he look at the statue of the Potters that had been an obelisk covered in names a second earlier.

His purpose tonight was only to visit the marble tombstone that stood above the remnants of Lily's body, for it was the thirty-first of January—her birthday. Lily's son was in more danger than ever this year, and it was for this that he was nearly in hysterics when he knelt down on her grave, clutching at the empty space in front of her engraved name.

"I'm doing the best I can, Lily, I swear I am…. But Potter's friend betrayed you, and now he's after your son, and I'm trying to protect him—to catch Black…." Severus spoke in a hoarse whisper, trembling and convulsing with the extreme force of his grief. He let the ground soak up his hot tears, as though they could bring her back to life. "But—but I have a chance this time, Lily, I can—kill the man that betrayed you and caused your death, and I can delay the Dark Lord's return…. I won't let your son die, I swear I'll keep him safe, and I'll try to avenge your death, and… I'll do what you—you'd want me to do. I can't be a kind person, I was never so perfect like you, Lily, but I'm keeping everyone safe, Lily, I'm doing this for you, and trying not to be selfish…. I'm so sorry…."

At that, his grief became beyond words, but Severus continued to mouth them, some of them would-be nonsensical, but no sound came out. The tears stopped as well, and for a while he was just trembling there, pressing his face to the marble. Years ago, he'd have been wishing that he was dead as well, under the snow and dirt with her, but now he couldn't possibly wish that. Wishing to be dead would be selfish, for if he died, he'd be leaving Vesperra alone and with absolutely nothing. He must stay alive—if not to make sure Lily hadn't died in vain, then to make sure Vesperra didn't have to be in his position.

"I—I told you, two years ago," whispered Severus to Lily, feeling as though she was truly there for the time being, "that I had help—Vesperra. And I want you to know that if it comes down to her life and your son's, I… wouldn't be able to choose. Please… please don't let the circumstances ever fall to where I have to choose, if you have any power over it, wherever you are. I know you'd like Vesperra…. You'd see past her faults like you did mine, and that she's a wonderful person…."

Tearswere streaming down his face again, and through a haze of pain he looked once more at Lily's engraved name. Inside him was a storm of mixed emotions, the strongest of them being the grief and guilt, and his desire to redeem himself in Lily's unseeing eyes. Severus then kissed his fingers and pressed them to the marble, caressing it as though it was Lily's face, and conjured a wreath of lilies to place on the grave.

"I love you," he whispered, standing up and forcing himself to be strong again. "Happy birthday." Seconds later, the church clock struck midnight, and the bell continued to echo through Severus's mind even as he spun on his heel and vanished on the spot.


If the last day of January hadn't been highly significant to Severus, the fade into February would have been imperceptible, as the weather and surroundings were still as bitterly cold as they had been for weeks since around Christmas. Severus had returned to the castle that night more determined than ever to see to it that Black met his comeuppance, and good news for him arrived two days later, just after the post owls made their usual drop-off in the morning.

It wasn't headline news (why, Severus couldn't imagine), but it was said in the Daily Prophet that the Ministry had now given the dementors permission to use the Dementor's Kiss on Black if they found him. Whether it was to ensure that the public felt safe or to encourage the dementors a bit more, Severus didn't care; all he knew was that Black would deserve what he got—though he'd still like to catch the bastard himself.

Later that evening in the staffroom, however, there was bad news to counter that. Bad news for Severus, anyway—even with the combined effort of many of the other teachers, nothing had been found wrong with Potter's Firebolt.

"Nothing?" Severus had said, raising an interrogative eyebrow.

"Absolutely nothing," reiterated McGonagall, sounding a little bemused herself. "I suppose if I don't return it to Potter soon, I'd be hoarding student property…." As she made for the staffroom door, holding the broom in her hand, she threw him a catlike side-glance through her spectacles and said, "Gryffindor may not be out of the running after all."

Severus scowled as the door shut, not only feeling the paranoia that came with the suspiciousness of the fact that the broom wasn't cursed at all, but also with the thought that McGonagall was right. This would heighten Gryffindor's chance of winning tenfold. Now with only the hope that Black would be caught and Kissed soon, he stalked away towards the dungeons.


Since Severus had told her about Potter getting the Firebolt back (as well as everything about Black) the evening before, Vesperra wasn't surprised when, on the morning of the Quidditch match, Potter strolled into the Great Hall with a gleaming broom in his hand. While most of the Slytherins, especially Malfoy and the rest of the team, looked thunderstruck, she narrowed her eyes coldly and didn't bother to take a second glance at him.

Though she wasn't watching, Vesperra could tell by the reflections in her plate and the shuffling noises behind her that people from other Houses were going over to the Gryffindor table to get a good look at it. Only those in Slytherin remained in their seats, and were still gaping at Potter, muttering to their friends.

"Is that—"

"—a Firebolt?"

"But—that's impossible!"

Shock turned to anger, as it already had in Vesperra. Finally, there was a loud thunk, and Vesperra glanced up to see that Malfoy had slammed down his goblet of pumpkin juice.

"That's it, I'm going over there," he said maliciously, standing up. "Crabbe, Goyle—" But he didn't need to tell them, for they had already stood up as well and were ready to follow him like some kind of lapdogs. The other members of the Slytherin team craned their heads to watch as Malfoy swaggered over there, and when he returned minutes later, they all put their heads together and Malfoy confirmed, with bitter resentment, that it was, indeed a Firebolt.

However, the team wasn't looking as angry as they could have been, nor did they seem sure that Gryffindor was even going to win.

"Your plan better work, then," said Marcus Flint to Malfoy, almost so quietly that Vesperra couldn't hear. She looked up just far enough at an angle to see Malfoy nodding and smirking in a way that couldn't be good.

When it was nearing eleven o'clock, Vesperra headed down to the pitch with everyone else, wondering desperately what Malfoy's plan was, and hoping that, whatever sort of underhanded scheme it was, it would work.


"Must he keep reminding us about that?" muttered Severus to himself, voicing Vesperra's thoughts as well. It had been the third—or perhaps the fourth time that Lee Jordan, the commentator, had gone into lengthy detail about Potter's Firebolt, only to be stopped by McGonagall, who was sitting next to him as she always did. They could plainly see for themselves just how fast Potter was going, especially in this daylight. It was a sunny, almost cloudless day with only a light breeze.

Vesperra had found Severus easily, for he had told her where he planned to find a seat the night before, but with absolutely no visibility problems, she was often scanning the crowd on the other side of the pitch to make sure no one was looking at them. But really, no one was paying the least bit of attention to the crowd; this match was possibly the most exciting one in years, since there had never been a professional broom used in a Hogwarts game before.

Gryffindor had been winning eighty points to nothing, and Potter had very nearly caught the Snitch just a few minutes ago, but Ravenclaw scored three goals in another ten minutes. Just as much of the rest of the school must have been, Vesperra and Severus were kept on their toes, their hearts beating fast with anxiety. It seemed so unlikely for Gryffindor to lose, but they couldn't just accept it….

And then, as Potter zoomed so fast that he became a red blur in the sky, the Ravenclaw Seeker, Chang, flew in front of him and he swerved. The Gryffindor captain's yells were audile even from the stands.

"HARRY, THIS IS NO TIME TO BE A GENTLEMAN! KNOCK HER OFF HER BROOM IF YOU HAVE TO!"

If he's anything like his father, he won't have any trouble with that, thought Severus.

He seemed to be correct; Potter dived, with Chang tailing him, and pulled out of it very sharply as the girl nearly collided with the ground. Seconds later, he accelerated towards the Ravenclaw end, and the Ravenclaw Seeker copied him, though she wasn't nearly as fast enough. Vesperra's heart stopped and she instinctively reached for Severus's hand to squeeze very hard, and he squeezed back—they were both horribly sure that Potter would catch the Snitch and it would all be over—

But then, in his peripheral vision, Severus saw something down below on the pitch that shouldn't have been there, and he tugged Vesperra's arm. She looked at him, and then followed his eyes; standing on the pitch were three tall, black, hooded dementors looking up at Potter. But their breath didn't hitch, their hearts didn't grow cold, and the dementors on the field didn't have the eerie quality to them that they should have….

Before they could react, several things happened in a matter of a couple seconds; a roaring of indistinct words came from above them, and they whipped their heads back up to Potter, who had his wand pointed downward, and something silvery erupting out of it. A dazzlingly bright stag soared down to the supposed dementors on the pitch, who jumped aside. And though neither Vesperra nor Severus actually saw Potter's fingers close around the Snitch, they knew by the sudden, tumultuous roar of cheering that he had caught it.

Madam Hooch's whistle sounded, and Gryffindor supporters started rushing onto the pitch to congradulate the team while Slytherins sat agape or otherwise stood up and stomped furiously out of the stands. However, Vesperra and Severus were much too shocked at what they had just seen to even feel the extreme disappointment yet, and looked to each other, eyes wide and brows furrowed, as though hoping to get an answer from the other.

"When the hell did Potter learn to cast a Patronus?" Vesperra said first, her voice rising in shock and anger. "That doesn't even—how—he's never—" She was at a loss for words and didn't continue that thought, but instead said, "And what did he even shoot it at? Those weren't dementors."

Without answering her, Severus tugged her upward and said, "Come on. Stay a ways behind me."

She did as he told her, and after a few seconds realized his intentions. On their way back to the castle, they passed the gaggle of Gryffindors surrounding and congratulating Potter—Lupin being one of them, Severus noticed—and saw, nearby, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint, all holding overlarge black robes and being chewed out by McGonagall and a stern-looking Dumbledore.

Once they were inside Severus's office and the door had closed, Vesperra clutched at the air in frustration and didn't hesitate to speak everything that was on her mind.

"So that was their plan? Dress up as dementors? Those—bloody—idiots!" she fumed, so angry that she couldn't even be happy that they had gotten detention. "It didn't even distract him, and they've gone and lost fifty points from Slytherin!"

She had remained standing in her rant, so Severus grabbed the crook of her arm and pulled her down to the couch as he sat down. He was just as angry, and it showed through his deep scowl.

"You knew about it?" he asked.

"Well, they'd only said this morning that they had a plan of some sort," growled Vesperra. "I didn't know what they were going to do. But it doesn't even matter anymore…. And—how? HOW did Potter learn to cast a Patronus? Someone must have taught him—"

"Lupin," said Severus quietly, a glint of anger flashing in his eye. "I'll bet Lupin taught him… to get closer to him…. No one else would have done it. And while he was doing that, sending the Firebolt and causing a commotion would have distracted Potter and everyone else from what he's trying to do… whatever he's doing."

Vesperra was silent for a few seconds, and watched the flame grow in Severus's eyes. He was somewhat frightening in his cold anger.

"Still… Potter's never seemed capable of magic that powerful," said Vesperra, more to herself than to Severus. "As famous as the prat is, he's hardly above average when it comes to magical skill. And… it was a stag. The male version of your Patronus. That's rather strange."

"It's really not," said Severus, trying hard to keep his voice even and void of anger. "A stag was his father's Patronus too." Remembering James Potter and how he had fancied Lily for years while she had hated him, and how the bastard's Patronus had become the male counterpart to hers, Severus scowled in disgust. Like father, like son.

But that had only confused Vesperra more. "Why was Potter's father's Patronus the male version of yours, then? That doesn't make any sense."

He sighed. The reason he had said anything in the first place was because he wanted to hint to Vesperra about his love for Potter's mum so she might suspect it for herself before hearing the truth, whenever he decided to tell it. Severus wasn't going to tell her the story today, though, especially not when so much fury was radiating off of the both of them.

"We don't choose our Patronuses," he replied. "And mine has nothing to do with Potter, nor his with me. Different people can have the same Patronus, as there are only so many animals in the world, and ours just happen to be similar."

"Hm." Vesperra leaned back, letting go of her questions about the Patronus and now coming to the major reason for her anger. "…Gryffindor won," she muttered, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the ceiling.

"I know," said Severus. He looked at her and grabbed her hand in an attempt to make the both of them feel better about all of this, but it didn't work.

"I feel like throwing something. Preferably Malfoy, and into a wall…. And I don't think I could cast a Patronus today, when I'm this angry."

"It's not as though you still need any practice…."

"I still want to work on controlling it better, though. But we'll do that tomorrow, I suppose, if you have time."

After a lunch that Severus had gotten from the House Elves, they spent much of their day in mutual bitterness about everything that had happened at the Quidditch match. There were almost no smiles or kind words between them, but one could hardly say that they were angry at each other. They were, in fact, bonding by abusing Potter, Malfoy, Black, and Lupin in their growls of contempt. But they did calm down after a while, and, in the evening after Severus returned from taking a quick check on Lupin, their topic of conversation stuck to Black and their theories about him.

"I've scoured the Daily Prophet in the past couple days for anything else about Black," Severus said, gesturing sharply at the rolled-up newspaper on his desk, "but there was nothing else but the bit about the Dementor's Kiss. The Ministry clearly has no idea what they're doing."

"It's one man…. How can it be so difficult to find one man when they have all of Britain, Wizard and Muggle, looking out for him?" Vesperra made a noise of mixed impatience and annoyance, then let her head fall on Severus's arm. She found comfort and calmness in leaning on him.

"It was the same way with the Dark Lord before his downfall," explained Severus. "Well, similar. He appeared in public quite a few times, but only his followers—and not even all of them—knew where he was the rest of the time. Neither the Ministry nor the Order of the Phoenix ever got close to discovering where he was—Black'll be using the same sort of Dark Magic."

Conversation continued like this between them for a while even after dinner, and it wasn't until it was a quarter until midnight that Severus told Vesperra that she looked rather tired and should go to her dorm. Glad that she never dreamt, as she knew she'd be having extremely stressful dreams about Black if she did, Vesperra agreed and stood up.

However, a half-glance at his desk made her stop, a thought coming to her. Through a yawn, she said, "Wait—Severus, can I borrow that issue of the Daily Prophet?"

"Sure, but I don't think anything in there will be of interest," he said, arching an eyebrow slightly, wondering why she wanted it. "Nothing about Black, at least."

"I'm going to read through it anyway." Hiding her slight eagerness, she walked over to his desk, rolled up the two day-old newspaper a little tighter, and stuffed it in her robe pocket. Vesperra once again headed for the door, and just before she closed it behind her—"Night, Severus."


When Vesperra got back to her dorm, however, she didn't go to sleep. The prospect of finding out who Damien had used the poison on—if anything was even in the Prophet about it—had her fully awake again. Ignoring Millicent, who was putting on her nightclothes and glaring at Vesperra as she walked in, she went immediately to her bed and pulled the curtains back so that they concealed her.

With a very softly uttered "Lumos," her wand lit at its tip, and Vesperra sat, leaning against the wall, reading the Prophet by wandlight. Soon, she heard the sound of bed hangings being pulled shut again, and knew that Millicent had gone to bed.

Vesperra read through every story, just in case. Many of them were rather dull, and concerned famous Quidditch players or Ministry proceedings that she didn't care about. Her heart stopped every time she saw the word "death," but it restarted disappointedly every time she saw that it had nothing to do with a poison. There really weren't many serious crimes—not in this issue, at least; most of it was someone selling illegal substances or tricking Muggles into buying cursed items. With every passing irrelevant story, she lost a tiny bit of hope that she would find anything, but crumpling up the paper and declaring in her mind that it was no use was the last thing she intended to do.

And then, at the bottom of a dull article about the current state of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Vesperra read,

Furthermost, the Hit Wizards that had been assigned to the case continue to be baffled by the mysterious poisoning of Jude Adler, late husband of Sapphira Adler, nee Lestrange. Their attempts to track down the guilty witch or wizard have been futile, and any motive that the murderer had remains unknown.

There may have been more to the article on another page, but Vesperra didn't know nor care; she had been frozen with shock, and had dropped the Daily Prophet as well as her wand to her lap. The wandlight still kept the small space between her bed and ceiling lit, but she didn't need to see anything else to think.

Her thought process was, however, slowing down as though the wheels were stuck in tar, and she was finding it difficult to fathom what she had just read. It was just too unexpected and too unbelievable for her to take in—much like the year before, when she had read about her mum's cousins being Death Eaters.

Not only had she discovered the name of the man she had helped murder, but she had learned who he had widowed—Sapphira Lestrange. This, according to Damien's story, made Sapphira Damien's mother. Vesperra's aunt was Damien's mother.

They were cousins.

Cousins… cousins, and he knew the whole bloody time! Her initial shock had turned into anger—not that the shock had worn off. But it now made sense why Damien would have told her the details of the story but not the actual names; he had wanted to keep her from knowing that she was helping him murder her own uncle. The fact that she had indirectly killed a relative hardly registered to her as much, though, since she couldn't care less about her mum's side of the family, especially not a man that had stolen her aunt from Damien's father.

As much as it explained, this opened up so many new questions. Amidst Vesperra's sudden, splitting headache from this almost incomprehensible truth, she felt her burning curiosity grow stronger. She wanted—she needed to talk to Damien, and ask him why the hell he had never told her before, and ask him how long he had known, and…

Her thought process slowed to a near stop again, and all that Vesperra was capable of thinking was, I have a cousin. I have a cousin. All this time, I've been friends with my cousin, and didn't even know it….

There had seemed to be no chance of her falling asleep then, but what felt like hours later, there was no more room in her mind for incredulous thoughts or questions she mentally noted to ask Damien, her cousin, and she left the world where rational thought existed or was even necessary.


Back in his office, Severus, who had absolutely no idea of Vesperra's discovery, had been sorting out a stack of papers on his desk before going to bed himself, but was interrupted by a silvery shape shooting through the office door and landing in front of him. It materialized in the shape of a cat, and Severus's heart stopped at once.

"Sirius Black has broken in again," said the Patronus in the high-strung voice of McGonagall. "Come to the staffroom immediately." With that, it disappeared, and Severus was left standing alone in his office, his mind racing.

For a moment, he could not react with anything but stiff shock, but it was a split second later that his office door was thrown open, Severus already hurrying down the dungeon corridor and up to the first floor to get to the staffroom. His heart was racing as quickly as his thoughts now, each pump of blood fueling him with more fear, more anger, more hatred, more vindictiveness….

Black, in the castle again? I should have known, dammit, I should have foreseen this….

When he arrived in the staffroom, he saw that at least half of the staff was already there, including Dumbledore, who looked grave. Severus kept his expression unreadable, and quickly approached the Headmaster.

"What happened?" he said urgently, his black eyes flashing. Dumbledore opened his mouth, but it was McGonagall, behind him, who answered.

"Black very nearly took Potter's life no longer than ten minutes ago," she said, her usually stiff voice shaking slightly and her lips as thin as they could go, though she was speaking quickly. "But he got the wrong bed. Ron Weasley woke up just in time and screamed, and Black ran for it. Obviously we're conducting a search of the castle—but we're not moving the students. It's already late, and Black wouldn't be able to get into any of the other Common Rooms—"

"Severus," said Dumbledore, his even voice cutting into the thick veil that seemed to be wrapped around Severus's heart, having shrouded it deeper in dread, "I'll need you and Filch to check the dungeons. Now, and quickly."

He didn't hesitate to stride out of the staffroom, Filch hobbling behind him. It was apparent that the paintings on the walls of the corridors and the Hogwarts ghosts, who they sometimes saw floating eerily by, had been told to keep a lookout as well. All throughout that night's search, which extended to several other areas of the castle for Severus, the main thing that kept him going and not tired at all was the insatiable desire to find Black and kill him.

The same thoughts continued to run through his mind—Potter was inches from death…. Black was in his dorm, with him…. I could have failed…

However, as he learned from his return to the staffroom about twenty minutes before dawn, the rest of the staff had come up short; Black had escaped yet again. And it filled Severus with immense anger, a controlled fury even worse than what he had felt the last time that Black had made it into the castle.

"Very well," said Dumbledore solemnly. "I don't think any of us expected him to stick around this time…. And I doubt any of you will be able to sleep after this, but do try to rest, all of you."

Other teachers nodded slowly and made for the door, but, his face set, Severus strode over once more and walked with Dumbledore. Waiting for any other teachers to be out of earshot, he said acidly, "Do you have any guesses as to how Black made it in this time?"

"None but those that have already been on my mind, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly, though with a firm edge in his voice.

His arms folded behind his back, Severus arched his neck slightly and looked at the old man with almost a mad look in his eye. "Headmaster, you know my suspicions… and it is foolish to believe so firmly that Black did not receive any inside help—"

"I'll decide what's foolish and what isn't, Severus," said Dumbledore, more sternly this time. He gave Severus a piercing gaze over his half-moon glasses. "Remus helped look for Black tonight; I trust him completely. And though I trust you as well, until you're the Headmaster of this school, or on the back of a Chocolate Frog card, I will not be making decisions based on your childhood grudges."

Severus was silent for a few seconds, exploding internally with fury but not daring to express it to Dumbledore. How could the man be that naïve? Dumbledore—the man who had been possibly the cleverest student to ever attend Hogwarts, who had defeated Grindelwald all those years ago, who had led the Order of the Phoenix prior to Voldemort's downfall… It just didn't make sense.

But then, he pushed aside his anger at the man, and said, "How did Black get into Gryffindor Tower, then? I thought it was impossible without the password—"

"He had the password, Severus." Dumbledore looked grave again. "Apparently, Neville Longbottom had written down the week's passwords, and Black found them, and read off the list. That boy will have to take care of his forgetfulness…. It nearly cost Harry his life."

Becoming tense again, Severus had to employ mild Occlumency to keep his rage from showing. Longbottom… So it's all Longbottom's fault. That bloody idiot nearly caused Potter's death, and it was only by chance that Potter survived…. Because of him, I might have failed, and Vesperra would have been all I had left….

"But we mustn't blame the boy entirely," said Dumbledore, interrupting Severus's internal rant. "Sir Cadogan was the portrait that allowed a known criminal entrance. He will have to be moved, of course… I think the Fat Lady should be properly restored by now. Well, Severus, I have things take care of, and I believe you may want to attempt to get some sleep."

They had reached the Entrance Hall, and Dumbledore gestured toward the dungeons. With only a sharp wave for a "Goodnight," Severus disappeared down the staircase and returned to his office, feeling absolutely murderous.

Once again, Potter nearly died while it wasn't even under my control…. And once again, I've lost the chance to capture Black… The next time Black came into the castle, he would have to be ready, and he would have to kill that bastard before he had the chance to even lay a hand on Potter.


True to Hogwarts's usual standards, the story of Black having broken into the castle and nearly killing Weasley instead of Potter had traveled to Vesperra's ears by the next morning, and her new dread was so great that all thoughts of Damien being her cousin were driven from her mind.

It was also common knowledge that it had all been Longbottom's fault, and while she didn't really care whether any Gryffindors (especially not Potter) lived or died, she enjoyed seeing the idiot more humiliated than ever; it was a bit of grim satisfaction in the middle of all the heaviness that had returned to her during breakfast.

Black… in the castle… again. Dammit, Severus and I knew this would happen after the Firebolt…. And Lupin must have helped him again. She looked towards the Staff Table, attempting to analyze Lupin, but nothing was discernible from his expression.

What was more stressful than anything was that Severus was sure to force himself to take patrols every day, and would stress out so much that it hurt Vesperra in turn. As much as she wished Black would be captured or killed—or Kissed, she hated to see Severus so stressed out. When he was like that, he was so obviously suffering internal conflict almost constantly, and he had a habit of pulling his hair out, which he had done a few times since her first year when Vesperra had first noticed it.

Sunday was rather busy for most of the staff, but she and Severus did manage to spend a little bit of time together. Vesperra didn't mind, as she knew his duties needed to come first, and spent much of her time relaxing in his office while he was helping other teachers with setting up safety measures or patrolling out of his own free will.

Several things were set up in Hogwarts to ensure that Sirius Black would be virtually unable to get into the castle or, if those failed, into Gryffindor Tower. According to what Severus had told her, Flitwick was teaching the front doors to recognize a picture of Black, and security trolls were hired as extra protection for the Fat Lady's portrait. Even with these, however, Vesperra did not feel any less paranoid and was still full of dread for Black's next attempt, whenever and whatever it was.

During that day, Vesperra and Severus talked only about Black, and in bitter growls, when they were with each other. And when Severus left her (although reluctantly, it seemed) to relax on the couch in his office, her train of thought alternated between Damien and Sirius Black. Sometimes she would cast a Patronus just for the heck of it and to have something for company while Severus was gone.

And still, the gentle squeeze of a hand would lessen the dread each time for the both of them, because they were reminded that neither of them were alone in what they had to do or how they were feeling.

Hardly anyone else seemed to be feeling this way, though—out of the students, anyway. Most weren't considering this a time that they should be worrying for their safety or even weighed down by dread—Ron Weasley was being treated like a celebrity. At meals for the next couple days, he appeared to be being constantly badgered by other students to tell them the whole story. Frankly, it was rather annoying to Vesperra. Why does almost getting killed automatically make you famous? If I was nearly killed, the majority of the school wouldn't care at all, and then everyone who knows me would be upset that I wasn't killed.

Longbottom was a laughing stock amongst the Slytherins, as it was common knowledge that he'd been given detention from McGonagall and even banned from Hogsmeade visits. And, on Tuesday morning, half the Slytherin table twisted in their seats to see Longbottom running out of the Great Hall, looking scared shitless and holding a red envelope—a Howler. The rest of the hall watched, but the Slytherins were the only ones that howled with laughter at the sight of it.

A booming voice that could only have belonged to Longbottom's grandmother came from the entrance hall—

"YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN SO DAMN FORGETFUL, AND NOW IT'S NEARLY KILLED YOUR OWN FRIENDS! YOUR FATHER NEVER WOULD HAVE LET THAT HAPPEN, HE'D NEVER BE SUCH AN IDIOT THAT HE'D LEAVE PASSWORDS LYING AROUND, I'M SURPRISED YOU HAVEN'T BEEN EXPELLED LONG BEFORE THIS—"

It went on, and afterwards, Longbottom didn't return to the Great Hall, most likely out of shame. Vesperra smirked, cruelly satisfied. At least he had been humiliated for being such an idiot….

Sirius Black's break-in seemed to be good for Malfoy, because whether or not they were at all shaken by it, the topic of Black was the high point of everyone's conversation. No one was talking about the Quidditch match anymore, and so it seemed that nearly everyone either forgot or stopped caring about Malfoy, Flint, Crabbe, and Goyle's screw-up that had put Slytherin under the running again. However, they all still found time to verbally abuse Vesperra.

Tuesday evening, Vesperra entered the common room to see a small crowd around the bulletin board. She automatically knew what it most likely was, but walked over to look at the new notice anyway. Craning her neck to look over the taller students' heads, she saw that there was another Hogsmeade visit this weekend.

At once, an idea was lodged in her head, and she hurried to her dorm without a second glance at anyone. The moment she threw open the door, Vesperra took the strap of her schoolbag off of her shoulders and opened it, taking out a small square of parchment, a quill, and an ink bottle. She quickly wrote a note to Damien, which said:

Damien,

I have another Hogsmeade visit this Saturday. Can you meet me in the Three Broomsticks at two? There's something I want to talk to you about. If you can come, don't write back. If you can't, or you'd prefer a different time, make sure the owl you send it with finds me when I'm not at breakfast or any other meals.
~Vesperra

Stone-faced, she rolled up the note and sealed it, then immediately headed back out through the Common Room. Ignoring curious stares, she hurried through and up to the owlery.

"Take this to Damien in Knockturn Alley," she told a speckled white and gray owl—the first one she found—once she'd tied the letter to its leg. With a blink of its huge, round eyes that was equivalent to a nod, it took off into the night.

As she watched it become swallowed by the inky black sky, she took a deep breath and exhaled. This would hopefully put her to a waiting time of only four days until she interrogated Damien about being her cousin. It wasn't so much of a shock anymore that she couldn't decide what she felt about her and Damien being related so closely; if it weren't for the fact that he'd kept the fact from her, she wouldn't be angry at all. In fact, having family that shared your interests and who you actually liked was sort of… nice.

Ten minutes later, Vesperra was in her dorm again. And, as she talked to Severus through her journal, she wondered about whether she would tell him that she had a cousin.


The following week had been heavy on Severus—though he had brought much of it upon himself. He didn't waste a single second in doing what he felt was necessary, and that was patrolling the corridors every night and tailing Lupin as often as he could. As for Longbottom, he now hated the boy more than ever before, and couldn't keep the spark of absolute loathing out of his eyes whenever he unintentionally glanced at him—not that he was trying to. It was too bad that he didn't have a Potions lesson with the third year Gryffindors and Slytherins that week, or he'd have reduced Longbottom to tears.

When he realized that there would be a Hogsmeade visit on Saturday, Severus felt nervous about letting Vesperra go. Black must have been hiding out somewhere near Hogsmeade, and there was no telling what he might do…. But he reminded himself that Black was only after Potter, so it was extremely unlikely that she'd be in danger, and that Vesperra could go whether he wanted her to or not. He couldn't force her to stay behind.

Still, he couldn't shake his worry for her. Severus knew that Vesperra must have felt indignant at being treated like a small child when he told her not to stray from High Street, but he had a feeling she might have done so otherwise. He could not—would not—lose her.

At least this time, her absence had its benefit. On Saturday morning after nearly every student third year and up had began leaving the castle, he took to patrolling, knowing that, without Vesperra here, there would be no real reason for him to make periodic returns to his office. Of course, he didn't plan on walking around all day, but at least he could do it more often and not feel bad about leaving Vesperra alone. Although, he'd have liked to have her stay in his office, if only for the reassuring words or the hand-squeezes that kept him calm.

Before everyone had even left the castle, however, Severus had already come upon a muffled sound a couple corridors over from where he was walking. As he walked closer to it, he recognized the voices, and couldn't decide whether to be satisfied or angry about this.

Gliding almost soundlessly along the third floor corridor, Severus saw Potter, who had his back to him, and Longbottom, who was talking.

"I don't understand that thing about the garlic at all—do they have to eat it, or—"

The round-faced boy stopped abruptly with a small gasp, having noticed Severus looming closer from behind Potter, who turned around. Coming to a halt, Severus glanced suspiciously between the two boys, both of whom he loathed, and both of whom being much of the reason he was patrolling the corridors in the first place.

"And what are you two doing here?" he said silkily, narrowing his eyes and staring down his hooked nose at them. His eyes flicked to the statue of a one-eyed witch behind them, which looked strangely familiar…. "An odd place to meet—"

"We're not—meeting here," said Potter. "We just—met here."

Severus didn't honestly think that they had purposely met here, but there was an easily definable air about Potter that told him the boy was not completely innocent. He was so obviously up to something, and Severus had the vaguest feeling that it had something to do with the statue.

"Indeed?" he said, letting his face show only slight skepticism. "You have a habit of turning up in unexpected places, Potter, and you are rarely there for no good reason…. I suggest the pair of you return to Gryffindor Tower, where you belong."

In that moment, Severus realized that the humped, one-eyed witch statue Potter was standing in front of was the very statue that he had seen the Marauders near so many times while spying on them. He had never actually seen them disappear behind it, but he had viable reasons to believe that it was some sort of passageway. This could not be a coincidence….

Without another word or even a polite nod from either of them, Potter and Longbottom set off back to—presumably—Gryffindor Tower. This would make things easier for Severus, since the boy whose life he needed to protect would be safe in his Common Room, but the one-eyed witch posed enough interest for him now that he hardly registered the slight satisfaction or the likeliness of Potter disobeying him later.

If this is a passageway, thought Severus, stepping closer to the statue and running his right hand over the head, then Potter would have been trying to leave the castle… but after Sirius Black had been feet away from killing him? Even Potter can't be that much of an idiot…. No—he can, he definitely can…. As he ran his hand over the stone, he muttered revealing spells under his breath and attempted to discover the statue's properties—if it had any.

During his teenage years, his attempts to figure out the mystery of this statue had failed, but that had likely been because of his lack of knowledge on the proper spells to do this…. However, after several minutes of close examination, Severus hadn't figured out a thing. Having tried everything he knew, he was forced to leave the corridor, though he wasn't reassured. He knew there was something about that statue…. But if he couldn't figure it out, how could Potter have done so?

Instead of continuing to patrol, Severus returned to his office, for he knew Potter was in his Common Room, and he had grading to do that he would finish before patrolling the halls again.

For the most part, Severus's day was rather uneventful if you didn't count walking fruitlessly through the corridors or grading essays and potion samples. At lunch, however, he noticed that Potter was not amongst the Gryffindors in the Great Hall. Though he had decided the boy simply must not have felt like eating when he hadn't shown up for lunch during the last Hogsmeade visit, he felt much more paranoid now. But, as he reminded himself for the thousandth time, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't go and check in the Gryffindor Common Room for Potter, nor could he search the entire castle for him.

His paranoia did not dissipate after lunch, and Severus kept to his promise to himself and patrolled. Only a little more than an hour later, when he was passing through a second floor corridor, he heard running footsteps growing louder and louder. Sirius Black or anyone else that was dangerous would have taken care to keep their footsteps quiet, so he wasn't worried at all, but merely curious as to whom it was.

Stopping and turning swiftly in the direction of the noise, Severus watched a large mass appear from around a corner, which he identified a second later as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, all looking thoroughly shaken and as though they had run all the way from Hogsmeade. Hm. I didn't know Crabbe and Goyle could run.

"Professor Snape!" said Malfoy somewhat hysterically, sounding nothing like his usual self. He and his cronies stopped in front of him, straightening their hats and catching their breath.

"What is the meaning of this?" said Severus as he frowned down at them, confused and also a bit worried. "Why have you three returned from Hogsmeade so early?"

"Been—looking—for… a teacher…" said Malfoy, punctuating each word with a breath. He took a minute to calm his breathing, and then continued, "We were in Hogsmeade, sir, near the Shrieking Shack, and—and talking to Weasley… And suddenly a load of mud just hit me in the back of the head, but there was no one else there! And then—I saw Potter's head, with no body, just floating in midair…."

Severus's heart stopped, and his expression hardened. "Potter's head?" he repeated quietly for confirmation. Malfoy nodded, still looking shaken, and much like a ferret in this state.

Deciding at once that this was no coincidence, he said to the group of boys, "I see. You three should get to your Common Room—I will handle this matter." With that, he strode past the boys and headed for the staircase that would take him to the floor just above. While his expression was unfathomable, his heartbeat grew quicker, though it felt as though it were separate from him.

I knew this would happen, dammit, and I couldn't stop it…. Severus was sure that the statue that Potter had been near earlier must have something to do with this—it must have been the entrance to a passageway after all, despite his own failed attempts to uncover it….

Walking quickly, his black robes billowing and swishing in an ominous manner that even he couldn't ignore, Severus finally returned to the corridor, and saw Potter directly in front of the statue as soon as he turned the corner. He ended his swift walk when he was only three feet in front of the boy, and, as angry as he was, couldn't help but feel a sort of triumph in finally having caught him at something he would, no doubt, be in monumental trouble for.

"So," said Severus shortly, quickly analyzing Potter and noticing how sweaty he was; he must have hurried down to the castle just as quickly as Malfoy. "Come with me, Potter."

The boy followed him down to the dungeons without a word, and into Severus's office. Being a teacher, and a Potions Master at that, he didn't often think about it, but he realized how threatening of an atmosphere this was on the receiving end, what with the wall behind his desk lined with shelves on which stood jars of preserved ingredients suspended in liquids of different colors. The firelight was dim, which was even better.

"Sit," he said, and Potter took a seat in the chair in front of his desk. Severus, however, remained standing, for this made him taller, and more intimidating—more frightening. More of an authority. Slowly, he said, "Mr. Malfoy has just been to see me with a strange story, Potter. He tells me that he was up by the Shrieking Shack when he ran into Weasley—apparently alone." Severus was taking a pause between each sentence to see if Potter would argue, but the boy said nothing. "Mr. Malfoy states that he was standing talking to Weasley, when a large amount of mud hit him in the back of the head. How do you think that could have happened?"

"I don't know, Professor," said Potter, raising his eyebrows slightly as his head gave a tiny shake in an amateur attempt at appearing mildly surprised. It didn't fool Severus.

His black eyes glinted in the firelight, boring into Potter's strikingly green ones. In this situation, it was extremely difficult to ignore the fact that they were exactly the same color and shape as his mother's—and that just made him angrier. Lily had died to protect her son, and he repaid her by risking his life and sneaking off to Hogsmeade?

"Mr. Malfoy then saw an extraordinary apparition," Severus continued. "Can you imagine what it might have been, Potter?"

"No," said Potter, feigning innocent when it was so useless to do so.

"It was your head, Potter. Floating in midair."

Severus stared him down, waiting for a response with suppressed fury. He was still confused as to how Malfoy had only seen Potter's head—unless he had an Invisibility Cloak—but that didn't abate his anger.

After a long silence, Potter said, "Maybe he'd better go to Madam Pomfrey. If he's seeing things like—"

"What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter?" said Severus softly. His anger had risen, but he kept it to a cold fury. "Your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade. No part of your body is allowed in Hogsmeade."

"I know that. It sounds like Malfoy's having hallucin—"

"Malfoy is not having hallucinations," snarled Severus, unable to contain his anger. Bending down, he put a hand on each arm of Potter's chair, and glared at him, their faces now only a foot apart. "If your head was in Hogsmeade, so was the rest of you."

"I've been up in Gryffindor Tower," said Potter, so obviously trying his best not to appear intimidated, "like you told—"

"Can anyone confirm that?"

When Potter said nothing, Severus's lips curled into a nasty smile—though he wasn't completely sure why. It could have been for the satisfaction of knowing how harshly Potter would be punished… or he could have just been going mad after the boy had risked his life—and risked Severus's reason to live.

"So," he said, straightening up again and feeling the insanity creeping up on him. "Everyone from the Minister of Magic downward has been trying to keep famous Harry Potter safe from Sirius Black. But famous Harry Potter is a law unto himself. Let the ordinary people worry about his safety! Famous Harry Potter goes where he wants to, with no thought for the consequences."

Everything Severus didn't say—how undeserving the boy was of a mother like Lily, who had sacrificed herself for him, and how he might just have wasted the past three years protecting the boy if he had been killed while in Hogsmeade, he screamed in his mind. Severus could have been yelling at him, but Potter could still never possibly know the magnitude of his fury.

Potter stayed silent, seemingly unwilling to tell the truth and make things easier for the both of them. All he was doing, really, was setting himself up to be humiliated further….

"How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter," Severus said suddenly, his eyes glinting once more. His hatred for the boy in front of him, who had risked making it so his own mother had died in vain, extended towards the older Potter, who had taken Lily away from him before death had. It eased some of the anguish he was feeling to deride the boy as much as possible. "He too was exceedingly arrogant. A small amount of talent on the Quidditch field made him think he was a cut above the rest of us too. Strutting around the place with his friends and admirers… The resemblance between you is uncanny."

Part of Severus had hoped that these harsh words, which were the complete truth, would show Potter that his father wasn't the saint he must have thought him to be, but the boy retaliated immediately:

"My dad didn't strut. And neither do I."

"Your father didn't set much store by the rules either," snapped Severus, angered further, his face full of malice. What the hell did Potter know? He never knew his father, and he was talking to the man who had been bullied by James for years…. "Rules were for lesser mortals, not Quidditch Cup-winners. His head was so swollen—"

"SHUT UP!"

Potter was suddenly on his feet, his face full of rage. Extremely shocked at the boy having both yelled at him and said something so disrespectful to a teacher, Severus did not say anything for a moment; but his face had gone rigid, and his black eyes flashed dangerously.

"What did you say to me, Potter?" said Severus in the most venomous tone possible, his voice trembling on the edge of explosion. But the boy did not look afraid or even back down in any sense.

"I told you to shut up about my dad!" yelled Potter persistently, his voice echoing slightly off the walls of the dungeon office. "I know the truth, all right? He saved your life! Dumbledore told me! You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for my dad!"

The blood leaving his already sallow face, Severus's mind reeled, fury mixed with shock forming a storm inside him. He knows? Dumbledore told him about that? …You bloody little tosser, you don't know the half of it! Despite his promise to Dumbledore about keeping him alive, he felt like throttling Potter at that moment. Severus had had absolutely no idea that anyone but the staff that had been at Hogwarts when he was a student and Vesperra knew about the event in which he had nearly died many years ago…. And Potter was the last person he wanted to know about it.

"And did the Headmaster tell you the circumstances in which your father saved my life?" said Severus in a deadly whisper, using extreme self-control to keep his expression and hands in check. "Or did he consider the details too unpleasant for precious Potter's delicate ears?"

The boy said nothing, but merely bit his lip. Severus knew at once that he, indeed, did not know the finer details, and he felt an odd sense of triumph fill him again. If he already knows, he thought, he might as well know the whole story and have a chance to know the truth….

"I would hate for you to run away with a false idea of your father, Potter," he said evenly, letting his face become twisted with a terrible grin and once again thinking himself slightly mad. "Have you been imagining some act of glorious heroism? Then let me correct you—your saintly father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have resulted in my death if your father hadn't got cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts."

Hardly a second after his explanation, Severus decided that he was wasting time with this, and that childhood stories were over. It was time to get back to business, and he would allow Potter no more time to stall or think up a plan.

"Turn out your pockets, Potter!" he spat suddenly, baring his teeth and feeling as though he had literally been engulfed in flames of fury for a moment. But Potter didn't move or make any indication that he was going to. "Turn out your pockets, or we go straight to the Headmaster! Pull them out, Potter!"

Clearly reluctantly, Potter slowly reached inside his pockets and pulled out a Zonko's bag full to bursting with tricks, and a folded-up piece of parchment. Severus smirked inwardly at the sight of the bag, as that was already clear proof of Potter having been in Hogsmeade, and picked it up.

"Ron gave them to me," said Potter, his face impassive. It wasn't even necessary to take a brief dip into the boy's mind with Legilimency to know that he was lying, but Severus didn't interrupt him yet. "He—brought them back from Hogsmeade last time—"

"Indeed? And you've been carrying them around ever since? How very touching… and what is this?"

Picking up the blank parchment, Severus scrutinized it.

"Spare bit of parchment," answered Potter with a shrug.

That being true was actually possible, as Severus had turned it over and saw that it was completely blank, but still not very likely. But he had a way to find out easily.

Locking eyes with Potter, he said silkily, "Surely you don't need such a very old piece of parchment? Why don't I just—throw this away?" His hand moved toward the fire, and Potter's eyes grew wide within a couple seconds.

"No!" he said quickly, almost jumping in his seat and giving away just what Severus wanted.

"So! Is this another treasured gift from Mr. Weasley? Or is it—something else? A letter, perhaps, written in invisible ink? Or—instructions to get into Hogsmeade without passing the dementors?" During his pause, Potter blinked, and Severus's eyes gleamed as he considered it confirmed that this would be the boy's downfall.

"Let me see, let me see," he murmured, pulling his wand out from his robes with one hand and smoothing out the parchment on his desk with the other. He touched his wand to the parchment and said, "Reveal your secret!"

But he felt not the slightest of quivers in his wand that would have been pure, spell-less magic flowing through it, and nothing happened to the parchment. Severus tapped it again, this time sharply, and decided upon a different choice of words: "Show yourself!" Once again, it remained blank, but he persisted.

"Professor Severus Snape, master of this school, commands you to yield the information you conceal!" he said, hitting the parchment with his wand.

And then, words appeared on the surface of the parchment as though an invisible hand were writing upon it, much like his and Vesperra's journals:

"Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business."

After reading that, Severus froze, horrible realization dawning upon him. It was so much more than the fact that the parchment had insulted him; he distinctly remembered the name 'Moony'—it had been Lupin's nickname given by the other three Marauders as a teenager. Having spied on those four gits so often, Severus had heard them call each other by their nicknames for much of the time…. Then there was more writing on the parchment, and it appeared in the same way.

"Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git."

"Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a professor."

"Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball."

It was almost like being a teenager again, feeling this sort of resentment at being insulted. Potter and Pettigrew were still taunting him, from beyond the grave… and Black from his cell in Azkaban, and Lupin from just upstairs. But that resentment was overwhelmed by his other realization concerning what this actually was—which he had known only seconds after seeing the first sentence.

This was the Marauder's Map. Severus knew, from his sneaking around at Hogwarts and following Potter and his friends, that they had always had what looked like a huge map with them. He, of course, had never seen it up close, but he had heard the words "Marauder's Map" thrown around between them when they had been talking about sneaking out at night.

Another thought came to him at once—as they had been coming this afternoon, in rapid fire. The only feasible way for Potter to have gotten the Marauder's Map was from the only Marauder at Hogwarts, who, Severus suspected, was still friends with Sirius Black and wanted the boy dead. It was suddenly very likely that he had given Potter the map in hopes that Black would meet him somewhere in Hogsmeade.

"So…," said Severus softly, narrowing his eyes. "We'll see about this…."

Thinking that he would finally be able to hold viable proof against the man and even make Dumbledore believe it, Severus strode across the room to the fireplace, angrily seized a fistful of Floo powder from the mantle, threw it into the flames, and called into them, "Lupin! I want a word!"

Seconds later, a large shape was revolving in the fire, and quickly became Lupin, who clambered out of the fireplace and brushed dust off of his robes. "You called, Severus?" His mild voice made a stark contrast with the air of fury that was so very thick in Severus's office.

"I certainly did," he said, his face having twisted into an expression that showed just how angry he truly was, though it could not reveal every single one of his reasons—even he didn't know all the reasons. Severus strode back to his desk and pointed to the Marauder's Map. "I have just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this."

Lupin stared at the map, his scarred face taking on a closed expression as he evidently read the words that had appeared, but did not say anything.

"Well?" said Severus, knowing for a fact that Lupin recognized the map, and, though he was sure the werewolf wasn't going to tell the truth, wanting a full confession. Still, however, Lupin said nothing, and simply stared at the map. Several years of using Legilimency made it fairly easy for Severus to realize from just the other man's expression that he was doing some quick thinking.

"Well?" he repeated, his voice becoming slightly madder and more nasal. "This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?"

Looking up, Lupin gave Potter a half-glance, and then moved his casual, almost smiling gaze to Severus.

"Full of Dark Magic? Do you really think so, Severus? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment that insults anybody who reads it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? I imagine Harry got it from a book shop—"

"Indeed?" Severus's jaw had gone rigid in anger. Had Potter not been here, he would have backed the werewolf against the wall and demanded an explanation, but he couldn't let the boy know that he knew about the map; Potter most likely didn't know that Lupin had helped create it, and he definitely wasn't aware of Lupin having ill intentions. "You think a joke shop could supply him with such a thing? You don't think it more likely that he got it directly from the manufacturers?"

"You mean," said Lupin calmly, looking completely unfazed by Severus's fury though he knew exactly what he had meant, "by Mr. Wormtail or one of these people? Harry, do you know any of these men?"

"No," said Potter quickly.

Lupin raised his eyebrows very slightly and turned back to Severus. "You see, Severus? It looks like a Zonko product to me—"

The Potions Master might have exploded with anger at that point if his office door hadn't burst open as though on cue, Ron Weasley running inside. Looking as though he had run all the way from Hogsmeade, like Malfoy had, he stopped at the desk and clutched at a stitch in his chest.

"I—gave—Harry—that—stuff," he choked. "Bought—it… in Zonko's… ages—ago…"

His thin face stuck in the expression it had been less than a minute ago, Severus glanced quickly from Lupin to Weasley to Potter, furious beyond belief and at the same time confused—how the hell had Weasley known to come to his office and cover for his friend about the Zonko's products? And—madness overtook him—No, no, I'm not letting this happen, he's not getting off on a technicality—

"Well!" said Lupin, clapping his hands together and looking around cheerfully. "That seems to clear that up! Severus, I'll take this back, shall I?" Without waiting for a response, he folded the map and tucked it inside his robes. Severus didn't have enough time or sanity left to protest, for the werewolf continued, "Harry, Ron, come with me, I need a word about my vampire essay—excuse us, Severus—"

But he didn't make any sound or movement that would have indicated that they were excused before the three of them turned their backs on him immediately and walked out of his office. All Severus could do was stay standing where he was, his insides being painfully torn apart by the failure of both punishing Potter and officially incriminating Lupin, and by the fact that he was completely stuck, unable to do a thing about Potter's safety for the time being.

Unable to fathom all that had just happened, Severus stood and glared furiously at his door, hunching slightly more over his desk with each passing second. Finally, the entirety of his anger was upon him, and he could not keep himself from whipping his arm back to grab a random jar from a shelf behind his desk and hurling it across the room.

Before it had the chance to hit the door and shatter, Severus had sunk, shaking, into his chair, and held his head in his hands, clutching hard at the sides and practically pulling out his hair.


...Well? I'm sure that all the Damerra shippers are probably extremely grossed out and really mad at me... And to be honest, I find it amusing. I planned this from the beginning, and always thought it was hilarious when people said that Damien and Vesperra would be an awesome couple. Well, they're cousins.

Also, aren't you glad we finally got to see her Patronus? Even though we were all sure as to what it was going to be, it was still fun to write and hopefully exciting to read.

As for the Marauder's Map scene, I have been waiting forever to write this. So many emotions... poor Severus. :(

Anyway, PLEASE review! I want to hear how shocked you guys are! ^_^