AN: I know, I'm a terrible person. I said two weeks and yeah it's been a while. However, before you all try to murder me, not all of this was my fault. I had to send my computer to get repaired as I was having problems with the battery and it kept restarting out of the blue. As a result, I couldn't actually do any writing for like two weeks. Then there's also the fact that I'm working more now, which has kind of thrown my writing schedule to high hell. Don't worry, I'm finishing this story, its just going to take longer than I initially planned and updates probably won't be as regular as they used to be. I was going to start posting again when I had at least another 10 chapters ready, but since that hasn't happened, I've given up and decided to post now. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 21

The Shrieking Shack

Atlas emerged out of the opening, his movements cautious. The room around him was layered with dust and damage; paper peeling off the walls, stains of various colours and sizes which varied from mould and damp to rusty-faded specks that suspiciously looked like blood, and every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were boarded up, preventing what little light the moon offered from entering the space, rendering it almost pitch black. It was deserted.

Atlas lifted his hand, an orb of blue and white, swirling light forming and hovering above his palm. He pushed his hand upwards a little, nudging the light, and it obeyed the silent instruction, rising to hover just below the ceiling, filling the room with its soft glow. Atlas looked around, frowning as he drew his wand from his robes. A floorboard creaked, as loud as a gunshot to Atlas' sensitive ears, and he spun round, wand raised. There was nothing in the doorway, where the door stood wide open. Atlas looked down.

An orange cat, yellow feline eyes glowing in the darkness, stared at him from the floor. It's bottle-brush tail was held high as it took a step back, raising its hackles and hissing at him. Atlas rose one eyebrow, lowering his wand.

"Hello...cat." He slowly bent down, squatting in front of the creature. "How did you get in here?" Atlas asked curiously, knowing the cat wouldn't be able to answer.

It hissed at him instead.

Atlas glared at it. His eyes shifted, flashing his true nature for just a second, before his pupils returned to their rounded, human forms. "None of that, cat. I'm not going to eat you. Even cooked, I'm afraid your too small to be much of a meal for me. Gryffins are more to my other form's taste."

The cat seemed to ponder his words for a second, before it relaxed slightly. It was still flicking the end of its tail, staring at him with untrusting eyes. Atlas offered his left hand, and after a moment, the cat stepped forward, giving it a tentative sniff. It looked up at him, deciding. Atlas stared back.

The cat meowed in greeting, brushing its head against his knee and rubbing its whole body against Atlas' legs. Smiling, Atlas lowered his hand to carefully stroke the animal, causing it to release a deep, loud purr. "Intelligent one, aren't you?" A louder purr this time, when he scratched the cat behind the ear. Atlas chuckled. "Don't suppose you've seen Black have you? I thought maybe he would come here, since the Dementors are on high alert right now... Not to mention the staff searching the grounds." The cat looked up at him with those big eyes. "I promise I won't hurt him. Just talk." Atlas added, feeling the need to convince the creature. If it had got inside here, surely someone had shown it how to? Or it had followed someone...

Suddenly, a crash came from upstairs, as if a piece of furniture had been hurtled against a wall, accompanied by an enraged shout. Atlas looked up at the ceiling, standing up. He gripped his wand more lightly, the hawthorn and pheonix core thrumming with power. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement, and he looked down just in time to see the orange cat disappear into the hallway. Glancing back up at the ceiling, Atlas followed, the orb of light hovering in the air trailing after him.

Quietly, Atlas walked up the crumbling staircase, curling his lips in distaste at the sight of over a decade's worth of dust coating everything, even the floor. The cat, agile as ever, leapt silently up each step, climbing the staircase slightly ahead of him. Atlas raised his hand, wordlessly calling the orb of light to him as they approached the dark landing. The orb dispersed when Atlas closed his fist, darkness engulfing the house once more.

There was only one door open in the hallway. Atlas could hear someone talking to themselves, muttering as they paced wildly, footsteps echoing in the empty house as they moved.

"Damn portrait... he's at Hogwarts... I know he's in the tower... He'll pay, I'll make sure he pays for what he did..."

Atlas took a step forward, closer to the doorway. Beneath him, a floorboard creaked loudly. The muttering stopped.

Glaring at a spot on the wall ahead of him, Atlas threw away his plan to assess the situation before he revealed himself, instead going straight to confrontation. He raced forward, rounding the doorway and entered the room, wand raised, just in case -

Atlas stopped dead in his tracks. The huge black dog snarled.

Atlas tensed, preparing himself, but the dog didn't attack. He looked surprised to see him, a growl faulting slightly when he recognised Atlas. Then the dog's eyes flicked to the side, seeing the wand clutched in Atlas' hand.

Shit.

Atlas' eyes widened in understanding. "Black, don't try it-"

The huge black dog lunged, leaping across the room with his teeth bared ferociously. Atlas raised his arm protectively, shielding his body as the dog crashed into him, sending them both to the floor in a tangle of black fur and heavy robes. Sharp canine teeth sank into Atlas' flesh through the fabric of his coat and the Dragonborn growled, more animalistic than the dog currently on top of him, which was snarling and snapping his teeth in an effort to reach the wand.

With a burst of strength that no human could ever possess, Atlas threw the dog off him, sending him crashing into a partly already destroyed chair. Atlas climbed to his feet, blood seeping through his fingers as he pressed against the dog bite while he still clutched his wand. He glared at the black dog that got to his feet, face enraged.

"I said, don't try it." Atlas ground out, shoving his wand into his pocket. The dog sank backwards, limping and failing to supress a whimper of pain. It eyed him with fear in those wide canine eyes. Atlas' face softened, and he sighed. "Honestly, Black, do you ever listen?" He muttered.

Atlas looked down when he felt something brush against his legs. The orange cat looked up at him, its eyes accusing. Atlas glared down at it. "Don't you start. He attacked me first. I never said I wouldn't defend myself."

The cat flicked its tail, clearly miffed, and sauntered over to the dog. It wove in between its furry legs, sitting down and staring at Atlas in challenge. Atlas scowled at it. "Loyal and intelligent. Why am I not surprised?" He commented bitterly.

The dog growled in warning but it was weak, unsure why the cat had greeted Atlas at all, even if it was a bit frosty.

Atlas eyed them both, debating how to get out of this supposed stalemate. He just wanted to talk to Black, but since the wizard didn't have a wand, his only defence was his animagi form and Atlas doubted he would give that one advantage up, especially not with him in the room, a wand – although tucked away – in his possession. He could use his wand, he supposed, force Black to transform but that wouldn't exactly inspire a great deal of trust. And if Atlas' suspicions were correct, then Atlas needed Black to trust him if he was going to drag the wizard out of this horrid mess.

Of course, there was a chance that the Death Eater had lied – Grunnion had been begging desperately for his life, after all. The wizard probably wold have said anything if he thought he might live. Still, Atlas owed a debt... and Black didn't deserve this either, if it was true.

Atlas gritted his teeth, looking down at his bite wound. Brows furrowing in concentration, he placed his hand over it more firmly, letting his magic seep into it, a faint glow of light visible from beneath his arm. Black growled loudly; ears pinned back against his head. Atlas eyed him but didn't stop. When he lifted his hand away, the blood trickled back into his arm and the wound closed, not even a scar left to show it had even been there at all. Atlas grimaced, picking at the ends of his torn apart sleeve. He had loved this coat. Sending Black a glare to communicate his annoyance for tearing it apart, he waved his hand over the shredded material. Slowly, it knitted back together, the material smoothing over until it was as good as new. Much easier than flesh and bone. He turned his gaze back to the black dog and the orange cat, taking note of the awkward angle the dog's foot was hanging from the way he refused to put weight on it. He most likely twisted it or broke it when he landed on that chair. Probably had a few splinters and cuts from the wood too, from the way the cat had decided to lick Black's paws.

"Come here and I'll heal you too." Atlas offered. The dog didn't move. Rolling his eyes, Atlas moved forward, causing Black to growl. Atlas glared at him. "I'm trying to help you, you moron. If you had listened to me and not attacked me, perhaps we would be having a civilised conversation right now and you wouldn't have hurt your foot. Forgive me if I was a little pissed that you bit me." Atlas explained. In another circumstance, people would have probably laughed at how offended he sounded. Black, for all his flaws, could be commended for the way his ears drooped in guilt, if only for a second.

Cautiously, Atlas moved forward, bending down. The cat decided to trust him, emerging from beneath the dog's legs and brushing against Atlas, sitting down to the side as if waiting patiently for Black to join him. After a moment, the dog did just that, limping forward. Atlas raised his hand and Black growled, causing Atlas to freeze, narrowing his eyes. The growl died, Black relenting, and Atlas carried on, placing a gentle hand over the dog's paw. Yet again, light seemed to emanate from beneath his palm as the magic seeped into the damaged limb. When he released the paw, the dog put it back on the floor, putting his weight on it without trouble.

"Trust me enough to talk yet?" He asked, looking down at the dog as he stood up. Atlas waited, and after a minute, he was beginning to think he'd have to do some more convincing. But then the dog stepped forward and suddenly the body was changing, morphing, like a film of something de-aging – growing in reverse. The snout sank away as the head grew, the fur turned to skin, except for the hair, and before Atlas knew it, there was a wizard standing before him, not a dog.

Sirius Black looked completely different to the last time he saw him. If eyes hadn't been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His hair - which Atlas remembered always was long, touching his shoulders, combed and straight at those society functions he attended as a teenager before he left for the Potters - was now overgrown, matted and splitting at the ends, hanging longer. The dirtied, torn and ragged prison clothes didn't help the sight much either.

"How did you do that?" Black asked hoarsely, eyeing him warily. It didn't sound like he used his voice often, especially in a conversation where he expected to be answered.

"Do what?"

Black raised his healed hand, waving it. "That." Obviously referring to Atlas' use of wandless magic.

"Family trick." Atlas answered.

"Family trick?" Black echoed, sceptically. His eyes narrowed. "You stowed your wand ages ago. Do you even need it to kill me?"

"I put it away because I didn't want to get bitten again."

"That wasn't an answer to my question."

Atlas raised an eyebrow. "Do you really want to know the answer?"

Black swallowed. "...No."

Atlas smiled coldly at him. The sight sent chills down Black's spine. "Probably for the best, don't you think?"

Black nodded, if a little shakily. He wet his lips. "... You're not going to kill me then?"

"Why would you think that?" Atlas asked innocently, looking amused.

"You kill Death Eaters, don't you?"

"Ah, but you're not a Death Eater, are you?"

A wave of shock seemed to cross Black's face, and Atlas knew then he had been right. He was probably the first person in twelve years that had given Black the benefit of the doubt. No wonder he looked suspicious once the shock wore off. "How do you know?" Black asked.

"I didn't. At, least not for sure" Atlas admitted, shrugging his shoulders. Then a grin spilt his face as he nodded to Black. "But your reaction just confirmed it. What I don't understand, is how you fucked everything up so badly that everyone believes you are. Or how little Peter is alive and kicking."

Immediately, a combination of twisted eagerness and vengeful fury engulfed Black's face. "You've seen him?!"

Atlas' eyes widened before he brought a hand to rub his chin, his features resuming a neutral façade as he frowned, deep in thought. "So he is alive."

Black realised within seconds the manipulation Atlas had just utilised to get what he wanted. For a minute, he seemed to forget the threat Atlas posed, and rage overthrew his actions. "Don't play games with me, Ambrosius. I've waited twelve years for this. TWELVE YEARS! I very well plan on committing the murder I was imprisoned for, so if you're not going to kill me, you better get out of my fucking way."

Atlas narrowed his eyes. "Bold to assume you could move me out of the way." He commented, his tone carrying warning. Ever the Gryffindor, Black didn't back down.

"Trust me, for this I'll manage it." He ground out, voice laced with malice and determination.

Atlas stared at him, taking in Black's expression. He'd seen that look. He'd seen it every day in the mirror during the war, after his parents and best friend were killed. It was a look of a man with nothing left to lose. Revenge was the only thing he had to gain, the only thing he had left, and it had consumed every thought, every feeling, every action leaving nothing else left but rage, pain and guilt. Ironic, that Atlas was now the only one that could knock some sense into Black.

"And after you kill the rat?" Atlas prompted; his expression still unreadable.

Black frowned. "What?"

"After Pettigrew is dead. What then?" Atlas clarified. Black seemed confused by the very question, responding by frowning harder.

"What do you mean what then?"

"Well, what are your plans? You're Potter's godfather – you really going to leave him with those muggles? Or perhaps Remus. Going to abandon him as well? Not exactly popular with the public are you, after all."

Black bristled at his tone, his lips curling into a warning snarl. "Don't talk about Remus. Or Harry. You don't care about neither."

"The Potter boy? Never met him, so I can't argue with you. But Remus?" Atlas took as step forward, eyes darkening as he glared at Black. "You'd be surprised."

Black scoffed. "Oh really?"

Atlas crossed his arms across his chest, a smirk threatening to overwhelm his face. "I was Head Boy when your year came to Hogwarts. Dumbledore asked me to watch over your furry friend." Atlas smirked wider, enjoying the way Black paled. "Who do you think walked him to the Whomping Willow every full moon for his first year?"

"You know." Black breathed, eyes wide in disbelief and perhaps, a little bit of fear. Atlas cocked an eyebrow.

"That he's a werewolf? Hard to miss when you're tasked with looking after one."

Black's eyes drifted to the floor, flicking from direction to the other as his mind raced, trying to put the information into a logical explanation. "Why did you never say anything?"

"Because before you were his friend, I was." Atlas stated bluntly. He watched as Sirius gaped at him, causing him to roll his eyes. "Oh, don't look so surprised. The little wolf grew on me. I kept his secret. I never told anyone – not even Ty and Luci."

"You sure about that? You three were tied to the hip." Black accused suspiciously.

"It wasn't my secret to share." Atlas met his eyes, his tone serious with conviction. Against his better judgement, Sirius found he believed him.

"What's your point? Why tell me this?"

"What you're doing is foolish, Black. Frankly, its suicidal, but you already know that don't you? As long as Pettigrew is dead, you don't care what happens to you." Atlas paused, noting the way Black tensed anxiously. "Well, am I wrong?"

"...No, you're not wrong." He admitted quietly. Atlas watched the wizard, eyes narrowing.

"That needs to change. For Harry's sake, and for Remus. The world doesn't revolve around you. I want to help you, Black."

Sirius glared him. "How?"

"Pettigrew is the only person you can use to clear your name. For that, I'd advise you don't kill him just yet." Atlas suggested, making Black laugh, obviously believing he was joking. "I'm serious." He ground out, causing Black's grin to fall. Atlas moved towards one of the windows, pushing the moth-eaten curtain aside so he could look out and critically survey the world outside like a soldier would, alert and suspicious of danger. Sirius frowned deeply as he watched, voicing his troubled thoughts.

"Why help me? You haven't even asked a single question about what happened. How you can trust me?"

"Explanations can happen when you're somewhere secure. Somewhere suitable to start planning. Right here isn't exactly safe." Atlas muttered, letting the curtain fall back into place. He stalked across the room, heading for the doorway, clearing expecting Sirius to follow him. It made Black glare at his back, enraged by his arrogance.

"And how can you trust that my explanation will prove my innocence? How did you even doubt my sentence to begin with? You hate Death Eaters. You were with the Order towards the end of the war, surely you thought I betrayed you?"

"I did. Which is why it's not until now that I've started to doubt the whole thing."

"Then what changed, Ambrosius? Well?"

Atlas sighed, running a hand through his hair. He turned around finally meeting his gaze. "A couple of months ago, a former Death Eater that I failed to locate during the war was released from Azkaban, not long before you escaped, now I think about it. I tracked him down and he... well he said a few interesting things. Had the audacity to laugh when he started talking about how they threw you in without trial, locking up an innocent man. Thought it was a right laugh, the almighty Sirius Black that betrayed his house getting what he deserved. I guess my shock gave him confidence, since he was begging for his life mere seconds ago. I didn't know what to do with the information. Didn't even know whether to trust it as truth. Then you escaped and I saw a picture of the Weasley family in the Prophet, a certain rat missing one toe with them, and it clicked. I'm guessing that's how you knew he was at Hogwarts."

Black nodded.

"I've been looking for you since then, hoping to find you before the Dementors did. When I heard you had a tantrum in front of the Gryffindor Tower entrance, I came straight here. Figured it was the closest place that wouldn't be swarming with Dementors."

"How did you know Peter was an animagi? How did you recognise me?"

"I have friends in high places. That and I stayed in touch with Remus when I left the school. He may have mentioned your little escapades after fifth year. I may have also offered him some suggestions on how to finish that map of yours."

"Why didn't Remus tell me he was on close terms with you?"

"Because he knew you and Potter would react badly, I suspect. After all, back then, I was not just a Slytherin, but a potential Death Eater. My track record wasn't exactly clean. I stopped all communication when things... changed, if that comforts you. Remus wasn't a spy."

"But he did welcome you with open arms when you finally approached the Order. Why did he trust you?"

"Werewolves aren't the only creatures that walk this earth Black." Atlas hinted quietly. He remained still as he watched Black's eyes widen in realisation.

"You're something too. That's why the cat trusts you, why he trusted you." He breathed.

"Looks like Azkaban hasn't drained all your brilliance just yet." Atlas offered a small smile, gesturing to the doorway. "How about we continue this conversation at a different location, hmm?" He asked, making a move to leave.

"Wait." Sirius called out, stopping him once more. "Just because Remus trusts you, doesn't mean I do."

Patience at its tipping point, Atlas growled. Physically growled. "Black now isn't the time to argue-"

"What's your motive? You're actual motive. You've explained how, but not why. Why help me? I'm not trusting you until you give me an answer, Ambrosius."

Atlas regarded him coolly, eventually looking away. "I owe a debt to an old friend."

Black narrowed his eyes. "And that old friend is...?" He prompted, waiting for an answer. Atlas met his gaze, jaw clenching, but not in anger. Sirius frowned, seeing something flash in the man's eyes, something that eerily resembled grief, perhaps guilt. Two words was all it took for Sirius to trust Atlas completely.

"Your brother."

Sirius recoiled as if slapped, paling significantly. Atlas avoided his gaze, looking instead in the direction of one of the windows. His expression was unreadable, even if Sirius now could see the way his whole body had tensed.

"I couldn't save him. But...I can save you." Atlas turned back to him, fixing him with a stare so dark, Sirius feared what the man had witnessed. Or more likely, what he had done. "So, Black, what do you say? You ready to listen? Or are you going to sulk in this place, risk a kiss from a dementor and never see your godson ever again?"

Black swallowed, gathering the infamous courage his house was known for. Then he gave his answer.

The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he entered the castle became more ludicrous with each discussion, becoming wilder and wilder, and by the end of the week Draco was ready to snap at the next person who uttered another word of stupidity (Seriously, Bullstrode? Black hasn't transfigured himself into one of the sofas. And no, just because your kneazle is black and doesn't like you, doesn't mean he's an escaped criminal in disguise). It didn't help that many of the Slytherins knew that Draco's Mother had been a Black before she became a Malfoy, and as a result wouldn't stop pestering him for his theories – one particularly obnoxious first year had even made the mistake of asking if Draco had helped Black enter the castle. Suffice to say, no one had dared come near him after the result of that encounter. Even Blaise gave him wary glances from time to time.

He'd tried to speak to Atlas about Black that first week, but several times when he tried to contact him through the scrying mirror his blood father never answered. When he finally did, he answered Draco's questions vaguely and seemed more interested in what Draco was learning at Hogwarts, rather than if any more sightings of Black had been made. His mood swings were starting to give Draco whiplash. Eventually though, the novelty of Black's attack on Gryffindor Tower wore off as the daily chatter returned to normal, more important matters clouding people's conversations, like their next essay hand-in deadline or in Draco's case: Quidditch. As Autumn dug its claws in, Winter fast approaching on its tail, the weather worsened steadily.

The day before the match, the winds reached howling point and the rain fell harder than ever. It was so dark inside the corridors and classrooms that extra torches and lanterns were lit. Draco found himself grateful that the Slytherin dorms were below the castle in the dungeons, as he dreaded to think how loud the wind was during the night. His stomach was doing somersaults, a sickening anxiety overwhelming as the thought of the Quidditch match drew near. He was so out of it that he didn't even realise Professor Lupin wasn't present when he arrived at Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

"P-Professor Snape." He stuttered out in surprise when he entered the classroom, most of the class either sat down or moving to do so. Snape glared at him from behind his desk.

"Mr Malfoy. Take a seat. I don't have time for your tardiness today."

Draco felt his eyes widen slightly before he caught himself, moving to sit down beside Blaise, Theo on the opposite side.

"What's gotten into him?" He asked them as he let his bag drop to the floor, his voice a hiss.

"No idea. He's been like this ever since we came into the class." Blaise answered out of the corner of his mouth.

"I bet he probably failed to murder Lupin in his sleep and he's feeling moody about it." Theo suggested.

Draco snickered. That was one thing he could enjoy at least – Snape's obsession with the Defence Against the Dark Arts post. He couldn't confront Professor Lupin, but Snape openly despising the man sure made up for it.

"Where is Lupin?" Draco asked. Both Blaise and Theo shrugged their shoulders, clueless.

"That's enough. Quiet down." Snape ordered, moving to stand. The class instantly obeyed, his previous lack of favouritism towards Draco and the other Slytherins making them well aware he was not to be trifled with today.

"As you can see, Professor Lupin is currently indisposed. Unfortunately, he has fallen ill," Snape continued, the way he said unfortunately making Draco believe that Snape didn't think it unfortunate at all, "and will not be teaching you today. I generously volunteered to take his place knowing you would need an adequate teacher to lead this lesson. However, your Professor has neglected to inform me of the topics you have covered so far-"

Suddenly, the classroom door was thrown open and the class whirled around to the unexpected intruder.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin, I -" Potter stopped in his tracks, Draco seeing the exact moment when he realised Lupin wasn't standing at the front of the class. Despite Snape's thunderous expression, Draco couldn't help but grin madly. Or maybe that was why he grinned.

"This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we'll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."

"Where's Professor Lupin?" Potter asked, looking like he was seconds away from accusing Snape of some nefarious deed.

"He says he is feeling too ill to teach today," said Snape with a twisted smile. "I believe I told you to sit down?"

Potter stayed where he was.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing life-threatening," he said, looking as though he wished it was. "Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty."

Potter walked slowly to his seat and sat down. Snape looked around at the class.

"As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far-"

"Please sir, we've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindylows," said Granger quickly, "and we're just about to start-"

"Be quiet," said Snape coldly. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organisation."

"He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Draco kept his mouth shut, biting down a retort that Lupin wasn't what he appeared to be – whatever he was. Snape looked more menacing than ever.

"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly over-taxing you – I would expect first-years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss-" Draco watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know they hadn't covered. "-werewolves."

"But sir," Granger protested, seemingly unable to restrain herself, "we're not supposed to do werewolves yet, we're to start Hinkypunks-"

"Miss Granger," said Snape, in a voice of deadly calm, "I was under the impression that I was taking this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page three hundred and ninety-four." He glanced around again. "All of you! Now!"

With many sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened their books.

"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?"

Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Granger, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air.

"Anyone?" Snape asked, ignoring Granger. His twisted smile was back. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between-"

"We told you," one of the Patil twins said suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on-"

"Silence!" snarled Snape. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognise a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very far behind you all are..."

"Please sir," Granger interrupted, whose hand was still in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf -"

"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Granger went very red, put down her hand and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a mark of how much the Gryffindors loathed Snape that they were all glaring at him, because every one of them had called Granger a know-it-all at least once – Draco had even heard Weaselbee call her that name on occasion, which probably made the Gryffindor's next action so surprising.

"You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?" Weasley exclaimed loudly.

The class knew instantly he'd gone too far. Snape advanced on Ron slowly, and the room held its breath.

"Detention, Weasley." Snape said silkily, his face very close to Weasley's. "And if I ever hear you criticise the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."

No one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. Even Draco and his fellow housemates kept their heads down, recognising that whatever side of the bed Snape had woken up on this morning meant his usual Slytherin favouritism wouldn't save them from punishment for speaking out of turn. They sat and made notes on werewolves from the textbook, while Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the work they had been doing with Professor Lupin.

"Very poorly explained... that is incorrect, the Kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia... Professor Lupin gave this eight out of ten? I wouldn't have given it three..."

When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back.

"You'll each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognise and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention."

Shoving his textbook into his bag, Draco stood, following Blaise and Theo out of the classroom with rest of the students.

"Two rolls of parchment? I have the match tomorrow and I still need to complete my astrology homework. Not to mention bloody Divination." Draco complained when they were out of earshot.

"Somebody certainly pissed Snape off. It can't be Weasley either, since he was like that before the lesson even started." Blaise reasoned.

"And why werewolves? He knew we hadn't studied those yet!"

"I think that was kind of the point, Theo." Draco pointed out with a smirk. Theo rolled his eyes.

"Still, it's weird. Did you notice the way he put particular emphasis on how to identify a werewolf? It's like he expects us to meet one."

Draco considered Theo's words, suddenly gaining the feeling that he was missing something. Snape had caught his eyes a few times during the lesson as he spoke, as if he was trying to communicate something...

"Draco!" Greg called from behind him. Draco turned, halting in the hallway and waiting for the other Slytherin to catch up. "You've got Herbology next right?"

"Yeah. You and Vincent walking there now?"

"We were going to. Want to come?"

"Sure. See you later?" Draco directed at Blaise and Theo. The boys nodded.

"We could go flying during free period. You need to practice before tomorrow right?" Blaise suggested.

"Sounds like a plan." Draco agreed with a grin, turning to follow Greg towards the greenhouses. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something, the revelation held out of reach like a memory forgotten, all the way there.