Rather Long Author's Note:

Ack! It took a while to realise it's been over a month. Preparation for school takes up a distressing amount of time. *clenches teeth against sigh* Thanks so very much to Aliera, Antares, Blackletter, BeckySharp, Demeter, enoimreH, Faith, Flamewing, Laurus Nobilis, Lavander Ice, and Moonrose (odd that everyone's names are in the first half of the alphabet, non?)

Extra note: shortly after writing this, noone too important also reviewed. Also a thanks to you, my dear woman/man, and I suppose we're past the first half of that alphabet now.

*pulls out Canary Cream* This is for Flamewing's guess on Rara Avis's name and the hidden meaning -- no, not quite correct (nice catch, though), but it was one of two attempts and warrants a prize. *heaves boxful of Chocolate Frogs* And this is for Antares, who got it right! (Well, my translation was a teeny tiny bit different: the phrase is used for anything wonderous and unusual.)

While taking a leave of absence on this fic, I've written two one-shots that are under this account name, "So Glad To Break It To You" and "The Hole in the Roof". *coughcoughhinthint* Oh, and to everyone who enjoyed "So Glad" -- it's sparked two other fics in the same universe. Just from curosity, who would be interested in reading (one is a direct sequel, another the scene where Moody/Crouch searches Severus's rooms), and does anyone care to vote for Remus's eye colour? I need one and can't pick.

Newsflash: I have it on good authority that Demeter -- make sure you're all sitting down, folks -- doesn't "hate" Gryffindors! No "hate"! *everyone in room collapses*

*winks at Demeter* Thanks for being a good sport. I'm just joshing with you a bit. *hands out Galleon Gift Certificate for Honeydukes*

*claps hands* Rambling finito. (Warning: I'll maturely stick my tongue out in gratitude to anyone who tells me I spelled "finito" wrong.)

Disclaimer: The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment.


Chapter Five - Slytherin November


Severus stared at the ceiling of his dormitory. The pattern always intrigued him. It was a geometrical marvel. Yes, Arthimancy was his worst subject (he grimaced in the darkness as he remembered his pile of homework left) but he knew this was incredible.

Shimmering silver and deep velvety green intertwined across the ceiling, and by torchlight it looked as if the hues were dancing. At first glance it only swung their partners around into fourteen dignified circles, as if in a ballroom. As you examined it closer, as Severus had often done, you understood the colours inside of those grand sweeping circles better - now the colours divided into rich tones and swung around in perfect precision within, each swirling in and out with a partner… green draped its arms around silver, silver held up the hand of the green…

He was getting soft. His thoughts of how it danced - he had even constructed a rough poem about it once in Arthimancy - were insane.

But it was so perfect. And beautiful. He wondered what it looked like in other Houses. Was it the same pattern, but in respective House colours? The Hufflepuff ceilings, in that case, probably resembled squashed bumblebees and crazy hippie outfits.

The Slytherins were going to kill him. Once you got to fifth-year, your Housemates ceased to be so unconditionally supportive. He might as well finish that poem, as a last reminder of his life, to prove he had made one useful surviving artifact of his fifteen years. He had failed them. Gryffindor had won. James Potter, Ted Maraugue, and Icey Hollins had put goal after goal through the posts he had been supposed to defend. Severus's mediocre performance, which really wasn't awful at all when it wasn't compared to Potter, would not go unnoticed.

Severus had heard the old Keeper, Howard Bole, complain that it wasn't fair that Potter had so much talent, when the rich little brat didn't need it. Severus agreed. His practical side told him he was stupid. His other side told his practical side to shut the hell up. His practical side retorted that Severus could be working on Arthimancy rather than moaning about the match.

Arthimancy. Involuntarily, since no one was around, Severus groaned. He hated Arthimancy. He was failing it this term, too, and his father was going to be furious. Again. And Mildred was going to have Frank tutor him again. The thought caused Severus to scowl.

I ought to get to work on that…

Slytherin was going to kill him before his father got the chance to frown at him so much as once. Not just because of his performance - they were at least used to that - but because he had blown off an opportunity to meet the Dark Lord the night before.

Evan had causally suggested to him that if Severus came along Friday evening after Quidditch practice, that he'd be able to meet the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself, and Evan would be sure to put in a word about his remarkable special abilities. Sev, he had said, stood a very comfortable chance of becoming in the Master's very good standings.

"I need to keep practicing," Severus had told him, in his infamous bored monotone and expressionless face. He found the fact that he was known for these attributes useful, now that he needed to hide his feelings like never before. "I'll don't think I'll be too much in his favour if I let Gryffindor win."

Evan considered this. He was the team's Captain, and very insistent on Slytherin pride. Finally he nodded consent. "Good point. Too bad you have to miss this chance." He smiled, almost dreamily, making Severus feel more than a little scared. "There's going to be a raid tonight…"

Severus nodded tightly, but nodding tightly was not out of the ordinary for him. "Have a good time. I'll cover for you." He would, too, so long as he didn't have to face the Dark Lord.

Liqumbaug walked stoically into the Slytherin common room the next morning, level but demanding to know if anyone had not been accounted for the night before or if anyone was missing from their dormitories.

Luckily, by the time Liqumbaug had received the news, Evan, Christoph, Cletus, Florence, and the three other Death Eaters of the House were safely back in bed, not having to act grumpy and bleary, as they already were from lack of sleep. Stella Greyson looked as though she was dying to give Florence away, but kept her mouth shut. Giving away the side she wished to join was not a good idea, and Stella was clever enough to know this.

I'm not involved in any of this. I don't want to be involved. I don't fully agree with either side. Why must I be dragged into this? He thought of those who would love his position… Stella Greyson, who wanted to become a Death Eater so badly… James Potter, who wanted to defy the Death Eaters so badly… no, the role had been given to Severus Snape, who couldn't care a silica less about the ambitions of either side. He cared for himself. And Mother…

He wanted to write her tonight. Under his bed, in a tightly charmed box none of his dorm mates knew of, was the two hundred or so letters he had written to Mother, unsent.

But Mother was an Auror. She'd want him to make a stand against the Dark Lord. She'd be ashamed of him -

The door opened with a loud bang. Honestly, Cletus had no concept of entering softly… annoyed that his thought train had been broken, Severus turned to Cletus with every intention of giving him his most unnerving glare and turning away with a pointed silence.

But Cletus - dunderhead if there ever was one - spoke up first. "S-Sev, d'you - d'you believe there's actually a God?"

Severus had to work to prevent his jaw from falling. What kind of stupid question was that to break into his pondering with? And since when did two soon-to-be Death Eaters talk of God, anyway?

He did not reply. Wordlessly, he turned on his side, and without changing into nightclothes, feigned sleep until it came to him.

*

Day: 14 Month: 11 Year: 1976

Severus had expected a hard time from every House, including his own, for joining with Lupin, and he was right. The Slytherins were literally hissing angry. But he didn't care much, or told himself he didn't, except for Evan, Christoph, and Cletus, and anyone who might relay false incriminating things about him to the Dark Lord. And, truth be told, in an odd, twisted sort of way, he did sort of care for Cletus and Evan and Christoph… they were prats, yeah, but who else did he have?

But the young Death Eaters had been calmed by an innocent, casual remark from Cletus. Severus had been racking his mind for an excuse, and in the end it was Cletus, who had been most angry of all, who suddenly laughed and exclaimed:

"I didn't see it before, Sev!" He clapped Severus on the shoulder; Severus stiffened. "You've had this in that quicksand mind of yours all along, didn't you, Sev? You're a good man, Sev…"

Severus was not one to look a gift broomstick by the twigends or to ask questions. Sure enough, he was answered.

"What're you prattling on about, Clet?" Sillian Lestrange demanded.

"Sev's setting up to give Lupin what for, of course."

Ah. Severus tried to hide an ironic smile. Self-centered, conclusive Cletus…

And the others shook their heads incredulously, smiling slightly themselves, some fondly, some worried about having to compete with Snape on their way up the Dark Lord's ladder. None doubted that Severus was plotting revenge against Remus Lupin - although no one was sure quite how, they were positive that Lupin was as good as packing for when Severus would force him to leave the school in shame.

Pity Severus didn't know how he was planning to accomplish this, either. And funny, wasn't it, how easily some outsider could incur the Slytherin gang's wrath. As far as Severus could see, Lupin hadn't done much wrong, other than be a little foolish, but "foolish" described his own friends the greater portion of the time.

But Severus was still going to punish the Gryffindor for whatever-it-was. Although, he felt he had time. He'd wait until after the Duels. As long as he was working with Lupin, he was too good of a partner.

Last Friday in the library, the two had arranged to meet in one of the empty fifth-floor corridors at four-thirty for their first session together.

Severus got there before Lupin and began his stretches and warm-ups until the Gryffindor boy arrived, bag slung over his shoulder.

Since Severus had been waiting twenty minutes, he was not in any better a mood than per usual. "You're late," he snapped.

Lupin didn't appear the least bit perturbed. Not having a watch of his own, he brazenly walked over and glanced at Severus's before meeting him square in the eye. "You're early." The time was four-thirty-two.

Severus, still a little out of breath, couldn't find a retort, so settled for scowling.

If Lupin noticed, he didn't show it. He dropped his staff - Severus scowled more deeply at such carelessness - and, more cautiously, rested his sword on the floor.

"Aw, is the sword a bit too heavy for Pomfrey's little pet patient?"

Pomfrey's little pet patient turned sharply and looked unnervingly at Severus. "Does someone pay you to act this miserable to everyone, or is that just your hobby?"

"Too bad no one'll pay you for that. I remember a time you dressed decently."

"Are you Slytherins so unimaginative that when insulting me you always fall back to the state of my clothing?" Lupin's tone was deeply irritated. Severus had never suspected this was a true sore point with him.

"You'll have to answer my question first." Severus was determined not to let Lupin beat him at his own game.

"Say 'please'," Lupin shot back.

"Say 'sorry' for being late. Not to mention such a lame comeback."

"I'll say sorry by immediately setting to work, how's that?"

This caused Severus to pause a moment and consider matters. Had Lupin won their verbal battle, Severus would have been forever bitter. Had Severus won, he would have always felt superior to Lupin, and Lupin would have fast gotten exasperated at Severus's silent gloating. However, this draw turned out to be passable middle ground. The suggestion was far too practical for Severus to find anything to dislike about it, and so he pulled himself up.

"Which first?"

"Whatever you want."

"Staff." Not wanting anyone to think he was anything but perfectly impartial and neutral, even in likes and dislikes, Severus quickly tacked on a reason: "Seeing as the sword's giving you so much trouble and all."

"You like the staff best, don't you?" Lupin asked as he finished his own warm-ups and reached for his staff.

Severus felt like hitting him. "No. I told you. It doesn't seem as if you can handle it today."

"Oh." If Lupin had been a different sort of person, he would have smirked. As it was, he smiled dryly. "Thank you so very much for your compassion - that's all, right? Nothing but everyone else's best interests in mind?"

Lupin turned away as Severus stared at him a moment. It was unsettling. None of his mates in Slytherin had ever seen through him in that manner. It was a reminder, Severus decided. Not everyone was as easy to fool as Cletus Avery - he'd have to be careful around Lupin, but it was good practice for the real world. And the Dark Lord.

"No," he said blandly. "Just yours. But that's only because if you collapse while we're alone, I'm sure to be blamed. If I'm to get in trouble for your death, I want to have really done it."

Lupin grinned. Severus shook his head. If he had to put up with Lupin's incessant cheerfulness until May, he'd go mad. The idiot couldn't even see an insult when it was slugged across his face.

*

Day: 21 Month: 11 Year: 1976

Severus's waves began to die down in the next few days as other whirlpools and storm clouds sprung up in Slytherin House. Just about everyone was ticked off about something or another, starting with Florence van Durischk - and when Florence felt unhappy about something, she made sure everyone else shared in her misery.

The cause of her fuming was Cletus, who had been slipping in both Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Quite naturally, Professor McGonagall had given him a Gryffindor tutor, Lily Evans, which caused Cletus to sting with the humiliation of being under a Gryffindor Mudblood. Possibly worse, however, was Professor Liqumbaug's assignment of Florence to help him in studies.

Florence was seething at the loss of her free time and taking it out on Cletus; Cletus was surly over his shameful academic punishments and taking it out on Florence. In this war of wills, they seemed to be at a standstill.

"I got to pass these O.W.L.s, Sev," Cletus rambled on during evenings in the common room, as Severus ignored him. "I'm dead if I don't and don't understand any of this lot…" He kicked a pile of books irritably. Severus, as a prefect, could have chastised him for showing disrespect to property but didn't. "I'll be held back if I don't pass…"

Severus had his own studies-related problems, by the name of Arthimancy. He just couldn't grasp it. Just when he thought he understood the lesson, they threw in some curve that upset the whole balance all over again. His determination to conquer any obstacle failed when a parchment sheet of figures glared up at him.

Arthimancy really had no point. He couldn't see how he would ever need it in real life. But that didn't take away the sting of having that pathetic blundering Peter Pettigrew passing Arthimancy with flying colours while Professor Vector held everyone back to go over the lesson "one more time". She never said whom it was for, but everyone knew. Severus had developed a secret fear that she'd soon follow the other teachers' leads and have Pettigrew help him in spare time.

He was doomed to spend the rest of his school years with Gryffindors.

Evan was irritable as well, because his girlfriend had to spend so much time with Cletus, and as he was the unofficial leader of the young members of the Dark Lord's order, took it out on the close lot of them.

Sillian Lestrange was displeased because now that Severus was partnering with Remus Lupin he couldn't go around picking fistfights with Lupin every other day. Stella Greyson was bad-tempered because no one seemed willing to let her join the would-be Death Eaters. And everyone was jumpy because they knew Stella had a Talisman of Death hidden in her dormitory. Florence had demanded Stella turn it over to her; Stella refused to hand it over to anyone less than the Dark Lord himself. After watching Stella's cold, set eyes, even Severus was sleeping uneasily.

The one bright spot for all of them was that no one had been caught, accused, or recognised during their attack at Aberdeen. Silently, several sighs of relief could be heard. When all was said and done, Severus reflected, they were all just kids and knew it. They weren't as tough as they had long since been forced to make themselves appear.

Severus had one more thing to worry about come Wednesday, however. He and Cletus were heading over to the Quidditch field; after their defeat, Severus had nothing to lose by training harder, and Cletus, who wanted so badly to overtake Dickon Bright as Seeker, was always ready to practice.

"D'you hear something, Sev?" Cletus asked out of the corner of his mouth as they passed the greenhouses.

Severus wanted to quip "I sure hope so", but since Cletus wouldn't understand the wit, he opted to shake his head silently instead.

"That rustling…"

Now the Keeper did hear. "Yes…" He wasn't particularly worried. The number of things that "rustled" at Hogwarts - couldn't be counted if you tried.

"What d'you reckon it is?"

Cletus had been incredibly keyed up as of late; Severus rolled his eyes. "A chimaera."

The blond-haired boy flinched. "You think?" he asked lowly.

"No, you idiot, it's probably someone's pet or some bird or whatever," Severus snapped.

"It's awfully cold out for birds or pets," Cletus put in hesitantly, whether from fear of the rustler or Severus it was hard to tell.

Now Severus had to pause. Cletus had a point. "That's funny. Stupid animal."

There was a throaty growl. Both boys halted, Cletus's eyes wide, Severus's alert and on edge, hiding his own trepidation. "Stay still, Clet," Severus ordered after a tense moment of silence.

The next moment, the rustler made it known. Cletus ran in the opposite direction within one nanosecond of recognition. Severus did not move - he was suddenly filled with dread as well, but Grims were omens of death, not the cause. He faced the large, black dog squarely.

Severus was vaguely comforted by the fact that the dog seemed to have feelings as well - he could have sworn it looked a little surprised that Severus held his ground. But then he growled again, baring his teeth at Severus. Although decidedly more shaken, Severus was determined not to lose his pride, even in front of a Grim. If it really was one.

"You'll have to do much better than that," Severus said coolly.

The dog rose to the challenge with a spirited lunge at Severus's leg, motioning to bite.

"Sev! Get the hell out of there!" Cletus called. Even Cletus, who, if truth be told, didn't have his act together as well as he should have, had long since learned not to yell frantically, but Severus could hear his voice wavering a bit all the same in fear.

There was no reasoning with Cletus. He either made up his own fantasies to satisfy his mind with, or just refused to listen to reason at all. Severus, more shaken by the dog's attack than he dared would have admitted, complied and followed the fidgety Cletus.

"The Grim doesn't kill you, it just tells you something else will," Severus said lazily, heart racing at the thought of death. He was young. What a hackneyed thought. But true. He hadn't time to do everything he wanted to do; he hadn't seen his mother since he was two…

"No one ever stuck around long enough to find that out for sure, and you're not going to be the first one, Sev!" Cletus shot back, white-faced and white-voiced. "Let's go back, Sev, I don't want to be out here…"

"Nothing to be worried about," Severus said, injecting the right amount of impatience in his voice, but then he cast an eye skyward and said they might as well - it looked like rain.

*

There was one adult in the school Severus trusted, although just barely, enough for him to indirectly ask about the Grim.

"Nice evening, Snape," Liqumbaug greeted after Severus knocked on the door to his office, indicating the one window in the room with his hand, from which a few grey clouds but not a hint of precipitation could be seen. "So I'm supposing you want a book."

For some reason, Severus was rarely bothered when Liqumbaug occasionally teased him about his reading habits. If anyone else mentioned them, he had no reaction but to scowl and snap back.

"Yes."

"No, you're not."

Severus looked up at his teacher in surprise. It was unlike Liqumbaug to refuse him the loan of his extensive collection of Dark Arts books. Liqumbaug was half-smiling.

"You're not just snatching a book and running off. Sit down and help me grade these." He shoved a stack of second-year rolls of parchment, a red inkstand, and quill to Severus.

"Where're the questions? I don't have the textbook memorised, you know."

"Remarkable." Liqumbaug handed him the book as well. "Watch your tongue, please, Snape."

"Yes, Sir." They were silent for a few moments as they worked, with only scratches of their quills accompanying the quiet, the same tune the colours on the ceiling of Severus's dormitory often danced to.

"So what do you want, Snape?"

"Grims. Believe they really signal death?"

"The same way I signal pretty witches."

This stopped Severus a moment. Liqumbaug was unmarried, yes, but he just wasn't the sort you thought of dating and thinking of "pretty witches", so he wasn't sure if that was an affirmative or a negative. "Have any books about them?"

Liqumbaug pressed a copy of Death Omens: What to Do When You Know The Worst is Coming into the boy's hands. Its cover featured a depiction of a massive dark dog, nearly identical to the one who had appeared to Severus and Cletus.

"Don't believe everything in there," Liqumbaug advised. "You'll grow paranoid and your imagination will be working overtime."

The irony of this statement struck Severus, for Liqumbaug's next words were: "Severus?"

The surprise of hearing his first name caused Severus to look up from the book. "Yes?"

"What were the lot of them doing that Friday week before last?"

"Which 'lot' are you referring to?" Severus asked seriously.

"You know which lot. The group of would-be murderers you hang with - Rosier and Wilkes and Avery and van Durischk…"

Severus stiffened. Okay, Liqumbaug might be right, but you didn't just go around insulting Severus's mates like that. Had it not been Liqumbaug, Severus might have thrown a few curses. Somehow, though, when Liqumbaug said those words, they sounded more natural. More easier to accept, because, after all, he was right. "When was this?"

"Snape. You know. Middle of the night. Midnight, like."

Half of Severus Snape was nervous. He had to make Liqumbaug believe him. Half of Severus Snape was calm and cool. Not a problem. Lies, easy lies.

"Really, Professor, midnight? Middle of the night? I was asleep. Most normal people sleep at 'midnight, like' - I imagine they were either being normal people or having one of their silly drinking games."

Liqumbaug sighed through his teeth and leaned back in his chair. "They were doing something else, Severus."

Severus remained quiet, glancing up as if slightly interested, tacitly inquiring what he meant.

"I know they're too young to be Death Eaters yet - although they're heading there - but they were involved, however indirectly…"

Severus's eyes naturally sought the safety of his book. He had thought he liked Liqumbaug - well, he still did - but the Defence Against the Dark Arts master was as idealist as anyone under Dumbledore. Liqumbaug was firm in his blind belief that things were happy and pure and golden and good and innocent, and that youth, even the youth of the Dark Side, were happy and pure and golden and good and innocent. "Too young." Too young, indeed. No wonder their side was losing the war.

*

Day: 29 Month: 11 Year: 1976

A note came that morning, telling Severus that he was to come "home" - very inappropriate word, but Severus had no chance for a derisive reply - to Rowena's Valley for the holidays. He grimaced. A plan had already been worked out all over his Arthimancy notes for dueling training schedules over the holidays. Going to the Longbottoms' would not allow him to stick to it very well.

Muttering a few obscene things under his breath, his eyes wandered around the Great Hall and found his dueling partner, who was trying to pretend he had never seen nor heard Sirius Black before in his life, highly uncomfortable as Black started a spectacle that seemed to involve him, although his eyes were laughing. Severus wondered if Lupin would be staying over Christmas, and would have that much time to train. He had never much noticed Lupin; he only knew anything of the entire group of his out of enmity, and he and Lupin rarely had too much to have rows about, not like Black, who would pick fights with you if you so much as looked at him or his friends the wrong way.

Severus wouldn't ask Lupin directly, of course; it was too trivial for that, and why ask the question when you could find out without showing you wanted to know? Severus languidly, as if in a nonchalant daze - and this did happen enough with him to avoid suspicion - crossed the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table as the owls burst in from the ceiling and fluttered down to their receivers. As he had hoped, one dignified and irritable brown owl was for Lupin.

Rather conspicuously, Potter and Pettigrew grew very busy with their own imaginary parcels and porridge, the former of which hadn't arrived and the latter of which had already been devoured by the Gryffindor lions. Only Black, with his usual lack of tact, watched Lupin run his fingernail across the thin makeshift envelope and release a small note.

"That's your uncle's owl, isn't it?"

"Yes," Lupin said tonelessly. Pettigrew squirmed slightly and Potter couldn't help but sneak a glance, while Black's face darkened angrily.

"What's he want? He's not sent you any birthday wishes, has he?"

So it was Lupin's birthday? Severus hadn't known that. Funny, how you could go long without knowing other people's birthday. It only reinforced Severus's belief that the huge fuss made over birthdays was silly. Day-by-day, they were meaningless.

"He's obviously not feeling well… or else the D'veen Method is in effect…"

"The what?" asked Potter. Severus's question exactly. What did Unspeakable Admill D'veen have to do with it?

"Never mind. It wasn't a card; I guess D'veen gave up - no, Talon, peck at anything you want, but leave the homework out of it…" Lupin fell into silence as his eyes scanned the impossibly diminutive, narrow handwriting.

"So what's he want?" Black repeated, distastefully, as if Richaden Lupin was someone whose only rights in regard to Marauders was to make sure nephew Remus had somewhere to go during summer and to leave them completely alone the rest of the time. Gryffindors were so close-minded, Severus reflected.

Lupin re-read it again before answering, and then shoved it in his pocket with a grimace. "Not information I particularly needed to hear. Sirius, stop flying off the handle, it's only just that he wanted to remind me that I have to leave Hogwarts for holidays for the Check-up."

And thus the Severus Snape Policy of Information Gathering struck gold again, the founder of the theory thought with a satisfied, sardonic smile, mulling over what he had just heard. The way Lupin said "the Check-up" made it sound rather significant. He'd have to think over that in Arthimancy today. It made sense for Lupin to have regular medical examinations; Severus had never found an adequate reason for why Lupin was so sickly. Some sort of chronic illness made sense.

Black responded sympathetically with something mildly profane; Lupin absently told him that he had to quit using that language before he let it slip at the wrong moment. Surprisingly, since Black tended to argue just because an argument was there and ready to be developed, he was quiet for moment, thoughtful. Severus was leaving when he caught his words:

"Hey, Rem, come home with me over Christmas. Arabella would be thrilled to have you, and if you just tell as how, we'll take you to - the… Check-up."

Lupin looked up stridently, trying to hide hopefulness. "Really?" He didn't wait for Black's nod. "But - what about -" Lupin seemed to be searching for a hitch " - isn't James coming with you?"

Black laughed. "I could get 'Bella to have both of you, no problem, but our Jamsie is going to the big city of the States, remember?"

"Oh, right." Lupin gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry, James, forgot about that for just a moment."

Potter nodded unconcernedly. "Needn't worry." Severus felt a twinge of jealousy. Bloody Potter. Globe-trotting everywhere. Last year, Italy, last summer, Japan, this year, America - bloody hell. All Potter wanted was to laze around Black's farm. Meanwhile, Severus, who would have appreciated it fully, wouldn't get that chance until his life was firmly in his own hands. That required not being a minor under wizarding law. Rather childishly, Severus mentally willed himself to grow faster.

"Stop making excuses, Remus, what's holding you back? Listen, 'Bella'll talk to your uncle and reduce him to pieces with one of her speeches. We can take you there, right? And we'll have a grand time, come on, why do I have to convince you?" Black gave him a, in Severus's opinion, revoltingly charming and persuasive smile.

Lupin returned it shyly. "I'm convinced, Sirius, I'm convinced, if it's not a bother -"

"A bother? Why d'you think I offered?"

For just a moment, Severus's mind considered what it would be like to stay at Arabella Figg's scruffy farm instead of the Mildred Longbottom's neighbourly Tudor before wondering what the hell he was thinking. Even the Longbottoms were better than two "Marauders" and one woman mad enough to think one of them was worth raising, and the others worth inviting over.



"I've built walls
A fortress deep and mighty
That none may penetrate
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain...
I have my books
And my poetry to protect me,
I am shielded in my armour,
Hiding in my room; safe within my womb,
I touch no one and no one touches me
I am a rock;
I am an island
And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries."
-- "I Am A Rock", Simon and Garfunkel




TBC

(A/N: Quick last author's question: Does anyone even recognise some of these songs? Do they seem to fit the chapters? Just wondering. Oldies, I adore.)