Hello, readers! I'm pleased that you enjoyed the last bit. ;)

I want to warn you in advance that this bit earns an R rating and may squick some of you, so PLEASE read the note below before you go right to the story.

Yes, hetsmut is in the offing, but I want to warn you in advance that this bit contains a bit of slash, but in a different vein. Equal time for the girls! Yes, femmeslash. Why should the boys have all the fun? If you have read 'The Warming Potion Incident' or 'Through the Longest Watches of the Night,' you have some idea of the parties involved.

Severus WILL – sooner or later – get very much and very thoroughly laid. I promise. I just want to make him squirm a little first.

Okay, okay!

I want to make him squirm a LOT.

And since some of you wrote to ask me about middle names:

In my family, having an adult use all of your names signified that one was really in the deepest trouble possible short of damnation.

Summanus – the middle name I chose for Sirius Black – is Etruscan or Sabine in origin. The most likely meaning seems to be 'before morning' - taken from the Latin 'sub' for before and 'manes' for morning. Summanus was the god of nocturnal thunder, the opposite – or perhaps an aspect - of Jupiter who wielded it during the daytime. There was a temple to him near the Circus Maximus in Rome, and on June 20th supplicants would offer cakes to him.

In the late Roman Empire, his cult seems to have fallen from favor. Pliny the Elder claimed that bitches and their litters were sacrificed to him in cruel rites and, by the time of St. Augustine, the cult had faded mostly into obscurity. By the fifth century CE, he was simply a demon lord of hell – along with the other pantheons toppled by the early Christian church.

And, yes, the motorcycle also had a bit to do with it, too! ;)

The middle name I chose for Severus Snape is taken from Nicander of Colophon, who lived from 197 to 130 BCE and was a renowned botanist, pharmacologist, physician and agriculturalist. Born in Clarus, near Colophon, he served as a priest of Apollo in Clarus. He wrote extensively, though very little of his work survives. What little we know of them comes from references to them in later works by others such as Ovid.

Some of his works include –

                                               "On Serpents" (appropriate for a Slytherin, no?)

                                               "Theriaca," which is an extensive poem describing venomous beasts, the  

                                                effects of their poisons and proper remedies. It also mentions 125 different

                                                plant species and makes first mention of the medical use of leeches. 

                                               "Alexipharmaca" is another poem describing poisons in general. In it, there  

                                                 are analyses of 8 animal and 11 vegetable poisons and a listing of 

                                                 appropriate cures.

Rather like the poem from 'Sorceror's/Philosopher's Stone?'

The root meaning of the name is 'victory of (a?) man' from the Greek 'nike' for victory and 'andros' for 'of a man.'

~

Like Cats and Dogs

Chapter 4

~

 The plan worked.

Sirius had decided on a method of keeping Remus from knowing what he was about and put it into action. The plan was quite simple – shag Remus until he was exhausted, happy and stupid, work, shag Remus unconscious, work, and shag Remus again for good measure as you could never be too sure about these things. Repeat as necessary.

It required stamina, persistence, endurance and lots of salve to take the sting out of the rug burns, but it worked admirably well - even if both of them were both walking oddly. Remus slept like a baby and Sirius was bemused to find that one could indeed grin in one's sleep.

The spell of Revelation had shown him Snape's animal nature and Sirius had sized the spell anchor accordingly, sealing within three black hairs. All he'd had to do was wait for a house elf to fetch Snape's laundry and lift them from an old green pullover. It was ridiculously easy!

Lifting the result of his work, Sirius gazed at it with no small amount of pride.

Outwardly a simple bell and collar, it was in fact a fusion of wizard disciplines. The bell was solid silver, melted and poured with one of Snape's hairs inside. The collar was a deep Slytherin green, made of a layer of boomslang skin and two more hairs sandwiched between two layers of graphorn hide. The charms laid into the object were three – a transformation spell in the boomslang skin to put Severus into his animagus form, a Keep-Shape spell in the little silver bell to hold him in that form, and a Wizard's Lock on the graphorn hide to prevent anyone other than the original caster from reversing or breaking the spell.

All Sirius had to do to implement the spell was to touch the collar to bare skin - not that doing so would be easy - Severus had become quite buttoned up. This left Sirius with two options – hands or what neck was available above the high collar of the man's black coat and white shirt. The spell would activate and the collar would lock itself around his neck until such time as Sirius chose to remove it.

Speaking of Severus, there was no sign of the bastard. For the past three days, there had been light under his workroom door, but not so much as a whisper from Whisp. This development was potentially either very good or incredibly bad. Sometimes Severus would get over his mad for reasons indecipherable to sane people, other times this behavior signaled a particularly vicious reprisal. Until that door opened, there was no way to know what the Cauldron-head was brewing.

All the same, Sirius would wait until after the full moon to try out his little trick. Even with the Wolfsbane potion, Remus' transformation was incredibly painful and left him bedridden from pain and exhaustion for a full day afterward. Sirius made sure that Remus ate, took the palliative and nutritive potions that Snape left, and slept as much as possible.

Slipping the collar into a pocket in his robes, Sirius whispered, "Here, kitty-kitty…"

He might have known that Severus would be a cat.

~

With a pair of silver tongs, Severus lifted the finished product out of the cauldron where it had been steeping for three days. He felt a thrill of pride that it had turned out well! The intricately braided collar of boomslang, basilisk and graphorn hide was now a rich crimson with the hardware a gleaming gold. Picking up a pair of gold tags, he hung them from a D-ring on the collar and the spell of Animagum Irretitus was now complete. All he needed to do was to find Sirius in a distracted moment and the fun would begin.

Now, with less than two weeks to go until the new term, he had significantly depleted some of his personal stores. The materials were exotic and rare, and thus expensive as all hell. While his department's budget would not cover his needs, with some judicious bartering Severus was certain he could get the items he needed. Not many people had basilisk skin, scales, bone, crest, and heart to trade, not to mention the dried and powdered flesh. Forget being worth its weight in gold, what he had was easily worth platinum.

Gadget, Widget and MacGuffin would have all of what he required, dealing as they did in the rare and unusual. A former pupil of his took care to send him the Acquisitor's Bulletin, advising him of the going rates for current stock and wanted items. Basilisk parts, it seemed, were commanding heart-stopping rates. A single scale the size of a child's hand commanded more than Severus' yearly salary.

Leaving his workroom, he returned to his office and began his letter. His former student had acted as his agent on previous occasions such as this and he saw no reason to proceed otherwise. Severus had kept a very general eye on this one and had been pleased to note a continuing interest in Potions – while nowhere near Master status, she… his former student was a very competent Journeywoman.

And it was better for all concerned if he kept thinking of this one as exactly that – a student. They were proper with each other, their random correspondence respectful, and their treatment of each other formal verging upon ceremonial. If he desired… well, one should never miss what one never had in the first place. The pretty raven had found the sky and delighted in the winds, it should be enough for him.

But sometimes, late on winter nights, or when the scent of chocolate and oranges caught him unawares, it really wasn't.

Sitting at his desk, he dipped his quill into the ink and began his letter.

To: Miss Emily R. Mayborne, Acq. Sr.

      Gadget, Widget, and MacGuffin, Ltd.

      Diagon Alley       London

From: Professor Severus N. Snape, Master of Potions

           Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

           Hogsmeade

Miss Mayborne,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I have heard of your Investure and offer my sincere congratulations. Perhaps now you will make time for more advanced studies in Potions. Masters Piero Sabatini, Lorenzo Zaldivar and Farah al'Sabah have spoken well of your work in the field. You might consider a paper or two on your research into the shamanic/ecclesiastic origins of Potions and Alchemy. The skimpy coverage of developments in archaeological and historical research published in Potions Quarterly is woefully inadequate – obsessed with the new and flashy as the current editor seems to be.

If it is convenient for you to act once more as my agent, I have sent separately to the London office of your employer a list of various items…

"However, those who had thought to escape the horrific consequences of anti-wizard prejudice in the Isles and on the Continent had their hopes dashed with the advent of the hysterical 'witch hunts' in the 1600s. Though short-lived and now imbued with deservedly negative connotations…"

"Emmy? Sweeting, are you awake?" The woman's voice floated through the maisonette on Vertic Alley with a late summer breeze.

"Yes!" Emily Mayborne was arranged very comfortably on her bed, book in her lap, and a light cooling spell circulating around the large four-poster.

"Though with a specific legal origin in the early 1300s,in many cases the law merely codified local writ. With the consolidation…"

"Letter for you, forwarded from the firm. From him." Artemisia Malfoy entered the room with the aforementioned letter pinched in her fingers as if handling something vile. Seating herself on the edge of the bed, she swept her long platinum hair back and with her nose in the air, handed Emily the letter. "He was awful to you, he's an all-purpose evil bastard and if you're that fascinated with him because of that one night, just fuck him good and long and get it all out of your system."

Emily looked at her in exasperation. The legendary Malfoy possessiveness could sometimes be a bit much. 'Him' could only be Professor Snape, for only that particular person rated the haughty tone of voice followed by a sniff of disdain after the pronoun.

"Thank you, Missy, for your fine insight into my psychosexual motivations in reading letters from a former professor," Emily sat up farther in the bed and gathered her brown curls into her hands, twisting them deftly into a bun at the back of her neck. "I haven't even seen Snape since graduation!"

The slender blonde sniffed again, this time with disapproval, "As may be, Emmy. He's till taking more interest in you than I like. Snape may not be as immediately dangerous as my father, but he's dangerous all the same."

Emily broke the seal on the letter and scanned it. "Unfluff, lovey. He's just writing to congratulate me on Investure, nag at me to sit for my Masters, and ask me to conduct some trade for him. He's hoarding that basilisk, but needs to replace some depleted supplies…"

"And now he's using you as his shopgirl. Write back and tell him to get stuffed – no, wait. I forgot that he might enjoy that…"

"Hush. How else am I going to afford Erumpent horn?" Emily laid aside her book and regarded the silver-eyed woman on the edge of her bed. "Missy Malfoy, if I didn't know better, I'd have to say that you were jealous."

Finely arched eyebrows drew together in a scowl. "I am not. I've never been jealous of any man you've bedded."

"But of one that I haven't?"

"Emmy…"

Emily held up her hand and began ticking off her salient points on her fingers. "First point; what happened in that upper hallway is six years in the past. Second point; he has never shown any interest in pursing it - or me - since then. Third point; I was willing, Missy. It was Snape who had a sudden attack of conscience." A wry smile crossed her face; "The only thing that really frightened me was being so out of control and having him know so much about us – thanks to Peeves' bloody big mouth."

Missy was silent for a moment, then kicked off her slippers and crawled up next to Emily. "Budge up."

Emily complied and Artemisia fit her tall, lean body around Emily's shorter, rounder one, nestling against her like a spoon in a drawer.

"I'm not jealous, sweeting. Well, just a little, maybe. I just know a good bit of who he is – or was. My father associates with a particular kind of individual, and I have often heard him say that Severus Snape is his oldest and truest friend." Missy's arms tightened as if pulling her friend into an armored embrace. "As for my father, you know what everyone suspects, but none can prove. Imperio can't be traced after the caster is dead – very conveniently for him. I just want you with me, Emmy. I always want you with me."

Emily turned in the other woman's embrace, thinking that under the all the arrogance and hauteur, that Malfoys might just be the most emotionally needy people she had ever met. "Look, you Blonde Moment, we've been friends since our first year, lovers for the better part of a decade, partners in everything. What makes you even give a moment's consideration to the thought that I would ever leave you?"

"It's just… sometimes, I wonder if I'm enough, or if I'm keeping you from something… else." Silver eyes were no longer cool, but burning with a need for a true answer. "Your family wants you to…"

"I am not my family, nor are you your family. We're our own selves, Missy, and I love you." Emily kissed her lover's lips and felt the tension drain from her slender body like water from a basin. Grinning against Artemisia's chin, she whispered, "Besides, who else would put up with you, you bloody mad Malfoy?"

"Only a bloody mad Mayborne!" Artemisia shifted, her pale skin sliding Emily's like cool silk. "Do you have to go right now?"

Emily snuggled into Artemisia's embrace and answered the question with a soft, openmouthed kiss.

The pair twined around each other, leisurely in their touching. Even after so long together, Emily was never tired of Missy's mouth – the tender, passionate kisses that merged into her own, the gently moaned words and heated sighs were enough to melt her brain. "Want you, Emmy, want you and love you and need you…"

Emily's Puddlemere United shirt went up, over her head and off, and her knickers got stuck on the shade of her bedside lamp. Missy simply banished her own light robes with a muttered word, impatient as ever to be skin-to-skin. Unhurried explorations became more purposeful and Emily's last coherent thought was that for a woman who had disclaimed all jealousy, Artemisia was doing her best to leave marks. Then her world faded into the taste of Missy's skin, the harmony of pleasure and need. Fingers sought and found, and Emily fell back on the pillows – her back arching as those evil fingers made a gentle 'come here' gesture.

"Like this, sweeting? Like this? Oh, so fucking gorgeous when you're wild for it…" Artemisia ground against her thigh, her voice a low and silken purr. "Imagine him, my darling."

"Wh…?" Emily's body jumped in surprise at a new sensation as well as at the words. "Missy what are… ohh!" She'd never done this before, never. But it was good, so very good, and Emily knew she'd be so sore and that soft purring voice was saying such wicked things against her ear, her cheek, her mouth, her neck…

"Imagine him watching, wanting – I want him to want, want him to fucking ache for you and want him to know that you are mine, mine, mine and he's never going to have you the way that I will and the way that you take me and I take you and I want him to bloody burn for it…"

"Missy, oh fuuuuck!" The surges of pleasure merged into one massive peak of ecstasy - almost painful in its intensity as it rocked Emily's body like an earthquake. Dimly, Emily felt her lover convulse in her embrace, sinking her fingernails into the flesh of Emily's thigh, muffling her own cries in Emily's neck.

Some long, golden-hazed time later, Emily opened her eyes and heaved a long sigh of contentment. Every muscle in her body was so lushly relaxed that it felt like cotton fiber. Missy lay in her arms, as boneless as a cat in a sunbeam, a smile curving her lips.

"You, my Missy my own, are bloody twisted," Emily tried to scold, but the words came out in a languid drawl, "Not to mention evil, perverse, degenerate, decadent…"

"I'm a Malfoy. Debauchery and licentiousness are genetic, like the hair." Artemisia opened one grey eye and regarded her lover. "What's your excuse, dear one?"

"Innocence corrupted." Emily blocked the pillow that Artemisia threw at her, rolled out of bed and walked into the bathroom. "I'm going to shower and go to the offices. Do you want anything while I'm out?"

"No, I'll pick up a curry later." Missy stretched and yawned, "If you're going to go play shopgirl for Snape, see if you can't deliver the stuff to him and give him a good screw – lord knows the buttoned-up bastard could use the relief, and so could his students."

The shower activated at a casual flip of Emily's hand. "You know, for someone who keeps warning me off the man, you seem awfully keen to slide me right under him."

The flow of water muted Missy's response to something along the lines of, "He'll know whose you are, now." Emily dismissed it as typical Malfoy ellipsis and stepped into the shower. The cool water and a bergamot-scented soap cleared the fog from her mind, leaving only the lush relaxation – and five crescent shaped bruises on her thigh, a souvenir from Missy's own ride on the whirlwind.

It would appear that Emily was marked indeed. Well, Snape would surely know who those were from – if he ever got a look at her thigh. Which, considering his so-very-proper demeanor toward her, was most unlikely.  Silly Missy! Jealous over a hypothetical!

Emily was still chuckling over the other woman's idiosyncrasies as she wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and stepped up to the basin to brush her teeth. The laughter cut off as Emily pushed her long hair aside and stared at her neck - where a rosy-red love bite the size of a Sickle stood out on the pale flesh.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy!"

~

To: Professor S.N. Snape, Master of Potions

      Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

      Hogsmeade

From: Emily R. Mayborne, Acquisitor Senior

           Gadget, Widget and MacGuffin, Ltd.

           London

Professor Snape,

Thank you, sir, for your good wishes and I hope that this note finds all well with you.

I am pleased that such highly respected Masters have viewed my work with such favour and hope to continue pursuit of my studies in the future. However, there is an expedition leaving this spring for the ruins and ossuary caverns of a newly uncovered site in Honduras. Initial reports indicate masses of artifacts intact along with significant writings. The cursebreakers will have their hands full, and we are going to contract with Gringotts for an extra team just to handle the burial sites. I shall, of course, apprise you of any interesting developments.

The items that you require are mostly in stock, and the firm is more than pleased to permit me to handle your trades. The market for basilisk is staggeringly high, especially as the wizards at St. Mungo's continue to need more for medical research. Please find attached your invoices, and review at your convenience – though I believe that you will find the terms are acceptable.

The Erumpent horn and fluids, and the Diricawl feathers are being held in Customs, but I will have them as soon as they are released. There is a shortage of qualified couriers, as it appears every wizard and witch in Britain seems to have something they need right this minute, but I will see these items off to you with all possible haste.

Once again, thank you for your good wishes and I remain…

Sincerely,

Emily Mayborne    

~

The moon came to full and slowly began to wane again. Remus knew this as he became aware of carpet underneath his naked body and of fiery pain in his bones. The last memory of the night had been of him and Sirius sniffing around the dungeons. With the Wolfsbane potion in his blood, he had command of his faculties and was not a danger to anyone they might meet - though the urge to throw a good scare into Severus was always a temptation.

He hadn't been able to make head or tail of the scents down in the dungeons, though. Remus had always been hopeless at Potions and the majority of the smells were just confusing. The scent of Severus overlaid them all, though, and damned if Remus could make head or tail of that, either. The man was so full of conflicting emotions and drives that it was amazing he didn't split himself asunder.

A blanket fell onto his body and Sirius lifted him with a slight grunt for the effort. "C'mon, Moony, time for a cup and then into bed. You'll feel better when you wake."

Remus wanted to tell Sirius that the only way he could feel worse was if he were about to die, but all that came out was a throaty hum.

The bed was soft, like sinking into a cloud, and the sheets were blessedly cool against Remus' fevered skin. The transformation from man to wolf was nothing compared to that of wolf to man – it left him weak, in pain and burning with fever as his body went through the massive changes to bone, sinew and musclature. Before the Wolfsbane potion, Remus would be so debilitated and depressed after regaining human shape, that he often considered suicide. Even after he left Hogwarts, the pain of enduring transformation after transformation alone nearly drove him mad.

If it had not been for Severus' damn owl showing up with his potions, Remus thought he might actually have done it. But Polaris came as predictably as the moon changed phase and Remus had the sneaking feeling that if the owl returned with her burden, her wizard would appear on his doorstep like a human Howler.

Hell, even if Remus had killed himself, Severus would probably make use of Necromancy just to give Remus one of his infamously scalding rants. The man did not like to be balked.

A cup was pressed to his lips and Remus caught the mineral scent of the nutrient potion. Sirius had taken to giving him this one first because it tasted bloody awful and the pain potion often put him out before he could finish it. The second cup came to his aid, washing away the rock-taste with the taste of green things and fizziness on his tongue. In minutes the fiery ache in his bones was quenched and Remus felt the relief flow out from his marrow.

Now the feeling of being wrapped in a cloud was even more accentuated. Embraced by silvery-white light, Remus fell into a dreamless, painless sleep as one final thought bubbled through his consciousness. 

Oh, Severus, you're an angel. A fallen with his pitchfork square up his arse, but an angel nonetheless.

~

The lines of pain smoothed out of Remus' face as Snape's potion took quick effect and for a time, Sirius just lay on the bed next to him. The smaller man's body was covered with scars – old, white and numerous that etched his arms, legs and torso. Before Wolfsbane, Remus had torn his own flesh in uncontrolled bloodlust – the feared wolf-self inflicting pain upon the loathed human-self. Sirius had kissed every one of those scars, traced them with his fingers and tongue - knowing that for all the damage one could see there was ten times more below the skin.

When Remus' breathing altered into the rhythm of deep sleep, Sirius kissed him chastely on the forehead, feeling the residual heat of the transformation fever. "Love you, Remus. Sleep well."

Sirius prowled their rooms, tired, but restless. The night had been interesting as he and Remus roamed the school and grounds, but things were bothering him – like having fleas in the back of his mind. It was not his usual set of worries – Harry was being watched over by half the Order, while Voldemort was quietly reassembling his Death Eaters right under the Ministry's nose. With the quiet fatalism of the dog, Sirius knew what would come would come.

This was something else.

Perhaps it was just the logical consequence of being in the custody of the dementors for so long and then being the wizarding world's most wanted fugitive. There was very little room to feel in those circumstances. Anxiety, wariness, despair, fear, hate, even something positive like love or concern could be tainted by such stressors. Until Sirius had arrived at Lupin's small cottage he had been wandering in a blank haze that was lifted only when he was in the most extreme of circumstances.

When he had arrived, it was just in time to pick a freshly-transformed Lupin up off the floor and stuff him into bed. Some transformations were worse than others and Lupin's degree of debility often depended on his state of mind before the full moon. Considering his friend's condition when he had found him – it must have been a very depressing time.

Sirius had been relived to note that there was no fresh blood, and upon entering the kitchen had discovered why. Snape had sent Wolfbane, and apparently had been doing so for some time. Considering the greasy git's complicity in Remus' current circumstances it was nearly enough to make Sirius foam at the mouth.

Remus, however, would not hear a word against the bastard. "He doesn't have to do it, Padfoot. Severus does what Severus does for reasons known only to Severus. I just leave it at that. I think that anything else that involves either of us is just too painful for him."

So Sirius clenched his jaw, poured the potions that helped Remus despite his own loathing of the man who made them, and kept what he thought carefully behind his teeth.

Part of Sirius was humiliated that Whisp had such a power over him. That the bastard could make him hate, or make him angry or even that Sirius thought of him at all. Dumbledore was right, both of them had to rise above their schoolboy feud - it was for their own good they had to let it go.

But Sirius wanted one last shot. One that Snape would remember for the rest of his life and one that Sirius could cherish. He wanted Snape miserable, he wanted to see Snape miserable and for the insufferable git to know that he Sirius had caused it. He wanted Snape to just fucking well WRITHE.

And if he was going to do it, he was running out of time to do it in; the start of school was a week away and Sirius did not want to waste all the effort he had put into his little project. Slipping his hand into the pocket of his robe, Sirius felt the tingle of magic from the collar and bell.

That tingle decided him and got him out the door and down the hallway, stalking quietly and eyes peeled for Snape.

~

TBC