Chapter V, forming the third part
Werewolves traditionally didn't have much to occupy their time. They were almost unemployable and as such Remus thought he had pondered all of life's inpenetrables, how they got the covering on maltesers so smooth, where all those odd socks went (bloody house elves), and how many archaeologists carried guns, but this was a new one for him. He had of course thought about Sirius returning and possessing a body, but Snape wouldn't top anyone's bodies to possess list, despite having a down right sexy walk. Even as a heterosexual male wolf Lupin could appreciate this.
No, Sirius would choose someone very blonde, very rich and very dirty. Malfoy, in fact. He also hoped that Sirius would come to him first, he'd gladly share his body with his beloved friend if only he would ask. He dismissed his suspicions as flights of fancy. Just because Severus appeared to know about pomegranates didn't mean anything, hell he could be shacked up with Peter Pettigrew. Now that was a thought that no one should dwell on, and it almost caused Remus to lose his breakfast all over the dungeon floors.
//Although// he thought to himself, //it might improve the smell down here. What exactly was Snape brewing to make the corridor smell so bad?// and then it hit him. The corridor had the aroma of rotting flesh. If any one should have recognised it sooner it was Lupin, but he was, to be fair, a pretty tame werewolf. (in both senses of the word. Fwahfwahfwah) His first thought had been that the Hufflepuff badger was around, but he remembered that Hagrid always scrubbed off the emotionally scarred creature in the holidays. It wasn't strictly part of Hagrid's job, since badgers are not traditionally magical, but there's only a certain amount of magical waste that you can 'help clean up' before some of it leaks in. The badger was now able to camouflage itself in a chameleon like fashion, but the teachers remained one step ahead in the magical powers thing, so cast infra red vision spells when they needed to find it. It actually helped them, since there was no chance Professor Sprout would find it accidentally.
But I digress. Remus focused his thoughts onto Kilroy and Trisha* – separately was bad enough, but together they were more than enough to transform him into a wolf. Following his nose, he trotted through the castle. The smell had spread throughout since scurrying house elves, walking teachers and the sinuous gliding of Severus Snape (damn that man can walk) had disturbed the air currents. This made little difference to a wolf, and Remus was relatively sure that even if he was blindfolded with a spoon shoved up one nostril and a chilli inserted into his… ear he would still have been able to follow it. It led to the store rooms. House elves scuttled out of his way, they might have been bound to his service, but they weren't stupid enough to ask if he fancied a snack (well Dobby was, but he was off worshipping at his Harry Potter shrine, and there was Sappy, but that little elf was nowhere to be seen either).
He leisurely returned his thoughts to less horrific avenues and where a wolf had been seconds before, there stood a man. He was aware that he was standing in a corridor rather near to Snape's office and he was naked. "Robes" he yelled, but several house elves had anticipated his orders and presented him with a rather tasteless but nevertheless functional (i.e. they covered everything he didn't want the world to see) set of purple robes. //Great. Now I look like an egg plant//.
The smell was overwhelming now. It invaded his mind, soaked his pores and chilled his blood. He longed for the taste of meat in his mouth, blood lust threatening to overwhelm him. "Nasalis bungupus" he cried, and the smell was gone. It muted the cry for hot, yielding flesh, but did not completely slake his lust. He slowly, with a feeling of entirely explainable dread opened the door.
*******
At first he could see nothing at all – just a vast sea of orange. For a moment he was puzzled thinking that this was where they had imprisoned all the misguided Chudley Cannons fans once they came of age, rather than release them on society at large. But then common sense kicked in and as none of them appeared to be singing (although it was possible he just couldn't hear them over their robes) or moving, or indeed breathing, he surmised that they were in fact pumpkins. It's very easy to get a pumpkin and person mixed up – have you all missed the point of Halloween entirely?
This said, Remus was still somewhat confused, and not able to see how an expansive mass of pumpkins could generate that bad a smell. Slowly as his eyes adapted and the orange glare was dimmed down a bit he began to make out the spaces between the pumpkins, which more often that not showed another pumpkin beneath, and occasionally even a patch of stone floor. Which is why a furry foot sticking out at an odd angle looked quite as incongruous as it did. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the worst, Remus moved in and rolled aside the covering pumpkins to reveal the somewhat flat body of a house elf. The identity tag around its neck named it as Sappy.
Now Remus, being too proud and lofty in his manner as to indulge in gossip and tittle-tattle had not yet heard the story of the dungeon flood, although the new tide-marks on some of the walls had given him pause for thought. So he had no immediate thoughts as to why an elf should have seemingly tried to pull every bit of fur it possessed off its own body; whereas we the reader know it was because he had picked up some of the debris from the aforementioned plug hole and could not disentangle it from the mattes of his own fur.
And although we will never now know for sure, it seems that at some point during this violent expilation, some event occurred that caused it to lose the will to live the dreary life of servitude appointed to it. We suspect it could have been the other elves banging on the door with an oddly shaped loofa and inquiring if Sappy wanted to have it back, but as I said we shall never know. All that we do now know is that Sappy is no more, that his rotting carcass and the vile and infected hair of Severus had some how contrived to begin a plague on the Hogwart's pumpkins, the like of which shall never be seen in any age hence forth and had never been seen in any of the ages past. We also now know the exact cross-sectional area of a house-elf, but that's probably beside the point.
Point? What point? I hear you cry. Well, you may be right, but remember who has the pomegranates in this relationship.
As Remus stood in said store room and contemplated what was to be done, and what could have driven a poor creature to such a grisly fate, two figures approached down a corridor and as they passed yelled "Remus, get out of that closet. Hiding in there does you no good at all!"
And sharing a conspiratorial grin, Dumbledore and McGonagall passed on down the corridor to confront the potions master in what was sure to be another epic battle over Potter. This time, they had decided, he can trash his own classroom.
******
However, you and I, gentle reader know that the Snape who trashed the staff room in 1991 was very different to the Snape we have come to know and well, let's leave it at that. For starters, he now had two houses (he had bought the little gite in France only six months ago) and both were cursed, but a course of antibiotics and a dab or two of calamine lotion from Sappy (RIP) had soon cleared that rather embarrassing problem up. That didn't mean he wasn't a grumpy twisted little bugger.
"Severus, can we have a word?" asked Albus.
Biting back the insouciance reply that had been partly the cause of the Malfoy incident (mental shudder) Snape replied in a calmer voice than he felt "Of course Albus, come in"
//Oh no, they've found the elf. Or the loofa.//.
When he had calmed down enough to actually let them in he offered them a seat. The sadist in him (Severus) persuaded him that if they were going to take up his valuable 'what the hell do I tell Harry' pondering time they shouldn't be comfy at the same time. With this in mind he offered to them the detention chairs he ordered from a little shop on Knockturn Alley. The chairs were bewitched to prevent the occupant from staying longer than they were welcome and worked on a similar principle to the Dark Mark (which is where Snape got the idea from). The chair caused the occupant mild irritation, moving on to unpleasant boils and finally ruptured boils.
Dumbledore looked up and got down to business with no preamble, "It's Harry", which shocked our potions master enough that he fell off his chair in an undignified heap. That the subject of this little talk was Harry could mean only one thing. They knew.
"Yes?" they said with a strained voice "what has Mr Potter done this time?"
//Please let him have done something idiotic before he's got back to school// "Hey, leave him alone!" //Oh so you want to be found out?// "please let him have done something idiotic before he's got back to school."
"We know that you don't usually take anyone with lower than an O in potions in your NEWTS classes, but quite frankly we want you to make an exception. The only magical career that Harry has any chance of being any good at is becoming an Auror, and if he doesn't, we feel there's only evil left as a viable alternative. And, since we all know he's the only one who can kill Voldie, we'd like a force for good."
This said, the Professors looked hopefully at Snape who was grinning like a student who's been told that jobs are actually just an invention of grown ups to scare you into doing some work, and everyone really spends their lives writing random stories…
"I'm sure that won't be a problem Albus, and if he needs extra tuition I'm sure I can find him a window"
"That's very kind of you Severus" said McGonagall suspiciously. "Are you sure??"
"Minerva, you've just gifted me with two more years worth of Potter. I can finish the orphan baiting course I began five years ago" He sighed with relief. Not only was he a stunning actor, and Sirius was whooping with joy that he got to spend time with Harry, but he really could finish baiting the scruffy little orphan and his ridiculous friends.
Harry Potter did nothing alone, wherever he went the pink-hoodied (at least her hair was black not blond) one and the ginger went with him. Then a solution to his current dilemma hit him.
//Granger, I could kiss you if you weren't a student in my care, obsessed with that boat and a Gryffindor. The black hair is in your favour though//
Looking puzzled, but pleased that nothing had been broken, Dumbledore and McGonagall took their leave, holding their noses as they walked past the kitchen store rooms.
*******
Joy of joys. His first lesson was potions with the sixth years. He caught his reflection in the mirror and saw a genuine smile for the first time he could remember. Amazing what spending time with Gryffindors does for you. He quickly replaced it with his trademark scowl and swept up to the Great Hall. The students had arrived and the feast was about to begin.
********
"Pomegranate juice? Where's the pumpkin?"
"Honestly Ron, don't you read? There's been a pumpkin blight. There aren't any pumpkins left in the whole of the school. Who knows what they'll do for Halloween, maybe carved pomegranates"
"Hermione, you are so weird"
********
Potions was first thing on Mondays for Harry and co. The select few Gryffindors that had made it to this gruelling stage and still had the fortitude to go on (Hermione, Harry, Padma and Dean) were still paired with the Slytherin class (being Malfoy, Parkinson and Zabini) for their potions lessons. The one Hufflepuff that had achieved the necessary grades and had the desire to continue with potions newt, Hannah Abbot had also been put in this class. All the Ravenclaws had achieved either an E or and O in their OWLs and so the majority of them had decided to continue with the subject, making this the most sensible division to be had. It also, coincidentally, has the most comedic potential.
All this was made bearable to Harry only by the fact that he could still be an Auror. His vitriolic hate of Snape had not lessened, but he had learned a cold façade was easy to project. The first time Snape called the register, the emptiness in Harry's voice forced Sirius to stifle a sob. It seemed Dumbledore had been right about the turning to the dark side potential resident in Harry. Cohabiting with Sirius had led to Severus feeling genuinely fond of the little twerp, in a rather odd, definitely heterosexual but probably slightly unhealthy way.
The lesson progressed with less explosions than Snape had come to expect from this class, but since this was the cream of the crop (and Harry who was being ably assisted by Hermione) it wasn't all that unusual. However mix a Slytherin with a Gryffindor and leave to simmer for just short of two hours and there's bound to be an explosion at some point. With the rest of the class having been proved to be somewhat intelligent, diligent and …did I mention intelligent, it should therefore be of no surprise to anyone that the initial spark came from Harry Potter.
On sampling of the potions, Harry's turned out to be someone thicker and more glutinous than those around him. It was however the right colour, which counts for something, and shows I don't think he's a cretin. However, everyone else had potions of a water-like consistency and there were some smirks coming from the Slytherins towards the Boy Who Lived to Botch Potions. Which is not a wise thing to do when said boy has a temper, and short fuse, and ample supplies of green goo. Go figure.
And if you can't, or just for the gratuitous pleasure of it, I'll tell you that ere the end of this slinging and slanging match Malfoy ended up with green streaks in his hair, which is as we all know what happens when you use too much peroxide on your hair, and gave a strangely fitting green and silvery-blond effect. There was also some smeared down Harry's glasses, and a streak on Padma's leg that disappeared up her skirt. Once again, don't ask, and then you won't have the urge to gouge your eyes out with spoons.
Once the new and (improved?) hybrid Snape had figured out that he was supposed to be in charge and stopping this kind of thing happening, if nothing else, for the Hufflepuff's sake, he then proceeded to discover the power of his voice. Deep and menacing, silky and sinister, quiet yet authoritative, very RP but venomous…Sorry got a bit carried away there. We've already gone a bit about his walk. Now we've established he can also talk. Walk and talk. Why don't we call him Ken and have done with it?
Anyway, once this transformation had come to pass, it was short work to quieten down the rabble and get things tidied up. Isn't magic handy? Once the students were all back in their seats, suitably chastened, he began the process of punishment. Thinking longingly of the whips in his office….no, not going there.
"Mr Potter, see me after this class." He purred. "Mr Malfoy, tell me, if I take away all of Gryffindor's points (there was a collective gasp) is there any chance they can win?"
"No sir, we've got a good lead."
"Very well then, 1000 points to Gryffindor."
A shocked silence accompanied this declaration. Then there were quite a few "But…" moments. (Not that kind.)
Snape felt the urge to clarify, or rather Sirius egged him on to it. "I like a challenge."
Which was too much for many of the assembled students. One and all they fainted, some falling forwards into their cauldrons and catching fire, and some falling backwards into the swirling mix of spilt ingredients. Mayhem ensued, with flapping and flaming students rushing around and two unfortunate ones being transformed into a badger and a giant spoon. (we suspect the badger was the Hufflepuff.)
Several quick extinguishing charms dealt with most of the carnage, but the badger escaped with alacrity, possibly something to do with the spoon poking it. I know it's traditional to poke a badger with a big stick, but in some cases a giant spoon does just as well. Knowing the alarming fate awaiting any loose badger and not wanting the student body to learn their dirty secret Snape chased the badger, but ended up locked in mortal combat with a giant spoon.
When he had finally cleared up the disaster area caused by his moment of flippancy (let that be a warning he thought, but it was already to late for us. Or me?) he returned to the classroom to discover that the remainder of his students had been stretchered to the hospital wing, or found a shred of independent thought, tidied up (again) and left. Only Harry Potter was tarrying, perched on the edge of his desk.
"What did you want?" Harry demanded with a total lack of respect.
Snape drew a breath and searched for the words. Then he answered quietly "I just wanted to tell you I was sorry about Black. I may not have liked the man, but his heart was in the right place"
This shot from left field stunned Harry enough that his barely restrained anger exploded "HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME ABOUT SIRIUS! HE DIED BECAUSE OF YOU. YOU DIDN'T LISTEN WHEN I TOLD YOU WHAT I SAW. YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED HIM" and in a quieter voice "You could have stopped me"
"Harry, believe me, I did everything I could. You think you're the only one haunted by that night? The only one who dreams it over and over again replaying my actions to see what I could have done differently? I am so sorry."
As he said the words Sirius placed in his mouth, Severus found himself meaning it. Which made Harry's rejection all the more painful.
"You're sick. You always hated him and you always hated me. You made the last year of his life miserable, and even if you mean it, you can never turn back time. I don't want to know. I'm in this class because I have to be. Not because I want to."
With that, Harry stormed out of the door, his mind a flurry of emotions.
*******
Snape sat quietly in his office for a while after Harry had left. The thought that if he had flounced any more on his way out, his head would have fallen off (and wasn't flouncing a girl-thing anyway) had been reasonably quickly suppressed. Both Severus and Sirius had been deeply affected by Harry's response – Sirius was naturally distraught, but Severus from his more detached standpoint could see that Harry was rapidly coming apart at the seams. The succession of death, destruction and otherwise over-dramatised events rarely seen outside a Hollywood script seemed to be getting him down.
*Unlike a true hero who would have been able to grin and bear it, according to Hollywood – oh, hang on a minute, so it's Muggles to blame for Harry's inability to ask for help – that figures*
//Some people never change.//
Rather than being able to believe in himself and his abilities, he was beginning to withdraw and not care. From an entirely logical point of view Harry needed something – or someone – to guide him back on to the path that the fridge-magnet plagiariser Dumbledore had determined he should walk.
Unfortunately all this sage, if somewhat cynical (the coffee-revel loving half, I assure you) reasoning was being cobbled together with Sirius' somewhat gung-ho perspective on who should be that guide (i.e. Sirius himself, despite the whole being dead problem and sharing the body of someone Harry hated thing) and looked like resulting in a mad time-travelling plan to save Sirius' body, because there was nothing in this world or the next that could save his mind… Severus was putting up a valiant defence against all this hare-brained scheming, right up to the moment when he was well and truly distracted.
Hence you can blame the said distraction and interrupter for all of the coming-plot line. Not us, oh no, never us. So this is how it went:
Enter stage left, Draco, through the potion classroom door, just strolling in with stereotyped Malfoy arrogance. Someone should really teach them manners, they'll never graduate from side-kick to maniacal tyrants with a view to ruling the world and all inhabitants to ruler of aforementioned world and hapless inhabitants without learning some social skills. Charm is an essential, if underrated, factor in world domination. As are inexhaustible supplies of revels, chocolate variety or midget-staffed, take your pick.
But I digress. Well, what's new?
So, Draco had just strolled into the potions classroom and it was obvious to Severus that he had an agenda. He was here because he wanted something. The sly look on his face said it all – just like his father when he had wanted to know how to program the VCR. Severus hoped it was going to be of that variety of request rather than the 'I've twiddled your knobs, so how about you do mine' kind.
//Hey// snapped Sirius. //I never said that.//
*Yeah but you thought it. I heard you.*
"Mr Malfoy, would you care to tell me why you are here rather than just smirking like an idiot."
//Sorry, couldn't resist adding that in. Malfoy baiting is such fun. They should make it a licensed sport.//
"Well, sir," Malfoy drawled, putting an unpleasant emphasis on the sir bit, "I find that I have a bit of a problem and I was wondering if I could get you to help me deal with it."
Both Severus and Sirius agreed at this point that simply raising an eyebrow would suffice as a response to this somewhat ambiguous statement.
Malfoy too agreed, it seemed, as he continued, "You recall that when I walked in on you and my father at an…err…inopportune moment, I asked my father whether he had asked you about a potions book?"
A somewhat embarrassed nod greeted this. "Well the book I was referring to was a somewhat hard to find one. One containing all the answers to the end of year exam questions for potions."
A heavy silence hung in the air.
"I beg your pardon, Mr Malfoy. It appears you just asked me to help you cheat."
"Yes, it appears I did. My father explained that you little….ménage….was the result of a downturn in the fortunes of the Snape family. The stock market is a tricky investment at the best of times. Fortunately gold never looses its value, and gold is something the Malfoy family has plenty of."
"You are being somewhat…indiscrete, Mr Malfoy," Snape replied, trying to process the fact that Draco seemed to believe that he was some kind of common prostitute in enough need of money too…..eugh! He resisted the urge to cast another teeth-cleaning spell.
"I'm not the only one who's been so, sir." The smirk had reappeared full force.
Snape pause, for dramatic effect only, as he knew exactly what he was going to say, and also to remind Sirius that this was all his fault.
"Are you suggesting that I sacrifice my academic principle for money, Mr Malfoy?"
"Well, yes. You've already sacrificed your personal ones for it – although that would have been obvious to anyone who took a good look at you. And this way is far easier…much less sweaty."
He was going to murder the little….right here, he didn't care, but Draco it seemed was not done yet, "And I'd hate for Dumbledore and the rest of the staff to hear what you thought about the pay around here."
He let the threat hang. Severus tried not to smirk himself, and attempted to look pained as he waited and then asked,
"How much are you offering?"
"50 Galleons."
"Nothing less than 150."
"100."
"Okay."
Draco looked momentarily puzzled at the easy acquiescence, but did not figure out that he had been had. Like the majority of the people in this story, he wasn't all that bright. Huh? What do you mean I've got a superiority complex. "I'll give them to you when they are written, you can pay up half now, half then."
Dumping his 50 galleons on the table, Draco left, feeling pretty good about himself.
//I can't believe it. You just sold out to him.//
*No, I played him. I'll give him the answers to last year's exam.*
//But…surely…//
*That the question were from the forthcoming exam was not specified in the terms of our agreement. And anyway, he's blackmailing me, who's he going to complain to?*
//But he might tell everyone about us and Lucius!//
*But by then he'll have failed potions and it'll just be sour grapes. And I'll have a 100 galleons worth to spend on DVDs, hide in France and ride out the storm with.*
//That's so very…Slytherin.//
*You say it like it's a bad thing.*
*****
"We can't bear to see him like that. Want to do it tonight?" asked Sirius, suddenly formulating a brilliant and cunning plan to improve everyone's lives immensely. Which shows our faith in him was entirely justified. In the end, blood will out.
//That's not something I ever thought I'd hear from you Sirius// Severus smirked. (A/N It shows what spending an inordinate amount of time with a Gryffindor will do to you. They might be brave and all that, but they are filthy minded. Not as explicitly filthy as Slytherins, but nonetheless, they make valuable smut assistance. Would you believe our pet Gryffindor neighbour claims some credit for the pomegranate joke?)
********
"One thousand eight hundred and ninety seven turns, one thousand eight hundred and ninety eight turns, one thousand eight hundred and ninety nine turns, one thousand nine hundred turns!"
They felt a slightly uncomfortable pulling sensation (nothing as horrible as the Malfoy incident mind) and then they found themselves in the basement of Grimauld Place . Which was when they hit a flaw. When should they interfere? They decided to wait until later to do something. i.e. they put off deciding until a later date. A typical Slytherin responsibility avoidance strategy. The Gryffindor may well be beyond redemption.
********
The Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries. You all know when. Let's get to the action. We're up to the arrival of Dumbledore…
Only one pair was still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: he was laughing at her.
'Come on, you can do better than that!' he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.
The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.
The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.
Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore, too, turned to the dais.
It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards towards the veil and disappeared.
Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his god-father's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell. The veil fluttered for a moment, as though in a high wind, then fell back into place. There was a flash of light, but Sirius did not reappear.
'SIRIUS!' Harry yelled. 'SIRIUS!'
'There's nothing you can do, Harry…nothing…he's gone'
********
"Where the hell are they? They're not very good heroes. Even Potter does marginally better." I hear you cry. Fear not dear hearts, all will become clear(er)
********
To Sirius, watching himself get cursed was an odd feeling. Doing so from behind the silvery haze of an invisibility cloak was even worse.
As he (I?) fell, Snape's fingers crossed, (not legs, so there's still hope for all you slashers) and they used the impeccable hand to eye coordination that allowed Snape's graceful posture to catch the falling body, pull it under the cloak and begin to deal with Bellatrix's curse.
Now, obviously it wasn't a killing curse (red light not green), but that doesn't mean Sirius couldn't die from it. Luckily, Snape knew a thing or two about potions, and within a few seconds Sirius was while not exactly on top of the world, at least not going to die on the dais. As he leant forward over the prone body of his patient, Snape realised there was something he needed to do.
He lowered his head closer to Sirius and whispered the final words of a dispossession spell he'd (conveniently) somehow forgotten until this moment that he knew. Sirius felt himself flung into his own body and a flash of light strong enough to overcome the wards woven into the invisibility cloak accompanied his into-body experience. He felt his eyes snap open and looked into the deep, dark eyes he'd come to know so well. He reached up a hand and gently caressed the cheek of Severus Snape, wiping away the salty tears falling onto his face. He realised that he too was crying, and it wasn't entirely because he was a big wuss and had been hexed good and proper. The intimate connection that they had shared ever since he had entered Severus for the first time was gone, and they both felt it. For a moment they stared at one another, their eyes locked. Then Severus licked his suddenly dry lips and leaned down to Sirius.
To whisper in his ear. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Ummm…" replied Sirius, again now whole and basically in control of his now never-dead body, "If you're thing 'who's afraid of the napkins of death?' then yes."
"Right" replied Severus. "I know that painkiller I gave you was pretty strong, but trust a Gryffindor to ruin a sensitive moment. Those damn sadistic authors almost had us there. On seconds thoughts, nice work!"
Sirius replied somewhat dreamily, "Yeah, but the badgers had it coming." Then he paused. "I can hear banging upstairs…let me rephrase…thudding. Everyone seems to have left. Can you… take me….home now?"
His words were disjointed and his pupils dilated (that'd be the opiates) but we know he meant it that way. It was lucky Severus said no.
Instead, he spirited him away to the gite in the south of France, which may or may not have love-nest potential. It certainly has the ability to inspire and embarrassing rash.
Once there, they temporarily passed out on the bed and slept. However, for dramatic purposes, it wasn't so temporarily and the strain had caught up with them and they slept for two weeks.
Don't scoff. I'm a student remember. This has been done.
* Chat show host of inane daytime TV. No offence.
References
POTC Star Wars Very secret diaries still by Cassandra Claire We took rather a chunk of the end from Order of the Phoenix. If you didn't notice – FOR SHAME! Monty Python and the Holy Grail SG-1