Muttering under his breath as he stalked downstairs, Severus was halfway to the landing between the first and second floor when he met Remus coming up the stairs.

"Where are the children?" he asked, and Severus rewarded him with a particularly vituperative glower.

"Immobilizing Billywigs in the study," he replied shortly.

Lupin frowned slightly. "I thought you were…"

"I was," Severus replied. "But unfortunately, I do not have your gift for entertaining their foolishness."

Lupin nodded thoughtfully, and looked so casual about leaning against the wall that Severus could have almost believed that it was coincidence that he was blocking the way down the stairs. Almost. Had it been anyone but Lupin. "You have a remarkable talent for making even a compliment sound like an insult," he commented idly. "What happened?"

Severus' eyes narrowed. "Why is it that suddenly everyone is so interested in what happens to me?" he asked suspiciously, then continued in a softer voice, more to himself than to Remus, "None of you ever gave a damn before today."

Lupin shrugged slightly, his thin shoulders making his tattered robes swish. "Perhaps because today, for the first time in memory, you reminded us all that you are human under all those prickles."

He snorted softly. "And what did you think I was?" he asked. "A vampire? Half the students think that, preposterous though it may be, but I would have given you a bit more credit than that."

"No," Remus replied, "but cruel and heartless might cover it. You've never given anyone any reason to like you, Severus, so don't act offended because no one does."

Severus' eyes narrowed, glittering dangerously in the dim light. "Let me pass."

"No."

"What?" For a moment, Severus was so shocked that his voice held a note of incredulity. "Don't be an idiot, Lupin. Let me by. I have things to do."

"You're not going anywhere until I've had my say. For once in your life, acknowledge that someone else might know what he's talking about."

Like the strike of lightning, Severus whipped out his wand and held it to Remus' head. "Get out of my way," he hissed.

Lupin merely blinked at him. "Or what? You'll kill me? Your quarrel was never with me. You'll hex me into the hereafter? Oh, I've no doubt you could, but you won't. Not here. Not over something so trivial as this. You won't even shove me out of the way, will you? Because I might fall down the stairs then, and you don't want that on your conscience."

"I have worse things on my conscience," Severus murmured. "Believe me that I wouldn't notice one more."

Lupin shrugged. "Possibly not, but you'd notice if you harmed one of the few who is on you side. You're not as merciless as you want everyone to think you are."

For a long moment, Severus stared down at Remus, who stared unblinkingly back up at him. His wand did not waver an inch in either direction, and his face was blank as any mask, though the glinting in his eyes should have cowered anyone who didn't have a good reason to be facing him. "Fine," Severus said at last, pocketing his wand as deftly as he'd pulled it out. "Talk if you're going to."

Remus glanced around, and then pointed up the stairs. "Third door on the left," he said.

For a moment, Severus considered telling the werewolf to shove it, but the sound of a door opening upstairs changed his mind and he turned back up to the second floor. He opened the third door on the left, wondering idly what was behind it, but not bothering to speculate since it was his destination. It turned out to be a fairly ordinary, if rather small, bedroom, cramped with a too-large bed and dresser and a pair of armchairs that would have filled the room without another thing in it. He stood just inside the door and waited for Lupin to begin talking. Instead of speaking, though, Remus seated himself in one of the chairs. "Have a seat, Severus," he invited.

"I believe I'll stand," Severus replied coolly.

Remus smiled good-naturedly and nodded, and Severus thought he caught something half-muttered from the other man, but he could not hear the comment, which was probably just as well. Remus took a deep breath and then looked in his direction. "I guess I didn't make myself clear, Severus," he said, his voice still holding the good-natured tone it always did. "You're going to be in here for a bit, so sit down."

Severus glared at Lupin, who glared right back. After a moment of wordless, actionless confrontation, Lupin growled softly. "For the love of Merlin's beard, will you put your ass in that chair?"

His mouth twitching into a sneer, Severus counted the little outburst as a win for himself, and then, with all the dignity of a man who had decided sitting was more desireable than standing, Severus walked to the chair and settled himself in it. "Shall I conjure tea and crumpets for us, now?" he asked mockingly. If Lupin heard the question, he didn't acknowledge it, and for a long moment, silence settled between them, leaving the potions master to shift uncomfortably after a minute. "What do you want from me, Lupin?" he asked finally.

Remus sighed softly. "A civilized word or two, for starters. Then maybe an explanation. I've been covering for you all evening, Severus, making your excuses, deflecting questions about what had you so upset. But that's an answer I'd like."

"That is none of your…" Severus began, but stopped. It was probably the truth; it really was none of Lupin's affair, but then, it had also not been Lupin's responsibility to be so… Severus didn't even have a word in his vocabulary for what Lupin had been earlier. Supportive, perhaps, or sympathetic. Maybe it was a kindness. Whatever it was, it was entirely foreign to Severus, and not something he was going to forget any time soon. He hadn't decided entirely if he was grateful to the other man or not. Or if he was beholden to him. But, he did suppose that an explanation wasn't such an outrageous request. Except that his heart protested against being laid open like that. "Fine," he whispered hoarsely. "Is it civilized enough for me to just say I don't wish to discuss it?"

Lupin hesitated, but then nodded. "I suppose so," he replied. "But I'm still asking."

"I have very good reasons for not wanting to talk about it," Severus replied evenly.

"All right. What sort of reasons do you think are so good?"

Severus' mouth tightened. "Mainly because I don't wish to discuss it," he answered obtusely.

"For fuck's sake, Severus, do you know how to give a straight answer?" Remus looked exasperated and frustrated, and oddly, that placated Severus somewhat. Enough that his lip curled into a sneer.

"Tsk, tsk, Remus. Such language." His sneer fell away, though, as it took too much effort to maintain it. With a sigh, Severus stood and walked to the window, moving the curtain aside and looking out into Muggle London. Slowly, the lump in his throat began to melt. "I don't wish to talk about it," he said softly, "because the pain is still fresh in that heart no one thinks I have. Maybe in a few days, or weeks, or lifetimes it will ease and I will be able to speak of it."

He heard a slight rustling behind him, and then a hand on his shoulder. "You cannot hold pain inside, Severus. It has to go somewhere. Believe me when I say that it will go somewhere eventually, and it will be easier if you face it now, when you still have some measure of control over where it goes."

Severus stiffened slightly, and when Lupin finished his little speech, he replied with the one thing at the forefront of his mind. "Please do not touch me," he whispered, almost dangerously. There was a moment's hesitation, and the hand that had been on his shoulder lifted. Severus watched the street below for a long moment, and then finally he turned around to face the other man. "I lost a friend today," he said at last. "Or rather, I was forced to face the loss I've been ignoring since January. And that was enough. You were in the kitchen when I told the order about the massacre planned. Named for me. That would have been enough," he whispered, his voice beginning to grow hoarse. "The day has been trying, and I was…" he paused, considering what word to use. Frightened? Certainly, but not to tears. Grieving? Doubtlessly, but he had been greiving for four months already. "Vulnerable," he settled. "My defenses were weak. But I would have regained some of my strength had you left me alone. I just needed a moment to recover some of my composure." Lupin placed a hand on his arm again, and once more, Severus jerked away. "I asked you not to touch me," he said softly.

"Why don't you want me to touch you?" Remus asked, but he folded his arms.

"Because I'm afraid that's all it will take to reduce me to a blubbering baby once more," Severus relied bluntly, and honestly. "Leave me what is left of my dignity."

"Did you stop to think that if the sorrow is that strong that you might need to release it?"

"To what end? It doesn't change the fact that she's dead, and it doesn't help us find a way to save innocent lives, does it? I have neither the time nor energy, nor inclination in all honesty, to sit and cry in anyone's arms over things I can't change. Leave it, Lupin. Let me worry about my heart, you worry about… whatever it is you worry about. By the by, did Dumbledore convince you all to allow the children into the meetings?"

Lupin nodded quietly, apparently finished arguing. "Yes, he did."

"Do they know yet?"

"Not unless someone else told them. I was headed up to fetch them."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Then hadn't you bst be about it?"

Lupin shrugged. "A few minutes won't make much of a difference," he replied. "And I thought you might…"

A dangerous glare crept into Severus' eyes. "I might what?" he asked in a low voice.

"You might need a friend," Lupin replied. "I made that offer in December. It still stands, Severus."

For a long moment, Severus was quiet. He finally whispered, "Fine. Next time I see you in Hogsmeade, I'll buy you a drink at the Hogshead. Until then, however…" He turned and walked out the door.

As he headed for the stairs, Severus heard Lupin mutter, "We need to work on your people skills."

Enough, he thought sourly as he strode down the stairs in a fury of black robes. I have had enough of this nonsense for one night. And the worst of it is that in a few minutes I'm probably going to wake up in my own bed and find that not a minute of it was real, and I'll still have the entire day ahead of me to dread. It had been a surreal day, everything about it had been just short of preposterous. He'd been off guard and off kilter since he woke up, and it was beginning to addle his brains to the point that now, dream or not, he was determined it was going to end immediately. He burst into the kitchen, sending the door flying against the wall, and did not slow his menacing advance until he was at the fireplace, bowl of Floo powder in his hand.

"Severus?" He was too enraged to the point of insensibility that he didn't even pause to consider who had said his name.

"BLOODY FUCKING HELL! WHAT DO YOU WANT?" he turned around, his glittering eyes falling dangerously on the one who'd spoken, and he was simultaneously flooded with relief that it had not been Dumbledore he'd snapped at and a certain consternation that it had been Molly.

A Molly who looked taken aback. With an Arthur appearing behind her, his normally affable expression hardening as he placed a hand on her shoulder. There was silent shock everywhere else in the room; no one spoke that way to Molly Weasley. The only people who didn't like the Weasleys were slimes like the Malfoys who were too cultured to have such words in their vocabulary.

Severus closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Molly," he said sincerely. And he was. Such outbursts were uncharacteristic for him. There were students who swore he had a nasty temper, but even they, when prodded about it, could seldom remember him actually losing it. In fact, in his years teaching, he thought he could count on fingers and toes the times he'd lost his temper in front of anyone, and on one hand the times it had happened in front of students. The only of his students who could have come up with enough examples to justify such a statement were upstairs right now; Harry Potter had certainly borne the brunt of his explosions in the last few years.

The silence in the room lingered, and all eyes were on Molly, seeing how she would react to the apology, and Severus knew that her reaction would probably dictate the attitudes of everyone in the room towards him for the next six months, if not longer. She reached her decision, though, and smiled, bustling towards him. "There, there, you've had a long day, my dear. No need to apologize." Severus released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

To his irritation, Molly took the Floo powder from him and led him to the table, where he sat, hoping that whatever maternal ministrations she thought necessary weren't going to take too much time. He was beginning to feel simply raw, and he needed to be away from this place, full of people who cared too bloody much for their own good. A moment later, Severus had a cup of tea in his hand and a plate of pie in front of him, and Molly was commanding him to eat. He sipped at the tea, and sputtered softly as the faint taste of firewhiskey touched his tongue.

"I thought you could use something to help you relax a bit," she told him.

Nodding and refraining from rolling his eyes, Severus murmured, "Thank you," and sipped again, expecting the edge this time. She'd been expecting him downstairs, then. Of course. Lupin had not actually come upstairs to talk to him, but to fetch the children, and, presumably him as well. Bill confirmed this as he cleared his throat, speaking in a tight voice that made Severus think that Molly's oldest son might be the one least likely to forgive him the outburst.

"Where are the kids?"

You mean the ones other than the two at this table? Severus thought sourly. Bill and Tonks were too bloody young for this. "Speaking with Lupin, I suppose," he replied. There were a few raised eyebrows, and Severus elaborated only slightly. "I was in the hall when Lupin was headed up. I left him to it." Close enough to the truth, and if that bloody werewolf offered any ore explantion, Severus thought he just might put one more person on his conscience.

"Did he tell you, then?" This was Arthur speaking, and Severus looked at him over the top of his teacup.

"That those six dunderheads are going to be in on the meetings from now on? Yes."

Molly's expression tightened again, and Severus realized belatedly that four of those six dunderheads were hers. He gave her a diffident shrug, but wasn't about to apologize for saying it. "It's hard to accept that half a dozen children who can't follow simple directions in class are going to be trusted with Order business," he said dismissively. "I hope, for all our sakes, that I'm wrong about them."

Though not an apology and certainly not an excuse, the explanation seemed to appease Molly. Arthur was smiling, at least. "Children have an alarming ability to surprise us, Severus. They seem to have an inherent understanding of what is important, at least to them, and to perform admirably."

Severus snorted softly. "It doesn't worry you, then, that your entire family is so deeply involved?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Arthur stood and moved to the other side of the table, seating himself beside Severus. If you touch me, you old coot, I'm going to dump this tea over your head, Severus thought , rather petulantly. To his immense relief, though, Arthur did not reach for his hand or his arm or his shoulder or any other part of his body.

"It worries me until I don't think I'll be able to sleep at night," he replied. "But I am proud of them all. They've turned out as I hoped the would, if a little sooner than I hoped it would happen. It seems only yesterday that I was trying to figure out what the hell to do with a diaper, and now that one is sitting across the table from you." Severus glanced across the table at Bill, who seemed to be blushing under those freckles, though it was hard to tell. "Children grow up, it's a fact of life and nature, and we can't stop it and shouldn't try," Arthur continued. "And we can't dictate when it happens. Some of us have been forced to grow up far too quickly." There was something about Arthur's tone that made Severus think he was included in that assessment, and, with a slight shock, he realized that Arthur was probably fifteen years his senior, if not more. It wasn't something he thought about often, his age compared to others around him. His students were all, and would always all be, children to him, even those who were near enuogh his own age to be his classmates. And there were plenty who were. He knew that Arthur didn't see him as a child now—that was an insecurity Severus had abandoned not long after he began teaching—but twenty years ago… yes. Severus had been a child still, barely older than Harry and Ron, and Arthur would have already been a father of three. It was always odd to put these things into perspective.

Before Severus could formulate a response to the observation, the door opened again, and Severus didn't have to look up to know that the number of people in the kitchen had just swelled by seven. The silence that settled was apprehensive, and the air pulsated with the same question, asked by so many people each in a different way, Severus included.

Was this really the right decision?

Ginny seated herself by Bill, which meant that Severus had an excellent view of her face. Too young by far. It was easy to forget that she was only a year younger than any of the others—and not even a full year younger than Harry—but she was the youngest, which meant that she seemed even younger than her tender years. How old was she, anyway? He frowned momentarily, thinking that over. She was in his Fifth Year class. She had just finished her OWLs. Far too young.

Beside Ginny was Hermione, and, as Severus looked over her, he couldn't help but realize that she had blossomed into a remarkable young woman. Young, certainly, but there was a womanly aspect to her that was still absent in Ginny. Hermione had a sharp mind, and an ability that was unmatched at Hogwarts. She was still inexperienced, but Severus was sure that time would see her as a stunningly powerful witch in her own right. If she lives long enough to hone that natural ability. The liklihood of that happening seemed to have decreased exponentially almost instantly, as soon as she took her place at the table. Really, though, it was not Hermione that Severus worried about. She was young, yes, but she was not a fool. She was the one he was least worried about, and, with her at least, the worry was a matter of principle.

The twins were sitting at the end of the table, their heads already bent together, and Severus could only imagine that they were plotting something already. Of the six, those two had the most to offer the Order, certainly. He had to admit, even if it was grudgingly, that Fred and George were probably capable of taking care of themselves. After all, how often had they evaded capture at Hogwarts, when their fate would have only been detention? How often had they impressed their teachers on some level—him included—with their innovative ways of using what they learned in class? A smile still threatened Severus' lips when he thought about the swamp that had been charmed into existence last year, and he still marveled secretly at their array of candies that produced everything from nose-bleeds to fevers. Given a serious task, they might well live up to the challenge. He only hoped they didn't try to prank the Dark Lord. A sudden mental image of them trying to pass off one of their mildly amusing candies to him was enough to sober any inclination Severus might have had towards smiling, and he hoped—he prayed—that they had the sense to differntiate between potential victims of jokes and the seriousness of what they were to be charged with.

But it was Harry and Ron who caught his eye and made him him wish he had protested more fervently. They were both everything that the Dark Lord would prey on, and neither of them had anything to protect them. They were reckless, heedless, inattentive, easily distracted and did not bother to think about anything before barging in. They were blindly loyal to one another, and frighteningly naïve, and, judging by the conversations he'd overheard between them, immature still. When Hermione wasn't there keeping them on the task of school work, and when there was no plot that they were trying to get to the bottom of, those two were likely to be talking about Quidditch and eating chocolate frogs and playing at cards. They horsed around in the corridors, and spun ridiculous fantasies about House Cups and seeing Draco Malfoy pay for his past crimes against them. They were, truly, only boys. Harry had been thrown into this world, into a world he didn't understand and was ill-prepared to face, and Ron seemed to desire nothing more than to prove himself in the shadow of five older brothers. And, if Severus thought of it, he could understand that desire to prove oneself. And, if he were honest, it was not unlikely that those two boys would grow into fine men someday. If they survived the labyrinth they were now being drawn into. A possibility that Severus hated to consider the odds of.

"So, mum," one of the twins broke the silence, and Severus glanced towards them, having, once again, missed which one was speaking. It was so difficult to tell them apart, even though he'd had them in classes for seven years. There were subtle differences, but you had to look for them, and at this distance and angle, he could not even see them. And he certainly couldn't tell their voices apart. "Since we're here, and you admit that we're all adults, right?" Severus felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach; he'd been wondering how long it would take before one of them played that card.

"You're still grounded," Molly said evenly, "so don't try that 'adult' bit on me."

Good for you, Molly, he thought. Then Ron piped up.

"So, if we're adults, does that mean we can drink beer now?" Severus scowled at him, and Ron hastily added, "when we're in the meetings, I mean."

There was a twitter from the end of the table, and Severus thought it was Tonks trying not to laugh. Molly smiled sweetly. "You can drink the same thing everyone else is drinking, Ronald," she told him, and plunked a cup of tea in front of him. "There," she said. "Just like Professor Snape."

Severus took a sip of his tea and wished Molly had left him out of it, and speculated that it was unlikely that Ron's tea was just like his. He nearly shuddered to imagine an inebriated Ron Weasley.

"You children have not become adults by walking into this kitchen," Arthur was addressing the four younger of them, primarily, and Severus found himself listening intently, despite the little lecture not being for him. "You are still children, but we are asking you to do adults' work. To take on responsibilities that we have no right to ask you to take on. And, any one of you—or all of you—can opt not to help us, and there is no one here who would not understand. I think we are all in agreement that you are too young for this, but these are desperate times and we would be fools to discount you completely because you are not old enough to suit our definitions of grown-ups."

Please, Severus thought desperately in the direction of the four students, for once in your lives, have the sense to say no. It won't mean that you're cowards, just that you are not fools.

Dumbledore spoke then, for the first time since Severus had entered the kitchen. "You do have a choice," he was saying in that infuriatingly calm voice. "You can leave now, and no one will think less of you." It was as though the Headmaster was speaking the words that Severus had been thinking. "It is your choice. Do you understand that? All of you? It is your choice, but I must have you answer now. If you choose not to help us tonight, that does not mean you never will, but once you choose to enter the Order, there is no going back."

Severus stole a glance at the four of them, and all were nodding their understanding. Ron and Harry looked eager, which was enough to sink Severus' heart. Ginny looked frightened, but determined. A point in her favor and then one against. Hermione looked uncertain. How ironic that the one most prepared to take this step is the one who looks like she might not accept the challenge. But then, that is what makes her the more prepared for this, isn't it?

"Then I will have your answers."

Harry was the first to speak, and it hardly surprised Severus to hear his words. "I'll help any way I can," he said adamantly, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Me too," Ron said quickly, looking slightly abashed at not having been first to volunteer. "I'm not afraid."

"Then you're more a fool than I thought." Severus couldn't help but pass that judgement as he turned his eyes to the two girls.

Ginny took a deep breath, and nodded. "I'm in," she said softly, and then impressed him marginally. "And I promise I'll do what I'm told and not interfere."

Which left only Hermione who was quiet. Ron was looking at her with wide eyes and an expression that clearly said 'Tell them you're in, too!' She was thinking, though, and Severus didn't know if he hoped she would agree or not. She was probably the only one who could keep Harry and Ron from doing anything foolish, and she was, he believed, the most mature of the lot of them. Probably even more so than Fred and George. But she was still a child.

"Hermione?" Dumbledore prompted. "If you have doubts, you may leave and give me your answer later. You needn't decide just now if you are unsure."

She finally spoke. "I am sure," she said softly. "I'll help if I can."

It was as though a door had slammed shut and the flicker of hope extinguished. Severus closed his eyes. What have we done?