For a moment that stretched on for an eternity, Severus remained in Dumbledore's embrace. He'd never known the love of a father, had never known a grandfather, and there had been no older brothers, nor uncles, nor close family friends to fill that role in his life. No one except, perhaps, the Headmaster, who had always treated him almost like a son. Or perhaps exactly like a son; Severus had little idea what was the 'normal' way for a father and son to react towards one another. So, perhaps it was normal that for the moment at least, Severus had no inclination to move.

At length, though, he became aware that there was a growing awkwardness among the crowd in general, and a fair bit of whispering. Confusion, of course. Curiosity. Everyone wanted to know what had happened, but everyone was still being polite enough not to ask it. Stifling a sigh, Severus straightened, pulling away from the comforting embrace, and made a concerted effort to remain upright. He did not stand long, though, before he felt another hand on his shoulder, and he was pulled into another firm embrace.

Lupin this time. A glance told Severus that Remus had left Hermione with the other two students, and, despite an initial inclination to tell the werewolf to leave him alone, Severus endured the ordeal with something resembling grace. Only to find himself pressed next into the thin arms of Tonks, who hugged him fiercely. Then Moody grasped his hand.

Distantly, Severus couldn't help but note that more people had touched him in the last five minutes than in the last five years of his life, and it wasn't over. Bill took his hand, though there was a stiffness to the eldest Weasley's gesture that almost made Severus wince inwardly. He would have to find a moment to speak with all the Weasleys, it seemed. One by one, Severus found himself clapped on the back, or hugged, or his hand shook by each member of the Order who was present, though there were few words that accompanied the gestures.

It was all exceedingly awkward.

When Minerva stepped forward, the last of them, Severus allowed himself to be pulled firmly into her embrace, and after a moment, he relaxed in her arms as well, as he once had when he was a child. He leaned against her more than he would have preferred, but he was utterly exhausted, and had little choice if he did not intend to fall and dispose of what little dignity remained to him.

"Come on," she said softly. "I think we need to find you a chair." She cast a sharp look at Bill, who bolted forward. Reluctantly, Severus abandoned the relative safety of Minerva's arms for the more questionable aid of the Weasley who seemed most inclined to hold him personally responsible for everything bad that had ever happened, from the rise of Voldemort to every sock he'd ever lost.

If he'd spent a little less time being passed from one person to another, Severus probably could have made it into the kitchen on his own, with nothing more than his bruised pride holding him up. As it was, he leaned heavily against Bill, and allowed himself to be guided into a chair at the kitchen table. Tonks placed a tea cup in front of him, and he offered her a grateful, if awkward smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," he said to Bill, who shrugged.

"Don't mention it." There was an ice in his voice that suggested that the young wizard might mean that literally. As in 'don't remind me that I helped you, even if it was under orders from McGonagall.'

For a long moment, there was silence, except the sounds associated with the Potions Master sipping his tea and the cup being refilled three times as he emptied it—he'd not anticipated being this thirsty, nor had he realized he was until Tonks had brought him the tea. The silence was not, however, exactly companionable. Despite the shows of relief from earlier in the hallway, it was apparent that a number of the Order were not convinced of his loyalty, suddenly. Perhaps it was easier to believe in the intentions of a man who had died for the Order than it was to believe in those of a man who had cheated death. Or, perhaps there was simply a degree of uncertainty surrounding the fact that they were sitting at the table with a man they had all thought to be dead.

And, for his part, Severus could almost taste their hatred and disgust for him. He had poisoned the Weasleys, after all, and that was barely three days after he'd hit Lupin with a Cruciatus Curse; if he was out to make friends, he was picking some unusual ways of going about it. If he'd had the energy right then, he would have taken himself back upstairs, set some wards for his own personal safety, and then slept until he trusted himself to properly Floo back to his own rooms at Hogwarts. From whence he might never again emerge.

At length, he came to the conclusion that someone was going to have to break the crystalline silence, and he was as likely a candidate as anyone else. More likely than some, perhaps. Clearing his throat softly, he looked at Arthur. "How are Fred and George and Ron?"

"You should know better than the rest of us," Bill replied, his voice having dropped a few degrees from merely icy to subarctic. "You, after all, are the one who tried to kill them."

"Bill…" Minerva sounded tired, as though this was a conversation she'd had already this evening.

"Then they are resting quietly," Severus said softly. "And will wake with headaches. And I did not try to kill your brothers, Mr. Weasley. Had I intended them to die, they would certainly be dead." Perhaps it was not the most comforting thing he could have said, but it was the truth.

"Why did you poison them?" All heads in the room turned towards the doorway, where Harry, Hermione and Ginny were standing, the latter two behind the former. It was Harry who had spoken. "Why them? Why not me?"

Severus was beginning to develop a faint headache of his own. "It would have killed you, Mr. Potter. You see, I was anticipating adults, not children." His voice sounded distant to his ears, as though he were in a cave somewhere, hearing the echo of his words. "I don't know why I was not prepared for children."

"That explains George and Fred," Harry said, seeming to hold in his temper. "But why Ron?"

"Because Ron is bigger than you are," Severus replied. "He's taller, he weighs more. He comes closer to being an adult, physically at least, than any of the rest of you."

Remus, who was sitting beside Severus, placed a hand over his, and Severus instinctively flinched away. Remus withdrew his hand.

"But why poison them at all?" It was Shacklebolt this time.

"It was the most effective way I could think of to save them. I chose potions that would enter the bloodstream quickly, but would not kill in the amount I gave them."

"Then how was it dangerous to the Death Eaters?" This was Hermione, who was edging into the kitchen now, towards her seat. "If you gave the boys enough poison to kill Death Eaters who barely… I mean, even between the three of them… they couldn't have…"

Severus snorted softly. "What you are asking, Miss Granger, is how is it that a taste of each of the three boys' blood would be dangerous to a man, but leave the boys alive?"

She nodded. "If it was enough to kill a Death Eater, would it not be enough…"

Severus lowered his head into his hand. "It would be," he conceded. "If I were relying on volume. As it happened, though, Ron, Fred and George each had a different potion. It was the combination of potions that accomplished the feat. And, incidentally, that is why the antidote did not completely cure them all—I had anticipated administering the antidote myself, but I did not wish the added risk of remembering which bottles went with which victim. And my pockets were already full enough as it was."

A heavy silence settled over the kitchen, and seconds ticked by at a painful pace. There was an unspoken question in the air, one to which no one seemed inclined to give voice, but it was palpable, like the chill of a ghost passing through. Unspoken though it was, however, Severus knew both question and answer, and he was the only one blessed with the knowledge of both. He opted not to answer it until and unless it was asked.

Little by little, his energy seeped away from him, like sap oozing from a tree. His eyes drifted shut, and his awareness heightened through his other senses—he could hear everyone breathing, feel Remus' proximity, smell Tonks' perfume. His head felt thick, as though it were made of lead and layered in cotton, and detached from the rest of him, and it was just as well. The rest of his body was a myriad of pain. There was a sharp pain on his right side, and a numb pain on his left ankle, and a general discomfort from his shoulders down. He felt slightly feverish, and more than slightly queasy. He wanted Dumbledore to order him to bed so he'd have a good excuse to go.

After a lengthy silence, there was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and it seemed to come to a halt right behind him. A moment later, there was a hand on his back, and once more, Severus flinched, his muscles tightening as he made an almost unconscious effort to get away from the invasion. The hand did not move, though, and after a moment, he relaxed.

"Why aren't you dead?" It was Potter's voice across the table, and Severus squeezed his eyes closed, grateful that his head was already in his hand and his face, therefore, not visible to the others. He didn't want them to know that a statement such as that struck him to the core.

"Because you aren't that lucky, Potter," he replied evenly, still not lifting his head. The hand that had been laying so gently on his back was starting to… to pet him. Almost exactly the way he petted Kitty to make the little black feline purr. Severus thought he could understand why the kitten seemed to enjoy it so much, but he held himself carefully still.

When Harry spoke again, he sounded abashed, and Severus could only imagine the look that Minerva or Dumbledore must have leveled on him to produce such a change in tone. "What I meant, sir, was how did you… how did you survive? You drank the same…"

Severus laughed softly, humorlessly. "I did not, Mr. Potter," he replied. "Contrary to popular rumor, I am no vampire, and I find no particular joy in acting as though I am one."

"But I saw you…"

"Appearances can be deceiving," he interrupted blandly.

"Then why did you… how did you seem… dead?"

For a moment, Severus considered how best to answer that question. After a moment's deliberation, he spoke in a low, confident voice—the same voice he used when he was teaching. Barely above a whisper, yet with the silent threat of dire consequences for any who did not listen, and even exhausted as he was, he knew it would have the desired effect. "Tell me, Mr. Potter," he murmured. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

There was a soft laugh from across the table, but Severus couldn't tell to whom it belonged. The hand on his back paused its stroking, and kneaded gently at the base of his neck for a moment.

"Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as Draught of Living Death," Potter replied, repeating back, verbatim, the information Severus had given him the first time they'd ever spoken.

"Well," Severus muttered. "I'm pleased to know that you do pay at least a little attention in my class." He reached into his pocket, and the hand on his back finally left him, and he felt oddly exposed without it. Lifting his head, he placed three small caplets on the table and pointed to the first with a long finger. "Powdered root of asphodel," he said softly, then pointed to the next. "Wormwood." His finger moved to the third and final. "And the antidote to the Draught. The first two coated to deliver their contents ten minutes after ingestion. This one," he indicated the antidote, "two hours later."

After a moment, Harry nodded.

"Any more questions, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir," Harry replied sullenly.

"Well," Minerva stood abruptly. "I think it's time Professor Snape found a bed. Come, Severus," she said sternly, and he felt her hands on his shoulders, "and no arguments. There is nothing here that cannot wait until tomorrow." The irony was that he wouldn't have argued if he did have the energy—bed was exactly what he wanted.

He gathered the three pills from the table and placed them in his pocket again, and as he did, his hand brushed against something hard and smooth. Curling his fingers around it, he withdrew a small vial from his pocket, and then opened his palm, staring at it. He looked to Dumbledore. "I'm afraid, Headmaster," he began softly, "that I will not be able to return to the Dark Lord's side; he will not welcome me back a third time, I'm sure. I have a memento, though." He placed the vial on the table in front of Dumbledore, and the Headmaster picked it up, holding it up to the light, staring at it. He turned it one way and then another, looking through it.

"Is this—?" he began, and Severus caught his eye.

"Blood," he said softly. "Which will, perhaps, be useful with a certain map."

There was a murmur across the table, and this time, Severus stood. Lupin stood as well. "I'll help him, Minerva," Remus offered. "Don't bother yourself."

Minerva nodded and stepped aside, and Lupin took her place, sliding his arm behind Severus' back. Severus straightened. "I do not need assistance," he said shortly, and Lupin nodded, dropping his arm to his side again.

"All right," he replied good-naturedly. "I'll just follow you up then. I need to check on Molly and the boys anyway."

They walked in silence from the kitchen, Severus at a much slower pace than was customary, Remus lingering. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Severus paused, leaning against the wall as the hall began to swim again.

"Severus? Are you all right?" There was a definite note of concern in Remus' voice, and a closeness again as the werewolf slid his arm behind Severus' back once more.

"Just tired," he lied. "I think… I think perhaps I'd rather stay down here if…"

"Nonsense," Remus said softly. "You'll go to bed properly. You're not as likely to be disturbed upstairs, either. I'll help you, but you're not going to spend the night cramped on a sofa."

"Please," Severus murmured, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. "I don't think I can…"

"Of course you can. Now come on. Just upstairs." Remus was pulling him towards the stairs and Severus had little choice except to follow. One step at a time. One slow, painful step, and then another. He concentrated on moving his feet, trying to block out everything else. Remus, unfortunately, wasn't helping. "How are you feeling?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Like I've been hit like a train," Severus muttered in response.

"You look like you've been hit by a train," Remus noted, and Severus couldn't quite help but snort.

"I suppose that's an improvement from greasy git, then." Chuckling, Remus gave his arm a slight squeeze, an Severus scowled. "I am certain that I have asked you not to do that," he said softly.

"You've told me very bluntly not to touch you at all," Remus replied blithely. "But seeing as you're going to topple down the stairs if I let go just now, I hardly think you're in a position to protest at the moment."

Severus had no ready answer for that—likely a mark of how very tired and in how much pain he was. Another two steps. "Why are you doing this?" he asked finally.

He could feel Remus' head bobbing back and forth slightly as though he were considering the question from different angles. "I suppose that depends on exactly what you're talking about," he replied. "Why am I insisting you go upstairs? Because I think you'll be more comfortable, and I think a good night's sleep will go farther towards healing you than anything anyone could force down your throat right now. Why am I helping you? Because even if you have everyone else ass-whipped into catering to your pride, I'm not, and I know that if you break your neck going upstairs it will be me and Bill picking you up from the floor and figuring out how to get you to Pomfrey so she can put you back together."

"Touching," Severus muttered. "But you know as well as I do that there are more expedient ways of getting injured people from point 'a' to point 'b'. Why are you 'catering to my pride' as you put it?"

"Do you want me to use mobilicorpus and carry you upstairs?" Remus asked, pausing and looking at Severus while he readjusted his supportive arm.

"Absolutely not," Severus replied, taking the moment to breathe heavily. They were more than halfway up the stairs. Just a little farther.

"Then stop arguing."

"I'm not arguing. I just want to know why."

Remus urged him up three more steps, and Severus knew that he was leaning increasingly on the other wizard. And, unlike Bill who would have probably been capable of picking up the two of them at the same time, Remus was in no better condition for carrying an adult up a flight of stairs than Severus would have been.

"You keep asking that, Severus," Remus observed softly. "In different contexts, but that isn't even the first time this week that I've heard you ask me why I'm doing something, and the answer hasn't changed. I consider you a friend, whether you think the same of me or not, and I'd help any of my friends. Do I need to remind you that every day?"

"You're not answering my question, or I wouldn't keep asking it," Severus replied.

"Then what are you asking me?"

"Why? Why do you…" he fumbled for a word for a minute, then gestured irritatedly, his hand taking in the stairs.

"I told you. Because…"

"Because you're a friend. I know. I'm not that thick." They reached the second floor, finally, and Severus wrenched away from Lupin, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. "But what do you want in return?"

Lupin's arm disappeared from Severus' back, and when Severus opened his eyes, the other wizard was leaning against the opposite wall, his arms folded, studying him as though he couldn't quite work something out. "Have you ever had true friends, Severus?" he asked softly after a moment.

"Of course I've had friends," Severus snapped. "Just because I wasn't part of a malicious group of pranksters…"

"Save it. And I said true friends. Friends who didn't want anything in return except friendship?"

Severus thought that through for a moment, but only a moment. It took him only a moment to reach a conclusion, and he shook his head. "Such a thing does not exist," he replied evenly. "Everyone wants something."

"Were you born that cynical?" It was a rhetorical question, though, and Remus pushed himself away from the wall and stepped towards Severus again, taking his arm. "Come on."

Severus stepped away from Remus' touch, and his foot caught the top of the stair, and for a minute he teettered, fighting a battle for his balance. Remus pulled him firmly away from the top of the stairs and sighed. "For fuck's sake, Severus, don't kill yourself trying to get away from me. I won't touch you again unless it's your life. You have my word." There was an edge to Lupin's voice as he fell into step behind the slow-moving potions master. "Perhaps I should ask you what you want from me, then, if you're so adamant that everyone wants something."

"Perhaps you should have asked that before you started trying to cultivate a friendship," Severus replied testily.

"Well? What is it that you want?"

"I am not the one who keeps pretending that we are friends," he snapped in return, and he felt, rather than heard, Lupin stop walking abruptly.

"Of course," Remus said softly. "How foolish of me." There was a pause in which Severus had ample time to regret having been so scathing, but for once, Remus' good-naturedness did not seem willing to forgive the slight. "Second door on the left, Severus," he said coldly. "That's where Autumn is, and I thought you might both benefit from each other's presence. If I'm wrong, sleep on the goddamn floor for all I care. Good night."

A/N: Thanks, Cecelle, for catching my oops. And, the reason for Ron-- he's larger. The books suggest that Harry is small and that Ron is tall, at least. Anyway, I added a line in the story to explain that.