Chapter 8: Uncertain Silences

Barely ten hours later a certain teenage boy tried in vain to sleep, and was failing. Every ten to fifteen minutes he would sigh, and turn restlessly in his bed. It was no good, every time he turned over he felt the bedsheets tighten around him like Devils Snare.

Breakfast was in barely four and a half hours time. Double DADA in just over five and a half hours.

Maybe there was a good reason not to creep around under invisibility cloaks. It had been exciting in the first year. This year-

Harry chewed his lip. Yes, he had got away without being detected - luckily a Slytherin had knocked and he had been able to escape. But, as for what he'd seen and heard.

'Well, that taught you, didn't it Potter?' he muttered bitterly to himself.

What should he think now? How could he face the man after sneaking about like that?

With his eyes still closed, Harry disentangled an arm from the twisted bed sheets and reached across to his bedside table. His fingers identified something cool and smooth, and curled around the ridged wooden frame of the small pocket mirror Sirius had given him.

The two way mirror. He had broken it in frustration last year, but Lupin had mended it, just before he returned to Hogwarts for the sixth year. The other mirror was in his possession now, but up until this evening Harry had buried the thing right at the bottom of his trunk, determined he would never contact Lupin. After all, his so-called 'guardian' had seen so little of him this year Harry eventually assumed he didn't care.

But no. Harry berated himself for thinking that way. Lupin looked more unwell every time he saw him. He had seen him five Occlumency sessions, and as the weeks went on the man seemed to look worse and worse. Of course the man cared! It was simply because he was busy. Or not well. Or both.

Harry sighed, feeling his chest relax slightly. He would contact Lupin tomorrow. Talk over his problems.

Harry's fingers took a firmer hold on the mirror, before a second thought made him loosen his grip.

The Lupin and Snape's conversation in that Occlumency session.

It was so obvious now - what they had been talking about. Lupin's patience with Snape, Snape's attitude toward Lupin.

The whole uncanny Forbidden Forest feeling he'd had.

Harry felt a slight chill run through him. He withdrew his hand from the mirror and turned his back on it. A movement which only served to twist the sheets even tighter.

After a few minutes Harry sighed in frustration, disentangled himself once again, fluffed up the pillows and had another attempt at sleeping.

But he still couldn't remove one thought from the front of his mind - how long had Lupin known about Snape? How much did he know about everything else?

**************************************

Meanwhile, several hundred miles away in a Victorian suburb the boy's guardian sighed to himself, before shuffling in his chair. The book he was reading was tedious, but it was the only one to hand. His thoughts wandered to Harry. Dumbledore had been watching him more carefully since that fiasco of an Occlumency lesson. Everybody always expected Harry to cope because of who he was.

But The Boy Who Lived was still only human. He had battled on for so long with his problems, and like everyone else, he had a breaking point.

Lupin closed his eyes. If only he had understood what it was like to suffer like Harry had, he may have been able to prevent him from going so low.

He had been foolish to assume that because he missed Sirius badly as a friend, the lad did too. He had assumed this, but he forgot that Harry had barely enough time to get to know Sirius, let alone know him as a dear friend! Harry's grief and sense of loss, as Dumbledore said, went deeper than that. Losing Sirius had caused the foundations to slip.

Lupin's thoughts turned to his own childhood. His parents had been strong, supportive and brave not to reject him when he had been bitten. They had never stopped looking for a cure, and they had always been there for him. He had suffered years of prejudice and rejection, but at least he had been loved. From what he'd heard, Harry had been dragged up by the Dursleys.

Try as he might, Lupin couldn't grasp the implications of this. It had made him a strong fighter, but in what ways had it affected him? Lupin was strong, tough, used to struggling along by himself, but he had always had vital support from home. Harry had never had this.

Sirius had briefly given him what he must have always craved, a link with his father, a real family. This was the reason for Harry's rage when Sirius was cruelly taken from him. He had been shocked when Dumbledore told him that Harry had attempted to perform the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix. Lupin himself had never dreamed of using it on anybody. Not even Bellatrix.

As the weeks following Sirius' death had crawled slowly on, Lupin had seeked out what human company he could in his grief, not bearing to be alone. Harry, in stark contrast, had grown increasingly cold, and solitary.

Lupin had asked Harry once whether he ever spoke to his friends about life with the Dursleys. The lad had replied quietly that he hadn't, and his expression told him he loathed to be reminded of it. Lupin had then lost the courage to question him any further.

If Harry couldn't bear to talk about it with his friends, then he wouldn't have told any adults. After all, Lupin frowned, would he himself want to confide in adults if he had spent ten years being despised by them?

Dumbledore's words still bothered him. How could Severus Snape possibly help Harry? Surely his hatred of Harry would compete with the Dursleys? Lupin frowned.

Desmodus.

Subconsciously Lupin's hand moved to his face, where the deep scratches caused by the vampire's sharp nails had torn into him. Werewolves healed fast, though, and the marks were long gone. Desmodus was nothing short of a monster. Lupin was dangerous only for a few nights a month; vampires posed a threat every night.

Desmodus's portrait was Lupin's only window into Snape's home life. They had discovered it right at the back of a disused classroom while exploring one day. It had been amusing to hear the portrait spit venom about his grandson, about how lazy, and useless he was, and how his father disowned him. The Marauders had used this as extra ammunition against Snape, of course. The next time they had visited the room, though, the portrait had disappeared.

As for appearing and disappearing; Lupin was still baffled as to how the portrait had turned up in Snape's quarters on the first of April. It was true, he really had nothing to do with it. But the most bizarre thing was, Desmodus had thanked him! Did he have a twin double walking around?

There was always Polyjuice he reasoned, but who else was able to touch the painting, and who would have the audacity to walk into Snape's private quarters? Lupin believed he'd hardly be surprised if he found out that Dumbledore had something to do with it.

But it had been Severus' reaction toward the painting that had surprised him more than how it had got there. Clearly Snape had shown a deep hatred for his grandfather. But there was also that sudden stab of pure terror, which had paralysed him. Snape knew how to deal with vampires, so what had Desmodus said that would cause Snape to panic? Putting Professor Snape and panic in the same sentence seemed wrong.

And who was Incisia?

Snape had always been an enigma. When Lupin had taken the Defence Against The Dark Arts position, and met Severus for the first time since their schooldays, he had been initially awed by how the quiet but weird, overly- nervous boy had transformed himself into an impressively deadly, cool and calculating Professor.

But then the episode in the Shrieking Shack had turned back time, and revealed the truth, so Lupin reckoned.

Hadn't it been his opinion since then, that Snape hadn't really changed at all? That he was still the same tormented schoolboy in disguise?

Snape clung onto the past with an intensity that was frightening. He failed to distinguish Harry from James, and had loathed him from the start. Yet the irony of the whole situation, was that while Harry looked like James, he acted more like Lily.

Surprisingly, though, hadn't it been Snape himself who had suggested in a meeting last year, that several members of the Order ought to have a 'quiet word' with the Dursleys at the end of term?

He frowned. Was it fair to state that the more you learnt about Severus Snape, the less you understood him?

Lupin glanced up to look around at the gloomy dining room. Despite all the dark trinkets being removed, Twelve Grimmauld Place was still dingy, eerie and oppressive. The carpets had been ripped up, and the floorboards cleaned and varnished, but the windows were small and failed to let in much light, and the dark furniture was hard and uncomfortable. Despite this, Lupin felt an odd comfort in sitting in this room. He and Sirius used to sit at this very table last year, talking about the past, playing cards, sharing a drink.

He put down his book, stood, and downed the last dregs left in the glass.

'Would you care for some more wine, Severus?'

A silly question, he noted, as he looked to realise the man hadn't even touched his first glass.

'No thank you, Remus,' muttered Snape, still staring stonily at the wall.

Lupin shuffled awkwardly. He wasn't used to houseguests who invited themselves in at 3am, just to sit in a chair in stony silence. The time of night didn't concern Lupin, though, he was a very bad sleeper, especially near the full moon. He presumed Snape, with his nature preferred prowling about all times of the night too.

Lupin got up and crossed the room. When he reached the door, though, he paused. A curious need for knowledge about his guest, had been burning in him for weeks. Here was his chance. He wasn't sure how to word it. But however, and whatever question he asked Severus Snape it would probably receive the same sarcastically bitter response.

No matter then. He toyed with the empty glass in his hands.

'Didn't you hear me Lupin? I said no thank you. Not even you would ever be able to persuade me to drink.that.' Snape muttered, casting a glance at his untouched glassful of red wine, his lip curling in revulsion.

'I wasn't going to ask that question again, Severus. I was wondering whether to ask you something else.'

Snape narrowed his eyes. 'About what?'

Lupin sighed. 'About the past.'

His lip curled. 'Meaning everything before the present? That could take a while Lupin.'

There was the obtuseness. A simple question was never simple with this man. But Lupin was patient. 'About the first day we met.'

Snape paled slightly. His eyes flashed. 'I have had a bad enough day, Lupin without schoolboy reminiscing.'

'Severus. You know I didn't laugh. I didn't make fun-'

'No - you didn't do anything! I wanted to be alone. I presumed that locking the door behind me would be a big enough hint,' he snarled. 'But, dear old Black, may he rot in peace, insisted upon making enemies.'

Lupin winced, and closed his eyes. 'I know. I know I did nothing. I can't speak for my past self. I can speak for my present self though. And now, well, I would like to know why you were upset.'

Snape's eyes narrowed, and a sneer played at the side of his mouth. 'Somewhat late to ask for forgiveness, Lupin, isn't it? I always thought you admonished me that being unable to forget the past was not the way to go through life. And here you are now, dragging up something we could have conveniently forgotten.'

Lupin stared sadly. 'I don't ask for anything. I don't want forgiveness. I am serious in my questioning, though.'

A nasty laugh cut through the room. 'Do you think I would spill my thoughts to a Marauder? Are you training to be a counsellor perchance, werewolf? Let people tell you their woes before you rip their legs off?'

Lupin sighed. 'You wouldn't even tell a Marauder something that may cause them suffering?'

'Believe me or not, Lupin, I have seen enough suffering today.'

'Then I promise not to suffer in front of you.'

Snape turned to look at Lupin for the first time in the conversation. The werewolf was being extraordinarily stubborn. He examined the lines on the man's gaunt face. He had aged ten years since last summer. All the stress looked like it was damn well killing him. He raised an eyebrow.

So the man wanted something urgently? All the more reason for not letting him have it. Well, not entirely.

'Fine.'

Lupin smiled slightly.

Snape's eyes glinted. 'I was crying because my pet hamster died.'

Lupin frowned at Snape, whose expression was unreadable, was this to be taken as a joke? He decided against it.

'I don't believe you have told me all, Severus.'

They stared at each other in determined silence. Finally, Snape smirked slightly and looked away.

'Oh, I am terribly sorry if my confession offended your poor Gryffindor ears, Lupin,' came the sarcastic tone. 'But, with your past would you likely believe anything else I might say? After all, isn't Slytherin the house of infamy, branded for its penchant for deception?'

Lupin watched as Snape's bitter expression reverted once more into a look that was both stony and distant. Even his voice seemed distant, dropping to a level which made the whisper of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece seem intrusive. 'Therefore, I repeat, my pet hamster died. Which it certainly did. That morning, before I left for Hogwarts.'

Lupin sighed. What could he say to that? That he was sorry to hear it? The Slytherin would most probably laugh in his face!

No - he would get the wine first, and then decide. 'I am just going to the cellar,' he said quietly. As he expected, Snape's only response was a glare.

As he crossed to the dining room door Lupin was hardly surprised when he found himself struggling to picture Severus Snape keeping a hamster in any other way than pickled in a jar for potion ingredients.

The whole concept sounded ridiculous. But then, it could only remind him of how little he knew about him.

How much he still needed to find out. And, owing to the nature of the man, how much of an unpredictable ride it could be in doing so.