Title: Astray
By: Melusina
Category: angst
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Many thanks again to my beta Mairi. She checked this story for me. If you find any remaining blunders, blame me for them...
Please excuse me for the delay. I spent some beautiful weeks in Italy...Part Seven - Developments
Remus Lupin walked through the corridor that lead to the gardens outside. He frowned. His thoughts were teasing him, but try as he might, he couldn't come to a logical conclusion. The problem was Severus Snape. Of course he was.
The problem was: what was the problem? Why couldn't Severus just be slightly more conventional and thus stick to one set of problems? But no. He had to be shifting and elusive and refuse to be categorised. Sodding slytherinish bastard. Well, it figured. He must be afraid that somebody would ever find him out. Good job at hiding himself so far. One to zero for Snape, for Remus could make absolutely no sense of him.
Several times he had thought he had made Snape out. When they were both at school, Remus thought that Severus was just a very lonely, jealous and aggressive boy, with the social skills of a gutter rat.
When he was a man and a teacher, Remus had - amusedly, at times - thought that he was still as lonely and biting as he had been as a boy, but that the man was starting to be pathetic in his attempts to lash out. The episode with the boggart in the teachers' lounge had proved it - or so Lupin had thought at the time. When Snape had revealed Lupin's secret, Lupin had been shocked to find out how much deeper the other man's bitter anger went. He had known Snape was a very bitter, scarred man. He just hadn't known, how bitter and how scarred. Still, he had thought that he knew the man to some degree.
Snape had proved him wrong once more. The backbone in all his self-pity and wallowing was a quiet nobility and a determination to do the right thing. His cold determination and endurance as a spy, the intelligence and the despair with which he walked the fine line between information and betrayal, between crime and salvation, between his use of and fascination by the dark arts proved this. Or so Remus had thought.
But he was proved wrong once more. How on earth was it possible that the man could be walking around the gardens like he did the day before? As if he didn't have a care in the world? With Sirius running in circles around him, no less? How was it possible that he hadn't handed out a detention in three weeks? How was it possible that he had suddenly revolutionised his entire teaching system? How was it possible that he had let his hand read by Trelawney, making her believe that he took her mumbling serious? How, how, how...?
There was no way Remus could make any sense of it all. Mustn't Albus must know all about Snape's recent change of character? Could it be that the torture Snape was undergoing all the time had mellowed him? Well, it was a possibility, but it hadn't done that for Snape in the past. To say the least.
If he was entirely honest with himself, Remus had to confess that the only reason these changes occupied him like this, was that they affected him so deeply. When he had taught at Hogwarts, four years earlier, he had found himself ready to forget the past and enter into a more adult relationship with his fellow teachers. With Snape, this just hadn't been possible. Thus, they had kept their distance, but Remus had looked at the other man with different eyes. Perhaps the reason was that Severus was the only other man of his age at Hogwarts. Perhaps because his lycanthropy made him reserved towards people who didn't know anything about him. Perhaps it was because of Snape's suppressed passion, but Remus felt that Snape fascinated and attracted him. When Snape had betrayed him, he had felt all the more hurt and angry because of this unspoken attraction. And it had taken the longer for him to get over it.
Now he was at Hogwarts again. In spite of everything, he had again felt the attraction. The man was even more unapproachable than he had been before. Still, Remus sometimes felt his heart go out to him when he returned from one of the dark lord's summonings. Hurt, but unbroken. In spite of everything, he had again tried to get closer to Snape. The last few months he had had the impression that the other man welcomed him. And Remus' heart had jumped in his chest.
Only to be mistaken again. How was it possible? How could it be that Severus on the one hand appeared more open and approachable than ever before in his life and at the same seemed to be an absolute stranger? Sometimes Remus had the impression that he had just as much history with him as with a chance-met person in the train. It was maddening.
Sighing, he went outside. He had had the last class of the day and he wanted to enjoy some sunshine before he locked himself in with his marking. He walked towards the lake and noted the water looked exceptionally beautiful. It reflected the colour of the sky and the sun painted the waves golden.
He went to the shores and sat down in the shadow of a large tree. He felt the peace of the place slowly wash over him and he relaxed a bit. It was amazing in what a golden light the world suddenly appeared. He smiled a bit wistfully.
After a moment he heard footsteps behind him and turned around to see who was coming. It was Hermione Granger. Remus smiled and nodded at her. Hermione smiled at him as well, but slowed down and looked at him uncertainly. It was clear that she had intended to sit down under the tree - to study, apparently - but she seemed to be unsure whether to do so or to go somewhere else. Invitingly, Remus pointed at the grass next to him. Hesitatingly, Hermione sat down.
"Please, excuse me, professor, I didn't want to disturb you."
"You don't," Remus replied. "And it is good to share the view with somebody else."
"It is," nodded Hermione. "It is a good place to think."
Remus raised his eyebrows. "You mean, apart from your study? Is something bothering you?"
Hermione blushed a little bit. Well, I'm not sure. Not really. It is just..."
Remus waited.
"It is just that... Did you know that Professor Snape thinks everybody should have equal rights? He said so in class today. I don't think the Slytherins have ever heard anything like that from him, for they gaped at him like fish."
Remus opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione went on "I was dumbfounded to hear him say a thing like that. But then I asked him whether that went on for house elves as well, but Professor Snape looked at me as if he had never heard of house elves before. Can you imagine what made him say anything like that? Wouldn't it be dangerous for his position in the Order?"
Remus looked at her. "I can imagine that you should think that. Perhaps he has some ulterior motive?"
"I thought that myself. But what could it be? I can think of nothing. He must know that they will inform their parents and then they will run to the dark lord with it. What could be the reason of that?"
"Perhaps it is some plan of the dark lord?"
"I thought of that as well. But what could he want? Create confusion? Make people think that he is planning what they think he is?"
"Perhaps he wants Professor Snape to establish his character here in school more firmly, so that he will be more effective as his spy. But that doesn't sound very believable, does it?"
"No," said Hermione honestly. "But I can't think of a better reason than that myself."
She hesitated. "Do you think he has gone mad, sir?"
Despite himself, Remus smiled. "The thought crossed my mind. But I do not really think it. And we shouldn't discuss Professor Snape in this way. Unless you think you really have a reason for anxiety?"
"No, sir," Hermione said, rising. "I need to study, sir. Thank you for listening to me."
Remus nodded at her.
Hermione got up and sat down at some distance. But she didn't study. Lupin obviously didn't want to discuss Snape in depth with her, but she could see, that he wondered just as much as she did. And she wasn't going to stop out of discretion.
She sighed. She had thought about this a lot these past few weeks, but she couldn't lay her fingers on something more solid. She had already searched in the library for a more detailed account of long-term effects of the Cruciatus curse. But the results, apart from being nightmarish, hadn't helped her any. She must find something else. What could it be? What could cause a man to change his entire lifestyle and all his habits in the course of weeks? It was simply impossible.
Suddenly she sat straight. What if it wasn't Snape at all? It wouldn't be the first time that somebody under disguise had entered Hogwarts. Was it a death eater disguised with Polyjuice potion? But no - that couldn't be it. She had frequently attended double potions with Snape and those were longer than an hour. Could Snape be drinking Polyjuice? No, he was very sparing in his habits and never partook of anything apart from the meals in the great hall. Or as far as Hermione could tell. There was no more confirmed recluse than Severus Snape. Or was it possible to brew a longer lasting Polyjuice potion? This definitely deserved some reading up, she thought happily, and wrote it down. What more could it be? A glamour spell? She had learned about those in the fascinating extra lesson McGonagall had once given, on the theories of A. Severitus. What was the counter charm again? One more thing to be researched. Perhaps a multitude of different spells? Harder to find out if you were unaware, but more easy to detect if you were...
A new visit to the library was definitely in order, she thought. She must also find all the ways for humans to disguise their true shape. Combinations of spells and potions were a definite possibility. And what about shape changing cloaks? But wouldn't the wards have detected that much concealment magic? And wouldn't Dumbledore have known? Another point of research. Wards. Although she didn't much in that respect, given the success of "Mad-Eye Moody" in their fourth year. With a weary sigh she got up. The essay for McGonagall must wait for now. She had another three weeks to finish it anyway. This was more important.
She got up quickly and then remembered professor Lupin, who was still sitting under the tree. She briefly debated whether to tell him about her suspicions or not, but then decided against it. After all, it might be humbug and she didn't want him to think any less of her as it was.
She quickly got to the library and sat down. She didn't see the surprised face of Madam Pince, who had just before seen her leave it, and sat down. Polyjuice first. Wait. She needed a signature to enter the restricted part. Would professor Lupin sign one for her? She sighed, for once regretting the absence of the late lamented professor Gilderoy Lockhart. Well, Lupin it must be. She went out again. On her way outside she contemplated what to tell him, but quickly decided that it must be the truth in some way. Part of it anyway. He would smell it if she were to lie.
Lupin was fortunately still sitting under the tree. He looked at Hermione with his golden eyes drawn to slits when she asked his permission, stating that she wanted to see whether it might be useful for the order some day. But he said nothing and signed a slip of parchment for her. Finally.
It was a disappointment, though. She leafed through Moste Potente Potions and half a dozen other works, anything solid she could find on the Polyjuice potion, but found nothing. Oh, it was certainly possible to make it stronger and longer lasting. But was it possible that Snape would have risked the severe side effects of such a long period of exposure? Knowing him, he probably would. But then - if this man really was under its influence, then it wouldn't be Snape. Could he have made the potion and have somebody else drink it? Why would he do such a thing? Would he deliberately have co-operated in this? It seemed that only an accomplished potions maker would be able to brew this kind of potion anyway. Was it possible that somebody else except Snape was able to do it? She couldn't decide it. There were too many unknown factors. One thing was certain however - if somebody was pretending to be Snape with the help of this potion, then there must be some signs. Small ones. The hair would discolour after some time. The fingernails would start to show slight deformities. And the teeth would yellow. Well, that last thing made it a dead certainty, Hermione thought, and giggled slightly. She must pay attention in the next lesson.
Next. Charms. She speedily found the counter charm for the possible glamour and wrote it down, next to half a dozen other possibilities. Now a more difficult thing. Combinations of potions and charms. This was for more complicated than anything else she had been researching, and the subject left her with a lot of work so that she was startled by the summons for diner.
Grumbling, she left the library. Where could she use the charm? Wait. That was no question. Snape would have to referee the next Quidditch match of Gryffindor against Ravenclaw. She could easily cast the charm. It was more likely that anyone would notice if she were to cheer Slytherin than if she would cast a charm.
That evening, Michael went up the stairs to join his honorary colleague's for diner. He found his way easily, as if he had lived there for years. He noticed it, but no longer thought about it. The first few weeks he had frantically tried to find out everything about Snape he could. To draw his conclusions about the man and to live like his double as much as he could. He no longer did it. Somehow, the castle and the magic caught up with him and he allowed himself to live from day to day, no longer asking himself much but accepting every situation as it came. It was fascinating. Absolutely addicting. From time to time he felt violently guilty. More than once he was on the point of confessing everything to Dumbledore. But he never did.
As he sat down for diner, next to Madame Hooch this time, she turned up to him and said, "Ah, Severus, you remember our appointment, don't you?"
"Our appointment?" Michael repeated, raising an eyebrow. It was a technique he had speedily perfected when confronted with situations to which he had no answer. "Yes, appointment. I can't referee the next match myself. You were going to do it. Don't forget it please. It will be next Saturday. Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw."
Michael didn't have a clue what she was talking about, but nodded, feeling that he couldn't ask for clarification. Fortunately, Hooch didn't talk to him anymore, and he finished his diner in silence.
After diner, he went outside. It was far too lovely an evening to spend inside. When he walked past the students, he noticed the lovely Gryffindor girl again. He nodded at her and she nodded back, apparently a bit amazed. Michael hesitated, but couldn't find an excuse to address her. And he thought that it wouldn't be proper if he showed himself too interested. He was posing as her professor after all. It was a pity though.
When he got outside, he looked around him and decided to visit Hagrid. After his initial shock he had discovered that he rather liked the giant. And the man had the most amazing animals. But Hagrid didn't seem to be in his hut. Where could he be? Hearing a strange noise a few yards away, he turned towards it. Hagrid was working with some animal, but apparently without too much success. What kind of animal was it? It seemed to be some kind of a dog, but bigger. Before Michael reached Hagrid, however, Hermione came along. Michael hadn't seen her, but suddenly heard her voice. "Hagrid, what are you doing? What kind of an animal is that? Is that a Lupador? I read about them They are amazing. They can... What is wrong with this one? Is he hurt?"
"Ah, H'mione, good t'see ye. Now shush. Need to concentrate. Got a nasty snakebite in 'is front paw. Needs t' calm down a bit more, but I'm in a hurry. Poison works very quickly."
Michael frowned a bit at this last information. He looked at the animal - some sort of a lionish dog. The animal looked far from calm, and judging from the look in his eyes, the poison was already doing its job. Hagrid, though skilled with animals, would need to hurry to be in time. He remembered the countless animals he had had in his practice and said quickly, "Hagrid, make way. I think I can help. Hand him to me."
Hagrid shot him a very doubting look, but he must have heard something in Michael's voice, for he reluctantly handed the animal over. It was by no means simple, for the animal, sensing escape, struggled more fiercely to get away. Michael firmly but gently took hold of the feverish body and stroked it behind its ears, murmuring quiet, soothing words. Not raising his voice nor changing its tone, he demanded Hagrid to get him warm, not too hot water. Hagrid started to get up, but Hermione shot him an amazed look and then summoned the water with her wand. Michael just nodded. "Now, a very sharp knife. The sharpest you've got." Again, Hermione summoned what he needed, but the look of mystery in her eyes grew.
Michael didn't pay attention to her. He concentrated on the animal, using everything in his power to calm him down, at the same time working as quickly and as efficiently as he could. He gently put both front claws in the water. It seemed to calm the animal a bit more. Then he very quickly cut the paw and let it bleed. The animal didn't feel it. The knife was too sharp and the skin was softer in the water. But the blood was streaming out of the wound. Michael hoped that all the poison would get out this way, but thought the additional treatment would be a good idea. What was it again he had once used with that cow in a very isolated farm? Well, he would see to that later. For now, the bleeding seemed to slow down, and the animal had calmed. Perhaps the loss of blood helped with that as well.
As the water cooled, he raised the animal out of it, helped by Hagrid's enormous hands. Hagrid very gently held the dog in his arms and carried it back to his hut. Michael followed him. He was content when he saw that the animal was quickly falling asleep. It gave him time to prepare the treatment he had in mind. It was a very old recipe, but effective. He found all the herbs he needed at Hagrid hut, and quickly prepared it, explaining to Hagrid what he was doing and why. The giant listened to him and promised to apply it. And then invited him and for tea and home-made sweets. Michael innocently accepted the invitation and sat down. He quickly discovered that this had been a mistake and that he should he taken his cue from the girl, who had accepted only the tea.
They were sitting there for a while. Then, "Excuse me, professor, may I ask you a question?"
"Certainly," he answered, slightly amused. She always had questions. It was rather refreshing, he thought.
"Why didn't you charm the poison out of it? Wouldn't it have been much more painless?"
"As it is, the procedure was painless," Michael answered. "Apart from that, the water helped to calm the animal, and that is half the treatment. And it is sometimes good to treat without magic. It helps to strengthen the natural resilience of the body."
"But how will you know whether the animal is fully healed?"
Michael looked at her a bit amazed. "You can tell by the expression in the eyes. It is the clearest indication if there is something wrong with it. You can tell if it refuses food, by the way it moves, by the way it reacts to people. Well, you just see it."
"Do you really think that if there is something wrong with an animal that you can see it in the eyes? Does that go on for people as well?"
"It goes on for all living creatures with a soul," Michael said quietly.
Hermione stared at him. "Does that go on for all sort of pain? But how about dark magic? Can you see that in the eyes as well?"
"Think for yourself," Michael said softly. He didn't want to make any statement on dark magic whatsoever.
He could practically see Hermione think. "When you practice dark magic, you use all kinds of negative emotions. Hatred, fear, disgust, malice. Can these emotions be healthy?"
"If balanced and given their right space," Michael only said.
She turned towards him. "Are they balanced in the right way when directed at somebody else?"
"It is never good to attempt to hurt somebody else," Michael said contemplatively. "But sometimes a catharsis could be just the thing you need. I don't know."
Hermione still stared at him, too excited about the thought to appreciate the subtlety of the argument.
"So, if you use dark magic, you hurt yourself. And you can see it in the eyes. Don't you think so? So if somebody uses too much dark magic, he ultimately destroys himself. Don't you think? Could this be a way to destroy Voldemort by his own dark magic?"
"I think you are way too fast in your conclusions," Michael said. What about the joy at doing something correctly and effectively? Wouldn't that counteract the darkness?"
Hermione's gaze clouded for a moment, but then brightened again. "I need to research this. Thank you professor. It is just fascinating."
Michael said nothing. He just smiled at her. She stared back at him. Confused. Suddenly, Hagrid's hut seemed too small. Professor Snape evoked so many different emotions inside her. She no longer knew how to act around him. She felt uncertain and very self-conscious and she could no longer keep her hands and her eyes still.
She abruptly jumped up and said breathlessly, "Thank you for the tea, Hagrid. Thank you, sir. Good evening," and sped out.
Michael stared after her, but didn't find an explanation for her behaviour with Hagrid, as the giant was staring at him himself.
The next morning, Michael came down for breakfast, to be greeted very cordially by Hagrid and Lupin. The giant was ecstatic. The Lupador had recovered completely and had never done better. He seemed to have adapted to human company better than his species generally did. In fact, he seemed to trust Hagrid enough to allow him to take a look at the paw. Not that it was necessary, as Professor Snape's treatment had worked like a charm. As he told Michael again and again. And again. And with him the whole staff.
Michael nodded and smiled and wished that Hagrid would finally stop talking. He was getting embarrassed. But the giant was deaf to all subtle hints about pressure for time and work. Thus Michael sighed through his breakfast and missed all the surprised glances of the staff in his direction. He escaped as soon as possible, but not before Madame Hooch had reminded him of the Quidditch. Michael just nodded.
Thus came the moment when he walked in the direction of the Quidditch pitch in the company of Remus Lupin. He hadn't been there before and he looked around himself in amazement, asking himself what had to be done in here.
He was very speedily informed. Lupin held a broomstick under his nose and wished him luck. Michael stared at it. What was he supposed to do with it? Sweep the floor? But then two groups of students few onto the field and he blanched. They wanted him to fly with it? How in all the world was he going to do that? There was no way he could ever fake that. Unless... No, the broom didn't fly by itself. It must be the flyer's magic. He felt ill. What was he going to do? Faint? No, they would very likely revive him and send him off just the same. There would be no faking illness...
Remus Lupin looked at him and saw his start. What could be wrong with Severus? The man looked positively ill. Was he shaking? Yes. He looked as if he was ready to sink. He took his arm gently.
"Severus? Is everything alright with you?"
The man looked at him, but didn't say a word.
"Severus? What is the matter? Don't you want to fly?"
He saw something in the eyes of the other that disappeared again almost immediately. He couldn't interpret it. But the other shook his head, very slightly. "Why not," Remus asked urgently. It was odd. Severus had always been a passionate flyer. He received no answer. Remus shook his arm. He was starting to be very worried. But then, softly, "I'm afraid of heights." With his face turned away.
Remus started. Severus afraid of heights. Impossible. He had always been a reckless flyer as a youth. Unless... A series of unwanted images appeared in front of his mental eye very quickly. Severus abandoning Quidditch. Severus, refusing to play it any longer. Severus, always scowling during every match. Severus, with his legendary unfairness towards all players non Slytherin. Could it be... But there was no time. He quickly took the broom and turned towards the headmaster.
After a minute he got back. Dumbledore had been very surprised by the request, but had granted it immediately. Michael sat down, pretending there was nothing wrong. The players reacted surprised as well, but no one protested. Not even the Ravenclaws, although Lupin's being a Gryffindor necessarily meant their disadvantage.
"They don't protest," Professor Sprout, sitting behind Michael, said to her neighbour.
"They probably rather have Lupin's possible prejudice than Snape's," the other woman dryly answered.
Michael pretended not to have heard her. He was by now thoroughly familiar with the house rivalry and had the ever growing conviction that there weren't any teachers at Hogwarts who were more unpopular than Snape.
Besides, his attention was riveted by the game. It was very exciting, and after a while he understood the rules. He shivered when he witnessed the neck-or-nothing attitude of the players. He didn't understand how anybody could fly like that and not have a mortal accident. Suddenly one of the players in red flew to the ground, at an irresponsible speed and apparently in the conviction that the earth would swallow him as if it were water. One foot above the ground he suddenly stopped and moved with lightning speed. He seemed to be holding something and the world around Michael erupted in applause. Michael released his breath, realising that the player was still alive and that the game was over. He got up and clapped loudly, shouting his approval.
He still felt the tension of the game in his body, so it was only after a few moment that he noticed that all the professors had stopped clapping and stared at him. He abruptly stopped clapping, feeling embarrassed but not sure what he had done wrong. Professor Sprout stared at him. Professor Sinistra' pale blue eyes were wide open. Professor Flitwick tried to peek around the Hagrid's back to see what was happening anyway. Hagrid suddenly laughed and put an enormous hand on Michael's shoulder. "Mighty sportive of ye, pr'fessor. I c'nfess I hadn't 'xpected it of ye. Mighty sportive!"
At that moment, Albus Dumbledore came towards him and clapped him on the shoulder. "Severus. I'm so proud of you. Like Hagrid said: I hadn't expected it of you, but I am proud."
Michael coloured. He was absolutely embarrassed and looked at the ground. He didn't know what to say. He felt himself blush and finally snapped "Like it is something special to applaud during a match!"
This seemed to break the tension among the teachers. They all laughed and left the stands.
When he walked up towards the castle, Hermione approached Michael, hesitatingly. "Professor? Excuse me, but can I have a word with you, please?"
Michael smiled at her, relieved to be able to concentrate on something else. She really was a very nice girl. "Certainly," he answered politely.
Hermione stared at him, confused, for a moment.
"I thought about what you said the other day, professor, about what you can see in the eye of a living creature. But I don't understand it. I understand that you can see pain and confusion in the eyes of a living creature. Naturally, they are bad feelings, so..."
"Are they?" Michael calmly interrupted.
She stared at him again. "Why, of course, professor. How could they possibly be good?"
"The pain of loss can lead to something good, can it not?" He asked. "It is natural to feel pain sometimes. It is not necessarily evil."
"But..." It took Hermione a second to arrange her thoughts. "Pain and confusion, anger, frustration hurt the person who is feeling them. They harm him, physically and mentally. How could they be good?"
"They also make him stronger. Physical exertion, to give another example, is not always enjoyable. But it strengthens the body."
"But how is it possible that anger and frustration are the core of dark magic when they are not evil?"
"I said: not necessarily evil," Michael calmly corrected. "I leave it up to you to find an answer."
He smiled at her again. Her enthusiasm and her intensity reminded him of his own years at university and gave him energy. It was a long time ago when he had last felt that.
Hermione stared at him again. He had done it again. He smiled at him again. She had spent almost seven years at Hogwarts, and he had never taken the trouble to notice her, except to sneer and to humiliate her. But now he smiled at her. It gave her a weird feeling. She didn't quite know how to handle it. She had always known that he was an extremely intelligent man, but no one had ever given her such things to think about. His thinking was so out of the way. Nothing she had ever before heard at Hogwarts.
How could this be Snape? It couldn't be. But she had cast the anti glamour spell on him when he was watching Harry. It had revealed nothing. Absolutely nothing. It seemed that he had done even less wand magic than usual, for she could trace absolutely no residue of spilt magic on him. And he must have washed himself carefully before watching the match, for there were no magical potions-related stains on him. Now that she though about it, he must have washed himself more often the last few weeks, for his hair was not nearly as greasy. He must have cut it a bit too. Or perhaps his hairdresser had washed it for him. She giggled at the thought.
What could have changed the man? He showed no sings of prolonged use of potions. But he would know how to conceal those, of course.
The change was for the better, though. He had the most beautiful hands. His eyes were beautiful when he smiled. How could it be that the man was always so alone? Could he ever have been in love? Must have been an unhappy love, she thought.
She was so much in thought that she didn't notice that Michael looked after her when she entered the castle. She really was lovely, he thought. A pity that she was unapproachable. Or was she? He remembered some of the titles in his double's bookcase. Hmm. A moment he felt guilty about the way he used his double's property. But he couldn't resist the thought. Hermione would certainly be interested. Hmm...
As he walked up to the castle, Jack ran towards him, having spent a delightful afternoon chasing around. He put his nose into Michael's hand and licked it. Michael violently startled. He had been far too deeply engrossed in his thoughts. "Sod off," he growled towards Jack and walked towards the castle with long strides. Jack looked after him and whined softly, but Michael didn't even notice. Remus Lupin looked after him pensively.