The Price of Vengeance

by Shandethe Sanders

Fifteen years ago, the McKinnons were murdered by Death Eaters. Now the only survivor wants revenge...on Snape.

9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Mariela Chavez leaned forward on her desk. "And you're sure?"

Remus Lupin sighed. "The only thing that I am sure of is that we know nothing."

They had been sitting in Mariela's office for just over twenty minutes, discussing what little they knew of the mysterious attack on Severus Snape.

It had only been five minutes into the conversation when Mariela had told him to simply address her by her first name. Remus had decided that he rather liked her forthright manner—it reminded him a little of Sirius.

She chewed rather unprofessionally at the end of her quill. "So Severus is a friend of yours, is he?"

"I—yes—well, in a manner of—" Remus stopped short. Why would she use his first name? Unless…

Clearing his throat, he raised one eyebrow. "Are you?"

Mariela's eyes narrowed, as though she were judging how much to tell him. Finally, she nodded.

"Yes, or at least I was. Both of my parents worked for the Snape family. We grew up together. My father died five years ago, so now it's just Mother that works there. Severus left years ago, and nobody knew why."

"Really," Remus replied. But then, was it really so surprising? Everything about Severus Snape seemed to be veiled in mystery. Why not his family as well?

Mariela nodded. "His father would never say what his reasons were, and after awhile I stopped asking. Dragging a secret from a Snape is like dragging a jewel out of a Firecrab, you know?"

Remus chuckled. "Personally, I would take the Firecrab."

Mariela laughed outright. "So would I!"

She stopped laughing abruptly. "I'm sorry, we're getting off track. The point is, I've been forbidden to search for the perpetrator. And even if I could do it openly, I don't know how much I could find. There was no trace of magic at the scene that was usable, and there was such a crowd there—"

"He or she could have slipped off in the crowd," Remus suggested. "They wouldn't need magic, if they were there to begin with."

"True," agreed Mariela. "I could go over the list of witnesses again, and check their backgrounds. He might have be among them, and slipped right by us!"

"Couldn't that land you in trouble?" Remus asked.

"Most likely." Mariela replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Then let me do it," Remus replied. "Snape would never forgive me if I caused a friend to lose her job."

Mariela sighed. "We aren't exactly friends any longer. I talked to him earlier today at Hogwarts, and he made that perfectly clear."

"I'm sorry," Remus replied sympathetically. He could certainly relate to the loss of a good friend. A change of subject was in order, he decided.

"You say he still has family?"

"A father," Mariela said, nodding. "Dr. Septimus Snape. I spoke to him as well—unofficially, of course. He hardly seemed to want to acknowledge it."

She slid her chair back from the desk, and opened the drawer. A moment later, she laid her notebook on the desk.

"The list and my notes are in there," she said, handing the notebook over to him. "If you find anything, come straight to me."

"Of course," Remus replied, placing the book in his satchel.

It was a lie, and he knew it. They couldn't afford any unnecessary involvement, given the amount of danger present. Mariela obviously had no idea of the depth of the situation, although she might suspect it.

Suspicions couldn't always prepare a person for disaster, though. Remus had learned that lesson the hard way.

He stood from his chair, and Mariela did the same. "Thank you, Officer—"

"I told you to call me Mariela."

"Mariela, then. Thank you, and I will let you know if I find anything."

"Good luck, Mr. Lupin. I'll see you out."

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

Severus stirred the cauldron, the liquid inside shimmering under the candlelight. It had been three days since Mariela had come to see him, and he felt as though every emotion he had been suppressing for the past fifteen years had come to the surface in one form or another.

"Delacour, bring me the eye of newt," he said brusquely, his eyes focused on the cauldron in front of him.

Fleur, who had been cleaning the area around the cabinet, as he had instructed, stopped what she was doing. He heard sounds of rummaging, and the clinking of jars. Finally Fleur spoke.

"Zere is no more eye of newt in zis cabinet, Professor," she replied. "Shall I get zome from zee store cupboard?"

Severus rolled his eyes, his frustration mounting. Can nothing go right for me? Not even a blasted potion that I've made before?

Granted, he wasn't particularly thrilled about having to make it. The Wolfsbane Potion was incredibly complicated, even for a professional like himself. It might have been a welcome challenge, if not for the fact that it was for Remus Lupin.

"No, I'll get it myself. Don't touch the cauldron while I'm gone, or you'll be sorry you left France."

He stormed out, quite unnecessarily. It seemed for a moment that he had his mother's flair for dramatic exits.

Well, Mother, perhaps you and I would have gotten on well after all. Then again, it's probably better that you took your leave when you did. Father would never have survived the two of us.

He allowed his mind to return to the familiar patterns of anger and annoyance, finding an odd sort of comfort in them.

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

There is no rest for the wicked—or the weary, Remus thought as he entered Hogwarts.

The notes Mariela had given him told him only a little more than he already knew. Interviews with all of the witnesses, though most had only heard the sounds of the attack, and random observations—some professional, some not. Remus had to smile at some of Mariela's comments about some old witch's reminiscences about the London blitz, most of them sarcastic.

Sirius had done what he could, researching through recent Defense Against the Dark Arts publications, attempting to find matches in the names of the witnesses. It was a long shot, but still worth trying. He had also watched over the homes of the witnesses in his Animagus form, trying to ascertain if any of them was the culprit. So far, it had yielded little luck.

The house-elves all knew Remus by now, and let him pass without comment. He should probably at least stop in Dumbledore's office before he left, although he didn't really want to face his former headmaster with nothing.

Come to that, he did not wish to face Snape at all. Remus was not afraid of Snape, but he was altogether too tired to fend off his temper. Least of all when it was near to the full moon, and Remus' own emotions were more raw than usual—and when he depended on Snape to prevent him from turning into a ravenous beast.

It was not an ideal situation.

Remus reached the dungeon in record time, and knocked on the door.

"Eet ees open, Professor," a heavily accented female voice called. "Why didn't you—" Suddenly a blue-robed figure appeared in the doorway of the classroom, and threw the door open.

"And what do you think you're doing 'ere?" she demanded, her brilliant blue eyes flashing.

Remus bit back a smile, as he realized this must be Snape's part-veela apprentice. "I'm here to see Professor Snape. You must be Miss Delacour."

"Are you 'ere to attack 'im?" Fleur Delacour asked suspiciously.

"Not unless he hits me first," Remus replied.

Miss Delacour smiled.

"My name is Remus Lupin," he continued. "Would you be so kind as to tell him that I'm here?"

"Oh, 'e went to get zee eye of newt," she replied. "Come in and wait, please."

"Of course. Thank you, Miss Delacour."

He made himself comfortable at one of the student desks, while Miss Delacour bustled about, tidying up the dungeon.

"How do you enjoy working for Professor Snape?" he asked, more for the sake of good manners than anything else.

Miss Delacour paused, as though debating how to answer. "I am learning much," she replied.

Remus accepted that. There really wasn't a tactful way to answer a question like that, although the look of distaste on her face gave her true feelings away.

"Do you enjoy living at Hogwarts?" he asked.

This time he was rewarded with a smile. "Oh, yes. It eez very nice, leeving so close to 'Ogsmeade. Zee shopping eez good—not so good as in Paris, but better zan most in England. And zere are always people—only a few days ago, I met an old school friend of mine."

"Oh yes? Anyone I might know?" Remus asked.

"Perhaps, I think 'e is English as well. Anthony McKinnon?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied. Something about that name tugged at his memory…"Does he live around here?"

Miss Delacour shook her head. "No, 'e is staying…come to think of eet, 'e didn't say. Somewhere in town, I suppose." She shrugged.

"Lupin, is that you?" Snape's voice demanded, and Remus looked up to see his black-clad figure standing in the doorway.

"The potion's not quite ready yet, but it shouldn't be much longer. Delacour! What on earth are you doing? Get those jars back in the cupboard and start on the ones in the office, where you can do less damage. Move!"

Snape turned his back on her, which was lucky, as he missed the face she made behind his back. Remus coughed, trying to mask his amusement, and the young witch disappeared into Snape's office.

"How was your day?" he asked lightly.

Snape merely grunted in response.

Like talking to a horse, Remus thought. Out loud, he said, "Getting along with your apprentice, then?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Of course, Remus could have commented on the ceiling tiles and it probably still would have offended Snape.

"What do you think?" Snape replied sharply. "She's adequate enough, inclined to think too much of herself, rather like certain schoolboys I knew!"

Remus just stared at Snape wide-eyed for a moment, trying to control his emotions. He finally said calmly, "I have already apologized for my actions, or lack thereof, during that period of time. Nothing can change the past, Severus. And believe me, I regret that as much as you do."

Snape snorted, and checked the cauldron again. "Not long now," he muttered. "Another minute should do the trick."

"Do you know Anthony McKinnon?" Remus asked. "Miss Delacour mentioned that she saw him. The name sounded familiar—"

"As well it should," Snape snapped, whirling around so quickly that he nearly hit the cauldron. "He's the son of Kevin McKinnon, the Auror. Do you remember, Remus? Kevin and Alice McKinnon? They had a little boy. Death Eaters killed them. I was there, and McKinnon begged me to spare his son!"

"And now he's here in Hogsmeade," Remus said, considering the new information. "Does he know—who you are?"

"How would he?" Snape demanded, spooning some of the potion into a goblet. "Very few are supposed to, or I wouldn't be doing my job very well, would I? Take this directly, Lupin."

Remus took a reluctant sip, trying hard not to make a face. The Wolfsbane Potion's taste was in between horseradish and sardines, possibly worse than both combined.

It would certainly be worth investigating a little more closely into Anthony McKinnon, and exactly what had brought him to Hogsmeade after all this time.

Like those Muggle murder mysteries…always the most obvious person. Or is the least obvious? But in this case, he's our only suspect—and even that isn't saying much.

He would say nothing to Snape for the moment—Remus knew for a fact that another touchy subject would only irritate Snape further.

Suddenly, he had a lot to think about.

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

Loki strolled toward Anthony's inn, feeling rather cheerful. They had been meeting like this for the past few days, planning every detail of Snape's demise. Malfoy would be very pleased.

And now it's almost showtime, Loki thought, his smile widening.

He'd managed to gain Anthony access to the Shrieking Shack. It had definitely required the pulling of more than one string, and the bashing of quite a few heads. Malfoy had handled the former, and Loki the latter. All of this had to be done discreetly, of course.

Not that there was really any discreet way of bashing someone's head in, although Loki was sure that his victims would find it rather difficult to speak for some time to come.

He was so distracted by his pleasant train of thought that he crashed headlong into a short, curly-haired witch standing just outside of the doorway.

"Son of a—" Loki stopped short, realizing that swearing at a witch in the middle of a crowded street might attract attention. "I mean, sorry, madam, I didn't see you there."

He took a second look at her. Despite his unusual upbringing, Loki was still the stereotypical twenty-one year old man. He had an appetite for women, even simple flirting.

The witch he'd crashed into was short and rather dark in skin and hair, though she did have very white teeth. She wasn't English, he'd known enough foreign women to be able to tell the difference. She was too small for his taste, though not entirely unattractive. Older than his usual, but then, variety was the spice of life.

"Well, that was obvious," the witch replied dryly. "You ought to be more careful!"

"Yes, madam," Loki replied obediently, unable to keep the slight smirk off of his mouth. It was really something to be told off by a woman who barely reached one's shoulder, he thought.

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

Mariela crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at the young man in annoyance. Really! It wasn't enough that she had spent all of her free time in the last few days wandering around Hogsmeade, looking for clues, but now someone had to attempt to run her over as well!

And Septimus had been no help. She hadn't bothered to tell him she was still continuing the investigation, though she was keeping her mother posted.  

"Be more careful!" she snapped again, turning to leave.

Wait a minute.

That young man looked awfully familiar…Mariela knew she'd seen him before. At work? Well, it was possible, a lot of young men passed through the Ministry. He probably worked in a different department. At any rate, even if her theory was correct, he didn't seem to recognize her. He had been coming by this hotel several times in the last few days, though occasionally she'd caught sight of him in local pubs.

She paused, and edged closer to the entrance, pulling a hat out of her handbag as she did so. The young man had his back to her now, waiting with his arms crossed—for what?

Mariela tucked her hair under the tall dark hat that covered half of her face, and opened her copy of Witch Weekly. She'd read it about seventeen times already this afternoon, trying to look inconspicuous. When she had the time, she would have to write to the editors and demand that they burn their recipe pages. She never had been much for cooking—

Her train of thought broke off as another young man appeared, having exited the inn. He was of a more muscular build than the dark-haired one, and had auburn hair badly in need of trimming.

She had to smile. Her husband was very much the same way about his hair, and it was rare that she could argue him into letting her—

"You're late, Lestrange," the auburn-haired man remarked.

I definitely recognize that name, Mariela thought, her head spinning. Anyone who knew anything about the Dark Arts knew about the Lestrange family.

"So are you, McKinnon," Lestrange replied, still wearing his smirk. "Just here to deliver a note from the boss, he doesn't care for the owl system." He held out a piece of parchment, which McKinnon took and read.

"Good," he said, his handsome features lighting with a rather twisted smile. Mariela felt a chill run down her spine, and raised her magazine a bit higher.

McKinnon, McKinnon, where have I heard that? Another Dark Wizard? No, that can't be right…

"Everything's ready. We're only waiting for you," Lestrange said, lowering his voice. She had to strain to hear.

"You won't be in suspense long," McKinnon replied with the same twisted grin. "I daresay he'll be surprised, won't he? After all those lovely fireworks—"

"Are you out of your gourd? Don't talk about that here, you idiot!" Lestrange hissed. He glanced around furtively, and Mariela instinctively buried her nose in her magazine, pretending to be either very absorbed or very nearsighted.

Apparently they didn't consider her a threat, because a moment later, they resumed talking.

"I'm headed back to London," Lestrange said. "If you need anything, you know where to contact us."

"Of course," McKinnon replied. "Thank you, Lestrange."

Lestrange looked rather surprised, but he grinned—not very reassuringly. He looked more like a grinning jackal than anything human.

"Any time, McKinnon."

When the two had parted ways, Mariela folded her magazine and casually walked away, though her heart was racing.

The Lestranges were Death Eaters…I never heard anything about a son, but it's possible—though he could be a nephew or something. The McKinnons…that was a long time ago that I last heard that name. Just before I went back to Spain.

Madre de Dios! How could she have forgotten? They had been killed by Death Eaters! The names of all of those murdered by the Dark Lord were engraved in every Spanish Ministry officer's memory. Nunca otra vez, that had become their motto after the Dark Lord's fall. By remembering the past, they would surely never repeat it.

But what did any of that have to do with Severus? He couldn't—

She had to go now, to someone who might be able to answer her questions.

You're not ducking me this time, Septimus!

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

Septimus still felt as cold as ever inside.

There was still work to be done, however. People never ceased to find new and interesting ways to injure themselves with magic. He had thrown himself into his work with renewed vigor, barely stopping to eat or sleep. Now it was just after dusk, the evening stars about to make their appearance.

"You ought to go home for a bit, sir," Dinah Brinton volunteered, eyeing him tentatively. The other nurses had been tiptoeing around him for the past forty-eight hours, and it was somewhat refreshing that one actually had the nerve to say something.

"Very little awaits me there," Septimus replied shortly. Nothing but thoughts of my estranged son, which no music can drown out.

"But sir—"

"Dinah, please!" he snapped, whirling around. "Leave well enough alone, won't you?"

The young nurse shot him a wounded look, and scurried off. Septimus felt terrible, though there was little he could say to mend it now.

That's the story of my life, it would seem.

He strode by the bed of one of his patients, a witch who had been on the receiving end of a very nasty hex after an argument with her sister. Septimus picked up her chart and checked it over. She was making wonderful progress, and would probably be allowed to go home soon.

Family problems are rampant these days, are they not? If only Severus and I could have gotten it out in the open—talked sooner. Even if he didn't listen to me, at least it wouldn't have been because I didn't say it.

He was an idiot, not to mention a terrible actor. How could he pretend that he didn't care what happened to his son?

But he wants nothing to do with me! Oh, hell, I'm a coward. I can't face him, not again.

But what if he was in danger?

Even if he were, what could I do? Listen to Mariela tell me about how they've found nothing?

He'd overheard Mariela's conversations with her mother. Septimus couldn't blame Pira for wanting to know what happened to Severus—she'd taken care of him for most of his life. Still, he couldn't help feeling annoyed at her betrayal.

Lucky that I never pretend to have logical thought patterns, he thought in disgust, putting the chart in its proper place.

He walked back toward the main desk.

"Septimus!" a woman's voice shouted, her voice ringing out in the hallway.

Septimus turned, and Mariela Chavez skidded to a stop in front of him. His arms shot out, catching her shoulders just before she fell on him.

"Sorry," she rasped. "Ran…up…stairs…"

"What are you doing here?" he asked. She looked as though she had just run through a wind tunnel. Her hat was askew, and her hair was a tangled mass about her face.

"I heard something you need to know," she replied, still trying to catch her breath. "It's about Sev—" she stopped short, seeing the look on Septimus' face. "About your son," she finished in a quieter tone.

"I thought I had made it clear that I was not interested," Septimus replied coldly.

"You did. But I'm going to tell you anyway, and you're going to listen," Mariela snapped, as though she were scolding one of her daughters.

"Dr. Snape!" another voice called out.

Both Mariela and Septimus turned at the same time, to see a wizard in very shabby robes walking toward them. He was holding a sheet of parchment in his hands, and he was rather pale.

"Who are you?" Septimus asked, his dark brow furrowing. Aren't I popular today?

"My name is Remus Lupin, sir. I taught at Hogwarts with your son," the man replied. "I have something important to—oh, hello, Officer Chavez." For some reason, he looked slightly embarrassed, or guilty.

Mariela was glaring at him. "Do you? I thought you would come to me if there was any new—"

Septimus was completely lost. He took a deep breath. "This is all very interesting, but may we discuss it where there is less of an audience?" He gestured toward the witches and wizards in the waiting room, most of which were staring.

"Oh." Mariela and Lupin said in one voice.

"Follow me, then."

He led them down the corridor and turned, heading to his personal office. There was really no other place in St. Mungo's that was so private, and no one would disturb them there.

Septimus' office was not large, and made to look smaller than it actually was by the bookshelves jammed with medical texts, and papers stacked on every available surface. It was decorated largely with neutral shades of blue and green. The only furniture in the room—a desk and three chairs—was comfortably worn.

"Have a seat," Septimus replied. As his two unexpected guests obeyed, he checked the door. The Anti-Eavesdropping Charm was in effect. 

He pulled up the third chair behind his desk, and sat down himself.

"Now. You must forgive my rudeness—I am addressing Mr. Lupin, as I do not know him--but I will be very thankful if someone explains what in seven hells is going on here. Preferably sooner rather than later. I assume this has to do with the attack on Severus a few days ago?"

Both Lupin and Mariela nodded.

"Well?"

Lupin turned to Mariela. "You go first," he said. "Consider it my apology."

The hard look on her face softened, just a smidge. "I accept the apology if you'll go first. I want to hear what it is you found out."

Lupin looked about to argue politely, but then he noticed the look on Septimus' face. "Very well."

He cleared his throat. "As I said, Severus and I once taught at Hogwarts. I left two years ago, but I returned to live in the area just this summer. Severus makes a potion for an…affliction of mine. As you know, he was attacked about a week ago in the Hogsmeade cemetery. My—cohort and I have been looking into the situation, researching possible witnesses and suspects, with the aid of Officer Chavez here. We thought we had found nothing, until this afternoon Severus' young apprentice, Miss Delacour, made a passing remark about an acquaintance of hers, a Mr. Anthony McKinnon."

Where have I heard that name? Septimus thought. Surely it had not been very long ago…

Lupin continued. "Since none of our other options had worked, I decided to look into McKinnon. His family was killed by Death Eaters fifteen years ago."

He placed the parchment he had been holding on Septimus' desk. "This is the official report. I asked one of my Auror friends to get it for me."

Septimus snatched up the paper, his blue-gray eyes skimming the text. Victims…Kevin McKinnon…Alice McKinnon…survived by son Anthony Gwydion McKinnon, age five.

His eyes widened as he read the end of the page. Witness, Severus Snape." He glanced up sharply, his eyes meeting Lupin's, and then Mariela's.

"Severus was there?" he demanded hoarsely. He glanced at the date of the attack—it was the same night his son had come home in such a state of shock…the night that he had confessed…

"Yes," Lupin replied. "And I've been looking around for reports of Anthony McKinnon's mental state as well. Apparently he's suffered a few panic attacks in the past ten years, which means that the tragedy struck him much later on. That frequently happens. And about a month earlier, he returned to England for the first time in fifteen years, and met with Minister Fudge, making a request to have his parents' murder case reopened. It was turned down. I could not bring the paperwork, as I did not wish to get my colleague in more trouble than necessary."

"What are you suggesting? That this McKinnon is unbalanced in some way?" Septimus asked skeptically, although his heart rate increased considerably. "Panic attacks are not direct evidence of insanity, Mr. Lupin. Many people have them."

Mariela opened her mouth to speak, but Lupin did not see.

"I realize that," Lupin replied. "However, if my hypothesis is true, and if we suppose…if McKinnon were convinced somehow that Snape was responsible for his parents' deaths…that might well be motive for such an attack."

Septimus shut his eyes briefly, remembering the unconscious form on the stretcher—his son…

"There's more," Mariela said at last. "I've been canvassing the area around Hogsmeade, talking to the locals. And this afternoon I overheard a conversation between two young men—Mr. McKinnon and Mr. Lestrange. Lestrange said that he had been sent by his employer to deliver a message. I was too far away to read it, but McKinnon looked very pleased by it. His smile…" she shook her head. "He gave me chills. Then he said that it wouldn't be much longer—and then he mentioned something about 'fireworks'," she finished.

"So he's the one," Septimus breathed, feeling the anger flowing through his veins.

What? On Severus' behalf? I thought you didn't care! An irritating voice in the back of his mind taunted. But his nightmare about his wife, and Severus' death still haunted him, and he leaned forward on the desk. Wait—Lestrange, I know that name as well!

"Technically, all we have to go on is a hypothesis," Mariela said with a sigh. "We have some evidence to back it up, but not enough. You couldn't arrest someone on this, even if the case were still open. And even the conversation I overheard would be thrown out, because I was going against my superior's orders to abandon the investigation."

Septimus glanced over at Mariela. "Did you say Lestrange?"

"Yes," Mariela said slowly. "Why?"

"Because a few months ago, there was a fundraiser ball for St. Mungo's, in which Lucius Malfoy donated several thousand Galleons towards a new ward," Septimus replied, recalling the occasion. "He brought with him his assistant—Mr. Loki Lestrange. And I had a patient named Anthony McKinnon nearly two weeks ago—I just remembered now. He asked me some rather odd questions about my family, come to think of it..."

All three of them exchanged horrified looks.

"But that would mean—wait, what are we saying?" Mariela demanded. "Alright, so Lestrange knows both McKinnon and Malfoy. We don't know if Malfoy is involved, and I don't even know who he is. I've heard the name, though."

"He is from a very old and wealthy family," Septimus explained wearily. "Twenty years ago he was tried and released on the charge of being a Death Eater."

"And what if it was true?" Mariela asked softly.

"It was," Lupin responded.

"But I still don't see what that has to do with Severus!" Mariela exclaimed. "I mean, he isn't—"

She trailed off abruptly when she saw the grayish tone that Septimus' skin had taken.

"Madre de Dios," she murmured, her brown eyes wide.

"Don't you remember, Mariela?" Septimus asked quietly. "All those nights that he went out—he said it was with friends, not getting home until nearly dawn. I was such a fool—I told myself he was behaving normally for his age, that I had forgotten what it was to be nineteen. For awhile I tried to delude myself into thinking perhaps it was a girl," he said with a sad smile.

He felt as though his emotions were being wrenched out with pliers…he had never spoken of this to anyone…

"That night the McKinnons were attacked, I waited at home for Severus. I planned to tell him off, demand that he explain himself—but when he finally came in, he was white and shaking. He told me—everything, how his friends were Death Eaters, how he'd seen people tortured and killed. He even showed me his Mark. And I…I was furious. At the time, St. Mungo's was crowded with the victims of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Septimus scowled briefly, as though he loathed having to resort to a euphemism, resenting his own fear of the word.

"Myself and other healers were working day and night to clean up his mess, and I saw things done to people that I have never before seen—cruelty beyond all imagination. And I was full of righteous anger—how could my son possibly be one of them? How could he have made this choice? And I was angry with myself, for not involving myself more, for being too much of a bloody coward to try to reach him. We had a flaming row, I won't mince words. Things were said that night that can never be forgiven. And the argument ended with my telling Severus that if he left my house, he was never welcome there again. And…he left."

He sighed, as the weight of that terrible night was shifted out into the open. He blinked away the moisture in his eyes furiously…no, he couldn't break now!

"My cowardice spans many years," Septimus continued, as his face expressed the purest self-loathing. "Cowardice and pride, that is. I couldn't admit that I had made a mistake, that things could have been very different for both of us—even when I saw him in the hospital after he awakened, I convinced myself that he meant nothing to me. But of course, like all liars, I became entangled in my own web."

Silence reigned in the office, as both Mariela and Lupin took in the story.

"I never knew…that's why Severus would never speak of you," Lupin muttered.

Mariela, however, jumped to her feet. "You idiot!" she shouted. "You're right, you are a coward! How could you have kept this from us, all these years! My mother going mad because she didn't know why Severus wouldn't respond to her letters—"

"Her what?" Septimus demanded, but Mariela cut him off.

"And me, not knowing and having no way to find out—and how could you just throw him out like that?" she roared, her eyes blazing. "Don't tell me I wouldn't understand, Septimus, I have children, too!"

"I make no excuses for my actions that night, or after," Septimus responded, not looking at Lupin or Mariela. "There is nothing that I can say now."

He stood from his desk. "But there is something to be done. I won't be a coward any longer."

"Oh, no you don't!" Mariela cried. "You can't face McKinnon alone!"

"That would be abysmally foolish, though somewhat inconsistent with my record as a coward," Septimus replied with a slight smirk. "No, I intend to face something altogether more dangerous—my son. I will warn him about McKinnon."

Lupin stood as well. "Let me—"

"No," Septimus interrupted. "It has to be me, don't you understand? I can't pretend that I don't love my son or that I don't care what happens to him any longer. I do. His life is in danger now, and if I can help to save it, then I will."

His voice rang out firm and resolute in the small office. Mariela's face, previously a mask of anger, was now full of pride.

Lupin nodded slowly, considering. "That might be best," he remarked. "Someone has to warn Severus. While you do that, perhaps I might have a chat with Mr. Lestrange."

"I'll go with you," Mariela announced.

"You have a family," Lupin said gently. "If Mr. Lestrange proves less than cooperative, it's better if we endanger as few lives as possible."

"Which is why you'll need my help," Mariela pressed. "And I'll follow you no matter what, so you may as well have me along from the start."

Lupin chuckled. "Severus is lucky to have such dedicated people, even if he doesn't know it," he said. "Very well, Mariela. Come with me. Dr. Snape, once you tell Severus, wait for us at the castle. Agreed?"

"Agreed," replied Mariela and Septimus.

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

"I'm glad you stopped by," Fleur greeted Anthony, leading him into the Great Hall. The night sky shone down on them from the enchanted ceiling. "I thought you 'ad left England!"

"No, I've just been…looking up old friends," Anthony replied with a smile. Why was Fleur looking at him like that?

Perhaps she wasn't. It might just be his imagination. He felt as though everyone was watching him…

"Are you all right, Anthony?"

"Yes," he replied automatically. "Listen, Fleur, could you take me down to the dungeon again? I—I fancy another look, if you don't mind."

Fleur frowned. "Did you leave something down there?"

"Yes," Anthony shot back, grateful that Fleur herself had supplied the reason. At least now he wouldn't have to lie to Fleur.

Not that lying was so bad, really, compared to what he was about to do. He had spent the last week planning it with the aid of Lestrange and Malfoy, and the last few hours preparing for the confrontation.

She turned from him, leading him down to the familiar basement, the one that had haunted his dreams for the past week…

"Is there anyone down here?" he asked. "I'd hate to get you in trouble again."

"No," Fleur replied. "Professor Snape eez not 'ere—'e went to the 'ospital Wing for something."

"So he'll be back soon?"

"Probably. Zat is why you 'ad better 'urry—"

But Fleur never finished her sentence.

"Stupefy!"

She landed on the hard stone floor, her silver-blond hair spilling across the dark stone. Bending down, Anthony dragged Fleur behind one of the student desks, just out of sight. To his surprise, he was not even out of breath. Amazing, really, how calm he was—

Just then a tall, lanky figure appeared in the doorway, obviously a man. He stepped into the light from the darkened hallway.

Anthony's eyes widened. No—

Then he smiled. This was working out better than he'd planned…now Snape would know just how he'd felt to lose someone…he removed the wand from his jacket pocket…

"Hello, Dr. Snape," he said coolly.

Dr. Snape looked up at him in shock. "McKinnon!" His angular features twisted in a snarl. "What have you done with Severus?"

"Nothing yet," Anthony replied with a grin. "But you'll see. In fact…you'll even help me."

"What? You're out of your mind!" He pulled out his wand, but Anthony had already drawn his.

"Imperio!"

(A/N: It's out, it's out! OoTP is finally out! I know my background for Snape now conflicts with the canon a bit, but oh well…I'm still going to finish this story. Thanks to everyone for their interest—there's more to come, I promise.)