A/N: Yes, I know. I said soon, what I meant was later. I'm really sick, so I'm going to keep this short and go to sleep: this chapter is much longer than the others. I hope to make most of them this length from now on. I'm working really hard in the real world right now, so I'm trying to keep updates frequent. I hope to continue doing so. Please bear with me. As always, reviews help a lot… if I know you want more, I'm more likely to give it. I know you're reading, so please put your two cents in and tell me how you like it. That would be a great help right now.

Anyway, off to slip into a drugstore-drug-induced sleep. Please enjoy!

Chapter 4: Inch by Inch

One Year Later- Autumn 1998

The first thing Harry had done upon moving into number twelve Grimmauld Place after his graduation from Hogwarts was destroy that blasted locket. After puzzling long and hard over the fake locket he and Dumbledore had found when they'd gone searching for Horcruxes in his sixth year, Harry finally remembered seeing an eerily similar relic in the junk they'd sorted through when Molly had forced them to clean the place. With very little trouble, he'd located it, and with only slightly more trouble and a great deal of care, he'd destroyed it. The second thing he'd done was convert the old servant's quarters ("dungeons," Hermione said angrily) into a much more livable but still very well protected room in which Remus could safely transform. It wasn't strictly necessary for Remus to be behind bars during the transformation any longer; Snape's Wolfsbane potion had seen to that. But Remus still preferred to be imprisoned on the night of the full moon, "just in case".

During the summer months, Harry had taken to staying with Remus on the night of the transformation, on the other side of the bars, reading or plotting or sometimes just thinking quietly. The new dungeon was in the basement, but Harry had made sure it was very well renovated. The bars were state-of-the-art, magically reinforced. On Remus' side of them, the floor was of a very durable tile, which the werewolf could not scratch or break. On Harry's side, there was a thick rug. All the dampness and chill had been removed by magic.

To his credit, Snape had been working very hard on developing the Wolfsbane potion, and Harry had to admit that he could see the changes in Remus. The Werewolf had been deteriorating at a rapid pace, even with the original Wolfsbane potion to ease his transformations. Over the preceding year, his hair had gone from being shot through with ample amounts of gray to a pure, even white. The lines on his face had deepened greatly, making him appear a good deal older than his forty-two years. After the full moon, Harry could sometimes hear his joints creaking and popping when he stood up or moved around the old house. Although Remus would insist it was nothing, Harry had begun to seriously fear for his friend's life.

When Snape had presented the improved Wolfsbane, Harry had watched and tried not to be skeptical as Remus hungrily drank down the potion. It was the first sign he'd seen that his friend was getting desperate. For all Remus' denial of his condition and his gratefulness at being allowed more time than his best friends, Harry knew that he did not feel ready to die, and he in turn was unwilling to lose the closest thing to a father that he had left, not to mention the only friend who could truly understand his loss.

When the potion had actually worked, easing Remus' transition even further Harry felt an old guilt come creeping back to him. He supposed he should thank Snape, as Remus had, but he still couldn't bring himself to say more than the occasional word to the man. Remus has improved exponentially in the three months since then, and Harry began to hope that his friend might, eventually, recover the health he had lost so rapidly. In the wake of his happiness at his friend and mentor's improving condition, Harry noticed his hatred of the Potions Master beginning to fizzle, leaving a dull resentment in its place.

It was three days before Hallowe'en, and Harry found himself cloistered in the mansion as usual, riffling through the seemingly endless library in hopes of finding something that would help him identify the last two Horcruxes. He was certain now that there were seven in total. Three of them – the Ring, the Diary, and the Locket—had already been destroyed. Harry was positive that Hufflepuff's cup was a Horcrux, as well as the serpent Nagini. He was sure that Voldemort had entrusted at least one piece of his soul to an animate creature, one that, while mortal and fallible, had the ability to escape if necessary, changing locations and hiding places if need be. Harry already knew that he would save the serpent for last, as she would inevitably be the hardest to reach. That left two pieces of Voldemort's soul in vessels that, so far, Harry had no clue how to identify. For months, he had been at an impasse, unable to come up with any ideas that held water. Hermione, Ron and Remus had been researching with him around the clock, to no avail. The last two pieces of Voldemort's soul could be anywhere, from a heavily-guarded relic in a museum to the toe of Harry's shoe.

To make matters worse, Harry was bored to death of researching. He was not Hermione, as he had finally shouted at the bushy-haired young woman the other day, and he did not find endless hours of scouring ancient tomes to be particularly thrilling. He would almost rather be brewing potions with Snape.

As if cued by Harry's wandering thoughts, the morose Potions Master strode through the double doors to the library, carrying a steaming cup between his spidery fingers. Remus looked up with one eyebrow arched, his nose twitching slightly.

"Before you ask, wolf, yes, it is different. I've made some more changes."

Remus nodded. "I can smell the Murtlap more strongly now."

"No doubt." Snape set the cup on the table. Remus reached for it, and Snape lunged, grabbing his hand. Harry was on his feet, but relaxed and took his hand off his holstered wand when Snape released the werewolf. "Not yet," the Potions Master said sharply. "It has to cool to a very specific point. I will tell you when." Snape kept his eyes on the cup. "Now," he said, mere seconds later. Harry rolled his eyes and pretended to look back down at his book. Remus drained the cup, wincing slightly as the still-hot liquid slid down his throat.

"Thank you, Severus," he said earnestly. Snape nodded, and Harry expected him to sweep from the room without another word, as usual. Instead, he stopped in the doorway.

"Lupin, I've had a thought," He said calculatedly. Yeah, sure, thought Harry, I'll bet it came to you right this minute. "It seems to me," continued the Potions Master, "That if I am to make the proper adjustments to your potion, perhaps it might be beneficial for me to witness the actual, ah— "

"I understand," Remus said, unsmiling and resigned. You may accompany Harry tonight. And don't worry… everything is very secure, it's perfectly safe."

Snape nodded, an odd look in his eyes, and left the room. When he was out of earshot, Harry looked up at Remus as though he were insane.

"Remus, are you sure it's a good idea to—"

"Positive, Harry." Remus still did not look pleased at the thought of Snape witnessing his transformation, and Harry pursed his lips in disapproval.

"He doesn't have the right," Harry said angrily, making Remus raise on white eyebrow in question. Harry sighed and explained. "He's asking you for something that obviously makes you uncomfortable, and he thinks that you owe it to him to say yes."

Remus smiled a little. "Harry, while I admire your fierce loyalty and protection, I assure you that I am not doing this because I feel I owe Severus anything, although it is clear that I do. Severus Snape is a Master in his field, Harry, and as such, he is dedicated completely to furthering that field. He always has been. And while I do not even begin to assume that I am anything more than a test subject in his eyes, I do believe that his intentions are of the best kind possible, for him at any rate. He is spending more time and energy than I ever could have dreamed of on perfecting this potion, and I can tell you, Harry, that he will do it. It may not be in my time, but perhaps someday, if I help in whatever way I can with the testing, those who are unlucky enough to be bitten will never have to suffer what the werewolves of today suffer every time the moon is full." Remus' speech left him looking slightly exhausted; Harry, who had never heard his friend speak so openly about his curse, felt deeply ashamed of himself for thinking of his rivalry with Snape above Remus' best interests.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't mean to lose sight of what's important… I want to help you in any way I can." At this, Remus broke into the most honest smile Harry had seen from him in months.

"You know," he said, looking fondly on the only child of the Marauders, "In this past year, Harry, you've turned into the man that James was becoming when he died. Your father would be very proud of you."

Since entering the wizarding world, people had been telling Harry that his father would be proud, but from Remus, the words actually meant something. Trying very hard to hold in his emotions, Harry rounded the table and embraced the last Marauder. "Thank you, Remus," he said, not crying, but close.

oooOOOooo

Remus sat behind the bars, looking as anxious as Severus had ever seen him. He sat very still, although the occasional muscle spasm betrayed his outward poise. He was entirely nude, with the exception of a pair of white underpants, which had been sacrificed for modesty's sake. Severus had suspended a small, leather-bound notebook in the air before him, as well as an enchanted quill that would record his observations. He paced at an easy tempo before the reinforced bars. Behind him, he knew, Harry sat in a chair, watching with those sharp green eyes of his. Severus wished fruitlessly for the boy to go. He knew it would not happen.

"How do you feel, Lupin?" He asked, trying his best to temper his voice with a little kindness. Yes, he was anxious, having almost been mauled to death some 25-odd years ago by the thing this man was about to become, but it was doubtless Lupin was anxious as well. He didn't want to cause the man any additional discomfort, no matter what Potter might think.

"Stiff," Lupin said analytically. "That's normal; my joints are realigning for the change. My muscles are aching in pretty much the same way as always, but…" He furrowed his brow and seemed to be looking inward for a moment. "Hm. My skin…"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Your skin what?" he urged. "Tell me, while you can…"

"It usually burns as it starts to stretch," he said slowly, "But it's… well, it's not."

"At all?" Forgetting his nervousness, Snape got closer to the bars, squinting to take in the appearance of Lupin's pale, bare skin. It did, indeed, look as though it was stretched painfully across his back and shoulders, which Severus could have sworn were not that broad. The werewolf took a quick breath, and then looked up in confusion.

"Ha," he said contemplatively.

"What?" Severus couldn't help the hint of excitement in his voice. This could be the breakthrough he'd been looking for. The quill scratched madly at the notebook.

"The bones in my hands and feet are starting to lengthen," He said, still clearly examining the feeling, "But my skin doesn't feel like it's going to tear. That's…" the harassed man almost smiled, "That's actually quite the comfort. Ah!" Severus jumped back as the man in the cage doubled forward, a pained expression on his face. "That," he hissed out bitterly between gasps, "Is more like it." Severus watched in horror as Remus Lupin writhed in pain on the floor of his custom-made cage. He stole a glace at Harry, who was watching the werewolf with an impartial mask. The only thing that betrayed him were those eyes, luminous and green and shining with something… rage? Pity? Tears?

A few more minutes of what, to Severus, looked for all the world like an innocent being subject to the Cruciatus curse, and Lupin was no more. In his place lay a pale, whimpering, wolf-like creature. Severus eyed the creature with morbid fascination. He had seen this werewolf before on more than one occasion, but not like this. There was no snarling or clawing, although there had been plenty during the transformation. Just extremely labored breathing and the occasional pitiful whimper. After a few moments, the wolf raised it's head to look at Severus, with something of a nod. Severus nodded slightly in return.

"He can understand you," Harry said suddenly from directly behind him. Severus hadn't heard the boy get up, and he spun around rather suddenly to face him, although he doubted the boy would notice his surprise. "If you have anything else to say…"

Severus furrowed his brow and turned back to the cage. "I can see I still need to make some changes… if you can try to remember what felt different and how in the morning, that would make things a great deal simpler. For now, I shall leave you with Mr. Potter for company… I'll try to figure out what I can adjust with what I know so far." The werewolf lowered it's head at this in what seemed to be another nod, and then closed it's eyes and curled it's head under it's mammoth paw. Severus turned to leave.

"Snape, wait." He turned again to face the boy, this time more slowly.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"I…" Harry seemed to be having a spot of trouble with his words. Finally, he looked up at his former Professor. "I would like to help with the Wolfsbane potion, in whatever way I can. Even just to learn how to make it… if it would help Remus."

You DO have a hero complex, don't you Mr. Potter? Severus thought, smirking internally. He did not know what possessed him, but he looked the boy up and down once and said, "Put on a some work robes and make your way up to the lab."

oooOOOooo

"I need you to prepare this," Snape said, placing something that looked like a tentacle from a sea anemone on Harry's chopping board.

"How?" Harry asked, examining the thing.

"Quarter it lengthwise, then quarter the quarters, and then slice it on the diagonal, towards you, starting from the bottom. It is very important that you do it in that order." Harry nodded, and began to slice the thing. A tiny bit of the juice slipped into a split in the dry skin on one of his knuckles. Harry hadn't even noticed the tiny cut had been bothering him, but as the juice touched it, there was an immediate and familiar soothing sensation. He raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't think anyone used the Murtlap tentacle in its pure form," Harry said conversationally, as if he'd known what the thing was all along. Snape did not look over, but one dark eyebrow raised fractionally.

"They don't," he said bluntly, "Generally. It would be very costly to go about making common salves with pure Murtlap, and in most cases, completely unnecessary. But in this case, I thought it imperative to use the strongest ingredients I could find." He was curious as to how Potter knew to identify Murtlap. As far as Severus knew, he'd only ever had it administered to him within a potion, where it's effects would be very hard to pinpoint. "Did Slughorn teach you about Murtlap?" He asked casually. Harry smirked.

"Not quite," he said. The eyebrow raised again. "Hermione," Harry said by way of explanation. "She suggested it in fifth year after my detentions with Umbridge got particularly… unpleasant." He turned his hand slightly towards Snape so that the older man could see the faint scars left behind from Umbridge's punishment.

"The greatest display of incompetence in the history of that school," Snape muttered, turning back to his potion. Harry was fairly certain that, for once, Snape wasn't referring to him.

"Done," Harry said, setting down his knife. Snape inspecting the dissected Murtlap tentacle with a careful eye.

"Well done," he said without looking at Harry, who almost fell over at the sound of those words from that mouth directed at him. "I'll need twelve pieces, set those aside, bottle the rest. Do you know how to cast a Stasis charm?"

"No," Harry said as he carefully separated the necessary pieces for the Wolfsbane potion. Snape nodded.

"I'll show you after I'm through stirring this. If you're going to be brewing this potion, you should know how to properly preserve its ingredients."

Harry eyed his former professor. "Am I going to be making this potion?" he said without any hint of malice. Snape spared him a quick and level glance but stayed focused on the potion.

"I believe that someone other than me should know how to brew it, yes," Snape replied, speaking around a catch in his throat. "In case anything should… happen to me." Harry laughed a little bitterly.

"If it's an insurance policy you're looking for," He said in a dark tone, "I think you may want to choose someone else."

At this, Snape fixed Harry with an intent look. There was a nonchalance in Harry's voice that made it seem as though he had embraced the idea of his own death, but a hint of fearfulness stirred just behind those clear green irises. Snape turned back to his potion. "You are not going to die, Potter," he said quietly. Harry snorted softly.

"Oh yeah?" He started to bottle the leftover Murtlap. "What makes you so sure?"

Snape's expression was unemotional, and Harry couldn't tell what the older man was thinking, which was really nothing new. "You're famous for living, Potter. It's your gimmick. I doubt any of us would allow you to give it up so easily."

This time Harry almost laughed in earnest, and had to stop himself consciously from examining the strangeness of working companionably beside Snape. "You've always hated me for that, haven't you?" He said before he realized he was saying it. Snape sighed, changing the direction he was stirring as he dropped in the Murtlap piece by piece.

"It was not for that that I hated you, Potter," he said, sounding as though it was quite difficult to admit. "I hated that you invaded my privacy, that you refused to take direction from me when I clearly knew what would help you best. There was a time, after that, when I truly did hate you."

Harry felt a rush of embarrassing heat in his cheeks. He could admit to himself now that Snape was right about those things, and he felt like he'd been a stupid child over them. "But before that," he said, careful to keep his voice level and clear of resentment. "Before everything that happened in my fifth year, you still hated me. You never seemed to mind making my life as difficult as possible." Snape had stopped stirring the potion and put the spoon down, and he turned to Harry, an unfamiliar look on his face.

"I am a Death Eater, Potter," He said clearly. "My life is not my own. Every move I made at that school, I made under intense scrutiny. Do you honestly believe that, even if I had taken a liking to you, I would have been allowed to treat you with anything milder than extreme disdain?" Harry thought about this for a moment. It did make perfect sense.

"So it was for his sake then," he asked, careful not to use the dark lord's name, knowing how it would set Snape off. "You had to act that way towards me…"

"Not exactly," Snape said, sounding almost amused. "It was not a difficult acting job on my part… I genuinely disliked you, Potter. And then I genuinely hated you."

"And now?"

Snape quickly turned back to his potion, examining it closely. "There are those in my life who deserve hatred much more than you, Potter. It was wasted on the wrong side."

Harry pause, thinking about what he was about to say, and decided to try it. "Have you thought that maybe hatred itself is the waste?" Snape gave an ironic little chuckle.

"Many times. I am a very old dog to be learning such new tricks, however. But believe you should examine that thought further. It could be an important point in your battle against the Dark Lord. His entire being is built of hatred. If you can strengthen yours with something else…" Snape trailed off, looking slightly put off that he had rambled on about this in front of the boy. Harry was inexplicably unwilling to let the conversation die, with it this odd new connection with the man.

"Dumbledore wanted us to work together," he blurted out without a hint of eloquence. "He said," he finished lamely, "before he died, and after." Snape nodded.

"I was under the impression that we were working at this very moment," He said without looking at the young man. Harry had to crack a tiny smile.

"As much as what we're doing is a very good thing, I don't think this is what he meant."

"No," Snape said in his own particular detached way, "But it's something."