Severus lunged across the room, weighed down by the awful blackness, and woke up.

He was in bed and there was something there – fuck – if only he could – oh god – he sucked the breath into his body – no, nothing was there – it was clutching at his chest – his heart was thumping violently – he couldn't hear anything but – he lay there – he was unable to move …

He listened. There was the drip of water somewhere far off, and he focused all his attention on it. Gradually he came back to himself. He found his body again, and turned his head. The pale hands of his clock gleamed faintly on the bedside table: just after three. He was lying in a sweaty, tight tangle of nightshirt and bedsheets; slowly he rolled over and felt the pressure release around him.

'Jesus fucking Christ,' he muttered, more for the certainty of hearing his own voice than anything. The Muggle oaths he'd been familiar with in former times still found their way into his vocabulary. Not that he'd heard anyone use them in years. He thought about this for a moment. Six years, it would be.

Had he been dreaming? He couldn't remember any details – just something terrible, the kind of black unhinging terror he associated with being in Voldemort's service. Because of Sirius Black, of course – the man had been in the castle – in and out again with only one witness. It was what they had theorised he would do, and he had done it. Or not done it, presumably, since no one had been harmed. So he would come back.

Severus had a sudden sense of the massive stone castle all around him, keeping him there. No one, not even Dumbledore or Lupin, had mentioned it, but it seemed very plausible that he himself was on Black's list of targets. For years after Voldemort's fall he had spent many wakeful nights listening for possible assassins, he had imagined ranks of secret Death Eaters who had escaped justice and were eager to take revenge on him for his spying. None had come – but now Black was on the loose, apparently still a faithful disciple and determined to murder Potter. He's at Hogwarts. Was he being utterly stupid, staying here, in close proximity to Potter and Lupin, a sitting duck if Black managed to get back in? … what if Black and Lupin decided to work together to eliminate him? … what if they knew he had inadvertently helped to murder the Potters? … should he go into hiding until Black could be recaptured? … and what if –

'Shut up,' he told himself suddenly, and got out of bed. He lit the lamps, pulled a thick robe from the hook on the bathroom door, took a book at random from his shelves, and sat down. No point lying there getting into a paranoid stew. At least he was well-practised in sitting out a long fearful night. He opened the book, A History of European Poisons, and began to read.


He did not go to breakfast that morning. His two morning classes were rather sleepy, the students also having spent a broken night in the Great Hall. They didn't notice their teacher's own distractions, which was fortunate. All morning Severus's head was a strange mixture of Sirius Black, and the swirls and colours of the lurid history of poison-making, and the brown sludgy fog of his insomnia – and, more strangely, occasional images from last night of Lupin crouching against the wall, his shirt open, visibly shaking. At least while he was teaching Severus didn't have to address a single personal word to anyone. In a low voice he listed the properties of ingredients to fifth-years, explained stirring techniques to first-years, and gave short instructions for homework. The rest of the time he sat at his desk or wandered up and down between the worktables, looking at cauldrons, not faces.

At lunchtime he went straight back to his rooms, requesting a simple meal to be sent up to him. As he ate his soup, bread and cheese in his rooms, watching the dull brightness of the sun creep across the sky, something popped behind him and he turned to see, in the fireplace, a folded note spring out of a small green flame, and fall to the ground. He went and picked it up: Dumbledore's writing.

Severus – are you well? Everyone is rather shaken up, as I imagine you might be. I am calling a staff meeting at half past five to discuss last night's events. Please do let me know if you will be able to join us. A.

'For Christ's sake,' he said. He had no desire to go to a staff meeting. He had no desire to speak to anyone, about anything, least of all Sirius Black. All he wanted was to sit in peace and safety like this. He wanted to read. He wanted to sleep.

Of course, however, he took a quill and wrote a terse reply: All well, just busy. Will come to staff meeting. SS – before throwing it into the fireplace with a pinch of Floo powder.

He picked up a piece of bread, and tore hard at it with his teeth. Things had felt like this when Potter had first started at Hogwarts, he remembered. Bad nights, and an intense urge to lock himself into his rooms with his memories rather than seek any human contact. And things had never entirely gone back to normal – he could still be thrown off-balance for a couple of days if the light caught Potter's eyes in a particular way and he suddenly caught a glimpse of Lily in amongst all James's facial features.

But Potter avoided him like the plague, wasn't a colleague, wasn't a potential assassin. This Lupin and Black thing was worse, much worse. School had been – well, perhaps not as bad as his years under Voldemort, but pretty horrendous nonetheless – and Lupin knew so much about that time, had watched Severus being repeatedly humiliated outside of lessons even as he had proven himself again and again the cleverest in their year. Sometimes he felt a bitter pride about the whole thing – he had done things, he had survived – but more usually, there was just pain and anger. Not that Lupin was doing anything in particular to provoke him; in fact, he had to admit, Lupin was actually making it easier than it might have been, with his mildness and cheerfulness. But he was still – there.

He remembered sitting, aged fifteen, in Dumbledore's office, silent and enraged, while the Headmaster spoke quietly. 'Let me tell you a little about what Remus's life is like, Severus. I wonder if it will help you to understand …'


When teaching finally ended that day, Severus took his sore, foggy mind out into the grounds for some fresh air. Dusk was falling. He went slowly along the edge of the lake, his hand gripping his wand in his pocket, the Dementors at the edge of his vision as they patrolled the school boundaries.

If it weren't for this wretched staff meeting he could quite happily just keep walking, in the growing darkness, right out into the hills, until he was tired enough to come back and sleep. It had been some time since his last night-time walk. But the presence of the Dementors put him off – he certainly didn't want his peace spoilt by having to produce a Patronus charm, which was tiring enough against one Dementor and completely exhausting against several. And it would be better, much better, to simply go to bed and sleep. Not to take anything: no narcotics, no alcohol. Those days were over. Just to sleep.

A bell high up in the clock tower sounded the quarter-hour, and he sighed, his eyes on the black water of the lake. How was he, so solitary by nature, still here after twelve years, surrounded by people, being summoned by bells? Why hadn't he found somewhere else to hide, some other profession to bury himself in? He could have done research – proper research. Not this endless fiddly trial and error for the sake of a fucking werewolf.

For a moment the urge gripped him, to get out, to be anywhere but here. Then he turned away from the lake, and began to walk back up to the castle.


At twenty-nine minutes past five, Severus slid into the back of the staff room and stationed himself in his customary corner by the grandfather clock, arms folded. Dumbledore caught his eye from the other end of the room and gave him a warm smile. Severus nodded in return, then surveyed the room.

Everyone was there: Flitwick by the fire, chatting cheerfully to Binns and Vector; Hagrid talking loudly to, or perhaps at, Pomona Sprout; Charity Burbage and Sybil Trelawney making what was obviously polite, reluctant conversation; Hooch watching them with barely-concealed amusement; Filch standing on his own near the front, looking determined; and over by the heavily curtained windows, Lupin sitting on a sofa and nodding seriously in response to whatever McGonagall was telling him. He looked very pale, and very unhappy.

'All right, good evening everyone, let's make a start,' Dumbledore called, and the room fell silent. 'Thank you very much for all your help last night. For those of you who are not up to date, we have located the Fat Lady, and she is recovering her spirits gradually. Her bravery in refusing to admit Sirius Black to the Gryffindor common room is to be commended. Sir Cadogan has generously agreed to replace her as doorman for the time being.' He smiled. 'Minerva is going to try and keep him from being too enthusiastic.

'With regards to Sirius Black, I'm afraid we don't have much to tell you. We do not understand how he got past the Dementors, or how he got to the Gryffindor common room without being seen, and we still don't know exactly who or what he is looking for.'

'He wants Harry!' said Hagrid loudly, and everyone looked at him. 'Everyone knows tha', it's all they talk about down in Hogsmeade.'

Everyone's faces turned back to Dumbledore – except Lupin, Severus noticed, who kept looking steadily at the floor.

'We don't know that for certain,' Dumbledore said. 'And I would ask you all to avoid speculation. I believe we have managed, so far, to prevent Harry finding out that Black was his godfather and played a significant role in his parents' death. I do not want this information to circulate any more than it needs to. Harry already knows he is thought to be Black's target – he doesn't know why, but his peace of mind is already likely to be disturbed.'

'Headmaster?' Flitwick said hesitantly. 'Is it possible that Black might have – other targets? I say this out of concern, but, well, Remus' – he turned towards Lupin – 'I wouldn't want anything to happen to you …'

Lupin shook his head slowly, but which part of Flitwick's question he was responding to was unclear. He looked scarcely any better than last night. Clearly the good night's sleep he had mentioned had not been forthcoming.

'It's all right, Filius,' Dumbledore said. 'Naturally Remus and I have already discussed this. I have offered him a temporary hideout until Black is caught, but he has expressed a wish to remain here, for which I am of course very grateful.'

As the discussion continued, a fresh streak of suspicion crept into Severus's mind – Lupin wanted to stay in the very building Black was trying to break into? – why? – But he resolved to think more on it another time, he was too tired right now to see things clearly.

Then a question from Sprout brought his attention back to the present. 'Albus, do we know of any increase in Death Eater activity anywhere else? Does Black have accomplices anywhere, do we know who they might be?'

'An excellent question, Pomona,' Dumbledore said, 'but perhaps one best directed at Severus' – he looked at Severus, as did a dozen slightly apprehensive faces – 'who I'm sure is much better informed than I am. Have you heard anything from any of your contacts, Severus?'

There was a pause. For a moment Severus stood there in his black robes, a former Death Eater, participant in innumerable horrific crimes. Then he said calmly, 'I haven't been in touch with any of the Dark Lord's followers for some time now. I can renew the contacts if you would like me to.'

'I'm not inclined to encourage it,' Dumbledore said, smiling. 'If you do hear anything, let me know.'

Severus nodded.

As his colleagues' attention shifted away from him, to Hooch who was asking a question about keeping the Quidditch pitch safe, he stood very still, staring down at his folded arms, considering the lie he had just told. Dumbledore had been testing him, he knew, to see if Severus really was better-informed than him, to see if Severus was keeping back information. He had passed the test, but only through dishonesty.

Suddenly he realised Lupin was watching him from the other side of the room. He gave him a stern stare back, expecting Lupin to look away, but he didn't: his expression was no longer miserable: it was thoughtful, a little curious – and something else too, something like amusement. For a long moment they held each other's look, black eyes meeting brown. Finally Severus raised an eyebrow, and Lupin's eyes crinkled into a smile, and he looked away. Then Severus was no longer sure what game they had just played, let alone whether he had won.

'Well, I think that's everything for now,' Dumbledore said. 'On a more cheerful note, is I have decided to hold a little drinks party before our Yule Feast, to which all our governors will be invited' – Severus's stomach tightened – Lucius, here at dinner with him? – 'and the Minister for Magic too, although I've no doubt he will be far too busy to attend. Each of you can bring a guest if you wish, and once the Feast is over we can continue to celebrate. That's all – now, time for dinner!'

Before Severus could escape, to dine alone and to write to Lucius about the Yule Feast, Dumbledore made straight for him, and took his arm. 'I'm sure you don't want to, Severus, but I would like you to join us for dinner. None of us should become isolated, it doesn't do any good …'

Sensing a lost battle, Severus let himself be escorted, walking to the Great Hall by Dumbledore's side. While the Headmaster chatted away, however, he treated himself to a few delicious moments of fantasy, imagining having Lucius with him in his rooms after the Feast, both of them naked, sprawled across his bed, celebrating the end of term together in the best possible way.