Author's note: Well hello. I'm so sorry about being MIA. A three-month break from writing hadn't been in the plan; I have the usual explanation/excuse of school getting hectic. But I'm done finals now and am hoping to do as much writing as possible before I start summer courses, so I anticipate updates resuming their regularity. Apologies again, and on with the chapter. I hope that you enjoy it.

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 117-121 of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban while writing this.

Old Rivalries

"… still causing trouble for those who have the misfortune to associate with him. He hasn't changed one bit since were students."

Severus, as he often did, stood in front of the Headmaster's desk, arms crossed, a scowl on his face; and as was also often the case, Dumbledore was not entirely attentive to what the Potions Master had to say, his head buried in a large stack of correspondence.

"I think you're being a bit uncharitable, my boy," said Dumbledore without looking up, in that vague tone which Severus hated. "It's unlikely that there was any ill intent. He couldn't have predicted what would happen."

Lupin had given his third-year class a practical introduction to Boggarts. Although forcing a bunch of teenagers to reveal their deepest fears to each other didn't seem entirely wise, Severus had qualms with neither the subject matter nor the teaching style. He did, however, take issue with the fact that Longbottom's greatest fear had turned out to be him, and that the boy had dealt with the Boggart by imagining him in Augusta Longbottom's atrocious clothing. The story had spread throughout the school, much to the entertainment of both the student body and staff. Minerva had even teased him about it when he sat down for dinner that evening. He did not like being laughed at. Lupin had made no comment on the matter, but Severus was certain that he took pleasure in the incident.

Before he could form a biting response to Dumbledore's placating, the other wizard changed the subject: "On an unrelated note, please keep an eye out for suspicious activity as the thirty-first draws near. Things seem to have a nasty little way of happening around Halloween."

"I feel that the 'thing,'" Severus responded dryly, "most likely to happen this Halloween is Potter getting himself lost, abducted, or killed at Hogsmeade."

"On the contrary, Harry won't be attending. Minerva tells me that his aunt and uncle neglected to sign his permission slip."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And what about the Invisibility Cloak, Dumbledore?" He'd had his suspicions since the Welcoming Feast, when the Headmaster had made a comment about Invisibility cloaks and looked directly at Potter. That Potter possessed a Cloak made sense; the brat had an uncanny ability to sneak around where and when he wasn't supposed to.

"Oh, I hadn't realized you were aware of that," Dumbledore said unconcernedly, with that damn twinkle in his eyes. "In any case, I believe that between the presence of the Dementors and the good influence of Miss Granger, the risk of Harry sneaking out is low. And if need be, you and Remus will still be in the castle."

"I am not going to babysit Potter, if that is what you mean to imply. Besides"—Severus's lip curled up in a mocking sneer—"I will be preoccupied that day with finishing the potion for dear Lupin's affliction. Now if that is all-"

"Actually, I wanted to ask if you could take Remus's classes for him while he is unable."

Severus slammed the door on his way out. He seemed to be making a habit of that.

Although he cared little for the werewolf's appointment at Hogwarts, cared even less for the man himself, and was irked by the extra jobs that Dumbledore lay on him, Severus did enjoy his extra time in the lab. Wolfsbane was a fussy potion, highly sensitive to the slightest imperfection in ingredients, temperature, or timing. The successful brewing of it required one's complete and unwavering concentration. It was nice to have the uninterrupted time to himself, and it was nice to have something to focus on other than how his past felt far too close to his present.

Severus put his cauldron under Stasis and ladled some of the still-smoking liquid into a goblet. Unfortunately, he now had to track down Lupin and tolerate him long enough to deliver the potion. He supposed that he could send it off via house elf, but though house elves were useful and possessed some powerful magic of their own, he was disinclined to trust them with this errand, simple as it was.

He grudgingly made his way to the Defence professor's office. Indistinct voices, which stopped upon Severus's knock, came from inside.

"Come in," called Lupin.

The scene inside made Severus pause. Potter sat across from Lupin, one hand curled around a mug of tea. Why it bothered him, he didn't know. Maybe it was the lingering suspicion that Lupin had something to do with Black's escape from Azkaban and the possibility that he wished Potter harm also, or maybe the sight of Lupin and a Potter together just reminded him too much of childhood.

"Ah, Severus," Lupin said, smiling, as though there were good will between them. "Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?"

Eyes narrowed and wandering between Potter and Lupin, Severeus set the goblet down. It was still smoking faintly.

Lupin pointed to the tank in the corner of the room. "I was just showing Harry my Grindylow."

"Fascinating," Severus said, without looking at it. "You should drink that directly, Lupin."

"Yes, yes, I will."

"I made an entire cauldronful if you need more."

"I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus."

"Not at all." It took a great deal of restraint not to say the words sarcastically.

The Great Hall that night had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily acros the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.

The students were in even higher spirits than usual, already being sugared up with sweets from Honeydukes. Severus wouldn't have scheduled a Hogsmeade weekend for the same day as the Halloween feast if it were up to him. He didn't see why anybody would want to endure hyper hyperactive children for that long.

The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a spot of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick had a great success with a re-enactment of his own botched beheading.

When at last the Hall began to clear, Severus couldn't help but feel that they had gotten off too easy this year—Dumbledore had been correct when he said that shit always seemed to hit the fan on October 31st.

It didn't take long for his cynicism to prove correct. Severus was answering a brief question from one of his Perfects when an upper-year Gryffindor came sprinting over to the staff table, exchanged a few words with Dumbledore, and hurried away again with the Headmaster in tow. Severus, after sending his Perfect off to the Slytherin common room, also followed, along with Minerva and Lupin.

The corridor to the Gryffindor Tower was jammed with students, who had shuffled back to make space for Dumbledore. They appeared to have been stunned into silence.

Dumbledore turned as his three professors approached. His eyes did not twinkle.

The Gryffindor House guardian portrait had vanished from her frame. The canvas had been slashed so viciously that strips of it littered the floor; great chunks had been torn away completely.

"We need to find her," Dumbledore said. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."

"You'll be lucky!" A cackling voice caught everybody's attention.

It was Peeves the poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry. Severus grit his teeth.

"What do you mean, Peeves?" Dumbledore's voice was calm, and Peeves's grin faded a little. Even he didn't dare taunt Dumbledore.

"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir," said the ghost in an oily voice that was no better than his cackle. "Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful." Peeves brightened at this thought, then added unconvincingly, "Poor thing."

"Did she say who did it?"

"Oh yes, Professorhead." Peeves had the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see. Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."