Albus Dumbledore was pacing in his office.
The morning light was streaming in through the high windows, glinting off of his many eccentric gadgets and gizmos in dazzling white. It had been a long night- a very, very long night. And against all odds, despite the matron's- and Albus's own- expectations, Severus Snape lived still.
Granted, he had had an extraordinarily painful night; the boy had arisen from his coma at about half past midnight, giving many terrified shrieks and howls so sorrowful and gut-wrenching even the hastily applied Silencing Spells could not detract from the anguish inflicted on any unlucky enough to watch him. Dumbledore had arisen from his chair, slowly, cautiously, knowing that he could do nothing but still hoping that the child would somehow sense his presence. The fretful noises and groans were broken only by Severus's intermittent sobbing and wailing, enough to break the soul even of Voldemort himself. At long last, at about a quarter to one in the morning, Madam Pomfrey together with the Headmaster successfully managed (finally) to get a Pain-Reliever down the aching throat, and try to wipe at the incessantly flowing tears. They watched the rise and fall of Severus's chest with an almost throbbing ache, potent and flowing; never in his life had Dumbledore wished so readily for anyone to die before, but this- this, was among those things that counted as worse than death.
Carefully, as if not daring to upset the now-still, ghost-white frame, he turned to Poppy in her night bonnet and blood-soaked apron, taking in her sunken expression, the exhausted bags under her eyes, her wringing hands. Not glancing at any of the other vacant beds in the wing- with their tight white sheets pulled up and the curtains pulled around- he focused steadily on the ground, as if he were trying to keep his balance. Then, with an almost childlike smallness, he asked, "How much longer?"
Poppy wiped sweat from her brow. "I do not know. Hours- it will be hours."
That was all he needed to hear.
With all the force of an almost raging tycoon, Albus Dumbledore swept from the room in a flowing trail of rage. It was unfair he thought, how very unfair, and yet what could have been done to prevent it? Certainly if the boy died, explanations must be made- provided for the fact that he did not have many of them himself, he was at least confident of one thing: Remus could not be expelled. He could not let Remus be expelled, and it was to that purpose that he had asked Minerva to summon Sirius Black to his office early that morning, before so much as a single footstep had even graced the Great Hall for breakfast. But the waiting. All of this waiting, four o' clock and the dawn not yet breaking, killing, suffocating him, six-thirty and the portraits stirring, selfish and irritated only by his restlessness; seven a.m. and finally, finally, there came a rap on the cold office door.
It was time to get some answers.
Remus Lupin had joined Snape in the hospital wing. Both were in considerable pain, gnarling, sighing, each unaware of the presence of the other, but only one, after a considerable moment, was able to get still and sit up, greedily drinking the water placed to his lips by Madam Pomfrey. It was after this, and several ugly, coarse breaths, that he was able to get his first good look around. He had expected, of course, that the Hospital Wing would be deserted and empty, but was startled to see an unrecognizable still frame in a bright-white bed at the opposite end of the room. It was so unexpected, in fact, that he almost gasped; but this was prevented by his noticing the uncharacteristically saddened and cold eyes of the Hogwarts matron.
So he was right. Something had happened.
"How- how bad?" he managed quietly.
She did not look at him as she answered, but was busy bustling about him, gathering up empty potions bottles and messing with the bedsheets. "Very bad, I'm afraid. He's hanging on, bless him, but I do not think that he will manage for much longer."
Remus wasn't aware of how his heartbeat had sped up, but now it was almost beating inside of his chest.
"W-who?" It almost did not come out. He half thought he would vomit instead.
The matron sighed again. "The Slytherin boy, Severus Snape."
Suddenly, the whole mystery of the thing had become as clear as daylight; all of a minute, he knew everything that had happened and what his friend had done. What he had done. He needed no more explanations now, but as he shut his eyes again, he thought that he would have preferred to stay in the dark. He didn't notice that his nails were clinging to the side of the mattress so hard that his fingers were going numb; it was this, this small, infantile connection to the physical world, that kept the black darkness of it all from swallowing him alive.
And then, without hesitation, without compunction or dignity, Remus threw up all over his lap.
"I'm afraid that I do not understand, Mr. Black."
The Headmaster stood with his back to the regretful Gryffindor boy, looking out of his rather well-placed windows with his hands clasped behind his back. This was to attempt to keep his fury at bay. It was also so that he did not have to see the tears lodged in the gray eyes.
"It was just a prank- honest it was! He wasn't actually supposed to get hurt! I swear, I didn't mean-"
"That matters nothing now. What matters now is doing everything in our power to protect Remus Lupin. His secret cannot be discovered- I am determined of that. For now, the only people who know what have occurred last evening down at the Willow include myself, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Madam Pomfrey, you, and, if- and I stress if- he awakes with any semblance of being in proper mental capacity, which looks increasingly unlikely, Snape. So-"
A half-upself, half confused look crossed Sirius Black's face, making his expression flicker.
"Remus doesn't know?"
Not moving his hands, no twinkle in his eyes, Dumbledore turned back to his desk, at last facing his student.
"When he wakes, he will know. It will be- difficult, I am sure, to tell him, but I assure you that Madam Pomfrey is more than capable."
Sirius's head sunk so that he appeared to be looking down into his lap.
"He's going to be so angry with me."
No- that was not true, he corrected himself; Remus would not be angry. There had been little time for anger in his already difficult life. No; what Remus would be is disappointed. Disappointed and saddened, and probably scared, and the thought did nothing to bolster Sirius.
"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Dumbledore went on impatiently, "Our highest priority now is Remus's safety. You will serve detention for the next three months- every night until the end of term. I will personally ensure an owl is sent to you every evening in Gryffindor Tower so as not to attract attention informing you with whom your next punishment is to be served. By the end of the year, you will make this castle spotless. It will gleam and glimmer and look like never before. You will become infinitely familiar with the Forbidden Forest. I will not deny poor Mr. Filch the pleasure of doing with you what he likes. And-" Dumbledore paused here, to ensure that every word he said was clear- "Your first detention will be served here with me tomorrow afternoon. I will expect you to arrive directly after lunch. You will make no detours. You will talk to no one."
With this Dumbledore sat down, careful to make sure that he still was not looking at Sirius. He knew that if he saw the flowing tears, the remorseful face, the pain-filled eyes, that he might lose his nerve.
"You may go," he said, and Sirius turned to leave, but before he could manage it he turned back to the Headmaster, voice choked and hoarse and barely coherent.
"Do you- do you think that Remus'll talk to me? Sir?"
Dumbledore did not look.
"That is his prerogative. You have betrayed his trust, and in the process put him in clear and eminent danger. You caused his worst fear to be realized, and have cost this school one of its students." Sirius was barely holding in his sobs. Anguish and remorse wracked through him. "I would not blame him if he never spoke to you again. Go."
Sirius's shaking hand was on the handle of the door this time, but before he could open it, Dumbledore had spoken again.
"Oh, Mr. Black? If my worst predilections are realized- and my worst fears, as well as Master Lupin's- come to pass; if that child dies, with you alone responsible, then I will expect you to spend the summer with his parents. It will take a lot of time to explain after all."
Sirius did not have it in him to respond.