Chapter 2: A Change of Perspective
August 2, 1995
Severus Snape
Grimmauld Place was not a pleasant locale. It was part of the old London... the parts most people thought of as black and grimy and poor... yet few knew that once, only a few hundred years earlier, Grimmauld Place had been frequented by the aristocratic and wealthy middle classes. Once the cobblestones were clean, glossy, free of the trash that now was strewn across their nearly every square inch. Once gleaming and polished carriage wheels crunched over that street, and well-bred horses whinnied, prancing impatiently in the cold as they waited for their masters to finish getting drunk at whatever house party they found it so paramount to attend. But now? A deep sense of gloom shrouded the dark street. Scarcely any light could penetrate Grimmauld Place, for its towering dark bricked apartments lined both streets and gothic like roofing loomed over the path, twisting what little sunlight there was into gaunt, malevolent silhouettes. Here in this claustrophobic, dark and narrow prison, the air was dead, still, and rank with the stench of festering garbage. The streets were mostly empty... those that did frequent Grimmuald Place tending to be vile and pitiable characters... ragged little boys, tired working-class women, decrepit old men and the average soft-drunk. It was generally a silent street, excepting the distasteful 70s music that pulsed dismally from one of the nearby apartments. But you see, poor and dilapidated as it was, it still retained a sort of pitiful, stubborn dignity. It would not be the street on which brawls broke out, or where the screams of a domestic quarrel could be heard five doors down. No, Grimmauld Place would quietly continue on, sinking silently lower and lower into poverty and neglect, but without any drama or excitement. Nothing happens at Grimmauld Place.
But recently, strange things had begun to occur... at first, no one took much notice. Although the unusual occurrences were quite unobtrusive at first, it was unusual for Grimmauld Place. Strange people had been seen walking down the street. Where they went, no one much cared... it wasn't anyone's business, but the clothing those strangers wore...was curious. Most curious. Most them wore long robes that trailed the litter along in their wake; robes of shabby brown or of brilliant blues and reds. One man had a long silver beard that dropped to his knees, and another, younger person sported brightly dyed hair of a shade that no one could ever quite remember. So yes, something was happening. But the people of Grimmauld Place did not gossip. They just watched, without scrutiny and without inappropriate interest.
So no one found it in themselves to awaken surprise when another robed figure appeared in the neighbourhood one summer night, moving with a grace that seemed alien to the dreary darkened street. It was a man, tall and thin, dressed head to toe in black. He walked at a rapid, vengeful pace with his head held high and shoulders flung back. A dingy street lamp shone onto his pallid face, casting his gaunt features into a display of shadows and ridges, high cheekbones jutting out from his face, emphasizing his sunken eye-sockets and lower cheeks. His thin white mouth was clamped tightly shut, and a scowl seemed to twist his features in a most unpleasant way. A dark pair of eyes glinted through the night, constantly roving back and forth, as if expecting an attack. Shoulder-length stringy hair shadowed his thin angular face, and his robes billowed impressively, almost concealing the slenderness of his frame.
The figure abruptly stopped, and for just a moment, shuddered violently, as if cast out in a blizzard.
Then, with an even tighter jaw, he stepped onto the sidewalk and walked towards the apartments.
If the neighbours had continued watching, they would have suddenly found themselves wandering into other thoughts... and when they snapped back to reality, they would have been unable to remember what house the man had gone into, or indeed, if he had even gone into a house at all.
But Severus Snape had gone into a house.
'Number 12, Grimmauld Place.' as the words passed through Snape's mind, the brick face of the vast, interconnected apartments began to stretch, and, slowly, another apartment appeared between No.11 and No.13. At first glance this apartment was much the same as the two that stood next to it, but it seemed to be great deal older and dirtier. Upon the peeling and ancient door, an ugly metallic snake was coiled up - the doorknocker... even now, despite weeks of frequenting Number 12, Snape still felt a sense of disgust as he gripped the twisted serpent and knocked it, twice, against the heavy wood.
The Black residence... through long abandoned until very recently, it still reeked of Dark Magic. 'Or Black Magic' Snape jibed internally. Never had a family been more aptly named than the Blacks. They were a very old pureblood family with ties stretching back into King Richard the Lionheart's time. Not quite as old as Snape's mother's line though... Severus smirked slightly. Poor and obsolete as the Prince bloodline was now, it had had an ancient and noble history. It was said that the Prince line came directly from Prince Gildas, the magical son of King Arthur himself... but the line destroyed itself in its efforts to remain pure. It interbred and quarrelled, frequently disowning members that took mates outside of purebred families. Pure blood. Nothing less would suit the Princes. It was then ironic that the last Prince, Severus Snape, should be a half-blood. The Half-Blood Prince. Severus never cared much for blood purity, for obvious reasons. After all, it was the Princes' incessant interbreeding that gave him such an ugly visage. How he had inherited his intelligence, he could not have been sure, but he owed the Princes's no favours in the looks department. The Black family had been more shrewd in their choice of mates. All purebloods, that remained the same, but the selection differed. As a result, the Blacks constantly turned out quite handsome broods. Severus felt a twinge of bitterness when he considered Sirius's good looks and the beauty of Andromeda, Narcissa and Bellatrix. But beauty wasn't everything. The Blacks were a thoroughly nasty collection of personalities. Most were followers of Dark Magic, and known for disturbing and gruesome habits. But even those of the Blacks that followed 'The Light'... even those Blacks were unable to set aside the strain of vindictiveness and cruelty that had been firmly bred into the Black blood-line. Some people liked to think that Andromeda and Sirius were shining examples of bravery and integrity, but Severus knew better. Andromeda was arrogant- not of her blood, but of herself and of her independence. She looked down on those that had weakened... those that had followed stronger people because they had no one to turn to. When Severus was twenty, having just turned spy for the Order against the Dark Lord, Andromeda had treated him like a pathetic worm. '...crawling back whining to the Light side after he got bitten by the Dark. Let him return to where he belongs.' She mellowed somewhat after, but Snape never forgot what she had said. And Sirius... Snape's lip curled. He would always hate Sirius, whoever's side he may be on.
Again, he shuddered involuntarily. Tonight had not been a good night. The Dark Lord was very in a very sour mood... for, thanks to that little trip down to Privet Drive, Snape had been unable to supply his dark master with all the potions he had demanded. Of course, his small failure prompted a bit of an unbalanced response... but who ever said the Dark Lord was rational? Snape's limbs ached from the Cruciatus curse... and a dull pain emanated from a flesh wound in his side. But he was far too drained to attempt a healing spell. He truly wanted nothing more than to go back to Spinner's End stretch his long limbs out onto his bed, and sleep. And in the morning, though his nerves and muscles would scream and ache, he'd heal himself, as he always did. But until this stupid little Order meeting was over, he had to be strong. Carefully placing his Occlumency shields across his mind, he prepared himself to ignore the pain.
A few moments following the knock, the door opened, and Snape found himself looking down into the plump and cheery face of Molly Weasely. He had often seen her smile at other people... a wide, genuine and looking smile. She gave that smile to her family, to Dumbledore, to Sirius, to Tonks... but that smile was never given to him. Oh, she smiled at him, but Severus knew the difference. She did try harder than any of the other Order members, but she still did not trust him. Snape knew it should not bother him - it never bothered him with anyone else- yet Molly Weasely was such a motherly figure, and her maternal love had always been extended to everyone, both young and old. And even though she tried to act the same way around him, Snape knew she did not feel that motherly love that she offered him. It was a platitude, nothing more. And Snape hated platitudes.
"Severus!" she beamed (a bit too brightly). "Come in. Dumbledore says you have something important to tell us."
With barely a nod of acknowledgement, Snape followed the woman into the grimy but well-lit house.
"Look whose here!" Molly cheerfully said upon entering the kitchen where the Order members were seated. She seemed not to notice the cold and uncomfortable stares that passed her to reach the man standing behind her.
Now these attitudes Snape could handle. No pity, no guilt, no pretence... just common hate, distrust and fear. 'Death Eater.' He could hear their unspoken snarl. He curled his lip into his customary sneer, hoping to convey to them just how little he cared for their animosity. Moody stared spitefully at him with his one good eye, while his other, magical eye pierced through his clothing… he at least could see Snape's seeping wound. And, usual, the mangy old Auror did nothing but smirk mockingly at him. There was Sturgis Podmore, with his little weak chin and pale eyes squinted into a distrustful grimace, Emmaline Vance, looking down her long elegant nose at him in revulsion, Kingsley Shacklebolt, his face placid but his coffee-dark eyes scrutinizing him with that interminable gaze. Lupin and Arthur Weasley were clearly uncomfortable, and Sirius… Snape glared at him with special loathing. Sirius, as always, looked at him as if he should be punished for merely existing. He'd said so often enough. Only Dumbledore looked at him with amiability, although his mind was obviously far away, judging by the tiny concerned furrow in the old man's brow.
"Ah, Severus, sit down. You must tell the rest of the Order of this new… development regarding Harry." Dumbledore gestured to the empty chair next to him.
Sirius quickly started and with a snarl, asked, "What does he know about my godson?"
Snape ignored the mutt, and with an impressive billow of his robes, swept across the kitchen floor to take his seat at the Headmaster's side.
"Yes, what's this about Harry?" Molly asked, also sitting down.
"As usual, the Potter boy has managed to make himself an annoyance-" Snape began, then, seeing Dumbledore's warning glance, hesitated. "However, I suppose this time it is not his fault."
"Get to the point, Snivillus." Sirius snapped.
A dull rage coursed through Snape's veins. "If you call me that one more time and I shall hex to the point where you will never discover what happened to your precious godson." Snape could feel a dark flush creeping up to his cheeks, and, his anger making him forget about his injured side, he leapt to his feet. Then, he froze, a groan rising unbidden from his lips. He clenched his side, cursing himself for showing weakness, and slipped back down into his seat. "But I suppose that will have to wait." He muttered sourly.
Sharp blue eyes bored into his skull, and Dumbledore put his hand on Snape's thin shoulder. "Severus, are you alright?"
"Fine." Snape snapped, ignoring Sirius's mocking leer. "You want to know what happened to Potter? Well, that filthy little excuse for a wizard, Mundungus Fletcher, took off after some stolen batch of cauldrons when he should have been watching the boy. So, I went off to waste my day guarding the boy… and it was just as well I did, because if I hadn't been there, Mundungus would now be responsible either for Potter's death or his expulsion."
"WHAT?" Sirius roared, leaping to his feet while several of the Order members gasped and passed each other worried looks.
"Calm down, mutt." Snape sneered. "I know you don't get much excitement hiding away in your mother's house, but it's a little pathetic to compensate for it with such a dramatic display. The Boy-Who-Lived still lives, unfortunately. But I'm very curious as to why he and his Muggle cousin where attacked by two dementors on their way back to their home."
"Dementors?" Lupin's typically serene face suddenly was a picture of horror. "Dementors? Who the hell sent them? Has… Merlin, has Voldemort got control of dementors now?"
Why did the damn werewolf have to use the Dark Lord's name? Snape supressed his discomfort, and answered, "Not that I am aware. I'm more inclined to believe those dementors came courtesy of our resident ostrich Minister."
Suddenly Molly's eyes darted towards him with the speed of a hunting lioness. "How… how did you get rid of them?"
"The same way all competent wizards get rid of dementors." Snape retuned irritably.
Sirius let out a short bark of laughter. "What are you talking about? Everyone knows Death Eaters can't produce a Patronus."
"This Death Eater can." Snape glared hotly at his enemy. "What do you think I did, showed them my Dark Mark and warded them off with it?"
"Something like that." Sirius muttered.
"Dumbledore, is this true?" The Weasley patriarch asked, his blue eyes wide and curious.
"Yes, Arthur. I looked at Severus's memory. But of course, I already knew he could produce a Patronus, though it has been some years since the need has arisen."
Now, one of Weasley's children spoke up… Bill, it was. Snape remembered Bill being sorted in his second year of teaching… he'd been rather smart for a Gryffindor, but with that typical dash of foolhardiness that made Gryffindors unbearable. "But Professor Dumbledore, a Patronus is one of the Lightest form of magic. Surely the Dark Mark would smother such a charm?"
Blue eyes twinkling in the infernal way they always did, Dumbledore said smoothly, "Ah, but there are forces of magic stronger than those belonging to Voldemort, young Mr. Weasley. And it just so happens that Severus in possession of one such power."
"What do you-" began Sirius, but Snape cut him off.
"Amusing as this analysis of my magical morals must be for all of you, don't we have more important thing to discuss? Like what should be done with the boy now?" Snape did not expect any thanks. Potter had given him none, as always. So why should any of the Order? His hands shook slightly- after-affects from the Cruciatus- so he tucked them delicately under the table.
"Harry will have to come here, of course." Dumbledore immediately said. "I imagine his relatives will give him a hard time regarding his cousin's condition- he was with Harry at the time of the attack- although, I understand, Severus, that you removed the Muggle's memory of the incident."
Snape inclined his head briefly. His limbs were beginning to stiffen, and his side was pulsing with pain… he didn't know how much more of this meeting he could handle.
"Alastair, I'll want you to organise for Harry to get here. Of course, you will need to be extremely vigilant…" Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed teasingly, and a low chuckle reverberated around the room, all reminded of Moody's incessant, paranoid refrain 'constant vigilance' "…for, after all, Voldemort will seek to take the boy, and now it appears that an unknown enemy also has unfriendly intentions for Harry."
"Unknown, my ass." Declared Sirius, his moustache bristling over his parted yellowed teeth. Snape had been amused to discover that Black's long, twelve-year stint in Azkaban had rendered his dentistry as bad, if not worse than Snape's own. Ironic justice, considering the number of times Sirius had mocked him for it back in their Hogwarts years…
"Sirius?" Dumbledore looked politely affronted.
"It was obviously that Fudge character. He's terrified of what 'rumours' Harry will spread when he gets back to Hogwarts." Sirius had especial reason to resent the Minister of Magic, considering that, on top of refusing to admit that the Dark Lord had indeed returned, Fudge had also tried to administer the Dementor's Kiss to him. 'Such a pity he didn't succeed.' Snape thought sourly.
"It's possible." Dumbledore agreed placidly. "However, I am unsure if Fudge is ruthless enough to issue such an order."
"He always was a coward." Squeaked Daedalus Diggle from a darkened corner of the table.
"What do you expect from a Hufflepuff?" Snape grunted. "No bravery, no intelligence, no cunning."
"An all-round turd." Snape was surprised to hear Bill agreeing with him.
"Have you anything else to report, Severus? You just had a meeting with Voldemort, did you not?" asked Dumbledore.
Once again, Snape winced upon hearing the name, a sharp burn flaring into his arm. Unconsciously, he rubbed his arm where the Dark Mark was burned, but upon realising a few people had spotted his action, he hastily dropped his arm back down to his side. "There is little to tell. He continues to lay low, while gathering supporters from all corners. However, you were right, Dumbledore, in believing he would try and recruit the giants once more. He has sent a few of his Death Eaters off to do just that. There is no word yet from his attempts to contact the werewolf packs, but knowing Fenrir Greyback's… appetite…" Snape flashed a sly glance at Lupin, who had suddenly paled on the mention of his old childhood nightmare. "…I am sure that he will succeed."
"And what did you do to make old Voldy mad?" Loudly asked Moody, grinning cruelly. "Unless, of course, your condition is due to his… affectionate attention."
Snape bristled.
"What are you babbling about, Alastair?" Emmeline Vance said sharply, turning her head towards the old Auror in her queenly way.
"Oh, Moody has merely been playing the voyeur again, with that abominable eye of his." Snape sneered. "He is speaking of my flesh-wound." Since my privacy is obviously not going to be respected, I may as well be the one to tell them.
"Flesh-wound?" Molly, as usual, had her 'mother-hen' face on at the mention of one of their party being injured.
Mockingly, Snape held up his hand, which, after he had clutched his wound, was covered in blood. It was a good thing he always wore black, or his condition would have been brought up sooner. "Thanks to Mundungus's little adventure, I had to waste five hours guarding the Chosen One until Vance turned up. The Dark Lord did not get all potions. That is all."
"Are you sure I can't do anything-"
"Yes, Molly. I'm sure." Snape snapped, irritation crackling in the dark depths of his eyes. He could not bear pity, or appearing weak. "What do you expect when going in the Dark Lord's presence? A tea party? I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, or do you forget that I was a spy in the last war too?" And with that, he turned his head and resolutely stared at the wall, ignoring the rest of the Order's gazes, letting them babble on about their plans to retrieve Potter. For Merlin's sake, did the boy really need nine escorts? Even Shacklebolt, of whom Snape had previously credited with some intelligence, seemed to have been caught in the glow of Boy-Who-Lived worship. Snape curled his lip in disgust. It wasn't like Potter had done anything special… it was Lily's actions that banished the Dark Lord for thirteen years, and now James' wretched son got to soak in his ill-gotten fame.
When the meeting was finally concluded, Snape quickly rose and headed for the kitchen door that led to the hall.
"Severus, wait." Lupin called. Snape paused, tense with pain, and willing himself not to grasp at his wound.
"What?" he growled.
"I just wanted…" Lupin looked hesitant. "…to thank you for saving Harry's life."
Snape stared at him. Of course, it would be the cowardly werewolf who would be the one to thank him. "Well I can hardly say it was my pleasure." He said silkily. "But at least you appear to have better manners than the boy." And the rest of you- was the silent infernal.
And with that, Snape spun about on his heel, drew his robes about him, and exited with an impressive inky swirl. But no one saw him when he stopped, breathing hard against the frame of the front door, shoulders quivering with pain. 'I hate them all.' he thought wearily, and, carefully rearranging his Occlumenic shields to block out the pain, Snape straightened his shoulders and exited the Black house, oblivious to the screeches of the Black matriarch's portrait.
August 2, 1995
Remus Lupin
A slash of black fabric, swirling around Snape's slender frame, followed by the door slamming firmly shut… almost as one, the Order sighed with relief. Snape's presence was always so uncomfortable and prickly, but now, they could breathe again.
Lupin couldn't help a guilty pang as he too, puffed out a relieved sigh. It was Snape's fault, really. He was just so spiky and unpersonable. Although we didn't do anything to help him lower his guard… his wretched conscience hissed at him.
Dumbledore, Diggle, Doge and Vance all left a short time later, Dumbledore leaving, at Sirius's hospitable invitation, by Floo.
But for the rest of the Order, an evening meal was anticipated.
"Children, meetings over! It's time to eat!" Molly bellowed to the upper story, while getting up and starting to fuss around in the kitchen, removing steaming hot dishes of food from the kitchen's old-fashioned oven.
Four sets of ginger head bounced into the room, followed at a more stately pace by a head topped with a shock of soft, frizzy brown hair. While the Weasley children rushed over to greet various members of the Order, Hermione, Lupin noticed, had frozen at the door-way, turning an interesting yellow shade. "Excuse me… but is there some reason for this puddle of blood on the floor?" She called out over the rumble of chatter.
Another pang of guilt hit Lupin. What if Snape had been really badly hurt? He peered over the table at the puddle which Hermione pointed. It was rather a lot of blood.
"Blasted git." Sirius spat uncompassionately. "Now another thing to clean."
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Lupin spoke up. "That, Hermione, was uh… as a result of an injury Professor Snape incurred at the hands of Lord Voldemort."
Brown eyes wide, Hermione asked, "Has he been discovered?"
"'No, of course not." Molly soothed, moving over to the puddle of blood and gently moving Hermione away so she could clean it. "You-Know-Who just has a mangy temper and takes it out on his followers."
"Will the Professor be all right?" Lupin was surprised to find the kind little witch actually seemed concerned for the teacher he knew had never been pleasant to her.
"Who cares?" Ron called from his seat at the table, where he eagerly eyed the dishes on the counter. "It's Snape."
Lupin flinched, remembering hearing those very same words so long ago…
"YOU IDIOT!" Lupin had never been more angry with Sirius… "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!"
Sirius had tried a weak attempt at a grin, but even he didn't know how to handle a truly furious Remus Lupin. "It was… just a joke."
"Not only could you have gotten Snape killed… which… Salazar's scrawny balls, that was what you were hoping?"
"Well, I…"
"My best friend just attempted MURDER." Lupin sat down on his dorm bed, sinking his head into his hands. Then, he'd looked at Sirius with a haunted gaze. "And you tried to make me accomplice to that? Tried to turn me into a monster? A true monster? Not to mention, if I hurt Snape, I would have been sent straight to Azkaban! What the bloody HELL were you thinking?"
"I'm sorry." Sirius turned a little pale. "I hadn't realised it would have… I didn't think about what would happen to you."
"And Snape? What makes you think he deserved to die?"
"He was always sneaking around, trying to find out what you were."
"And now he knows!"
"Oh, but Dumbledore took care of that. Told the smarmy git that he'd get the boot if he reveals anything."
Lupin stared at his friend in shock. "But… that's horrid. He just nearly died and now he's being threatened for my sake?"
In an attempt to comfort him, Sirius patted his hands. "You're a billion times more important than Snivilly. I'm sorry. Truly."
"What about Snape? Is he going to be all-right?"
His handsome face hardened into a mask of scorn, Sirius tossed his head. "Who cares? It's Snape."
Food was set on the table, and the Order set themselves assiduously to the task of attacking their plates.
"So, what was the greasy dungeon bat doing here? Apart from bleeding all over the floor-boards?" Fred asked perkily.
"Fred, show some respect. He's your teacher, and he has a very difficult and dangerous role in the Order. You shouldn't make light of it." Lupin calmly reproved him. "Anyway, you know we can't discuss order business with you. You're not old enough to join the Order yet."
"Well." Sirius said, chewing heartily on a chickenbone, "We can at least tell them about Snivelly's little expedition in Privet Drive. They'll find out about that soon enough when Harry gets here."
"Harry?" Hermione looked up sharply. "Harry's coming here? When?"
"Five days. Half the Order is going out to get him." An expression of sourness appeared in Sirius's haggard features. Lupin sighed inwardly. He knew how much Sirius resented having to stay tucked away in Grimmauld Place while everyone else got to fight actively in the war against Voldemort, but he couldn't very well go and get himself sent back to Azkaban. Harry would have conniptions.
"Why the change in plans?" George asked.
"Harry will probably send Hedwig soon, telling us something of the matter. No replies, remember Dumbledore's orders." Said Lupin.
"WHAT happened?" Snapped Ron impatiently.
"Dementors happened." Moody snarled. "Bloody Ministry out to get us all, now resorting to sending their pet misery-machines after the Boy-Who-Lived."
Hermione paled. "Dementors?" she whispered. "Is Harry okay?"
"Yes." Lupin quickly reassured her. "Though if it wasn't for Professor Snape, he'd either be soulless or expelled for using underage magic."
"Snape? Snape saved Harry? He hates him." Ron looked perplexed.
"This isn't the first time Professor Snape has saved Harry's life, Ron." Hermione looked disapprovingly at her friend. "Or me, for that matter. Remember he removed my… cat problem and de-petrified me."
"That was his job." Ron said dismissively.
"So is this." Sirius said, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of owing Snape for saving his godson's life. "He's apparently part of the Order, so…"
"But it wasn't even his shift, Sirius." Lupin said impatiently. "Even you have to admit he went above and beyond the call of duty."
"Which makes me wonder… how'd he even know Mundungus ran off?"
Lupin sighed. Sirius was determined not to allow his childhood enemy even the slightest bit of credit. "Why don't you ask him, next time? Perhaps along with a thank you?"
Sirius looked like he'd swallowed his food wrong. "Thank Snivellus? What the hell is in your cup, Lupin, that you'd suggest that?"
"I thanked him."
"You'd thank Buckbeak if he bit you in the arse, and then apologise for not being respectful enough." Sirius chortled.
Hermione flicked her head impatiently at all the irrelevant chatter. "Sir, Professor Lupin, how did Professor Snape ward off the dementors? I know Death Eaters can't conjure Patronuses…"
"In the words of old Snivelly, this Death Eater can." Sirius said with a surly swig of his goblet.
"You are joking!" Hermione gasped.
"No, Hermione, it appears that there is a great deal more light in Severus- Professor Snape- then anyone credited him with." Lupin said calmly.
"I wonder what his form was." She murmured, looking suitably impressed.
"Probably a giant bat." Fred said nonchalantly, prompting a great gust of laughter from all sides of the table.
But Lupin didn't laugh… he just smiled sadly and stared at the table. Even now, they laughed at Severus and mocked him. Even after what he had done that day for Harry. Even after he had revealed his power for Light magic… But then, just the day before, Lupin probably would have joined in with the laughter… it made the werewolf wonder… did anyone really care about Snape's feeling? For his dignity? Which, Lupin realised, was one of the few things Snape valued. He had no friends, no family, no fortune, cared little for his appearance… really, only his Slytherins, his skills and his dignity were the only things the man truly seemed to place personal value in. Lupin felt an odd twinge that he recognized too well. He felt that every time he'd hung back and watched Snape being humiliated by the Marauder gang. Yet even this time, he was silent and watched as the Order member lasciviously attacked Snape's dignity, comparing him to all sort of loathsome creatures. Lupin just sat back as usual, hating himself, and watched it all once again. Only this time Snape was not here to defend himself.