Chapter 6: A Reticent Man

September 1, 1995

Remus Lupin

"He's not going away forever, you know." Lupin sighed, looking at his friend. The expression 'hangdog' was perhaps an unforgivable pun, but it certainly was an apt description to apply to Sirius's current condition.

"You don't understand at all, Moony." Sirius growled, throwing himself down onto an armchair and savagely twisting the lid off of a bottle of fire-whisky. "You aren't going to have to waste the whole war down in this nightmare of a house… with no company except for that filthy elf."

Perhaps Lupin couldn't feel all that his friend was going through, but he could understand. Yet there was little he could do to help him. The werewolf had known Sirius for over a decade and it had always been him, not James, who was able to note Sirius's moods and sooth them before they grew to mammoth proportions… but in this situation, what could he do? Sirius was a wanted man- and without the rat as evidence of his innocence, he would stay that way until either hell froze over, or the Ministry got themselves a decent justice system.

Like Lupin himself, Sirius was quite young by wizarding standards, but in his short life of thirty-six years, he'd suffered more than most wizards would suffer throughout an entire lifetime. As a youth, he grew up among people filled with hate and cruelty, and when he turned from their darkness, he suffered at their hands- they, his family, who should have loved him regardless of his choices. Lupin remembered Sirius, age thirteen, boarding the Hogwarts train with ashen skin and quivering fingers. "Just Mother being her usual, charming self." He would bitterly snarl, never mentioning what exactly had happened, but his friends always knew that he'd been subjected to a dark curse. Miserable summers aside, Sirius had loved his time at Hogwarts, surrounded by friends and admiring girls, and he had thrown himself into the fight against Voldemort after graduation. Those years the best time of their lives- the Marauders against the world. It had been perfect… Himself and Sirius, side by side with James, Lily and Wormtail… until all that happiness was shattered on that fateful Halloween night, when Sirius realized the death of one friend at the betrayal of another. And at being arrested and unjustly sentenced, all response he could give was to laugh, because it was all too unfair, life-too sickeningly twisted for all that had happened to have been real. And when he was thrown into Azkaban, he'd told himself that he deserved it, all the misery, the cold, the hunger, the hatred. Lupin knew that even now, Sirius blamed himself for making Wormtail the Secret Keeper, that he blamed himself for the Potters' death. Twelve, long, soul-shredding years in Azkaban later, Sirius fled, hoping to finally bring the guilty man to justice. Then at the last moment, just as Sirius could smell the freedom of vindication, it was snatched cruelly from his grasp once more with Wormtail's second escape. The next year Sirius spent in hiding, having to lower himself to the point of eating rats so as to survive. And now, after everything he had been through, Sirius was condemned to spend who knows how long in the house of his traumatic childhood, alone but for the visits of the Order members. Lupin knew what Sirius was like- even eating rats and hiding in dog-form was preferable to sitting around and doing nothing. He was a man of action, and idleness was to him worse than a slug-vomiting charm. Now? An empty, creepy house that breathed dark magic was his reward. Harry had been the only bright patch in his life for the past three years, and his contact with his godson had been sorely limited. Those few weeks spent cleaning out Grimmuald Place had been the longest time the two had spent together since Harry was an infant, and for Sirius, it was like water to a man dying of thirst.

With a faint twinge in his heart, Lupin acknowledged to himself that just as Sirius and James had once shared a special bond, so too did Sirius and Harry, and, once again, Lupin found himself on the outskirts of said bond. But Lupin couldn't begrudge his friend that, for it was about all he had.

"Sirius, we'll be stopping by all the time. You won't be alone. But I know you'll miss Harry."

Sirius glared at him. "Stop trying to comfort me, Moony. It isn't working."

"Well, what do you want?"

Sirius looked glumly at his bottle, before tossing his head back at taking a deep swig. "Nothing. I'll be fine." He wiped his mouth and tried for a wan grin. "After all, what a year or so in this 'grim old place' after Azkaban?' but his voice conveyed the hollowness of his words.

"This is a bit like Azkaban for you, isn't it?" Lupin sympathised. "It is a place where you are forced to relive some of your worst memories."

"Bingo. Always said you were the smartest Marauder." Sirius chuckled darkly. "But I'm sorry, Lupin. I didn't mean to invite you to my own personal pity party."

"Yes, well, the decorations are somewhat lacking."

"Eh, but we've got the grog." Sirius's eyes brightened. "Hang around a bit, Moony? Have a drink with me?"

Lupin winced. He hated having to leave Sirius now, so shortly after Harry's departure, but it was a busy job, being a member of the Order… at any rate, it was a busy job being one that had the freedom to move around. He knew that saying 'I'm busy' to Sirius would be a bludger to gut, and would only remind him of the conditions of his new imprisonment.

"I'm sorry, Padfoot. I'll drop by soon enough."

Just as he expected, Sirius's face dropped several inches, and he looked haggard in disappointment. "Fine." He snapped, taking another swig of his alcohol.

Azkaban had changed Sirius. He had always had moody tendencies, but he never used to have, as he termed them, 'pity-parties'. It was strange, to see him so shuttered off… at times it seemed as if his old, cheerful demeanour had been completely hollowed out, replaced by feigned grins and forced humour. Lupin could but hope that this would change in time. Sirius was the most tenacious of sorts, strong, independent, able to bounce back from anything… that was how he'd survived his mother and his insane relatives. But then, who knew what James' death and Azkaban had done to his friend? The last twelve years had certainly changed Lupin himself. He just hoped that their friendship had not suffered too severely over that time. 'Sirius has lost a great deal, but he has me, and I WILL bring him back.' He promised himself.

He clapped his old friend on the back. "Soon. Don't gripe too much, hey, Pads?"

A noncommittal grunt was all reply he was afforded. Lupin heaved another sigh, before heading out of the living room to the main hall. Poor Sirius.

With the Weasley's departure, most of the Order members had no reason to lurk around except on business. After all, there was no famous Weasley stew with which to tempt their legs into the kitchen. The last of Harry's protective entourage were saying their good-byes at the door... it hadn't been quite as impressive a troupe was the 'Advance Guard' of a few weeks prior, but Moody had gone, along with Tonks, who, Lupin distractingly noticed, looked very daring with hair in cobalt blue. Sirius had insisted on tagging along in his dog form, and Kingsley Shacklebolt came, silent and serene as usual, performing the dull task with his accustomed collected gravity.

"Remus!" Tonks called out. "You going to be at the next Order meet-up?" she wriggled her eyebrows. "Bill and I plan will be bringing a couple of boxes of Muggle sweets… doughnuts, heard of them?"

"I certainly have, Tonks." Lupin returned with a wry smile. "Doughnuts are one of the best things about the Muggle world, of which I daresay I know more of than you."

Tonks poked her tongue out at him. "Then, Oh great Muggleland explorer, why don't you tell me which doughnuts to pick out for you?"

"Chocolate-coated ones, of course." He said promptly.

She giggled. "Of course."

"All-right, all-right." Moody said, shrugging his broad shoulders peevishly, having just finished a rather grim-faced conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Are we quite done with the chit-chat? We have a job to do, Tonks."

The Metamorphmagus pouted. "You old nag. You act like everything is a life-or-death-no-time-to-lose situation."

"It is an attitude that has kept him alive many years." Shacklebolt pointed out, as he retrieved a heavy blue cloak from a rack by the door.

"Phff." Tonks huffed, before grabbing her mentor's arm and, shooting Lupin a farewell grin, dragged Moody out the door.

Naturally, she lost her footing on the steps and Mad-eye had to grab her by the collar to prevent her from smashing herself into the pavement.

Lupin huffed fondly, watching the pair as they collected themselves and apparated away. "Incorrigible clutz! How in Merlin's name did she pass Auror Stealth and Tracking?"

Shacklebolt chuckled in the doorway, his voice deep-throated and rich. "Well, if I recall correctly, she had to re-do that particular test… ooh, three times?"

"Well, no one ever said she wasn't persistent."

Shacklebolt nodded good-humouredly, before lowering his voice and asking, "How's Black doing?"

Lupin looked at the Auror in surprise. "You noticed?"

Shacklebolt curved his mouth into a teasing smile. "Well, it is my job to know how works the mind of the great mass-murderer." For despite his true loyalties lying with the Order, Kingsley, as a high ranking Auror under the employ of the Ministry, had been tasked to capture Sirius Black. It was a precarious balance- to make sure he wasn't appearing as an impotent fool while at the same time keeping Sirius's whereabouts secret.

The werewolf shrugged. "Sirius is… well, rather wretched. It hasn't been easy for him, these last fourteen years. He is straining to be of some more use than hosting the Order his home."

"I can understand that desire."

"Yes, well… we all have to make sacrifices in wartime. And you? How is the war gearing up from your end? Are the Ministry still buying the idea that Sirius is holed up in Tibet?"

"I can only hope." Shacklebolt returned gravely. "But that is why we cannot allow for another of his escapades. Not even in his dog form."

"I know, it was a bad idea, him coming to see Harry off. Snuffles is a very distinctive dog."

"Indeed. And his description will surely have spread among You-Know-Who's followers, thanks to the information provided by your old friend Pettigrew. If they sight Black, they will surely send word to the Ministry through… respected channels. You must do your best to keep the man prudent and safe."

Lupin sighed. "I'll do what I can, but I'm going to be absent frequently. You know those werewolves won't be easy to convince to our side… especially when the convincing is coming from me."

"You will do what you can."

"And hope I don't get my tongue clawed out in the process." Lupin muttered. "Some of those werewolves have turned completely feral. Anyway… thanks for coming to keep Harry safe. Bit of an entourage, but you never know what might happen."

"Indeed." Kingsley looked grave. "But the entourage was not as large as it should have been."

"Podmore?" Lupin guessed. "What happened with him anyway?"

"I told Alastair just now." Shacklebolt shook his head, his expression serious. "It is not good news, I'm afraid."

Lupin paled slightly. He'd been on good terms with the lantern-jawed Ministry worker in the last war. "Merlin… Did Voldemort-?"

"No. Not that. He's alive. But he was standing guard outside the Department of Mysteries last night, and apparently attempted to break in… he was arrested this morning."

"The Imperious curse?" Lupin was instantly alert. "It must have been."

"Yes." Shacklebolt let out a heavy sigh. "It is unlikely that Sturgis Podmore would have betrayed us. He was not that good an actor…"

"What will the Ministry do? Can Dumbledore-?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "His power is waning. If Fudge is alerted to Podmore's connection to Dumbledore- if he hasn't already suspected- well, that could lead to an even harsher sentence."

Lupin felt a knot form in his stomach. "So, Sturgis is at the mercy of the Wizengamot." He had no great love for the Ministry's jurisdictional arm, having been beaten enough times with it for his werewolf status. "What's he looking at? Not Azka-"

"Yes. Perhaps, if they are lenient, they will only give him three months. We will be losing a good Order member for the foreseeable future."

"Not to mention a good man." Lupin said stiffly.

"Of course." Shacklebolt was unphazed, but his brown eyes were sympathetic. "But we are in a war, even if much of the wizarding world refuses to see it."

Indeed, Lupin was only just beginning to see it for himself. 'It really is all starting, then.' He shook himself. "So, who do you think did it? Imperioused Podmore, that is?"

"I am more interested in how they knew Podmore was guarding the Department of Secrets."

"Perhaps Severus can find out?" Lupin suggested.

"Indeed. Unless he was the one who imparted that information in the first place."

"Even after saving Harry, you don't trust him?" Lupin inquired, curious. Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of the more intelligent members of the Order. Un-impinged with emotional baggage regarding Snape, his perspective on the Order's spy was likely to prove most interesting.

"I did not say that."

"Well, do you?"

The dark-skinned wizard hesitated. "Well… that a Death Eater branded with You-Know-Who's Dark Mark can conjure a Patronus shows a curious duality of Light and Dark magic. But I pride myself on the ability to read the characters of men. That is why I am certain Podmore is merely a victim of You-Know-Who's machinations. His face is open, his thoughts flow freely… he is a man of great amiability and resourcefulness. You, Remus, are a gentle soul, calm and soft-hearted, but incredibly loyal… am I wrong?"

Lupin hardly knew what to say. "I… well, my friends might call that a correct estimation."

"Indeed. Well… with Severus Snape, I cannot read a thing. He presents a cold, sneering façade… but how much of a façade it is? I cannot tell. And beyond said façade? I would not know if there is there honour and courage or darkness and selfishness. I went to his trial, you know, in 1981. I was protégé to Scrimegeour at the time, and he was determined to see the boy into Azkaban. I believe they had a duel some years back, before Snape apparently turned spy. From what I gather, Scrimegeour did not exactly win a resounding victory over him."

Lupin hid a smile. 'Well, well, Severus.'

"Yes… when I saw Snape bound in the Accused's chair, and the first thing I thought was how young he was, to be called up as a Death Eater. He was a near decade younger than myself... pale as milk, hair falling all over the place, but his face was completely impassive. He'd been in Azkaban for a brief stint before the trial, but he showed none of the emotional signs that is typical to one having borne the misery of the dementors. He didn't flinch when he was brought up the charges, he only sneered when the crowd jeered at him… and when he was cleared, he didn't even show himself to be relieved, or act like he expected his acquittal… it was as if he didn't even care to look at the life handed back to him. So… I do not know what to make of him. I have only Dumbledore's word to go on… but Snape himself? My own instincts are useless where it comes to him. I suppose that is what makes him such an effective spy… for whoever's side he stands on. For he is… too dispassionate, too reticent."

"He didn't use to be." Lupin said quietly.

"Oh?" Shacklebolt tilted his head questioningly.

"I knew him at school. Extremely hostile, defensive, emotional. He had a foul mouth too… could swear the wings off a flock of doxies. But he was a genius. Nose-deep in Dark magic, but a genius, all the same."

"Indeed?" Shacklebolt looked interested. "In Potions?"

"Top of the class. Rewrote the text books and everything. And at eleven he could probably outdo any number of seventh years in combat… though his knowledge leaned heavily on the Dark Arts."

"At eleven?" Shacklebolt looked faintly alarmed.

"Yes… that's why Sirius doesn't trust him. But, despite the Dark Arts, he wasn't completely the same as the Slytherins. He was a very unpopular kid. The other Slytherins never even protected him until half-way through sixth year."

"Protected him… from bullying?"

Lupin nodded, his belly churning with guilt.

"He also had a Gryffindor friend through most of his time at Hogwarts. But eventually he fell in deep with a pack of Slytherin wannabe Death Eaters. I never saw him after graduation until the year I came to teach Defence. By then, he had changed a great deal."

"He doesn't like you." Stated the Auror.

Lupin nodded. "He doesn't like anyone. But for me, hate would be a more apt description."

"Indeed. For both you and Sirius."

"In that respect, you can read his emotions quite clearly."

"Curious." Shacklebolt tilted his head, looking at the werewolf in undisguised scrutiny. "You knew him better than in the capacity of a passing acquaintance, did you not?"

Lupin shifted uncomfortably.

"But you were not friends."

"There… might have been a bit of House rivalry between us." Lupin admitted half-heartedly, while a part of himself was screaming 'liar, coward!'.

Shacklebolt's coffee-swirled eyes seemed to dawned with keen comprehension, but he did not comment further on the matter. "Then perhaps his vulnerability is found in his school-days? That he separates business and personal matters into different emotional states?"

Lupin inclined his head, wishing he had the guts to be more honest about what the nature of his association with the younger Snape had been. "That's likely. But then, Severus is still quite a mystery. I don't know how you will use that vulnerability to prove his loyalty or disloyalty."

"I am not an Auror for nothing, Remus." Shacklebolt smiled calmly. "And I enjoy a challenge."

September 1, 1995

Severus Snape

Really, it was curious how every year since Harry Bloody Potter's arrival at Hogwarts, something insane occurs. First the Dark Lord invades the school from the back of a Defence teacher's turban, than a basilisk gets loose, than dementors come to make everyone miserable while searching for an escaped convict, and then, finally, the Triwizard Tournament and the return of the Dark Lord. The last four years had been, frankly, exhausting. Snape blamed Potter for it.

And this year? Well, while being run ragged by the Order and the Dark Lord, he also has a full-time teaching job complete with essays bad enough to induce suicide, and volatile Potions classes. Then there was the necessity to brew potions for the hospital wing, and his own private academic projects... not to mention the impossible task of trying to wriggle his way into the Order's trust. Like that was going to happen. Then, there is the possibility of having to privately tutor Potter in an art he will have no aptitude for… and on top of it all… Umbridge.

Snape gnashed his teeth angrily at his usual seat at the High Table. It was cruel, truly cruel of the Headmaster to always arrange his seat next to the current Defence teacher. The simpering fraud Lockhart never shut up, the werewolf had put him off his food, and the fake Mad-eye Moody, always slyly talking about seeing him into Azkaban…. but never had it been more cruel than it was now, with 'Professor' Umbridge. Her infuriating pinkness was worse than Dumbledore's loud robes, and the disgusting perfume she doused herself in made his nostrils twitch. And her giggling. Ugh. Thanks to Lucius Malfoy, whom he suspected of having a hand in the woman's appointment, the Umbridge woman wouldn't leave him alone, believing him to be an ally against the other teachers of Hogwarts. And because of his infernal spying position, he wasn't allowed to dissuade her of that notion by blasting her out of the hall. Really, this year was shaping up to be very stressful. And the Sorting Ceremony hadn't even begun.

And when it did, it got interesting. Snape knew that the Sorting Hat was sentient, and aware of the political situation around itself, but still, it rarely ever got involved. Yet Snape recalled in the year before he left Hogwarts to join the Death Eaters, that the Sorting Hat had issued a similar warning. It had been a refrain that no one had listened to then, and Snape knew with gloomy certainty that no one would listen to it now.

…Of know the perils, read the signs

The warning history shows

For our Hogwarts is in danger

From external, deadly foes

And we must unite inside her

Or we'll crumple from within…

Based on the glares the Gryffindors were sending the Slytherin table, there would be no uniting of Hogwarts anytime soon. But then, that was just as it was in the first Wizarding war, and no one had done anything to keep the Slytherins from straying then, and they would not do so now. Worse, since many Death Eater children believed him to be a loyal servant of the Dark Lord, he would only draw admiration from them, and a desire to follow in the Head of Slytherin's footsteps. The Slytherins were alone, as always, Sorting Hat or no Sorting Hat. And, like himself all those years ago, many of his Slytherins would believe they had nowhere to go but the Dark Lord.

To make things more nauseating, after the feast, the pink toad had interrupted the Headmaster and proceeded into another dull yet threatening speech. Damn the Ministry.

The speech, predicably, bored the students to tears, and most began ignoring her half-way through. But, based on their glazed, empty eyes, no one who attempted to continue listening understood the implications behind Umbridge's words… no one except a Miss Hermione Granger. She was staring at the woman with narrowed eyes, her expression grim and serious. Well, there were advantages to being an insufferable know-it-all. She was also obviously keen enough to see Umbridge's words for what they truly meant. Snape pushed away the faint flicker of approval he felt at her shrewdness. After all, when one devours enough books, one is able to read between the lines. Snape was a bit disappointed that the Slytherins didn't understand… but then, having knowledge of the Order made the Ministry's dealings more clear. As to the other two children who knew of this, asking that idiot boy and his ginger sidekick to understand was an expectation one would have of those bestowed with brains, so it was no surprise that they didn't grasp Umbridge's meaning.

When the blasted affair was finally over, Snape hurriedly got up and retreated, making his way to the dungeons where he would get some rest. In the morning he would have to greet his new batch of Slytherins and do his best to ensure that they wouldn't turn out slobs, bullies, or weaklings.

But of course, Snape could not summon up the ability to sleep- for every time he slumbered off into a thin dream, he was haunted by nightmares. So, he did as he always did on night like that. He roamed the dark halls, unaided by light, clearing his mind in the same exercise that he had performed since he was a sixth year. His insomniac routine had gotten back to the student body years ago, feeding the rumour that he was a vampire. Other people thought he did it because, like Filch, he just wanted to catch students out of bed and take House points. Indeed, that was one benefit to his insomnia.

But that evening, for the first time, someone had used his night-time wanderings as a chance to seek him out.

"Sir? Professor Snape?" A female voice whispered.

With a wordless Nox incantation, Snape spun around to find the buck-toothed face of Miss Hermione Granger nervously peering up at him. "Miss Granger." He growled. He hadn't forgotten the incident at Grimmauld Place. Unfortunately, he couldn't assign her a detention for breaking curfew, since she was a prefect. "What do you want?"

"Um, Professor…" she bit her lip. "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for that trick Sir- Snuffles tried to play on you."

Snape was a little surprised. He hadn't expected her, despite all her teacher's pet behaviour, to try and apologise to him. People didn't usually apologise to him unless they were face to face with his wrath. And no one ever actively sought him out to make pre-meditated apologies. Most were too afraid of being chopped up into potion ingredients.

"Were you party to the mutt's plan?" Snape asked coldly.

Granger shook her head furiously. "No, sir, but-"

"Then I fail to see why you are bothering me." He said in a dismissive tone he did not quite feel.

Her face looked exactly like a startled rabbit, but as he turned to go, she called out, "I also wanted to thank you… s-sir."

Snape froze, his footsteps arrested, but he did not turn. "For what, Miss Granger?"

"For… saving Harry's life." She dropped her voice to a whisper, yet it still echoed around the darkened hall.

Well, that was another new one. She'd never thanked him before either. Yet this fact gave him mixed feelings. The fact that the girl had to wait until her nasty Potions teacher was a member of the Order of the Phoenix before finding him worthy of a 'thank-you' was somewhat offensive, considering how many times he'd saved the idiot boy's life prior the dementors incident.

A cold flush of anger ran down his spine. Wordlessly, he waved his wand to cast the Muffliato incantation, and turned his head to regard her. "Miss Granger, I do not like you, I do not like Mr. Potter, and, generally speaking, I don't like most students at all. Yet, since you are so clever, surely you've noticed that I tend to concern myself with the safety of my students? It is, after all, my duty to make sure none of you dunderheads die via exploded cauldron."

"Yes sir, but you weren't teaching when you saved Harry." Granger said, seeming to have collected enough foolish Gryffindor courage to look him in the eyes. What impudence.

"I wasn't teaching during the Quidditch match when you set fire to my cloak, either." Snape pointed out maliciously. None of the Golden Trio had thanked him that first year, when they found out he'd been casting the counter-curse to save Potter's life. And, judging by her flinch, she realized that.

"I'm s-sorry sir. I should have thanked you then too. I don't know why-." She stammered, flustered, but Snape turned away, removing the privacy spell.

"Good-night, Miss Granger." He said contemptuously, removing his wand's Nox, and striding off into the darkness.

They were all such ungrateful children. At least now, perhaps, the Granger girl was aware of it also.

Despite that, he still felt appreciative that she had thanked him, late though it was. Perhaps he would acknowledge that by giving her a few House points. It would doubtless send the class into a gossipy uproar, but Snape was a man who honoured his debts. And… well, pathetic as it seemed, it was a debt to be thanked by a Gryffindor student… by any student, really. It was such an unusual and unprecedented experience, and Snape couldn't help but feel grateful for it. But he couldn't have such a feeling hanging over his head. Definitely not. After all, then he would probably feel guilty next time he ripped into her for her obnoxious know-it-all attitude. Yes, a good five points for a well-made potion would dispel any obligation he might feel to treat her well.