"Wake up."

His scar was burning. Harry groaned and thrashed about, kicking at the hand prodding at his shoulder. "Get away," he said, hissing under his breath and pressing his hand to his forehead, which felt as though it was splitting in two. "Don't touch me."

"Up, Potter. I shan't say it again." Snape jostled him just as roughly as before.

Cracking his eyes open, he breathed hard through clenched teeth, rubbing sweat off his forehead. Snape stood by the side of the couch with a sneer and an empty plate. "What time is it?" Harry said lowly. The living room was dark, with the only source of light coming from the kitchen. Why had he been woken up? Had he been yelling? He'd been in the graveyard, again, with Cedric, whose blank eyes had suddenly opened up to become a long corridor with a black door at the end. He shivered and pulled one of the blankets closer around his shoulders.

There were dark shadows under Snape's eyes, like bruises, thrown into sharp relief by the kitchen light. "Four in the morning."

"Did…Did I wake you up?" he asked, feeling awkward.

"No. Would I be correct in assuming you'd not cleared your mind before going to sleep, then?" said Snape.

Harry didn't respond, pressing his palms into his eyes until bright spots of color burst in the darkness and his temples began to hurt. Then, dropping his hands back to his side, he muttered, "Sorry for disturbing you."

Snape walked away without a word, disappearing into the kitchen with the plate in his hand. Harry rolled over and curled into the dip of the sofa. He was shivering a little. The house was silent but for a faint rattling in the other room, followed by the sound of the sink turning on and the stove rumbling to life. What little he could see of the sky through the moth-eaten curtains slowly lightened as time went on. He wrapped an arm around his pillow and dragged it down further to cushion his shoulder. The kitchen light stayed on, even as he managed to drop off again, falling into a fitful doze.

Harry woke again only a few hours later, feeling as though he'd hardly slept at all. Snape was still there, settled in his armchair with the Daily Prophet in hand, still fully dressed like he'd been before. He'd barely opened the paper for a second before he tossed it back down with a snort onto the little stool by the chair, shaking his head contemptuously. Curiosity peaked, Harry lifted himself up on one elbow to squint at the Prophet . "Has anything happened yet?" he asked, fishing his glasses out from underneath the sofa cushions and putting them on. "Or is it still silent?"

"'Happened,' Potter?"

"You know— happened. Has there been any big accident that Muggles can't explain and the Ministry won't? Strange disappearances? Has there been any sign of Voldemort yet?"

"The only sign of anything, Potter," Snape said coldly, "is your continuous disrespect for the rules of my house. You will not say the Dark Lord's name. "

More than a little irritated in his exhaustion, Harry waved a hand dismissively and stretched out over the edge of the sofa, making a grab for the paper—and letting out a shout when Snape swiped it away before he could do more than graze it. "Hey!"

"As I have most certainly once told you, you are nothing more than a nasty little boy who believes rules to be beneath him. Until you attempt to prove me otherwise, there will be no Prophet for you." Snape regarded him dispassionately. "Why you would even want to read that filth rag is beyond me."

He'd only been awake for five minutes, but Harry was already furious and ready to start throwing hexes. Swinging his legs off the sofa, he got to his feet and stormed out of the room, not trusting himself to speak. He was nearly to the bathroom when he heard his professor call, "And where do you think you are going?"

"To have a bath," he snapped back, curling his fingers around the doorway and burrowing his nails into the softened wood, pretending it was Snape's face he was digging into. "Is there a rule against that, too?"

He heard movement from behind the wall, and then Snape came into view out of the early-morning gloom of the living room. He looked just as angry as Harry felt. "This is my house, Potter," he spat, pushing his hair out of his face and baring his teeth. "You will treat me with respect. If you cannot find it within you to call your professor 'sir' when you're speaking to him—"

Harry stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. For a moment there was silent, and then he heard a faint, "Jesus Christ" before Snape said through the door, "We are most certainly not finished. Get out here."

He turned on the shower, drowning out any further sound from outside of the room. The sound of Snape hitting the door made Harry jump a little, but he resolved to ignore it as he undressed and got under the spray of hot water. Although tempted to take his time and enjoy a long soak, he was more than a little leery of leaving Snape to stew in his anger for very long, so he scrubbed himself down quickly and was out in under ten minutes. Harry dressed and lingered by the door, straining his ears for any movement in the kitchen. Then, satisfied by the silence, he opened the door—and leapt at least a foot in the air at the sight of Snape standing directly in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. "Holy shit."

"Holy shit is correct. Out. Now." He pointed a finger to the living room.

Slinging his used towel over his shoulder, Harry walked past him silently, stopping by the sofa. They spent a few seconds staring at each other in silence; and he was abruptly thrown back into the awkwardness of the night before, when he'd had his—fit.

He could still remember everything about the cupboard, even though it now existed for him in only his memories. It had been four years since he'd been inside of it, but he could still recall feeling the walls pressing in on him, suffocating him, as he sat in the silence and the dark—

"Potter." Snape looked marginally less angry, but now wary. Harry wasn't sure which was worse.

"I—yeah, sorry, I just…" He took a deep breath as quietly as possible.

"We will be having another Occlumency lesson tonight. Yes, Potter—tonight. I had thought you knew how to clear your mind," Snape said, looking sour. "I seem to have been mistaken. We will fix this. Even if it takes all summer."

All summer? "Sir, I can't stay here all summer," Harry burst out, dropping his towel onto the sofa and running a hand through his damp hair. "I have…the hearing! You can't come to the Ministry with me."

"Arthur Weasley will pick you up here, if it comes to that," Snape said. He appeared almost bored, eyes roaming over his bookshelves aimlessly, posture as relaxed as it ever seemed to get.

"What about my friends?" Harry demanded. "Can't I see them? Maybe just once? They're all cozy together, aren't they, listening in on everything, getting information—while I was stuck at the Dursley's for a month! "

"Ahh, yes, poor Potter…Up to your eyes in business that isn't yours, just like your father." Snape sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe, if you study Occlumency and finish your schoolwork, there might be time for a brief… brief …visit. Perhaps."

"If you want me to get better, tell me how, " he said. "You're not telling me anything! "

"Well perhaps if you'd—"

A knock at the door made them both stop in their tracks. Looking wildly back at the front window, Snape strode forward and twitched the curtain aside a hair, only to whip around and hiss, "Potter, stay down. Don't move."

"Who is it?" Harry whispered, ducking down far enough that he would be out of sight, but not so far as to miss anything. "Is it a Death Eater?"

"Worse," Snape muttered, grabbing him by the upper arm and steering him to the sliding bookshelf. "It's Narcissa."

Harry discreetly watched him out of the corner of his eye as he pulled one of the books out of the shelf—so that was the one he needed to move—and then found himself floundering somewhat helplessly when Snape shoved him forward without preamble. "Er—sir—"

"Up the stairs. Climb on your hands and knees so you don't slip. Do not fall." Snape looked furious, lips drawn back in a silent snarl and eyes glittering. "First door, straight ahead. Do not make a sound."

Harry was suddenly drenched in a darkness so absolute it was almost painful. Carefully, he moved one hand forward, gripped the edge of the step in front of him, and then slowly pulled himself up. The front door opened only ten feet away. There was a low murmur of voices, and the sound of the door closing again with a snap. Harry froze on his way up another step when footsteps veered a little too closely to where he was hidden. Then, inching his way up the rest of the stairs, he got to his feet and extended a hand through the darkness to find a door. He cracked it open and slipped into the room beyond.

The room looked uncomfortable at best. It was barren besides a bed, wardrobe, and nightstand, and what little furniture there was was old and rickety. Harry passed a hand over the book-covered nightstand on his way to the foggy window, and wiped dust off on his baggy jeans as he peered out the window at the street below. The seal in the window was broken; he could feel the chill from outside seeping in. Was this Snape's room? Or was it his spare? Was he another Dudley, of sorts, unwilling to share his second bedroom in the house? Harry scowled at the bed and its mussed, tangled sheets.

It was as he was prying the wardrobe door open to peek inside that he realized he could hear Snape and Mrs. Malfoy speaking, in tones clearer than he'd been able to hear from the stairwell. Holding his breath, he got down onto his hands and knees and leaned over the musty-smelling air vent, pressing his ear to it.

"—morrow evening," said Narcissa Malfoy, in a voice only slightly less posh than Harry had expected. "You are, of course, invited to partake."

"A dinner?" Snape sounded suitably disgusted at the idea of a dinner with the Malfoys. "With who? If Macnair or Greyback will be there, I'm afraid I'll have to fall ill. Dragon Pox. So sorry to have missed it."

"Ghastly business, so sorry to have missed you, my dear." There was a pause, and a long exhale. "Macnair is busy with Ministry business. Greyback will not be allowed inside the Manor. If it were any other year, I would make your excuses…However, times have changed."

"Yes." Another exhale. "Would you like a drink?"

"You're being unusually amiable today."

"Would you prefer otherwise?" There was a scraping noise, like Snape had stood up and pushed his chair back, and then the sound of soft footsteps echoing up through the vent. "Is Lucius well?"

"He's not yet realized you've missed your payment, if that's what you're asking."

"Mm."

Payment? 'My dear'? Eurgh. Harry leaned back, disappointed. There was nothing much to hear. The only thing of interest was how familiar, how—friendly—Snape seemed to be with Malfoy's mum. It was fitting, he supposed, that they would be friends. They both always looked as though they had dragon dung stuck under their noses. Whose side was Snape really on? He seemed far too comfortable around Mrs. Malfoy. Curiosity rekindled anew, he leaned back over the grate, only to hear them murmuring about Draco Malfoy. Eurgh.

—

Narcissa was stressed. Severus could tell.

She didn't show it easily. Narcissa was always presentable, always put-together in the face of the public: a flawless mask, calm and composed. He'd never known her to be otherwise.

But she was stressed.

He could see it in the line of her shoulders, which had been loose and relaxed two years ago. That unshakable confidence had been put into a blender and turned on grind. Her face was a touch too pale. Her hand, when it touched his, was very warm; Narcissa's hands were always dry and cool. A low-grade fever, he decided, smiling thinly at her when she lit his second cigarette for him. She had come here, to his Muggle trash heap, instead of using an owl like she normally did.

Narcissa was not taking the Dark Lord's occupation of her house well.

It was unsurprising, but no less…concerning. Lucius had not been brought back into the Dark Lord's good graces upon his return; the way the Malfoys had lied, swindled, and denounced had not sat well. There had been many a Crucio directed at the Malfoy patriarch recently. Lucius, Severus could give less than a rat's arse about. He hadn't felt anything close to friendly towards him in fifteen years. Narcissa was different. She was as close to a friend as he'd gotten in a long time. She was as much of a swindler as Lucius himself was, and could be quite merciless when she chose, but she had more of a conscience than her husband had ever claimed to have.

Narcissa was stressed. That meant Severus was too.

He could feel it, an underlying tension crackling through him, even after he waved her off down the street to Apparate out of sight. He could feel it as he ascended the stairs with a sinking feeling in his stomach, realizing the full extent what he'd done when he'd pushed the boy up the stairs and told him to go to his bedroom. And he felt it ever more keenly when he opened the door to find Potter standing in the center of the room with a badly faked expression of innocence on his face.

"Having fun?" Severus said flatly, eyes flicking over to the wardrobe. It was open slightly.

Potter seemed to realize this as he looked over, because he flushed slightly and twitched a hand out to close it. "Er…"

"Downstairs. Now."

"Is this your spare room?" the boy asked, making no move to do as he was told.

"No. This is my bedroom." He grit his teeth and glared, hoping to dissuade any potential gossip before school could start back up again. "Downstairs."

"Oh. I…I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to go through…your…" Potter wisely shut his fucking mouth and edged his way past him and over to the stairs, where he stopped at the top of the landing. Severus grabbed his arm and pulled him down into the living room without a word, shutting the bookshelf closed behind them before letting go with a small push. The boy stumbled forward and took a seat on the sofa.

"You now know how to go up the stairs." It was not a question. "The rules still stand. If I should find you up there without my permission, it will not be Longbottom's toad that's in danger of being poisoned this time. You understand?"

"Yes," the boy muttered.

"Good. Your pet wolf will be here soon, so you had best get ready." Severus scanned the room for something to do and, finding none, headed for the kitchen to start on another batch of Antiseptic Solution. Potter followed him after a moment's hesitation.

"Professor Lupin is coming over again? Why?"

"Apparently, you've been having difficulty with your Charms work," Severus said with a sneer, even though Charms had never been his strong point, either. "He'll be here to work with you on your essay. You have a gift from him. In the refrigerator."

He said 'gift' like he was saying 'cat shit,' but it got the point across decently enough, because Potter immediately went to the fridge and pulled out his slice of treacle tart.

Treacle tart for breakfast…Molly Weasley must have been feeling as though someone had cursed her name, somewhere.

The rest of the morning was spent in silence. The boy dragged out one of his books and parked himself at the table to read and eat his pudding; Severus made a pot of coffee and proceeded to attempt to trigger cardiac arrest as he brewed and drank until his stomach felt uncomfortably full. It began to rain again outside. The heat had officially vanished, chased out by the thunderstorm raging outside.

When there was a knock at the door, Severus jerked his head irritably towards it, and Potter slowly got up to let Lupin inside. He returned with a Polyjuiced stranger, a middle-aged man with a potbelly and receding hairline. They're going to think I'm hiring strange prostitutes. Or dealers. Severus turned back to his potion brewing on the stove, keeping his head angled enough that he could see them both to his left. He took another sip of coffee and began chopping chicken livers.

"I'm a little early…Was hoping to arrive in the afternoon, but I suppose this is close enough. Was the pudding good?" the wolf asked from behind him. "Molly and I made it from scratch last night."

"It was fantastic. Thank you. Tell Mrs. Weasley I said hello, if you see her again soon."

"I'll be seeing her tonight. Do you have anything you'd like to tell your friends that can't be said in a letter?

"So they really are together?" Potter said, sounding well and truly pissed. "Is everyone all in the same place while I'm still stuck —"

"You would not be stuck in this dung heap if you would put even a modicum of effort into learning Occlumency, Potter," Severus spat, unable to help himself. He'd never been able to resist goading James Potter's son. "If you would—"

"What do you mean, put in effort? I'm trying to do it but you aren't telling me how! " The boy stood up and swept his book off the table, where it hit the wall with a thud and dropped to the floor in a mess of pages. "I don't know how to clear my mind or block out intrusions ! You never showed me how! If you want me to learn so badly, maybe you can teach me how to do it!"

"Well maybe —"

"Stop it, both of you!" Lupin said sharply, taking Potter by the arm. He shot Severus a glare and snapped, "You aren't helping. Both of you need to calm down and talk this through."

The caffeine was definitely getting to him; he felt jittery and vaguely fevered. Stewing silently as the wolf calmed Potter back down again, Severus eventually went back to slicing livers, only for Lupin to move over to his right and mutter, "This is not working. If you could restrain yourself a little, Severus, and try to break through to what the problem is, everything could be resolved much sooner and Harry would no longer be trapped in, as you say, this 'dung heap.'"

Those watery eyes and the potbelly were so beyond what he knew Remus Lupin to look like, paired with the same aggravating personality, that Severus only managed to become even more furious. He completely mangled a liver and hissed, "Didn't you come here for a reason? Fill that purpose and leave. "

"Fine," the wolf said coolly, giving him a long, searching look. "Harry, let's get to work on your Charms paper, shall we?"

—

Severus Snape was an absolute berk. It made no sense for Remus to like him, but he did, and sometimes he hated himself for that a little.

Occlumency was most certainly not going well. He could tell even from the exchange he'd just witnessed; and what an exchange that had been. Godric and Jesus. He flipped another page of the Charms book he and Harry were perusing, eyeing Severus's back like it held the secrets to the universe. Some universe, anyway. At least it was secretive. (Sirius would find him to be as much of a berk as Severus if he could hear his thoughts right now. He would unfortunately be correct.)

"Stop staring at me," Severus said testily, not looking up from the potion he was brewing.

"I'm not staring at you," Remus said without thinking, staring harder. He glanced around to find Harry looking faintly bewildered. "Harry, so this charm here is meant for…"

The day passed slowly. It was punctuated only by snappish comments from Snape, the fading of his Polyjuice, the odd quip from Harry, and later, by a break for lunch in which they all focused very hard on their meals and tried to ignore the awkwardness of dining together. It had been much of the same during dinners at Hogwarts up at the head table. Severus had almost always remained silent during those times; it was only when he was directly addressed by either Albus or Minerva that he would break his focus from his dinner and engage in conversation.

Oh, and don't forget the Christmas dinner when Severus had for some reason been sat next to Sybill Trelawney, a match made in Hell. There had been a great deal of mutinous muttering on that side of the table.

"This is quite tasty," Remus dared to say, breaking the spell. Harry glanced up at him and nodded, taking another bite of his sandwich, followed by a few crisps. "Thank you for preparing it, Severus."

The man in question only grunted, glowering at the table. His hand was shaking a little as he reached for his own sandwich, free hand preoccupied by an open book. Remus studied the nearly-empty coffee pot on the counter, and the mug on the table.

"Late night?"

"What?" Severus muttered, turning another page in his book.

"That's a lot of coffee you've had today."

"Are you my caretaker, Lupin?"

"It was only an observation," he said mildly, popping the last of his own sandwich into his mouth and washing it down with a swig of water. "Harry, what do you think it means to clear your mind?"

He'd been doing some reading of his own, taking advantage of Albus's kind extension of the Hogwarts library for his personal use, as well as the musty old library in Grimmauld Place. With any luck, the research he'd done would be of some help to Harry. It was the least he could do to make up for some of the wrongs he'd committed during the child's third year.

"Er, well…I s'pose just thinking about something else, instead of what you're…really…thinking…" Harry rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze, flushing a little. "It sounds a bit stupid to say it out loud."

Remus couldn't resist a smile. "Not stupid at all, Harry. But that isn't entirely correct. To clear your mind isn't to focus so strongly on one particular topic, you stop thinking about the one you're truly invested in. Clearing your mind means letting go of those thoughts and feelings and allowing yourself to forget they exist for a time."

"How can I just not be angry?" Harry demanded, though he didn't look upset. "How do you just stop feeling?"

"It's called dissociation, Potter," Severus sighed, turning another page of his book and leaning back from his empty plate.

"No, we're not going to make him dissociate. That's not our goal here." Godric and Jesus. Patience…he needed patience. Nobody liked an angry, bitter werewolf. Patience. "If anything, compartmentalization might be the better word to use."

"Call it what you'd like. The result is the same."

Did Severus spend his days with Voldemort in a constant state of dissociation, out of his body and unconcerned with all that was going on? This is our spy, Remus thought, feeling more concerned than he ought to have. Sirius would gag if he knew the sorts of feelings he was having right now. This is the man we trust to go to Voldemort without compromising us.

"Anyway," he said slowly, tearing his eyes away from Severus, "Harry, if you're finished…didn't you mention you were nearly finished with Transfiguration? I have the rest of the day to help you. Should we work on that, too?"

"Er, yeah, I still have a bit of Transfiguration left to do…" He got up to riffle through his trunk, pulling out his schoolbook and nearly finished essay. "I'm just missing the last inch and a half. That'll just leave me with Potions, Herbology, and Astronomy."

"Excellent. I'm sure Hermione will be glowing when I tell her how much work you've completed." Remus smiled at him, and received a rueful grin in response. Severus raised his book higher to shield his face from view; Remus's smile grew. He set aside their empty plates to make room for Harry's scroll and got back to work, relishing in the feeling of being someone's teacher once again, doing his part to educate the future of the world.

He missed being a professor.

—

Lupin had been in his house for seven hours, and Severus's patience was beginning to run dangerously thin.

He'd even stayed for lunch. For lunch. He'd made the wolf lunch. He must've fallen ill without realizing. It was a good thing he'd made an extra batch of Pepper-Up, because he would most certainly be requiring a dose or two.

The sun was on its way to setting and lunch had long since been cleaned up by the time Lupin and Potter finished revising the boy's summer assignments and ran out of conversation topics. They were deep in a discussion about Quidditch and the new move Potter had learned—dangerous and reckless, no doubt, and Severus would have to secretly stick the boy to his broom the next time he so much as thought about riding it—when the boy suddenly yawned and stretched with an audible pop of his back.

"Tired?" the wolf asked, moving to help gather up the mess of parchment and books on the table.

"Very." Potter pushed his glasses up to rub at his eyes, and then yawned again. "Professor, would you mind if I took a nap before Occlumency?"

It took a few seconds for Severus to realize he was being spoken to. Lifting his head from where he'd been pretending to leisurely read the book he'd finished overnight, he looked Potter over with a critical eye. "An hour. I'll wake you before we begin."

Potter stood without preamble and made his quiet goodbyes to Lupin, stuffing his assignments back into his trunk—oh, Pomona hated when parchment was crumpled, she'd have a fit when she saw it—and heading into the living room to presumably collapse on the sofa for a time.

Severus waited until the room adjacent was quiet to cast Muffliato and begin his own cleanup of the counter. It was time for some answers. "Explain your reasonings for telling lies to Black and the Headmaster," he ordered before he could change his mind, scrubbing at a stain of chicken blood on the countertop. "Name your price. What are you wanting from me?"

"Excuse me?" Lupin looked up from the book he'd started flipping through and frowned. "Name my price?"

"Don't be thick. I saw through your scheme the instant it began. Is the dog in on it, as well? Trying to pull one over me for old time's sake?" He curled his lip in a wordless snarl, clenching his fists tightly enough that his nails bit into his palms.

The wolf slowly set the book back down where Severus had left it and turned to face him fully. "I'm sorry, but I don't quite understand what you're saying."

"Don't you? Listen closely, Lupin, because I will only be saying this once," Severus hissed, leaning too close for comfort in an attempt to intimidate the wolf. It was difficult not to see the way Lupin's eyes flickered down to his mouth, and self-consciously he stopped sneering to hide his crowded teeth, knowing he was being made a joke of. "If this is some sort of blackmail, you'd best stop now, or you'll find yourself at the wrong end of my wand. I will not be blackmailed. Tell Albus about Potter's disobedience if you so wish, but you will not lord it over me."

"Blackmail—" Lupin looked at him like he was staring at a stranger. "Severus, I'm not attempting to blackmail you."

"What the hell do you call that stunt you pulled yesterday, then?" he hissed.

"What stunt?"

He raised the pitch of his voice higher, mockingly. "Oh, no, Sirius," he sneered, enjoying the way the wolf's lips pursed, "I was only testing a new potion! Oh, no, Albus, I have nothing to share! Thatstunt, Lupin! What are you trying to get out of me? Money? Are you wanting me to be Black's servant? Sexual favors? God knows you haven't gotten any from someone other than the mutt himself."

"It's not like that at all," the werewolf said firmly, and his eyes dipped lower again.

"Isn't it?"

"No, it's not, because the only 'sexual favors' I'd want from you are ones with mutual consent and reciprocation."

Severus's brain—

—stopped.

Distantly, he was aware he was still grasping the front of Lupin's shirt like a vice, their faces barely a foot away and their bodies too close. He'd stopped breathing. Then, sucking in a large quantity of air, Severus let go and jerked away like he'd been slapped hard across the face. "You—that's—"

"I hope this isn't a bad time to ask," Lupin said quickly, and Severus saw suddenly that his pupils were blown wide and dark, "but I think I'd like to—kiss you, if that would be all right."

Severus's entire body was screaming at him to get out now. This was a prank. This was a vicious sort of mockery that Black and Lupin had cooked up together. This wasn't real, because no one had ever wanted to kiss him, had ever thought he was anything worth kissing, and he—

He nodded.

Lupin stepped closer, slowly, like he was approaching a dangerous animal on the verge of attacking. "The moment you'd like me to stop, or if you change your mind, I'll stop," he assured softly, taking hold of Severus's wrist so gently the touch was barely there at all. His skin burned at the contact. He could feel the fingers on his hand tremble a little. Nerves, or barely suppressed laughter? "Just give me the word."

When Lupin touched the back of his neck, he made an embarrassing noise low in his throat, and then clenched his jaw shut to keep it all down. This is a bad idea, he thought as the wolf stepped ever-closer. This is a bad idea.

Their lips brushed together, and he felt himself freeze up. "Is this all right?" Lupin murmured, leaning away a little. "We can stop."

Torn between get the hell away from me and get the hell back here, Severus forced himself to lift his leaden arm and grasp at Lupin's shirt, dragging him clumsily back over. He didn't trust himself to speak. The second brush of their lips only confirmed why, because the soft sound he made was altogether embarrassing. It was only as Lupin was leaning closer, and Severus heard a faint rustle from the living room, that he came back to himself and realized where he was and what was going on.

"No." He shoved the werewolf back without even truly meaning to. "No. We're—done. We're done here."

"Severus—"

"Stay the hell away from me. Stay away." He backed up a pace, and then at the sight of Lupin's eyes flickering to the doorway, Severus found himself immediately enraged. "This is—a prank. A prank. You're trying to—to—"

He blanked out for what felt like an eternity, but was only long enough for him to suddenly be outside, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out get away. He was Apparating—

Hogsmeade was chilly and coated in a fine mist, gleaming wetly in the lamplight flickering at the front of each building. Severus spared it barely a second's glance before he rushed into the Hog's Head and, grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, threw it into the fire and snapped, "Headmaster Dumbledore's office."

His entry left a skidline of soot streaking across the fine carpet. Staggering to a stop, Severus ducked out into the office and shouted, "Send someone else!"

"I beg your pardon?" said Dumbledore, looking up from the parchment lying on his desk to peer at him over the tops of his glasses. "Is something the matter?"

"Of fucking course there's something bloody fucking the matter! Send someone else! Your precious werewolf will never darken my doorstep again, mark my goddamn words! Send someone else from now on! Lupin is through!" His chest was heaving. His hair was in his face, obscuring his vision. Severus pushed it back and grabbed a small china pot and hurled it onto the floor.

"I never did like that piece, thank you, Severus…"

"He's not—fucking—welcome," Severus ground out, glaring at Albus through a sheet of hair. "Send somebody else. Kingsley. Arthur Weasley. Someone. Else."

"Has something happened?" Dumbledore asked, setting his parchment down entirely to give him his full attention. "Is Harry safe?"

Severus looked at him for a moment, and then grabbed another pot and threw it into the fireplace.