A/N: I wanted to again thank Zarathustra for all her beta-ing, and SortingHat 47, whose advice is like gold. Thanks to those of you who are still with me through this epic of mine…

I love arguments between Lupin and Snape. They're so very, very fun... I may have to write up another one. Or two. (Snickering loudly at what I know that you don't... yet).

Disclaimer: Not my characters. They're J.K. Rowling's, put into a situation of my choice. Poor Remus…

Chapter 19: Contempt

Tuesday, 17 September, 1985--3:15 p.m.

"No, Alastor. You can't question Remus further. Not now. Not today."

The Auror seemed surprised. "What's wrong with today?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "He's not feeling well."

Moody's eye narrowed. "Why do I think that's an understatement?"

"Because it is," the Headmaster said with a sigh.

"What's happened?"

Dumbledore tapped the fingers of his right hand on the arm of his chair. "We both remember what he was like in the first two or three months following the Potters' deaths. I don't think I'd be incorrect in saying he's in much the same frame of mind right now."

"That bad?" Moody asked, his voice betraying the dismay that his face would never show.

"And there's more," the Headmaster suddenly admitted, placing his elbows on his desk and leaning forward as if preparing to confide in the Auror. "I think he's developed an aversion to magic."

"How —?"

"I should have wondered if there was a problem when I first handed him his wand, and he didn't do anything with it. He didn't seem to care that he had it back at all. Instead, we ended up discussing the fact that Alatza had hired another tutor, and I thought nothing more of it. Now, looking back on the days since I've returned his wand to him, I know he hasn't performed even one voluntary spell with his wand. Not even a simple levitation charm."

"He used magic to defend himself at St. Mungo's," Moody pointed out.

"Yes, and we both know the emotional and mental devastation that caused. Still, I never thought it was magic itself that was causing the problem. Even when you said that he had been punished for using magic." Dumbledore said. "Sunday, however, he got angry and used magic. Again, just as it was at St. Mungo's, it was purely instinctive and purely defensive — wandless and non-verbal, as a young child might do—and it made him physically ill."

"It wasn't a reaction to pain or the potions that made him sick?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. He was extremely distressed after the incident, much as he was at St. Mungo's, though he never forgot where he was. But he told me he hadn't meant to do it and —"

"What exactly did he do?"

"He threw a tray of food against the wall." The Headmaster made a waving gesture with his hand, as if dismissing the act as being inconsequential. "But his reaction to using magic was immediate and, in a way, frightening." The older wizard sighed. "I'm quite worried about him, Alastor."

"Have you talked to Pomfrey about him?"

"She has also noticed he hasn't done any magic. He isn't sleeping or eating well, either, she says. Both are atypical of what he was like as a student. It would appear he doesn't seem interested in getting well."

Alastor was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fastened on Dumbledore's. Then, quietly, he said, "We've both seen this before, Albus. Fighters after a war, victims after a crime — it's common enough."

"Healer Weimer was not surprised he was not fully in control of the Dark part of himself," the Headmaster admitted. "He used the word 'traumatized.' So, yes, it was not necessarily unexpected. But to give up magic altogether, Alastor?"

"How close is he to being healed?"

"Poppy says that she can start using more aggressive healing spells on his leg within two or three days. If she rushes the process, she said the skin will close before the muscle beneath it has time to heal. That would leave a hole under the skin –"

Moody winced.

"— Which would be a perfect breeding ground for infection."

"So she has to heal it from the inside out?" the Auror clarified.

"Exactly." Dumbledore took a candy out of the little silver box on his desk and began to unwrap it. "It is looking better. She said she could have him up and walking by the beginning of next week."

"That's what he needs," Moody commented. "He needs to be up and moving and doing something. Do you have something to keep him busy?"

Albus chuckled, but it was without humour. "I was going to have him reset and strengthen some of the wards around the school. I don't know how I can interest him in that now, knowing it's going to make him ill."

"How do we get him over this?" Moody asked.

His tone was ambiguous. Dumbledore wasn't sure if he meant it to be rhetorical or if he really wanted to know. "I'm not certain. Our time may be limited. I fear that the minute he's on his feet, he'll choose to leave."

"We can't let him just go like that, with no —Merlin's balls, Albus," the Auror gasped. "What is he going to do at the full moon if he doesn't use magic? I know he had some really strong wards and charms set at Alatza's. If he doesn't set wards, he'll have to come to the Ministry for his transformation. What are the chances he'd do that?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "I know he did it once. The person who told me that said he would never do that again, that it was unbearable."

"So, if he doesn't — or won't — go to the Ministry, and won't do magic to keep himself safely locked up —" Moody hesitated, not wanting to voice the only option that now lay ugly and exposed between them.

Dumbledore's eyebrows lowered and he scowled.

"He's going to get himself killed," the Auror said quietly. "The Ministry'll have a werewolf hunter after him in no time if he's running loose." He swore again. "The lad's going to commit suicide, using a werewolf hunter as the weapon."

Monday, 23 September—11:15 a.m.

He was weak. Weaker than he thought he'd be. And he had only six days before the next full moon. Six days – less than one week – to get to the point that the wolf wouldn't be frustrated by its weakness and injuries. He smiled, though there was no amusement in it. Less than a week to be less weak. James would appreciate the pun.

Still, he was now able to get out of bed and limp up and down the hallway right outside his door. He timed it so that there was little or no chance that any of the students could see him. It was a self-imposed restriction. Considering the tenuous hold he felt he had on his control, it seemed better not to expose himself to any questions or comments from curious teenagers.

Dumbledore had asked him to sit at the staff table at meals, but he hadn't felt up to it. The thought of sitting at the same table with Severus Snape wouldn't have done much for his nearly non-existent appetite. Still, he had to admit the thought was starting to sound a bit more appealing. He was tired of eating his meals by himself. And the added incentive that Snape would be just as put off by his appearance might be worth the hassle of limping all the way down to the Great Hall.

His knuckles were white on the head of the cane as he neared the window at the end of the hall, where he sometimes stood to watch the students talking and laughing in the courtyard. When he stood there watching them, it was so easy to forget that Sirius was in Azkaban and that James, Lily, and Peter were dead. It was easy to forget that he wasn't a student again… that the only thing he had to worry about was Potions and the next essay that was due for Charms and the next full moon.

"There you are, Lupin!"

Remus turned, recognizing the voice.

Moody was striding quickly toward him, his glance appraising. "You're looking good."

The younger man smiled lopsidedly. "In comparison to a couple of weeks ago, perhaps."

"It looks like you're on your way to being well again."

Remus chuckled humourlessly. "Yes, well..." He rubbed the back of his head. "It's a bit difficult not to get well when you've got potions being stuffed down your throat two or three times a day." He motioned to a bench not far from them.

They sat down and Moody reached for the cane, turning it around and running his hands over it. "I once knew a man who had his wand placed into his cane. He said it was impossible to do anything when you had a cane in one hand and your wand in the other hand." He flicked a curious glance at Remus. "I hope you've remembered not to keep your bloody wand in your back pocket."

"No. You taught me better than that," the younger man laughed. "I'm not ready for that lecture again."

"Good." The Auror handed the cane back to Remus who leaned it on the bench between them. "Never could get Black to stop doing it, though."

Remus' jaw tensed, but he managed to speak in his normal tone: "No, not completely."

A full minute ticked by, though neither man seemed to notice as they were each lost in their own thoughts.

"Anyhow," Moody suddenly said, slapping his knee. "I wanted to come and tell you what's happening with your case."

"My case?" Remus reared back, his eyes widening.

"Of course."

The werewolf snorted in derision. "You mean a case actually exists?"

"I couldn't let this go," Moody snapped. "They needed to pay somehow. I've tried to get Carmichael too, but he's still somewhere on the continent. Bloody bastard's probably into the next continent, actually."

Remus leaned back with a sigh. "There's no reason for you to do this, you know. Nothing will ever come of this and –"

"Actually, you're wrong," the Auror said, a smile brightening his scarred face. "They've offered to pay you twice of what you would have made with Alatza for the three months you were with them."

Staring thoughtfully at Moody, the younger man rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. "And in exchange for this, they get — what, exactly?"

"Well, we drop the kidnapping charges against them, as well as the unlawful restraint."

"What charges are left?"

For the first time, Moody seemed reluctant to answer. "They'll be charged with the illegal trafficking of a Dark or dangerous creature."

"Shit," Remus mumbled. "That's it?"

"I'm afraid so."

The younger man got up and lurched a couple of steps away without using the cane. He stood in the middle of the hallway, his hands jammed in the pockets of his robes. Why are you letting this get to you? You didn't expect anything at all.

But as soon as he completed the thought, another followed right on its heels: Because they have, once again, diminished you to being a Dark creature and nothing else. "Shit," he muttered again.

"So, the question is, lad: Do you want the money? Or do you want to push the case further and have it brought before the Wizengamot?"

"I have a choice?" Remus asked bitterly.

"If you take it before the Wizengamot, Parsons and Bentley would be charged with kidnapping and all the rest. You'd have to plead your case before the entire Wizengamot, though. If you agree to take the money, they'll pay their fine for illegal trafficking and that's the end of it."

Remus sighed and pivoted on his right foot and stepped out with his left. Lost in thought as he was, he had forgotten to brace himself and his left leg began to collapse beneath his weight.

Moody was suddenly there to grab him and keep him upright. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes," Remus said impatiently. "I wasn't thinking." He used the older man to push himself up and then back to the bench. "I'd have to plead my case you said."

"Yes."

The werewolf shook his head. "I'm not going to do that. If they want to give me money, fine. Really, I'd be just as happy to just let it go."

"I thought you'd feel that way." Moody suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a scroll. "You'll need to sign this."

"What is it?"

"It says exactly what I just told you. That you had the choice of taking this before the Wizengamot or accepting the money, and you've chosen to take the money." He held the scroll out toward Remus to take.

Remus closed his eyes for a moment. "It sounds so blatantly — mercenary."

"Well, yes, it sounds mercenary. It is. But at least you're getting something out of it. Read it through tonight and sign it. I'll be back tomorrow to get it."

Remus nodded and tucked it into a pocket.

"Now that's over," Moody said, suddenly brisk, "we need to talk about those wards that Dumbledore wants strengthened."

Remus froze. "What wards?"

Moody raised an eyebrow. "I thought he talked to you about them. He said he told you he wanted you to look over some of the wards here while you were recovering."

"I — forgot." The younger man swallowed hard. He could already taste the bile rising in his throat.

"I thought that tomorrow, when I come back to get that scroll, we'd try to get you over to the Shrieking Shack first. Think you can go that far on that leg?"

Remus was having a hard time concentrating on the Auror's voice. Everything he had was focussed on not vomiting at the thought of doing the magic that they wanted him to do. Oblivious to this, Moody continued on, making Remus feel like he was being run over by the Hogwarts Express. The Auror's voice kept pounding into him, driving it all deeper into his mind…

"We'll have to make sure those spells are active enough to hold you next week. Then we'll check the perimeter wards. They seem to need to be redone every six months or so. Then we'll have to—hey, are you all right?"

Remus shook his head quickly, knowing that if he opened his mouth right now, it wouldn't be good.

"Come on," Moody said, getting to his feet. "Let's get you back to bed."

The pain in his leg served to distract him from his nausea, and Remus made it back to his room without too much help from the Auror.

"We'll talk about it some more tomorrow," Moody said. "Now, you've got the scroll, right?"

Wordlessly, Remus pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to the other man.

"I'll put it right here." As the Auror placed it on the table next to the bed, Remus saw him stop, look at something on the table, and then glance sidelong at Remus. "Why is your wand here and not somewhere with you?"

Remus shrugged. "Didn't need it gimping up and down the hallway."

"Did I not teach you anything?" Moody roared. "Constant vigilance, boy!"

"I don't think I'm going to run into any Death Eaters in the hallway." Remus fought to say calmly.

"But something could have happened to you out there. You could have fallen or been unable to get back to bed… How would you have gotten help?"

"Someone would have been by sooner or later." The younger man's stomach felt like it was rolling over.

"You keep it with you, you hear?" Moody grabbed it and held it out to Remus.

There was a long, long moment during which Remus stared at his wand. The Auror was holding the tip of it so that the rounded grip was ready to be tucked into Remus' palm. But he couldn't bring himself to reach for it.

"What's the problem, Lupin? Are you all right?"

Again swallowing hard, Remus reached for the wand. But the instant his fingers grazed its polished finish, he knew he'd lost the battle with his stomach.

12:41 p.m.

"Remus, there are healers that can help you with this," Dumbledore said softly.

"I don't want help."

"Quit being such a stubborn bastard," Moody snarled.

"I'm not!" Remus looked from the Headmaster to the Auror and felt himself cringe. "Well, maybe I am, but —"

"How are you going to make it in the wizarding world if you can't even touch your bloody wand without getting sick all over the damned place?" the Auror snapped.

The younger man took a deep breath and looked directly into Alastor's good eye. "I won't. That's why I thought I'd take myself off to live with the Muggles."

It was obvious that Dumbledore was barely suppressing a moan of distress. "Remus, you have so much talent. You can't let it go to waste it by –"

"Look, the wizarding world already condemns me for being a werewolf. Being a wizard and a werewolf terrifies them. Even the Ministry –"

"The Ministry is full of fools and idiots who can't tell their arses from holes in the ground," Moody growled impatiently. "You can't go by what the Ministry says or does."

"What will you do during the full moons then?" the Headmaster asked. "Who will set protective wards or soundproofing spells if you are incapable or unwilling to do them?"

Remus sighed. "There are wizards that you can pay to do the charms and spells. I've done it myself for a few Muggle werewolves."

"And you'd trust someone to do that?" Moody demanded.

"Of course." The younger man shrugged. "No one wants a werewolf loose. I'm sure whoever I hired would do their best to make sure I couldn't escape and — hurt anyone."

"You're out of your mind," the Auror proclaimed for the fourth time in the past half hour.

"I don't have a bloody choice!" Remus yelled, his patience finally ripped to shreds.

"You do have a choice," Dumbledore contradicted. "I can bring a healer to –"

"I don't want a healer poking around inside my head!"

Moody suddenly laughed curtly. "Merlin's beard, but you have got to be the most stubborn, inflexible, hard-headed –"

"Alastor," the Headmaster said quietly.

The Auror held up his hands in mock surrender, but he shook his head in disbelief.

"Remus, I know you. We know you." Dumbledore glanced at Moody, thus including him in the 'we.' "You'll never be happy living among the Muggles, regardless of what you —"

"I dare say I can get a job quicker," Remus said almost flippantly.

"We're not just talking about a job!" Moody shouted. "We're talking about protecting yourself and others—especially on full moon nights! We're talking about you wasting the talent that you've been given —"

"We're talking about my being able to live without having the Ministry looking over my shoulder and people sneering at me every time I get fired or every time I don't get hired!" Remus countered.

"You'll still have to deal with the Ministry requirements about werewolves," Moody pointed out. "So you'll still have them looking over your shoulder."

"But they can't order me to write the word 'werewolf' on a Muggle job application," Remus shot back.

"Remus, if this is about finding another position," Dumbledore said, his gentle voice shocking the two other men into silence, "I can always contact Pindar Alatza and see if he knows of anyone who —"

"I told you I'd find something," Remus interrupted.

"I know that's what you said, but with a few well-placed questions —"

The werewolf's eyes narrowed and he snarled, "And again you're trying to take things out of my hands and leave me no bloody choices!"

"He's trying to help you, you insolent whelp," Moody growled.

Remus felt his teeth grind and he glared at the two men impotently. If only one of the two men were there, he'd have a chance of winning. But he didn't have a chance in any level of hell against both of them together.

"You're lucky I have to leave now, boy, because I'd give you a tongue-lashing that you wouldn't forget," Moody continued, pointing a warning finger at the younger man. "One that you very much deserve."

"Alastor," Dumbledore raised an index finger in a forestalling gesture and shook his head slightly.

"I'll be back tomorrow for that scroll," Moody said to the younger man. "We'll talk then."

"I'm already looking forward to it," Remus said as sarcastically as he could. Apparently it was a good bit, because the Auror gave him a startled glance.

"Control yourself, Remus," Dumbledore muttered.

"I'm fine!" Remus snapped.

"I'll talk to you later, Albus," Moody said. He shot one last angry look at Remus then left.

After a tense, quiet moment, the Headmaster rose and went to the window. Whatever Remus expected him to say next, he had to admit Dumbledore's next words surprised — and distressed — him. "Remus, I know you're angry. I know at this moment you feel helpless. But, please, understand that we want nothing but the best for you." He took a step back and turned slightly so that he was now looking at Remus. "Alastor did not take your disappearance lightly. He tried very hard to find you. Do not treat his friendship, or mine, with such contempt."

And with that, the Headmaster turned and walked out the door.

4:52 p.m.

A guilty conscience made Remus restless, so he went for a walk. The hallway outside his room didn't seem long enough to soothe his rattled nerves or unsettled emotions, so he found himself making his way down stairways and hallways that he hadn't visited since he was a student.

The self-guided tour through the castle lightened his spirits decidedly. Here was a niche in which Peter had hid after the caretaker's cat had chased him when he was in his rat form. There was the tapestry that Sirius had charmed to form pornographic pictures, to the delights of most of the boys in all four Houses. That stairway was the one on which Lily had been standing when she had finally agreed to go to Hogsmeade with James. The broom closet at the end of this hall had been where Remus had gotten to know Veronica Immel very, very well.

With some trepidation, he passed a grandfather clock that had played host to Boggarts at least three times when Remus had been a student. He cast an apprehensive eye at it, but nothing appeared — no full moon, no spectral Sirius Black…

It was close to suppertime, according to the clock; so Remus decided that, since he was already rambling through the corridors, he'd have dinner in the Great Hall. Besides the fact that he was closer to the Great Hall than his own room, he felt somehow — obligated to go.

He wasn't going to go so far as to say that Dumbledore and Moody were unequivocally right. They weren't the ones that had lost their freedom, their dignity, and their pride in the past three months. They didn't know what it was like to have every decision taken out of their hands — unwillingly at that — and told it was for their own good. No, he wasn't sorry for being angry at that.

However, the Headmaster had made a valid point. The two men had gone above and beyond Remus' expectations in order to get him released from the carnival and help him with the aftermath. They had fought hard for him. And at this point in his life, Remus had very few people he considered to be his friends; he couldn't afford to lose these two. He had sounded ungrateful for what they had done for him. He had been an insolent whelp. Somewhat.

So, he'd go eat at the Staff Table, if they'd let him, and tell Dumbledore… tell Dumbledore… Well, what was he going to tell the older wizard? He didn't know. But he'd figure it out when the time came.

He was hobbling from the second to the first floor when a crowd of students passed him on their way to the Great Hall. Most of them seemed to be Ravenclaws. He stepped to the side when he reached the landing between floors so they could get by him.

"Are you all right, sir?" one of the boys stopped to ask.

I'm a 'sir.' I know I look older than twenty-five, but... "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

The boy chewed his lip for a second like he wanted to ask if Remus was sure, but another boy punched him in the arm as he went by. "Let's go, Paulie."

The boy smiled almost apologetically at Remus then turned and bolted down the stairs right at his friend's heels.

Remus felt a pang of envy at the boy's ease of movement.

He waited a moment to make sure the main gaggle of students had passed by and then continued his frustratingly slow way down the stairs. As he started down from the first floor, though, he heard yelling.

"He did not, Burkes!"

"He bloody well did! And now he's going to pay for it! You hear me, Wheeler? You're going to pay!"

Screams erupted, and feet pounded across the marble floor of the entryway. Remus leaned over the banister and saw a Ravenclaw standing in a defensive position, his wand arm straight out in front of him, his left arm crossed over that. "Don't you dare, Burkes! If you have a problem with what happened in Transfiguration, then take it up with –"

He got no further. Remus heard another boy's voice growl something and the Ravenclaw flew backward into the wall.

There were more screams, and Remus hoped he could make his voice heard. "Someone run and get a professor!" he yelled as loud as he could.

Hoping that someone had heard and was obeying, he limped down a few more steps. The Ravenclaw was being helped to his feet by a friend. They all heard Burkes — at least Remus assumed it was Burkes — start to mutter another spell.

"No!" The word, shouted by half of the people witnessing this incident, echoed through the entryway.

Remus didn't think — he just acted. He threw his hand out toward the Ravenclaw and yelled, "Protego!"

Burkes' spell hit the protective shield and white light erupted where it had struck.

"It's a professor!" yelled someone, seeing Remus make his way down a few more steps.

The werewolf could see Burkes now—a tall, dark boy with dark eyes wearing Slytherin colours. He'd have been handsome if an angry snarl wasn't twisting his lips.

"Drop your wand!" Remus yelled.

"Bugger off! You're not a bloody professor!" a friend of Burkes' sneered.

Remus reached the bottom of the stairs and lurched toward the Ravenclaw, who still looked stunned.

"Hit him again, Thomas!" Burkes' friend yelled.

The Slytherin eyed Remus speculatively.

"Don't do it, Burkes," the werewolf said quietly.

But then the boy raised his wand and started to mutter something…

Remus could only hope the protective shield was still holding. But, fearing that it wasn't, he did the only thing he could think of — he threw himself in front of the Ravenclaw.

A blast of air smashed into his back, throwing him against the wall. Almost immediately, however, several young voices cried out a variety of spells and Burkes and his friend were thrown backward.

"Stop this at once!" The drawl was loud and unmistakeable.

Remus struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain that was shooting up his leg and across his back.

"Are you all right, sir?" Wheeler asked quietly, pushing the cane back into Remus' hand.

It was then that Remus realized that the boy he had been protecting was the one who had paused to talk to him on the stairs. "I'm fine," he said, hoping his smile didn't look too ghastly.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape was asking.

"They attacked Burkes, sir!" shouted a young Slytherin, pointing to the six or seven Ravenclaws who still had their wands drawn.

"They had good reason," Remus said, turning to face the Potions master.

The man's jaw clenched and he stared at the werewolf with undisguised scorn. "What do you know about it, Lupin?"

"I heard them yelling at each other as I was coming down." Remus motioned almost negligently to the boy behind Snape. "Your Slytherin cast the first spell."

Snape turned slightly to see Burkes and his friend getting slowly and painfully to their feet. "Not without provocation, I'm sure."

Remus shook his head. "Nothing happened that should have made him cast any kind of hex, jinx, or curse. He threw three spells at — what's your name, again? — Wheeler before the Ravenclaws reacted. Burkes is lucky he wasn't hexed into oblivion."

The dark-haired man's sneer deepened. "Of course you'd stand up for anyone other than a Slytherin. Burkes was obviously outnumbered and probably ambushed –"

"Oh, Gods, Severus, do you think I'd honestly lie about this to get any student in trouble?"

"It wouldn't be the first time. Besides, who knows how a –" Snape hesitated, then continued, "— someone like you thinks?"

Remus ignored the comment. "Burkes cast the first spell, Severus. Without provocation. The other students only hexed him after his third spell. Now, are you going to discipline your student, or do I need to take this to Dumbledore?"

"Of course, run to the Headmaster whenever something happens that you don't like. Such a Gryffindor." The sneer was obvious and unmistakable.

"Damn it, Severus! This has nothing —"

"Gentlemen! Stop this at once!" Minerva McGonagall ordered, striding quickly into the entryway. "We will settle this calmly and rationally –"

"Preferably somewhere else," Filius Flitwick, who was trotting behind her, added. "Wheeler, Dearborn, stay with me, please. Burkes and Gibbon, you too. The rest of you, go on in and eat. Go."

When the last of the stragglers went through the doors, McGonagall motioned to the corridor opposite the Great Hall. "This way, gentlemen."

Snape made a disparaging noise in his throat.

The Transfiguration professor turned sharply and looked at him. "If you'd like, Severus, we can wait until the Headmaster returns and have him make the final decision in this, but —"

"No, let us not waste the Headmaster's time," Snape growled. "It is obvious to me that my Slytherin is not going to be treated with fairness. After all, the Gryffindor who would speak against him has been known to have participated in attacks against Slytherins."

Remus wanted nothing more than to hit Severus Snape in the head with his cane. "Our past history has nothing to do with this."

"Oh, I think it does."

"Severus, I have never treated any of the students in your House unfairly. I am willing to listen to Mr Burkes' side of the story, as well as Mr Wheeler's and Mr Lupin's. But I quite agree that whatever happened between you and Remus has nothing to do with this, and I trust that he will be impartial in his telling of what he saw and heard," McGonagall said stiffly.

"Fine," snapped the Potions master, striding quickly past McGonagall and into the room in which Flitwick had herded the four boys.

Remus leaned heavily on the cane as he lagged behind. His back and leg were crying out for a pain potion or two. There was no help for it right now, however. Relief would have to wait until after he made Severus Snape hate him even more.

Sirius would have loved this… though he himself would have hexed Burkes.

And then he realized: he had done magic — and hadn't been sick.

Won't you please review? With a few short words, you can make a poor writer very happy. And when the writer's happy, she has a tendency to be nicer to her family and her kindergartners (one of which informed her yesterday: "I'm not your personal slave for you to order around." Oh yes; he most definitely did say that).