See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.

Thanks to all my reviewers!

Chapter 11

"Here, you might want a drink of water, Mr Lupin."

Remus squinted, trying to shield his sensitive visual pupils from the sunlight that was filtering through the windows. As he gradually became aware of his surroundings, he realised that he was lying on a bed, and that a solemn looking black haired girl was handing him a glass of water. "Thanks," he croaked, and winced at how ragged his voice sounded.

"There's no need," the girl said. What's her name? Remus thought groggily. Ming-ye, Ming-yi, Ming—

"Ming-yue, can you come over here for a moment? I think you ought to hear what Professor Snape and I encountered during the transformation."

Oh. Ming-yue.

The bed creaked slightly as Ming-yue stood up and walked off. Wincing at the small frissons of acute pain that shot through his body, Remus slowly propped himself up in bed with his elbows and looked around.

It was morning. He was in a small, comfortable room, in one of two beds. The other bed was occupied by Hai Yan-shui, who was sitting up and polishing the lenses of his glasses patiently with a piece of soft cloth. Seeming to sense Remus's look, he turned his head slightly and smiled at him. "Mr Lupin, do you feel all right?"

"Passably enough," Remus said, coughing a little. "It hurts… less than I thought it would."

Yan-shui nodded knowledgeably. "Ah, that would be because you smelled the others."

"Excuse me?"

"Well," Yan-shui explained, "when we're transformed, we smell the others, and since we're constantly trying to get at them, we don't injure ourselves so much—you know, no gnawing at paws or such."

His voice was almost ridiculously flippant, Remus thought, and then he looked more closely at Yan-shui and saw the weariness behind it.

"Of course there are still quite a lot of gashes," Yan-shui continued, "but it isn't as bad as it could have been."

Remus nodded, not knowing what to say, and sat up in a more steady position. "What has it been like for you?" he asked awkwardly. "A werewolf—at this time?"

"Well, I daresay my situation here is much better than if I were in your country, for instance. We Chinese are much more enlightened—lycanthropy isn't passed on just by shaking hands with a werewolf, you know, while on the other hand people in other countries go so far as to walk on opposite sides of the streets, is that not right?" Yan-shui grinned, his voice slightly teasing, and he winked.

Remus smiled wanly. "I try not to let them find out I'm a werewolf in the first place."

"But they will figure it out in the end, don't they?" Yan-shui shook his head. "We—I don't think we're werewolves so much as we are human beings who happen to be infected with lycanthropy. You've heard what it really is—a parasite. Even the word 'werewolf'—it's a bit of a misnomer. We're like chronically sick people. The unfortunate thing is that when we take sick leave, it's to wait for the time when we go wild." His voice was dry.

"And it's monthly," Remus added.

"And there's the chance we might infect others with it too… How long have you had lycanthropy?" Yan-shui asked curiously.

Remus thought hard. "Thirty-one years."

Yan-shui whistled loudly. "That's a long time."

"Yes," said Remus. "Yes, I suppose it is."

oOo

"Take the Portkey, Lupin," Severus said rather ungraciously. The two were standing outside, the door closing behind them, their courtesies already said to the Chinese family. As the sun set beyond the far off hills, bands of deep red and rich orange appeared, stretching in a gloriously vivid panorama at the end of the sky. Severus could have appreciated the scenery, but he was more concerned with getting back to Britain.

Lupin reached out his hand and grabbed the other end of the Portkey, a thin, smooth rod made of pewter. "Britannia," he said quietly. The surroundings around them blurred and mixed together into a medley of colours, and then—

The two were standing outside, on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It was shockingly bright, the way the rays of sunlight seemed to penetrate and seep into them. Next to Severus, Lupin stumbled slightly. Severus, as always, retained perfect balance.

Lupin let go of the rod, and Severus stowed the Portkey away into the pockets of his robes. "Are you supposed to go anywhere, Lupin?" he asked.

"I usually go back to headquarters," Lupin said. "Sirius always wants to check on me."

Suppressing a disdainful look at the mention of Black, Severus scrutinised Lupin. He looked quite a bit paler than usual, and there was a thin scratch along the left side of his neck. Other than that, though, any of the other injuries he had sustained during the transformation were hidden from view by his robes. And Lupin had already had most of a day to rest. Different time zones, Severus thought, could be most helpful at times. They had left China when it was night, but it was daytime in the United Kingdom; thus, the others would simply think Lupin had come in the morning right after his transformation, not recovering for the greater part of a day. "Very well," he said curtly, and Disapparated with a pop.

He appeared near the corner of Grimmauld Place, Lupin Apparating behind him a moment later, and spared a quick look around before striding down the pavement to the entrance of the headquarters of the Order.

Mischievous thoughts danced around in his head as he thought for a moment about loudly banging the ornate Black family knocker against the door and waking up the portrait of Walburga Black, but he decided not to. Morning was not the best time to have a migraine, after all, which would be what he would encounter if he chose to go through with aforementioned action. So instead, he simply opened the door and walked in, leaving the door open for Lupin, who closed it behind him with a soft thump.

The house was oddly quiet. Severus and Lupin entered the kitchen, which was deserted. "The others are probably lying in bed and being lazy, no doubt," Severus said, making sure to inject just the right amount of disgruntlement into his voice. This was expected of him, as the only people other than them in the house would be Potter and Black. Granger and the Weasleys had momentarily returned to the Burrow.

"Well then, we'll just make breakfast for them," Lupin replied in a disgustingly cheerful manner. He flicked his wand, and dishes flew out of a nearby cupboard, arranging themselves neatly on the table. A pot filled with water clattered onto the stove, the water beginning to boil.

"Make breakfast? Lupin, I am not a cook for dunderheads," Severus snapped.

"Then I'll cook. Make some tea, Severus, you're far too strung up sometimes. Tea does wonders for me, at least."

But I'm not you, Lupin. Silently cursing Lupin's annoying politeness, Severus pointed his wand at the windows, lifting the shades and letting in light that swirled around dust motes, which, disoriented and confused, hovered in the air before beginning to follow soft currents of air in a merry march. Carefully watching the pot on the stove, he sat down at the table and reviewed what he, Wang Qin, and Ming-yue had discussed while Lupin and Yan-shui had been recovering.

While he had been using Legilimency to enter Lupin's mind—well, not really Lupin's mind, but the lycanthropy's mind—Wang Qin had instead utilised her ability to see souls. She had explained to both her daughter and Severus about how the blackness that was invading Yan-shui's body—the lycanthropy—had slowly begun to cover up the whiteness in a thin haze. The full moon, evidently, had been the trigger for this—Severus supposed that it was perhaps because the phases of the moon had always had a significance in ancient rituals, once performed in long ago days. In Yan-shui, it had spread throughout his body, although Wang Qin emphasised the fact that it had yet to begin trying to insinuate itself into his soul. On the other hand… she had briefly looked at Lupin after Severus had finished his Legilimency probe, and had quietly said that Lupin was extraordinarily lucky.

Perhaps that's why werewolves don't have such a long life span, Severus thought as he frowned down at the table. Then he looked up again at Lupin, who was busy with sizzling bacon. Lupin is a bit of an anomaly, isn't he? He's managed to retain the separation for so long—thirty-one years, isn't it? Most werewolves are already dead by then—either because someone kills them, or they kill themselves by suicide, or the transformations and the stress kills them. Or the lycanthropy takes them, like Fenrir Greyback.

Then wouldn't the Ministry be correct in condemning them…?

No, Severus thought. They're still human, aren't they? Fenrir Greyback… isn't. His soul was destroyed long ago, he's… not human.

Well, isn't that the difference then? Because Lupin and most of the others are just people that are sick, who need to be helped, and Fenrir Greyback isn't a person, he's quite literally a lycanthrope.

Hmm. This puts an interesting spin on things.

Looks like the Ministry should have paid better attention and given more resources to the Werewolf Support Services. It's amazing they haven't realised this earlier—but then again, the only reason they check up on werewolves is to make sure they don't bite anyone. They don't provide many health or counselling services, and those idiotic bureaucrats never thought of setting up facilities for them, did they?

And yet… how did Lupin preserve the rift? Something to cling to…?

Well. He had his friends, and later the knowledge that Harry Potter was alive and out there, and last of all his determination. Yan-shui has his family. Greyback… Greyback had nobody, I suppose. And so when we turned away from him, he turned away from us… literally.

It seems that the world creates its own problems.

Severus's mind flitted from thought to thought, so rapidly that for a moment the world whirled. So he latched onto a stray thread: How can it be destroyed?

He didn't know the answer to that, did he? Severus closed his eyes and envisioned Wang Qin's chart in front of him, the chart tracing back the lines of lycanthropy, and the name at the top. Thorvald ap Sirideainn. He didn't recognise it.

Nor did he wish to bother with it right now anyway. He opened his eyes. The Horcruxes were still out there, weren't they? The seal, and the cup, and the locket, and Nagini. The diary and the ring were both destroyed already, of course, but there were more out there. And he still had to get the Ravenclaw seal sometime—and where would he find the time? it couldn't be destroyed so easily either, could it?—and the Slytherin locket was gone, and the Hufflepuff cup was securely locked up in the Rasputinists' vault, and he didn't even know how to get there and get in and find the cup and destroy it and get out without the Rasputinists going wild with rage, because of course they wouldn't approve of him trying to destroy a valued artefact—

He stared at the table until it seemed as if he could burn a hole straight through it with his gaze. Vaguely, he became aware that he was smoking, and that Lupin was looking at him. Oh, these habits. Of course they'd think it strange.

Lupin asked, "When did you start to smoke, Severus? Isn't it unhealthy for you?"

Severus blew out some smoke; said, "Number one, when did you start to care, Lupin? Number two, I don't expect smoking will have any impact on my longevity whatsoever, considering my life span is probably a rather short one." There, how do you like that, Lupin? Go away and feel guilty about how I'm going to die while trying to gain information to save you and Black and precious Potter. Go off and feel guilty. Have a guilt trip.

I am enjoying this, aren't I?

Well, it is amusing, watching his face.

Lupin looked concerned. "Well, you ought not to be so cynical about surviving the war, Severus. I mean, you're very talented at your work."

Oh, really? I was talented enough to do what Dumbledore asked me to do, and see where that led us. "Cynicism is an unpleasant way to say the truth," Severus replied. "And whoever said I was pleasant?"

"Dumbledore does."

"Hardly. Of course he'd say that. He's an optimist; he always thinks the best comes out of things. Usually, it's the worst." Severus heard the suddenly frigid tone in his voice; from the look on his face, Lupin was surprised, but Severus wasn't. Yes, he is an optimist, isn't he? He thought Potter could recover, carry on and do his task, but instead Potter was angry and brooded and lost all emotional control and all his friends. And he left me to fend for myself, too.

God, Albus, if I didn't know you were over a hundred and fifty years old, I'd say you were naïve!

Lupin shook his head and set down a plate of bacon and eggs. "You're being too pessimistic, Severus. Here, have something to eat." He slid the plate over to Severus, then a fork and a cup of tea, before sitting down with his own breakfast.

Severus eyed the food in front of him warily.

"Oh, Severus, it's not like I poisoned the breakfast," Lupin said with some exasperation.

Severus shrugged. "Well, cynicism is the way to prepare for the worst."

Lupin countered with, "But optimism brings you hope."

"And what use is hope, if it isn't plausible?" Severus said lazily as he stabbed his fork into the bacon, hearing an audible crunch as he did so. He was aware of the fact that to him, his words were somewhat hypocritical—he had hardly known if it was possible for him to time-travel—but then again… Lupin didn't know that, did he? "For instance, let's say that the Headmaster were to die. How would Potter respond, hmm?" There was a faintly challenging tone in his voice. "It's a rather implausible hope that Potter would promptly become the leader that we all need." The last few words dripped with sarcasm.

"Severus, I don't think that Dumbledore is going to die any time soon—"

"He's over one hundred and fifty years old, and the Dark Lord considers him one of his greatest threats. And Potter is a teenager—" he said the word with undeniable scorn "—who scarcely knows how to control his own emotions, much less even know what to do without guidance. Did you know that he and his friends went gallivanting off to try and rescue Black—even though I was an Order member at Hogwarts?"

A look of sheepishness fell across Lupin's face. "Well, it's not exactly as if you've given him reason to trust you—"

"And he would rather go off by himself and get himself killed, for all the good it does him, I'm sure. People are far more likely to be all gloomy and dejected and hopeless than to run about yelling bloody murder—oh, except for Black, perhaps, but see where that put him. Hardly the rational thing to do; it would have been better for all concerned if he'd gone off to tell the Headmaster about the Secret-Keeper switch, instead of going mad and trying to murder someone."

Lupin sighed. "Well, Sirius has always been impulsive, you know."

"Being impulsive isn't necessarily good."

"I know that, Severus, there's no need to rub it in."

"I'm not rubbing it in, as you say, I'm just pointing out that it was extremely ridiculous of him to go after Pettigrew—and tell me how to get into the tunnel under the Whomping Willow." Severus arched an eyebrow, looking at Lupin. Yes, it had been entirely too easy to goad Black into doing so.

And it was entirely too easy to strike Lupin's conscience in just the right places.

Lupin winced at Severus's words. He was just as bad as the younger Potter, at least in that way, Severus reflected; both of them forever and always tried to put the burden of guilt upon themselves. Lupin, for putting Severus, his friends, and—much later—Potter, Granger, and Weasley in danger; and Potter himself, who had the singularly unfortunate ability to lose everyone close and dear to him. (The Potter from before, not now; the Potter now was beating himself around the head about only one death, that of Cedric Diggory, and even that had been a year ago.) "And Potter—James Potter—thinking himself so high and mighty…"

"Er." Lupin shifted slightly in his chair. "About that… you remember the last Occlumency lesson you had with Harry?"

Severus fixed him with a steely glower. "Yes." Oh god, not again, I already heard the lecture from Albus… but how the hell was I supposed to react? Pat Potter on the head and give him a quick slap on the wrist? I'm supposed to be a horrible, nasty tempered teacher. And Black already tried to yell at me; you think that's pleasant?

"Harry—Harry was stunned, you know. He wasn't—he wasn't happy about what James did. He's not his father, Severus."

"Perhaps he is not his father," Severus conceded rather grudgingly, "but he possesses qualities which are just as irritating. He seems to be under the impression that he should be given free rein and be allowed to break the rules and all that whatnot. And the Headmaster lets him. And he thinks that if he is not informed of whatever might be occurring, the world will be destroyed."

"Harry means well, Severus."

"Means well, but doesn't use his brain, what little he has. And if he hadn't gone after the Stone five years ago, then Quirrell would have been caught anyway. He should have informed us about the Chamber of Secrets so he wouldn't have been injured and we could have been prepared. He should not have been outside, breaking curfew, when Black appeared, and he continues to be unaware of the fact that so far, when he has interfered, he has only served to bungle everything." Severus thoughtfully twirled the fork in his hand, and added, "He insinuates himself into every situation. Hardly the Chosen One. More like the One Who Voluntarily Gets Into Disasters and Botches Them Up."

Lupin said, "It's not like he wanted to be chosen, Severus. You know as well as I do that he'd give all of this up to have his parents back in a heartbeat."

Severus's pointed glance radiated scepticism. "Of course he would say that," he drawled. "Even though he doesn't even know what his beloved parents were like."

"Oh, Severus, I know you didn't like James—"

Hmm. I despised him, actually. Didn't have much common sense—or intelligence. Though even he knew that he was no match for me in academics and duelling—that's why he preferred to try and gang up on me when he could. Gryffindor courage—as if. I'll bet he never told any of you about the time we fought near the greenhouse, after the exams in fourth year. He lost.

That was a fun duel.

"—but even you didn't mind Lily. You two were Potions partners in your sixth year, weren't you?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Lily? Well, she was intelligent, but she matters about as much to Potter as nil. Have you noticed that he's always asking about Potter, and never his mother?"

Lupin was frowning. "What do you mean? Of course Harry cares about Lily!"

"Really? And all these years, I highly doubt that he even knows what her favourite subject was."

"Potions, you mean."

"And he's a total waste of talent—all Potter dreams about is Quidditch, and he doesn't even care about all that Potions talent, wasted."

Severus's words rang in the air. Lupin looked unsure as how to answer that, so he didn't reply; instead, he cupped his hands around his cup of tea and sipped at the drink.

The kitchen was eerily quiet now, Lupin lost in his own thoughts, so Severus reached into the back of his mind and nudged his connection to Hogwarts. It had been momentarily blocked—Severus had insisted on it—when he had been dealing with Lupin and the lycanthropy, and Hogwarts had agreed, if grudgingly so. Now the castle filtered back into his consciousness. Are you done now? the castle grumbled.

Oh, I've been done for a while, Severus replied easily.

And you didn't tell me earlier. Hogwarts sounded grumpy.

I was busy!

Well, of course you were.

Severus ignored the sarcasm in the words. Instead, he said, So, how have you been for the past day or so?

Nothing's happened, Hogwarts said. The centaurs are as withdrawn as ever. It seems the Ministry was not interested in why they intervened at Hogsmeade, and passed it off as them defending their territory.

Good for the centaurs, then, Severus remarked. I'll be back in a few minutes. I'd like another try at working with that gun I bought in Johannesburg.

The castle made a mental shift which, translated to sound, might have sounded like a chuckle. Just make sure you don't get in an accident.

Of course not. When have I ever?

Hogwarts said, Well…

Never mind that, Severus said hastily. Aloud he said, "I'm leaving, Lupin. I'll be at Hogwarts if you need to find me."

Lupin looked up at Severus; the pensive look faded from his face, and he nodded amiably and smiled. "Have a good day, Severus."

Severus didn't respond; he had already left the kitchen and was opening the door of 12 Grimmauld Place, letting in thin, wavering rays of bright, blinding sunlight.

oOo

Ping!

The silver bullet struck the very edge of the bull's eye target Severus had set up in his rooms, and stayed there.

Severus frowned, and straightened up from the crouch he had been in. My aim, he said almost mournfully, is horrible. (Except that Severus was never mournful, of course, so he was merely annoyed.)

It's all right, the castle said in a mollifying tone. You haven't been practising much, you'll get used to it.

Severus's reply was an absent minded grunt, as he turned the gun over in his hands. It was a sleek, black semiautomatic handgun, its compactness deceiving in its usefulness. Especially when it could provide an endless supply of quickly conjured up bullets (requiring some magical energy, of course).

Besides, Hogwarts added, it's almost time for lunch, and you need to socialise more.

Oh Merlin, Severus said. Not you too. Albus already badgers me about that every day.

Yes, me too.

Severus sighed; then he became aware of the slight soreness in his neck, and the stiffness in his legs. Fine. As you say.

As the mother hen demands, he added sardonically to himself.

Luckily, Hogwarts didn't pick that up, or otherwise Severus might have had a headache worse than the usual, due to her ill fury.

Five minutes later, in his usual attire (that is, everything in black), Severus closed the door of his quarters behind him, allowing a passing draft of air to blow across his neck. Walking through Hogwarts's corridors, he finally came to the Great Hall, where he found most of the professors already seated and chatting with each other. Struck by a sudden desire to go back down into the privacy of his rooms, he instead went ahead and grudgingly walked up to the long table, pulling out a chair and sitting down between Albus and Minerva.

Albus smiled cheerfully at him. His bright blue eyes twinkled, as usual (Annoying twinkle, Severus thought. How can he be so happy, right before school begins again and dunderheads sit in my classroom once more…?). "Severus!" he said. "It's nice to see you out of your rooms, for once. You must come up more often."

"Hmm," Severus said, and decided to let Albus think what he wanted of that.

On his other side, Minerva said, "Oh, don't be such a grouch, Severus. Aren't you happy you have the Defence job?"

"Yes," Severus muttered, shooting Albus a significant glance. Albus affected not to notice it.

Minerva gave him a concerned glance, evidently troubled as to his unusual—even for him—reticence, but said nothing. Just as Albus had pretended not to see Severus's glare, so Severus pretended not to notice Minerva's inquiring look.

For not the first time, Severus wondered as to why the fates decreed that he must hold the Defence position the year Draco Malfoy was assigned his task, that of killing the Powerful and Revered Leader of the Light. At least this time around, he was not bound by any pesky Unbreakable Vow, although he supposed he must do his best to make sure Draco didn't kill Albus (or anyone else, for that matter, although he supposed there might be extenuating circumstances, such as Fenrir Greyback or the Carrows.). However, events were still treading perilously close to that which he was trying to do his best to prevent, and he was not comfortable at all with it. Draco Malfoy might waver this time, and desist from murder, but…

But he was also uneasy about the fact that the Dark Lord desperately wanted Albus dead. Perhaps he had overreacted in his letters from Johannesburg by writing that the Dark Lord would want him to kill Albus—as if the Dark Lord wanted to lose his spy, Severus thought, and inwardly berated himself for reacting excessively so—and this time he might be able to persuade Draco somehow to turn away from the Dark Lord, but…

That was the problem, wasn't it? Too many buts.

Then again, Severus thought, having too many buts was better than the alternative.

"… but thank Merlin, the Weasley twins are at least gone." Severus looked over. Minerva was speaking to Filius. Albus, on the other side, was thoroughly engaged with Magna Vector in a discussion on equations and how to reach equilibrium.

"They caused such an unholy amount of havoc, indeed," Filius said. "Their work with charms was very well done, though."

"I quite agree," Severus added to the conversation, his voice a slight drawl. "Although the only time I ever enjoyed their immature behaviour was with the fireworks and the swamp last year."

Minerva glanced at Severus, a faint smile playing about her lips. "Well," she said, "I promise I won't tell them you actually liked it. It would spoil your bad reputation, and I'm sure you don't want that, do you?"

Severus shrugged. "What can I say?" he asked dryly. "I did always feel that Dolores Umbridge fit in quite well with the swamp—she did a very passable imitation of a toad, after all, albeit with an ugly pink bow and cardigan."

His last statement was met with smiles of amusement from both Minerva and Filius. Minerva raised her goblet of water. "Let's drink to her ill-being, shall we?"

"Quite," said Filius.

"I think I can agree to that as well," Severus said, and the clink of three glasses coming together sounded at the table, an airy, uplifting tinkle that contrasted with Severus's rather more gloomier thoughts.

oOo

Of course, Harry is sometimes forced into situations he most certainly does not want, but then again, Severus Snape is not the most unbiased of people.

If everyone who reads this chapter contributes a review... I'm trying for a triple digit review count, so please review!

Talriga