Filch

Filch – v.t. – steal, pilfer.

Disclaimer: Ca' canny, quines an' loons!

Translation: Scots / Doric – Be careful, girls and boys!

xx

"Weasley, can you tell me which factions were involved in the build up to the battle we have been studying?"

The red-head was pinned by the teacher's sharp gaze. Blushing to the hair roots, the student's eyes flitted around the others in the room, seeking assistance. Last night had been spent talking Quidditch, not with the study books.

"Hmm?" The looming professor filled the youngster's vision. "Come on, Weasley, we have covered this in previous lessons."

"Umm..."

A hand slammed down onto the wooden desk. "Pay attention!" He glared at the shrinking witch sharing the desk, who was surreptitiously trying to aid the carrot-top. "Are you ever going to take some initiative? Or, are you going to rely on your little friends to drag you through life? Your classroom achievements are pitiful, but, with your family pedigree, what can I expect? Pull your socks up. It's time you learned to do things for yourself, Weasley."

"Yes, Professor." The reply, an embarrassed mutter as the intimidating wizard turned his questioning to the rest of the class, was followed by a swift release of breath and a soft, "Bloody hell," as the pupil's shoulders sagged after the onslaught.

xx

"Get up!"

"Gerroff!" Severus mumbled, wincing as pain sparked through his left arm.

"Here, let me help you."

"Leave me." Snape's head drooped, and he laid his cheek on the cool, damp earth. "Just let me die here."

"No. Up you get." Pale hands hauled at the prostrated man in an attempt to lift him from the mire.

"Let go!" Severus shook his arm free irritably. "Can't you see I'm fine, you blithering idiot?"

Malfoy's lips pinched together in an attempt to bite back an angry retort.

"I'd rather die than be dragged up there by one of my students," Severus murmured, indicating the mist-shrouded buildings with a lift of his chin.

"I didn't realise you were such a drama queen."

Severus sniffed huffily as he pushed himself up to sitting then gradually worked his way to a standing position, walking his hands up his thighs. "I am not. I'm just a little tired and... emotional."

"Emotional!" Draco snorted. "Father says you don't do emotional."

Snape's dark eyes fixed on the young man at his side. "Don't I?"

His voice was a strange mix of question and threat, and Draco found he could not maintain eye contact. Letting his eyes drift down, Malfoy noted the man's torn sleeve and shredded, mud-splattered trouser leg.

"Don't try to pretend you're drunk when you're actually injured. Tough day at the office?" he asked.

"It's been a bugger of a night," agreed Snape with a weary nod of his head. "You wouldn't believe what—ˮ

Draco quieted him with a raised hand. "No, I don't want to know. I saw enough during the school holidays to know I don't want to see any more."

"Very wise, young man," Severus concurred. "Now, why were you standing out here, after curfew, in such inclement weather?"

"Waiting for you, sir." Draco held his breath and closed his eyes in expectation of the inevitable explosion of vitriol. He could hear Snape's inhalation, ragged in the cold air, but there was no immediate reaction. Cracking open an eye, he peeked at the professor and was surprised by the perplexed look on the normally taciturn features.

"Waiting for me? Why?"

"It was Luna's—ˮ

"Lovegood? Yes, she would be the type."

"She's a real—ˮ

"—enigma. I agree."

"Actually, I was going to say, a pain in the backside."

"That, too." Snape's mouth nearly curved into a wry smile. "Now I've returned, there's no need for you to continue loitering, Malfoy. Away you go!"

"Can you walk?"

"Of course I can. What do you take me for? A cripple?" Snape's sneer disappeared in a grimace when he stepped forward, his injured leg threatening to buckle under his weight.

Taking no notice of the hiss of pain as he pulled the dark wizard's arm over his shoulder, Draco steadied the slightly taller man in his initial, lurching attempt to walk.

"Come on, Uncle Severus, we both need to get indoors and out of the rain." He tried to ignore the slimy sensation of blood and muck seeping into his tailor-made robes, knowing it was going to be well nigh impossible to remove without special laundering.

"Indeed," Snape murmured.

xx

She had said she would do anything for him, but really, he was asking too much of her. Professor Snape was the last person Hermione wanted to deal with, so why had Remus been so insistent?

Pulling her sleeping bag up to her nose, she curled into a ball in an attempt to retain some of the warmth she had filched from Lupin. If she closed her eyes, the faint remnants of his comforting male aroma soothed her wakeful brain. As she lay pretending to sleep so the boys would not disturb her, Hermione allowed her thoughts to wend back over their meetings.

One morning, not long after they had gone on the run, she had detected someone snooping around the boundaries of her protective spells. He had been startled when she had managed to approach him unheeded and bail him up with her wand-tip pressed hard into the base of his skull and a firm hand over his mouth. When she had confirmed his identity and he had turned around to face her, his expression was tinged with a smidgeon of guilt, reminding Hermione of a schoolboy caught with his hand in the biscuit barrel.

The easy smile and the exuberance with which Remus had hugged her, when he had realised she wasn't going to hex him to hell, had soon had Hermione giggling for the first time since she and the boys had started the camping fiasco. Grabbing her hand, Remus had dragged her away from the tent, to a distance where they could not be overheard by Ron and Harry.

Seated on warm, springy heather, with their backs resting against a gnarled rowan and obscured from view of the tent by tall bracken, Lupin had cast a quick Muffliato and started talking.

After a brief enquiry into Harry and Ron's wellbeing, he had brought her up to date with the most recent news from the Order of the Phoenix, finishing with a round-up of the latest gossip from Hogwarts. When Hermione had asked how he knew what was going on at the school, he had just tapped the side of his nose and winked.

Over the following weeks he had visited frequently, somehow able to find them, no matter how many times the trio had moved camp in the interim. Each time, he had asked after Harry and Ron, checking how their mission was progressing before quickly moving on to what he had termed more interesting topics. Some days they had discussed plans for finding the Horcruxes, and at other times the pair had spent time practising defence and spellwork, invariably ending up hot, sweaty and giggling like school kids when Remus ended the session with an inventive hex.

Always at some stage during his visit, Lupin had talked about Severus Snape. Initially, he had spent time explaining Snape's dual roles; he had assured Hermione of the man's loyalty to the light, and had built up a picture of a tormented, loyal, and ultimately redeemable man. Following his line of reasoning, she had eventually been convinced Dumbledore's death had been a soul-destroying act carried out under duress by a man under pressure from both sides of the conflict. Despite Lupin's persistence, he hadn't been able to dispel all her concerns about the dark wizard's role as a Death Eater.

As time wore on, Lupin had talked more and more of Snape's need for someone to support and trust him. When Hermione had asked why Remus himself could not be that person, the werewolf had looked downcast. He had told her how much of his own time was now taken up as an intermediary between various factions – the werewolves, the Order, and he had hinted at spying on the enemy. The reason for his weary and often bedraggled appearance had become clearer.

He had explained to Hermione it was becoming harder to gain access to Hogwarts with the Carrows' constant, suspicious surveillance. Assuring her Severus was the best Potions master he had ever encountered, and the Wolfsbane he manufactured was second to none, Remus had explained how he would find life nearly intolerable if he could no longer access Snape's expertise. His eyes had filled with tears as he had spoken of being certain he would not survive the war himself and wanting to make life in the run up to the inevitable battle as stress free as possible. Finally, he had asked if she would be interested in learning how to make his Wolfsbane, so he wouldn't have to go to the school for his supplies.

Hermione's heart had constricted with sadness as she had hugged the man whom she had come to count as a close friend. In her concern, she had agreed to do anything for him, and he had answered her with a rib-cracking hug, thanking her effusively and kissing her grubby temple.

Lupin had assured her she would not regret her decision, but now she lay shivering in her cooling bed asking herself, Why Professor Snape? Why me? I'm not one of his favourite students; I scarcely know the man, and I know he won't want to work with me, let alone teach me how to make Wolfsbane.

xx

"Might I suggest you remove yourselves from this room? Someone is approaching." The ex-headmaster's nose wrinkled in mild distaste.

"Who, Uncle Phin?"

"Undesirables." His reply was smothered by his hand holding a lace-edged pocket handkerchief to his prominent nose.

Luna turned to the Gryffindors to relay the message, but Neville was already muttering, "I heard. I heard. Come on, Ginny. Hurry up."

"Don't hassle me, Nev," Ginny replied, frowning at him before continuing in a petulant tone, "I'm trying my best. You couldn't do any better."

"I must insist you leave." Black's eyes flicked to the office door.

"We can't go yet; we haven't got the sword."

"Don't blame me for that, Neville. You haven't exactly been helpful."

"Now!" The portrait yelled.

"For goodness' sake! Let me do it, Ginny." Elbowing her out of his way, Neville swung a heavy candlestick over his head, shattering the glazed panel with an almighty crash. Hastily, he stuck his hand through the jagged hole, withdrew the sword and started running for the door with Ginny and Luna hard on his heels.

Woken from her slumber by the racket, an elderly portrait shrieked with alarm. Her screams were added to by another ex-headmaster yelling, "What? What is it?"

A third, shouting voice added to the cacophony. "Intruders! Thieves! They've taken the sword. Thieves! Stop them!"

Phineas Black lifted his handkerchief daintily to his mouth, covering the underlying smirk.

xx

Not far away, in the night-darkened hallway, an oddly-matched pair moved as quietly as possible, trying to evade detection. The corridors, lit only by their faint wand-light, were devoid of errant students, and the portraits on the wall watched them closely with suspicion written large in the shadows playing across their painted faces. Approaching the gargoyle at the foot of the headmaster's staircase, the couple conversed in whispers, their intuition telling them something untoward was afoot.

"I can't see a thing. The lanterns have gone out."

"I'm sure this beastly castle conspires against us."

"How could that be?"

"Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it isn't happening."

"Shhh! What's that?"

Huddling closer together with trepidation, a low, grinding of stone-on-stone became audible as they listened in the quiet darkness, wands held aloft in trembling hands. A rasping snigger had them turning from side-to-side, seeking the culprit.

The taller figure leaned close to the gargoyle, whispering a password into the creature's sculpted ear. Nothing happened. Laying a cautious hand on the statue, the wizard repeated the words. Under his hand, the carving shivered and rippled. In expectation of the gargoyle moving aside, the man stepped forward only to have his way barred by a very solid, sniggering statue.

"What on earth do you think you're doing? Move!" Slapping the gargoyle in his frustration, the wizard hissed with pain as his hand struck stone.

As he stood in the dark, cursing and shaking the stinging sensation from his palm, the corridor lights suddenly blazed on, and the statue sprang to rigid attention when another unlikely couple appeared around the corner and approached the foot of the headmaster's staircase.

"Professor." The wizard bent his head in greeting.

"Amycus. Alecto." Snape's acknowledgment was terse. "What—"

"We were just—ˮ

"We knew you weren't here—ˮ

"And we thought—ˮ

"Something was up—ˮ

"Those horrible children—ˮ

"So, we—ˮ

Severus waited impassively as the Carrows' words tripped over each other in their pathetic explanations, watching as Amycus wrung his hands and Alecto's head bobbed nervously. Eventually the pair ran out of steam, coming to a stuttering halt.

"Your enthusiasm for school security is admirable, colleagues. I assure you, no-one unexpected can access my office without my presence."

Alecto simpered.

Folding his arms across his chest and looking down the length of his nose, Snape continued, watching the siblings squirm under his dark gaze as he spoke. "Following my recent audience with the Dark Lord, which I believe you were both unfortunate to miss, I have some important issues to address with Mr Malfoy, our Slytherin representative. Would you care to join us now, to discuss night patrols and therapeutic management?"

"Ah! We have..." Amycus glanced at his sister, his eyes pleading.

"We have... a... um... rather pressing... thing... to do..."

"Urgently." Amycus finished emphatically.

Alecto nodded vigorously in agreement as she backed away from Snape's imposing presence, grabbing her brother's pudgy hand before turning and scurrying away down the corridor with the overweight wizard puffing in her wake.

When they disappeared from sight, Severus sagged against the gargoyle, scrubbing a hand over his wearied features. "Merlin preserve us, can't I just get home in peace? What next?" he muttered.

With obvious effort he straightened himself, the statue slid quietly aside and Severus started to limp upstairs. Keeping his eyes down in an attempt to avoid catching his dragging feet on the steps, he missed seeing the gargoyle's grimace and hunching shoulders as it again barred access to the staircase.

Snape's mind was drifting towards the simple luxuries of a hot bath, followed by relaxing under the soft covers of his comfortable bed when the sound of running feet roused him from his torpor. Suddenly, around the curve of the spiral staircase a sword-point appeared close to his eye level, followed rapidly by the form of a plummeting body.

Instantly, his reflexes brought his wand-hand up in defence, but the goblin-honed blade tore through the tough fabric of his robes, slicing hot pain into Snape's upper arm. As he grabbed the wound with his other hand, he was pushed off balance, tumbling backwards onto the soft-solid combination of Malfoy and the gargoyle.

Draco lost his footing under the onslaught, crashing to the floor and striking the back of his blond head on the stone with a brain-jolting crack. Nausea washed over him, and his vision dimmed as the older wizard's falling weight squashed the breath from his lungs.

Snape's hands scrabbled for his wand, where it had dropped with a clatter from his pain-numbed fingers. In the ill-lit stairwell he could only see the splotches of his blood dripping darkly onto the stone steps. His wand had disappeared. Hope leached from him, and anxiety roiled in his gut.

Pushing himself unsteadily to his feet he looked up the stairs to face his assailants.

xx

Draco's eyelids fluttered open as he dragged a long breath into his aching chest. His vision was filled with prominent, clear eyes in pale features, surrounded by a nimbus of light. Squinting, he tried to focus on the face, but his sight swam disturbingly, and he shut his eyes against the vertiginous feeling, drawing a slow breath in through his aquiline nose. Moonlight and apples. "Luna," he murmured.

The only response was a low hum and a gentle squeeze of his hand.

"Explain yourself." Snape's voice was low and angry, and sounded as if it came from far away.

Draco swallowed drily and started to talk, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. "I was just trying to help—ˮ

Other voices ran over the top of his.

"He made me—ˮ

"I... um..."

"Headmaster, I can—ˮ

"Silence!"

Draco could hear the exasperation in Snape's tone and imagined the harried man pinching the bridge of his nose as he sought a shred of patience.

"Longbottom, as you are the one brandishing the sword, perhaps you should be the one to explain... after you've put it down. Carefully! And you." Draco cracked open an eye to see Severus jabbing an accusatory finger in the direction of Phineas Black's picture. "You, I shall talk to later in private."

The ex-headmaster shrugged an elegant shoulder and sauntered to a high-backed, wooden chair. Sweeping his robes under him, he sat gracefully, crossing his long legs at the ankles and resting lean hands on his knees. Snape glared at him. The older wizard merely raised an aristocratic eyebrow in reply.

Gritting his teeth, Severus turned back to the motley group of pupils ranged in front of his desk. With some discomfort, he eased himself into his chair and leaned his elbows on the desk top. Resting his forehead on his interlocked hands, he gazed down at the worn patina of the wood in an attempt to gather his thoughts.

"Sir?" A concerned voice interrupted his contemplation.

"I did not ask you to speak, Miss Lovegood," Snape growled with annoyance.

Undeterred, Luna continued in a pleasant, conversational tone. "I thought a nice cup of tea and a piece of toast would help the cogitative process. I find they're a perfect remedy, especially when you're a little bit peelie-wally, as my Scottish granny would say."

Severus inhaled deeply as a full cup and saucer were pushed into his line of vision. The warm, steamy smell wafting up from the tea made him feel better, soothing his irritation, and he was soon tucking into hot, buttered toast, served with a thin scrape of mouth-wateringly salty marmite. Revived, he wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin and levelled his sights on the errant students once more.

Neville, who had been contemplating the tips of his toes, nearly leaped out of his skin when Snape barked his name.

"S-sir?" he stammered.

"An explanation, if you please, Mr Longbottom."

"Er..."

Severus maintained a steady gaze on the blushing youth. "In your own time, Longbottom, but preferably before all of us expire from boredom."

"Oh, this is going to be priceless." Black leaned forward in his chair for a better view of the proceedings.

"Uncle Phin!" protested Luna.

"What? He's a Gryffindor whippersnapper against our fine, upstanding headmaster." Painted hands rubbed together with glee.

Gingerly, Malfoy raised himself up on an elbow to see what was happening.

"Lie back down on the couch, Draco. You've taken a nasty knock to the head, and I'll see to you soon." Luna's accompanying smile was angelic. Turning to Neville, she patted his shoulder as he stepped forward to speak. "On you go, Nev. Don't let these big meanies put you off."

Draco snorted a laugh at Black's scandalised expression but covered his smiling mouth in haste when Snape glowered darkly in his direction. He lay back against the plush cushions with grey eyes slitted as he contemplated Lovegood from behind, running his discerning gaze over her as if assessing a young filly.

Her hair was a mess, a hideous tangle of silver-moonlight curls and waves, which shimmered alluringly when she shook her head. The shoulders were narrow and, no doubt, bony. Draco was sure they would dig in horribly if one were to hug her. He shuddered at the thought and allowed his eyes to drift lower over a skinny, no, slim back, held proudly straight and leading to an unexpectedly pert bottom. His roving eyes stopped their downward sweep abruptly as panic seized him. The daft witch wasn't wearing school robes!

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled slowly as warmth stirred in his groin. Shifting uncomfortably, he tried to concentrate on Longbottom's longwinded spiel but was distracted by Luna's legs. Her lean thighs, descended to soft indentations at the back of her knees before gently swelling to beautifully curved calves, and all were encased in skin-tight leggings, which stopped at ankle level where a hint of bare skin peaked out above her neatly shod feet. Draco's tongue ran over his lower lip as his brain envisaged what it would be like to lick along the inside of that sinfully exposed ankle.

Closing his eyes, he bit his lip and stifled a groan. "No..."

Cool fingers touched his sweating brow. "Hush! It'll be all right, love," Luna assured him.

"No," he repeated, shrinking from her touch and turning his flushed face away from her obvious concern.

xxx

A/N: Translation:

peelie-wally – Scots – pale, sickly, ill-looking.