February sixth, against Remus' fervent wishes, arrived—and Remus spent the day lying on the sofa, feeling sorry for himself and worrying, scared out of his mind.

"Do you think someone's actually going to try to attack Hogwarts?" he asked his mother while she patted his face with a cool cloth.

"Do you think Mr. Ragfarn is going to come back?" he asked his father as they read together on the sofa.

"Do you think the spy is one of the students or the teachers?" he asked his mother as she tried to force some tea down his throat.

"Do you think someone's going to get hurt?" he asked his father as he read the Daily Prophet.

"Do you think Professor Dumbledore will finally decide I'm not worth keeping around?" he asked Garrison, who was currently rattling in the cupboard like there was no tomorrow.

"Do you think I'll get to go back to Hogwarts?" he asked no one in particular.

The answers varied, yet they always carried the same sentiment. No, Remus. Maybe, Remus. Everyone will be safe, Remus. No, Remus. Yes, Remus. Professor Dumbledore knows what he's doing, Remus.

But Remus knew that Professor Dumbledore, though brilliant, wasn't all-powerful. He hadn't saved Craff from being killed. He hadn't saved Hogsmeade from being attacked. He hadn't saved the town next to Remus' house. He hadn't saved Professor Questus. And how could he have done? Dumbledore was only one man, and the Dark Arts were vast and terrifying.

"It's different," Remus' father said.

Remus looked up. "What do you mean, Dad?"

"You're thinking about the town. And Questus. Aren't you?"

Remus hesitated, and then he nodded.

"It's different. The town was far away from Hogwarts, and Dumbledore didn't know the attack was happening. But now he's ready. He has his guard up, he knows it's coming, he's in the general area where it's sure to happen, and—if there's an attack, which there might not be—he'll stop it immediately. No one would dare go against Albus Dumbledore."

"All right," said Remus, but his fears were by no means completely assuaged.

"Everything's going to be all right," said Remus' father. "Trust me, Remus."

And Remus did. He trusted his father, of course—Remus' father was the one who had helped Remus through seemingly endless transformations, had offered advice when Remus needed it, and had taught him his first magic spells. Remus had always trusted his father.

Remus trusted Dumbledore, too. He had to. The man had done so much for him, and Remus' life was essentially in his hands. Remus trusted Dumbledore, and nothing could change that.

But Remus was still worried.

He worried all day, watching the notebook just in case his friends said something. They didn't, so Remus wrote, It's February 6th. Everyone okay?

James replied after about an hour. Yeah, we're fine. Hope you've been eating & sleeping & all that.

Remus responded quickly. I'm fine. But nothing's happened? They haven't caught the attacker?

Hours passed, and then Sirius wrote, Can't talk much now. Hexing Snape. He was an awful git the other day and we need to get him back. But no. Nothing's happened.

Remus frowned, lay down on the sofa to relieve his aching limbs, and waited.

Hours passed. Evening came.

Remus' father helped Remus down to the cellar, and Remus clung to his father's robes furiously as they descended the stairs. Right before Remus' father left, he leaned closer to Remus and said, "Please don't worry, Remus. You know it's worse when you worry."

"I won't worry," said Remus with a shaky smile. "Tell me what happens right after sunrise, yeah?"

"Of course, Remus. I love you."

"Love you too."

Then Remus' father left. The door shut. The Soundproofing Charm descended upon the cellar and filled Remus' ears with the beating of his own heart.

And Remus worried.

He opened his eyes slowly—his eyelashes were stuck together with dried tears, and when he looked at his hands, he saw that there was blood smeared all up and down his fingers and under his nails. He sat up. He was shivering.

Remus' father came in a few minutes later and wrapped him tightly in a blanket. "The Heating Charms went off halfway through the night," he explained as he began to search Remus for particularly nasty wounds. "It's a wizarding house, so no electricity. The charms were old and needed to be renewed."

"H-have you r-renewed th-them?" Remus managed, teeth chattering violently. Blood ran down his fingers and onto the blanket, soaking into the fabric like the cold that was currently sinking into his bones.

Remus' father was rubbing Remus' shoulders in an effort to warm him up, but he was being too cautious for it to be effective. "Yes, but I need to perform the charm on the interior of each room, and I couldn't get inside the cellar… for obvious reasons. Come on, now—let's get you into the warm. Can you walk?"

"I d-don't know, I'm all sh-shaky."

"Shhh. I'll help."

Remus let his father grasp his shoulders and help him up, and Remus clung to the sleeves of his robes just like he had when they'd walked down to the cellar in the first place. There was still blood on his hands. It was poetic, almost: a metaphor of guilt. But Remus wasn't guilty, no matter what the Ministry said….

Suddenly, he remembered.

"Dad!" he cried, stumbling backwards.

His father caught him with a slight hiss of pain as Remus stepped on his foot. "Careful, Remus! You'll hurt yourself."

"Yeah, b-because I'm not already hurt," Remus snarked. "Dad… Hogwarts! What happened?!"

"No one is hurt," said Remus' father. "I promise. Now let me take you to the sitting room. I'll explain the rest there."

Remus let himself be led to the sofa and sank into the cushions. Now that the numb feeling was wearing off, he felt even colder.

"So sorry about the temperature," his father mumbled as he force-fed Remus a Pain-Relieving Potion. "It was my fault, I think. I should have renewed them a long time ago."

Remus choked down the potion gratefully. "You couldn't have known."

"Yes, but—"

"It's fine. I had fur all night."

"Still not used to your werewolf jokes."

"It's not a joke. I really did have fur, and it kept me warm." Remus tugged on his father's hand, impatient. "Tell me what happened. I'm—ow!"

Remus' father dropped the bottle of silver and Dittany. "Did I hurt you?"

"I mean, yeah. Everything hurts. But tell me!"

"Fine." Remus' father sighed and continued to heal Remus as he spoke. "Here's the thing, Remus. We weren't sure whether the Death Eaters were actually threatening Hogwarts with a basis in truth… or whether they were spreading paranoia and singling you out. It's possible that… well…"

"Fenrir Greyback," said Remus after a long pause, his gut twisting from both the physical pain and the mental pain of the memories.

"Yes, him—it's possible that he still… remembers you and told Voldemort and his crew. That was our first thought, because it seemed to be too much of a coincidence. And that's what we would have believed if an attack hadn't actually happened…."

"But no one's hurt? Who was it? What happened?"

"Slow down, Remus, I'm trying my best. There was a spy, actually—and, obviously, it wasn't you. It was a seventh-year boy named Festus Gavin. Did you know him?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. You do tend to stay within your own circle of friends, don't you? Nothing wrong with that. Probably a good thing, since Festus Gavin has been working with the Death Eaters since last summer."

"Wow," whispered Remus. "And he was seventeen?"

"Eighteen."

"That seems… young for a Death Eater."

"Plenty of teenagers are joining, especially ones who aren't doing well enough in Hogwarts to get any job but a Muggle one."

"What's happened to him?" Remus asked. "The boy, I mean. Is he… in Azkaban?"

"He's of age, so yes."

"And how did they catch him?"

"There were Aurors all over the school, looking for anything out-of-the-ordinary. They found him sneaking out with a wand, so they caught him and questioned him. They didn't even need to use Veritaserum before he confessed to everything. Turns out he'd been having second thoughts the whole time."

"What did he mean to do?"

"He just meant to find and kill one person. That would have been enough to cause mass panic and foster distrust toward Dumbledore. Then he said he was told to Conjure a… a symbol of sorts over the castle."

"To mark that Voldemort and his people had caused it," Remus whispered. "The Dark Mark that's been in the papers." The words hung in the air, unsaid: the one that had been over the town last summer.

"Yes."

"But... why even threaten Hogwarts at all? It would have been easier to accomplish if it had happened without warning."

"Probably just to spread fear. The build-up was the scariest part of the whole thing. Even though Festus failed, an impending attack on Hogwarts was more widely publicized and feared than one that had already happened. They set Festus Gavin up for failure, I think."

"Oh."

Remus' father was trying his best to heal Remus, but blood was still on Remus' hands. "Your hands are bleeding," he pointed out. "I tried to seal the wounds, but… I'm afraid they'll be rather bad for the next couple of days."

"That's okay," said Remus. He'd accidentally clenched his hands into tight fists when he was transforming, and the growing claws had punctured the skin terribly. Remus usually remembered not to do that, but the pain and worry had made it difficult to focus. "Dad… everything's okay? You're sure? No one's hurt?"

"No one but you," said his father with a slight chuckle. "All right, try to take a nap. Your mother's at work, but should be back this evening—she did make soup last night for when you're hungry. Just let me know."

Anxiety and physical pain had left Remus groggy. All too eagerly, he closed his eyes and slumped back onto the cushions. "Thanks, Dad," he mumbled, and then he was out.

There was still a weight on his shoulders, but it wasn't nearly as heavy now that he knew his friends were safe. Everyone was safe, and that was all that mattered.

"I can't believe we have to start the Mandrake month over," groaned Sirius. "We could have been done by now."

"Well, not done," said James fairly, "but done with this step, at least."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "It's Snape's fault. That ugly, hook-nosed, greasy bat."

"Shhh," James hissed, glaring at a spot behind Sirius. "Speak of the devil, Padfoot. The aforementioned ugly, hook-nosed, greasy bat is… right there."

Sirius dropped his bacon and stared. "Good," he said furiously. "I don't think he's quite learned his lesson from that time with the skunk, eh?"

"We'll do something nefarious," said James.

"Something cunning," added Sirius.

"Something big!" contributed Peter.

"Breakfast is over, lads," said James with a grin. "The taste of revenge is sweeter by far!"

Severus was walking alone in the corridors.

He didn't like walking alone in the corridors. He liked walking with Lily so much more, but he and Lily didn't have their first class together. Alas. Severus was a lone wolf, doomed to walk alone for eternity.

He weaved in and out through the crowds of students. A few of them elbowed him or bumped into him, and Severus shot them nasty looks—but they didn't even seem to notice. Severus was invisible, for the most part, and he couldn't tell whether he loathed or loved the feeling.

He didn't dwell on it, though; he merely continued walking, avoiding his classmates as much as possible. He had Astronomy next, so he had quite a few stairs to climb. Astronomy with the Hufflepuffs. Ugh. Severus did not like Hufflepuffs (or Gryffindors, or Ravenclaws, or some of the Slytherins).

Severus reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, twiddling it between his fingers idly as he walked. Severus Snape did not love many things, but he certainly loved his wand: hawthorn wood, dragon heartstring core, and just the perfect length. He was currently working on fixing the chip in the handle. Over summer holidays, Severus' father had chucked the wand into the woods, thinking it was just another stick. Severus had stepped on it before he'd found it, and it was a miracle that he didn't break it entirely.

Severus was a bit angry at his father, yes, but there was no way that the man could have known the importance of the wand. Severus and his mother were very, very careful to keep the wizarding world a secret from Tobias Snape—anything other than absolute secrecy could potentially be disastrous. Tobias was not a happy man, and he especially despised things he didn't understand. He didn't need to know about the wizarding world, and keeping the secret was easy enough since Severus' mother handled all aspects of Severus' life (Tobias was, as it seemed, always a bit too drunk to do that sort of thing).

So now Severus was left with a chipped wand. His magic had been affected, but only slightly—levitating things took a bit more effort—and Severus could feel the steady hum of magic emanating from his wand much more acutely now that it was chipped. He'd been trying to fix it for months, but nothing seemed to do the trick. Perhaps he'd take it to Diagon Alley next time he went. Lily had promised to let him tag along with her family come next summer, and Severus dreamed about it nearly every night. Yes, he could get it fixed then.

As he contemplated this happy event for the hundredth time, someone tapped him on the shoulder. At first, Severus assumed that it was another accidental tap—after all, he was invisible, as quiet and transparent as the very wind itself—but then the tapping resumed. Severus whirled around and came face-to-face with James Potter.

"Potter," he snapped. "Why are you bothering me? I happen to know you have Care of Magical Creatures next. Let me help you out: the Hogwarts grounds are on the ground, not on the fourth floor. I know that's a hard concept to grasp for your exceedingly small mind, but…"

Before Severus could finish what was about to be a very clever jab indeed, Potter punched him in the nose.

Severus stumbled backwards, holding his face. What a juvenile way to respond to such a harmless comment—but, then again, Severus had never expected James Potter to be anything but juvenile and cruel. "What do you think you're doing?" he hissed. "I haven't done anything to you."

"Denying it, I see?" said Potter. "Lying is a new low for you, Snivellus."

"Fighting like a Muggle is a new low for you," shot back Severus. His nose didn't hurt all that much, so it was clear that Potter hadn't put his full strength into it, but it was still totally unacceptable. "Have you forgotten how to do magic?"

"Well, gentlemen don't hex people behind their backs," said Potter lazily. "Granted, I was a bit stuck on the definition of 'people' for a while—vermin and person almost rhyme, but they're not quite the same thing—but I decided I'd be a gentleman regardless and hit you instead."

"Such a kind gesture," said Severus sarcastically. "Your maturity knows no bounds."

"I know," said Potter; then, his face suddenly went slack, and he pointed at something behind Severus. "Oh, no! Look out behind you, Snivellus!"

"I'm not falling for that," scoffed Severus. He was already holding up his wand with the intent to hex the pants off of Potter. "You must think I'm stupid."

"I do, actually," said Potter.

Suddenly, Severus felt a tingling sensation in his scalp. He reached up and felt ears growing out of his head—canine ears, almost like a wolf or a very large dog. Laughter rang out around Severus from the small crowd of students that had gathered. When had Potter drawn his wand?

"See, here's the thing," said Potter with a self-assured grin, "I may be too much of a gentleman to hex people behind their backs, but my friend Sirius most certainly is not."

Severus whirled around and saw Sirius Black, who waved cheekily.

"So much for all his fancy Pureblood manners lessons as a kid," said James seriously, and the surrounding crowd of students laughed.

"Look, Potter," hissed Severus. "I didn't do anything to you, and I'd highly appreciate it if you'd let me get to my next class without further interruption." Severus waved his wand, and the ears disappeared. "Now go away and let me walk in peace."

He turned to leave. Yes, he wanted to hex Potter, but he knew he wouldn't win against both Potter and Black. Based on what Severus had seen in class, they were both highly talented wizards—about as talented as Severus himself, and Severus was very talented indeed (that was not arrogance; just truth). Two on one would not be a fair fight. No, Severus would push his temptation down and keep walking….

But then Black shot another hex at him. Severus blocked it and sent another back, his resolve to keep his nose clean destroyed.

The crowd of student watched as Severus, Potter, and Black duelled. Severus had been right: it was not a fair fight. He was playing defense the entire time, and he couldn't figure out how to get on the offensive side when his opponents could block and hex at the same time. Besides, they seemed to be relatively practiced duellists—well, of course they were. They probably practiced with Lupin, who was easily the best duellist in their year. Severus wasn't exactly sure how Lupin had gotten so good (it seemed like he had unfair amounts of personal training from someone—probably Flitwick). Severus was glad indeed that Lupin was not there to hex him as well.

It wasn't long before Severus' beloved wand was in Potter's hands, Black was laughing along with the crowd, Pettigrew (how long had he been there?) was giggling, and Severus's right hand was glued to the wall. He recognized the incantation for the Permanent Sticking Charm and panicked.

"That's not safe," he said, baring his teeth as if the action would somehow scare away his tormenters. "Do you know what the word permanent means? I'll be stuck here forever."

"At least it'll keep you away from our dormitory," said Potter into his ear. "What we do in our spare time is none of your business, Snivellus, and you should stay well away from us in the future."

"I haven't gone anywhere near you! You were the ones who hunted me down and hexed me in the corridor!"

"Hmm," said Black, lazily crossing his arms and letting a grin spread across his face. "Let's take a vote, shall we? Show of hands: who thinks Snivelly here is telling the truth?"

No hands.

"And who," continued Potter, "supports the fantastic, outstanding, immensely talented Marauders?"

Severus looked around. Five hands. Most of the students, it seemed, were ignoring Potter completely and merely watching in interest. Unfortunately, something like this wasn't entirely out of the ordinary. Children got into fights in the corridors all the time. If a couple of teenagers were given wands, being glued to the wall became a relatively common experience. This was nothing new. To the bystanders, it was merely amusing; but to Severus, it was most decidedly not.

"Five is more than zero," said Potter. "That's bad luck for you, Snivellus."

"I hate you," spat Severus. "I hate you, Potter. Just leave me alone. I haven't done a thing to you."

"You've done plenty." The crowd was dissipating now, and Severus was very nearly alone with Potter. He hated that. "I don't think you quite understand, so let me explain it to you."

Black took over with a snarl. "You're indirectly hurting someone," he said. "I don't think you can quite imagine what it's like to... what's it's like... pain and blood and..."

"Woah," said Potter in alarm. "Padfoot. Go a little lighter on the descriptions, please."

"Right," said Black, but he still looked furious. "My point is, you've just given someone an extra month of horrific suffering, and nothing we do to you could possibly even the score. So why don't you just shut up?"

"I didn't do anything!" said Severus. "I haven't touched you!"

"Oh, I see," said Potter. "Speaking in half-truths, are we? You haven't directly touched us, no, but you've touched a couple of books—ran your grimy, greasy hands on everything in our dormitory—sent us a mysterious potion by mail that was very likely Dark magic… you're lucky we haven't done worse."

"What?" Severus was getting more and more confused by the second. "I haven't done any of that, you blithering idiots."

"Tell yourself that if it helps you sleep at night," said Black, "but never go into our dormitory again. Got it?"

"I didn't—!" started Severus, but Potter, Black, and Pettigrew were already ambling down the corridor, not a care in the world.

"Wait!" said Potter. He turned back around towards Severus. "Two more things. First: tell anyone we did this and we do something even worse. Haven't decided what it'll be yet, but it'll be awful!"

"And now for the second thing," said Black, apparently catching on to whatever Potter was thinking (the two of them seemed to read each others' minds on occasion).

Severus heard a few whispered spells, and then he felt a sensation like an egg being cracked over his head; he felt a slight tingling in his throat; he looked at his hands and they had blended into the wall nearly perfectly, rendering them invisible, and he didn't need to try to speak to know that he'd been Silenced.

"Hope someone finds you soon," said Black with a nonchalant shrug. "Or not."

And then they left, and Severus was left to stew in his own anger.

Half an hour later, McGonagall came down the corridor and promptly collided with Severus.

"Good heavens!" she said, and then she pointed her wand at Severus. He became visible at once.

He tried to speak, but he couldn't; McGonagall waved her wand once more, and then he managed to croak, "Professor." His voice was croaky from disuse (which was strange, seeing as Severus often went far more than thirty-minute periods without speaking. This wasn't unusual). "Professor… would you…?"

"Your hand appears to be stuck to the wall," said McGonagall. "How did this happen, Mr. Snape?"

"Accident," he murmured. "Could you…?"

She tried, but she met no avail. Severus couldn't believe it. Was he going to be stuck here forever? Oh, he hated James Potter and Sirius Black….

"It must be a Permanent Sticking Charm," said McGonagall, apparently nonplussed. "Oh, my. Let me fetch Professor Dumbledore. He's the only one I know who can undo a Permanent Sticking Charm, though I haven't the foggiest how he does it…."

"Don't leave me," said Severus. He wasn't sure when class would let out, but he didn't want the students to see him there once again. They'd laugh, and Severus wasn't sure he could bear more laughter today.

"That can be arranged," said McGonagall. She knocked on the frame of a portrait; an auburn-haired man appeared in the frame, and she bid him to tell Dumbledore that she required his assistance. Severus waited, humiliated.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"No," he muttered, because he wasn't. Not really. His nose still twinged, but he was used to that—no, the thing that hurt most was his pride.

They waited awkwardly. Lupin always seemed to enjoy speaking with his teachers one-on-one (they kept him after class quite often, for reasons unknown), but Severus didn't like spending time with teachers past what he was already forced to do. Neither Severus nor McGonagall spoke for quite a while.

Then Severus heard humming.

The humming in question was emerging from the end of the corridor. Severus tried to turn around to see the hummer, but he couldn't quite twist in place enough to do so without hurting his arm, which was still (permanently?) glued to the wall.

Idly, he wondered if he'd have to walk around forever with a chunk of wall attached to his hand. Would Lily still invite him to Diagon Alley? Would she still want to be his friend when he was a wall-handed freak? But never mind that. There was somebody humming, and Severus could only wait for the humming to draw nearer….

Finally, the hummer ascended enough staircases for Severus to be able to see him: it was Albus Dumbledore, dressed in garishly violet robes. He had a lilac in his beard.

Dumbledore paused, and the whimsical look in his eyes disappeared. Severus wasn't entirely sure how anyone could look so serious with a lilac in his beard, but he wasn't about to question it.

Dumbledore walked directly in front of Severus, paused again, and then drew his wand. All at once, Severus was detached from the wall. He rubbed his hand. "Thanks," he said dully.

Dumbledore looked at McGonagall, and the two of them exchanged a furtive glance. "May I ask what has forced you into such a strange position?" asked Dumbledore.

"Accident. Spell gone wrong."

Dumbledore gave Severus a searching look. "I don't know that I believe that, Severus," he said lightly. "It seems to me that there's been a history of dispute between you and a certain group of students who like to call themselves the Marauders. Did this result from a disagreement?"

"No," said Severus, because it hadn't really been a disagreement. They hadn't disagreed on anything: Severus had simply been walking, and then Black and Potter had spread lies about him and hexed him for no reason.

A long moment of silence transpired. Then Dumbledore said, "I am not going to press you on the matter, Severus. After all, we've just had a very stressful couple of days, a horrible event has happened last night, and more stress is the last thing that we need as of right now. I believe you knew Festus Gavin?"

"Not well, sir, but he was the Keeper on the Slytherin Quidditch team. I've seen him around."

"I see. Well, Severus, I'm not going to force any answers out of you—even though I do not believe this little incident resulted from a mere accident. But I hope you know that you can come to me if you ever have a problem. I shall do my utmost to help in any way I can."

That wasn't true. Severus scornfully remembered all the times the teachers had believed the Marauders over him—especially Lupin. Every single time Severus tried to pin something on Lupin, the teachers defended him with their lives, it seemed. Something was up with that boy.

"Yes, sir," said Severus scornfully.

Dumbledore stared at Severus for another moment, and then he reached down, picked up Severus' wand, and handed it to him. "You must have dropped this, Severus," he said.

Severus hadn't dropped it—Potter and Black had—but Severus didn't bother correcting Dumbledore. "Thank you, sir."

"Go to class," said Dumbledore, "and remember that you may come to either me or your Head of House whenever you so desire."

"Yes, sir," said Severus again, but he had no intention of doing either of those things. What use would telling anyone do? It would only prove that the stupid Marauders had gotten to him. Instead, he went back up to his dormitory, shouted into his pillow, and hexed it until it was merely ash, pretending that it was Potter's dumb face the whole time.