I apologize for the lateness of today's chapter; I ran into a number of difficulties, not the least of which being a number of reading assignments. However, I present to you chapter eight, complete with yet more introductions and a thickening of the plot.

This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous couple, so I'll stop there for brevity's sake.

Let's begin.

One.

When Ronald and Ginevra woke up from their nap, Molly suggested that Sirius set Harry down with them to play for a while. "I'll keep an eye on them," she said, turning a sardonic eye on Charlie, who seemed blissfully unaware of his mother's ire. "Could you go on outside and check on Arthur? He's supposed to be de-gnoming the garden, but for some reason," Molly shot a suspicious glare at Fred, "I think he might be…distracted."

"Sure thing, Molly," Remus said, chuckling.

Sirius stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and followed his friend out of the house. "Mooney," he said as they stepped outside, "I've been thinking about something, and I can't be sure if I'm just being paranoid. I wonder what you think: should I be looking for a place for us to live permanently, or just keep moving round Britain until the Death Eaters are caught?"

Remus frowned thoughtfully as he scanned the Weasleys' garden for Arthur. "It does seem fair to think the Death Eaters will be looking for Harry. If they get wind that you're staying in one place, they'll certainly seek you out. Some of them are quite clever; and we can't expect them to play by any sort of rules."

"That's what I was thinking," Sirius mused. "They're slippery," he added with clear disdain, "and…well, I might be able to outwit them, in fact that might be a bit of fun, but…Harry, well. You know."

"I do," Remus said. "I think you might be on to something, though. It might be your best chance to keep him away from harm if you keep moving. Muggle communities would probably be a good idea for a while, but eventually they'll notice the pattern. We can't assume they won't find you."

"Can't stay here for long," Sirius mumbled as he stepped out into the garden, searching. He spied Arthur kneeling in the dirt near the fence off in one corner, and he seemed to be talking to someone. It was a mark of Sirius's paranoia that he was instantly on guard, even when he saw that it was a gnome the Weasley patriarch was conversing with. Remus chuckled, but Sirius spied a note of anxiety in his face, as well.

"Welcoming the new neighbors, Arthur?" Sirius asked, smirking to hide his nerves.

Arthur jumped, surprised, and turned a guilty look over his shoulder. "Ah. Sirius, Remus. Good to see you boys again. When did you arrive?"

"Not too long ago," Remus said.

Arthur gazed at them both with a searching sort of look. "The news about James and Lily…?" he murmured, ending the half-finished thought with a questioning lilt. Remus and Sirius both nodded, and the man's countenance fell. "I see." He stood up and brushed off his robes. "I'm sorry to hear that. How's Harry?"

"Fine," Sirius said. "He's meeting your two youngest at the moment. Molly's watching them. She sent us out here to check on you. Seems she's concerned about your ability to concentrate."

Arthur chuckled nervously, running a hand over his thin red hair. "Yes, well, you know. They're such fascinating creatures. We tend to think of them as having such low brain power, and yet…well, they can speak, you know, and that's a definite sign of intelligence."

"Were you carrying on a conversation with one of them, Arthur?" Remus wondered.

"I've been trying to teach this one the alphabet," Arthur proclaimed pleasantly, gesturing to a spot of dirt in the garden that was conspicuously gnome-less. He glanced down, blinked, and said, "Oh. Well, I suppose he isn't fond of strangers."

"Crying shame," Sirius muttered sardonically.

"Yes," Arthur agreed, not seeming to catch the sarcasm. He glanced up at the sky, seemed to finally realize how late in the day it was, and looked suddenly panicky. He said, "Ah…listen, boys, could you…do me a bit of a favor?"

"Need a hand?" Remus guessed, and Arthur nodded almost frantically.

Sirius chuckled, looked round the garden, and pushed up his sleeves. "Why not?" he asked no one in particular. "It's been a while since I've had some manual labor." A competitive gleam was in his eyes now, a gleam that Remus recognized. "What say, Mooney? A galleon to the one who tosses the most?"

Remus smirked. "You're on, Padfoot."

And they were off to the races like schoolchildren, treating the de-gnoming like something of a sport. Arthur did his part, but spent most of the next hour or two simply watching the younger men act like teenagers as they grunted, cursed, and heckled each other; gnomes flew this way and that, in long sweeping arcs across the garden. At one point, Sirius even threw a gnome at Remus, who caught it easily and launched it over his shoulder. By the end of it, they were laughing loudly enough to wake the dead.

Molly didn't say anything in particular when the three of them came back inside, flushed and dirty like they'd just come back from a triathlon. Nor did she comment on how late it was, or how loud they'd been out there. The only thing she said was that she expected them to wash up before dinner.

"How's Harry?" Sirius asked, still out of breath.

"He's fine," Molly said. "I've already put him to bed for the evening. The poor little dear was exhausted. Dumbledore helped me make up a bed for him in Ronnie's room before he left."

"Dumbledore was here?" Arthur asked keenly.

"Oh, yes," Molly said. "But he said he had some important business to take care of at the school. Meeting with a prospective teacher, I think."

"Mm," Arthur said, looking disappointed.

"Easy to forget school's in session," Sirius muttered, glancing up at nothing. "Feels like it's been forever since we were in school. Doesn't it?" Remus nodded. "And what have we learned? Look at us, Remus; we're just the same reckless idiots we always were."

Remus chuckled. "At least we don't have to worry about points," he said.

Two.

"You were supposed to keep her safe. That was the point behind this farce, wasn't it?"

Severus Snape had never been particularly cheerful. But since the time Albus Dumbledore had seen him last, he seemed to have aged to the point that good humor of any kind was centuries beyond him. He was twenty-one years old; he'd been at school the same years as Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. And yet he made both of them seem in the prime of springtime spirits by comparison.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, staring across it at the grieving young man who shared his space, contemplative nearly to the point of brooding. "It would seem that James and Lilly Potter"—Snape flinched violently at the sound of the surname—"put their trust in the wrong person."

"I could have told you long before now that Sirius Black was too—"

"Not Sirius Black," Dumbledore cut in. Snape looked surprised. "Peter Pettigrew, or so Sirius tells me, was the key to this. If he had been able to fulfill his duty, this would not have happened. However..."

Dumbledore trailed off.

"The Fidelius Charm," Snape guessed after a moment. He still looked perplexed, which in Snape's case also doubled as looking irritated. "Pettigrew?" he all but spat. "Could a worse candidate for such a spell have been chosen?" For his part, Dumbledore looked half-amused, half-worried at this observation. Snape sneered. "You find this funny?"

"Not at all," Dumbledore assured his disagreeable companion. "Though I hate to speak ill of someone who graduated from my house, I tend to agree that he was a poor choice for a secret-keeper. As proven most assuredly by the fact that he has…failed." The old wizard's face lost all traces of mirth. "It is for this reason that I must ask something of you, Severus."

Snape scoffed derisively. "How thoroughly like you, Dumbledore, to expect me to hold up my end of the bargain when you have so grievously failed at yours."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed. "I would remind you, Severus, that were it not for your loyalty to Lord Voldemort, the Potters would never have been placed in danger in the first place." Snape flinched again. "I do not deny my part in this, for you are correct. I did agree to protect them in exchange for your cooperation. But I will not have you placing blame solely upon my shoulders. Understand, Severus, that it was not my choosing that placed Peter Pettigrew in this position, nor was it my doing that brought about his failure."

Snape grimaced. "Very well, then. What is it you wish of me?"

"Peter Pettigrew has disappeared. We believe that he is in the custody or company of the Death Eaters. I ask you to find him. Bring him back to me. I have…questions for him." It wasn't often that the Headmaster of Hogwarts looked angered, or even mildly irritated. Now, he looked livid. Even Snape, who did not make a habit of being intimidated, felt himself stiffen with apprehension. "Neither Sirius Black nor Remus Lupin suspect that their friend turned to Voldemort willingly. I remain unconvinced. If it turns out that Peter has been spying for the Death Eaters, I do not wantyou taking matters into your own hands. Do you understand, Severus? Whether he is innocent or guilty, bring him to me."

Snape was not in a position to know the name of every soldier under Voldemort's command—none of them were. That was the entire point of the masks and hoods. Whatever part of him that remained loyal to the Dark Lord was affronted that Pettigrew—a sniveling coward from the first—could even be suspected of being a Death Eater. The rest of him realized that it wouldn't surprise him at all. Most Death Eaters, Snape reflected, were cowards; used for convenience and little else.

"I have one more request to make of you, Severus," Dumbledore said, snapping Snape out of his musings. "You know well how, and most importantly why, Lily Evans died." It did not pass Snape's notice that the old man refrained from calling her a Potter again, and wondered if he should be grateful or insulted. "Sirius Black has taken up his obligations as young Harry Potter's godfather. In whatever way you can, I ask that you help him do it."

The very air did a double-take along with Snape as he stared, open-mouthed. "You…expect me to help that arrogant little—"

"We wizards are all arrogant, from time to time," Dumbledore said; he seemed to have regained his composure. "Yes, Severus, I do. If you truly loved Lily, then you will not allow her sacrifice to be in vain. I do not expect you to speak to the man. He trusts you as little as you trust him. But you know better than I that a great number of Death Eaters will target Harry Potter. For the sake of retribution." Snape thought of Bellatrix Lestrange, and held his tongue against further complaint. "If it will make you more comfortable, perform in that capacity."

Snape sighed. "…Fine, then. I'll do it. Now, what of my request?"

"Yes," Dumbledore murmured, leaning back in his chair and lifting a sheet of parchment from his desk. "I've perused your application, Severus, and I must admit that your credentials are rather impressive." It didn't take a genius to know where this was leading, and the sallow look on Snape's face did not lessen. "However," the Headmaster continued, and wasn't that the king of all backhanded segues, "I am afraid that I have elected to fill the post for Defense Against the Dark Arts with…another."

"I see," Snape said through clenched teeth.

"But since Professor Slughorn announced his pending retirement," Dumbledore went on, "I have had some difficulty finding a replacement. I believe, given your history and…innovations in his subject, that you would be quite suited for the position. What do you say, Severus? Would you be willing to share your knowledge as a potioneer with future generations?"

Though Snape looked less than pleased—not that this was new; even as a student, he had never been fond of this office or the man who owned it—it did not take him long to answer: "Yes. I would."

"Very good," Dumbledore replied, sounding delighted. "Beginning next term, I should like you to act as Professor Slughorn's adjutant, as he will only be teaching for the remainder of this year. If you prove suited to it, as I've no doubt you will, I will hire you officially as Potions Master starting next September. I trust this will be acceptable?"

"Fine," Snape said.

He stood, and with a flourish of his black robes, Severus Snape swept out of Dumbledore's office.

There was a long period of silence.

"He'll be trouble, that one," came a particularly petulant voice from over Dumbledore's shoulder. "I'm not sure you're doing yourself any favors with him. Fickle loyalties. Far too…unpredictable."

"On the contrary, Phineas," Dumbledore said, "I find Severus to be quite predictable."