FIC: Scars, Part 8

[geri_chan]

Title: Scars, Part 8

Rating: NC-17 overall

Pairings: Snape/Lupin, Ash/Tsubasa; also a little Theodore/Blaise, Dylan/Hermione, and Aric/Takeshi

Author's note: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts; [] indicates song lyrics.

Disclaimer: Based on the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling; song lyrics are from "Scars" by Papa Roach. No money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.

Warning: AU. This story contains a character from Half-Blood Prince, but does not follow the HBP storyline.

Sequel to: Always, Summer Vacation, For Old Time's Sake, Three's a Crowd, Return of the Raven, Phoenix Reborn, Phoenix Rising, Aftermaths, The Revenant, Ash's Story, and Summer Vacation III.

Summary: The Madleys learn that their son is still alive; Laura has a difficult time in Potions class; Snape runs into Macnair's son in Diagon Alley.

Part 7a, Part 7b

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Alden Madley swore and crumpled Laura's letter in his fist while his wife burst into tears. Ethan had been trouble since the first day he had met the boy; in fact, if it hadn't been for Ethan, he would not be dealing with this problem right now. If Ethan hadn't run away from home and decided to steal a few apples from his orchard, Alden would not have taken the mischievous little boy back home, and he would never have met and married Rosalind--and he would not be sitting here right now wondering what to do about a werewolf stepson who had miraculously returned from the dead.

Alden had been so bewitched by Rosalind's beauty that he hadn't minded adopting her bastard son. Ethan had been a charming child, and Alden had actually been fond of him in an offhand way. The boy had worked beside him almost every day at the farm, and he had proven himself to be intelligent--Alden never had to explain anything to him more than once--and hardworking, and even at his young age, he had shown signs of becoming a very promising mage. Alden had even thought that he wouldn't mind making Ethan his heir and turning the farm over to him someday, if he and Rosalind didn't have any children of their own.

Until he had realized that his beloved wife didn't really love him. Alden had been besotted, but he had not taken full leave of his senses; he had known that Rosalind was not so much in love with him as she was with the prospect of escaping the guardianship of her sour old aunt. Still, he would have been content with simple gratitude and affection, and he had believed that if he was a good husband to Rosalind and a good father to her son, that she would come to love him in time.

But not only did she not love him, she wasn't even grateful that he had rescued her from exile and disgrace. She pretended to be at first, but as time went by, it became clear that she resented him and felt that she had married beneath herself by marrying a Muggle-born, even though her own blood purity was rather questionable. After all, if she had been a true pureblood, then Ethan's father probably would not have abandoned her.

Alden had thought, in a vague sort of way, that it would be nice if he and Rosalind had a child of their own, but he hadn't been particularly concerned about it until he felt his wife slipping away from him, and then that desire suddenly became more urgent. A child might bring them closer together, and if not, at least it made him equal with the pureblood lover she had borne a son to. After all, a wife owed her husband a legitimate heir.

But months and years had gone by, with no sign of a baby, and Alden had wondered if she might be secretly defying him by using a charm or potion to prevent conception. She had sworn that she wasn't, but by this point, veiled resentment had grown into outright hostility, and she had made it quite clear that she was only enduring his attentions in bed as her wifely duty, and not out of any desire or affection on her part.

And it became harder and harder for Alden to look at his stepson without seeing Rosalind's unnamed lover in his face. Aside from his hazel eyes, Ethan had not looked very much like his mother; his features were sharper, and his hair darker and straighter--all of those traits must have been inherited from his father. And soon, Alden had been unable to look at the boy without being filled with jealousy and rage.

He had vented his anger and frustration on his stepson, whose very presence had seemed like a mocking reminder of all the things that Rosalind refused to give him: her love, her loyalty, and a child of his own. But still, he had never intended to kill Ethan.

He had been very drunk that night, and had gone into a worse rage than usual when Rosalind had called him a Mudblood. He had struck Ethan with a whiskey bottle, and had not been fully aware of what he was doing until he had suddenly come to his senses and seen his stepson lying on the floor covered in blood--and then realized that he was holding the broken, bloodstained bottle in his hand.

He had realized that he had gone too far, but the boy had fled while Alden was still too stunned to stop him. He had searched for the boy the next morning, but had been unable to find him. Ethan had spent much of his childhood playing in the woods, and he had known it almost as well as the animals that lived there, which meant that it had been impossible to find him when he didn't want to be found.

Alden had grown increasingly worried when Ethan did not return home that day, nor the next, nor the day after that--not just for the boy's sake, but for his own. A few bruises could be overlooked by the townsfolk, but open gashes on a child's face and arms were much harder to ignore or explain away, and might well be brought to the attention of the authorities.

So when Ethan had fallen victim to the werewolf--or so everyone had assumed--Alden had felt horrified and guilty, but also a little relieved. The boy could not bear testimony against him if he was dead, and even if his body was found, the cuts on his face and arms could be passed off as claw or bite marks. However, the older healed burn marks on his chest might be difficult to explain away if anyone noticed them, so Alden hadn't pressed too hard for the recovery of his son's body. They had searched the woods for a couple of days, of course, because it would have been suspicious otherwise, but once it became apparent that Ethan must be dead, especially in light of the werewolf's confession, Alden had called off the search, allowing everyone to think that he would prefer to remember his son as he had been, and not have to view the boy's mangled body.

Rosalind had mourned her son's death, weeping hysterically, although she had never shown him much affection while he was alive--or perhaps that was precisely why she was mourning, out of guilt that she had not treated him better. United in mutual guilt and grief that they could share with no one else, they had called a temporary truce and consoled each other. And ironically enough, it had been then, when they weren't even trying, that they had finally conceived a child together.

Laura's birth had seemed like a miracle, a chance to start over again. Their marriage had suffered too much damage to mend completely, but they had done the best they could, treating each other with politeness, if not affection. In time, they had settled into an almost comfortable routine, living separate lives although they still shared the same house; it was certainly no worse than many arranged marriages. But Alden and Rosalind were agreed on at least one thing: they both loved their daughter and were determined to protect her.

They had made a pact that Laura should never find out about Ethan and how he had died. Completely erasing all traces that a twelve-year-old boy had ever existed would have been impossible in a big city like London, but the little town that they lived in was dependent on Alden's wealth to survive, so everyone had cooperated. And of course Rosalind's family would just as soon forget about the bastard child that had shamed them. As for Alden's family, they had accepted his explanation that any mention of Ethan caused Rosalind unbearable grief.

And then that damned senile old woman had let slip a careless remark about Ethan in front of Laura. Still, everything would have been all right if Ethan had remained dead, but now he had resurfaced, and was threatening to tear apart Alden's family.

Surely it could not be a coincidence that Ethan had "just happened" to run into Laura at Hogwarts, where he was neither a student nor a teacher. Perhaps this was his way of getting revenge upon his mother and stepfather, by turning their daughter against them. But why now, after so many years?

Maybe because Ethan was now in a position of authority at the Ministry of Magic, and thought that he was protected because he was Arthur Weasley's pet werewolf. But Alden was not going to let the werewolf destroy his family...
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When her son had died, Rosalind had wept uncontrollably, and no one--except perhaps Alden--had found it odd for a mother to grieve for her lost child. But she had wept not so much out of grief, but out of guilt that she didn't feel as much grief as she should have. Her son had always been a burden to her, and a reminder of the way that her lover had betrayed her. It was because of him that she had been disgraced and sent into exile; if she had not been saddled with a bastard child, she might have gone on to make a respectable marriage with someone else, even after her first lover left her. Instead, she'd been forced to marry a Muggle-born--a wealthy Muggle-born, to be sure, but no matter how rich he was, he would never be anything but a Mudblood in the eyes of the pureblood elite that she had so longed to be a part of.

She had resented and even hated her son for most of his life; at best, she had been cheerfully indifferent to him during the first year or two of her marriage, when she had been happy just to have her freedom. She had not protected Ethan when Alden had turned violent and began to beat him, partly because her husband's rages had frightened her, but also because a small, shameful part of her had wanted to see her son punished for the way he had ruined her life.

So when she had heard that Ethan had been killed by the werewolf, she had known that it was her fault as well as Alden's. She had felt nearly sick with guilt, and she had seen in Alden's eyes that he felt the same way--guilty that they were responsible for Ethan's death, and even more guilty for secretly feeling relieved that he was gone.

When Laura had been born, it had seemed like a chance at redemption--a chance to do things right and be a good parent this time around. Alden had cut back his drinking, and although he was a strict father, he was also a loving one, and he had never raised a hand in anger to his daughter. For Rosalind's part, she had stopped quarreling with her husband--they managed to work out a harmonious if rather impersonal truce--and she had showered her daughter with all the love and affection that she had been unable to give to her son.

But now it turned out that Ethan was not dead after all, and Rosalind was terrified that her guilt would be exposed and that Laura would hate her when she learned the truth.

"How can he be alive?" Rosalind shouted hysterically. "The Ministry told us that he was dead! Even the werewolf who attacked him said that he was dead! If he was alive, why didn't he ever come home?"

"Do you really need to ask that?" Alden asked wearily.

"It's because you nearly killed him!" Rosalind shouted accusingly. "He was probably afraid that you'd finish the job if he came back!"

"It's not as if you were a loving mother, either," Alden retorted. "I hurt him, and you failed to protect him; we're both guilty. And yes, he was afraid of me, but he was also probably afraid that we'd have him locked up if we knew that he'd been turned. Would you have wanted a monster living in your house?"

"Well, now that monster is trying to turn our daughter against us!" Rosalind cried. "What are you going to do about it, Alden?!"

"Don't worry," Alden said grimly, with such a cold but intense look of rage in his eyes that Rosalind found herself nervously backing away from him. "I will not let that werewolf poison our daughter's mind. No matter what it takes to stop him."
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The following morning, Laura Madley received a letter from home that read:

Dear Laura,

I am not convinced that this man who claims to be Ethan is really your brother, but I will investigate the matter. In the meantime, you must stay away from him, because he may be dangerous. Obviously, if he is an impostor, he is up to no good--this may be an attempt to blackmail or swindle me, or perhaps he has some other dark purpose that I cannot guess at. But even if he truly is Ethan, it is not safe for you to be near him.

One thing that he said was true: Ethan was my stepson and not my natural child, and I am sorry that I misled you about that. But I saw no reason for your mother to be shamed further by mentioning his illegitimate birth, and I did legally adopt Ethan, so it is not a lie that he was my son. I tried to be a good father to him, but he never really accepted me; I think that he was traumatized by the fact that his birth father had rejected him. When he was younger, he was manageable, but as he grew older, he became more rebellious, and he would run wild in the woods. Many times he would come back with cuts and scrapes, and he would claim that he got them when he fell out of a tree that he was climbing, but I began to suspect that he was deliberately hurting himself, especially when he came back with that horrible cut on his face.

Your mother and I realized then that he was a danger to himself, and we intended to commit him to St. Mungo's for his own good. That was what we quarreled about when he ran away from home, and that is why he was hiding in the woods when the werewolf found him. We kept quiet about it because we saw no reason to give people fodder for gossip after he was dead and beyond help. The townsfolk kept our secret out of sympathy for us, and to protect Ethan's reputation. And also to protect you, so that you would not have to learn such painful things about your brother. But I see now that perhaps it would have been better to entrust you with the truth.

If this man really is Ethan (although I have my doubts), I do not know why he would tell such lies about us. But he has always resented me for taking the place of his real father, so perhaps he wishes to hurt me, and nothing could hurt me worse than to have my own daughter turn against me. Or perhaps being attacked and turned by the werewolf traumatized him so much that he has come to believe that those lies are the truth. He was always a fanciful child, and when he was younger, he used to believe that those fairy tale stories in his books were real. I am afraid that he cast me in the role of the wicked stepfather in his fantasies. And I am afraid that he might take his hatred of me out on you.

So stay away from Ash Randolf, Laura--that's an order. I will speak to the Headmaster and make sure that he does not trouble you at the school again. When I know more, I will let you know, but for now, I want you to stay close to your dorm when you are not in class, and do not wander around the school alone.

With love,
Father
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Snape sighed a little as he stalked through the Potions classroom, observing his fifth-year Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class. The Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff classes tended to be a little boring, since the Ravenclaws rarely made mistakes, and the Hufflepuffs, while not quite as clever as the Ravenclaws, tended to be methodical and hardworking, so there was usually little excuse for Snape to take points off them, much to his disappointment. Although sometimes he could make a student nervous enough to make a mistake, which was why he was stalking through the classroom in a menacing manner, pausing every now and then to glare at random students for no particular reason. Snape was bored, and he was still irritated about yesterday's explosion, and taking a few points off some hapless student would make him feel a little better. Unfortunately, it was looking as though he would have to wait for his next Gryffindor class before he'd have an opportunity to do so.

When he paused to glare at Stewart Ackerley, his glare grew less random and more personal. The Ravenclaw boy had been part of the secret society that had played some nasty pranks on the Slytherins last year (one of which had caused serious injury to Theodore), and they had unknowingly helped the Auror Williamson to stir up fear and resentment against the werewolves as well. Softhearted Lupin had forgiven the boy because he had been emotionally distraught due to his father being killed during the final battle with the Death Eaters, but Snape was not so forgiving. However, Ackerley had lost all of his former insolence, and remained meek and penitent even in the face of Snape's most biting insults, and he was working on his Strengthening Potion carefully and efficiently, making no mistakes and thus giving Snape no excuse to take points off him.

Snape breathed a small sigh of disappointment, then moved on to look for another potential victim. He frowned as his gaze fell upon Laura Madley, who looked wan and listless. She looked even worse than she had yesterday, and he wondered if she really was ill, after all. Or maybe it was just more teenage foolishness; she had received a letter by owl this morning at breakfast, and had burst into tears and rushed out of the Great Hall after reading it. Maybe she was just carrying on over a breakup with a boyfriend or something equally silly.

Snape's attention was temporarily distracted by Owen Cauldwell, who was whispering something to Kevin Whitby. Snape eagerly pounced on his victims (figuratively speaking), and asked pointedly, "Is there something you would like to share with the class, Mr. Cauldwell, Mr. Whitby?"

"N-no, sir," Cauldwell stammered, and Whitby vigorously shook his head.

Snape's hearing wasn't as keen as Lupin's, but he thought he had caught a mention of the name "Laura"; maybe Cauldwell was the author of the letter and the cause of Miss Madley's distress. "Then perhaps you could discuss your little romances outside of class, Mr. Cauldwell, fascinating though they might be," Snape said sarcastically, and the boy blushed.

"It's not like that, Professor," Cauldwell protested. "I was just saying that Laura doesn't look so good, and that maybe she should go to the hospital wing."

"Five points from Hufflepuff for talking back to a teacher," Snape said automatically, but he turned back to look at Miss Madley, just in time to see her pour a vial of salamander blood into her cauldron. That was exactly what the students were supposed to be doing at this stage of the potion-brewing process, but the girl was still half-dazed, and some of the blood spilled down the side of the cauldron, dripping into the fire below that was heating it.

Snape immediately forgot about tormenting the Hufflepuff boys and reached for his wand in alarm. Salamander blood was normally safe to handle, but was volatile when it came into direct contact with flames. 

A shower of sparks and glowing red beads of liquid sprayed out from beneath the cauldron, shooting off in all directions as the students squealed and shrieked in surprise and fear. Some of the sparks flew into the open stores cupboard, igniting the more flammable potion ingredients; Snape quickly extinguished the fire, but not before losing a good portion of his dried herbs and roots. Meanwhile, Rose Zeller threw herself over Miss Madley, knocking her to the floor, which saved her from being burned by a shower of sparks that would have struck her in the face if she had still been standing. Cauldwell wasn't so lucky; a droplet of heated salamander blood landed on his sleeve, which immediately began to burn.

"I'm on fire!" he shouted in a panicky voice, trying to beat out the smoldering spot on his sleeve with his bare hand, then he yelped in pain and quickly drew his hand back. Whitby was a little more sensible (although to be fair, he wasn't the one on fire), and doused the fire by pouring a beaker of water over it.

Ackerley acted almost immediately and whipped out his wand, shouting, "Congelo!" A blast of icy-cold air shot out from his wand, and the sparks in its path sputtered and fizzled out, while the droplets of blood turned white with frost, hung in the air for a moment, and then fell to the floor with a clatter.

Snape made a mental note to thank Flitwick for teaching his students the Freezing Charm, then quickly dealt with the remaining sparks and blood droplets. It took longer to calm down the students, but when the commotion finally died down, it turned out that no one had been seriously injured. Cauldwell and a couple of other students had suffered mild burns that could be treated with a bit of Burn-Healing Paste. This was due, in part, to Ackerley's quick thinking.

Snape scowled viciously at the boy, then grudgingly said, "Five points to Ravenclaw, Ackerley."

"Thank you, sir," Ackerley said nervously.

"And as for you, Miss Madley," Snape snarled, "thirty points from Hufflepuff for your carelessness! You will also report for detention afterschool, but for the time being, get out of my classroom and don't come back until you're no longer a danger to yourself and your classmates!"

"I'm sorry, Professor," Miss Madley said tearfully, then ran out of the room, sobbing.

"And where do you think you're going, Miss Zeller?" Snape asked as the other girl started to follow after her friend.

"I just need to make sure Laura's all right," she protested.

"She did not appear to be physically injured," Snape said coldly. "You will remain here and work on your potion until class is dismissed. And since that little fireworks display cost you precious time, you had all better hurry and get back to work, or you won't finish your potions before class is over."

"What about us?" Cauldwell whined. "Shouldn't we go to the hospital wing?"

"Your wounds are hardly fatal, Mr. Cauldwell," Snape said heartlessly, but he waved his wand, and one of his desk drawers popped open and a jar of Burn-Healing Paste floated over and landed on Cauldwell's desk. "Apply some paste to your burns and get back to work, unless you prefer to take a failing grade on your potion."

Cauldwell and the other wounded students obeyed him, grumbling a little under their breaths, and the rest of the lesson passed without incident. Snape sourly thought to himself that he should be careful about what he wished for in the future; he'd wanted an opportunity to deduct points from his students, but he wasn't so pleased about nearly having his classroom set on fire, especially after the incident with the exploding cauldron just the day before.

He wondered if he ought to be concerned about Laura Madley, who had been behaving in a most uncharacteristic manner recently. Then he shrugged it off; she was a Hufflepuff, so she was Sprout's concern, not his. Besides, it was probably nothing. She was at the age when teenage hormones started running rampant, causing teenage emotions and libidos to run wild: an unrequited crush or a simple romance became the stuff of high drama to students her age, as Snape knew from personal experience. He had been about her age when he had fallen in love, and then in hate, with Lupin.

Then his first-year Gryffindor/Slytherin class entered the room, and Snape dismissed Laura Madley from his mind. He smiled gleefully; there were several incompetent and insolent students among the young Gryffindors--although none as incompetent as Longbottom or insolent as Potter--and there should be ample opportunity for him to deduct points and assign detentions.

"I hope you all studied those chapters in your textbook that I told you to read, because we are having a surprise quiz today," Snape announced and his smile grew a little wider as the students groaned in chorus. Yes, things were definitely looking up...
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That same morning, Ash stumbled into the Minister of Magic's office and helped himself to a cup of espresso from the machine he had set up for Arthur. He was pale, and his eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles beneath them.

"Good Lord, man!" Arthur exclaimed. "Are you all right? You look like death warmed over!"

"I just have a hangover," Ash muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Ah, to be young again," Arthur chuckled indulgently. "But perhaps you should cut back on the partying, Ash."

Ash sighed and headed to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. He couldn't tell Arthur that he hadn't been partying, but had gotten drunk in an unsuccessful attempt to blot out the painful memories of his childhood that his newly-discovered half-sister had stirred up. It was the same reason why he hadn't sought a hangover potion from Takeshi.

Perkins, the department head, was already there, waiting to go over the latest batch of tips and complaints with him.

"A neighbor wrote to complain about Otto Bagman," Perkins said, holding up a letter.

"Otto Bagman," Ash said, trying to recall why that name sounded familiar--a process not aided by the throbbing pain in his head. "Ah, right...there was some trouble in the past with an enchanted lawnmower, right?"

"This time it's a flying vacuum cleaner," Perkins sighed. "Bagman's claiming that it should fall under the 'broom' category because they're both cleaning devices."

"Is there an actual rule against it?" Ash asked. He had a book listing all the rules and regulations regarding Muggle artifacts, but it was a very thick book, and he hadn't had time to memorize them all yet.

"Not exactly," Perkins replied. "It seems to be an oversight or a loophole. But he could still be charged with threatening the safety of the wizarding world for flying it where Muggles might be able to see him. None have yet, but that's more due to good luck than Bagman's discretion."

"The usual procedure would be to confiscate the item and fine him, right?" Ash asked.

"Yes, but that hasn't been much of a deterrent in the past," Perkins said, frowning. "Of course, his brother used to be a prominent Ministry official, so he was used to having Ludo smooth things over for him." He hesitated, then added, "I was hoping that you could, well, have a talk with him..."

Ash grinned in spite of his hangover. "You want me to intimidate him, maybe growl a little and show my fangs?"

"Well, I wouldn't have phrased it exactly like that," Perkins said sheepishly. "But essentially...yes."

"Fine," Ash said, taking a gulp of espresso. At least with his hangover, it wouldn't take much acting for him to growl at Bagman. It would be a relief to be able to vent his bad mood on someone. "So what else is on the agenda?"

"Well--" Perkins started to reply, but before he got a chance to finish, someone burst into the office, slamming the door open so hard that it bounced off the wall. "Excuse me!" Perkins said indignantly. "It's customary--or at least courteous--to knock before entering a room!"

Ash's face turned white and the coffee mug fell from his hand and shattered on the floor; he barely noticed when the hot liquid splashed on his legs. "Father," he whispered.

"Father?!" Perkins exclaimed in surprise.

"Don't call me that, you little bastard," Alden Madley hissed, ignoring Perkins.

"And to what do I owe the honor of your presence after so many years, Stepfather?" Ash snarled, his upper lip curling up in a sneer to expose his sharp teeth.

"You know damn well why I'm here!" Madley retorted. "I want you to stay away from my daughter! How dare you try to poison her with your lies!"

"Lies?!" Ash shouted. "Every word that I told her was the truth and you know it! But if you want to keep your precious daughter away from the big bad werewolf, that's fine with me! I already told her that I want nothing to do with any of you!"

"You sought Laura out," Madley accused. "You're trying to turn her against her own parents in order to get revenge on us!"

"I had no idea that she even existed!" Ash protested. "It was she who sought me out, not the other way around!"

"I don't believe you!"

"I don't care what you believe, dear Father," Ash sneered.

Madley grabbed at Ash's robes, shouting, "You stay away from my daughter or I'll--"

"Or you'll what?" Ash snarled, effortlessly pushing his stepfather away and shoving him up against the wall. Madley stared at him in shock, fear beginning to replace the anger on his face. "That's right, Father," Ash growled, putting a sarcastic emphasis on the word "Father". "I'm no longer the child that you used to torture and bully. I'm a grown man, old enough to defend myself, and thanks to you, I'm also a werewolf. I'm not afraid of you anymore, Father. If anything, you ought to be afraid of me."

"Is everything all right in here?" an anxious voice called out. It was Eric Munch, the Ministry watchwizard. There were also a number of curious Ministry workers crowding around the doorway behind him.

"Mr. Madley and I had a little disagreement, but everything is fine now," Ash said with a smile that bared all his teeth and was more threatening than reassuring. The crowd in the doorway, including Munch, all took a step backwards. "In fact, Mr. Madley was just leaving."

He released his stepfather, who brushed off his robes and tried to regain his dignity. "This isn't over," Madley hissed softly, then stalked out of the room, brushing past the curious onlookers and ignoring their shouted questions.

"What was all that about?" Munch asked, then took another step backwards when Ash gave him another menacing grin.

"Nothing at all; just a little disagreement about department policy," Ash said sweetly. "Your vigilance is appreciated, Mr. Munch, but as you can see, your presence here is no longer required."

Everyone was obviously curious about the "disagreement," but just as obviously, no one wanted to question an angry werewolf about it. The crowd, including the watchwizard, slowly backed away and Ash closed the door in their faces.

"Let's get back to work, shall we?" Ash said to Perkins.

"Ah...of course," the old wizard said, smiling nervously.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Rita Skeeter was sitting in Fortescue's with her photographer Bozo, trying to console herself with a hot-fudge sundae. "No wars, no werewolf rampages, no weddings, no scandalous affairs," Rita said mournfully. "Things have been disgustingly quiet and peaceful for the past few months."
 
"Narcissa Malfoy--I mean, Narcissa Diggory--should be having her half-werewolf baby in a couple of months," Bozo said, slurping down a root-beer float. "That should be good for an article or two."

"I can't wait that long!" Rita snapped, tapping her spoon impatiently against the sundae dish. "The editor's already getting on my case because I haven't come up with a juicy scoop since Narcissa's wedding. I'll be fired if I don't come up with something soon--and that means you'll be out of work, too, Bozo!"

Bozo did not seem particularly concerned about that prospect, but he suggested, "How about an article on Snape's romance with the werewolf?"

"Old news," Rita said dismissively. "If I could get them to give me an interview, that might be worth something, but the last time I tried, Snape threatened to turn me into a toad."

"Well, then you could write an article about him practicing unlawful Dark Magic," Bozo said with a grin.

"That would be fine, except that I might have a difficult time writing as a toad," Rita retorted, glaring at him.

Bozo glanced over at the next table, where a young woman was reading Ariel Zoltaire's latest novel, "By the Light of the Moon," while she ate her ice cream. "How about an interview with that author Zoltaire, then?" he suggested. "I hear that book is the top-selling title at Flourish and Blotts right now."

"That would do as a bit of filler until something else comes along," Rita said morosely. "Except that Zoltaire's true identity is a secret. He or she never makes public appearances or gives interviews." Then her expression brightened. "But maybe I could conduct the interview by owl; that way the author could remain anonymous. That would actually be a pretty good scoop--an exclusive interview with a famous, reclusive author."

Rita was making plans to contact Zoltaire's publisher when a group of clerks from the Ministry walked into the ice cream parlor. "So did you hear?" one of them whispered excitedly as they walked past Rita's table.

"No, what?"

"You didn't hear what happened between Alden Madley and the werewolf? They were shouting so loudly that I thought everyone in the Ministry heard them!"

"Excuse me, Bozo," Rita said in a syrupy-sweet voice as she rose from her seat. "I've got to visit the little girl's room."

The Ministry clerks never noticed when a large black beetle crawled out from under the restroom door and hid itself beneath their table. They finished their gossiping at about the same time that they finished their ice cream, then paid their bill and left. The beetle made its way back to the restroom, and a few moments later, Rita Skeeter emerged.

"Forget about Zoltaire," she told Bozo, her eyes shining with excitement behind her jeweled spectacles. "I have a much more juicy scoop, one that will make front-page headlines! But first, we need to find out everything we can about Alden Madley and Ash Randolf..."
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After school let out for the day, Snape turned Laura Madley over to Filch for detention. He had intended to supervise her detention himself, but changed his mind and decided to go to Diagon Alley to replace the potion ingredients that had been destroyed by the salamander blood mishap. Hermione Granger, Mr. Jigger's new apprentice, cheerfully gathered the ingredients together and asked, "And how are things going at Hogwarts, Professor?"

"Well, on one hand, some silly Hufflepuff girl tried to set my classroom on fire," Snape replied in a dry voice. "But on the other, I was able to take a total of fifty points from Gryffindor today, so I suppose it was not a complete disaster."

Granger just laughed and handed him his purchases, saying, "Give my regards to Professor Lupin and Dylan."

As long as he was in Diagon Alley, Snape decided to visit Flourish and Blotts to see if they had any new Potions books in, and stop by the bakery to pick up some pastries. Along the way, he happened to pass by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and was somewhat taken aback when a little girl walked out of the shop with her mother, carrying a little pink ball of fluff that was purring contentedly.

"Thanks and come again!" Fred Weasley called out from the doorway of the shop. Then he spotted Snape and said, "Oh, hello, Professor. I don't suppose I could interest you in a Pygmy Puff?"

"A what?" Snape asked.

Fred smiled proudly. "Our newest product. It's extremely popular; we can't breed them fast enough." He motioned Snape into the shop and showed him a large cage filled with similar fluff balls, in purple as well as pink. "They're actually miniature puffskeins," Fred explained. "They make very good pets; they're affectionate, easy to care for, and will eat almost anything."

Snape regarded both the fluff balls and Fred sourly, and George Weasley added, "Well, I don't suppose that you'd be interested in a pet, Professor Snape, but maybe Professor Lupin might like one?"

"Lupin already has a rat and a dog; he doesn't need another pet," Snape grumbled. "Besides, the dog could eat that thing in one bite." Then he regarded the Pygmy Puffs with more interest and asked, "I don't suppose that they have any use as potion ingredients?"

"None that I know of," Fred replied, looking appalled. "I mean, none at all! Well, Professor, you must be in a hurry to get back to Hogwarts; I apologize for taking up so much of your time. Give my best to Professor Lupin!"

Snape allowed the Weasley twins to usher him out of the shop, and he continued on his way, chuckling to himself wickedly. But he would have to keep Lupin away from the shop for awhile, at least until the Pygmy Puff craze died down; it would be just like the idiot werewolf to want to buy one or more of the little creatures. The dog was bad enough, but Snape was not going to tolerate a pink or purple fluff ball living in his dungeon quarters! It was simply inappropriate for a Slytherin, former Death Eater, and Dark Wizard to have a cute and cuddly pet. A sinister familiar, perhaps--a snake or raven or black cat--but certainly not a pink Pygmy Puff! But he had no doubt that those things would be turning up at the school soon--Hogwarts policy permitted students to bring only an owl, rat, cat, or toad familiar, but the little puffballs were small enough to smuggled into the school in a bookbag or even a pocket. Snape sourly thought to himself that if any of the things got loose, he really would dissect them and see if he could find a way to use them in a potion...

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he wasn't watching where he was going, and nearly bumped into a passing pedestrian. He was about to say, "Excuse me," when he recognized the person--a dark-haired young man who would have been handsome if not for the bitter sneer on his face.

"It's been a long time, Professor Snape," Warren Macnair said.

"Mr. Macnair," Snape said, nodding curtly at his former student. "Do you have business in Diagon Alley?"

"I went to see one of my father's old friends about a job," Warren replied. "Only he has conveniently forgotten all the favors that Father did for him in the past, and says that his business would suffer if he hired the son of a Death Eater." He shrugged. "I knew that it would be a waste of time, but I thought that the Aurors were probably getting bored just sitting outside my house all day, so I thought I should give them a little exercise." He glanced down the street; Snape saw no one there, but he had no doubt that there were a couple of Aurors following Warren at a discreet distance--although not discreet enough, apparently.

"Did you get your Auror friends to set their hounds on me, Professor?" Warren asked with a bitter smile. "Did you ask them to harass my sister at work? Wasn't betraying my father enough for you, or are you determined to ruin his entire family as well?"

"First of all, I do not consider any of the Aurors to be my 'friends,'" Snape replied testily. "And no, I did not tell them to follow you or harass your sister. I had no idea that Imogen was even working at the museum until the Aurors asked me about it. And just for your information, the reason why they're simply following you and haven't thrown you in Azkaban is because I told them that you and Imogen were not Death Eaters and never took the Mark."

"Even if that's true, do you expect me to be grateful to you, Snape?" Warren snarled. "You betrayed your Master and your comrades--"

"I chose the winning side," Snape interrupted coldly; he knew that Warren would never believe the real reasons why he had turned spy for Dumbledore, nor did he care to share anything that personal with him. "If your father was wise, he would have done the same. And spare me the speech about betraying my Master; if your father had truly been loyal to the Dark Lord, he would have had you and your sister remain in England and take the Dark Mark instead of sending you into hiding in Europe. In that, at least, he was wise. Otherwise you and Imogen would be in prison right now at best, or if you were less lucky, slain by Aurors or sacrificed and drained dry to feed your precious Master's powers, the way he did to Marta Nott."

The young man seethed and spluttered, but was unable to come up with a retort, probably because he knew that Snape was right. And Snape did feel a small amount of sympathy for Warren and Imogen, who were facing the same kind of prejudice that Theodore and Draco and the other Death Eaters' children had suffered.

"Your father and I chose to fight on opposite sides of the war," Snape told Warren. "But I have nothing against you or your sister. You were a good Potions student, Warren, so if you wish, I will recommend you as an apprentice to one of my colleagues in Europe or America." It was not solely out of sympathy that he made that offer. Snape was afraid that if Warren's bitterness and resentment were left to fester, eventually the Aurors' fears would come true and he would try to avenge his father. The Aurors would then have to apprehend him, and it was likely that people would be killed in the process--most likely Warren himself, and he was skilled enough in the Dark Arts that he would probably take an Auror or two with him. Snape had no particular liking for Warren, but he had already seen enough death to last him a lifetime. A good many of his former schoolmates, friends and enemies among them, were dead: the Potters, Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Rosier and Wilkes, and Lucius Malfoy, just to name a few. He had no wish to see one of his former students die as well. Snape did not by any means think that Warren would be grateful even if he did accept Snape's offer to find him a job, but it might keep his resentment from turning murderous. A man with nothing to lose was very dangerous, but a man with a job and status in society to protect would behave a little more circumspectly. He might still plot against his enemies, but he would be much more likely to restrain himself to non-lethal political maneuvering instead of murdering people with Forbidden Curses.
 
"Are you trying to ease your guilty conscience, Snape?" Warren sneered. "I don't need or want your charity!"

"I feel no guilt for what I have done," Snape retorted. "Voldemort was an insane megalomaniac who felt no loyalty towards his Death Eaters; he killed two of the Lestranges, his most loyal followers."

"Then why would you offer to help me?" Warren demanded.

Snape knew Warren would not believe an answer that wasn't self-serving, so he replied, "I was your teacher and Head of House. A certain amount of suspicion would fall on me if you went rogue. The Aurors still do not trust me even though I fought on their side."

"Reviled by both sides, eh, Snape?" Warren laughed.

"I don't lose any sleep over it," Snape said coolly. "I care little for the opinion of my former comrades, and even less for that of the Aurors. Accept my offer or not as you like, Mr. Macnair, but remember this: there are times when you must set aside your pride if you wish to survive." Warren said nothing, but just glared at him silently. Snape shrugged and said, "Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind," and walked away.
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"Can you believe the nerve of that man?" Warren fumed to his sister later that evening over dinner. "He betrays his comrades, then turns around and offers to find me an apprenticeship, like tossing a bone to a stray dog! As if I want his charity!"

"But Professor Snape never seemed like the charitable sort," Imogen said thoughtfully.

"Oh, who knows?" Warren said, throwing his hands up in disgust. "I never thought that he was the sort to fall in love with a werewolf, either! Maybe love has addled his wits."

"It hasn't addled them that much," Imogen pointed out. "He avoided being killed or imprisoned like the other Death Eaters--"

"Because he betrayed them!" Warren interrupted.

"--and retained his position at Hogwarts," Imogen continued calmly. "He'll probably become Deputy Headmaster when Dumbledore finally retires. And he regained his position as Lord of the Snape family. I admit that his affair with the werewolf is inexplicable, but clearly it hasn't affected his Slytherin sense of ambition. He must want something from us--perhaps simply for us to feel beholden to him, in order to collect some favor in the future. It is true that we are disgraced, but we are still one of the old and noble pureblood families, and we will find a way to rise to power again."

"Well, I will never indebt myself to that blood traitor!" Warren shouted, banging his fist on the table.

To his surprise, Imogen said, "Don't dismiss the idea out of hand, my brother. It might not be a bad thing to leave England for a few years. By that time, some of the anti-Death Eater sentiment might have died down, and as an experienced potion-brewer, you may be able to find a position worthy of your skill and rank. And it might help remove some of the stigma of our disgrace to temporarily ally ourselves with the Snape family."

"Ally ourselves with the man who betrayed our father?" Warren asked in horror and disbelief.

"To use him, as he seeks to use us," Imogen corrected him. "Maybe we can even find a way to betray him someday, and pay him back for the way that he betrayed Father."

"Well, I see your point," Warren said reluctantly. "But I don't like the idea of having to even pretend to be grateful to that greasy-haired bastard."

"Let us ask Father's opinion when we go to visit him tomorrow," Imogen said.

"Very well," Warren agreed. "If Father thinks that I should accept Snape's offer, then I will abide by his wishes, as little as I like the idea."

Part 9