FIC: For Old Time's Sake, Part 2 of 5

[geri_chan]

Title: For Old Time's Sake, Part 2 of 5
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Word count: ~10,150
Disclaimer: No money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
Warning: AU
Author's note: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts
Sequel to: Always (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6), Summer Vacation (Part 1, Part 2)

Summary: The presence of Evan Rosier's son at Hogwarts brings back disturbing memories for Snape.

Part 1

***

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were standing on platform nine and three-quarters. As they waited for the Hogwarts Express to arrive, they happened to notice a boy about their age standing a few yards away from them, saying goodbye to his family. He was tall and fair-skinned, with gray eyes and shoulder-length black hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. He was embracing an elderly wizard who had long gray hair and an equally long beard. The beard and the kindly look in the old wizard's eyes reminded them a little of Dumbledore.

"I will miss you, Dylan," said the old wizard. "But I am happy for you as well. I am not so old that I cannot remember what a great adventure it was, attending school at Hogwarts! I am sure you will get into mischief, as boys do, but make sure to work hard as well, and bring honor to us and to your mother."

"Yes, Great-Uncle Math," Dylan said. "I promise won't let you down."

A beautiful young woman standing next to them laughed and held her arms open. "Come give me a hug before you go, Dylan, but don't you dare call me 'Great-Aunt'!" She had long dark hair and blue eyes, and looked to be about the same age as Sirius and Professor Lupin.

"Yes, Aunt Goewin," the boy said with a grin, and gave her the hug she requested. "Give my love to Mother."

"I will, dear," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, and don't forget to write!"

"Yes, Aunt Goewin," Dylan said dutifully.

"Did you hear that?" Ron hissed incredulously. "Is that beautiful woman really married to that old geezer?!"

"Shhh!" Hermione said. "They might hear you! And anyway, it's none of your business!"

"I wonder who he is?" Harry said curiously. "He looks like he's about our age, but I've never seen him before. I suppose he might be younger than us, but he's too old to be a first-year."

Hermione looked at the boy again. "You're right; I don't recognize him either."

"Who's THAT?" exclaimed an eager voice behind them. It was their classmate, Parvati Patil.

"He's so handsome," sighed her twin sister Padma.

"We don't recognize him, either," said Hermione.

"He's too old to be a first-year," said Parvati.

"Maybe he's transferring from a different school?" suggested Harry.

"No one enters Hogwarts after the first year," Parvati said, a shocked look on her face. "It just isn't done!"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, there's only one way to find out," she said. The boy's aunt and uncle were gone, leaving him standing alone on the platform, except for a small brown-and-white barn owl in a cage at his feet. He opened the cage and let bird fly out and perch on his shoulder. Hermione walked up to the boy as Parvati and Padma squealed in shock. "Hello," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

The boy gave her a friendly smile. "Pleased to meet you, Hermione. I'm Dylan Rosier," he said, shaking her hand. He spoke in a slight accent that gave his voice a pleasant, almost musical lilt. He wore a black Hogwarts robe, but wasn't wearing the colors of any particular House. "And this is Blodwen," he added, motioning to his owl.

"Hello, Blodwen," said Hermione. She heard a mew, and something furry brushed against her leg. "This is Crookshanks."

"Hello, Crookshanks." Dylan knelt down and reached out to pet the cat, but Crookshanks hissed and gave him a suspicious look.

"Sorry," said Hermione, looking embarrassed. "He's not usually like that..."

Dylan just laughed as he stood up again. "It's all right, cats are very temperamental. They only say hello when they want, to whom they want."

Hermione smiled, relieved that he wasn't offended. "I don't mean to be rude, but I've never seen you at Hogwarts before..."

"And I'm too old to be a first-year," Dylan finished. "My family situation is a bit...complicated. I was tutored at home up until now, but I'll be entering Hogwarts as a third-year student, although technically it's my first year here."

"Oh," said Hermione. "I see." She didn't really see, but was too polite to press for more information. "I'm a fourth-year," she said, a little disappointed that the boy wasn't going to be sharing classes with them. "You've still to be sorted into a House, then?" He nodded. "I'm in Gryffindor; perhaps you'll join our House."

Dylan smiled, looking amused. "Perhaps. But perhaps not. My mother was a Ravenclaw, and my father--"

Parvati, with Padma in tow, had drifted up and said in exaggerated surprise, "Why hello, Hermione! Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?"

Hermione forced herself not to roll her eyes, and said politely, "Dylan, this is Parvati Patil, my housemate, and her sister Padma. Parvati, Padma, this is Dylan Rosier."

The girls blushed and fluttered their eyelashes at Dylan as he turned his charming smile on them and shook their hands. Hermione shook her head slightly, disgusted with the girls for acting so silly, and saw that Harry and Ron had come over as well. When Padma reluctantly let go of Dylan's hand, Hermione said, "Dylan, these are my friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

Dylan's eyes went wide, and Harry grimaced; he was used to receiving that reaction from strangers, but he still didn't like it. But the boy quickly composed himself and extended his hand politely, if a bit cautiously, and said, "I'm Dylan Rosier."

"Hi," said Harry, shaking the other boy's hand. "Nice to meet you."

Dylan extended his hand to Ron, who just ignored it and scowled at him.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed in outrage, but Dylan didn't seem to be particularly perturbed. He just gave Ron a cool, appraising look.

Just then, the train pulled up. Hermione glared at Ron, then asked, "Would you like to share a compartment with us?" in an attempt to make up for Ron's rudeness.

Dylan smiled. "Thank you, Hermione," he said politely. "But I think perhaps it would be better if I didn't." His eyes slid over to Ron, who was still scowling at him unrepentantly. "I'll see you at school. It was nice meeting all of you."

Padma and Parvati looked like they both wanted to strangle Ron, and started to go after Dylan as he turned away, but just then Draco Malfoy and his cronies sauntered up to him. "Are you Dylan Rosier?" Malfoy asked in his usual imperious way.

"Yes."

"I'm Draco Malfoy, and this is Crabbe and Goyle. Our fathers went to school together."

"Yes," said Dylan quietly. "My mother has told me a great deal about your father."

"Well, my dad asked me to look after you," continued Draco, slipping an arm around Dylan's shoulders. "And a good thing too! You don't want to be caught hanging around with the riffraff," he said, sneering at Harry and his friends.

"Why you--" Ron began angrily, but Malfoy was already walking away and stepping aboard the train. Dylan followed Malfoy without resistance, but he threw Hermione and the others a quick smile and a wink over his shoulder when Malfoy wasn't looking.

"I can't believe you were so rude, Ron Weasley!" said Hermione as they boarded the train.

"I can't believe YOU were chatting up the son of a Death Eater!" retorted Ron.

"What?!" squealed Padma and Parvati.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"There was a Death Eater named Rosier who was killed during the war shortly before You-Know-Who fell. I'm pretty sure your precious Dylan is his son."

"Maybe it's not the same Rosier," said Parvati hopefully.

"How can it be?" Hermione said impatiently. "Dylan said he's entering as a third-year, so that makes him about thirteen--"

"Too bad he's younger than us," said Parvati, pouting slightly.

"There's nothing wrong with younger men!" giggled Padma.

"--and Harry was only a baby when..." Hermione hesitated, as Harry's eyes clouded. "When all that happened. Surely Dylan's too young to be that other Rosier's son."

"I heard Mum and Dad talking one night when they thought we kids were asleep," said Ron. "The Rosier who got killed, he left behind a pregnant girlfriend, some Ravenclaw girl--"

"Dylan said his mother was a Ravenclaw," said Hermione slowly.

"So the Death Eater Rosier died before his son was born," Ron finished.

"How tragic," sighed Parvati dramatically.

Ron gave her a disgusted look. "I was wondering why they were talking about old history," he said. "They must've heard that his son was going to be entering Hogwarts this year. Did he say why he's only entering school now?"

"He said...he said his family situation was complicated," Hermione said, sounding worried. "But that doesn't necessarily mean--"

Ron snorted. "They probably wouldn't let him into the school 'cause of who his dad was. I wonder why Dumbledore changed his mind."

"But that's not really fair, is it?" protested Hermione. "I mean, it's not his fault if his dad was a criminal! He wasn't even born when that happened." Parvati and Padma nodded in agreement.

Harry looked troubled and said, "I wouldn't want people judging me by my relatives--look at the Dursleys! But on the other hand, look at Draco--he's turned out just as rotten as his father!"

"But Dylan never knew his father, poor thing!" said Parvati. "So maybe he's turned out okay."

"I hope he ends up in Ravenclaw!" said Padma eagerly. "After all, you said his mother was a Ravenclaw, right, Hermione?"

"He'll wind up in Slytherin," Ron said darkly. "Mark my words!"

***

Ron was right. Dylan was sorted along with the first-years, and the hat paused briefly before shouting, "SLYTHERIN!" Malfoy welcomed him to the Slytherin table with a smug smile, and Parvati sighed in disappointment.

"Too bad," said Harry. "He seemed a like a decent sort."

"Well, maybe he still is," Hermione said a little dubiously; the Slytherins were for the most part a pretty disagreeable lot, but it was only fair to give him the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise.

"Oh, come on!" snorted Ron. "Can you name even one Slytherin who's not mean, stupid, or both?"

However, they soon forgot about the new student in all the excitement that followed Mad-Eye Moody's arrival and the Headmaster's announcement about the Triwizard Tournament. Thus, none of them saw Dylan's face when Moody entered the hall: his face turned white and his gray eyes narrowed as he stared intently at Moody, as if trying to burn that image--the image of the man who killed his father--into his mind. Then Malfoy cracked a joke, and Dylan's features quickly rearranged themselves into a polite mask of respectful attentiveness, and he laughed at Draco's joke. It all happened so quickly that not even the Slytherin children sitting at the table with him seemed to notice.

But Snape, from his seat at the staff table, did. And it disturbed him deeply, perhaps because he used to wear that same mask around Draco Malfoy's father. He remembered how careful he had been never to let that mask slip around his housemates, and he wondered what secrets Dylan Rosier might be hiding...

As soon as Dumbledore dismissed the students, Snape rose from his seat--he felt no desire to linger at the table, not with Moody rolling that blue eye in his direction--and swept by the Slytherin table. Without breaking stride, he said, "I wish to see you in my office, Mr. Rosier."

He heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back followed by footsteps as the boy hastened to catch up with him, ignoring his housemates' calls of, "Better you than me, mate," "What did you do to get in trouble your first day, Rosier?" and "Don't worry, we'll give you a splendid funeral!" That was, come to think of it, the sort of thing Snape and his housemates would say to each other whenever Blackmore summoned one of them into her office for punishment. It rather pleased him to be thought of as intimidating as his old Professor. However, Snape and his friends would never have dared to say such things within Blackmore's hearing, and he frowned, resolving to be more strict with his students from now on. One couldn't really be considered intimidating unless the children quivered in fear at the mere thought of his displeasure, after all.

Fortunately for Dylan, he was staring at his teacher's back and couldn't see the smile spreading across Snape's face, or he would have felt more nervous than he already was.

***

Snape sat behind his desk and motioned for the boy to take a seat. He did, watching Snape warily. His face was still arranged in that polite mask, but he looked a little pale, and his gray eyes were anxious. "Oh, don't look at me that way, boy!" Snape said irritably. "I just wanted to talk to you in private before classes started." He wondered what the students--and Ariane--had told Dylan about him.

"Yes, sir," said Dylan, relaxing slightly. "I'm glad to have the chance to talk to you. I wanted to thank you for speaking on my behalf, and helping me get admitted to Hogwarts. My mother sends her regards as well."

The boy's tone was as respectful as one could wish, but something about it bothered Snape slightly. He seemed just a little too smooth and self-possessed for a thirteen-year old boy who had grown up in isolation. Then again, Ariane had always carried herself with an air of dignity bordering on arrogance, so perhaps he had learned it from his mother. Well, it was too late to change his mind now; the boy was enrolled at Hogwarts, for good or for ill, and Snape would have to keep a close eye on him. Aloud, he said, "Many of the staff members and governors had reservations about admitting you, Mr. Rosier; if you truly wish to thank me, you may do so by proving me right and them wrong."

"Yes, Professor Snape. I'm very grateful to you, and I promise I won't let you down."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Snape. "But I must warn you to be very careful. No doubt some of the other boys will try to lead you into mischief on occasion, particularly Mr. Malfoy. Our Headmaster is rather lenient, and believes that a certain amount of...youthful exuberance..." Snape mouth twisted in distaste as they formed those words. "...is to be expected. But what applies to other students does not necessarily apply to you--you are here only on sufferance, and what might be dismissed as a harmless prank in another student could get you expelled. It may not be fair, but that is the way things are. Do you understand me, Mr. Rosier?"

"Yes, Professor Snape," Dylan said quietly. "I will be careful. My mother, and my aunt and uncle have already advised me so as well. I do not wish to bring shame upon my family, particularly my mother, who has suffered so much already."

Snape was relieved to see a hint of genuine emotion in the boy's eyes. "Good. One more thing--you must be even more careful around Professor Moody." He saw the boy tense, and Dylan could not quite keep the hatred from showing in his gray eyes. "No matter how you feel, you must not give him any reason--any excuse--to find fault with you. Moody is, to be quite frank, extremely paranoid and will see Dark Magic in the smallest hex, particularly coming from you. He will have you expelled or worse on the slightest pretext, considering who your father was."

"Yes, Professor," Dylan said through gritted teeth. "Mother has already warned me. But it's so hard, seeing him in person, knowing that he killed my father--"

"I know," Snape said quietly. "But your father would not wish to see you expelled or even arrested, should you lose your temper and do something foolish." The boy nodded reluctantly, and Snape smiled sardonically. "If it's any consolation, I'm sure Moody finds your presence to be equally disturbing. Don't give him the satisfaction of letting him be rid of you. Stay, and be a thorn in his side." The boy perked up slightly at that. "Be polite--or at least, don't be rude. In fact, be as quiet and unnoticeable as you can in his class."

"Yes, Professor," Dylan said obediently.

"I know it will be difficult--"

"I can do it," Dylan said, a look of steely determination in his eyes.

"Yes, I believe you can," Snape murmured. The boy seemed to have inherited both Ariane's and Evan's stubbornness; he wasn't sure if that was an entirely good thing... "Very well; you may go now."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Dylan started to leave, then paused in the doorway. "Professor Snape?"

"Yes?" The boy hesitated for a moment, not replying. "Well, what is it?" Snape asked impatiently.

"I was just wondering..." Dylan's earlier aloof self-assurance was gone; he was suddenly shy and anxious, making him seem much more like the child he really was. "You knew my father...you were friends in school..."

It wasn't quite a question, but Snape answered, a little evasively, "We were yearmates and housemates, yes."

"I was just wondering if..." Dylan took a deep breath, and said quickly, as if rushing to get the words out, "If maybe I could come back to your office and you could tell me about him sometime?"

Snape was taken aback, but silently cursed himself for being taken by surprise; he should have expected this.

"Please? I mean, sometime when you're not too busy, of course," Dylan said hastily. "I mean, Mother's told me about him, of course, but she only got to know him in their fifth year, so you've known him longer..." His voice trailed off, and he stared at Snape with pleading eyes.

Snape groaned inwardly. The very last thing he wanted to do was talk about old times and deceased Death Eaters. But the boy was staring at him with what Snape had come to think of as "the puppy-dog look" because Lupin used it on him all the time, and he found himself saying, "Very well."

It came out sounding more grudging than gracious, but Dylan's face lit up and he said, "Thank you, Professor! Thank you so much!"

"Yes, yes," Snape grumbled. "Now run along and go to bed; you start classes early tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir! And thank you again!"

The door slammed shut behind the boy, and Snape groaned out loud this time, holding his head between his hands. {I must be going soft!} he thought. {And it's all Lupin's fault!} The werewolf was a very bad influence. Death Eaters' children, an Auror with a grudge, and no Lupin to console him or share his bed; it was going to be a very long school year...

***

The door to Snape's office slammed open without warning, causing Snape to jump up from his desk with a start. It was Mad-Eye Moody dragging Draco Malfoy by one arm. The boy's pale face was flushed red, his normally neatly combed hair was in disarray and falling into his eyes, and those pale eyes were staring at Moody with a combined look of terror and resentment. Then he turned his gaze to Snape, staring at him pleadingly. Snape groaned silently, {Oh lovely! Just how I wanted to start off the school year!} "Don't you know how to knock, Moody?" he asked sourly.

Moody ignored him and gave Malfoy a shake. "I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back is turned!"

"Professor, I didn't--" wailed Malfoy.

"I don't like liars, either!" growled Moody, giving the boy another shake.

"Stop manhandling my student, Moody," Snape said coldly. "I'm the Head of Slytherin House, and if there's a problem with one of my students, I'LL deal with it."

Moody shoved Malfoy away from him, and the boy scuttled around the desk, hiding behind Snape. "He attacked Harry Potter--"

"Knowing Potter, I'm sure he did something to provoke Malfoy--"

"He insulted my mother!" Malfoy piped up, braver now that he had Snape between him and Moody.

"He attacked when Potter's back was turned," Moody said. "But I suppose cowardice is a Slytherin trait, eh?"

Now Snape's face went red as well, and he gave Moody a murderous glare. "Evan Rosier and Lyall Wilkes weren't cowards," he said, pointedly looking at the missing chunk in Moody's nose. "Whatever their other faults might have been," he added silkily as Moody's face went dark with rage.

"Just like old times, eh Snape?" snarled Moody. "There's you, there's Malfoy here, Crabbe and Goyle, and I hear Rosier's son just started here as well. I'll be keeping my eye on you--on all of you. If you put one foot out of line...well, there's plenty of room in Azkaban, and I'm sure your old friends would be happy to see you."

"Paranoid as always, Moody," Snape spat. "You're creating a conspiracy out of a simple schoolboy quarrel."

"Just remember what I said, Snape," Moody growled. His blue eye rolled in Malfoy's direction. "And you too, boy! Tell your father what I said." He turned and lurched out of the office, his wooden leg making a clunking sound that echoed in the dungeon corridor.

As soon as Moody was gone, Malfoy turned to Snape and spluttered hysterically, "You've got to do something about that madman, Professor! A ferret! He turned me into a ferret!"

Snape frowned. "Sit down and calm yourself, Mr. Malfoy." The boy obediently dropped into a chair, but was still babbling incoherently about ferrets. His face was now sheet-white instead of red, and he was trembling violently. Snape sighed; Lupin was the one who knew how to comfort distraught children, not him. {But Lupin's not here now, is he? Thanks to you,} Snape's inner voice reminded him. He stopped to ponder what Lupin might have done, then remembered that he used to talk to Potter over a cup of tea. Snape shrugged; that was as a good a place as any to start. He fixed a cup of tea, then did something Lupin would not have done--he took a dusty bottle of brandy down from a shelf and stirred a large dollop of it into the tea. Snape rarely drank, except for the occasional glass of wine with dinner, and never to excess; he hated losing control of himself for any reason. But the parents of his students often gave him expensive gifts--including bottles of liquor--for Christmas. He kept the brandy in his office because it could occasionally be used as an ingredient in certain potions, and now possibly to revive students in shock. He handed the cup to Malfoy and said gruffly, "Drink this."

Malfoy gave him a startled look, but accepted the cup and took a sip. He grimaced slightly at the taste, but started to relax as the alcohol kicked in. By the time he finished the last of the tea-and-brandy mixture, the color had returned to his face and he had stopped trembling. "Thank you, Professor," he said, sounding grateful and almost meek.

Snape blinked. A humbled and chastened Malfoy--would miracles never cease? "You're welcome," he said, surprising both himself and Malfoy. He cleared his throat and returned to his usual severe, intimidating tone of voice. "Now, tell me what happened. From the beginning."

"Well, like I said Potter was insulting my mother--"

"I said, from the beginning, Mr. Malfoy!" Snape said sharply. Malfoy gave him another startled look; he wasn't used to Professor Snape speaking to him that way. {Well get used to it, boy,} he thought darkly. He had clearly indulged Draco too much--keeping on the good side of Lucius Malfoy was one thing, but it went too far when the boy brought a trigger-happy former Auror to his door.

Malfoy was still too cowed to object. "I was just showing Potter and Weasley this article from the Daily Prophet," he whined. "It's not my fault Weasley's father is so incompetent that he got written up by Rita Skeeter. They got mad and started insulting my mother, and I just threw a little curse at Potter--" Snape glared at him, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe it was more than a little curse, but--Moody turned me into a ferret! A FERRET! He BOUNCED me across the hall! Merlin knows what he'd have done to me if McGonagall hadn't shown up!"

"Use some common sense, Malfoy!" Snape said impatiently, and Draco gave him a wounded look. Snape ignored him. "Learn to pick and choose your battles, boy! Is some foolish quarrel worth getting turned into a ferret?"

"But Professor--"

"At the very least, don't be stupid enough to pick a fight with Potter in front of a teacher, particularly one who used to be an Auror! A very paranoid Auror at that, might I remind you? The man is not entirely sane, Malfoy; how do you think he got the nickname 'Mad-Eye'? As an Auror, he had the authority to use the Unforgivable Curses on Death Eaters, and he used them quite frequently, I assure you! Have you forgotten that he's killed at least two of your father's friends?" {"Friends,"} Snape thought scornfully. {At least, that's what Lucius calls the people he uses--until they are of no more use to him.}

"Rosier and Wilkes," Draco mumbled, sounding much more subdued. "Dylan's dad. But--surely he's not allowed to use them anymore, not on a student--"

"Don't you get it, Malfoy?" Snape asked in frustration. "Haven't you noticed yet that Moody doesn't much care about the rules? Oh, if he maimed or killed you, no doubt your father would have him thrown into Azkaban, maybe even executed. But that wouldn't do your corpse much good, now would it?" Malfoy was staring at him in horror; Snape smiled grimly. {Ah, nothing like a good dose of reality to shake one's sense of complacency; it's high time you realized there are situations that your father's influence can't get you out of.} Aloud, he said, "Moody doesn't see you and the other Slytherins as children, Mr. Malfoy. To him you are all budding Dark Wizards, and if it were up to him, he would destroy you all, as one would destroy a nest of vipers." Perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick, but anything less wouldn't get through to the boy. Hmm...this might be an opportunity to plant a small seed of thought in Draco without too much risk to his cover. "You wish to become a powerful wizard like your father," he said in a smooth, silky voice. "But power does not come without a price, Draco. The more powerful you are, the more enemies you will make, and the more dangerous those enemies become. Look what happened to Dylan's father, after all...that might have been me or your father, under different circumstances. Look what happened to Dylan--a child who had done nothing wrong save be born to the wrong parents, consigned to exile for thirteen years..."

"That's not fair!" Malfoy protested, but he still looked pale and subdued.

"Surely, Draco," Snape said with a cynical smile, "your father must have taught you by now that the world is not fair." Draco reluctantly nodded, and Snape decided that was enough for one day. If he pushed too hard, the boy would not be able to handle it, and would simply reject everything Snape told him. "Just be more careful in the future," he said in an almost kindly voice. "Especially around Moody. And remember, it doesn't hurt to present a respectable face to the outside world."

"Yes, sir," mumbled Draco. "My father says that, too."

Snape fought back a scowl; he didn't like being compared to Lucius Malfoy, but he supposed the boy meant well. "Well, run along then, and stay out of trouble--I don't want to see Moody in my office again, is that clear, Malfoy?"

"Yes, Professor." The boy got up, then paused at the door. "Er...Professor?"

"Yes?" Snape asked, a little irritably.

"Thanks for the tea."

Snape looked up in astonishment, but Draco was already gone.

***

Dear Lupin,

Things are not going well. I have the feeling that Mad-Eye Moody already has a cozy prison cell awaiting me at Azkaban, and he and Draco Malfoy had a little run-in. Malfoy and Potter got into a squabble, and Draco threw a curse Potter's way, which I admit was stupid, but Moody overreacted. He turned Malfoy into a ferret and bounced him across the room! The Gryffindors are still laughing about it, and Mr. Malfoy is still traumatized by the incident. That might turn out to be a good thing, though; it's the first time he's ever realized that there could be consequences for his actions, and trouble that his father might not be able to buy his way out of.

As for Mr. Rosier, his behavior has been impeccable, even around Moody, but I confess that makes me a little nervous; he seems too self-contained for such a young boy. I can already hear you saying, "But so were you, Severus," so don't waste your breath! I and many of my housemates learned such self-control at an early age, but that is not necessarily a good thing. We were drilled in discipline and the Dark Arts long before we reached Hogwarts, and were already on the road to becoming potential Death Eaters. This younger generation, though, is softer--even Lucius's own son. They are spoiled and selfish and mean-spirited, but still behave like children, so perhaps there is some hope for them. But Dylan is more like the Slytherins of my time. Oh, except when he talks about his father--it's clear that Ariane has brought him up to idolize Evan, and he has asked if I will tell him what his father was like at school! What am I supposed to do, Lupin?! Tell him how Lucius Malfoy enlisted us in the Dark Lord's service? Tell him about the jolly old times when we Death Eaters went out hunting Muggles? The Headmaster has asked me to "be a friend to Dylan." I'm a Potions Master, not a baby-sitter! I might as well turn the dungeon into a nursery, what with all the brats crawling around my office! I don't know how to be a friend to these children, Lupin! I don't know how to keep their parents from turning them over to the Dark Lord! I wish you were here--you're the one who was good with children; you might be able to get through to Dylan at least, if not Malfoy...

Well, it's my own fault that you're not here, so I suppose I shouldn't complain. But I miss you, Remus; this would all be easier to bear if you were here with me. Take care of yourself, and let me know if you need anything. I'm sending along your monthly dose of Wolfsbane Potion; remember that you must heat it to boiling and then let it simmer to be effective.

Snape

P.S. Albus, if you're reading this, you should know that I have placed a hex upon this letter that will cause warts to grow on anyone who opens it other than Lupin.

***

Dear Severus,

I miss you too, and you can complain to me anytime you wish. I would rather you vent to me than try and bottle it up inside; if you keep that up you'll find yourself exploding one day. (Though that would be a sight to see!) Thanks for the potion; I wish you were here to keep the wolf company. I think I'll rather miss being scratched behind the ears!

By the way, you complain about Moody being paranoid--look at you! I'm sure Albus would never read our personal correspondence. And besides, do you really think the Headmaster of Hogwarts can't disable a simple wart-hex?

As for dealing with the children...well, I am not there, so you will have to handle it on your own, Severus. I have confidence in you, even if you do not. Simply lead by example, and be yourself. You may not be the most charming person in the world--and anyway, you'd probably give the children heart attacks if you started being nice to them, but you have always followed your own code of honor. Let the children see that; let them see a teacher who does what he thinks is right, no matter how difficult it might be, no matter how unpopular it makes him. For that is that is what I see, what I have always seen in you, even when others could not. Perhaps not all the children will be able to pick up on it, but the more perceptive ones will.

I am doing well and keeping busy; Albus has steered a few translation jobs my way, and I am working hard on improving my Japanese. Naoto has said translators who are also wizards are in short supply there, especially ones who can speak French and German as well as English, and he should be able to find plenty of work for me once I become fluent in Japanese. It is a truly beautiful language, and I am enjoying myself even though I am working as hard as I ever did at Hogwarts.

With love,
Remus

***

Lupin,

"Lead by example"; "be yourself"--thanks for the advice, but easier said than done! As for Albus, he's a nosy, meddling, old busybody! Now you've got me paranoid that he's reading our letters even though the hex hasn't been triggered; thanks a lot!

Oh, and be sure you tell Naoto that any translation work he gives you has to be done from home! I don't want you traipsing off to Japan to flirt with some kitsune or werewolf!

Snape

P.S. And what's with the crack about me not being charming? I seem to recall YOU found me plenty charming, especially whenever it was close to the full moon...

***

Dear Severus,

How can I resist you, when you're such a smooth sweet-talker? Do you think you can manage to sneak away for a weekend? You're driving me wild with desire!

Love,
Remus

***

Dear Lupin,

Sarcasm does not become you. It's very busy here, with the preparations for the Tournament, but I'll try to get away for a day or two. Dumbledore seems to take a rather unseemly interest in our relationship; though it galls me to have to ask him for a favor, I'm sure he'll cover for me. Besides, he owes me one, what with this "befriend the Rosier boy" business. I'll let you know when I'm coming.

Snape

***

Dylan Rosier found the hectic life at Hogwarts a little overwhelming, after living on a distant estate in Wales, not seeing much of anyone but his mother, his great-uncle and aunt, and the servants. But at the same time, it was quite exhilarating. He made plenty of "friends" in Slytherin, thanks to Draco Malfoy's influence; some of them he even liked, but following his mother's advice, he was careful not to trust any of them. The other Houses normally didn't associate with the Slytherins, but Dylan, again following his mother's advice, tried not to alienate the other students, and was as friendly to them as he could get away with, without offending Malfoy. Thus he became an oddity, a Slytherin who was popular--especially with the girls. The boys from the other Houses treated him warily, but seemed to regard as him as "all right for a Slytherin," except for the Gryffindors. But the girls of all the Houses fell over themselves to flirt with him and offer to help him with his homework--or ask him to help them with theirs. Draco started to become jealous of all the attention he was getting, but Dylan disarmed him by deferring to the older boy, somehow managing to be respectful without being sycophantic like Crabbe and Goyle. He was quick to ask Draco for advice, pleading ignorance and inexperience, and the Malfoy boy puffed up with pride when Dylan humbly asked Draco to teach him how to play Quidditch.

"You see," said Dylan, "there were no other children on the estate, so I never had a chance to play before. And you being the Seeker and all...I thought maybe you could give me a few pointers. If you don't mind."

Draco beamed, and he drew himself up, seeming to stand a few inches taller. "Of course I don't mind, Rosier," he said magnanimously, with the air of a king granting his subject a boon. "You've come to the right man!"

Dylan repressed a smile as he thanked Draco. For someone whose father was the terror of the wizarding world, Draco seemed like a bit of a dimwit. No...on second thought, Malfoy did well enough in class, so he couldn't be stupid. {He's never had to work for anything in his life,} Dylan suddenly realized. {He's had everything handed to him on a silver platter.} The other Slytherin students deferred to him because of whom his father was, so he had never had to exert himself to win their respect or make them like him. He never questioned the motives behind Dylan's "friendship" because he assumed that Dylan, like all the others, must be sucking up to him because he came from a rich and powerful family. But adversity built character, or so Dylan's mother told him. He had learned to hold his tongue and swallow his pride when his grandmother and uncles berated him or insulted his parents; he had learned to behave like a perfect angel so that he would be given the chance to enter Hogwarts despite his father's reputation. He had learned to evaluate everyone he met with a cynical eye, to see how they might be of use--or a danger--to him, out of sheer necessity. He thought perhaps that gave him an advantage over someone like Malfoy. So with that secret feeling of superiority, he was able to tolerate Draco's patronizing attitude.

He rather liked the girl he had met on the platform, Hermione Granger; it was a pity that Draco despised her for being a "Mudblood"--and for showing him up in class, Dylan suspected. He had conflicting feelings about Mudbloods and Muggles--his father had died fighting to keep the wizard race pure, but Uncle Math and Aunt Goewin, who were the only family members other than his mother to show him any kindness, adamantly believed that people should be judged on merit, not blood. As a small boy, his great-uncle had scolded him when he heard Dylan unthinkingly use the word "Mudblood."

***

"That is a foul word, Dylan," the old wizard said gravely. "You should think before you use it. I believe in judging people by their actions and ability, not by whom their parents are. Think of all the people who say cruel things about you, Dylan, who say you will turn out bad because your father was a Death Eater."

"Pure blood is no guarantee of a pure heart," Goewin said bitterly. "Your own uncles are proof of that!" Then she fell silent, realizing she had said too much, and her husband reached over to put a comforting arm around her. Dylan knew his mother's brothers had done something bad to Goewin when she had been a young girl who was apprenticed to Uncle Math. When he grew older, he learned from the whispered gossip of the servants that they had taken advantage of her, maybe even raped her. Mathias had punished them by transfiguring them into beasts, and sending them out to live in the woods like the animals they were for three years. And then he restored Goewin's honor by taking her as his wife, and bestowing upon her all his lands and wealth. The servants felt sorry for her, a beautiful young woman married to an old man, but as far as Dylan could tell, Goewin seemed happy, and adored the old wizard. As for Dylan, he adored his kindly great-uncle and his beautiful great-aunt, and the whispered rumors only gave him more reason to hate his uncles, who despised him and were rude to his mother.

As for his mother, she scolded him severely when she discovered what he had said and that Uncle Math had overheard him. She didn't particularly like the Muggle-born, but nor did she feel the need to exterminate them. However, her main concern was that he might ruin his chances of being accepted into society.

"You must never, ever say such things, at least not where anyone can overhear you!" she said sternly. "You must be beyond reproach, or my mother will keep you locked up here on this estate forever, and you will never go to school, never go out into the world and become the great wizard I know you can be!" His mother's beautiful silvery-gray eyes had filled with tears, and Dylan promised that he would do whatever she said, however hard it was, in order to make her proud of him and become the wizard she wanted him to be. "You will be my redemption, my revenge..." she whispered as she held him close. "Keep your father in your heart, and know that he will understand that you are doing what you must to survive." And from that moment on, Dylan had never faltered in his resolve.

***

Anyway, it was too bad about Hermione; he liked her attitude--she didn't seem to much care what anyone thought of her, and spoke her mind and did as she pleased. Since she was a year older, they ran into each other only occasionally, but she was always nice to him, although her friend Ron still looked at him like he was a piece of garbage. Harry Potter was never rude to him, but watched Dylan warily as if he were afraid the Slytherin boy would stab him in the back at any moment. Dylan thought Hermione's ideas about house elves were silly, but he bought a S.P.E.W. badge from her anyway, simply because it amused him, though he was careful to keep that a secret from Malfoy. Actually, the idea of the house elves going on strike and rioting through the castle was hilarious; too bad Malfoy and his cronies didn't see it that way. That would be a prank that would make them legends among the Hogwarts students for generations to come; ah well...he had promised his mother and Professor Snape that he would stay out of trouble, after all.

That turned Dylan's thoughts towards his teachers: no one other than Moody was openly rude to him, but most of them regarded him with a certain degree of suspicion; McGonagall in particular seemed to keep a sharp eye on him during class. Only the Headmaster and Flitwick were actually kind to him. Flitwick had been Ariane's Head of House when she attended Hogwarts, and he must have had a soft spot for her, because he went out of his way to be nice to Dylan and try to make him feel welcome even though he was a Slytherin, not a Ravenclaw. The Headmaster treated Dylan with the same kindness and jovial good humor he showed to all the students, but it was difficult to tell what the old wizard was really thinking behind the facade of that kindly smile. Dylan's mother had warned him that Dumbledore was a wizard to be reckoned with, the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared, and that while he believed in second chances, he was far from stupid or naive.

As for Moody, it was hard to show no emotion, hard not to squirm in fear, when that ugly face glared at him and that horrible blue eye rolled in his direction. But years of insults and verbal abuse from his grandmother and uncles had taught him to keep his face schooled in an expressionless mask. Dylan took Snape's advice and sat quietly, never speaking unless he was called upon, which was rare. Moody taught them about Dark creatures, and how to counter simple curses and hexes. He had them work in pairs; Dylan, who had been tutored by one of the best wizards in the world--his Great-Uncle Mathias--found the countercurses to be child's play.

When Moody saw that, he gave Dylan a sort of backhanded compliment. "Talented in the Dark Arts, eh boy? Not surprising, considering who your father was."

Dylan's face turned red, and he bit his lip to keep from shouting, "You have no right to talk about my father, you filthy murderer!" But then he thought of his mother, who had pinned all her hopes and dreams on him; of his great-uncle and aunt, who had loved him and fought for his right to attend Hogwarts, which had earned them some ill-will and resentment; and finally, he thought of his hated grandmother and uncles, and how they would sneer at Ariane and say, "I told you so," if Dylan were sent home in disgrace. He held his head up high, and his resolve strengthened; he would rather die than be the cause of more torment for his mother. Then he remembered Professor Snape's words: "Don't give him the satisfaction...be a thorn in his side," and he smiled.

"Thank you, sir," Dylan said, in a respectful tone that no one could possibly find fault with.

Then it was Moody's face that turned red, and both his eyes glared at Dylan, who just stared back at him with a blank look of innocence. "I'll be keeping my eye on you, boy, so watch your step!" he growled, then stomped away, moving on to the next pair of students.

Dylan was careful to keep the polite mask on his face, but inside he was gloating. Being in Moody's class wasn't going to be as bad as he thought it would!

***

Professor Snape wasn't exactly kind to Dylan, but then again, he wasn't exactly kind to anyone. He had a perpetually sour expression on his sallow face, and was strict and short-tempered, tolerating no nonsense in his classroom. He was, however, a very good Potions teacher, and Dylan found his class to be a challenge. That was all to the good, as far as Dylan was concerned; he enjoyed a challenge, and was here to learn magic, not just coast through school until his parents found him a cushy Ministry job like some of his classmates. Dylan found he seemed to have a talent for Potions, and one day Snape gave him a curt nod of approval when he finished mixing a particularly difficult potion, which was about as demonstrative as Snape ever seemed to get.

He had heard from Parvati Patil that Snape favored his own House over all the others, and that he was particularly harsh on Gryffindor. From what Dylan had observed, this was true, but only to a certain extent. It was true that Snape favored the Slytherins slightly, but he tolerated no disrespect or horseplay in class, even from them; in fact, his housemates were complaining that Snape was being especially strict with them this year. Snape did seem to enjoy taking points off Gryffindor, but as far as Dylan could see, he never did so for no reason, although he did penalize them for things that other teachers would let go with a warning. Perhaps it was only the fourth-year Gryffindors he treated harshly, because Harry Potter was in that class. Malfoy had gleefully told Dylan that Snape absolutely loathed Potter, and by extension, Potter's friends. Ariane had told him that Snape and Potter's father were rivals in school, and sometimes when they all took meals together in the Great Hall, he saw Snape staring at Potter with a look of hatred on his face. And then he would see Moody's blue eye swivel in Snape's direction, watching him carefully.

***

One day, Dylan summoned up his courage, and went down to Snape's dungeon office and knocked on the door. "Come in," Snape called.

"Professor?" Dylan asked hesitantly as he walked into the room. "Do you have time to talk?"

Snape frowned, looking up from a stack of papers he was grading. "I suppose so," he said without much enthusiasm. "I did promise you I would talk to you about your father, didn't I?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape sighed. "Have a seat, then, boy."

Dylan sat down in a chair in front of Snape's desk, but then had no idea what to say next. He felt rather intimidated by the room, which was dark and unwelcoming, the firelight casting eerie shadows on shelves filled with glass jars containing unidentifiable but grotesque and slimy-looking creatures. Dylan wondered whether Snape actually used them in potions or whether he just kept them in his office to frighten his students. The Potions Master was staring at him with an odd expression on his face, not exactly angry, but brooding and unhappy, as if he would rather be anywhere but here, which didn't make Dylan feel any more at ease.

"Well, what do you want to know, Mr. Rosier?" Snape finally asked.

"I...I don't know what to ask, Professor," Dylan stammered. "Just--what was he like when he was a boy?"

Snape sighed again, absent-mindedly rubbing his left wrist with his right hand. "You must understand, although we were yearmates, I was not especially close to Evan, although I did get to know him better when we...got older." He grimaced, perhaps remembering his days as a Death Eater. Dylan would certainly have liked to learn more about those days, but didn't have the courage to ask. Snape paused, appearing to choose his words carefully, then continued, "Evan was always handsome and charming, even as a first-year. He even charmed the teachers; I don't know how many times he sweet-talked his way out of detention. No one else could have gotten away with that." Then Snape actually cracked a small smile. "He even dared to flirt with Professor Blackmore when he was a fourth-year; he asked her for a dance at the Yule Ball. We were all horrified--we thought she would turn him into a toad, or call down a bolt of lightning on him right then and there."

Dylan's mother had told him about the dreaded Professor Blackmore, but he had never heard this story before! "So what did she do?" he asked impatiently, his eyes wide and eager.

Snape was still smiling. "You never met Professor Blackmore, of course, so you have no idea how terrifying she was--"

"As terrifying as you?" Dylan muttered, distracted by thoughts of his father, then realized he had spoken out loud and clamped his hands over his mouth in horror. How could he have been so careless and stupid! "Oh! Professor, I apologize, I wasn't--"

But astonishingly, Snape just laughed. Dylan's jaw dropped open, nearly hitting the floor. Snape grinned evilly and said, "Oh, worse, I assure you--much worse!" Dylan shuddered at the thought, and Snape said wryly, "Difficult to imagine, isn't it, boy?"

Dylan wasn't sure whether it was safe to answer in the affirmative or not. "Ah...so what happened, sir?" he asked in a more subdued voice. "Obviously, she didn't kill him..."

"She accepted. The entire room fell silent; I am still surprised that no one, including your father, had a heart attack. I don't think he really expected her to say yes, but she did, and she danced just the one dance with him, but it made his reputation in Slytherin House--in the whole school, for that matter! He was quite the ladies' man you know--before he met your mother, of course." Snape still seemed amused; Dylan was relieved that he seemed to be in a better mood now. "He pushed his luck a little too far, though. He tried to flirt with her in class, and she gave him detention--scrubbing bedpans in the infirmary for a week. With a toothbrush. And no use of magic allowed." He smiled that evil smile again, and Dylan suspected Snape had co-opted that punishment for his own use; he resolved that he would never find out if that were true or not--he would be a perfect little angel so that Professor Snape would have no reason to ever give him detention...

"My parents met in Professor Blackmore's class, didn't they?" Dylan asked. He knew this story, of course, but he never tired of hearing it, and perhaps Snape might be able to tell him something his mother hadn't.

"Yes. Well, of course, they had known of each other for years, but they didn't become...involved...till their fifth year." Snape rubbed his wrist again, and his expression looked almost nostalgic. "Blackmore decided she wanted promote inter-House cooperation, and paired off students from different Houses to work together on an elemental-summoning project..."

***

Snape felt a great deal more relaxed; it was proving easier than he had thought it would be to pick out a few harmless anecdotes to tell the boy without delving into their Death Eater years.

"And my parents were paired together," Dylan said, with the air of a child being told a favorite fairy tale.

"Yes. They weren't very happy about it, though. Evan called Ariane a--" Snape broke off just in time, remembering that Dylan was Ariane's son and might not appreciate his mother being referred to as a "snooty bitch."

"--A snob," Snape finished, a little lamely. "And Ariane told Evan she would have his head on a platter if he lowered her grade point average. She took her studies quite seriously, you see, and your father did not. He was a clever lad, but spent more time chasing girls and getting into mischief than he did studying."

"My mother said he was a charming rogue," Dylan said, apparently unoffended.

"Yes, he was. I still don't know exactly what happened, but they must have grown close while working together on the project, because after it was over, Lucius Malfoy caught your mother and father kissing in a side corridor. It caused quite an uproar in Slytherin House, as I recall." Snape remembered it well, because he had just come back after sharing his first kiss with Lupin to find Malfoy and Rosier screaming at each other. Those memories were bittersweet; now that he and Lupin were back together again, he could look back upon their schoolboy days with a kind of wistful pleasure, but he could never forget the pain of being betrayed--by Lupin, he had thought, although it was really Sirius Black who had been solely responsible. Nearly twenty bitter years of separation had passed before they had found each other again, and Snape would never forgive Black for that. They were together and happy now, after a fashion, but older, wiser, and more cynical. That was inevitable, Snape supposed, but he still mourned the loss of the innocent, lovesick boys they had been--if a Slytherin could be called innocent--and the sweet feeling of trust, the incredulous joy he had felt when he first discovered Lupin cared about him. They had been full of hope then, and anything had seemed possible...he remembered their silly daydreams about opening a potions shop together, or living in a little cottage complete with picket fence and pet dog...

"Um...sir?" Dylan was asking, looking at him curiously, and Snape shook himself out of his reverie.

"Yes, well," Snape said briskly, "Lucius--Draco Malfoy's father--was not very pleased with your father, but Evan refused to give Ariane up. Ariane's housemates were equally against the relationship, I believe. But they snuck around and saw each other in secret. Lucius eventually gave in when he saw how determined Evan was." Snape grimaced slightly; that was not exactly true, but it was too dangerous to tell the boy what had really happened: Lucius had used Evan's love for Ariane to lure him into Voldemort's service. When her family had tried to separate them, Lucius had told Evan that his Master could give him enough power to make the Donner family bow down to him and consent to his and Ariane's marriage. But it had been a lie...Evan had never had a chance to marry his beloved, and Voldemort had given him nothing but death, leaving behind a grieving lover and a fatherless child. Snape's earlier good mood had dissipated, but he continued with the story. "Your mother's family threatened to disown her if she continued to see Evan, but she defied them. They pretended to break up, but she continued to see him in secret, and as soon as we all graduated, they moved in together. But your mother has probably told you all that." Snape didn't care to cover the years that followed, the years they spent as Death Eaters. The boy was quiet, seeming to sense that the interview was over, and Snape said, "Well, I still have papers to grade, and I believe you still have some Potions homework to complete..." Dylan immediately got to his feet; at least the boy knew how to take a hint.

"Yes, sir. Thank you for your time." The boy hesitated at the door. "May I come see you again sometime, Professor?"

Snape sighed. There was that puppy-dog look again...no doubt Lupin and Dumbledore would tell him he should say yes, and continue to work on befriending the boy. But he wasn't sure that indulging the boy in fantasizing about a near-perfect father was the way to do it. Sooner or later fantasy and reality would clash, and the reality of it was that while Evan Rosier had been a handsome and charming young man, he had also been foolish, arrogant, and callous. Although Malfoy and Voldemort had seduced Rosier by using his love for Ariane against him, Evan's conscience had never seemed to bother him much, and he'd had no qualms about torturing and killing Muggles and Mudbloods. Snape remembered that Evan had laughed at the branding ceremony, when the Dark Mark had been burned into their arms, his eyes shining with excitement and a disturbing kind of pleasure when the masked Death Eaters had sacrificed a Muggle-born wizard, cutting his throat and offering up his blood and life-force to Lord Voldemort. Snape had been sickened, though of course he had hid his reaction. Lyall Wilkes had been branded at that same ceremony as well, and Snape remembered that he had looked a little frightened, although like Snape, he had tried to conceal it. And that was Rosier's other crime, that he had convinced Lyall to join the Death Eaters, and had dragged his best friend down into darkness and death with him.

But Dylan was still waiting patiently for a reply. "Yes," said Snape wearily. "You may come back. But you must understand, things are very hectic now, with the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons set to arrive soon."

"I understand, sir. Whenever you have a spare moment will be fine," Dylan said politely. Then he added, quietly and more sincerely, "Thank you, Professor Snape. It...it really meant a lot to me, you telling me about my father."

"You're welcome, Dylan," Snape found himself saying, surprising both himself and the boy. {Damn it all, is Lupin's goody-two-shoes attitude rubbing off on me?!} He cleared his throat and said in his more normal, abrupt voice, "Run along now; you had better have that homework ready to turn in tomorrow if you wish to get a passing grade, Mr. Rosier."

"Yes, Professor! Don't worry, I will!" Then the boy was gone, the office door swinging shut behind him. Snape pulled up his sleeve and stared at the copper serpent bracelet on his wrist, a gift from Lupin last Christmas. Its tiny garnet eyes caught the firelight and flickered at him, looking almost alive. He stroked the cold metal of the bracelet, wishing that he had Lupin's faith in believing that the words "honor" and "Slytherin" were not incompatible. More than anything, he wanted Lupin's comforting arms around him right now, and he resolved to speak to the Headmaster as he had promised Lupin he would, and see about arranging to take a weekend off to visit his lover.

Part 3, Part 4, Part 5