FIC: For Old Time's Sake, Part 4 of 5

[geri_chan]

Title: For Old Time's Sake, Part 4 of 5
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Word count: ~5,900
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: Dylan is torn between new friendships and his old dream of revenge, while Snape clashes with Moody.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

***

Dylan was more popular than ever after the Yule Ball: the girls wanted to flirt with him, and the boys wanted to know how he'd gotten an "older woman" to ask him out. Draco might have started to get jealous again, but he was distracted when Rita Skeeter's story about Hagrid's half-giant heritage came out in the Daily Prophet, and was too busy gloating and taunting Potter to worry about Dylan. Dylan, who had spent his entire life suffering for his father's crimes, might have had some sympathy for the Care of Magical Creatures instructor except that Hagrid had been one of those who watched him suspiciously, as if he expected Dylan to summon up Lord Voldemort at any moment. And Draco told Dylan that he had heard from his father that Hagrid had made a comment about "bad blood" during the hearing on Dylan's admission to Hogwarts. Dylan believed him, recalling how Snape had mentioned the same phrase when they were discussing the way the rest of the world viewed the Slytherins, but he wondered how Lucius Malfoy had known about it when he had not attended the hearing himself. Well, the head of the Malfoy family was a very powerful man, who probably still had some allies among the school governors, or perhaps Professor Snape had told him what was said during the meeting. In any case, Dylan privately thought that Hagrid was a hypocrite, and felt no pity for him. {How dare he turn up his nose at me because of my father, when his own mother was a giant!} And besides, like most of his classmates, Dylan was tired of being burned, bitten, and scratched by Hagrid's little pets.

Hermione felt sorry for the stupid oaf, though, and Dylan decided to take advantage of the situation to score some points with her, although he knew that ingratiating himself with a Gryffindor girl that Draco Malfoy hated was probably the last thing he should be doing. But he wasn't going to let Draco run his life, and both his mother and Professor Snape seemed to think that making some "respectable" friends would help offset his father's reputation and lessen people's suspicions of him. A very small corner of Dylan's mind worried about what would happen when Voldemort rose again, as he surely would--a Mudblood girl had no place in the glorious future the Dark Lord had planned. But he pushed his worries aside; all that lay ahead in a distant and nebulous future. For now, he was simply a schoolboy who wanted to win the favor of a pretty girl. Hermione, of course, did not remain the lovely vision she had been the night of the Ball, but he found himself looking at her in a different light. It was nothing serious of course, he hastily told himself. But he liked her feisty spirit, and he did have his father's reputation with the ladies to live up to, after all...

He found her sitting alone in the library one day, looking worried. After checking to make sure there were no other Slytherins nearby, Dylan went to her table and took the seat across from her. "Hello, Hermione," he said. "It's really awful, what that woman wrote about Hagrid, isn't it? I hope he comes back to school soon." He was lying through his teeth, of course, but felt he managed to inject the proper tone of concern into his voice.

Hermione just frowned at him. "I thought you'd be laughing about it with your buddies Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle," she said coldly. "They fed that Skeeter woman a pack of malicious lies about Hagrid!"

"I can't control what Malfoy does," Dylan protested, letting a slightly wounded expression appear on his face. "I'm not like him! Don't you think that I, of all people, know how it feels to have everyone hate you because of whom your mother or father was?"

Hermione's expression softened a little, but she looked confused. "Well...that is true. But then why are you so friendly with Draco and his crowd, and why are you wearing that button?" She pointed accusingly at the "POTTER STINKS" button discreetly hidden beneath the folds of his robe--but not discreetly enough, apparently.

Dylan hung his head, as if in shame. "You don't know what it's like in Slytherin House, Hermione," he said softly. "It's not like Gryffindor. Draco lords it over everyone--his father is a very powerful man, you know, both magically and politically. And I'm no one; just the son of a deceased Death Eater. My great-uncle and Professor Snape fought very hard to have me admitted, but a lot of people still don't want me here, and if I make one wrong move I could be expelled. If Draco complains to his father about me, all Lucius Malfoy has to do is say one word to the right person and I'll be kicked out of school before you can blink. I've lived in exile my entire life, and I never had a friend before I came to Hogwarts. There are very few children on the family estate, and none of their parents would let them play with the son of a Death Eater. Bad blood, that's what they say. Maybe I'm a coward, but I would do almost anything to stay at Hogwarts and not be sent back home."

"Oh, Dylan," Hermione said sadly, looking at him much more sympathetically now. "I never thought about how hard it must be for you. Well, I do think it's important to stand up for what you believe, but I can see how you're in a difficult situation."

"Well, it's not so bad," Dylan said in a lighter tone. "I just have to be careful not to offend Malfoy. I admire you, Hermione, for being so brave. You always do what you think is right, and you don't worry about what anyone else thinks of you." She flushed with pleasure, and he gave her a charming and mischievous grin. "The fact that I'm trying to be friends with you should prove to you that I'm telling the truth--Malfoy would kill me if he knew I was associating with the enemy!" Hermione giggled a little. "He doesn't like Gryffindors to begin with, and he really hates your friend Harry Potter. I must admit, though, that Potter's been all right to me. He hasn't called me names like some of the other students have." It was true, and Dylan figured he could score a few more points by saying something nice about her friend.

"Other students have called you names? Gryffindors?" Hermione asked, sounding outraged.

Dylan smiled, pleased to have her on his side now. "Yes, but it's no big deal--"

"What kind of names?!"

"Oh, the usual...Death Eater, devil's spawn, and a few other things that I wouldn't care to repeat in mixed company. But I'm used to it, since my grandmother and my uncles have called me all those things and worse."

"That's awful!" said Hermione, still looking upset. "Tell me who they were, and I'll give them a piece of my mind--"

"Oh, don't bother; it'll just make things worse, and it won't change how they feel. I'll just have to prove to people through my actions that I'm not a Death Eater like my father." {At least, not yet...} "There are a lot of stupid people in the world, Hermione. Look at the things they say about the Muggle-born, look at the things they're saying about Hagrid..."

"That's why it's so important to stand up for what's right!" Hermione said passionately. "That's why I've organized S.P.E.W!" She smiled at Dylan. "I guess that proves that you're not like Malfoy, since you bought a S.P.E.W. membership. But you haven't come to any of the meetings!"

"I'm sorry," Dylan said apologetically. "It's hard to get away sometimes; Malfoy keeps a close eye on me. And I didn't think that your friend Ron was too keen on me."

"Don't worry about Ron," Hermione said firmly, and Dylan grinned to himself. There was no doubt in his mind that Ron Weasley was no match for Hermione Granger! "Well, we can discuss it now, I suppose, since you're here and Malfoy isn't around."

She spent the next hour waxing eloquent on the subject of elf rights. Dylan didn't mind; he liked the passion in her voice and on her face, and all he had to do was nod and murmur in agreement every now and then. He even offered to broach the subject with his Great-Uncle Math, and was rewarded with a grateful smile. He figured it wouldn't do any harm; Uncle Math was definitely no friend to Lucius Malfoy, so he didn't have to worry about word getting back to Draco, and Uncle Math was softhearted--he might actually be sympathetic to Hermione's cause. Besides, it would reassure Math and Goewin to know that he had made friends with a Muggle-born girl, and they would worry less about him following in his father's footsteps, which meant they might watch him a little less closely and give him more freedom...

***

Things seemed to be going well for Dylan: Malfoy was preoccupied with his vendetta against Potter and his friends and was paying less attention to Dylan; he was in Hermione's good graces, and Professor Snape seemed to be in a much better mood after Christmas. Dylan wasn't quite sure why; he certainly hadn't seemed to be enjoying himself at the Ball. Perhaps he'd gotten a truly spectacular Christmas gift, or--more likely--he was just happy that the holidays were over. Whatever the reason, Snape was in a good enough mood to talk to Dylan about his father again. As usual, he avoided any mention of the Dark Lord or their Death Eater days, but he did reminisce about some of the pranks Dylan's father had played along with his friend Lyall Wilkes.

"They were best friends, nearly inseparable--except, of course, when your father was pursuing some young lady," Snape said in an almost genial tone of voice. "They got into a great deal of trouble together."

"Such as?" Dylan asked eagerly.

"Let's see...there was the usual nonsense--setting off dungbombs during class, that sort of thing. But most of their pranks were more imaginative than that. During their second year, around Christmas, they built anatomically correct snowmen--or rather a snowman and a snow-woman--in the castle courtyard. That earned them a week's detention. The next year they sent a box of chocolates with a note that said 'from your secret admirer' to a boy in Gryffindor on Valentine's Day. The boy was quite conceited and fell for the trick, but of course the chocolates had a little Swelling Solution mixed into them, and he swelled up like a balloon." Snape grinned wickedly. Although he didn't mention it to Dylan, he had helped Rosier and Wilkes make those chocolates--they had made the candy from scratch in their dorm room, using Snape's talent in Potions to blend the Solution into the melted chocolate. It had been a lot of work, but it had been worth it when he saw James Potter's body ballooned out to match his swollen head! And best of all-- "They served no detention for that prank; they never got caught...although their victim suspected who was involved, he had no proof."

Dylan laughed. "What else?"

"Well, Mr. Filch was at Hogwarts back then as well, and he had a cat then, too--not Mrs. Norris, of course, but a predecessor. Evan and Lyall cast a hex that made all the cat's fur fall out. If it had been up to Mr. Filch, they would have been expelled for that stunt. The Headmaster overruled him, and they simply got detention, but Headmaster or no, I think the only thing that saved their lives was that Madam Pomfrey had a tonic that grew the cat's hair back. Another time they were rather upset about Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup over Slytherin, and decided to sneak into Professor McGonagall's office and steal it back. Not their brightest idea--they got caught in the act. Or rather, Evan managed to get away, and Lyall got caught. But Lyall never gave your father up; he insisted he had been alone, even though all the teachers knew that he and Evan did everything together, and McGonagall threatened him with expulsion." {Lyall was always loyal to a fault,} Snape thought, and remembering how his loyalty had led him to join the Death Eaters with Evan, Snape's good mood began to fade.

"But he didn't get expelled?"

"No, in the end, he just got a month's detention, again thanks to the Headmaster." Snape thought perhaps Dylan was enjoying these stories about his father just a little too much, and decided to give the boy a warning. "By the way, Mr. Rosier, it will go very hard against you if you attempt to emulate any of your father's little adventures. Assuming you aren't expelled, I will have you in detention every day until the last day of your seventh year, and I will put an end to our little talks about the good old days. Is that clear, Mr. Rosier?"

"Very clear, sir." Snape's second threat was the one that really intimidated Dylan. Snape was the only person other than Ariane who was willing and able to discuss Evan Rosier with Dylan, and he would do anything not to lose that link to his father's past. "I haven't forgotten the debt I owe you, Professor, and I remember very well that I am only here on sufferance."

"Good," said Snape, relaxing slightly. "This is your first year at Hogwarts, and you are under a great deal of scrutiny, but your behavior so far has been exemplary. Your teachers--well, most of them--have noticed that, and I think things will get easier for you in the next year or two, once they realize that..." He hesitated.

"That I'm not like my father," Dylan said softly.

"Well, yes," Snape admitted, a little uncomfortably. "Once you have proven yourself, you can relax a little and not have to worry about being expelled for the slightest thing." Then in his more usual cold, haughty tone, he said, "But I will still expect you to behave in a manner that does not bring disgrace upon this House."

Dylan smiled a little. "Yes, sir. Thank you for your time, Professor."

Once again, the boy seemed to know when Snape was ready to conclude their conversation, and prepared to leave. But Snape found himself calling out to the boy as he rose from his seat and headed for the door. "Oh, and Dylan?"

Dylan looked back, startled. "Yes, Professor?"

Snape hesitated again. "You are like your father in some ways...you look a great deal like him, and you have his determination. And in other ways, you are quite different, but that is not a bad thing. Evan was my classmate and friend, but he was...ah...impulsive and reckless at times, and that got him into trouble." {It got him killed,} Snape thought darkly. "You work hard at your studies, you think before you speak, and you have kept your temper and stayed out of trouble despite the insults certain students and teachers have spoken both to your face and behind your back. You even volunteered for extra work," Snape said, recalling the time Dylan had volunteered to help him with the healing potion, and smiled slightly as he continued in a dry voice, "which is something your father never did, I assure you!" Dylan laughed, and Snape said in a more serious voice, "I am...pleased with your progress, Mr. Rosier."

Dylan stopped laughing and stared at Snape in shock. {Did Professor Snape just give me a compliment?!} Apparently so, because Snape himself was looking a little surprised and embarrassed at what he had just said. It took a couple of tries before Dylan's voice would work and was able to stammer, "Th--thank you, sir!"

Snape cleared his throat and said gruffly, "Well, that's all Rosier--run along now, I've got a lot of work to do."

Dylan ran out of the office, still in shock, but feeling oddly euphoric. Cold, dour Professor Snape, who never said anything nice about anyone, was pleased with his progress! When Dylan had first arrived at Hogwarts, he knew that, as his mother said, Snape was someone he had to treat with respect and win over as an ally, but somehow it had become something more. Dylan couldn't put his finger on it, exactly; he couldn't really say he liked Snape, who was still curt and sour most of the time, but he had come to respect him in truth, and wanted to win his respect in return. And of course he was grateful that Snape continued to talk to him about his father. It was odd, Dylan thought, that winning the friendship of a Muggle-born Gryffindor girl and a rare compliment from the feared and hated Potions Master should make him so happy. That small, logical corner of Dylan's mind began to fret again, as it watched his two worlds being set on a collision course--his old, secret childhood dream of taking up his father's cause and avenging his death, and his new life at Hogwarts with friends and allies he had not expected. Sooner or later, they would clash, and he would have to decide which path to take. {But not today,} thought Dylan, and once again he ruthlessly quashed his worries. He was in too good a mood to think about such things today, and anyway, there was plenty of time to sort things out later...

***

Snape was asleep, blissfully dreaming about Lupin. In his dream, Lupin was still teaching at Hogwarts, and Snape had just come to his office with the Wolfsbane Potion. Lupin was wearing the blue robe Snape had given him for Christmas; he undid the clasp at his throat and let it fall open, revealing that he was wearing absolutely nothing underneath it. He held his arms out invitingly, and Snape dropped the potion and reached for him...

Just then a loud commotion jolted Snape awake. Cursing to himself, he jumped out of bed and went to see who had dared to interrupt to his sleep, in such haste and fury that he didn't even bother to throw a robe on over his nightshirt. He passed by his office, and found it had been broken into. Then he heard a noise coming from the stairs that led out of the dungeon, and he ran in that direction, hoping to catch the culprit. To his surprise, he found Filch and his mangy cat on the staircase.

"Filch?" Snape snarled. "What's going on?"

"It's Peeves, Professor," Filch whispered malevolently. "He threw this egg down the stairs."

Snape quickly climbed up the stairs and took a look at the egg. "Peeves?" he asked softly, staring at the golden object in Filch's hands. "But Peeves couldn't get into my office..."

"This egg was in your office, Professor?"

"Of course not!" Snape snapped. "I heard banging and wailing--"

"Yes, Professor, that was the egg--"

"--I was coming to investigate--"

"--Peeves threw it, Professor--"

"--and when I passed my office, I saw the torches were lit and a cupboard door was ajar! Somebody has been searching it!"

"But Peeves couldn't--"

"I know he couldn't, Filch!" Snape said impatiently. "I seal my office with a spell none but a wizard could break!" He looked up the stairs and back down the corridor. "I want you to come help me search for the intruder, Filch."

Filch reluctantly followed, still babbling about Peeves and how he was going to get him thrown out of the castle.

"Filch, I don't give a damn about that wretched poltergeist; it's my office that--" Snape broke off his sentence abruptly as he heard a loud clunking noise behind him. He and Filch both turned around.

"Pajama party, is it?" growled Mad-Eye Moody from the foot of the staircase. He was wearing a cloak over his nightshirt, and leaning on his staff as usual.

"Professor Snape and I heard noises, Professor," Filch said. "Peeves the Poltergeist, throwing things around as usual--and then Professor Snape discovered that someone had broken into his off--"

"Shut up!" hissed Snape. He did not want Moody prying into his business, did not want Moody snooping around his office.

Moody's blue eye rolled around in his face, then settled on Snape suspiciously. "Did I hear that correctly, Snape? Someone broke into your office?"

"It is unimportant," said Snape coldly.

"On the contrary, it is very important. Who'd want to break into your office?"

"A student, I daresay." Snape could feel a vein throbbing on his temple, and felt a headache coming on. {Damn it all, why didn't I just stay in bed? Maybe if I'd gone back to sleep right away, I could have started dreaming about Lupin again...} "It has happened before. Potion ingredients have gone missing from my private store cupboard...students attempting illicit mixtures, no doubt..."

"Reckon they were after potion ingredients, eh?" Moody asked skeptically. "Not hiding anything in your office, are you?"

Snape felt his face turn red. "You know I'm hiding nothing, Moody," he said in a soft and dangerous voice, "as you've searched my office pretty thoroughly yourself."

He was still feeling resentful about that; Dumbledore had asked him to let Moody do his search. "Just humor him, Severus," the Headmaster had said in a placating tone. "To set his mind at ease. We both know he'll find nothing, and then he'll leave you alone." Fat lot of good that had done!

Moody gave him a smile that was more of a sneer. "Auror's privilege, Snape. Dumbledore told me to keep an eye--"

Now that was going too far! "Dumbledore happens to trust me," Snape said through clenched teeth. "I refuse to believe that he gave you orders to search my office!" Surely the Headmaster would not have betrayed him that way...would he?

"Course Dumbledore trusts you," growled Moody. "He's a trusting man, isn't he? Believes in second chances. But me--I say there are spots that don't come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean?"

Snape opened his mouth to make a retort, but just then an intense, burning pain flared up in his left arm where the Dark Mark was branded. He bit back a cry of pain, and involuntarily seized his forearm with his right hand.

Moody laughed tauntingly. "Get back to bed, Snape."

Furious with himself for showing weakness in front of Moody, Snape forced himself to let go of his arm. "You don't have the authority to send me anywhere!" Snape hissed. "I have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!"

"Prowl away," Moody said in a menacing voice. "I look forward to meeting you in a dark corridor some time...you've dropped something, by the way..."

Snape's eyes widened in comprehension as he recognized the Marauder's Map lying on the staircase. He reached for it, but Moody summoned the map to his hand. "My mistake. It's mine--must've dropped it earlier."

Snape's eyes darted back and forth from the egg to the map, and suddenly he realized what must have happened. "Potter," he said quietly.

"What's that?" Moody asked calmly, folding up the map and pocketing it.

"Potter!" snarled Snape, staring down the staircase, trying to figure out where Potter was hiding. "That egg is Potter's egg. That piece of parchment belongs to Potter. I have seen it before, I recognize it! Potter is here! Potter, in his Invisibility Cloak!" {Damn that Lupin, I thought he confiscated that map! He must've given it back to the boy! Or maybe it was the Headmaster--Lupin didn't have the cloak; I left it behind in the Shrieking Shack. Dumbledore must have retrieved it and given it back to the brat!} Snape stretched out his hands and slowly moved down the stairs, trying to find the boy by touch.

"There's nothing there!" barked Moody. "But I'll be happy to tell the Headmaster how quickly your mind jumped to Potter!"

"Meaning what?" growled Snape, his hands still outstretched, searching for Potter.

"Meaning that Dumbledore's very interested to know who's got it in for that boy! And so am I, Snape...very interested..." Moody leaned forward, a threatening look on his ugly, mangled face, which looked even more sinister in the flickering torchlight.

Snape stared at Moody, suddenly recalling the warning he had given Draco: "The man is not entirely sane..." He had killed Snape's friends Rosier and Wilkes and shown not one ounce of regret. Snape had no doubt that Moody would love to add Snape's name to the list of deceased Death Eaters, and there were no witnesses here other than Filch and Mrs. Norris...not to mention that Snape had stupidly forgotten to grab his wand when he had left his room. He could cast minor spells without his wand, but all the powerful ones--the spells one might use to defend against an Auror's attack--required a wand. And Snape was sure that Moody had not made the mistake of forgetting his own wand... After a long moment, Snape slowly lowered his hands. "I merely thought," Snape said, forcing his voice to remain calm, "that if Potter were wandering around after hours again...it's an unfortunate habit of his...he should be stopped. For--for his own safety."

"Ah, I see," Moody said softly. "Got Potter's best interests at heart, have you?"

Snape stared at Moody for another moment, then said curtly, "I think I will go back to bed."

"Best idea you've had all night," said Moody. "Now, Filch, if you'll just give me the egg--"

Snape brushed past them and went back to his quarters, ignoring Filch's protests. He clenched his fists and felt his stomach churn. Moody had just humiliated him, and Snape had been powerless to stop him. To make things worse, Potter had probably been watching. What Snape hated above all else was feeling helpless; that was why he had hated his parents, especially his father, who had held the power of life and death over him, who had been able to inflict the Cruciatus Curse as punishment on a child too weak to fight back. That was part of why he had hated Potter, Black, and Pettigrew--Snape had been strong enough to hold his own against them one-on-one, but a couple of times they had ganged up on him and caught him by surprise, disarmed him of his wand and rendered him helpless, then humiliated him in front of the other students. All in the name of fun and games, of course. And that was why he had hated Lupin as a teenager, even though he had loved him at the same time. He had hated Lupin for making him feel things he didn't understand, hated Lupin for making him lose control of his emotions, hated Lupin for making Snape fall in love with him... Snape sighed, his mind returning to the present. Love was such a contradictory thing--on one hand, being in love made Snape feel helpless, yet at the same time, Lupin's love gave him strength and support.

Snape rubbed the Mark on his arm, which was still burning, although the pain was less intense now. He had joined the Death Eaters hoping to gain enough power to keep his enemies--be they parents, classmates, or lovers--at bay; enough power to never be at anyone's mercy ever again. But he had found himself in thrall more than he had ever been before--this time to Lord Voldemort, who even forced his minions to call him "Master." He thought he had won his freedom at the end of the war, but the newly dark and painful Mark on his arm proved that he would never truly be free again until Voldemort was dead.

***

About a week later, Snape caught Potter and his two cohorts talking during class.

"Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were okay to--" Hermione Granger was saying.

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger," Snape said in an icy voice, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor. Ah...reading magazines under the table as well?" He snatched up the copy of Witch Weekly they had been looking at. "A further ten points from Gryffindor...oh but of course...Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings..." The Slytherin students laughed, and Snape felt his lips curving in a malicious smile. Ah, revenge was sweet... He began to read from the magazine: "'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache'...dear, dear, Potter, what's ailing you now? 'A boy like no other, perhaps...'" He continued to read the article as only he could, in his dry and sarcastic voice, pausing every now and then for dramatic effect and to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh; not even they would dare to interrupt Snape while he was speaking. He took a sadistic pleasure in seeing Potter's angry and embarrassed face, and noticed that Miss Granger's face had turned scarlet.

{Petty, Snape, very petty,} the little voice in his head scolded him in a disapproving tone. {Cowardly too; you never got your revenge on James Potter, so now you're taking it out on his son. And bad enough that you're picking on Potter, but now you've included Miss Granger in your little vendetta, who hasn't done anything wrong but choose the wrong friends--}

{Oh, shut up!} Snape silently snarled. {When did you turn into such a little prig?} Maybe he was developing a split personality; he wondered if crazy people recognized the moment at which they started to go mad...then again, his inner voice had always had a perverse sense of humor; it had always told him the opposite of what he wanted to hear. When Lupin had befriended him back in school, the voice kept warning Snape not to trust him. Then, after Lupin had apparently betrayed him and Snape broke off their relationship, the voice kept telling him that maybe he was being unfair to Lupin. No doubt if Snape started being nice to Potter and his friends--hah!--the voice would tell him not to pamper the treacherous little brats. {Make up your mind, why don't you?} he sourly asked the voice, who responded only with indignant silence. Then Snape thought, {Dammit, I've got to stop talking to myself!} and continued reading.

"'...Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate.' How very touching. Well, I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there beside Miss Parkinson. Potter--that table in front of my desk." The playful sneer in his voice disappeared and he snapped in his usual no-nonsense, commanding tone of voice, "Move. Now!"

Potter grabbed his things and threw them down on his new desk. The boy vented his frustrations on his scarab beetles, mashing them enthusiastically, no doubt imagining that they were his Potions teacher. Snape leaned over and whispered, "All this attention seems to have inflated your already over-large head, Potter." He almost hoped the boy would talk back to him, so he could take more points off Gryffindor and give Potter detention, but for once, he wisely chose to remain silent. "You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you," Snape continued quietly, "but I don't care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers the rules to be beneath him." The boy's hands began to shake slightly, but still he said nothing, and Snape said in an even softer and more dangerous voice, "So I give you fair warning, Potter, pint-sized celebrity or not--if I catch you breaking into my office one more time--"

"I haven't been anywhere near your office!" Potter protested.

"Don't lie to me!" Snape hissed, glaring at the boy. "Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Potter said coldly.

"You were out of bed the night my office was broken into," Snape hissed. "I know it, Potter! Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate your behavior! One more nighttime stroll into my office, Potter, and you will pay!"

"Right," said the boy coolly. "I'll bear that in mind if I ever get the urge to go in there."

Snape's eyes flashed with anger. He restrained an impulse to slap the boy, and reached into his robes and pulled out a small crystal bottle. "Do you know what this is, Potter?"

"No."

"It is Veritaserum--a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear," Snape said viciously. "Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might find that my hand slips right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then, Potter...then we'll find out whether you've been in my office or not." Snape knew that unauthorized use of the potion would probably get him fired--but Potter didn't know that, and maybe it would serve to keep him in his place. The boy said nothing, but turned pale and shuddered, so hopefully his threat had worked.

There was a knock at the dungeon door, and Snape said, "Enter," in a curt voice.

Karkaroff walked in, nervously twisting his finger around his goatee. "We need to talk," he said softly, barely opening his lips.

{You damn fool!} Snape thought furiously. {If you're so worried about people overhearing you, then don't show up when I'm in the middle of teaching a class!} "I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," he said aloud.

"I want to talk to you now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."

"After the lesson," Snape snapped. Karkaroff fell silent, but refused to leave, hovering behind Snape's desk for the rest of the period, which was extremely annoying. "What's so urgent?" he hissed, when the bell finally rang and the students left.

"This," said Karkaroff, pulling up the sleeve of his robe to show Snape the Mark on his arm.

"Put it away!" snarled Snape, his black eyes sweeping the classroom--and he suddenly noticed that Potter had lingered behind.

"But you must have noticed--"

"We can talk later, Karkaroff!" Snape spat. "Potter! What are you doing?"

"Clearing up my armadillo bile, Professor," the boy said in an innocent voice.

"Well, hurry up and get out of here!"

Karkaroff turned on his heel and left the room, and Potter hastily fled as well, no doubt frightened off by the murderous look on Snape's face.

Part 5