FIC: Phoenix Reborn, Part 6 of 8

[geri_chan]

Title: Phoenix Reborn, Part 6 of 8
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Word count: ~10,040
Disclaimer: No money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
Warning: AU; no character death at the end of the story.
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), For Old Time's Sake (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5), Three's a Crowd (or, Summer Vacation II) (Part 1, Part 2), Return of the Raven (Part 1, Part 2).
Summary: Snape broods over the past, and Dylan has increasing doubts about the Death Eaters.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5


***

Snape sat brooding in his office, wondering how someone as incompetent as Potter had managed to break into his mind. He kept seeing those images over and over again in his head. He remembered the first incident, how he had accidentally dropped and broken his favorite toy, a beautiful clockwork dragon. It was really too delicate and expensive a toy for a young child, but it had been a birthday gift from a couple who were friends of his parents, who had been more concerned with making a point of giving expensive, impressive gifts than they were in making an attempt to find something actually suitable for a young boy. At any rate, he had broken the toy and begun crying over it, as children do. His father had been furious; "A Snape does not cry," he had said coldly, as he cast a pain-giving curse upon his only son. "Particularly not over something so trivial." Snape remembered screaming and writhing in pain, and remembered how his mother had not intervened, but stood by and watched, a cold and indifferent look on her beautiful face. That was the day he had begun to hate his parents, and he wasn't sure which one he hated more--his father for placing the curse upon him, or his mother for not trying to help him. That was the day Snape had begun to guard his emotions, to not trust anyone, for fear of being punished, for fear of being betrayed. He glanced at the shelves lining his office, and saw a distorted image of his face reflected in one of the glass jars. He scowled, thinking sourly to himself that he had inherited the worst features of both parents: his father's hooked nose and pale skin, and his mother's golden complexion, which though it looked lovely on her, only served to add a sallow tinge to his already corspe-like pallor. He had also inherited her thick, black hair, but Lupin was the only one who seemed to find it attractive; those childhood taunts about his "greasy" hair still stung, even after all these years...

Lupin had asked him once, when they were still blissfully in love as teenagers, if he was worried that his family would object to him taking a poverty-struck Gryffindor as a lover, and Snape had blithely replied that his parents would disown him but that he didn't care. It was not only love that motivated him to make such a statement; he had eagerly jumped at an excuse to leave his family. Being disowned would not have been a sacrifice, but a relief: to escape that cold house and the parents he hated, to escape the need to make a cold, loveless marriage like his parents', Snape would willingly have given up all the wealth, status, and power that he would have been entitled to as heir to the Snape family. Of course, even though he had lost Lupin, his parents had ended up disowning him anyway, for fear that he would sully the precious family name after he had been publicly branded a Death Eater. It was a rare case of his father acting in premature haste, for it turned out that Snape was never officially charged with any crimes, and never stood trial. His parents were of course too proud to reverse their decision once it was made, but they quietly let it be known that they would pardon him and accept him back into the family if he would come to them and ask forgiveness. But Snape had no desire to return to the family he hated, and remained stubbornly unrepentant. Hogwarts had become his home, and he never left it, not even on the holidays, except on business--at least until Lupin came back into his life. He had not seen nor spoken to his parents in over fourteen years.

Snape's thoughts turned towards the second memory, less painful though still unpleasant. It had been a hot summer night when he was fourteen years old. He had been lying in his bedroom, bored. His parents paid no attention to him, except when they were teaching him something or punishing him for something, and none of his so-called Slytherin friends had invited him to their homes during the summer. He had no real friends, merely people who associated with him during the school year because of family connections. They weren't friends the way Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew were friends... Snape's mood had turned sour, and he opened his bedroom window and idly began shooting down the insects that flew into his room, taking a malicious pleasure in being able to hurt and kill something, even something as small and insignificant as a bug. His mother would be furious if she found out he had let vermin into the house--their house of course had charms cast upon it that repelled annoying pests like insects or mice--but since his mother ignored him for the most part, it was highly unlikely that she would ever find out. He vaporized the insect corpses with a quick flick of his wand, destroying the evidence...

The third memory was both pleasant and painful at the same time. During Snape's second year, Slytherin and Gryffindor had gotten into a quarrel one gloomy day, over whose turn it was to practice on the Quidditch pitch. They had decided to settle it with a match, except that the rain came pouring down, driving everyone but Potter and Snape out of the sky. The two boys had jostled each other trying to grab the Golden Snitch, and Snape had fallen off his broom into a puddle of mud on the ground. He remembered the other students' taunting laughter, and remembered most of all Remus Lupin's friendly smile as he came over and offered Snape a hand up. That was the first time he had really noticed Lupin, and that sweet, kind smile had started an obsession that continued to this very day, because no one had ever smiled at Snape that way before...

Snape sighed, his mind returning to the present. He might have to put a few more memories into the Pensieve for Potter's next lesson; clearly he had not removed enough of them. Once more he wished that he could remove some of those memories permanently and not just temporarily. He wondered what would happen if he tipped over the Pensieve and spilled out those silvery, gossamer thoughts, but he was not quite brave enough to try...

Damn that Potter brat, anyway! He would not have to relive these memories if he didn't have to teach the boy Occlumency! Potter had seemed to be making some progress at the start of the lesson, but then that image of the Department of Mysteries had appeared in his mind. The visions were getting more vivid, Potter kept moving further down the corridor with each "dream"...the connection between the boy and the Dark Lord seemed to be growing stronger rather than weaker, which terrified Snape. If Voldemort was able seize control of the boy's mind, they would all be dead, and it irked Snape that the brat didn't seem to see the risk, didn't seem to be taking the lessons seriously.

And of course there was the boy's insolent attitude. When Snape had told Potter, "It is not up to you to find out what the Dark Lord is saying to his Death Eaters," the brat had replied, "No--that's your job, isn't it?" But although Snape had been annoyed, he had also felt almost smug, because that was in fact his job, and it was one that only he was capable of performing. Not even the golden boy, Potter senior, could have done it, because he could never have brought himself to even pretend to be a Dark Wizard; he would have considered it degrading and beneath him, and probably Black would as well. Lupin would have been willing to do it, if he thought it was necessary, but he wasn't a good enough actor to pull it off. Snape--slimy, greasy, sneaky Slytherin though he might be--was the only member of the Order capable of infiltrating the Death Eaters and obtaining the information they needed, and it gave him a great deal of satisfaction to know that at last there was something he could do that the noble, golden Gryffindor Potter could not...

***

Harry had not had a chance to clear his mind before his Occlumency lesson; he was still upset about Dumbledore being ousted as Headmaster when their D.A. meetings had been discovered, and he had just had a fight with Cho about Marietta squealing to Umbridge about the meetings.

"You're late, Potter," Snape said coldly, as Harry closed the office door behind him. Snape was removing his thoughts, as usual, and placing the silvery strands in the Pensieve. "So, have you been practicing?"

"Yes," Harry lied, avoiding Snape's eyes. With everything that had been going on, he had not practiced clearing his mind, or building the mental image of a brick wall, or even the breathing exercises.

"Well, we'll soon find out, won't we?" Snape asked smoothly, apparently suspecting the truth. "On the count of three, then," he said lazily. "One--two--"

Just then the office door banged open, and Draco Malfoy ran in. "Professor Snape, sir--oh--sorry--" He stared at them in surprise.

"It's all right, Draco," Snape said in a casual tone. "Potter is here for a little Remedial Potions."

Malfoy looked positively gleeful. "I didn't know," he said, leering at Harry, who felt his face burn.

"Well, Draco, what is it?" Snape asked, a little impatiently.

"It's Professor Umbridge, sir--she needs your help. They've found Montague, sir. He's turned up jammed inside a toilet on the fourth floor."

"How did he get in there?" demanded Snape.

"I don't know, sir, he's a bit confused..."

"Very well, very well," Snape said irritably. "Potter, we shall resume this lesson tomorrow evening instead." He turned and swept out of the office with Malfoy, who mouthed, "Remedial Potions?" behind Snape's back before he left.

Harry felt somewhat relieved; he had twenty-four more hours to practice. But on the other hand, Malfoy would probably tell the whole school Harry was taking Remedial Potions... He was about to leave, when the silvery-white light coming from the Pensieve caught his eye. He was filled with curiosity...what was it that Snape was so keen to hide from him? Could it have something to do with the Department of Mysteries?

Harry looked over his shoulder, his heart pounding. Surely, he had enough time to take a quick peek; it would take some time to free Montague from the toilet, and he was the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Snape would surely accompany him to the hospital wing and make sure he was all right... Harry walked over to Snape's desk and hesitantly prodded the contents of the Pensieve with his wand. The silvery stuff began to swirl very fast, and Harry leaned over, peering at it intently. He took a deep breath and plunged his face into the Pensieve, and suddenly he found himself falling through cold blackness, spinning furiously as he went, and then--

He found himself in a classroom; the students seemed to be taking a test. Snape was at a desk right behind Harry, scribbling with his quill as he stared intently at his test paper. Teenage-Snape looked to be about thirteen or fourteen years old, and had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant kept in the dark. His hair was lank and greasy, and brushed against the desk since his head was bent low over his test, his hooked nose barely half an inch from the surface of the parchment.

"Five more minutes!" a familiar voice called. It was Professor Blackmore, looking much the same as she did now, walking between the rows of desks. She passed by a boy with untidy black hair... Harry hurried over, sliding dreamlike through the aisles, and stopped in front of the desk and stared at his father. There was no mistaking it; the boy had the same thin face, same mouth, same eyebrows, same untidy hair as Harry. James yawned and rumpled his hair, making it even messier than before. Harry's heart was already pounding with excitement, and it started beating even faster when he saw Sirius lounge back in his chair four seats away and give James a thumbs-up. He was very good-looking--his features not yet made gaunt and haggard by twelve years in Azkaban--and a girl sitting behind him was staring at him hopefully, though Sirius didn't even seem to notice her. And two seats away from the girl was a young Lupin. He looked a little pale and peaky (was the full moon close?), and seemed absorbed in his exam. Wormtail sat nearby; a small mousy-haired boy with a pointed nose who anxiously chewed his fingernails and snuck quick peeks at his neighbor's paper when Blackmore's back was turned.

"Time's up; quills down," called Blackmore. "Please remain seated while I collect your papers. Accio!" She waved her wand, and the rolls of parchment flew up and landed neatly on her desk. "Class dismissed."

The Marauders filed out of the room; Snape remained behind to talk to Blackmore about the test. Her expression was stern, but there was a very faint smile on her lips as they spoke briefly, then she handed him a book saying, "I think you will find this interesting, Mr. Snape. It's a bit advanced for most people your age, but I'm sure you will be able to handle it..." Snape smiled at her, looking pleased and proud. Harry had never seen him smile that way as an adult, a smile of pure happiness not tinged with sarcasm or bitterness...except perhaps when he had been dancing with Blackmore on Christmas Day. Could Hermione be right? Was Snape in love with Blackmore? Had he had a crush on her even as a boy?

But right now, Harry was much more interested in seeing his father. Snape walked slowly out of the classroom, and Harry hurried on ahead to catch up with James and the others. They were heading out of the castle and down the lawn towards the lake, laughing and talking together. "I'm sure I aced that test," Sirius bragged.

"Me too," said James. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a struggling Golden Snitch.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Nicked it," James said casually. He played with it, letting it fly away and then seizing it again; his reflexes were excellent. Wormtail watched in awe. Lupin smiled and shook his head slightly.

Apparently school was over for the day; perhaps this was the last day before spring or summer break, because there were a number of students by the lake, including a group of laughing girls who had taken off their shoes and socks and were cooling them in the water. Lupin sat down, pulled out a book, and started reading. The girls were gazing Sirius's way admiringly, but he ignored them, looking haughty and bored, but handsomely so. James continued to play with the Snitch, Wormtail applauding every time he made a particularly difficult catch. Harry found it annoying, but James seemed to enjoy the attention. His father also kept rumpling his hair, keeping one eye on the girls by the water's edge.

"Put that away, will you?" Sirius finally said. "Before Wormtail wets himself with excitement."

Wormtail turned pink, but James grinned and pocketed the Snitch, saying, "If it bothers you." Harry had the distinct impression that Sirius was the only one he would have stopped showing off for.

"I'm bored," sighed Sirius.

"This'll liven you up, Padfoot," James said quietly. "Look who it is..."

"Excellent," Sirius said. "Snivellus."

Harry turned to see Snape passing by, his nose buried in the book Blackmore had given him. He was so absorbed that he did not see James and Sirius stand up and walk towards him. Wormtail watched with a look of avid anticipation on his face; Lupin glanced up from his book, then looked back down, a faint frown line appearing between his eyebrows.

"All right, Snivellus?" James asked loudly.

Snape reacted as if he were expecting an attack. He instantly dropped his bag and book, and reached into his robe for his wand, but before he could raise it, James shouted, "Expelliarmus!" and Snape's wand flew out of his hand.

"Impedimenta!" shouted Sirius, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet halfway through a dive towards his fallen wand.

Harry watched in horror as his father and godfather taunted the helpless Snape while several of the watching students laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered, and Lupin looked upset, but still pretended to be reading his book.

"You--wait," Snape panted, struggling against the spell, as he stared up at James with a look of pure loathing.

"Wait for what?" Sirius said coolly. "What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?"

Snape let out a stream of blistering swearwords, and James said coldly, "Wash out your mouth--Scourgify!" Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape's lips as he choked and gagged--

"Leave him ALONE!" shouted a girl with green eyes and dark red hair. It was Harry's mother. She stared at Harry's father with every sign of great dislike. "What's he done to you?"

"Well, it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean..." James said. Most of the other students, including Sirius and Wormtail laughed, but Lily and Lupin did not. Lily and James continued to argue, with James promising to leave Snape alone if Lily would go out with him.

"Not even if it was a choice between you and the giant squid, Potter!"

But in the meantime, Snape had managed to shake off the Impedimenta Jinx and retrieve his wand. "OY!" shouted Sirius, but Snape had already raised his wand; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on James's face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; another flash of light, and Snape was dangling upside down in the air. Another flash of light, and Snape's trousers fell down--no, up--revealing a pair of skinny legs and a pair of graying underpants. The small crowd roared with laughter; except for Lupin, who was beginning to look ill, and Lily who was even more furious.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" she screamed, and James broke the spell. Snape tumbled into a heap on the ground.

Snape was pulling up his trousers, while James said, "It's lucky for you Evans was here--"

"I don't need help from filthy Mudbloods like her!" Snape spat.

"Fine," Lily said coolly. "I won't bother in the future. And I'd wash your pants if were you, Snivellus." James was about to hex Snape again to make him apologize, but Lily chewed him out, saying that he was as bad as Snape, and that he was a showoff as well. "I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK!"

James called after her, but she didn't look back. Disgruntled he turned back to Snape; there was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside down in the air. "Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?" James asked.

Before anyone could reply, Lupin said, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"A raven. I think Blackmore said she might come down to the lake when she was finished grading our papers."

"She couldn't possibly be done already," protested James, but he looked around nervously.

"I don't want to serve detention with Blackmore," Wormtail whined. "I don't want to be demon-bait!"

"She doesn't summon demons, you moron," said Sirius, but he looked nervous too. "Ah, what the hell--we've had our fun; let's go." Apparently Lupin and Sirius had not exaggerated Blackmore's reputation, because the mere mention of her name put a damper on the festivities, and soon all the students were dispersing. James flicked his wand carelessly, and Snape tumbled back to the ground again.

Snape lay there, staring after James and Sirius with a look of sheer hatred in his eyes. Lupin lingered behind for a moment, gave Snape an apologetic little smile, and silently mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."

"Remy, come on!" Sirius called, and Lupin hastened after his friends. Snape stared at Lupin's retreating form, with a very strange expression on his face. He still looked angry, but there was something else as well--hunger? Jealousy?

Then the scene before him blurred and swirled, and Harry found himself falling through blackness again. He landed in the Shrieking Shack. Lupin, a year or two older this time, lay curled up on the floor, groaning in pain. It must be the night of the full moon...

Snape emerged from the secret tunnel and said softly, "Remus? Are you all right?" Harry was shocked by the concern in Snape's voice. And since when did Snape call Lupin by his first name?

Lupin looked up at Snape, fear and horror--and guilt?--in his blue eyes. "How did you get here?" he demanded.

"So nice to see you too," Snape said sarcastically, sounding more like his normal self. "Black told me how to find you."

"Sirius did?!" Lupin cried, sounding hurt and betrayed, and Snape smiled, a look of dark satisfaction on his face. "Get out!" screamed Lupin.

"What?" asked Snape, sounding hurt, which confused Harry even more.

"Get out now, Severus!" Lupin shrieked. "Hurry, before it's too late!" Then he fell to the floor, writhing in pain.

"Remus!" Snape shouted, looking frightened and concerned. He knelt down, reaching out as if to help Lupin, who pushed him away, flinging him back against the wall.

"Get out!" screamed Lupin. The scream turned into a low growl, and Snape and Harry watched in horror as Lupin transformed into a wolf.

{Lupin told me Snape just got a glimpse of him at the end of the tunnel!} Harry thought. {He never said Snape was in the Shack with him!}

"Oh God," whispered Snape as he backed away, but it was too late. Lupin pounced and knocked him to the ground. Snape grabbed the wolf's head, wrestling it away just in time as Lupin's jaws snapped shut a mere inch above his face. The wolf snarled, nothing but madness in its blue eyes, as Snape struggled with the wolf and whimpered softly, "Please, Remy, please..." Lupin blinked, and the madness receded from his eyes for a second as the wolf hesitated.

Then suddenly James emerged from the tunnel, shouting "Expelliarmus!" The wolf was hurled away from Snape, crashing into a broken table across the room. James grabbed Snape's arm, pulled him to his feet, and dragged him into the tunnel--

Then a hand closed over Harry's upper arm with a painfully tight grip. Wincing, he turned to see who had hold of him, and to his horror he saw a fully grown, adult-sized Snape behind him, white with rage.

"So...been enjoying yourself, Potter?" he snarled.

"N...no," stammered Harry, trying to pull his arm free. He was terrified; Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, and his teeth were bared.

"Amusing man, your godfather," said Snape, giving Harry a violent shake, causing his glasses to slip down his nose.

"I--I--"

"What else did you see?" Snape demanded. "Did you see your father as well?"

"Yes--I mean, no--" But it was too late; Snape's face turned from white to red.

"Yes, your father was quite amusing as well; quite the prankster," Snape said through clenched teeth. He threw Harry from him with all his might, and Harry fell hard on the dungeon floor. "You will not repeat what you saw to anyone!" Snape bellowed.

"No," said Harry, scrambling to his feet and putting as much distance as possible between himself and Snape. "No, of course I wo--"

"Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!" screamed Snape.

As Harry hurtled towards the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head. He wrenched the door open and ran down the corridor, not stopping until he had put three floors between himself and Snape. He leaned against the wall, panting and trembling. He rubbed his bruised arm, but barely noticed the pain. What bothered him much more than his arm--or being shouted at and having jars thrown at him--was that he knew just how Snape felt, how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, and that judging from what he had seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always claimed.

***

With a trembling hand, Snape took out his wand and retrieved his memories from the Pensieve. Then he sank to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. Which memories had the boy seen? There were so many memories to hide...what had he seen? He had seen the Shrieking Shack; had he seen Black calling him "lover boy," taunting him with the knowledge that he had guessed Snape's feelings for Lupin before he sent Snape to the Shack? Had he seen the subsequent arguments with Lupin? Had he seen Lupin and Snape making love? The boy had seen some memory involving his father; Snape could tell by the look in his eyes--which one? Probably the one where Potter and Black had caught him by surprise and de-pantsed him in front of a crowd by the lake; it was one of the most vivid memories he had in the time before the Shrieking Shack. Snape had usually been able to hold his own one-on-one against them, so the little cowards had teamed up and jumped him together. Snape had often deliberately provoked attacks from them to earn the little smiles of apology Lupin gave him afterwards, but that time wasn't one of them. Even Lupin's smile didn't make up for the feelings of utter helplessness and humiliation...

Trying to distract himself, Snape crawled forward and began picking up the shards of broken glass, but his hands were still trembling and clumsy, and he cut himself. He sat there staring at the blood dripping from his fingers.

Just then the door creaked and started to open. Snape grabbed a jar from one of the lower shelves and hurled it towards the door, shouting, "I TOLD YOU TO GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, POTTER!"

***

Dylan Rosier jumped back as a glass jar hit the side of the doorway and exploded into sharp fragments; one just barely missed his face. Only the fact that Snape seemed to be angry at Potter, not him, kept Dylan from turning and running back the way he came. He was still tempted to, but he had missed a couple of days of class after a bout of the flu, and he was supposed to turn in his make-up homework. He cautiously peered into the room and said in a timid voice, "Professor?"

"D-Dylan?" Snape stammered. He sat on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and dead cockroaches. His eyes looked dazed and unfocused, and he was pale, trembling, and one of his hands was bleeding.

The sight of blood caused concern to override fear, and Dylan hurried into the room, glass crunching under his feet. "Professor! Are you all right?"

Snape just stared at him. "What are you doing here?"

Dylan held up the roll of parchment. "Bringing you my homework, but never mind that now." He carelessly tossed the parchment onto Snape's desk, then knelt down beside his teacher. "What happened? Are you all right? Should I call Madam Pomfrey?"

"NO!" shouted Snape.

Dylan flinched, but stubbornly remained in the room even while his common sense was telling him to flee. "You're bleeding, Professor."

"It's nothing, just a scratch," Snape protested, but he was still looking pale and shaky.

Dylan looked down at the cockroaches lying among the bloody shards of glass and said, "We should at least clean your cuts, sir. Do you have any healing salve in the office?"

Snape motioned at a shelf behind his desk. Dylan took a deep breath, then grasped his teacher's arm, and to his surprise, Snape allowed Dylan to pull him to his feet and lead him over to his desk. Snape sank down into his chair, still looking shell-shocked. The cuts on Snape's hand didn't look deep enough to cause such a reaction, and Dylan wondered, a little fearfully, what could have happened to so unnerve cold, arrogant Professor Snape.

Dylan found the jar of salve and opened it. He was looking around for a clean piece of cloth or gauze, when Snape said irritably, sounding a little more like his usual self, "Oh give that here!" Dylan handed him the jar, and Snape applied the salve to his wounds, saying curtly, "You may go now, Mr. Rosier."

Dylan was still a little worried about Snape, which gave him the courage to disobey his teacher and say, "Why don't I just clean up this mess first, sir?" He didn't wait for permission, but took out his wand and cast a few simple cleaning spells, evaporating the spilled liquids, vaporizing the dead roaches, and levitating the broken glass into a wastebasket. When he turned back to look at Snape, his teacher was staring at him with a strange, but not hostile, look on his face. "How is your hand, sir?"

Dylan half-expected Snape to tell him to mind his own business and throw him out of the office, but the Potions Master simply held out his hand. The gashes had sealed and faded to thin, red lines. "As you can see, I'm fine," Snape said gruffly. He hesitated, then added, "But thank you for your concern."

Dylan nearly fainted. Well, he had pushed his luck this far and survived, so why not go a little further...? "Um...may I ask what happened, sir?"

Snape looked as though he wanted to be angry but was too weary to summon up enough energy for such a reaction. "Mr. Potter happened, Rosier. He was being particularly insolent tonight, and I lost my temper." In a dismissive tone, he started to say, "You may go now, Rosier," then he cried out in pain and grabbed his left forearm. Dylan's first reaction was concern, but then he realized that Snape was clutching the spot on his arm where the Dark Mark must be branded, and a combination of fear and excitement surged through his body.

***

A sharp, burning pain flared in the Mark on his left arm, and Snape cried out and clutched at it with his right hand before he could stop himself. He silently cursed himself when he saw Dylan staring at him with a frightened yet avid look in his eyes.

"Is that the Dark Mark?" Dylan asked almost eagerly, forgetting his usual caution.

"It's none of your business, Rosier!" Snape snarled, his black eyes burning with anger.

Under normal circumstances, Dylan would have dropped the subject, but these were not normal circumstances. He had spent over a year skirting around the subject of his father and the Death Eaters with Snape, and this time he wanted some answers, wanted more than just anecdotes about schoolboy pranks. "My father was one of you!" Dylan protested. "He died for your cause! Why don't you trust me? I have a right to know--"

"Do you want to be a Death Eater so badly, Mr. Rosier?" Snape spat, his face turning red with rage. "Then take a good look!" He pulled up his sleeve, exposing the skull-and-snake tattoo and shoved his arm in Dylan's face. In spite of himself, Dylan took a step back, unnerved. The Mark was a deep black, almost glowing--or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it was doing the opposite of glowing: its inky blackness was so dark that it seemed to be sucking the light into it, as if Snape had a miniature black hole on his arm. The skin around it was looked red and painfully inflamed. Dylan hesitantly reached out and touched it; to his surprise, Snape didn't stop him. It was hot to the touch, hotter than someone burning up with a high fever, and Dylan jerked his hand away before he could stop himself, and took another step back. This was not how he had imagined his introduction to the Death Eaters would play out, when he had pictured it in his mind...

"Do you regret joining the Death Eaters, then?" Dylan asked quietly.

"It is too late for regret, Mr. Rosier," Snape said, his voice cold now. A mask had fallen over his face, and Dylan could no longer read the expression in his black eyes. "When the Mark is burned into your arm, it is forever; there is no turning back. It can never be removed, not by magic, not even if you took a knife and tried to physically cut the skin away..." Something flickered in Snape's eyes, too quick for Dylan to read, and he wondered if Snape had tried to cut the Mark out of his arm, or known someone who had. "This is no child's game, Mr. Rosier," Snape continued, in that same cold voice. "Before you set foot down this path, be sure it is what you really want. Despite what the Headmaster says, there are no second chances."

Snape's words were both truth and lie at the same time. Yes, Dumbledore had forgiven him and given him a second chance; he had even been given a second chance at love by Lupin. But he would never truly be able to escape his first, foolish decision. Because he was still bound to Voldemort by the Mark on his arm. Still putting his life in danger in an attempt to make up for his earlier crimes. And worst of all, putting Lupin's life in danger as well. That was partly Lupin's own choice, of course, for deciding to join the Order of the Phoenix. But Voldemort would have a special punishment in mind for him if he ever discovered that Snape had betrayed him, if he ever discovered that Lupin was his lover. And that frightened Snape far more than the prospect of his own death. He had a special spell prepared, that would allow him to kill himself rather than betray his lover and the Order, should Voldemort ever try to torture the information out of him. He just hoped he would have the few seconds necessary to trigger it, should the worst happen. Of course, he had said nothing of this to Lupin or anyone else; it would distress Lupin needlessly, for there was nothing he could do about it. Hopefully, Snape would never need the spell, and Lupin would never have to know...

"My father..." Dylan whispered, confused. Was Snape a Death Eater or not? And if he was, why did he seem to be trying so hard to push Dylan away? Was this some kind of test? Once again, Dylan wondered if being a Death Eater was what he really wanted.

"Your father is dead, boy," Snape said harshly. "The Dark Lord can offer you power, wealth, and glory, yes. But such things do not come free; there is always a price. Before you make an irrevocable decision, you must be very sure that you are willing to pay that price."

{What price did you pay?} Dylan wondered. {And do you now regret it?} But even if he could work up the courage to ask Snape those questions, he didn't think his teacher would answer him. Snape started to pull his sleeve back down, and Dylan noticed that he was wearing a bracelet shaped like a snake, with tiny red stones for eyes that glittered and gave the piece of jewelry an almost lifelike appearance. "Is that another token the Death Eaters wear?" Dylan asked timidly.

Snape gave him a startled look. "No," he said curtly, and pulled the sleeve of his robe down, covering both Mark and bracelet. "It is merely a trinket, but I wear it as a reminder of my past, my present, and my future."

Dylan did not know what he meant by that, and his brooding expression gave Dylan no clue. "Professor..." he started to say, but had no idea how to finish the sentence, and fell silent.

"I am very busy, Rosier," Snape said, and Dylan turned to go, but Snape caught him by the arm, and leaned down so closely that his beaky nose nearly touched Dylan's face, and Dylan could smell the incongruent combination of bitter herbs on his robes and chocolate on his breath. It was inevitable that the strong and sometimes unpleasant odor of potion ingredients would permeate the Potions Master's robes, and all the Slytherins knew that Snape had a sweet tooth, but Dylan didn't really care about those things right now. He cringed, trying to pull away, but Snape's hand gripped his arm painfully, holding him in place. "If I ever find out that you have told anyone what we have discussed here today," Snape breathed, "anyone at all--including your mother and Mr. Malfoy--you will live just long enough to regret it. Severely. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Rosier?"

"Ye-yes, Professor," Dylan stammered. Suddenly, he was no longer sure he wanted to meet his father's Master, the great Lord Voldemort, though he had dreamed of it for years. The thought of someone scarier than Snape, the thought of someone the dreaded Potions Master himself was clearly frightened of, was too terrible to imagine. "I--I'm sorry. For my impertinence. I won't say anything."

"Then go," Snape said. He roughly pushed the boy away from him, and Dylan stumbled. He regained his balance and ran out of the room, glancing back over his shoulder one last time as he stepped through the doorway. Snape's face had an odd expression on it; he wasn't sure if it was fear, anger, concern, or all three. But he didn't have the chance to dwell on it, because Snape immediately slammed the door shut in his face. Dylan headed back to his dorm and went straight to bed.

"Are you all right?" Dylan's roommate Damien asked in concern. "Still feeling a bit under the weather?"

"Yeah, still feeling a bit sick," Dylan mumbled, pulling the covers over his head, and Damien left him in peace. He closed his eyes, but could not sleep; he kept seeing the image of the Dark Mark on Snape's arm, as if it had been burned onto the inside of his eyelids...

***

Snape left the castle, needing to get far enough off the grounds to Apparate and answer his Master's summons. He used the long walk to compose himself, to ruthlessly suppress the disturbing emotions that Dylan Rosier had conjured up. He had always intended to protect the boy as best he could, out of duty and guilt, but he had never meant to care about him. But Dylan's concern for him tonight had awoken something in Snape...no, that was not quite true. He had slowly, over the past year and a half, come to care for Dylan without consciously being aware of it, and now it was too late to disentangle his emotions: protecting the boy had become personal, now. It was all Lupin's fault; spending too much time with the werewolf had made him softhearted...

He should never have lost control of himself and shown Dylan the Mark on his arm, but he had still been shaken by the discovery that Potter had been spying on his thoughts in the Pensieve. But he could not afford to be so careless with Voldemort. Snape took a deep breath, and let his mind empty itself of emotion...

***

"You are late, Severus," Voldemort said coldly.

"I beg your pardon, Master," Snape said, kneeling before the Dark Lord. "I cannot Disapparate on the school grounds, and it took some time to get far enough away to Apparate here." He braced himself, expecting Voldemort to punish him, perhaps with a Cruciatus Curse, but nothing happened. He cautiously looked up; the Dark Lord was smiling. Apparently he was in a good mood tonight, and willing to overlook Snape's tardiness. Voldemort motioned for him to rise, and as Snape did so, he saw one of the nearby Death Eaters staring at him intently. Snape could make out nothing behind the mask except for a pair of gray eyes. Lucius had gray eyes, but he knew Lucius well, and he was reasonably certain that the robed figure staring at him was not Lucius Malfoy.

"I have a task for you, Severus," Voldemort said.

"I am eager to serve, Master," Snape replied.

"I'm sure you are, Severus," Voldemort said, forming a smile with his thin, nearly lipless mouth. He beckoned, and a Death Eater stepped forward with a small casket, similar to the one Snape had been given at the end of the summer, just before school started. From the cringing demeanor, and the silver fingers that extended past the long, black sleeve of his robe, Snape knew it was Wormtail, formerly Peter Pettigrew. Wormtail opened the casket, and Snape saw the same potion ingredients and gold Galleons that had been in the other casket, but in greater quantities. "I wish for you to brew more of the Mind Restoration Potion, Severus."

"Yes, Master," Snape said obediently as he bowed to the Dark Lord, then picked up the casket.

"That is all, Severus; you may take your leave."

Snape bowed again, but just before he Disapparated, he saw the gray-eyed Death Eater staring at him--no, at the casket--with a look of fierce hunger in his eyes.

***

Against Hermione's advice, Harry snuck into Umbridge's office and used her fireplace to transport himself to Sirius's house. He emerged in the kitchen fireplace and saw a man sitting at the long, wooden table poring over a piece of parchment. "Sirius?"

The man jumped and looked up, and Harry saw that it was Lupin, not Sirius. "Harry!" he exclaimed, looking shocked. "What are you--what's happened, is everything all right?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I just wondered--I mean, I just fancied a--a chat with Sirius."

Lupin looked bewildered and concerned, but he got to his feet and hurried out of the kitchen, saying, "I'll call him." He returned a few moments later with both Sirius and Blackmore on his heels.

"What is it? Are you all right? Do you need help?" Sirius asked urgently, dropping to the ground in front of the fire so that he and Harry were on a level. Lupin knelt down too, looking very worried. Blackmore sat at the kitchen table, Bane perched on her shoulder as usual, and gazed at Harry, her green eyes unreadable.

"No, it's nothing like that," said Harry. "I just wanted to talk...about my dad..." Lupin and Sirius exchanged looks of surprise; Blackmore raised an eyebrow, but her expression did not change. Harry took a deep breath and explained what he had seen in the Pensieve.

When he finished, neither Sirius nor Lupin spoke for a moment. Then Lupin said quietly, "I wouldn't like you to judge your father on what you saw there, Harry. He was only fourteen, it was the end of our third year--"

"I'm only fifteen," Harry said heatedly, "and I've never done anything like that!"

"Look, Harry," said Sirius placatingly, "those two hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other. I think James was everything Snape wanted to be--he was popular, he was good at Quidditch, good at pretty much everything. And Snape was this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, and James--whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry--always hated the Dark Arts." Lupin was looking at Sirius, frowning slightly.

"I could see if Snape had attacked him first," said Harry, "but he just attacked him for no good reason, just because--well, just because you said you were bored," he finished with a slightly apologetic note in his voice.

"I'm not proud of it," Sirius said quickly.

"That's a first," Lupin muttered under his breath. Then he said, "Your father and Sirius were the best at school at whatever they did; everyone--well, almost everyone--thought they were the height of cool. Sometimes they got carried away--"

"We were sometimes arrogant berks, you mean," said Sirius, and Lupin smiled.

"He kept messing up his hair," Harry said in a pained voice.

Sirius laughed, and Lupin smiled a little, but his eyes still looked troubled. "I'd forgotten he used to do that," said Sirius affectionately. "Was he playing with the Snitch?"

"Yeah," said Harry, staring at his godfather and Lupin uncomprehendingly. "Well...I thought he was a bit of an idiot."

"Of course he was a bit of an idiot!" Sirius said bracingly. "We were all idiots! Well--not Moony, so much."

But Lupin was shaking his head. "Did I ever tell you to lay off Severus? Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?"

"Well," said Sirius slowly, "you did once. You said you thought Snape followed us around because he was lonely and jealous of our friendship." He looked a little abashed as he added, "And we laughed in your face."

"And," Harry continued doggedly, "he kept looking at the girls by the lake, hoping they were watching him!"

"Oh well, he always made a fool of himself whenever Lily was around," Sirius said with a shrug. "He couldn't stop showing off for her."

"How come she married him?" Harry asked miserably. "She hated him."

"Nah, she didn't," said Sirius. "She started going out with him in fifth year." He paused for a moment and exchanged an odd look with Lupin that Harry couldn't read. "Once James deflated his head a bit."

"And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it," added Lupin.

"Even Snape?" asked Harry.

Lupin sighed unhappily. "Severus never lost an opportunity to curse James, especially after that incident, and James wasn't the type to take that sort of thing lying down..."

Harry still looked unconvinced. Sirius frowned at him and said, "Look, your father was the best friend I ever had, and he was a good person. A lot of people are idiots at the age of fourteen. He grew out of it."

"Yeah, okay," Harry said heavily. "I just never thought I'd feel sorry for Snape." He looked up at Blackmore and asked, "Is that why you didn't want to talk to me about my dad? Because you knew what a jerk he'd been? I kind of got the feeling that you didn't like him..."

"You're more perceptive than I thought, Harry," Blackmore said quietly. "More perceptive than your father, certainly. I didn't exactly dislike your father, Harry, but I disliked the way he treated Severus. Part of that could be chalked up to his youth; children can often be callow and cruel without realizing it, but there was more to it than that. As Sirius said, James hated the Dark Arts...that is why your father never really liked or trusted me."

Harry looked startled. "But you're not a Dark Wizard--"

"I was a Ravenclaw, but about half of my ancestors were Slytherins. And the Blackmores have always had a reputation for being...interested...in the Dark Arts. I have more knowledge of the Dark Arts myself than most Hogwarts graduates do, Harry." She smiled slightly at the shocked look on Harry's face. "My father thought that knowledge was a tool like any other, that could be used for either good or ill. And he made sure that I was trained in the Dark Arts because he believed that you cannot defend against that which you do not understand. My father was for the most part a good man; he loved his family and would have done anything to protect them. But he was not overly concerned about the welfare of strangers, and he turned down Dumbledore's request to help him fight Voldemort and the Death Eaters." Harry looked even more shocked. "It is ironic, then, that Voldemort had him murdered; you see, Harry, he also refused to help the Dark Lord fight Dumbledore. Most of my ancestors were what you would call 'good'; others were of rather dubious morality, neither good nor evil. But your father always saw things in black and white, as most Gryffindors do; he could not conceive of anything in between. You were either good or evil, a Dark Wizard or a good wizard. The reason he hated Severus was because he believed Severus was evil."

"And...and Professor Snape isn't evil?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"No, Harry," Blackmore said softly, with a sad smile on her face. "Severus was a very complicated boy, and is now an even more complicated man, but he was not, and is not, evil. I know he is not always a nice person, Harry, and I know that sometimes he treats you unfairly, but that does not make him evil. If you are thinking in terms of black and white, you might call Professor Snape a shade of gray. Your father did not understand that, but perhaps now, Harry, you can understand a little the reasons behind your Professor's bitterness."

Harry was silent for a moment, then he turned to Lupin and said, "And what was all that stuff in the Shrieking Shack about? You said Snape only glimpsed you through the tunnel, but in the Pensieve--"

"You saw that?" Lupin asked, sounding alarmed. "How much did you see?"

"I saw Snape come in, and you changed and attacked him, then my dad showed up and pulled him out. Then Professor Snape came in and found me looking in the Pensieve." Lupin still looked worried, but at the same time a little relieved; Harry frowned in confusion. "Why did you lie? And why was Snape acting like he was worried about you? I thought you guys hated each other."

Lupin sighed. "I lied to protect Severus's privacy, because I knew he would not want you to learn the truth about what happened. And--I never hated Severus, Harry. For the most part, while we were students at Hogwarts, he hated me, but for a very brief period of time during our fifth year, we were friends."

"Friends?!" Harry exclaimed in disbelief. "You? And SNAPE?!"

"Yes," replied Lupin. "We worked on a class project together, and became friendly, but we kept it a secret because we knew our other friends would not approve. He tried to find out where I disappeared to every month, not to get me expelled, but because...well, because he was curious, and because he was hurt that I wouldn't tell him. But after what happened in the Shrieking Shack, he became convinced that I was in on the prank and had betrayed him, and that was the end of our friendship." Lupin looked very sad, and Sirius looked both guilty and resentful at the same time.

"But," Harry asked, "if you didn't hate him, if you were friends, then why didn't you stop Sirius and my dad from picking on him?"

Lupin flushed, looking ashamed. "I didn't stop them because I was a coward," he said quietly. "Because I never had a friend before I came to Hogwarts. I knew how much James and the others hated Severus, and I was afraid that if I defended him, then they would turn on me as well. I was scared; scared of losing their friendship and being left alone again." He smiled bitterly. "After all, how many people would befriend a werewolf?"

"Moony!" Sirius cried out, looking horrified. "We wouldn't--we would never have--"

"Really, Sirius?" Lupin asked quietly. "You wouldn't have asked why I was protecting that slimy git, wouldn't have called me a Slytherin-lover?"

"No!" insisted Sirius, but he looked a little guilty.

"You were angry at me when you found out I'd befriended Severus," Lupin reminded him. "Although you mostly blamed Severus for 'misleading' me." Sirius's face turned red, and Lupin shrugged. "Well, perhaps you were right, and I underestimated the three of you. Which only makes me more of a coward. Regardless of the consequences, though, I should never have let it happen. It is something that I will always regret and always be ashamed of."

Harry was moved by the sorrow and guilt in Lupin's eyes, and he said, "Well, you did stop it in the end, by telling them you heard Professor Blackmore coming." Professor Blackmore looked startled, and a little amused to hear that. "But you were making it up, to get them to leave Snape alone, weren't you? You didn't really hear Bane that day..."

Lupin smiled sheepishly as Sirius looked affronted, then laughed. "Clever Moony; I should have guessed..."

"That still doesn't excuse what I did, or rather, what I didn't do," Lupin said solemnly.

"And you have no excuse for what you did either, Harry," Blackmore said sternly. "You owe Professor Snape an apology. Spying on his innermost thoughts is a severe violation of his privacy."

Harry thought about retorting that Snape had seen HIS innermost thoughts, but he knew that she was right. That had happened as part of the Occlumency lessons--during which he'd also caught a glimpse of Snape's own memories--but Harry knew that deliberately looking into the Pensieve was a completely different matter. "Yeah, I know it was wrong," Harry mumbled. "But I was so curious...I wish now I'd never looked into the Pensieve."

"Now that you mention it," Lupin said, frowning slightly, "how did Severus react when he found out you'd seen all this?"

"He told me he'd never teach me Occlumency again," said Harry indifferently. "Like that's a big disappoint--"

"He WHAT?" shouted Sirius, causing Harry to jump and inhale a mouthful of ashes.

"Are you serious, Harry?" Lupin said quickly. "He's stopped giving you lessons?"

"Yeah, but it's okay, I don't care, it's a bit of a relief to tell you the--"

"I'm coming up there to have a word with Snape!" Sirius said forcefully, starting to stand up, but Lupin wrenched him back down again.

"If anyone's going to tell Severus, it will be me!" he said firmly. "But Harry, first of all, you're to go back to Professor Snape and tell him that on no account is he to stop giving you lessons--when Dumbledore hears--"

"I can't tell him that, he'd kill me!" Harry said, outraged. "You didn't see him when we got out of the Pensieve--"

"Harry, there is nothing so important as you learning Occlumency!" Lupin said sternly. "Do you understand me? Nothing! Severus may be angry, but he won't kill you."

"Okay, okay," said Harry, both discomposed and annoyed. "I'll...I'll try and say something to him...but it won't be..." He fell silent. He could hear distant footsteps. "Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?'

"No," said Sirius, glancing behind him. "It must be somebody your end..."

Harry's heart skipped several beats. "I'd better go!" he said hastily, and pulled his head out of the Grimmauld Place's fire. He found himself back in Umbridge's fireplace, covered himself with the Invisibility Cloak, just in time as Filch walked in the room. He managed to slip out when Filch left, and hurried back to the Gryffindor dorm.

***

Dylan was practicing with the Slytherin Quidditch team late one afternoon. After the regular team practice was over, Draco asked Dylan to stay behind and work on some flying maneuvers with him. And since Draco's "requests" were usually thinly veiled orders, Dylan obliged, not seeing any harm in this particular request; besides, Dylan enjoyed flying. But as the sun began to set, Dylan finally asked, "It's getting late, Draco. Shouldn't we go in before we miss dinner?"

"Sure, Rosier," Draco said, agreeably enough. They flew down and landed on the field. As they got off their broomsticks, a black-robed figure emerged from the stands.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Dylan exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" He was uncomfortably aware that there was no one within sight or earshot besides himself and the Malfoys.

Lucius Malfoy smiled in a slow, satisfied fashion that was not at all reassuring. "There is someone who wants to meet you, Dylan," he said in a silky voice.

Dylan remembered his mother's orders to attend no secret meetings without her permission. "Um...I can't leave the school grounds or I'll get in trouble," he said nervously. "Professor Snape--"

"Severus and I are old friends," Lucius said, still smiling. "You need not worry about getting detention."

"M-my mother says--" Dylan stammered.

"Oh, you needn't worry about your mother, child. She has given her permission for this meeting." When Dylan looked at him skeptically, Lucius added, "She sends this as a token." He handed Dylan a small, shiny object.

Dylan stared down at the silver ring in his palm. The band was carved with a thorny vine design, and it was set with a red stone cut to resemble a rose; it was the companion to the ring he wore on his own hand--his mother's engagement ring. His hand closed in a fist around the ring and he shouted, "Where is my mother? What have you done with her?!"

"Take it easy, boy," Lucius said in a cool voice. "I have done nothing with her; why would I harm my old friend?"

"My mother never takes that ring off!"

"Yes, because your father gave it to her," Lucius agreed calmly. "That is why she sent it with me, so you would know it was from her. She wishes me to bring you to our meeting."

Dylan stared at Draco's father. He had no idea whether the man was telling him the truth or not, but he had no choice; he would have to go with Lucius. Either his mother really did want him to come, or she was being held against her will, and either way, he must go to her. Dylan carefully pocketed his mother's ring, took a deep breath, and said, "Very well. I will go with you."

"Father, can't I come, too?" Draco asked eagerly.

"No," Lucius said curtly.

"Why does Dylan get to go and not me?" Draco whined. "I'm a year older--"

"I said no, Draco!" Lucius snapped, and his son subsided, looking fearful and sullen at the same time. Lucius's stern expression softened just a little. "Never fear, my son; your time will come soon enough. But one thing you must learn is to follow the orders of our Master and to never question them."

"Yes, Father," Draco murmured obediently, while Dylan went cold with fear. The reference to "our Master" meant that Lucius was taking him to Voldemort! He stared at Draco with terrified, pleading eyes; silently begging him for help, hoping against hope that there was a shred of true friendship between them and not just simple expediency. But Draco just gave him a jealous, slightly puzzled look, as if he could not understand why Dylan was not overjoyed with the great honor that had just been bestowed upon him.

"Return to the castle, Draco," Lucius ordered. "I'll talk to you later."

"Yes, Father," Draco said, walking away with one last envious look, and Dylan knew that no help would be forthcoming from his "friend."

Dylan followed Lucius Malfoy off the school grounds; Malfoy stopped, pulled the hood of his black robe up, and put a mask on over his face. He said, "Come here, boy," putting his arm around Dylan in what seemed like a parody of an embrace. "You need to be close in order to Apparate with me; we wouldn't want to leave any bits of you behind by accident, now would we...?"

Part 7, Part 8