Even after Madame Pomfrey had healed the bumps and bruises that the four first years had suffered in the fight, Snape was unconvinced that Harry was all right. Obviously Weasley was fine – he was used to brawling with his brothers – and the fight had actually created an unprecedented closeness between himself and Percy. Similarly, Malfoy was reveling in his new popularity as the pet of Slytherin House.

The boy’s arrogant swaggering from his first moments at Hogwarts had been disastrously received by the upperclassmen – it was one thing to promote Slytherin superiority among the other Houses; it was quite another to promote Malfoy superiority within Slytherin – and they had taken extreme pleasure in remorselessly cutting the younger boy down to size at every opportunity. By the time Draco realized how his behavior had alienated his entire House, it had been too late to make amends, and whinging about his treatment had only escalated the abuse. Snape knew all too well how expertly a Houseful of Slytherins could torment one of their own, and although Draco at least had the mindless allegiance of Crabbe and Goyle – something Snape himself had never enjoyed – it had been clear that the boy was finding life as a Slytherin lonely and unpleasant.

But his behavior today had been the epitome of Slytherin values – protecting a Housemate, getting back-up rather than rushing in alone (like a Gryffindor would do), displaying physical courage when needed, and maliciously revealing a downed foe’s previously undiscovered misdeeds, thereby further negating his future potential for harm – and all this had been sufficient to wipe the slate clean for his Housemates. Draco was basking in Flint and Jones’ obvious approval – though the prefects had quietly made it clear to him that if there were any return to his conceited maunderings, he could once again find his backside conscripted to serve as the target for any Housemates who felt like practicing their stinging hexes.

His eighth night at Hogwarts, Draco had made the mistake of assuming that his Malfoy heritage entitled him to push ahead of a third year in the line to the showers. Flint had witnessed the event and, rather than permitting the furious third year to shove Draco’s head into a toilet, had instead bent Draco over the back of the common room sofa, Stuck him in place, and called for a session of “House Target Practice”. The following twenty minutes had convincingly demonstrated to Draco that (a) a towel around his waist (which he was only allowed to retain after much panicked begging) was wholly inadequate protection against stinging hexes, (b) tact and humility were critical survival skills, and (c) future smart-arse remarks about Malfoy superiority would inevitably lead to his possessing an extremely sore and stinging arse. He was also left with absolutely no desire to repeat such an experience again. As a result, Draco was now extremely appreciative of his newfound standing in the House and was unlikely to do anything to jeopardize it.

Hermione too was finding the reputation of a “stone cold kick arse” much more enjoyable than that of a “goody goody know-it-all”, and having Jones’ approval only made things sweeter. Obviously then, Snape decided, the other children had suffered no lasting harm from the encounter – quite the opposite, actually.

Harry, by contrast, had once again had the illusory security of Hogwarts shattered. The boy had just begun to feel himself safe from the abuse of his piggish cousin when he was set upon in what had to feel like another round of that despicable “Harry hunting”. Snape ground his teeth in fury. Those four Ravenclaws had doubtless caused enormous psychological harm to the fragile Potter brat, and it would once again be up to Snape to pick up the pieces.

After escorting the other students back to their respective common rooms, Snape had marched Harry back to his own quarters. The boy had expressed surprise that he was not to return to his dormitory with Ron and Hermione, but Snape wasn’t about to have the impending meltdown occur when the boy was alone, except for his idiotic peers. Like Longbottom or Weasely would know how to react to a post-traumatic flashback! Snape snorted in derision at the very idea.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at his guardian. Just as he had expected, Snape had hovered over Madame Pomfrey the whole time she was examining Harry in the Infirmary. The medi-witch had even come close to hexing him when he insisted that she cast her diagnostic spells twice, in case she had inadvertently missed something. In the end, she had Stuck the professor to a chair at Harry’s bedside and threatened him with a silencing spell if he kept trying to tell her how to do her job.

Harry had glared at the witch – how dare she speak to his professor like he was a little kid! – but she had mistaken his anger for pain and given him an extra analgesic potion. Harry sighed; he needed to work harder on his scowl if he hoped to ever be as intimidating with it as his guardian was.

Snape glanced down at the small boy beside him and frowned. Why was the little brat sighing and looking so glum? Was he fretting over his popularity as a target? Worrying about who would be the next to ambush him?

Harry sneaked another look at Snape. Oooh, the professor looked grim. Was he still mad at the medi-witch, or was he going to scold Harry for his cheekiness in asking to eat dinner before going to the Infirmary? Harry bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to argue with his guardian in public like that, but he just hadn’t wanted to look like a crybaby in front of the others and he had been awfully hungry… He had just blurted it out without thinking and then before he could take it back and apologize, Ron had sounded off and then Professor Dumbledore had overruled Professor Snape right there in front of everybody.

Harry squirmed. He hadn’t exactly been disobedient, but he certainly hadn’t been well-behaved, either. If he’d ever talked back to the Dursleys like that (in public, no less!), he’d have been given at least a week of double chores, as well as getting his uncle’s belt across his bum. He was confident that Professor Snape wouldn’t treat him like that, but it wasn’t the threat of punishment that made him feel so awful; it was knowing that he had let the professor down and made him look bad in front of the other teachers.

Snape’s frown intensified as the brat’s countenance grew ever more miserable. He’d been right – the boy was near a breakdown. No sooner had the door to their quarters closed behind them than Harry turned to Snape with a choked cry. “I’m sorry!” he blurted out, tears already starting down his cheeks. “Please don’t be very mad!”

Snape blinked, taken aback. “What on earth are you apologizing for, you foolish child?” he demanded, dragging Harry into the boy’s bedroom and pulling out his pyjamas.

Harry sniffled and hung his head. “I’m sorry I was bad.”

Snape gnashed his teeth and seated himself on the bed, pulling the sniveling boy to stand in front of him. Did the boy honestly think that he had brought the attack upon himself? Or that he had been wrong to fight back? At this rate, he’d never be able to withstand Voldemort. The Dark Lord would only have to fake a yelp in their first encounter and Harry would rush over, awash in alarm and remorse. I’m so sorry! Did that hurt? I knew I shouldn’t have used such a mean spell! It’s all my fault! “You were not bad. It was those four Ravenclaws whose actions were reprehensible.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to blink in confusion. “What?”

“What?” Snape demanded. How could Harry have misunderstood that statement? Oh, maybe “reprehensible” was too big a word to use with a Gryffindor. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were not bad,” he repeated slowly, hoping that four one-syllable words would be clear enough. If not, what else could he do? Draw pictures?

“Yes, I was,” Harry argued, frowning.

“No, you weren’t!” Typical abused child – always thinking he deserved the treatment he received.

“Yes, I was!” Harry was getting a little tired of the professor always overlooking his behavior, especially when it reflected badly on him. Professor Snape needed to stop being so nice to everyone! He let the Headmaster and medi-witch and yes, even Harry, get away with treating him with too little respect. He needed to stand up for himself more.

“Potter,” Snape ground out, “it was not your fault that those boys attacked you.”

“Oh, I know that!” Harry rolled his eyes. Then he brightened. “Did you see how I fought them? Just like you said, right? Even Marcus said I did really well! And I used that new spell and everything!”

“Er, yes.” Snape was now very confused. Were trauma survivors supposed to experience such dramatic mood swings?

Heartened by his guardian’s obvious approval, Harry climbed onto the man’s lap. “You should’ve seen me!” he said enthusiastically, preparing to relive the battle for his professor’s benefit. “Jeffreys went like this, an’ I went like pow! An’ you should’ve seen his nose bleed! An’ then I went all ‘Accio!’ an’ the other boy’s wand was, like, wiggling everywhere, an’ then the other one went thump an’ then when they tried to grab me, I was like this – “ And Harry began to squirm so much that Snape worried he was having a seizure. He grabbed the boy before he vibrated himself off his lap and onto the floor. “- an’ they couldn’t hold me! An’ then I went like hiya!” Harry gave a very good impression of a karate yell and kick, driving himself against his guardian’s chest. “An’ then –“

“Yes, yes, Mr Potter. I quite understand,” Snape interrupted hastily. “You obviously did as you were told. …Well done.” He managed to choke out the unaccustomed praise, and Harry glowed with pride.

“But then what are you apologizing for, you foolish child?” he demanded.

“Oh.” Harry’s expression clouded. “For when I was rude.”

Snape frowned, trying to deduce what the child was bleating about.

Harry gulped at the scowl that came over his professor’s countenance. He was right; the man was annoyed. “I didn’t mean to be cheeky,” he pleaded. “I was just hungry, and I didn’t think…”

“A common failing of yours, Potter. You must think before you act,” Snape snapped automatically, even as he tried to figure out to what the boy was referring.

“Y’s’r,” Harry mumbled woefully, peering up at the man through his fringe. “I won’t argue with you in public ever again. I didn’t mean to make you look bad. Please don’t be too angry.”

Snape blinked. The boy was ambushed by upper years at four to one odds, several hundred kilos of weight advantage, and many years more magical experience. He escaped serious injury, if not death, by the skin of his teeth, and only because of a completely unexpected alliance between rival Houses. He suffered enough lumps and bruises to make the average eleven year old take to his bed in tears, and the only thing that troubled him was that he was a bit cheeky to his guardian in the post-fight adrenaline high?

Snape frowned. Obviously the boy was in denial, repressing his true emotions, and transferring them to this nonsensical worry that he had made Snape look bad. As if a Potter would ever care about such a thing!

“Please, Pr’fessor!” Harry’s anxiety rose as he saw the professor’s frown. Had he convinced the man to get rid of him? Harry could understand why the professor might not want such a disrespectful ward. “I’m sorry! I’ll apologize in front of everyone tomorrow if you want or –“

“Hush, Potter,” Snape scolded. Yes, the boy was obviously sublimating his feelings. Better to bundle him into bed and let him rest. He tugged off Harry’s robe, grimacing at how dusty it had become in the fight.

“Do you want to whack me?” Harry offered, surprised but not unwilling. If the Professor was taking off his robes to swat him, maybe that meant he’d still keep him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter!” Snape glared, furious at this further evidence that the boy thought that he deserved to be assaulted and beaten. “You know my rules about corporal punishment perfectly well. You have done nothing to earn yourself a smacking.”

“But – but – I said –“ Harry’s words were muffled as Snape tugged off his jumper. “Ouch!” he yipped as the collar tugged over a sore spot on his scalp.

“Hmf.” Snape felt – with surprisingly gentle fingers – the residual lump on the back of Harry’s head. “I’ll have to get you another potion for that. Mr Potter, you obviously suffered a head injury in the fight. As a result, you can hardly be held accountable for being a trifle impulsive in your speech afterwards.”

Harry blinked. “Really?”

“Yes. Now stop standing there like you’ve just seen a basilisk and get into your pyjamas.”

“But it’s too early for bed!” Harry complained automatically. “I’m not tired!”

“Of course you are,” Snape informed him authoritatively, loosening the boy’s tie. “You have just been through An Ordeal.”

Harry scratched his nose and thought about that while Professor Snape continued to change him into his pyjamas as if he were a toddler. An Ordeal? Really? It hadn’t seemed all that unusual to Harry. He was long accustomed to being jumped at any moment – one of the side effects of having Dudley as a cousin. The only thing that was different about today was that not only had he been permitted to fight back, but he had also been aided in doing so by a whole host of allies.

But maybe Professor Snape was worried that a lot of emotion – even good emotion – was draining. If that were true, then yes, Harry was going to be pretty tired, since he had never felt so safe and protected in his whole life as he did here at Hogwarts. And it was all because Professor Snape had figured out what the Dursleys were like and took him away from them.

Snape gave a little snort of satisfaction as he dragged the pyjama top over that unruly black mop of hair. Getting recalcitrant children into their nightclothes wasn’t nearly as hard as the books said. Obviously you merely needed to take a firm approach with the little monsters.

He reached for Harry’s belt, and the boy squawked and jumped back, clutching his waistband. “Pr’fessor! I can do it myself!” he protested indignantly.

Snape stood. “Then do so immediately. I will return in a moment with the potion for your head, and if you are not fully changed, there will be…” he paused dramatically, “Repercussions.” He swept out of the room, robes billowing.

Harry stared after him, impressed. Repercussions? Wow. He’d never been threatened with those before. He wasn’t even sure what they were, but they sounded ominous enough that he scrambled into his pyjama bottoms.

Snape returned to the room to find a pyjama-clad little boy surrounded by crumpled clothing. “I got changed!” Harry pointed out proudly, pleased that he had beaten the professor’s return by a good 30 seconds.

“Congratulations,” the Potions Master said dourly. “Drink this.”

Harry grumbled, knowing it would taste awful, but he was still a bit nervous about those Repercussions, so he did as he was told. “Uggggggh! How come no one else had to take extra potions?” he whined, giving Snape a rather calculating sidelong glance.

As he’d hoped, the professor fell for it. “Because, brat, no one else is my ward, under my care and protection,” Snape snapped at him. Harry felt a glow of happiness at the words. He loved it when the professor got all protective and showed how much he cared. “Now march into your bathroom and get washed up.” He turned Harry by the shoulders and gave him a little push. “Hurry up – how do you expect to get rid of the taste of the potion if you don’t clean your teeth, foolish boy?”

Harry cheerfully headed into the bathroom. That was just like his professor – giving him a potion just before his teeth cleaning, so that the minty toothpaste would erase the nasty taste. Madam Pomfrey wasn’t that thoughtful. She’d just given them all healing potions for their cuts and bruises without so much as a glass of water afterwards. Yes, she’d been very busy, but Professor Snape would never forget such a thing.

Snape looked around the bedroom and grimaced in annoyance. The child had been in residence mere days and already it looked like a herd of hippogriffs had thundered through the place. He stooped to pick up the boy’s clothing and put it away properly. What was it with adolescent boys and tossing clothing hither and yon? Someone should do a paper on the topic: The subconscious production of magical chaos fields by teenaged males.

As he turned away from the closet, having arranged Harry’s shoes neatly on the floor, the brat himself emerged from the bathroom, scrubbed pink and smiling. He lost that smile as he looked at the bed. “I don’t want to go to sleep!” he whined. “It’s too early!”

“Get. Into. Bed.”

Harry glared at the floor, but slowly shuffled to the bed and – again with insulting slowness – climbed in. “I won’t go to sleep!” he declared defiantly. “I’ll just sit here and stare at the ceiling an’ be bored. You can’t make me go to sleep.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow at that, and Harry abruptly wondered if he’d gone too far. Just because he didn’t want to go to sleep didn’t meant that he should be so cheeky. Hadn’t he just apologized for the same thing? And while this time it wasn’t in public, maybe Professor Snape wouldn’t be quite so lenient – head injury or no.

Harry belatedly remembered that the last time he had been in the professor’s quarters and complained about being bored – rather hoping the professor would take the hint and offer to play a game of Exploding Snape or Mini-Quidditch with him – he had instead found himself escorted to a table, presented with quill and parchment, and had a copy of Ye Potion Master’s Master Compendium of Potion Ingredients: Ye 1500 Magical Ingredients Thou Canst Not Live Without placed in front of him. Spending the next 45 minutes copying out pages of the compendium had taught him that whining about boredom to a Potion Master was not the brightest thing in the world. On the other hand, he had subsequently convinced the man to let him use his new knowledge by helping Snape prepare ingredients. That had led to nearly three hours spent together in the Potions lab, much to Harry’s contentment.

But since he doubted that the professor would let him into his Potions lab tonight, Harry really didn’t want to have to sit and copy pages and pages of information about ingredients. If that were his choice, he’d rather lie in his comfortable bed and relive the Great Battle in his mind. He looked nervously at the professor. Had he blown it? Was the man going to make him fetch the compendium?

Snape narrowed his eyes at the boy’s intransigence. Hardly surprising that the little fiend was buzzing like a Cornish pixie on stimulants – he surely had plenty of adrenaline still running through his system, and his rapid mood swings – from tearful apologies to grumpy defiance – were further proof of his overtired, overstressed, and emotionally confused state of mind. He could dose him with a calming draught, but the boy was already awash in medicinal potions. Better to deal with this the Muggle way – with a strong hand.

“Roll onto your stomach,” he ordered, seating himself on the bed.

Harry’s eyes widened. Okay, technically he had been disobedient – or at least he’d threatened to be – but he hadn’t really expected the professor to be so upset. Obviously though, the man had decided that he’d had enough of Harry’s cheek. Stupid, Harry! So stupid! Is this how you repay him for taking care of you? By arguing some more?

Harry gulped and did as he was told, grabbing onto his pillow and burying his face in it. He felt Professor Snape’s hands drawing the covers down, and he braced himself for the coming swat. He knew it wouldn’t hurt his bum much, but it made his chest ache to think that he had, once again, upset and disappointed the man.

Oddly though, the professor didn’t uncover his backside, leaving the covers bunched just above it. Is he making sure the swat doesn’t hurt by having the blankets there as padding? Just as Harry was wondering what was going on, the professor’s firm hand descended and started rubbing his back.

“Relax your muscles, you impossible brat,” Snape ordered brusquely. He might be patting the little monster but that didn’t mean he was getting all gooey and sentimental. “Clear your mind. Relax.”

Harry let out a muffled squeak of surprise as, instead of delivering a stinging rebuke, his professor’s hand instead began kneading his back muscles, soothing away all the tensions of the day. Once again Harry marveled at how completely pants the man was at discipline, and he worried that the other students must surely take advantage of him. But then all coherent thought was quickly banished as the man’s velvety voice and strong fingers eased away knots and stress.

“Mmrglph,” Harry mumbled in utter bliss as the professor reached up and gently massaged his scalp. He felt like he was floating on a cloud as his muscles unkinked and the stress oozed out of him.

“Clear your mind. Imagine you are surrounded by velvety darkness. You are surrounded by it, floating in the void. Nothing can harm you. Nothing can trouble you. Nothing can touch you. You are safe and protected,” the professor’s low voice purred hypnotically, and Harry relaxed even further, practically melting into his mattress as both mind and body let go of the day’s excitements.

“You are floating in the deep black void –“

“Flying,” Harry muttered, the last spark of his consciousness making itself felt.

“What?”

“N’t floatin. Flyin’,” Harry slurred. “I like flyin’.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Fine. Flying. You are flying in the void. Your mind is calm, your body is relaxed. Nothing can touch you. Nothing can see you.” Beneath his fingers, he felt the boy’s muscles unwind, his breathing slow and deepen. Ha! So much for Mister ‘I Won’t Go to Sleep and You Can’t Make Me’, he thought smugly. That should show the brat who was in charge. He kept up the slow, gentle massage and the compelling murmuring until he was certain the boy was deeply asleep.

Well. That had been disgustingly easy. And here he had been worried about teaching the boy occlumency. Obviously such a skill was imperative for The Boy Who Lived, lest any Dark Legilimens try to tear his mind apart, but Snape had worried that with the boy’s background it would be impossible for him to develop enough trust in another person to follow their instructions as to how to clear the mind. Clearly he needn’t have worried. If this were any indication, Harry was almost too trusting, following Snape’s instructions without demur.

Snape decided that they would have to make this a regular routine – getting the boy in the habit of clearing his mind before sleep. It would teach him the basics of occlumencyand simultaneously ease him into a deep, restful sleep. And avoid further juvenile posturing about “not being tired”. The fact that it would mean that he would have to engage in a regular bedtime ritual with the little monster was irritating, of course. He had many more important things he could be doing rather than sitting at the little brat’s bedside, soothing him and lulling him to sleep with his words. Why, an uninformed observer might even think he was cuddling the brat!

Snape glowered. He was not being affectionate or caring; the relaxing massage was merely an aide to the occlumency training. That was all.

He looked down to where his hand was, inexplicably, brushing the hair back from the little horror’s face. Sleeping like that, it was almost possible to forget what an impossible brat he was – always getting into difficulties and creating havoc wherever he went. Snape scowled, thinking of the evening’s events. How dare those Ravenclaws imagine they could attack Potter? If Granger and the boys hadn’t happened upon them… Snape shuddered, his hand becoming even more gentle as it absently stroked Harry’s head. Obviously he had started the boy’s tutelage none too soon.

He heard the roar of the floo, then the Headmaster’s voice called to him. He rose hastily from the bed – it would not do to be found sitting here, petting the brat. Albus would be sure to misunderstand things and imagine that Snape was becoming sentimental, rather than merely applying necessary techniques for the instruction of occlumency.

Snape shut the bedroom door behind him and went to meet the Headmaster. “I’m here, Albus,” he called.

“Ah, there you are, my boy. Is Harry all right?” Dumbledore tried to peer over his shoulder but was defeated by the closed door.

“He’s sleeping.”

“Hmm. This was an interesting turn of events, wasn’t it?”

“If you consider the ambushing and assault of a first year by four upper level students to be ‘interesting’.”

Dumbledore’s twinkle faded a bit. “Yes, I confess I had somewhat underestimated the risk to Harry from his classmates. I did not anticipate that some parents would have so corrupted their children’s minds with hate...”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “No?” But in fact, Snape wasn’t at all surprised. Dumbledore’s greatest failing, in Snape’s eyes at least, was his boundless capacity to believe the best of everyone. Giving people the benefit of the doubt, extending second (and third and fourth…) chances, all these were Dumbledore’s stock in trade. Deep at heart, the Headmaster was a romantic, endlessly believing that everyone would eventually do the right thing, if only they were given enough opportunities. By contrast, Snape’s suspicious nature meant that he distrusted everyone on sight and, unfortunately, he had all too often been proven right. On the other hand, it meant that he was rarely surprised.

“Regardless of your astonishment, Headmaster, I trust that you now appreciate the threat to my ward and will support his accelerated learning of defensive spells?” Dumbledore’s expression was sad, but he nodded his acquiescence.

“And of course, you have expelled the four Ravenclaws,” Snape continued, though he held little hope that Dumbledore had taken such an action. The Headmaster loathed expelling anyone and would go to almost any length to avoid such an ultimate punishment, as Snape knew all too well. On the other hand, the Potion Master was almost looking forward to being able to exact his own revenge on the four boys – not to mention imagining what his House and the lions of Gryffindor would do to them when no faculty were around. Knowing they’d have Snape’s tacit approval, his students would be sure to make it indelibly clear to the rest of the school that picking on a Slytherin was an extremely bad idea.

Snape’s pleasant fantasies were rudely shattered when Albus sighed. “Yes, I had little choice in the matter.”

Snape’s jaw dropped. “What? You mean it? You expelled them? All four of them?”

Albus regained a little of his twinkle at the Potion Master’s gobsmacked expression. “Well, Severus, I knew perfectly well that you would never permit me to do otherwise. Even if the boys’ assault hadn’t been so clearly murderous in intent, you have made it clear that you take Harry’s safety extremely seriously. I knew you would not permit him to stay at Hogwarts if his attackers remained at large, and given that circumstance, it was of course only fair that his attackers be the ones to leave.” Albus gave him a sharp look. “Not that the boys argued with my decision. They were all too apprehensive of what might have happened to them if they stayed on campus. I believe they felt their own safety might be… in jeopardy.”

“Dear, dear,” Severus raised an eyebrow. “Why would they think that?”

Albus didn’t deign to reply. Instead, he continued, “As a result of this belief, the four were all too willing to make a complete confession. I had no choice – the Aurors were summoned and took the boys away. I suspect that Messrs Peterson and O’Leary will be released to their parents after questioning, but Jeffreys and Smythe are likely to face imprisonment.”

“Good,” Snape snapped, unsympathetic.

Dumbledore sighed wearily. “No, Severus. It is not good. It is very sad to see such youth and potential squandered on bitterness and old grudges.”

“They made their choices, Headmaster, and they are now being held accountable for their actions. Is that not what you should be instilling in these children?”

Albus gave a slight twitch of his shoulders. “I suppose so…”

“And what message would you have sent to the other students, not to mention Har – er, the Potter brat – if you had not removed them from school?”

Dumbledore patted his shoulder. “Thank you for trying to cheer me up, my boy.” Snape scowled; that had not been his intention at all! “But I must admit I did not come here solely for your comfort. I have some bad news.”

Snape stiffened. “What?”

“When the Aurors arrived to collect the boys, they informed me that Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban.” Dumbledore paused, watching the younger man with deep concern.

Snape kept his features a frozen mask. “Do they know how Black managed such a feat?” he asked, his voice devoid of all emotion.

“The Ministry has been trying to keep the matter a secret, which is why we had not been previously informed, but one of the Aurors told me that they discovered a simulacrum in Black’s cell a few days ago. They have been unable to discover how Black gained access to a wand – the best they can tell is that someone slipped him one, under the guise of visiting another prisoner. They have already interviewed all visitors to the prison for the past few months but have not made any arrests.”

“Surely the answer is obvious,” Snape sneered, glad Albus’ ethical code prevented him for using his Legilimens skills. “The werewolf must have been involved.”

Albus sighed. “Oh, my boy, if only you could look past old insults. The Aurors have already interviewed Remus twice – under Veritaserum the second time – and he knew nothing about Black’s current location, nor had he been to Azkaban, nor had he been involved in the escape.” Snape managed to avoid gasping in relief. He hadn’t expected them to use Veritaserum, though given Remus’ condition, he shouldn’t have been surprised. It was easy to get permission to use Veritaserum on werewolves.

He squelched a reluctant feeling of admiration for Lupin. Obviously his status as a Marauder had been well-earned if he were able to mislead the Aurors even under the truth serum – not that he had ever had to lie, but Remus had obviously answered very carefully. Good thing Snape hadn’t told the wolf anything more about the escape nor where he had stashed Black.

“What is more, Remus has taken a job on the Continent – Italy is more tolerant of lycanthropy – and he was able to show that his discussions with his new employer commenced before Sirius escaped. There is no way that he was involved, though I imagine you will be pleased to learn that he will soon be living overseas.” Snape smirked. “I fear the Ministry is completely at a loss to find Sirius, and the news of his escape is beginning to leak out – that’s why the Auror felt he could tell me. I am sure this information is upsetting to you, Severus, but I cannot believe that Sirius would be so foolish as to come after Harry – or you.”

“Unlike you, Albus, I am convinced that Black’s idiocy is limitless. I will make appropriate arrangements to ensure no harm comes to either the brat or myself.”

Dumbledore nodded and turned to go. At the floo, he paused and turned back. “The Auror mentioned something odd, Severus.” At the Potion Master’s raised eyebrow, Dumbledore continued, “Under Veritaserum, Remus stated that he was certain Sirius was innocent. Amelia Bones, who was present, was very interested as to why anyone would harbor doubts about what has so long been considered an open and shut case, and – conscientious witch that she is – she is reopening the initial investigation into Peter’s death and the deaths of the Muggles.” Albus looked awkward. “I’m afraid that there may be some resurrecting of old and painful memories, my boy. I will do my best to prevent them from doing so, of course, but-“

“No.” Snape glared at Albus. “You will not do anything to hinder Bones’ investigation, Headmaster.” Great – I go to all the trouble of breaking the mutt out of Azkaban, and Albus promptly impedes all my work.

The old wizard stared at him in surprise. “But I thought that remembering those dreadful days – the murders of Lily and James – would be acutely painful for you and Harry.”

Snape gritted his teeth. “It is better for the boy to come to terms now with Black’s perfidy and his parents’ deaths than to remain coddled in some fiction such as the notion that his parents were drunks who died in a car accident,” he sneered, glaring at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore reddened at this reminder of the Dursleys’ unfitness. “I see your point, Severus. Perhaps it is better for Harry to know the truth, painful though it may be.” He looked more closely at Snape. “And you, my boy? How will you be, having to hear once again about how Lily was betrayed?”

Snape forced a sneer. “Hearing about Black’s despicable, cowardly actions is hardly painful to me, Albus. It is Minerva whom you should be worrying about.”

Dumbledore sighed at this further proof of Snape’s persistent bitterness. “Yes, I suppose you are right. Well, I shall leave you to look after Harry, then.” He turned back one last time. “You had reason to be very proud of your House today, my boy – as did the rest of the school.”

Snape tried not to look too smug. “Yes, they were quite impressive, weren’t they?”

Dumbledore twinkled at him. “Quite.”

Snape only relaxed after the Headmaster had floo’d away. Well. He had done it – or appeared to have done so. There would be the inevitable uproar when the news of Black’s escape broke, but it would be quickly supplanted by the latest celebrity scandal or Quidditch victory. He expected Lupin to contact him any day now, and he would bring the werewolf to Black and let him continue nursing the idiot back to health. Another week or two, and the hunt for Black should have died down and soon after that, Black could get started on his work with the Muggles. Snape fought down a grin – he had managed to get two Marauders for the price of one. The Dursleys were going to be very unhappy indeed.