Tiny droplets of water somehow managed to drip into the cell where Harry Potter lay bruised. ‘What a way to spend a birthday…’ he thought miserably as he rolled over in the small bit of straw laid about on the ground. His head ached where Malfoy Senior had struck it with his cane earlier. Beneath his shirt, several other bruises were beginning to darken. His glasses lay on the floor of the cell next to him, shattered and useless.

The cell was small, dark, and musty. Bloodstains splattered the walls, long since dried and darkened to an awful brown. There was only enough room for him to stretch his legs out if he stood or lay diagonally across the cell. Even then, it was a squeeze. There were no windows for light to come in through, and water dripped down from the ceiling. Nevertheless, none of that mattered to him. He had been depressed since the incident at the Ministry of Magic. Not even Dudley’s taunts or attempts to torment him had broken him out of the shell he had placed around himself.

The only reason he had even stepped out of Privet Drive was because there were fumigators coming to spray for insects of some form and they would not do it unless every living thing was out of the house. Petunia’d had to drag him out of the house, but that had been the mistake. Once they were on the sidewalk, all he remembered was everything going black and waking up to Lucius Malfoy hitting him with his cane before locking him in the cell.

‘If there were Dementors about, I bet this would be just like what Sirius went through…’

The sound of boots clicking against the floor did not pull him from his thoughts. He barely even registered that there was a noise reverberating against the dead silence of the dungeons.

Slowly the clacking of the boots grew louder until they stopped. The boots stood right in front of Harry’s cell, perfectly polished and shined, attached to none other than Draco Malfoy. “Not so perfect now,” sneered the blond. “Are you, Potter?”

When Harry did not respond, Draco took a step closer to the bars and kneeled down to get a closer look. However, as he opened his mouth to taunt Potter more, the sound of footsteps came to his ears, and the familiar clack of a cane against the cold, stone flooring. He stood immediately, brushing off some invisible dust from his tailored robes. “Draco, how many times must I tell you that it is below you to bring yourself down to the level of this… filthy half-blood.”

Though Draco looked up at his father, he could not help but catch the sharp movement of Potter’s head snapping up to glare at them. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“Master will be pleased of this great capture—”

“That’s why I always manage to escape,” the black-haired boy muttered.

Lucius’ haughty gaze turned down to him and his eyes narrowed in a way that spoke of the dangers of angering him, but he simply said to Draco as he brandished his wand and pointed it towards Harry. “Perfect time to teach you to use an unforgiveable properly, Draco. Crucio.”

Somewhere above the bowels of the dungeons, a clock struck three. It was the afternoon of July 30.

-----

“Now, Severus, my boy, I know you and Remus do not have the best history, but after the last year’s events I was rather hoping—“said Albus Dumbledore as he popped another lemon sherbet in his mouth. “Are you certain you wouldn’t care for one?” The man’s eyes sparkled over his half-rimmed glasses while Snape glared at him.

Bringing a hand up to his face, Severus pinched his nose to stave off the headache that was forming behind his eyes. “For the thousandth time, headmaster, I would not. Especially not when you are trying to bring back the werewolf! Whom you know has been a danger to students in the past. I do not see why you have insisted upon bringing—”

“I shall not speak more on this with you, Severus. The board has agreed on the condition you make him Wolfsbane again… after the situation with Dolores Umbridge. I will not have you antagonizing him, and I shall be very disappointed if any such comes to my attention.” Though the man still spoke with his usual smile, his eyes spoke volumes of the sword that the words hid.

Stiffly, Snape nodded to Dumbledore as he occluded more fully and slowly stood from his chair. “If that is all you needed, headmaster, I will return to my lesson plans.”

He could not ever forget that the man in front of him was likely the greatest wizard of their age, and most certainly the greatest manipulator. The thought of Lupin returning to Hogwarts frightened him; he did not like the prospect of having to be anywhere near a werewolf.

“Of course, my boy, I do not mean to keep you. Remus will be arriving in time for supper.” The headmaster picked up another of the sweets from his bowl and popped it in his mouth as he turned back to some of the paperwork on his desk, not looking up to see clenched look he knew would be on the younger man’s face as he left.

The potions master was glad that the castle was practically empty as he descended the stairs from the headmaster’s office. If it had been during the school year, he would have prowled the halls and taken out his frustration on whomever he first found doing something they should not. Potter was always an easy target. The portraits and ghosts for the most part left Severus alone, as they had been on the receiving end of his temper enough to shy away.

However, he did not expect to come upon the person he would least like to see as he walked downstairs to the main floor. “Lupin,” he hissed as he stepped past the man carrying up a box. Much to his inner chagrin, Severus saw a flash of something akin to upset and anger in the werewolf’s eyes.

“Severus,” Remus replied in a level tone. He had understood in time why Snape had revealed his secret after the incident Harry’s third year, but it had been hard for him to find work after. His clothes were shabbier than they had been last time Snape had seen him, and he looked more pallid than he had before.

Sneering to himself, Snape reminded himself that the werewolf was not to be pitied, thinking of how dangerous he was to others when he changed on the night of the full moon. ‘At least I have nearly a full month before I have to make that blasted brew for him again.’ For a while, he had kept up with the potion out of something akin to guilt, but he had stopped when the entire business with Umbridge got too complicated to him to have time.

When he finally managed to reach his rooms, all he wanted to do was sink into his armchair with a glass of firewhiskey and sulk. Everyone was bound to be a buzz at dinner about Potter’s blasted birthday being tomorrow. Just because he did not wish the brat dead did not mean he had to fawn over him like a blithering idiot.