Tsk tsk Mr. Potter,” Poppy scolded gently, as she waved her wand over his bare chest, that was beginning to show bruising under his sternum.

“This is not the first time that I see a bare chest, and not the first time that I've seen yours.”

Harry felt his face flame. Harry didn't like to be reminded of his humiliating experience with the Dursleys.

“Put your hands down Mr. Potter,” Snape admonished sternly, “Madame Pomfrey needs to examine your injuries.”

Harry sucked in a painful breath as he peeled his fingers off of his chest and lowered his eyes shamefully. Despite the Professor's change of attitude this summer, Harry still hated to look weak in front of the man, and after years of conditioning himself to hide his weaknesses, and not whine when he was in pain, Harry still found it difficult to fully trust the man who had made his life so miserable these past couple of years.

As Madame Pomfrey continued to wave her wand, and prod his chest gently, Harry wanted nothing more than to lie down on the hospital cot, cover his head with the crisp white sheets and hide forever.

“He has multiple contusions, and a cracked rib Severus. I would like to keep him in overnight for observation, and administer some Skele-grow.”

Harry eyes widened in panic. “Wait! No! Please!” He began to slide down off the cot. “Can't you just give me something to fix it and let me return to the Tower?” he pleaded desperately.

Before Harry's toes touched the ground, however, he felt surprisingly gentle hands scoop him up, as though he weighed nothing, and place him firmly on the bed; he looked up, surprised to see a brief flash of concern, mirrored in Snape's dark eyes.

“Mr. Potter! Enough of this nonsense. You will do as your told. You're health is not something to trifle with."

-------

Severus paused at the doorway to the Defence classroom; old feelings of bitterness and hatred rose up like bile, and Severus was seething with resentment at Dumbledore for once again manipulating him into doing his bidding.

He clenched both his teeth, and the phial in his robes' pocket, as he watched the haggard-looking man, sweep back and forth in his tattered robes, preparing his classroom for the upcoming lesson.

“Lupin,” he said in a quiet hiss.

Lupin whipped his head around, and Severus almost flinched at the look of unconcealed hatred that transformed Lupin’s normally gentle features.

“Sni-Snape!”

The hair on Severus' arms prickled; although the man's eyes crinkled at the corner, and his lips were lifted in a small smile, the warmth failed to reach his eyes. There was an unaccustomed glint in the man's eyes that Severus had never noticed before.

Lupin cleared his throat, and shifted his frail shoulders. He ran his slender fingers through his hair.

“So, what can I do for you, Se-Severus?”

Severus narrowed his eyes at him, but lessened his tight grip on the phial, and pulled it out of his pocket reluctantly; he handed it to the other man.

“Your Wolfsbane,” he sneered.

Lupin's eyes flashed in surprise. “Th-thank you Severus,” he said, as he reached out and hesitatingly grabbed the phial.

Severus nodded slightly, and spun around in a flurry of black robes.

He stood outside the door for a moment, and controlled his breathing. He wouldn't admit to himself that to see Lupin after all these years had unsettled him; no...Severus Snape never lost control. Severus Snape never allowed anyone to rattle him. So why then, did he feel his stomach churn and bubble? Why did only the sight of the man before him, flash images in his mind, of a darkened tunnel; the feeling that his heart would thump right out of his chest, long, pointed teeth...and the smell of fear.

Severus refused to succumb to his irrational fears; he schooled his face into his familiar mask, and forced himself to bury his emotions like usual; deep inside his shields.

-----------

Before Severus could examine his feelings, his polished black boots found their way to the door of the infirmary.

Severus shook his head in disgust; since when did he actually care about the welfare of a Potter? That didn't stop his traitorous hands from clasping onto the cold metal door handle of the Infirmary, or his wayward feet from propelling him forward.

----------

Remus stared at the flap of black robes disappearing through the doorway. His fingers pressed tightly against the phial; the cork digging into the palm of his hand. He slowly opened his hand and stared down thoughtfully at the phial filled with the ruby red liquid, slipped the phial into the deep pocket of his tattered robes, and pulled out a metal flask from his other pocket. He pinched his nose, and dipped his head back; he scowled as the vile-tasting liquid slid down his throat.

He stuffed the flask back into his pocket, and made his way over to the shelves of books at the far corner of the classroom. As he pulled out the heavy tome from its place, it set dust particles floating through the air, and hitting the stream of sunlight filtering in through the high, arched windows.

He flipped through the yellowed pages of the book, not finding the answers he was looking for. His breath hitched, and he pulled out the phial that Severus had given him. For the second time that day, he pinched his nose and grimaced as he swallowed the bitter concoction. Just in case, he thought.

--------

Honestly, Severus thought as his quill slashed across the parchment, littering the page with red ink; every year, the number of dunderheads that he was forced to teach grew larger. Just once, he thought to himself, he wished that he'd come across a student who not only excelled in the Discipline, but embraced it, savoured it, and put their heart and soul into it, like he'd done. There were few, if any students at Hogwarts who had the makings of a great Potions Master.

True Granger, as much as was loath to admit it, and Draco were very gifted in Potions, but neither had the ambition or the desire to pursue Potions as a career. Every year, Severus kept an eye out for a potentially gifted first year to pass his knowledge on to, and every year, he swallowed his disappointment.

For a brief moment, Severus allowed his thoughts to imagine what it would have been like if he'd had a son. Would his son have followed in his footsteps?

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose; what the hell? Why were his thoughts wandering in such a bizarre direction? He hated children! He never wanted a child—did he? There was only one woman with whom he would ever have wanted to father a child from, and he knew that that had always been impossible.

Besides, Albus was quite certain that the Dark Lord would one day rise again, and Severus' path was mapped out for him; he would return to the Dark Lord's side, and spy for the side of the light. Not a life he'd ever want for his child, especially if said child was a son. The Dark Lord would have surely expected any son that he had sired, to take the Dark Mark one day, and no child of his would ever be defiled by the mark of Servitude to such a megalomaniac. No... it was better that he had no one to care about, and no one to care about him. His life was too dangerous and Severus vowed that he'd never allow himself to care about another ever again, or allow anyone to get too close to him. He would not lose someone else he cared about; he would not have more blood on his hands.

He went over to the bar, and with trembling fingers picked up a dark green bottle of his best whiskey that he save for moments when he desperately needed to forget either his physical or mental anguish; he'd not needed this comfort since the days when he'd returned from the Dark Lord's side, weak and injured from the loving hands of his Master. He clutched the bottle tightly; he hesitated only a moment, before pulling out the cork.

Severus didn't even bother with a glass; he tipped the bottle and leant the top of the cool, smooth rim to his trembling lips. His nostrils flared, as he breathed in the heavy smell of alcohol fumes. The burning liquid scalded his throat and the warmth spread through his belly and limbs.

Enough of the self-pity, he thought in self-loathing; you've chosen your path, and now there was no turning back. There was no one to pat him on the back, and say, You've done a good job Severus. No, whatever good deeds he had done, or continued to do, he did to ease his own guilty conscience. He didn't deserve recognition or a kind word. He deserved to rot in hell, for his part in Lily's death. But he supposed that having to live every day, with the knowledge of what he'd done, was hell-on-earth. And if he needed any reminder of just how loathsome he was, he had only to look deeply into the eyes of the boy whom he'd taken away his parents from; the boy whose innocent gaze, so reminiscent of his mother's, twisted the dagger more deeply into his gut, every time he stared into those emerald eyes.

Severus flinched when a brisk knock on the door, echoed through his darkly-lit, dungeon quarters. He'd not bothered to light the lanterns, and it was on the brink of dusk. Severus closed his eyes for a moment, but the frantic rapping continued.

Severus quickly recapped the bottle, and attempted to pull together his tortured thoughts. It was mostly likely Albus, he thought. He rolled his eyes; the man picked the most inopportune moments to drop by. He wondered sometimes about Albus; the man could certainly rival Sybil in his fortune-telling abilities, and his penchant for arriving at his door at the worst moments, when his defences were down; it was annoying... to say the least.

With a huff, Severus swung open the door, and his comment to Albus about where he could stick his Sherbet Lemons, stilled on his lips, when he saw Remus Lupin standing there, instead of the Headmaster.

“Lupin,” Severus sneered.

“Severus, I'm so sorry to disturb you,” Remus said apologetically. “But, I had an unfortunate accident.”

Severus crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at the ashen man before him, who had the nerve to disturb his session with his bottle of liquid comfort.

Severus curled his lip in disdain. “And just what accident would that be Lupin?”

Remus twisted his slender fingers around the fabric of his shabby robes. “I'm afraid that I dropped the Wolfsbane potion, Severus.”

Severus' eyes flashed with fury. “You bumbling idiot,” he spat. “Do you realise how rare and expensive these ingredients are?” He bared his yellow teeth. “Of course not,” he sneered, “It's not as if you're footing the bill, is it?” he said coldly, looking down his aquiline nose in disgust at Remus' faded robes.

The lines in Remus' scarred face tightened. “I seem to remember a time when your robes were in much the same condition as mine Severus.”

Severus' lips thinned.

“So I really wouldn't look down your large nose at me,” Remus said in a dangerous voice, “When it wasn't so long ago that you were the one wearing the patched-up trousers and the tattered robes.”

Snape's sallow face flushed crimson. “Why you ungrateful bastard,” he spat, “you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me. You'd be back on the streets, rummaging through trash bins for your next meal.”

Remus snarled. “I'm quite certain that Dumbledore is the one footing the bill, so don't pretend that you are doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

Severus whipped his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at Remus' throat. “Get out.”

“Very well Severus. I'll just explain to Albus that you refused to supply me with my Wolfsbane, and we'll see just who'll be rummaging through trash bins.”

Severus' expression turned murderous; he stashed his wand back in his robes' pocket, and spun around furiously.

Severus' teeth were clenched in anger, as he rattled the phials on the shelves of his storage room; his hand still shook with fury. He had a childish desire to sweep his hand across the neatly lined bottles of Wolfsbane on the shelves and watch them crash onto the hard dungeon floor-- just to spite the wolf.

Severus scowled. Something was different about Lupin; something he couldn't put his finger on. Usually the man was easier to bully. When the hell had he developed such a backbone?

“Here,” he snapped, jabbing the phial into the fragile-looking man's chest.

“Thank you Severus,” Remus said, nodding his head slightly.

Severus wanted to wipe the smug look off the man's scarred face. This was going to be a long year. Severus' only consolation was that the Defence position was cursed, and by the end of the year the man would be gone.

---------

“Harry!”

Hermione looked up with a smile, as he entered the Common Room the next evening after supper. Harry was relieved that Pomfrey had finally deemed him well enough to leave. Harry had to admit though, that it had been a long night, and despite the potions that Harry knew Snape had provided to relieve the pain, he'd still had a hard time sleeping. Harry reckoned that after three years of the Infirmary being his second home, and having consumed many potions over the past couple of years, that he'd become immune to their potency.

Harry's breath had hitched, when in the middle of the night, he'd heard the rustling of robes, and the scraping of metal chair legs on the sterile white ceramic tiles of the Hospital wing, echoing through the darkened infirmary. Harry pretended to be asleep, but when he cracked an eye open to see the dark form of Snape sitting in the chair by his bedside, he gasped in surprise.

Harry's stomach flipped; Snape was checking up on him? No one would ever believe that the Greasy Git of the Dungeons was actually sitting by his bedside in the middle of the night. Ron would think that he'd gone mental; that he must have taken some potion that was making him delirious.

Hermione's eyes crinkled in concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Loads better thanks. I don't know why Pomfrey made me stay there all night and day,” he huffed in annoyance.

“Well, I think that it's better to be safe, than sorry Harry,” Hermione said sternly.

Ron smiled crookedly at him; he was sitting on the couch beside Hermione, surrounded by books, quills and parchment. Hermione had been frantically scrawling notes, while Ron was pretending to study, when he was really looking at the latest Quidditch magazine.

“She's right you know mate. Besides,” he snickered, “you would not have wanted to be in Snape's class today. He was in a right foul mood.”

Harry smirked. “And that's supposed to surprise me?”

“No, I mean worse than usual. He was even taking points from Slytherin, left, right and centre. Poor Neville.” Ron jerked his head towards the other end of the Common Room, where Neville was reduced to a blubbering puddle of goo. “Snape was merciless.”

Harry shook his head. “Wow, you're right. I'm glad I wasn't there.”

“Yeah, and you should have seen him with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle in detention last night. I've never seen him that way with his Slytherins before.”

Harry bit his lip thoughtfully. Is it possible that Snape was really upset with Malfoy and his goons, on Harry's account? Snape did stay with him half the night in the infirmary, and he had taken care of him after Uncle Vernon had used him as a punching bag this summer, and he did let Harry stay with him before term started, but no...That didn't mean that Snape actually cared about him, even just a little bit now--did it?

Ron's voice broke through Harry's conflicted thoughts.

“So...do you still have detention with Snape?”

“No actually,” Harry said slowly, realising just how easily he had actually got off. “He gave me a long lecture about how, if ever I lose control like that again, I'll be in detention until I graduate, and he assigned me a six foot essay on learning to control my temper-” Ron snorted, “-and how I could have handled the situation differently. And he kept going on and on about how I put myself in danger, and it didn't matter what anyone said to me--it didn't give me the right to retaliate with my wand.”

Hermione nodded in approval. “He's got a point Harry. Malfoy is quite good at saying things just to rile you up. You can't let him provoke you like that. I shudder to think what would have happened if Snape hadn't of intervened...”

Harry preferred not to ponder that question.

--------

Albus brushed his long fingers over the box; through bleary eyes, he stared at it. What secrets were contained inside it? And why on earth was Severus' presence crucial to the vault's entry?

It was rather odd for James and Lily to name Severus in their will, considering the animosity that had existed between James and Severus. Albus pressed his fingers against the furrows of his brow; the more he attempted to unravel the mystery, the more it seemed to deepen.

Albus walked over to the window, and stared at the grounds below. A wistful smile touched his lips, as he remembered James and Lily, as if it were only yesterday; was it really so long ago, that they had sat under that large oak tree, whose once majestic branches swayed lightly in the spring breeze? And was it only yesterday that he'd had to scold young Sirius and James for turning their Defence Professor's hair orange. A smile tugged at his lips. Yes, those boys had been a handful, but life was never dull with them around. Sometimes Albus wondered if they'd passed their legacy down to the Weasley twins.

As Albus let his mind wander to times past, he turned around to stare once more at the box lying so innocently beside the yellowed scroll of parchment. What secrets have you buried along with you, Lily and James? Albus wondered if these secrets would only cause more pain for those involved.

The flapping of wings startled Albus from his reverie; out of the corner of his eye, Albus could see Fawkes curling her long claws around the metal bar of her perch.

It was rare that Albus felt control slip from his grasp; or rather, it was rare that he admitted it, but he was at a loss of how he could fulfill the necessary requirements to opening the vault, without the presence of Black. Yes, he had to find a way to capture Black; not only to ensure Harry's safety, but to obtain access to Lily and James' vault. Albus only hoped that Fudge was not fool enough to drive Sirius further away with his ridiculous insistence on surrounding the castle with Dementors.

Albus shuddered; no, he didn't approve of using Dementors to guard the prisoners of Azkaban, and he most certainly did not approve of having Dementors in such close proximity to his students, especially when they seemed to have a particularly adverse effect on young Harry.

Albus clenched his fists until he felt his long nails dig into his palms. Fudge was reckless and dangerous, and he'd be damned if he would allow the man to compromise his efforts to keep his students safe.

And then there was the question of the Potter's vault. Albus was afraid that Fudge's interference would only make matters worse, and drive Black further into hiding. He had to find a way to entice Black out of hiding; if only to satisfy his increasing curiosity about the contents of the vault. There was something about the whole matter of Black's betrayal that hadn't sat well with Albus from the beginning, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. There had always been a piece of the puzzle that had not fit, but the answer had always remained just out of reach. Perhaps he'd been remiss in accepting Black's guilt so easily. A twinge of guilt twisted at his gut; he'd already failed Harry so horribly, by placing him with the Dursleys. Albus had a feeling that the burden of guilt would weigh down much more heavily on his frail shoulders, in the time to come.

He stared out once more at the puff of smoke, spiraling from Hagrid's hut, and absent-mindedly watched, as two familiar figures strolled down the hilly path towards the large man's hut.

------

Later on that evening, as Harry was standing alone in the main hall, trying to figure out where his friends had disappeared to after dinner, he spotted Ron standing by the Charmed staircase, shifting from one foot to the other; his eyes darting frantically, from side to side.

Harry crept up quietly, and tapped him on the shoulder; Ron jumped.

The freckles stood out starkly on Ron's pale face.

Harry's eyes crinkled in concern. “Ron? You okay mate?”

“Where's Hermione?” Ron asked, looking around nervously, clutching his midsection, which seemed to be squirming suspiciously.

“I don't know. The last time I saw her, she was mumbling something about going to the library, and that she had loads of homework to do, and then she proceeded to lecture me sternly about how I should be doing the same thing,” Harry said, grinning crookedly.

Ron swooshed the air out of his lungs. “Phew,” he said, as he unzipped his jacket, revealing Scabbers' pink nose, and long whiskers.

Ron scowled. “It's becoming quite tiresome, trying to keep Scabbers here safe from that orange menace.”

Harry rolled his eyes. It seemed as though the battle between rat and cat, and Hermione and Ron, was only worsening. Neither would compromise, and Harry felt like he was the Quaffle in a very long game of Quidditch.

“How about we take a walk down to see Hagrid?” Ron suggested. “Scabbers here could use some fresh air, and maybe we could get a sneak peek at whatever creatures he's got lined up for his classes.”

Harry nodded; he could definitely use some fresh air as well. Being confined to the hospital wing under Poppy's watchful eyes, made him a little antsy.

As they turned to leave, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye, the haggard form of Lupin creeping up the staircase from the dungeons.

“Professor Lupin,” Harry called over.

Remus turned around, and his glower disappeared when his gaze fell on Harry. Even Snape's foul temper couldn't still the small thrill of pleasure that rose at seeing Lily and James' son.

Remus felt a tug at the corner of his eyes, as Harry's bright green eyes met his. How the boy reminded him of Lily. While he could see James' features mirrored in Harry's face as well, it was the eyes that bewitched him; Merlin how he missed Lily and James. His heart ached that James and Lily would never see their son grow up; never see the young man standing before him, who would have made them so proud.

The corners of Remus' eyes crinkled in concern. “How have you been Harry? I heard that you had a little incident yesterday?”

Harry fidgeted under his piercing stare. He really hated being pitied, and felt incredibly embarrassed that he'd allowed his guard down yesterday.

“Yeah, but I'm fine now,” he added hastily.

“I'm really looking forward to your class,” Harry changed the subject quickly.

“So am I Harry. I have some, what I hope, will be very interesting lessons planned,” Remus said absent-mindedly, as his eyes kept shifting to the bundle, squirming in Ron's grasp.

Suddenly, Scabbers began squealing and clawing at Ron's t-shirt. “Calm down Scabbers.”

“Do you think that Crookshanks is hiding somewhere?” Ron asked frantically.

“You know Ron, I'm very good with animals,” Remus said, putting his arms out to grab the now, frantic rodent.

Just as Remus was about to grasp onto the rat, Ron swore, as Scabbers sunk his teeth into his arm, and slipped out of his grasp. Ron scurried after his rat, as it slithered in and out of irritated students' feet, almost tripping them, as it ran up the charmed staircase.

Remus clenched his fists in frustration.

“There's something very strange about that rat,” Harry said, nibbling on his bottom lip.

Remus looked at him oddly. “You have no idea,” he said under his breath.

Ten minutes later, a flustered looking Ron rejoined them, nursing his injured arm.

Harry's eyes widened in concern. “Are you okay Ron? Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey and have it checked?”

“No, I'm fine,” he growled. “It's all Crookshanks' fault. And Hermione's," he said through gritted teeth.

Remus narrowed his eyes at Ron. “Where's Pe-uh...Scabbers, Ron?”

“Oh, he's up in his cage in the Tower.”

Harry tugged at Ron's uninjured arm. “C'mon Ron, let's go visit Hagrid. It'll do you good to get your mind off of everything.”

Ron nodded.

“Would you like to come Professor?” Harry asked, thinking that the professor looked very peaked all of a sudden, and could probably use some fresh air.

Remus wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. “Uh...no thank you Harry. I have some, uh...things I have to take care of,” he said; his gaze shifted up towards the staircase.

“Excuse me,” he said gruffly, and turned around quickly. With his back turned to Harry and Ron, he slipped his hand into his pocket, and retrieved his flask. He took a swig, and clasped tightly onto the banister, as he fought off a wave of dizziness.

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. “Do you think that he's going to be alright?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. “Don't know--but he was sure acting strange.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled.

“C'mon, let's go,” Ron said, as he pulled on Harry's jacket; jerking the smaller boy forward as he did so.