Sunday morning, Professor Snape sat rigidly in one of the armchairs in the staff room, waiting along with the other staff present for the final members to arrive. Dumbledore was pacing by the fire. One of the staff had been kind enough to brew tea for everyone, though Dumbledore hardly seemed to notice, which was quite unusual. Snape, seeming agitated, downed his scalding tea in a few gulps, and then set the cup on its saucer. For a few moments he remained staring at Dumbledore with a shrewd and scrutinizing look upon his face.

     “The rabbit - a warning of what is to come … Lightening - divergence …”

     “Give that back!” spat Snape at Sybill Trelawny, who had been sitting nearby and was now studying Snape’s tea leaves intently. He wrenched the teacup from her grasp and set it back on the saucer with a clatter.

     “If you wish to remain blind, then you may do so,” she sniffed haughtily, turning away from Snape’s mutinous glare as Professor Sprout finally arrived in the staff room. Snape looked relieved at her arrival, and the staff quieted down now that the room was full.

     “I am sure you are all wondering why I have called you here so early on a Sunday morning,” said Dumbledore gravely, once all eyes were on him. “Irma” - Madam Pince swelled with importance - “came to me after finding several smaller shelves in the Library toppled, and with her, she brought this.”

     There was a slight gasp throughout the room, and many of the staff members became pale. Snape was one of them. Dumbledore had held up a school bag, with three very large claw marks cut clean in the canvas.

     “The bag has been identified to be Mr. Potter’s, and as of this morning he has been reported missing. According to Miss Granger, Mr. Potter was to have handed in an essay early this morning to you, Severus. Was it handed in?”

       “No,” said Snape simply, sounding rather irritated. “Weasley’s paper arrived on my desk, but not his. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Potter.”

        Talk erupted once more in the staff room. Whispers, and hushed speculations of what it could be. It was a wonder Dumbledore did not burst into flame, what with the look Snape was giving him.

       “Hagrid, you haven’t let any of your pets loose, have you?” inquired Professor Sprout, though not unkindly, and in response Hagrid said he had not.

        Amidst the hubbub, Snape was looking increasingly more annoyed. The room fell silent when they heard the acidic tone in his voice.

       “The claw marks are rather large,” Snape drawled. “You don’t suppose it could be some sort of wolf?”

       “It certainly looks like it could be,” squeaked Flitwick. Snape looked pointedly at Dumbledore.

       Dumbledore did not respond to this, and instead began to instruct the staff on how they would be handling the situation. A team of Aurors was coming in, as well as an expert on dangerous creatures. They would be sweeping the castle and grounds. As a precaution, teachers were to lead students to their classes for the next few days.

        When Dumbledore finished talking, the staff departed in a flurry of worried words and anxious faces, leaving only two people in the room. Dumbledore was one of them, and he remained standing by the fireplace, looking deep into the flames. After a few moments he turned around and spoke.

       “What is it, Severus?” he asked softly, not looking surprised to find that Professor Snape had remained.

        “You didn’t believe me,” Snape said, voice low and hollow. “There was something in this castle, but you just sat back and watched.”

        “Severus, I am sorry that I made such a mistake,” said Dumbledore, sounding both very grave and honest. “I should have believed you, but now the only thing that can be done is to rectify the problem.”

      “You owe Potter your apology too, if he hasn’t already been lost.”

       “I know. Hmm … you say what you saw was a werewolf, Severus,” muttered Dumbledore as he fingered the torn canvas of the bag, “and these claw marks look in every way like they belong to one, but what of the full moon? Surely there are not regular wolves this large in the forbidden forest?”

       “Do not bother asking me. I simply reported what I saw.”

       Dumbledore frowned, and then said, “You are still keeping an eye on Quirrel?”

       “Yes. He was in the forest the other day. You don’t suppose he could have something to do with this, do you?”

     “I am unsure. If you find anything suspicious, report it to me immediately. Continue to observe him. Follow him if you can.”

       “Even if he goes out into the forest again?” The note of worry in Snape’s voice was almost undetectable. Almost.

      “Especially if he goes out into the forest. If he is the one doing this, I need to know as soon as possible.”

     “Yes Headmaster,” replied Professor Snape.

     “You may go now. I have much to do.”

      Snape nodded and went out the door.

      ***

     Harry’s eyes were wide as they took in the soft greenish glow that illuminated the darkness. The sound of ragged breathing punctured the silence every so often, rising above the soft trickle of water. He closed his eyes, as though willing himself to be anywhere else in the world.

   ***

   Professor Snape walked through the corridors of Hogwarts with a purpose, and yet with great care. Looking back and forth, he ducked behind a tapestry and performed a disillusionment charm. He pulled a battered and tarnished pocket watch from within his cloak and took a look at it, his fingers blending in with the tapestry back as he stood perfectly still..

    “Right on … time,” he whispered to himself, as the distant echo of footsteps rang through the halls. Snape peered through a miniscule hole in the weaving of the tapestry, watching Quirrell intently, who, like Snape had been, was walking through the halls with quiet purpose.

      After seeing Quirrell’s robe whip around the corner ahead, Snape paused for a few moments, and then slid out from behind the tapestry to slink after him. They reached the grounds quickly, Snape following undetected. He stayed hidden, and some time after Quirrell had left the entrance hall, Professor Snape slid outside as well. It was growing dark out, and when Snape crept out of the double doors and behind a clump of bushes a person could be seen, way off in the distance. It was Quirrell, standing by the forest as he looked around before darting into the trees. Snape took a step forward, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he waited. After about a half hour, Quirrell came out of the forest, looking much less agitated.

Professor Snape stood stock still in the bushes as Quirrel passed, and only once he was gone did Snape begin to walk around the side of the castle. At first it was not clear as to where he was going, until he stopped. Far off a small window that was set into the rock below the castle could be seen. It looked like it led to a dungeon room somewhere. With a silent flick of his wand, he summoned a lantern from it, and a soft whooshing noise announced its presence as it rushed through the rapidly darkening grounds. The lantern too had a charm on it to camouflage it, but Snape managed to reach up a hand and catch it without taking his eyes off the forest. Then, he walked with the unlit lantern in his hand down to the edge of the trees, where Quirrell had previously disappeared into. He stepped into the trees and removed the disillusionment charm - off of both himself, and the lantern. The darkness of the forest hid him well despite the missing charm, but it was far too dark to see. He walked a few feet into the trees, and then lit the lantern, keeping the flame low. His wand was up and ready to defend himself should he need to. As his eyes searched the edges of the flickering puddle of light where the blackness began, he continued on.

      Despite the fact that he had marched with steady, unwavering steps down into the grounds and to the forest edge, he faltered now; his grip tightened on the lantern, and on his wand. Yet Snape pressed on, eyes flicking nervously at the shadows. Every snap of a stick, every rustle of a branch, made him turn. In spite of all of this, his journey to Quirrell’s destination was uneventful. After a long time, Snape froze. Lying on the forest floor, causing surprise and shock to fall upon Snape’s face, was a unicorn. It was lying dead, its pure white mane lying in a pool of silvery blood. This could only be what Quirrell had been hiding.

     “That scum,” said Snape in a low whisper that was quickly lost in the trees.

     Glancing around before he did so, Snape knelt by the creature, which was quite thoroughly dead.  One of his eyebrows rose as he took in the bite marks on the side of it. Blood was smeared on its flank where the wound was. Professor Snape was looking thoughtfully down at the animal. He did not react to the soft swishing noise in the trees, or see the shadows cast by his lantern. But he did register the snapping of a stick, and he whirled around. There were eyes looking at him through the bushes. He blasted a curse into the brush and then turned on his heel and bolted, the lantern flickering dimly with the rush of the air. He turned the flame down completely, and threw each foot in front of the other with great speed. He was a fast runner, but whatever was following him was faster, and had much better vision on the dark forest.

      Frantically, his eyes darted around as he ran, focusing on the trees rushing by. All of them were very tall, but the branches did not begin until very high up. There was no hope of being able to climb one. All that was left was to run. The thumping crackle of the steps behind was growing ever closer, the rustle of underbrush accompanying it, and all the while the not quite full moon sparkled above through the trees, shedding light on the surroundings. Yet this light was not enough, and Professor Snape was sent flying through the air, having tripped on a root. He fell hard on the floor of the forest, the unlit lantern falling from his grasp and shattering. The sound of the glass breaking did not quite cover up the loud crack that shot through the air. As he lay on his belly, something moved nearby. For a moment Snape did not stir. His brows were furrowed, his eyes clenched shut, and he was biting his lip. After a moment, gasping, Snape tried to get up, but as soon as he put any weight on his right ankle, it gave way, and he was once more lying face down on the forest floor. He had no chance to try again, for the thing was upon him. Even if he did have a moment, the way his teeth were clenched made it look as though he probably wouldn’t have moved anyway. But then again, judging by the angle of his ankle, this would not have come as a surprise to anyone who had seen it. So he remained motionless, breath coming in shallow bursts, his eyes focused on the ground. But another set of eyes lowered themselves to his. They were luminous, and glittered with a sort of darkness very few animals possessed. Snape caught them with his own, and he seemed to have ceased breathing as he stared into the darkness of that gaze.

     And then, out of the black, came the others, silent as the grave, and he was surrounded. Snape did not look up anymore, and instead focused on a small spider crawling over the sticks on the forest floor, inches from his nose. It scuttled away when a paw twice the size of Snape’s fist landed in front of the Professor’s vision.

    “And who might you be?” said a low, growling voice. “What brings you here?”

         “Professor Snape, I work up at the school,” he said breathlessly, still not daring to look up. “I was following Quirrell.”

    “Is that so?” said the wolf, or so Snape presumed, for he had yet to look up. The wolf started to pace back and forth. “Snape you say … not … Severus Snape?”

    Snape looked up sharply. The wolf was staring at Snape with eyes of steel, a deep scar across the side of his face. His lips were curled back in what could only have been a sneer. From a distance, one would think that he was an ordinary wolf, but his size told otherwise. Professor Snape’s own face became grey, and tinged with green as he watched the wolf’s mouth move with the words - so human, and yet with the sound of a beast running through them.

     “Ah yes … I thought I recognized you,” said the wolf to the others, still sneering. “You’re one of His, aren’t you?”

     Snape seemed unable to open his mouth, nor move.

    “Stand up,” barked the wolf suddenly. Snape suddenly unfroze, and stiffly tried to get to his feet, but his ankle once again gave way. He was left sitting on the forest floor, the great wolf rising above Snape’s head when he was not standing. “Very well then … stay there. Now answer my question. Are you one of the Dark Lord’s?” The final word was said with a low, growling voice.

    “Well …” Snape muttered. It was quite obviously a loaded question. “He is gone, is He not? So I suppose I am not His anymore, am I?”

    “Clever … very clever,” said the wolf, pacing, a scrutinizing look upon his face. “But I don’t believe you. You were on his side once … and therefore cannot be trusted.”

    “And I don’t trust you,” said Snape slowly, and then bravely, he continued. “Who are you?”

    “Who I am now, or who I used to be?” he answered shrewdly.

    “Both,” gambled Snape, an eyebrow slightly raised.

    Cold eyes stared Snape down, but then the wolf answered, “I used to be called Albert Blackburn, but after what happened the year before the Dark Lord fell, all of us here have taken on different names. I am now called Aldhelm, and am the leader of this pack. You had best respect that … if you want to live.”

    Professor Snape looked thoughtful. If the name was familiar to him, he did not show it.

    “You never did know me by name,” spoke Aldhelm, seeming to recognize Snape’s pensive expression for what it was. “Few of us here were well known. Nobody here was overly notorious in our previous lives, not like Fenrir.”

   “Previous lives?” Snape questioned, glancing up sharply at the name Fenrir, eyes ever so slightly wider.

    Some of the wolves laughed. The noise was different from ordinary human laughter. It sounded wrong. The forest dampened the sound quickly.

    “Let’s round him up, he’s been told quite enough for now,” directed Aldhelm, suddenly serious. “We cannot let him go now that’s he’s seen us.”

    “Dumbledore … he knows I’m here. He’ll come after me.”

    “We do not fear him, nor do we fear the Dark Lord, who I am sure you know walks among you in that castle.”

     Snape could not conceal the shock he felt, and a few of the wolves let out more barking laughter.

     Baying, the circle of wolves closed in, the hot, sick breath of each of them making Snape choke slightly. The scent was of blood, and it hung thickly in the air. 

       “Your wand,” said one of the other wolves, teeth bared. Its voice possessed a certain wheezy quality to it.

       Snape hesitated.

       “Wand or life, which do you value more?” it spoke again, teeth inches from Snape’s face. “Try a spell and you’ll be dead before it leaves the wand.”

       Swallowing thickly, Snape handed it over. The wolf took it in his teeth while Aldhelm watched, looking as though he were waiting to speak. And indeed he was.

      “Drag him for now; he’s lame,” barked Aldhelm. “No biting. Not yet. He can walk once I find a suitable walking stick down the way.” The dark, glittering eyes of Aldhelm glanced around at the trees and deadfall, and here there were no branches of the kind he spoke of.

     Before he could protest, Snape let out a sharp breath as two enormous paws landed upon his chest and pushed him onto his back. Another wolf, with its hot breath flowing over Professor Snape’s face, grabbed the back of his robe, careful not to sink its teeth into him.

      “This should be fun,” said a female wolf standing next to the one with the wand in its teeth.

       “Indeed,” another wolf muttered with a slick, oily voice, and then with a howl from Aldhelm they were dragging Snape along the forest floor. All the while Aldhelm watched the trunks of the trees.  Immediately they went down a very steep hill, into thicker brush. Only once they had finished their descent Aldhelm seemed to have found what he was looking for, and with his enormous paws, broke a rare low branch from a tree and pushed it at Snape, who was still on the ground.

      “There. Take it. It’s even ground for a while,” he spat. “I trust you can manage?”

       Silently, Snape did what he was told, noting the number of the wolves as he grabbed a hold of the stick, almost gratefully, and began to carefully limp his way over roots. He could put no weight on the foot, and this probably had something to do with the fact that it was resting at an angle that no ankle should ever be at. He eyed his wand occasionally with a longing look in his eyes.

      “Faster!”

       One of the wolves pushed Snape from behind, its paws landing on his back. He fell from the weight of the animal, getting dirt in his teeth as he hit the ground. The wolves let out those strange, barking laughs while Snape attempted to get up again. It took two tries, but he was back on his feet and leaning on the stick. He spat the grit from his mouth onto the ground and kept going.

     With each step through the forest Snape seemed to grow paler, and over time his eyes became glassy. He struggled with the stick, and made the mistake of putting his bad foot on the ground every so often, making him wobble dangerously. In the night chill the strange group pressed on. A cold sweat had formed on Professor Snape’s face, and tremors seemed to take over him every so often. Whether these were from cold or pain, it was hard to tell. The forest lost what little warmth it had left in it from the spring day, and it became darker the deeper in they went, and despite the moon overhead the light could barely reach them through the thick canopy of trees. Only occasionally would Snape look up and catch a glimpse of it, looming overhead. And once, just once, he dared to glance over at Aldhelm, who was walking along beside him to make sure he didn’t try to make a break for it. His eyes gleamed darkly in the moonlight. Snape looked forward, and did not look at Aldhelm again.