Remus Lupin was sitting, stiff-backed, at the staff table, although everyone had gone and the tables were clear; he was awaiting Severus Snape. With every moment that passed, he felt smaller and a hair more doomed. He was not certain whether pressing the Potions Master into his service was the smartest or most foolish thing he had ever done – Sirius, undoubtedly, would be rolling in his ethereal grave. But then, Sirius would be getting a lot of exercise in the hereafter if he had seen some of the things Harry had done this term...Severus swept into the Great Hall at eight-fifty-nine, and nodded regally to Remus. Remus eyed the other man, who was wearing not black for once, but a blue so dark it might as well have been. The cut was also slightly different than the austere lines Snape typically favored. The effect, while not dramatic, was salutary; Snape almost looked as though his hair was the proper color.

“Thank you very much for doing this, Severus,” Remus said immediately.

“Come along, then,” the other man replied. “The last thing we need is to be late for that toad of a woman; she’ll consider it an insult.”

Remus rose from his seat and followed after the other man.

“Do you have everything? The birth certificate, the–” and here Snape sneered – “–identification?”

“I’m not a child,” Remus replied.

“I am merely implying you have a great deal on your mind,” Snape replied. “Stop being so bloody defensive.”

Remus’s eyebrows climbed. This was the first time he could remember the other man cursing since their school days. “Who has a great deal on his mind?” he wondered.

Snape paused in the hallway, turning to face Lupin. “Pardon?”

“You seem unsettled.”

The Potions Master harrumphed, then took off once more down the hallway. “It is none of your concern, Lupin. Keep your mind on what we are about to do. This woman is interested in interfering and meddling wherever she can manage to grasp hold of any power,” Snape continued as they found a flight of stairs and descended; light from torches threw odd shadows across the black-haired man’s features, bringing them into sharp relief, making him look gaunt and almost otherworldly. “Whatever you do, allow me to present your case,” Snape continued. “Speaking can only worsen your chances, so remain silent unless spoken to.”

Then, Snape himself was silent until they had reached his rooms and slipped inside. “I cannot believe you wore that,” he muttered under his breath as he stoked the fire and tossed another log on. “Don’t you realize you are attempting to impress the Ministry? And not with the fact that you truly need a place of employment before you lapse into abject poverty?”

Remus growled at him. “These are my best robes, Snape, don’t start berating me about clothing–”

“For Merlin’s sake!” the other man snapped. “If you’re going to go off to the Ministry with this sort of attitude, I shouldn’t be surprised if they toss us both out on our ears! Do you even want to stay at Hogwarts?”

Remus felt his cheeks heat. “Of course! I just don’t think it will happen...”

“Ah,” Snape replied, opening his closet and withdrawing one of the dark robes that he typically wore. “Put this on.”

“I don’t want to look like I’m preparing for a funeral–”

“You will be if you do not put this on immediately,” Snape replied.

“It won’t fit–”

“Fine then, an overcoat,” Snape growled, digging through the closet again and producing a long charcoal grey coat and tossing it to Lupin, who slung it around his shoulders.

“Piccary Street!” Snape said, tossing the Floo powder into the fireplace; together, the two men ducked in, popping out in a side alley with a raging fireplace built inside it, masked from the outside to look like a normal brick wall. They emerged into the bright autumn sunlight, and Remus smiled. He had lived in the Muggle world for many years, and he held a particular fondness for it, for the stoplights and trashcans and normal everyday people who wouldn’t even believe him if he shouted from the rooftops that he were a werewolf. It gave Remus a feeling of comfortable invisibility that he realized he had truly missed when a palpable weight dropped off of him at the very sight of the Muggle world he remembered. He took a deep breath and smelled gasoline, and crushed leaves, and street vendors’ food, and the wool of his coat, and Severus Snape.

Oh, yes. Severus. He was jolted out of his reverie as he recalled rather suddenly why he was on Piccary Street; the weight returned abruptly, and he sagged briefly beneath it.

Still, he squared his shoulders and led the way up the street to the official headquarters of the Ministry of Magic, or, rather, the entrance thereof: a red telephone booth behind a hopelessly graffiti'd brick wall. Remus stepped inside, then waited while Severus followed with a grunt of half-amusement, half-distress. It was a very tight fit.

The dark-haired man picked up the phone. “Ministry of Magic, now!” he spat.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic,” a pleasant female voice stated from what sounded like a foot away. “Please state your business with the Ministry.”

Snape spoke irritatedly into the receiver. “Professor Severus Snape, here to be the character witness for Remus Lupin.”

“Thank you. Please take your badge and attach it to the front of your robes.”

Severus reached out to take a small silver badge from the coin return slot, then pinned Remus’s on him as well, since the other man could not move his hands. Remus noted Snape’s said ‘Werewolf Character Witness’; he could only imagine what his said.

“Visitor to the Ministry,” the woman’s voice intoned, sounding slightly stern, now, “you are required to submit to a search and present your wand at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium. Thank you; and have a nice day!” Slowly, the telephone booth began to sink down; eventually, it halted and opened out onto a very large room with a vividly blue ceiling marked with gold; witches and wizards were hopping out of Floos to the left, and waiting to step into them to the right. Remus suspected that the other man hadn’t wanted to use these because he did not want to have to wait.

The dark-haired wizard advanced silently to the Security desk, half-snarling at the men who scanned his robes. “Wand,” the man announced.

Severus reached into his robes and handed the other man the wand; Remus could not help but notice that the professor’s hand trembled slightly as he released it.

“Briar, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches,” the man announced, handing Snape his wand once more. “Hey, can’t forget a wand like that. You here again?” He turned to the other security guard, who was looking rather supremely bored. “Hey, Ernie, you remember this guy?”

“How can I not remember?” Ernie muttered. “That’s Professor Snape, I had him for Potions ten years ago...”

Snape eyed the young man. “And as I recall, I told you if you did not shape up in my class, you would end up serving food at some Muggle establishment. It appears I was not too far off the mark.”

Ernie rolled his eyes and scanned Remus, while his partner examined the werewolf’s wand.

“Beech, Unicorn hair, ten inches,” the man read aloud, handing Remus his wand. “That’s all we need from you.” He eyed the pair. “Mister Lupin, I’m related to the Boneses, and Susan’s told us about your predicament. We do wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you very much,” Lupin replied with a startled nod.

Severus nodded tightly and the pair of wizards entered the elevator along with a handful of others.

“D’you know what time it is?”

“Nine-thirty. We are in plenty of time, Lupin. Stop fidgeting.”

“Stop ordering me about!” Lupin snapped.

“Show more of that collected restraint before your judges,” Snape suggested coolly. “I am certain you will be offered your exemption forthwith.”

Remus shut his mouth, through a combination of pique and the sneaking suspicion that the other man was right. He slowly drew calm over him like a cloak, taking deep, measured breaths and using a trigger word he had learned a long, long time ago. He felt the man’s eyes on him and opened his own.

“What is that?” the Potions Master demanded.

“Me being calm,” Remus replied, noting the lack of testiness in his own voice. “Throughout my life, I’ve needed to develop techniques to keep my temper on an even keel, or...” He shrugged. “Being bitten by a werewolf has a handful of more obscure disadvantages, one of which is a problem reigning in extreme emotion...”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a temper. Or emotions, for that matter.”

“Exactly,” Remus replied with a small smile. “It works, then, doesn’t it?” He paused, then, needing to know: “Severus, does my pin say ‘werewolf’?”

Several of the other wizards in the elevator with them stiffened.

“It says ‘petitioner’,” Snape replied quietly.

“Fourth floor, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating the Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau,” the elevator-voice chirped, and not a moment too soon. Several of the wizards around Remus and Severus had taken as large a step back as they could without literally pressing against the walls. One witch held her ground, but her nose was high in the air and her gaze was filled with disgust, as though Severus had brought a mangy animal into the Ministry and was allowing it to drool all over her robes.

Together, the two wizards began to stride along the wing of the Ministry that dealt with magical creatures, but they did not have to go far; room four-oh-one was ten paces beyond the elevator. As they reached the door, Remus found himself losing his calm, and he paused, knowing it was better to collect himself before entering. Snape paused, waiting with him, not saying a word.

After a minute or two, Snape eyed him searchingly. “Hand me your papers.”

When Lupin did, he continued: “You are ready. Best get it over with.”

My career? Remus wondered, but followed the other man inside.

A plump, rather unattractive secretary was seated at a large desk in a room with the worst decor the werewolf had ever seen. Everything was horribly, miserably pink, the sort of pink that reminded him of Pepto-Bismol, and subsequently of upset stomachs; it was as though the decorators had gone wild with the stuff, drenching the room. Posters of kittens and puppies lined the walls, clashing horribly with the lavender carpet, and one, white poster outlined a list of Ministry-approved teaching techniques in sober, black lettering - although it was apparent that Umbridge, her secretary, or both had attempted to sweeten that as well, in the form of winding, stylized designs around the border in pink, day-glo marker.

“Remus Lupin?”

Remus tore his eyes away from the soul-injuring spectacle and forced his attention onto the woman before him. “Er, yes?”

“You’re expected. Please have a seat.”

Lupin wandered to one of the stiff-backed wooden chairs, thanking Merlin they were neither plastic nor pink. With surprise, he realized that Snape must have somewhat anticipated the color scheme – with this much pink surrounding the man, both his hair and his clothing looked nothing less than pitch black.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then a half an hour. Remus began to feel terribly anxious, but noted that Snape merely examined his nails and hummed a bit, tunelessly.

After an hour-long wait, Umbridge flounced from her office, wearing a pink cardigan and over-robes of a darker rose; she also wore a very wide, very apologetic smile. “Well, Mister Lupin, and Professor Snape, isn’t it?” she greeted with every appearance of enthusiasm. “I’m ever so sorry, but we’re so very busy here in the Department today...!”

Remus blinked. The secretary’s floo had not shown callers so much as once for the entire hour that he and Severus Snape had been present.

“You understand I’m sure,” she simpered, and let them inside her office proper. “Have a seat, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

Snape sat with a grimace, and Lupin perched beside him, noting that these chairs were even harder than those outside, making the werewolf wonder if they had been transfigured from solid rock. “Certainly,” Snape replied. “What sort do you have?”

“I know better than to serve the everyday sort to a Potions Master,” Umbridge said with a sly little look. “I have Czechoslovakian Carava Blend, or perhaps some damask rose? That is my very favorite,” she confessed in a high-pitched, schoolgirlish voice. “It’s all terribly expensive, you know, and on a Ministry salary...” She sighed dramatically. “Although I suppose you know how it is, Severus dear, being on a teacher’s is rather the same, isn’t it?”

“Czechoslovakian Carava Blend, thank you,” Snape replied cordially, causing Remus to blink in surprise. He would not have thought that the other man would have accepted anything from Dolores Umbridge, and he also would have supposed that Snape would have cut off the Inquisitor’s blather long before she was through.

“Er, aren’t there supposed to be others here?” Remus inquired tentatively. “Judges, that sort of thing?”

Dolores tittered behind one hand. “Oh, goodness yes, but this is so much more cozy, don’t you think? A bit more personable, really...”

Remus could not help but note that she spoke to Severus rather than to him.

“So you have been roped into this business by Dumbledore, have you?” Umbridge continued as she fussed about with the tea.

“Quite,” Snape replied coldly.

“Then we needn’t keep to the formalities,” the woman went on in that same, private little voice. “You have no wish to speak on behalf of this half-breed, do you, dear?”

Snape sighed. “No,” he admitted, his voice an odd mirror-image of the Inquisitor’s, dry and wryly condescending while still containing a hint of empathy. “He is an incredibly treacherous animal that, in my opinion, ought to have been put down long ago.”

Umbridge nodded wisely, but Remus scarcely noted the motion. He was feeling truly ill, now. What had possessed him to choose Severus Snape for his advocate? He must have been mad...

“Severus?” he inquired weakly.

“Oh, honestly, Lupin, don’t give me such a look.” Snape turned to Umbridge. “He’s a danger to the students, as he is perfectly aware. He merely wishes to continue for the sake of his pride, perhaps; or perhaps he gains some obscure satisfaction from his pretenses at normal wizardry. I have not asked. Regardless, he is unfit for the position at Hogwarts, or at any educational institution, for that matter.”

Remus looked up at the other man blankly; Snape wore a sneer he remembered from before he had begun growing friendly with the man, one so empty of anything save condescension that Remus felt a rising urge to knock it off his face. Still, that could scarcely help his chances for employment, so he closed his eyes and reminded himself to breathe again, telling himself firmly that Dumbledore might still be able to salvage the situation; if he was so determined to have Remus for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, then he should not have any problem fighting to keep him... And telling himself that he had never really depended on Severus anyway, that the other man’s words weren’t painful...

The worst of it all was that Umbridge was eating it up, an eager gleam in her protuberant eyes and a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.

“Ma’am,” Remus managed. “Ma’am, please. I have my identification papers, and my birth certificate, and the letter from my employer–”

“That scarcely matters without a character witness,” Umbridge replied peremptorily.

Snape raised a brow. “I am his character witness.”

Umbridge tittered. “You are a truly interesting man, Professor Severus Snape,” she said coyly. “A character witness indeed! You have attested to the very darkness of his character admirably, it is true.”

“Yes indeed,” Snape replied quietly. “He is a monster three days of the month.”

“And hiding a monster the other twenty-seven,” Umbridge reminded him.

“Quite. And yet...” Snape paused, looking thoughtful. “We are in truly dangerous times, Dolores.”

The Inquisitor looked taken aback at this change of tack. “Certainly true, certainly true,” she replied, handing Snape his tea.

“A state of emergency, really.” Severus took a slow sip and proclaimed it excellent, before continuing in a slightly more dangerous drawl. “It would be a shame if your decision had... unwanted repercussions.”

Umbridge was so used, now, to agreeing with the other man, that her head bobbed for a moment before she processed his words. “Repercussions?”

“A woman such as yourself, Dolores, tends to land on her feet, but still, from one professional to another, I must admit I see a difficulty ahead of us, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named having returned.”

“There is still some doubt–”

“Is there?” Snape wondered, taking a long, slow sip of his tea. “I was of the understanding that Cornelius Fudge had declared him Returned.”

“Well – yes,” Umbridge replied, rearranging robes that did not need to be rearranged, and fussing with the stationary before her: parchment lined with interweaving pink and violet ribbons.

“That certainly qualifies as an emergency,” Snape prodded. “Are we agreed?”

Some of the breathiness left Umbridge’s voice as she murmured assent. “Of course, of course. So true.”

“And any move a Ministry official makes at such an important time is bound to be scrutinized,” Snape continued sympathetically. “I imagine it must be very taxing.”

“Oh, yes, quite,” Dolores replied, and for a moment her voice reflected nothing but sincerity.

“It would be a shame if one decision at an important juncture lost us the war,” Snape murmured idly.

Umbridge spilled her tea.

“There are rumors that the werewolves are undecided in their allegiances,” Snape continued, as if he had not noted the other woman’s distress, and the tone of his voice seemed to reveal he hadn’t; those dark eyes were certainly downcast, introspective – viewing his tea as though he were planning on divining based on the pattern of the dregs. “One thing about half-breeds is how very vocal they are, Miss Umbridge... if Remus Lupin were to leave here complaining of unfair treatment, no matter how unfounded the accusation... I can only imagine how things would go for you.” Snape placed Lupin’s birth certificate and his certificate of identification on Umbridge’s desk along with Dumbledore’s letter.

The stout woman’s lips thinned stubbornly. “Certainly one werewolf one way or the other won’t make all that much of a difference,” she muttered, almost petulant.

“Oh you would be quite startled how vehemently the lunatic fringe support one another,” Snape replied darkly.

“The Werewolf Act of Nineteen Ninety Three, Paragraph four Section eight states quite clearly that a werewolf cannot hold any governmental or educational position,” Umbridge added weakly.

“Excepting in a state of emergency,” Lupin said coldly. “Which you both agreed we are currently facing.”

Snape’s lips thinned and he scowled darkly at Remus. “I am afraid we have failed, Dolores,” he said, his voice heavy. “In a way, it is just as well, however, given the... situation, as it were.”

Umbridge frowned in concentration, her pudgy hands forming fists.

Then Remus watched as Snape stood, bending slightly over Dolores’s desk, his body language sympathetic and unthreatening. “I understand, Miss Umbridge, but there is nothing we can do – this time. I assure you, he will not have an easy time of it.” He shot a venomed glance back at Remus. “And once the Ministry resolves this situation with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as I am quite certain they shall do very soon, your... path... will be far more clear.”

Umbridge nodded reluctantly, rising to shake Snape’s hand. “You are the sort of professor, Severus, that Hogwarts so desperately needs,” she said, a wide smile on her face, her eyes glittering with restrained malice.

“You flatter me, madam.”

“Certainly not,” she demurred. “Now, if you would excuse me, I have a great deal of work to catch up on. My position at the Ministry is rather taxing, but one makes the necessary sacrifices...”

“Oh – yes, of course, the tedious paperwork,” Snape said, as if Umbridge’s words had caused him to recall.

Remus watched the self-satisfied expression slide off of Umbridge’s features.

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore insisted on putting together a document... if you would just sign here, Miss Umbridge...”

Dolores smiled at him sweetly, but Remus could swear that the woman was five moments away from strangling him with her pudgy fingers. “Of course,” she murmured. “Of course I shall.”

“Professor Lupin,” Theodora said, her smile going warm. “Oh, from the expression on the old toad’s face, I’d suppose you two got the best of her – congratulations!”

When Lupin frowned in puzzlement, Theodora stood and pumped his hand enthusiastically. “You had my Lavinia – got her past her NEWT, you did! We’d been worrying...”

Lavinia re-formed in Lupin’s mind, a sweet but rather bumbling Hufflepuff seventh-year with a round face and dark, disordered curls. “She only needed a bit of confidence,” Lupin murmured warmly. “It was my privilege to teach her. How is Lavinia?”

“Working here at the Ministry, more’s the pity,” she replied with a scowl. “Honestly, if Fudge’d keep his nose out of Hogwarts, things would run a lot more smoothly around here.” She turned to Professor Snape. “Nice to see you back again, sir, although I hadn’t expected so soon. How is dear Harry, anyhow?”

Snape frowned in puzzlement.

“Oh, what a question, he’s Harry blimey Potter, isn’t he?” she rattled on, misinterpreting Snape’s look of confusion for one of disbelief. “I’m sure the poor boy has enough to deal with, doesn’t he, without the Ministry poking into his grades?”

Remus watched as the other man froze over from the inside out. It was a rather singular thing to witness because it was difficult to pinpoint what about the Potions Master had changed. Something in his eyes, something in his affect? Remus wasn’t certain, but after knowing the other man for over twenty years, he could spot it. If Severus had a wolf form, Remus would have said the man was sniffing the air.

When Snape spoke, however, it was with a simple, “quite.” He paused. “I did, however, want to make certain that everything was squared away regarding Mister Potter’s new Potions grade.”

“Of course, of course,” Theodora murmured. “I understand perfectly with things being... er, as they are. Let me just hunt about for the paperwork, it’ll only take me a moment...” She opened a great file drawer attached to her desk, the nature of which was rather obviously magical, as it opened to an enormous length behind her and cracked the plaster on the opposite wall. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “Does that every time. Just a moment,” she repeated, seeming flustered, now. “When was it, then? Sometime in June? Or was it May?”

Severus stilled even further, but Theodora was already talking over him.

“May, it must’ve been,” she said. “Mid-May, I should think, because Mister Potter’s first exam had not yet been graded...” She flipped through a group of manila file folders (pink) seemingly at random, then made a grab for one. “Here it is, sir.” She tapped the cabinet with her wand and it flew back to rejoin the rest of the desk with an audible whooshing noise.

Remus peered over Snape’s shoulder as the Potions Master flipped through the documents contained therein. Severus went more still yet, his fingers lingering over one sheet of parchment in particular.

“I didn’t know you changed Harry’s Potions grade,” Remus commented lightly. “And, in any case, I would have supposed you’d have changed it from an Outstanding to an Exceeds Expectations.”

Theodora smiled. “It wasn’t a question of caprice, Professor. Mister Potter re-took the OWL; Professor Snape merely made certain that the paperwork was in order.” She shook her head in wonderment. “That boy is something else; isn’t he, Professor?”

“Oh, yes,” Severus replied coolly. “Do you mind if I make a copy of some of these documents, for my own records?”

The plump woman frowned. “Why, I can’t say I mind, but didn’t you make some the last time? There’s nothing new in that stack...”

“Silly me,” he replied. “I’ve gone and lost them.” He pointed at the papers with his wand. “Duplicario,” he murmured, and pocketed the papers that magically appeared atop the originals. “Thank you very much, madam.”

“Oh, certainly!” Theodora chirped brightly. “Anytime – and let Harry know that I wish him the best of luck, will you? And same to you, Professor Lupin.”

“Thank you very much,” Lupin echoed, and the pair exited the office.

“I suppose it would be a waste of time to ask you if you really believed any of those things you spouted at Umbridge?”

“Yes,” he murmured, paused to await effect. “It would be a waste of time.”

Lupin snorted, but he already felt half-himself again. “Ought I to ask you why you changed Harry’s grade?”

“I did not,” Snape replied.

“That’s your signature.”

“It is.”

“But you didn’t change the grade.”

“Certainly I didn’t.”

Lupin attempted to parse this in a way that made any sort of sense. “Who did, then?”

“That is what I intend to find out.”

Remus frowned, rubbing his brow. “Someone would have to Polyjuice you,” he murmured, “and perfect your signature. And Polyjuice Harry, too, by the sound of it. Unless Harry really did re-take his OWL, and thought he was with you?”

“Harry did not re-take his Potions OWL,” Severus denied sharply. “The boy was as startled as I was to note that the grade had been altered, and while he can hide things, he is a notoriously poor dissembler.”

“So someone Polyjuiced you, and Harry, and signed your name... why?”

“That is also what I intend to find out.”

“All right,” Remus said inflectionlessly.

“You think it impossible.”

“Think about it. I’ll bet that Umbridge or Miss Klempf runs a battery of tests on anyone who wants to alter a grade, an extremely thorough magical examination. Otherwise, anyone could Polyjuice their way in, and, believe me, some of the parents are every bit that desperate, never mind the children themselves.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

Remus sighed, wondering what it was about Severus that made the dark-haired man feel such a constant need to impress. “I suggest that you admit you let Harry have a second chance, Severus. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t turn out to be a Lord Voldemort clone, you know.”

Snape gaped a moment, then growled, “I did not–”

“Honestly. You’ve been watching over Harry so admirably, and now me, really – your words say one thing, but your actions say something completely different. Always been true, now I think on it...” Remus offered him a warm, engaging smile. “Don’t worry, Severus – your secret’s safe with me. If you like, I’ll tell everyone how much you infuriated me in Umbridge’s office.”

“Mobilus interruptus,” Snape hissed, and the elevator screeched to a stop. Then, he took hold of Remus’s shoulders and slammed him against the back of the elevator. “Listen to me, you fool Gryffindor,” he scathed, his face inches from Remus’s, his eyes furious black holes. “Someone at the Ministry is mucking about with Harry. I am not attempting to protect my reputation as a foul bastard, I am continuing to do my best to ensure that the little brat avoids being skewered and featured as an appetizer at the Dark Lord’s next lawn party. Do we understand one another?”

Remus worried his lower lip between his teeth. “I’m sorry, Severus,” he said earnestly, “it just doesn’t seem like a very logical part of a grand scheme of any sort. Why change Harry’s grade? Why go to all that trouble?”

Severus paused, his expression freezing, blanking, then finally moving to slightly guilty. He retreated, leaning heavily against the closed elevator doors. “It seems... wildly unlikely,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair, then stopping halfway through the gesture.

“I know you’re nervous already, feel free,” Remus said dryly, readjusting the wool overcoat where Severus had pulled at it.

Snape sighed, withdrawing the copies and gazing at them again; Remus moved close to the other wizard to read over his shoulder. One sheet of paper was a letter on what appeared to be Severus’s own personal letterhead stating that Harry’s testing conditions had been inappropriate and demanding he have the opportunity to re-sit the exam in June – footed by Snape’s signature. The next was an answering letter from the Ministry, a note of permission for Harry James Potter to re-take the exam on June the eleventh. Snape closed the folder when he reached the paperwork that shifted Harry’s grade from an Exceeds Expectations to an Outstanding.

“Mobilus,” Snape incanted absently, his eyes still on the paper, now staring sightlessly.

“Severus?”

Snape blinked, as if abruptly recalling Lupin’s presence.

“You’re thinking it really did happen,” Remus realized. “Just as that woman said.”

“I once told you that Harry was practicing Obscura,” Snape said quietly. “I happen to employ the technique as well... a side-effect is sometimes a fuzzy blankness of memory, a suppression in the truest sense of the word, if the memory is sufficiently painful – although what could be so traumatic in changing Harry Potter’s grade only Merlin knows,” he finished wryly. “Perhaps – perhaps I have forgotten?”

Lupin frowned in anxious concern, reaching out instinctively to grip Severus’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s Polyjuice after all...”

Snape shook his head grudgingly. “You are right,” he said, “in supposing that changing Harry’s grade is no great, diabolical plot of the Dark Lord’s. But I think it may be a small detail that presages something far larger.”

Remus opened his mouth to say something he hoped would be encouraging, but then the doors opened and they were back amongst witches and wizards rushing to wait in line for the fireplaces built into the walls, and his hand fell to his side and the words died on his lips.

He tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress the feeling that everyone he cared for was in mortal peril, that or already dead.