Harry Potter Fic: Man in the Mirror, (6/?, teen)

[nagi_schwarz]

DRACO

May 2, 1998

Draco found Snape's body in the Shrieking Shack. It hadn't been difficult after listening to a tired Harry Potter blather on about his heroics to anyone and everyone within hearing.

Draco hovered in the doorway, staring, hesitant. He'd never seen a dead body before, not like this. Dumbledore toppling off the tower was one thing, but Snape was - lying in a pool of his own blood. He was even paler than he'd been in life, looking as if he'd been carved of stark white wax. He didn't look anything like the teacher, the Death Eater Draco had looked up to. Except he hadn't really been a Death Eater, had he?

Draco crept close to the body, unfastening his cloak as he went. He had to cover Snape somehow, make the body look more presentable for when the Aurors broke down the door and dragged him away, threw him on the pile of other Death Eaters. Then Potter would give another heroic speech so Snape would be buried with more fuss than he'd ever cared for in life.

Draco's boot slipped in the blood, and he gave a little yelp. Once he recovered his balance, he went to settle his cloak over the body - and saw that Snape was breathing. Faintly. And the wounds in his neck were closing. Slowly.

"He has potions in his pocket," someone said.

Draco spun.

The ghost of Remus Lupin hovered in the corner, over the tattered old bed. In death he looked - young. Younger than Draco had ever imagined a teacher could be. He must have been a Fifth or Sixth Year, judging by the more delicate lines of his face. Despite his scarring, he even looked a bit - handsome.

"He was muttering about them before he passed out," Lupin said, and shrugged apologetically. "I'm not a poltergeist, so I can't touch anything. You have to give them to him in order, I think. First the blue, then the red, then the green, then the dark blue, then the brown."

Draco stared. "How do I know you don't want him poisoned?"

Lupin actually laughed. "I never hated him nearly as much as he hated me." Then he gestured toward Snape. "Better do it quickly, before someone else arrives and takes him away."

"What will I do with him, once he's all right?" Draco asked. He kept a wary eye on Lupin, then reached into Snape's cloak. Five potions, in vials, in just the colors Lupin had described.

"I don't think he'll be all right even after you give him the potions," Lupin said. "He was bitten by a great snake and had most of his memories taken. He'll be weak and disoriented."

Draco cradled Snape's head on his lap. Any other time, he would have whined and complained at the stickiness of Snape's blood-soaked hair, but right now that didn't matter. What mattered was saving the man who'd sacrificed everything to save him. He unstoppered the first vial, poured its contents down Snape's throat. Waited. The wounds began to close a little faster. The second potion, and Snape began to take on some of his usual color; a blood-replenishing potion, then. The green potion, and then Snape was breathing more easily. Draco glanced at Lupin, but the ghost just hovered in the corner, watching, face impassive. The dark blue liquid went down a little easier, but best as Draco could tell, it had no visible effect. The last potion was a murky brown that must have tasted horrible. Luckily for Draco, his patient was asleep.

Or not. Snape came awake abruptly, rolled onto his side, and retched violently. Then he passed out again on Draco's lap.

"What in Merlin's name...?"

"The poison's out of his system," Lupin said mildly.

Draco stared helplessly down at Snape. "Now what?"

"I don't think you ought to leave him here. The Aurors haven't caught all the Death Eaters, I suspect, and there are probably spies and sympathizers still hidden among the general population who would do him harm." Lupin sank down on the bed, and he wore a sad smile. "I don't think that, even if Harry were to tell the world that Severus is a hero, he would be treated well. You should take him away from here."

"Where?"

"Can you Apparate?"

There was a gleam in Lupin's eye that Draco thought a ghost shouldn't have. "Yes."

"Will you do everything I say without question?" Lupin rose up.

Draco hesitated, then looked down at Snape. "Will he be safe, where you're sending him?"

"No Death Eaters will find him there, and the Ministry will be hard-pressed to do the same." Remus drifted toward the door.

Draco cast a levitation charm on Snape, then draped the cloak over him. He started to follow Lupin, then paused. "Wait a moment - can you even leave this place?"

"I didn't die here," Lupin said.

Draco blinked. "Oh. Then - what were you doing here?"

"I came here, as a student, to endure my changes," Lupin said. "I thought I'd revisit the place one more time before I follow the others and join Dora, and I found Severus here."

"Dora?" Draco asked.

"Your cousin," Lupin said. "We had a son, but I'm sure you know that. You ought to visit him. Make sure he grows up with the better influences in his family."

"Somehow I doubt anyone else thinks I'm one of the 'better influences' of any family." Draco flicked his wand, and Snape began to trail after him, suspended in midair.

"Perhaps," Lupin said, "but then you're the only one who's here."

Here with the body, Draco thought.

"Now, can you find the nearest muggle village?" Lupin asked.

"I'm not abandoning him with muggles," Draco said.

Lupin arched one eyebrow. "Even though that wasn't precisely a question, I rather suspect you were questioning my orders."

"Orders?"

"Severus Snape almost gave his life to spare the muggles you despise so much. If you do nothing else, at least have the forthright mind to respect his decision and attempt to understand it before you judge it," Lupin said.

Draco flinched. Despite his youthful visage, Lupin still spoke with all the authority of a teacher. Much less mild than when he'd been an actual teacher, too. "Yes sir. Nearest muggle town. How will you follow?"

"The dead are capable of their own magic," Lupin said, and vanished.

Draco took a deep breath. He hadn't exactly taken the test for his license at the Ministry, but he was competent all the same. He reached out, tugged Snape's unconscious form against his side, and flicked his wand.

"Disappereo."

***

"What am I looking for?" Draco asked. The muggles were staring at him. He could feel it, but then he supposed he looked strange to them, in bloodstained robes, talking to no one. He'd cast a disillusionment charm over Snape's body; Lupin had been confident that the Ministry was too busy to bother with minor charms cast in the midst of muggle populations.

"A red telephone booth," Lupin said. "Like that one, right there."

Draco recognized the large metal contraption, similar to the visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic. He darted through the crowd of muggles, wand discreetly trained on Snape to tote him along, and slipped into the box before anyone could beat him to it.

"Take the receiver off the hook," Lupin said, and pointed.

Draco followed his directions hesitantly. He'd never been near muggle technology before; best as he understood, it was unpredictable and dangerous.

"I want you to dial these numbers," Lupin said, and began to recite them.

Draco was puzzled for a moment, then spotted the little numbered buttons. "Wait, start again."

Lupin did so, looking as patient and mild as ever, and Draco poked at the buttons. He jumped when they made noises, little semi-musical tones that formed a curious song.

"Now hold this bit to your ear and this bit near your mouth," Lupin said.

Draco obeyed, wincing. Who knew what horrible muggle germs had infected the thing; it was obviously some sort of public convenience. He heard a sound inside the black receiver-thing. Which was made of some smooth, cold, hard substance almost like glass, but opaque, lifeless. "There's a sound - like an alarm. Have I done something wrong?"

"No, that's just the phone ringing," Lupin said. "Alerting the people on the other end that someone is calling. When they answer, ask for Isabel Brightman."

Isabel Brightman? Who was that?

And then a voice said, "Hello?"

Draco froze. It was Snape.

Lupin's voice in his other ear prodded him. "Isabel Brightman. Speak normally - no need to shout."

"Hello?" the man said again. No. It couldn't be Snape – Snape was never that hesitant.

Draco glanced at the unconscious man suspended outside the telephone booth to make sure, then said, "I'd like to speak to Isabel Brightman, please."

"May I ask who is calling?"

"My name is Draco Malfoy," he said, and at Lupin's urging, "I'm one of Remus's old students."

"Oh. Of course." The man's tone warmed considerably. Then his voice faded, as if he were far away, and Draco heard him yell, "Mum, phone for you. One of Mr. Lupin's old students. Name of Draco Malfoy."

Mum? The man still lived with his mother?

And then a woman was speaking to him. "Hello? Mr. Malfoy? Is everything all right with Remus? It's been three years since we've seen him."

Draco darted a glance at Lupin and wondered if he could hear the conversation. Perhaps he could, because his expression became sorrowful. Draco didn't know how to do this, how to say it, but he tried. "I'm very sorry, Madam Brightman. I - Remus Lupin is dead."

"W-what?"

Draco repeated it, more loudly, in case Lupin was wrong and this muggle contraption was decrepit and the woman couldn't hear him. "Remus Lupin is dead."

"Remus Lupin – as in the Remus Lupin who was called a Marauder in school and was a prefect and has an awful collection of ratty cardigans?" The woman's voice was high-pitched, and for a moment Draco thought she might be near tears. He didn't know what a Marauder was, though, and he turned his questioning gaze on Lupin, who nodded. His sad expression deepened.

"Yes, that Remus Lupin," Draco said.

"Was it the disease? Or did - did others kill him?" The woman's voice quavered.

"He was murdered," Draco said softly. "But not because he was a - a werewolf." It was hard to say that, hard not to call him a mangy dog as Snape and his father had so many times. "It - there was a war."

"The Dark Lord - Remus said there were suspicions he'd risen again, that's why he'd gone away." The woman's voice was still shaking, but she sounded fairly steady. Draco wondered how a muggle woman knew so much about the wizarding world. "Was his death - quick? He'd told me that Death Eaters liked to torture, and --"

Lupin nodded at Draco, expression grave, and Draco said, "It was quick, yes. I'm so sorry to have to deliver the news like this."

"No. Thank you for calling me. It's just that -- how did you know to call me? Did Cho Chang tell you?"

Draco blinked and slewed a look at Remus. Cho Chang? Remus shook his head.

"Tell her the truth," he said.

Draco took a deep breath. It was bizarre, talking into this black device and knowing that someone far away could hear. "No - I, madam, I don't know what you know about wizards, or - Lupin's ghost. He told me. To call you."

The woman let out a little sob. In the background, Draco heard the man say, "Mum, what's wrong?"

Draco didn't think someone who sounded just like Snape would ever say such a thing, sounding so concerned.

"Remus's ghost. Right." The woman sounded as if she were trying to convince herself. Then she coughed, though it sounded more like another sob. "Tell him – tell him thank you, then," the woman said. "Is there anything else, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes. It's about Severus Snape."

The sound on the other end vanished abruptly. Draco turned to Lupin. "I think it's broken," he said. "I can't hear anything."

Then the woman said, "What about him?" Her grief had been replaced by something like - anger. Wariness. Fear?

"He is injured and needs a place to convalesce - somewhere away from wizards, who may wish to do him harm," Draco stammered.

There was another silence, and then the woman spoke again, louder. Definitely angry. "Can ghosts speak on the telephone? If they can, put Remus on right now. I'm so sorry that he put you up to this - you have no idea what's going on - "

Draco could only blink. He didn't know that anyone had ever sincerely apologized to him. For anything. Ever.

Lupin ducked his head and winced. "Look, I don't think ghosts can - so just tell her that I was wrong and she was right and Severus really was a spy but his old Death Eater comrades will want to kill him and someone will be round to collect him as soon as possible."

Draco dutifully repeated the message, and the woman went quiet again. Then he heard her say, in the background, as if to someone else, "Marcus, why don't you go round to Jamie's? In fact, take a few pounds out of my purse and go to the cinema."

"Mum --"

"Go. Have fun. Take your wand with you."

"What? But you said never to --"

"Go."

Draco felt oddly guilty for eavesdropping like this - which was unusual for him - but he was intrigued. So the man, Marcus, was a wizard.

"All right, Mr. Malfoy," the woman began.

"You don't have to call me that - that's my father," Draco said, and was horrified with himself. He was supposed to take respect wherever he could, whether or not he deserved it. "Call me Draco, really."

"Draco? Of course. Do you have a way to get to London?"

"Where in London? I can apparate," Draco said. He wasn't sure he could apparate somewhere he'd never been before, though.

"Ask her if she still lives in Barnham," Lupin said.

Draco obeyed. The woman said yes.

Lupin smiled sadly. "I can give you coordinates."

***

The house was small but cozy looking, warm light spilling out from behind lacy curtains. The door was painted a bright, cheery green, and plants drooped gracefully from planter boxes. Draco blinked and realized that some of the plants in the front garden were actually magical. Was this Isabel woman a muggle-born witch? How had Lupin known her?

Draco darted a glance around him and noticed that the muggles were giving him a wide berth. He twitched his wand, and the disillusioned, unconscious Snape drifted closer to him.

After a moment, Draco realized what felt wrong. Lupin hadn't come with him. Did he not want to see his friends? Or was he unable to travel to London? Draco turned back to the door. It led to a muggle home. He'd never seen one before. Was he safe here? In the distance he could hair faint, strange noises: the sounds of a muggle city, almost like the constant din of Diagon Alley, but laced with different sounds. Muggle contraptions, no doubt. Draco wished, for the first time in his life, that Lupin was with him. Lupin or someone who could tell him what to do in a muggle zone. But it was just him and an unconscious Snape.

Draco took a deep breath, then ascended the steps, deftly avoiding the snatching tendril of a Friendly Leaf.

He rapped sharply on the door, then stepped back and waited. He knew he looked a fright in his robes - he hadn't thought to spell them clean or attempt to transfigure them into muggle clothes. All that mattered was that Snape would be safe. Draco turned and checked the man. He was still unconscious, and his breathing was still uneven, but his condition hadn't changed much.

The door swung open, and Draco spun around. "Good evening, madam," he began. Then he went still. The figure who stood in the doorway was not a woman but a boy Draco's age. Who looked exactly as Severus Snape must have at seventeen years old. The boy was striking, handsome even, and Draco thought he was hallucinating, because Snape was hovering beside him, on death's door. Then Draco realized the boy didn't have Snape's unfortunate nose.

"Mother, it's for you," the boy said. He stepped past Draco, trotted down the steps, and vanished into the shadows beyond the pavement.

"Draco, please, do come in," a woman said, and she stepped into the light. She was a lovely woman, her features delicate and graceful, and she had long dark hair and bright, dark eyes. She gestured for Draco to enter, and he did so, maneuvering Snape carefully through the doorway as he went.

[Samantha_McKay]

I so do love this story so far. I really can't wait to see you update it.

[nagi_schwarz]

ISABEL


October 1979 - June 1980

Isabel fretted for a week over how to tell Severus. She wasn’t sure how well he would take the news, and lately he was always tired.

The butcher had looked at Isabel as if she were mad when she requested quail, but she knew it was Severus’s favorite, and she decided that if she was going to tell him tonight, it might as well be over a nice meal.

Severus swept into the dining room still in his black robes. Most nights Isabel had to call for him several times before he emerged from his potions laboratory, but tonight he was prompt. Perhaps the scent of his favorite meal had drawn him. As a potions master (and Isabel still wasn’t sure what that entailed), he had a very keen sense of smell.

“Good evening, Severus,” Isabel greeted him. Once he was seated at the head of the table she served him a plate before serving herself and sitting opposite him. The table was small, cozy for the two of them.

Isabel tried not to fidget while she waited for Severus to take the first bite. He chewed slowly, considering.

“Quail, prepared adequately, I suppose,” he said finally, and Isabel smiled to herself. From Severus, “adequate” was high praise.

Maybe now would be a good time. “Severus, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He turned to her as if just noticing her. “Indeed? I have news for you as well.”

Isabel searched his face for a hint of what that news could be, but Severus never gave anything away. She urged him to share his news first. Instead, Severus suddenly winced and clutched his left arm. He shoved the chair back from the table abruptly.

“I must go.” He strode out of the kitchen.

Isabel heard the roar in the fireplace that meant he had vanished, and once again she could not follow. She sat staring at the abandoned meal for a few long moments before she pushed herself to her feet and began slowly cleaning up.

Severus had not returned by the time Isabel had retired for the night, and she lay awake in the darkness, staring at the ceiling. On a whim, she drew the canopy closed, hoping that she would wake when Severus moved it aside to slip into bed beside her.

***

Isabel had been mortified when she had arrived home from her sixth year and her parents had informed her that she was betrothed.

The Brightman family had somehow survived the transition from peerage to landed gentry to business tycoon over the centuries. What aristocratic dignity they may have lost was more than made up for by their wealth, but her parents still played at being aristocrats, and Isabel had learned to keep her head above water as she was carried along with the riptide. Isabel’s mother had shown a surprising aptitude for political machinations, and Isabel’s father was more or less dragged along in the wake. The Snape family, on the other hand, had more aristocratic dignity in their little fingers than most of the other families combined, but their wealth had deteriorated over the centuries, leaving the Snapes in genteel poverty.

Isabel’s mother had warned her daughter that the last Snape boy was “rather unusual,” and with Mrs. Brightman’s talent for the understatement, Isabel assumed he boiled newts in cauldrons and danced naked under the moonlight.

Isabel’s terrified predictions about Severus Snape had only been half wrong. Her parents pretended to be oblivious, but Severus told her up front that he was a wizard and should have been above petty “muggle” politics. If they were to be married, he said, then Isabel would have to learn to deal with magic. On top of the wooden wand he carried, he was planning to become a potions master, and did in fact boil newts.

The wedding ceremony had been a quiet affair, though Isabel’s parents spared no expense. Only Severus’s grandparents had attended. In all of their pictures, Isabel looked shy, while Severus just scowled, half hidden behind his curtain of black hair. Isabel and Severus spent the summer together arranging their new home and doing homework. At the end of the summer Severus vanished to his strange wizarding school, and Isabel returned to boarding school. Near Christmas Isabel received a letter via owl from Severus saying he would not be home for the holiday, so Isabel lied to her parents and spent Christmas alone in her new home.

She had fully expected to spend her summer alone as well. Severus, by all accounts, was very skilled at potions, so he probably had a fancy internship or apprenticeship waiting for him. But he showed up on the doorstep, trunk floating behind him, one day after Isabel returned home from boarding school, and he moved into the guest room down the hall from Isabel. He spent his first week home clanging about in the broom closet in the kitchen. By the end of the week, he had turned it into his personal laboratory and Isabel learned to never disturb him there.

Isabel, by contrast, had found herself a summer job at the local bookshop, as she refused to ask money from her parents now that she was a married woman. She worked from eight to five every day, so she put some effort into having breakfast and supper with her husband. The previous summer they'd all but avoided each other. Living with him again meant re-establishing a routine for her life, re-learning the rhythm of her day to include another person in her space – the kitchen, the bathroom, the comfortable chair by the fireplace.

Isabel could only presume that Severus spent most of his time on potions while she was at work and was surprised to learn that some of the neighbors – a nosy widow and another young couple – had occasionally come calling and found Severus cleaning. Isabel felt awful that she wasn't keeping house for her husband – as her mother insisted that a good Brightman woman was a homemaker par excellence – but he dismissed her apologies with a flick of his wand. Apparently he was keeping the house clean with his magic. He didn't think it was much, but Isabel was grateful for the help and so resolved to become a better cook so as to do her share of the chores.

Being married to Severus and actually living with him, as opposed to staring at her ring obsessively during class and remembering she had a husband, helped Isabel learn more about him. Severus was acerbic and intense, always focused on completing his tasks to perfection. He had an utterly brilliant mind, and every word he spoke was deep, smooth velvet. Most people found Severus’ incisive wit offensive, but Isabel often found it amusing. She had learned to smother her laughter so Severus wouldn’t be offended when at least one person in the room caught on to what he was saying. Over the summer Isabel came to love the sound of his voice, and his hands. He had graceful hands, his fingers long and tapered, like an artist’s hands, and they were deft and sure when he worked.

The majority of the house was “muggle,” as Severus sneeringly called it, but his potions laboratory seemed to ameliorate the “abhorrent effects of the muggle world.” Severus said he had charmed the lab so that none of the muggles who invaded their home would even look at it, and so far it seemed true. Once in a while Isabel would linger in the doorway of the lab and watch him work, having no clue what he was doing but utterly fascinated all the same. When the neighbors stopped by, Severus took to wearing muggle clothes that he had somehow procured. If he went out at night, he wore his wizarding robes.

Isabel had sometimes dreamed of marrying for love, but she had inherited her mother’s practicality rather than her father’s romanticism, so she tried to make the marriage work as best as possible. She learned to cook all of his favorite foods as an apology for working late, though he didn't seem to care much for her company. Isabel knew they didn't have to love each other, but after one summer of stilted avoidance, she decided that she ought to at least try to be a pleasant housemate. She discovered that he liked a certain blend of tea, and would sometimes go all the way across town to find it. She tried to smile at him every morning, and talk to him, but most days he was so absorbed in his potions work that he would just hum and nod. Severus disliked small talk, but Isabel tried every now and again, only to be cut down by his sharp words.

All through seventh year she'd had to listen to her dorm mates brag about getting a leg over or seducing uni boys down at the pub. But despite the fact that she was married and should have been getting thoroughly debauched on a regular basis, she remained stubbornly chaste. She looked at Severus and wondered if he wanted her at all, especially in moments when she noticed the deftness of his hands, but he'd never approached her for anything of the sort and retreated to his own room ever night with all the disciplined celibacy of a medieval monk. As Isabel understood it, boys thought about nothing but getting a leg over. Of course, she was probably the only girl at her school who was married to a dour-faced wizard who spoke Latin and cutting invectives in turn; he certainly wasn't like the boys who attended the boarding school across the street.

One day, after a particularly harsh dressing-down, Isabel had fled to the kitchen to work and try to forget what had happened. She heard the fireplace roar and knew Severus was gone, and suddenly she realized why it hurt. She was in love with him. Somehow, against all odds, she had fallen in love with the man she had been doomed to live with for the rest of her life. After that, even after they graduated, Isabel lived every day to try to make him happy.

***

Making Severus happy wasn't easy, and more than once Isabel had come home to find her husband seated in his chair by the fire, a tumbler of scotch in one hand, while he stared at the flames and brooded. On one evening, Isabel had stayed late closing the shop, and by the time she got home she'd been sure Severus was already asleep in his own room down the hall from hers. The lights were off, and so she fumbled with the keys as quietly as possible, because on top of being grumpy when woken, Severus was a dreadfully light sleeper. But when she stepped into the den and shrugged off her coat, she saw that Severus was still awake, staring into last glow of the embers in the fireplace.

"You're late," he said.

Isabel's instinctive response was to ask, What do you care? But they were married, and she was supposed to be cooperative and polite. "I was asked to stay and close the shop tonight. I'm sorry I wasn't here to cook supper."

"I made bubble and squeak," he said. "Leftovers are in the icebox – refrigerator."

He still called household appliances by their wizarding counterparts – and he refused to use muggle slang.

"Thank you," Isabel said. What else could she say? She unwound her scarf and hung it beside her hat and coat, motions slow and deliberate while she searched for something to say, some polite inanity her mother had drilled into her. Finally she settled on, "How was brewing today?"

She didn't know if what he did back there in the lab even earned them money, but as her parents had given them their current house her two-bit job kept them alive and fed.

"Fine, thank you," he said, though he hardly sounded gracious about it. Isabel stared down at her shoes and refused to fidget despite the oppressive weight of her husband's stare between her shoulder blades. Then she heard a flurry of cloth whispering, and she turned. Severus had stood up and swept into the kitchen with dramatic flick of his robes – as he was wont to do – and a moment later he reappeared with a steaming plate of bubble and squeak perched on his fingertips the way waiters did it in upscale restaurants.

"No need to starve yourself for that two-bit job," he said, and thrust it at her.

Isabel sank down onto the sofa and balanced the plate on her knees. She considered the bangers he'd added and wondered whether he would really care if she just picked one up and ate it like a savage. Severus huffed impatiently and mumbled a touch of Latin under his breath. A moment later, he shoved a knife and fork under her nose. Isabel lifted her head and smiled, genuine thanks on her lips, but Severus was looking steadfastly away from her, avoiding her gaze.

There was a bright pink stain across his cheekbones that belied his angry demeanor, so Isabel accepted the silverware with a soft "thank you" and tucked in. It was delicious, and she said so.

Severus plopped back down into his seat beside the fire and gripped the armrests so tightly his knuckles went white. "Of course it is," he said. "I'd be a poor potions master if I couldn't cook."

Isabel couldn't help but smile at his stiff bravado – he was like a little boy desperate to be well-behaved below a façade of anger. "I hadn’t thought of it that way. I like to think I'm a good cook, but I doubt I'd be any good at potions."

"You have your venn diagrams backward, then," he said.

Isabel arched an eyebrow. She'd learnt about those in maths years ago. "How so?"

"Cooking is here," Severus said, and inscribed a circle in the air with the tip of his wand. It glowed suspiciously pink. He drew another, wider circle around the pink circle, this one green, and said, "Potions brewing is here."

"I see," Isabel said. "Cooking is but a subset of potions brewing. Although I'm given to understand that correctly-brewed potions don't taste very good."

"Whether or not they taste good is irrelevant," Severus said, his tone brief and clipped.

Isabel wondered if she should back off and stop joking with him; he never took it well.

"A potions master does know, however, whether a potion tastes right so as to have its intended effect, and cooking is no good if it doesn't taste right," Severus continued. He seemed to be warming to the subject.

"Luckily for me cooking doesn't require so precise a flavour," Isabel said. "If it doesn't taste quite right, it's not lethal – at least, not all the time." And she laughed to herself.

"You don't use all the rosemary called for in that chicken recipe of yours," Severus said.

"Pardon?" Isabel hurriedly swallowed another bite of food; Severus conversed with her so rarely that she had to take advantage of it while she could. "Oh, that's true, but it's not a mistake – I just don't like it as strong as Aunt Bethany made it is all. You can tell that from tasting it?"

"I am a potions master."

"What, precisely, does a potions master do?"

Severus considered her for a long moment, his black gaze piercing, and Isabel realized he was searching her, wary of an ingenuousness. "A potions master might be considered the equivalent of a muggle chemist, perhaps."

"So you make medicinal potions?"

"I can. A competent brewer can make most common household potions – cleaning solutions and the like – but certain potions require more refined skill." His mouth curved slightly, as if he were amused.

"Have you always wanted to be a potions master?"

"It's what I'm good at," he said, which was hardly answer. "And you – did you always want to be what you are now?"

"Hopefully I'll be a uni student in the fall," Isabel said. "I want to major in linguistics, I think, and learn all sorts of foreign languages." She hummed a lullaby she'd learnt as a child from a French nanny whose employ had been short-lived.

"What will you do with a linguistics major?"

"I’d like to teach," Isabel said. "What will you do as a potions master?"

"Don't be silly, woman, I sell potions for money," Severus said.

"Oh. I didn't know that. I thought you just –"

"Wasted my time all day working hard in the laboratory?" Severus' dark eyes glittered dangerously.

"Experimented," Isabel said.

"Despite the fact that neither of us appreciates this arrangement, we were both too weak to escape it and so we must live with the consequences of our actions." Severus' expression was hard, but he wasn't looking at her. "That includes taking some responsibility."

"I know you're doing your best, Severus," Isabel said, "and I'm grateful for it –"

"Are you really? Or are you just pretending, as would all the other spoilt pureblood girls who graced the halls of Hogwarts, saying nary a word to the likes of me, son of Tobias Snape, a disgraceful muggle?" Severus sneered the words, and Isabel flinched at the hatred and anger in his voice.

She bit her lip, determination welling in her chest. "No."

He looked at her. "No what?"

"No, I'm not like those girls," Isabel said. "If I were I wouldn't do my best to clean this house or work a dead-end job to earn pocket change and I wouldn’t –" I wouldn't love you.

Severus studied her face, searching for any hint of insincerity, and Isabel forced herself to stand up to his scrutiny. Suddenly he was out of his chair and across the den, right in front of her, his left sleeve drawn back to reveal –

A hideous tattoo.

It seemed as if the snake was actually writhing around the black-inked skull.

Isabel recoiled sharply.

"Do you not understand what I am?" Severus hissed.

Isabel blinked. "You're Severus - you're my husband."

"I'm a monster."

He couldn't believe that. She knew he hated the fact that he was half-muggle, that he thought himself some sort of lesser being for it, but for all his sneering and bluster he was a good man. She wished she could make him see that. She wished -- Isabel leaned in and kissed him.

Severus froze, and Isabel pulled back hastily, sure she'd made an awful mistake by crossing a line she'd never dared approach before.

"Do you mean to mock me?" His voice was soft, dangerous.

Isabel recoiled like she'd been slapped. "No! How could you ask such a thing? After all this time we've been married have I once, ever, given you the slightest inclination that I'd do such a thing to you?" She leapt to her feet, and the plate tumbled from her lap, shattering on the floor. She didn't care. She spun around and headed for the stairs, fury boiling in her veins. She'd never before understood how her mother could love and hate her father at the same time, but she bloody well knew now.

A hand closed over her wrist. "Isabel, I –"

She turned.

Severus peered at her, his face drawn with worry, dark eyes darting, nervous. "I didn't mean to offend. It is – that is to say, I am merely unaccustomed to –"

"This isn't a Jane Austen novel and I'm no daughter of landed gentry, no matter what my parents think, so talk to me like I'm a person," she snapped.

Perhaps it was the wrong reaction, for Severus dropped her hand and turned away, robes swirling – heading for the fireplace. He had a handful of grey powder and his wand out, but Isabel caught him before he could say the words.

"I'm sorry." She gazed up into his eyes, begging him to believe her. "Severus, I didn't mean it. I know this hasn't been easy for either of us and you've been completely decent, honorable, and generous this entire time, and I'm sorry I tried to – to ruin that, by being selfish."

He blinked at her, surprised. "Selfish?"

"Selfish for – " She couldn't really say it. "For wanting more."

He let the grey powder sift between his fingertips, fall back into the pot on the mantelpiece. "You want more of that…from me?"

Isabel didn't have the words to convince him, so she leaned up, caught him by the back of the neck, and dragged him down for another kiss. He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he was going to pull away again, but then he settled a hand on her waist – light, tentative – and kissed her back. He was awful at it – clumsy and wet but more enthusiastic than she could have imagined. Isabel parted her lips, swept her tongue out against his lips, seeking entrance, and in shock he granted it. Mouth met mouth, open and wet and sensuous; tongues twined, and Severus moaned. Isabel hummed happily into the kiss and pressed against him, wrapping her other arm around his neck. She'd wanted this for so long, and now that she had it she didn't really know what to do except kiss him and hope he knew what to do next.

They were both inexperienced, because all too soon they were out of breath, and they had to pull apart to gasp for air.

Severus gazed down into Isabel's face, his long fingers tangled in her hair, and his dark eyes were wide, awed, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Isabel smiled at him.

"I take it you don't mind my selfishness, then," she said.

He shook his head slowly, dazed. "Not at all, if you would permit my being selfish as well."

Severus was eloquent even when kissed stupid and with his blood on fire. Isabel smiled and kissed him again, pressing against him more insistently. After a moment, she pulled back.

"I can't do this," she said.

Darkness crossed Severus's face. "What do you --?"

Isabel tugged him backward, toward the sofa, careful not to step in the fallen remains of her dinner. "I didn't realize you were so much taller than me. I'll get a neck ache if we keep it up like this." She sat down on the sofa and pulled him down beside her; he obeyed, still looking awed and dazed and almost – happy. Isabel studied his expression and decided she liked it when he looked like this. Then she took a deep breath, steeling herself. She'd read her fair share of romance novels – she knew how this worked. On paper. Before Severus could back out or protest, she twisted her hips and slid onto his lap, straddling his thighs, and was pleased when they were eye-to-eye.

"Now, won't this be easier?"

Severus nodded, eyes still wide. Isabel smiled, leaned in, and kissed him.

Before things progressed beyond the comfort of the sofa, Isabel dragged Severus up to her room, insisting her mattress was more comfortable than his.

Afterwards, when she lay beside him in the darkness, she felt him stir, move to slide out of the bed, and she laid a hand on his arm.

"Might as well stay," she murmured, drowsy and sated. "Save time and space and other things."

He nodded and slid closer to her, not touching but close enough to feel his warmth. He stayed that night, and the next afternoon when she got home from work, his things were in her room.

***

That was two years ago.

Isabel lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting to hear the roar in the fireplace that meant her husband had come home. She wondered how it had come to this, a farce of a marriage where both parties tolerated each other like indifferent moons circling the same planet, occasionally coming together for a moment of mutual comfort and warmth. She knew Severus didn’t love her back, but at least he was there every day. She curled up on her side, one hand curved protectively over her belly, and fell asleep.

The next morning when she awoke it was because the sun was streaming into the room. Isabel sat up, disoriented, and realized that all of the canopies had been drawn back, and yet Severus wasn’t there. Something was wrong. She stood up and drew on her dressing gown, and suddenly she knew.

Severus’s things were gone. His little silver pocket watch wasn’t on the bureau where he always put it. She opened the armoire, the chest of drawers, but all of his clothes were gone as well.

Isabel felt panic rising in her chest. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe he did have a mistress, and that was why he was so cold.

Isabel sank down on the bed, not daring to venture out to check the laboratory, and then she saw it. Laid on Severus’s pillow was a folded letter. It was parchment, and sealed with that curious wax seal that Severus used, an ornate capital P. Isabel stared at it. Perhaps it was a ransom letter? A request that she join him? But Isabel knew that was wrong. After a few minutes she reached out with a tentative hand, as if it were a snake that would strike at any moment, and picked up the letter.

She broke the seal and smoothed it out on her lap, but the words didn’t register. She recognized Severus’s slanted, spiky script. Her vision blurred, and she blinked to clear it. She read the letter again, slowly, agony building with each word.

If you have found this letter then I can safely assume that you noticed I have removed my things. No matter what my foolish muggle grandparents may have thought, I am not a muggle and never will be. I suffered through two years with you pretending to be the very thing I despised, and I cannot bear the indignity anymore. I release you from our marriage bond. Forget about me, for I will assuredly do the same of you.

He hadn’t even signed his name, just the image of a skull with a snake slithering out of its jaws. Isabel dropped the parchment as if it had scalded her. The image had always made her uneasy, and Isabel wondered if it wasn’t some sort of magical sigil.

Isabel read the letter again. Indeed, Severus had chafed at her request that he wear muggle clothes when the neighbors came over, but she hadn’t realized how much he hated her and “her kind.” Hadn’t his father been a muggle? Isabel folded the letter and rose to her feet. She would not allow herself to cry. She was a Brightman, and she was her mother’s daughter.

The laboratory was still there, but all of the other remnants of Severus – the pot of grey powder that rested on the mantle above the fireplace, the parchment, inkpots and quills scattered across the desk, the old leather-bound books of magic – were gone.

Isabel packed slowly but resolutely, refusing the assistance of any of the neighbors. It took two weeks, but by the time two weeks were up Isabel had found a job as a schoolmistress in China, teaching children to speak, read, and write English. Isabel didn’t write to her parents until she was settled in her new home on the outskirts of Beijing. She made up an elaborate lie about Severus fighting in a war that was occurring in the wizarding world, and that he had insisted she relocate to Beijing for her own safety.

Isabel didn’t tell anyone when her son was born.

His eyes were open when she held him, and they were as black and knowing as his father’s. She named him Marcus Severus Snape and called him Marcus Brightman from that day forward.

[nagi_schwarz]

Isabel

May 3, 1998

Isabel thought, perhaps uncharitably, that the pale, blonde boy before her might be more attractive if he smiled. She pushed the thought aside when she saw his bloodstained robes, and she remembered why he was here.

Severus.

The boy lifted his wand and murmured a spell. Severus's unconscious form shimmered into visibility, suspended in mid-air as if by unseen wires. For a moment, Isabel couldn't breathe; he looked dead. But then she saw the faint rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing.

Isabel scanned the street before she closed the front door. She didn't see Remus's ghost, but then she didn't know anything about wizarding ghosts, let alone whether or not she, as a muggle, would be able to see one.

She turned and saw that the boy, Draco, had laid Severus on the sofa. She crossed the den and stood beside Draco, staring down at the man. She could see the wounds in his neck - as if some savage beast had tried to ripe his throat out - slowly closing. Magic, then, for the healing. She'd just have to keep an eye on him until the magic ran its course.

"Did Remus tell you anything further?" she asked.

Draco jumped, as if surprised that she was talking to him. He actually looked very nervous, and she noticed the way his gaze kept straying around the room, as if he'd never seen a room before.

And maybe he hadn't; at least, not a room like this. He must have been one of those wizards Severus had talked about. Pureblood, he called them. Utterly cut off from normal people, from muggles.

"Further?"

"About how I should care for Severus." Isabel could only stare down at his unconscious form, numb. She'd had all of ten minutes to digest the fact that Severus was still alive, had been injured in the war - she wanted to laugh hysterically that her lie was true - and now needed somewhere to stay. And Remus Lupin, who was dead, had recommended to this boy - child, really - that Isabel would be a good caregiver.

"No, he didn't. Professor Snape had some potions on him, and I gave them to him as Lupin instructed, but Lupin didn't say if he needed anything more," Draco said. He reached out and placed something on the coffee table. A wand, long and thin, mahogany. Isabel hadn't seen it in years.

"I'll watch him, then, and let the magic run its course," Isabel said. "If there are any problems, I'll contact someone."

Draco nodded. Then he turned to her, eyes narrowed, calculating. "If I need to contact you, then I should go through Cho Chang?"

Isabel knew that look. It was penetrating, intense - as if the boy had learned it from Severus himself. He was fishing for information, but she didn't know what for or why. "Feel free to send an owl to Isabel Brightman in Coventry Park. I do take owl post."

"But you're a muggle."

"I am." Isabel knew that tone of voice, too. She eyed him up and down. He didn't look much older than Marcus. "Is anyone waiting for you?"

For a moment, something akin to pain crossed his face, and then his expression smoothed out. It was like watching water ripple over marble. The boy was a young politician, it seemed. Then he nodded stiffly. "Thank you, madam, for your assistance." The marble shattered as he reached out, brushed a speck of invisible lint off of Severus's shoulder. "Be well, sir." And with a sharp crack! he disappeared.

Isabel flinched. She hated that sound. Remus had always avoided doing it around her, and he'd never taught Marcus how, for which she was grateful. She turned to look at Severus and sighed. Now what? She wasn't strong enough to carry him up to the guest room. She should've asked the wizard boy to help before letting him pop out of existence like that. What should she do? She leaned closer to peer at the wounds and then recoiled sharply.

First things first - the man needed a wash. Isabel spun on her heel and headed into the kitchen. She filled a bowl with warm water, scooped up a couple of tea towels, and returned to the den. Severus lay on the sofa, still in his repose as if he were merely sleeping. Isabel had to do things with her hands to keep herself distracted, so she began washing Severus' face.

If she didn't keep herself distracted, she would either scream or cry.

Her best friend in seventeen years was dead and fate had dropped Severus Snape back into her life.

Remus was dead. All the anger she'd felt drained away, suddenly and sharply, leaving her cold. Isabel went still, staring at nothing. She couldn't be mad at Remus, not for this. He'd respected her feelings for Severus even in death and tried to do what was best for her even after he was gone.

Isabel resumed cleaning the blood and dirt off of the man's face, and something in her chest twisted. He really was Severus Snape. He looked just as she remembered him seventeen years ago, his expression blank even in unconsciousness, mouth turned down at the corners. If he opened his eyes they would be obsidian black and piercing, searing her down to her very soul. But he was older now, his face lined - with pain, worry, or anger? He had always seemed angry - at the world, at everything, at her. Isabel lifted a hand to her own face and wondered if she had changed as much in seventeen years.

Once Severus was clean, Isabel set about removing his outer robe and boots. The same black hobnailed boots he'd been wearing when she'd first met him nineteen years before, if she wasn't mistaken. After she managed to wrestle aside his outer robe, she discovered his teaching robes beneath, fastened securely with a positively Victorian minefield of buttons. Isabel stared for a long moment, nibbling on her bottom lip, wracked with indecision. She remembered how angry Severus could be. Hopefully he'd be too weak to really berate her once he woke up. He'd want to sleep comfortably, though. Hands shaking, she reached out and undid the buttons as quickly as she could. She fumbled a few times, but finally she made it to the bottom of the row and parted the fabric carefully. He wore a starched white shirt beneath, and she considered unlacing the collar, but she didn't want to be too presumptuous.

Isabel sat back on her haunches and gazed upon his familiar face. After all this time, he was still alive. He'd always been a survivor that way. Remus had told her as much, but she'd learnt the same on her own, just by watching him day by day. Severus. Cold, unfeeling, as wary and sly as a fox, but with startling moments of kindness. Isabel could remember the first time he'd done something nice for her.

She'd come home from a long day at the shop, tired and trembling from the chill and most definitely come down with a cold. She'd stumbled through the front door and promptly cursed when she discovered the house was utterly freezing. That meant one of two things - that Severus was out or that he was locked in his potions laboratory and had thought nothing of the muggle who lived alongside him who had to have a working fire to stay alive.

He'd been standing in the kitchen, spelling his cauldrons and vials clean, when she shuffled in, hands tucked under her arms, breath steaming the air. He'd taken one look at her, cast a warming charm, and then disappeared back into his lab. Isabel had paused in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the empty space where he'd been standing, comfortably warm and shell-shocked. She thought she'd seen him smile just before he closed the lab door.

Isabel carried the bowl of water back into the kitchen and rinsed it out. Then she returned to the den and stood over Severus' unconscious form once more. After a long moment of staring, she tucked an afghan around him. Then she settled into the recliner with a blanket of her own, ready to respond at the first hint of emergency.

As she drifted off, part of her mind hoped it was all a dream, that she'd fallen asleep watching the telly and Marcus would spell-carry her up to her bed after he came in past his curfew like the naughty teenager he was.

Another part of her wished Remus would be live and well when she next opened her eyes.

Another part of her, smaller and more insistent, hoped Severus would stay.

[nagi_schwarz]

SEVERUS

May 3, 1998

Severus dreamt. His visions were neither nightmares nor nonsensical flights of fancy - they were memories.

He wondered, briefly, if this was the hell to which he'd be doomed, a hell in which he relived his own life over and over again as an observer, given time and all eternity to realize how pathetic he'd been despite his skill at potions. Especially if his memories were all as banal and pointless as these.

***

August, 1993

For twelve years, Severus had been denied the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. After suffering through the humiliating debacle that was Gilderoy Lockhart the year before, he was sure that the headmaster would see reason.

Reason was not that mangy werewolf Lupin limping back from whatever hellhole in which he had been hiding, carrying out that Marauder tradition of cowardice.

As soon as the staff meeting ended, Severus stormed back to his chambers. He scooped a handful of floo powder from the ceramic pot on the mantle and flung it into the hearth, demanding passage to Diagon Alley.

He emerged at the central floo hub and swept past a crowd of gaping onlookers.

Not only did he have to suffer being passed over for his most coveted position by a schoolboy rival, he also had to make the other man's tenure more comfortable by brewing the bloody Wolfsbane Potion. Severus was up to the challenge, no doubt, but Lupin was still a danger to the students. With Sirius Black supposedly on the loose this year, Lupin was even more of a liability.

Severus snorted to himself. At first, everyone had been sure Lupin betrayed the Potters, but when it turned out to be Black, no one was surprised. Of course, it would never occur to anyone that Black, though the only one caught, was not the only one guilty. Never mind that Severus knew Pettigrew - the foul creature called Wormtail - was also a Death Eater. Just because Severus had never seen the elder Black at a meeting didn't mean that the man wasn't at the very least a sympathizer. A man who betrayed his family would surely betray his friends.

Severus headed for Slugg and Jiggers; they would have all the ingredients he needed, even though most of them ran at a ridiculously exorbitant price. Maybe he could bully Professor Sprout into growing what he needed instead. As he cut a vicious swathe through the crowd, a familiar figure caught his eye.

Lupin.

Unbelievable. The vile creature was lounging at a table in front of Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, having just finished some sticky, childish dessert.

Perhaps werewolves really did have keener senses even in human form, for Lupin seemed to sense Severus's gaze on him and turned. Severus sneered, not willing to back down. Lupin wore a strangely blank expression, and then he turned away, speaking to someone else. Severus saw a boy - black-haired, in muggle clothing beneath robes - stand up and begin to gather up several bags of shopping. Was it that brat Potter? Had Lupin sought the boy out, knowing the boy would be his student? Was he coddling the child now with stories about running about with the marauding Potter and Black? But the boy wore no glasses and his hair was chin-length, neat, and he seemed to be obeying Lupin's words without question. Lupin and Severus watched the boy vanish into the Leaky Cauldron before Lupin rose and crossed the square.

"Severus," he said politely.

Severus felt a growl rumble in his chest. "Lupin. What brings you out during the daylight? I rather thought moonlight was so much more your…style."

Lupin looked away, but he didn't seem ashamed. "We're going to be coworkers this year." He glanced up and met Severus's gaze. "Can we at least attempt not to make this completely miserable for each other?"

"Unless you wished to do something about your very existence, what you wish to attempt is impossible."

Lupin blinked, surprised, but for some reason he didn't seem offended. Severus did growl this time, and he readied another venomous barb, but before it could fly from the tip of his tongue Lupin said, "I understand. Then I will stay out of your way."

Severus grunted and moved to step around him.

"And Severus - thank you for the potion."

Severus snarled aloud at that and walked away.

***

December, 1993

"Again with that infernal muggle noise, Lupin?"

Severus stood in the doorway and watched as Lupin marked assignments, as if deaf to the racket his muggle contraption was making. Lupin reached out and turned the volume on the victrola low.

Severus thrust the goblet of Wolfsbane at him and spun on his heel. It galled him that the headmaster had let this slavering beast back into the castle. No one believed Severus when he told them that Lupin had something to do with letting Sirius Black into the castle back around Halloween, but those two had been Marauders together in school, and who was to say they weren't thick as thieves now?

"Thank you, Severus," Lupin said, and did he have to sound so bloody grateful? Of course he would be grateful for something instituted by the headmaster that both of them knew was an especial bother to Severus.

He sneered and turned away again.

The muggle noise rose in volume.

Severus was severely tempted to hex the thing, but growing up with a muggle father had taught him that magic and muggle implements tended not to mix well.

"Must you make everyone suffer so?" he growled.

"Hm?" Lupin sounded distracted. "Oh. It's a Christmas present."

"From someone who intended harm upon the entire castle, I'm sure." Severus glanced over his shoulder to aim another sneer and saw Lupin smiling fondly.

Why did that beast always have to seem so much happier than his miserable state ought to allow?

"From a paramour?" Severus asked.

Lupin looked startled for a moment, then laughed. "No, from a former student."

"Former student? They allowed creatures like you to teach elsewhere?"

The good humor in Lupin's eyes dimmed, and Severus felt a vicious stab of glee.

"Not that it's any of your business, but he's a muggle."

"And the noise?"

"His mother singing. Both of them have lovely voices," Lupin said, and his expression brightened somewhat.

"So the gift is from your paramour's son."

Lupin frowned, looking mildly revolted by the idea. And then an expression crossed his face, one that Severus had never seen before. It unnerved him. "Actually, she's quite beautiful. Also very in love with her husband, but beautiful all the same."

After a moment, Severus could put a name to the expression. Sly. Remus Lupin looked more sly than any fox that had ever lived. Severus opened his mouth for a sharp retort, but then the melody of the song caught his attention, and he listened more closely. A lullaby, French - a traditional tune that he knew he'd heard before. Something twisted in his chest, and he realized it was the woman's voice that was familiar more than anything.

Lupin's sly smile widened. "Like what you hear, Severus?"

He resisted the urge to snarl. "Drink up, Lupin. Wouldn't want any of your cubs roaming the castle, now would we?" And he swept out of the room.

***

September 1, 1991

Severus sat at the high table, scowling down at the students. The Boy Who Lived had returned to the wizarding world. The public fawned all over the revolting little brat, lauding him for something he had not really done (Severus knew that all the credit lay toward Lily Evans Potter), but they did not see him for what he really was: James Potter’s foul little spawn. Harry Potter sat with the latest Weasley addition, glaring up at the head table with James Potter’s face and messy black hair and audacious expression – and Lily’s green eyes.

Severus sighed and went back to his meal, ignoring the quivering, sniveling addition to this year’s staff. Quirrell, a slimy Slytherin a few years above Severus at school, was a downright coward. Even now, the man trembled in his seat. Severus spared him a glare and went back to his meal. He went to reach for his goblet and cursed when pain lanced up his left arm, and he almost knocked over the goblet.

Quirrell turned to him, and the pain flared again, more sharply.

“Something the matter, S-S-Severus?”

Severus glared and went back to his meal. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Potter Junior scrubbing at his messy black hair, at the spot where the infamous scar lay. Severus glanced at Quirrell again, and he began to wonder.


As soon as the meal was finished, Severus hurried back to his dungeons. He locked and warded his office, and tore back his left sleeve. There, on the inside of his forearm, the Dark Mark was darkening, pulsing gently. For eleven years the tattoo had been plain black ink, like any muggle tattoo. He had to tell Dumbledore.

Or he could tell Dumbledore after the exceedingly long and arduous task of securing the Philosopher’s Stone. McGonagall, Quirrell, and even Hooch were all in on the task. Snape had to admit that the flying keys were ingenious, and that anyone who wished to make it through would have to be a top-notch seeker. As they fixed the last of the enchantments on the mirror, Severus tried desperately not to look, not to have to face down his heart’s desire. That simple glimpse of the three of them – Lily, Severus, and a male child who took after Lily in looks – was almost enough to undo him.

Dumbledore looked fairly pleased at the precautions taken, and Severus took no pleasure in disturbing the man's peace of mind, but he had to tell Dumbledore the grim truth: Voldemort was back.

***

May 1992

His arm was stinging fiercely when he cornered Quirrell in the corridor in the middle of the night, but he ignored it. He had survived Cruciatus, and a bit of pain from his Dark Mark was nothing in comparison. Severus kept his insinuations ambiguous; Quirrell had mixed loyalties indeed, but were they between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, or the Dark Lord and himself? After the hexed broomstick at the Quidditch game, he was a threat to the Potter brat either way. Severus knew where his own loyalties lay, despite the foolishness of his youth.

When the conversation was over, Severus spun on his heel and headed back to the dungeons. On the way, he decided to make a quick sweep of the castle in case any wayward students had escaped the prefects.

Glee burned in his chest when he saw the Ravenclaw Cho Chang skulking near the library far beyond curfew.

A wordless lumos blossomed at the end of his wand, and she squeaked.

“Even a Ravenclaw such as yourself has no business being out of bed at this time of night, at the library or not.” Severus relished in the iciness he could put into his voice.

She bobbed her head politely. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll just go now – ”

Snape didn’t miss the motion she made with her hand, trying to shove some parchment into her robes.

He held out one hand, and she surrendered it mutely.

They were notes, class notes, neatly written. There were two copies, though the second copy contained annotations in Chinese characters that Severus couldn’t read.

“What is this?”

“For a friend of mine. He’s a wizard, but has no teachers, so I send him my notes.”

Severus recalled the conversation he had overheard, of the wizard with a muggle mother.

“Why are you out of bed so late? Surely you can do this on your own time.”

She ducked her head again. “He asked a question, and I never found the time to look it up.”

Severus thrust the papers back at her. “Ten points from Ravenclaw. It will be a detention if I catch you again.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned to go, and then paused. “Sir, are you married?”

“That is none of your business, but the answer is no.”

Something in her eyes darkened.

“Sorry, sir.” And she walked away.

Severus trudged back to the dungeons and tried to push the image from Erised out of his mind.

***

May 3, 1998

For one horrifying moment, Severus thought the memories were going to start playing again, as if on an infinite loop. But he'd given Lily's son his memories, hadn't he? He shouldn't have any left.

He could hear it again, that blasted song from Lupin's obnoxious victrola. That woman's voice, so frighteningly familiar.

"A la claire fontaine m'en allant promener..."

The Mirror of Erised flashed before him once more, taunting. He moaned softly. This was hell, an endless re-run of Lupin, the mirror, Cho bloody Chang, and that voice.

And a white spackled ceiling, across which spilled white sunlight.

Suspicion, clear as a clarion, forced Severus to attempt some semblance of self-control. So he was in an after-life dimension that contained more than just memories - it had unknown features and dangers. He would have to tread carefully. If he could move at all.

And then he realized he couldn't move, that his limbs felt as if they were filled with lead. He could feel his limbs. He could feel -- pain. Agonizing pain. In his neck and throat. Nagini.

Severus realized, with more horror than he could comprehend, that he was still alive.

Where was he? Why wasn't he dead? Who had rescued him? He tried to lift his head, but another blaze of pain quashed his efforts immediately. Severus closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. He was alive, then. Someone had decided to spare his life, for whatever reason, so he had to find out why he'd been kept alive and if he needed to escape, and how. Another deep, shaky breath, and Severus summoned some of his iron-clad self-control, the self-control that had allowed him to function as Dumbledore's most highly-placed spy and Voldemort's right-hand man all in one turn. He could move his arms and legs, though the effort was exhausting. He could breathe clearly as well, but his throat was still painful enough to distract. Other than his throat, however, he was intact and hadn't lost any further function of movement.

Severus's mouth was dry, and he desperately wanted water. And food. He attempted to swallow and winced once more, but another realization - and too many were piling on at this point - struck him. The pain in his throat was - subsiding. Incrementally, and infinitesimally, but subsiding all the same. Severus's mind raced, searching for anyone who might have cast a healing spell or charm, and then he recognized the sensations. They were symptoms of the potions that he, himself, had brewed. Someone with sufficient knowledge had administered his own potions to him and taken him - where?

Severus shifted, kicking his feet, and realized he was barefoot. And covered by a warm, fuzzy blanket.

Who in the world would have cared for him thus? The Death Eaters, if they hadn't dispatched him straight off, would have kept him around for sport and torture, but none of them had the psychological finesse to lull him into a sense of false comfort before beginning the torture. None of the so-called fighters of the Light even knew he was a spy, as evidenced by Minerva's reaction, so it couldn't be one of them.

Unless it was Potter. Another wave of horror and revulsion swept over Severus, and he opened his eyes, doing his best to peer at his surroundings and figure out where he was. His gaze fell on a muggle lamp - tasteful, with a cream shade - and he realized, to his utter disbelief, that he must have been housed by Potter's muggle relatives. Pity from James Potter’s foul spawn - and with it a demand for gratitude, no doubt - was not to be borne. Severus drew his arms closer to his body and went to heave himself up into a sitting position. He could cast the last of the necessary healing charms and leave. Had Potter had the mental wherewithal to remember to bring Severus's wand? But Severus didn't make it to his feet. Pain blindsided him and he collapsed, hitting the sofa cushions with a painful jolt.

Then a voice said, "Isabel, he's trying to move."

Severus's eyes went wide.

Isabel?

[nagi_schwarz]

May 3, 1998

SEVERUS

Severus felt something in his chest twist - not physical pain, not the fury he'd stoked for years whenever he looked into Harry's face and saw James Potter's cruel handsomeness and Lily Evans's beautiful eyes. Severus had not thought of Isabel for years, not since - not since looking in that damned Mirror and wondering, if he'd stayed with her, if some part of that vision might have come true.

The woman who shuffled into view was - old. Ancient. Decrepit. Withered beyond belief. Was she a witch? No, she was dressed in muggle clothing. Severus could not conceal his horror. As much as he'd despised being shackled to a muggle at the behest of another muggle, he would have been hard-pressed to admit that Isabel was anything but a lovely girl. Had his disappearance been that hard on her?

And then another voice said, "What was that? Widow Farris, I can't hear you over the washer!"

Severus felt that unbearable pressure in his chest unclench. He knew that voice - that was Isabel's voice. So who was this woman? Did she know he was a wizard?

The old woman spoke again, louder this time. "I said, he's moving!"

For a single moment, relief flooded Severus's limbs, followed immediately by horror. How had Isabel found him? What was he doing in her care? Who from the wizarding world had possibly known of his muggle wife? The Death Eaters hadn't known because the marriage had only been recorded with the muggle government. If the Death Eaters knew - if they found out - the things they would do --

"What?" There was a crash and a bang, followed by a litany of un-ladylike cursing. Severus was reminded that, for all that the Brightmans had played at being gentry, Isabel had never had illusions about who she was. "Widow Farris, watch the door. Make sure Marcus doesn't come in. If he does, send him - send him round the newsagents for some tea. Special blend - the kind I always keep in that one jar. Tell him we're out."

Severus quickly recalculated his situation. He was alive and in his muggle wife's home. He wondered if she was his ex-wife now, if there was some muggle process for divorce in absentia. He saw no reason why she wouldn't have gone through with it, and she must have - this Marcus person was probably her new husband.

"Of course, dearie. You should come see him. He'd probably like to see a face more pleasant than mine after all he's been through. Secret agent for a secret government war - the things the PM gets up to these days." The woman shook her head and toddled out of the den.

Severus tried again, desperately, to heave himself up into a sitting position. He had no clue what to say to the woman he'd abandoned seventeen years ago, and he was sure no simple apology could begin to cover what he'd done. That he'd just forgotten the woman who was meant to be his wife was --

No. He had no reason to feel guilty. There were casualties in war, and it seemed she had not lost her life, nor had she suffered ill effect for what he'd done. And he'd probably saved her from the Death Eaters and the horrors of the wizarding world. He would not apologize for a thing, because she hadn't wanted the marriage either.

The woman who stepped into the room was not the girl Severus had married. He told himself it was instinctual, a mere gut reaction, the way his breath caught in his throat when he saw her. Isabel had only grown lovelier, coming into the form of a woman with all the grace and charm of a bloody fairytale. It was as if fate were laughing in his face again. He'd deserted one woman in hopes of proving his love to another; the second woman had died, and the former had grown lovelier and found a happy life. In a simple blouse, skirt, and pinafore, Isabel looked like the perfect woman to come home to.

The wariness in her dark eyes was undoubtedly the same in his. Severus did his best to smooth all emotion off his face, and then another wave of pain washed over him.

"What's wrong? Is it the wound?" In an instant, Isabel was on her knees beside him, brow furrowed with concern.

He nodded, unable to speak for the pain. Isabel reached out, and he flinched back automatically.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said. "I want to check to see if you're healing right or if I need to ask for more potions."

Severus blinked at her easy use of the word "potions"; a moment later he realized that some wizard must have brought him to her.

He submitted, grudgingly, to her inspection as she unwound the bandage at his throat. When she leaned in to peer at his wound, he did his best not to inhale. He could remember, late at night, being curled up on his side of the bed, awash in the scent of her hair when she rolled over and snuggled up against him in sleep. She was always on her side of the bed come morning.

"The wound looks like it's healing," she said. She sat back. "It's been nearly twelve hours since the boy brought you to me. Do you know where you are?"

Severus took a deep breath. His throat protested when he tried to speak; all that came out was a weak whisper. "Isabel..."

"You do remember me then." She tried to smile then, and failed, and Severus felt another stab of guilt at the grim expression that settled over her features.

He pushed the emotion aside.

"Today is May third," Isabel said. "You're at my home in Barnham in London. A wizard brought you to me, a boy by the name of Draco Malfoy."

Alarm coursed through Severus at the name. Isabel must have seen it on his face, for she said,

"He told me he brought you to me at the behest of the ghost of Remus Lupin."

Lupin was dead? Another bittersweet twist of regret washed over Severus. Lupin had been Harry's last link to his parents – the boy would be devastated.

"Since Remus and the Changs are the only wizarding folk who are aware of my existence, you ought to be reasonably assured of your safety." She sat back on her heels and regarded him for a moment. "I'm guess you cannot speak at the moment. Do you know a writing charm of any sort? There are some things we must discuss before Marcus gets home."

Marcus again. Severus was sure the man was wealthy and handsome, generous and kind, a muggle - everything Severus was not. Everything Isabel could have ever wanted. His eyes narrowed. How did Isabel know Lupin?

She must have mistaken his musing for confusion, for she repeated her question. "Do you know any writing charms?"

He nodded, though the movement cost him.

She sighed and shook her head. "You're too ill, still - the potions must have been almost completely metabolized. I'll have to send a letter to Mei Ling and ask for help, I know Cho's quite good at potions."

Cho Chang? What did she know of Isabel?

Severus had the sinking feeling that some vast conspiracy had been going on under his nose for the past seventeen years, and if he did not find his place in the denouement now, he would be left out of the plot forever.

"Widow Farris, will you fetch Horatio for me?"

"Of course, dear," the old woman answered, from somewhere out of sight.

Isabel studied Severus for a long moment, then said, "You need to eat. I'll fix up some soup. I might have some of your favorite tea left, as well. If not, I suppose I can send Marcus for it, keep him out of the house a little longer. Because we do have to talk, you and I."

[Samantha_McKay]

I remain delighted. This story has become more than I could have imagined

I look forward to another instalment.

Sam

[nagi_schwarz]

MARCUS

May 2-3, 1998

"Did you have a fight with your mom?" Josh asked.

Marcus stood at the Camerons' front door, backpack over one shoulder, overnight bag at his feet, and wondered what he could say to his best friend. "Yes. No. Not really - she overrode me before I could properly object to --" He sighed, frustrated, and ran a hand through his hair. "May I come in, or shall I take my chances with the local police and sleep on the door step?"

Josh rolled his eyes. "Your sarcasm never fails to amaze me, Marcus Brightman. If I didn't know you better, I'd think it was a defense mechanism, but since you're sarcastic all the time it must mean you're a --"

"Sarcastic git?"

"Precisely." Josh stepped aside and held the door open wider. "Come on in. It'll make my mom feel better if you're here to help me study for our stupid math O-level."

Marcus smiled grimly. "Thanks, mate." He followed Josh up the stairs to Josh's room - it was his alone now that his elder brother had gone back to Canada to go to university there. Marcus set his overnight bag on the floor, then surveyed the wreck that was Josh's desk. At closer inspection, Josh's desk was covered with staff paper instead of grid paper. "I take it you've been composing instead of studying?"

Josh rolled his eyes. "Come on - let me tell the parentals you're here." He ducked out of the room and down the stairs. Once he was out of earshot, Marcus sank down on his bed. The voice over the phone had been unfamiliar, but if he was one of Remus's old students, then he was a wizard, wasn't he? What business did the wizarding world have with his mother, a muggle, that it didn't have with him? There was only one thing Marcus could think of, but he dismissed it off hand. His father had been a Death Eater and wouldn't want anything to do with his muggle wife, and he didn't even know about his half-blood son. Whatever was going on, however, had made his mother upset. Marcus closed his eyes. It probably had something to do with Remus. That was the most obvious answer. Something must have happened to him. Maybe Death Eaters discovered his condition and killed him, or -- Marcus opened his eyes and shook his head. If it were just Remus, his mother would have wanted to discuss it with him.

"Mom says she's very grateful you're here to help me study for my O-level and you're welcome to eat anything you want." Josh appeared in the doorway. "Hey man, you look a little wrecked. What happened?"

"You remember my old Latin teacher, Mr. Lupin?"

Josh's brow furrowed, but he nodded. "What about him?"

"Someone phoned tonight, one of his old students."

"Someone he tutored?"

Marcus shook his head. "Probably someone at the school where he went to teach in our third form."

"What did the student have to say?"

"I don't know - he wanted to talk to Mum. But halfway through the conversation she became very upset, and then she - well, she summarily booted me out of the house is what she did. Gave me money to go to the cinema with you, if I liked - but you know me. No fun on a school night." Marcus smiled wryly.

"Do you think something happened to him?" Josh asked. "I remember he was always nice to me. Like that time those first formers beat me up in our second form? He stuck up for me when Mr. Penning was being a jerk. And he - he was like a dad to you, huh?"

Marcus nodded and absently tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "I think he might be dead."

"Dead?"

"He was ill when he tutored me. Chronically. I wouldn't be surprised if he died because of the disease." Marcus wouldn't say the disease had killed him, because it probably hadn't. After Marcus's fourth form Cho and the Changs had gone into hiding because there was some horrible Death Eater attack at Hogwarts, and after Marcus's fifth form, letters from Cho had stopped coming altogether. Death Eaters would have killed Remus before the disease could ever take him.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I bet your Mom's taking it hard," Josh said. He remained standing in the doorway, hands jammed into his pockets, but he pinned Marcus with his gaze. "Your mom's always been really strong, you know? Living in China after your dad left, and then moving back here, and raising you all the while. She probably didn't want you to see her weak."

Marcus couldn't tell Josh that he'd always feared his mother's weakness, that after all these years she was still pathetically in love with his Death Eater bastard of a father. "You're probably right," he said. He leaned down and unzipped his backpack. "So where, precisely, is your maths going awry?"

"Probably somewhere around long division," Josh said wryly. He crossed the room and rifled through the paperwork on his desk.

"How did you get through your maths GCSE again?" Marcus asked.

Josh rolled his eyes. "Don't go fishing for flattery about your tutoring, Brightman. It doesn't become you. And my math went awry somewhere around the second chorus." He thrust a bundle of sheet music at Marcus. "Come on - time to sing."

"I'm here on the understanding that I'm to help you study for our first O-level," Marcus said.

"Don't make me hurt you."

"I'd love to see you try."

"Sing, Marcus." Josh turned on his keyboard, flipped the volume low, and let his fingers dance across the keys.

Marcus smiled and studied the sheet music, tested out the melody under his breath. Even if Josh was a muggle, his hands were magic, and Marcus had often envied his skill. Then Marcus frowned at the lyrics.

"Is this for a gig or something?"

"Didn't I tell you? We got a call-back to play down at that swing club over in Knightsbridge." Josh grinned. "I think the ladies will love this one, hm?"

Marcus took a deep breath. "If you say so."

Josh played an easy riff on the keys. "I do say so. Now stand up, fix your overly-studious posture, and work your vocal magic."

Marcus couldn't help but grin at that. He and Remus had always made a game of it, using the word "magic" as often as possible without making a direct reference to the wizarding world. "Oh, I'll work my magic. You've no clue how magical I am."

"Tell it to the ladies. Sing!"

And Marcus did.


After supper, during which Marcus skillfully evaded Mrs. Cameron's questions about studying maths, both boys buckled down to do some genuine studying. Josh had personal space issues and was sprawled across the bed, which left Marcus sitting on the floor, his textbook propped open his knees, one hand flying across the page as he sped through the practice problems.

Marcus felt warm breath hit the back of his neck, and a little itch across the back of his hand meant someone was reading over his shoulder while he wrote. Without looking up, he said,

"Are you finished with the problems or did you have a question?"

Josh blew a raspberry right next to Marcus's ear, causing him to yelp and scramble away.

"What the bloody hell was that for?"

Josh wore an innocent expression. "You've been tense all evening, since we stopped singing. Lighten up."

Marcus scrubbed at his ear indignantly. "And for that you felt the need to - to expectorate in my ear?"

"Not to sound like a girl, but dude, you've been brooding like a girl," Josh said. "This thing with Mr. Lupin is bothering you, right? You should - I dunno, call your Mom and talk to her about it."

Marcus closed his eyes. "Josh, it's not that simple. And I'm not brooding like a girl."

"Yes you are." Josh pulled himself up into a sitting position. "I know things were tense with you and your Mom after she agreed to let Mr. Lupin go, and you've kinda never forgiven her for, I don't know, not remarrying - even though you somehow chased off every guy who ever liked her. I'm your best friend - you can tell me stuff."

"As you seem to have forgotten, we are not girls, and therefore we have no reason to tell each other stuff," Marcus said, a little archly. He couldn't begin to explain how much he hadn't told his best friend in order to uphold the Statute of Secrecy.

Josh closed his textbook with decisive snap and sat down on the floor beside Marcus. "Look, I know we're 'blokes' and you Brits have this stiff upper lip thing that I'll never get, but if this is bothering you, you have to talk about it. Before you get angry and do something you regret. Or, you know, say something to your mom that you regret." He searched Marcus's gaze earnestly.

Marcus looked away.

"I'll go first, if it makes things easier," Josh said.

Marcus looked at him again, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Josh stood up and crossed the room, closed the bedroom door. But he remained standing, arms folded defensively across his chest. Marcus was worried now. What was going on? Unless...unless Josh was a wizard too. Was that possible? Obviously they had magic in Canada, but --

"I mean there's something I never told you that I should have," Josh said. He shrugged, and Marcus saw his shoulders were tense. Perhaps Josh just wanted to get something off his chest but, with typical machismo for boys their age, deflected it by suggesting Marcus share first.

Marcus said, "I'm willing to listen."

"I never told you because I was afraid you - that you'd hate me," Josh said.

Marcus nodded. "Nothing you can say would make me hate you. Unless you're having sadistic fantasies about murdering my mum, but --"

"I'm gay," Josh said.

Marcus blinked. Then he processed the word, and it took him a moment to remember that the word didn't mean what it meant in those Jane Austen books he'd read as a child, and then he said, "Oh."

Josh bit his lip. "It's -- I've known since I was about twelve."

"I guess that explains why you never fancied Lillian Ethan like I did," Marcus said. "Or Cho."

Josh's shoulders relaxed slightly. "You're not mad?"

Marcus shook his head. "No. I mean - why would I be? More girls for me, right?"

"You're not just saying that? If my parents found out - my father would --"

"I doubt your father would be worse than mine," Marcus said. "And if something did happen with your parents, Mum would be glad to let you stay with us. She loves you. More than me sometimes, I think." Marcus smiled gently, and Josh crossed the room to sit beside him once more.

"You really are the best friend a guy could have," Josh said.

Marcus looked at him, a little askance. "It's just - I don't mind that you're, er, bent, but - I'm not, yeah? Just to be clear."

Josh shoved at his shoulder. "You straight boys are so egotistical. I prefer blonds anyway, thank you very much."

"You mean like those football prats, Adderly and the rest?"

Josh blushed. "Maybe." Then he nudged Marcus's shoulder with his. "Now it's your turn. Confess something important."

Marcus could see the worry in Josh's eyes; he was still terrified that Marcus would laugh at him at any moment. Marcus took a deep breath.

"All right. Just - this will require a genuine suspension of disbelief until I'm finished," Marcus said. He reached for his backpack and drew out his wand. He was rarely allowed to carry it and felt vulnerable without it, but tonight his mother had insisted he take it with him. She'd never told him to do so before, and he had the sneaking suspicion that it meant he was in danger - from other wizards.

Josh raised his eyebrows at the length of hawthorn. "You want to be a conductor?"

Marcus shook his head. He didn't tell his mother that Remus had taught him this spell, and he rarely used it, but he still remembered it well. He only had to hope that the Ministry of Magic wouldn't come bursting in because he'd cast the spell in the presence of a muggle. But if he got away with it, no one would be aware of the magic cast for the rest of the night. Marcus incanted the spell, tracing a complicated pattern in the air. A jet of blue light erupted from the end of his wand, and Marcus felt it, the gentle, comforting hum of magic.

Josh yelped and flung himself backward.

"What the hell?"

Marcus cast a sound-dampening charm for good measure so no one could eavesdrop. "Josh, this is part of the suspension of disbelief you have to give me, all right?" He thrust his wand up his sleeve and knelt down cautiously. "I had to do that as a precaution."

"Why? Because you're some kind of pyromaniac?" Josh's eyes were wide with panic.

Marcus shook his head. "No. Look - there's no easy way to say this. I'm a wizard."

Josh gaped at him for a few moments, then fury crossed his face. "Damn you, Brightman! I tell you something important about me, genuinely important, and you pull this stunt? I thought you were my friend -"

"Remus Lupin wasn't my Latin teacher. He taught me magic," Marcus said. He spoke quickly, keeping his voice as calm as possible. "I've been able to do magic since I was a child."

"Prove it! More than just your weird pretty lights," Josh said. His eyes were wide and a little dazed. Remus hadn't been kidding when he said most muggles just couldn't handle it.

Marcus cast his gaze about for something small. And then he spotted it, an old, manky tennis ball. He scooped it up, shook his wand out of his sleeve (he'd spent hours perfecting the motion so his wand would slide right into his hand) and cast a charm. A moment later, the ball was a small, spiky hedgehog. He held it out, careful not to catch a spine in the palm.

"See?" he said. The little creature snuffled around his hand, confused.

Josh stared at the hedgehog for a moment. "That - my tennis ball." He swallowed hard. "You really can do magic."

Marcus nodded.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"You wouldn't think I was a freak?"

"No! I mean - I spent our whole friendship thinking I was the freak, because you're so perfect. You're good at school, and girls love you, and you get along with your mom, and --"

"And people like me used to get set on fire," Marcus said.

Josh was breathing quickly, and Marcus was afraid he was going to hyperventilate, but Josh got this way when he was excited.

"So this entire time we've been terrified of telling each other the truth, and we could have been supporting each other in our freakishness." Josh's face lit up. The next thing Marcus knew, Josh had slung an arm around his shoulders and hugged him. The hedgehog let out an indignant squeak, and Josh pulled back.

"Is it stuck like that?" he asked.

Marcus shook his head and undid the transfiguration with a flick of his wand. "I never told you because - because I'm not the only one. Mate, there's a whole world out there full of people who can do magic, wizards and witches like me. But they use their magic to stay hidden, and it's against their law for people like you, who don't have magic, to ever know." He took another deep, steadying breath. "I broke a law telling you, showing you. Which is why I cast that first spell - so no one finds out that I've shown you magic."

Josh's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, against their law? Is your mom a witch, then?"

"No," Marcus said. "She has no magic. I inherited my magic from my father, who inherited it from his mother, who - it's genetic, apparently. Or quasi-genetic. Sometimes two people without magic will randomly have a child with magic, and that child will go to a special school to learn magic properly."

Josh sank down on the bed. "Slow down. I just - there's a whole invisible world of witches and wizards out there, and people like me just can't see it? Why?"

"Because people like you used to set people like me on fire," Marcus said.

"People like me still get killed for who we love," Josh shot back.

Marcus sat down beside him. "Remus forbade me from telling anyone. My mother knew, of course, when she married my father. They make exceptions for family like that. I told Remus you're like a brother to me, but he insisted, and I complied. I'm sorry. It's just that --"

"You were afraid of what I'd think," Josh said.

Marcus nodded. "Yes. That and, sometimes, people like me kill people like you."

"You mean...wizards kill normal people? Why?"

"Retaliation. Hatred. Fear. A Hitler-like superiority complex." Marcus rolled his wand between his fingers nervously. "You see, my father married my mother for purely dynastic reasons. You've met my grandparents - the Brightmans are a bit fanatic when it comes to doing things properly, and my father, he was descended from landed gentry. Non-magical landed gentry, through his father, and his father stipulated in his will that he had to marry a girl of appropriate class, and - it's very Jane Austen."

"You never told me any of this."

"Do you think my mother would have wanted me to?"

"When you put it that way..."

"My father hated that he'd been forced to marry my mother, a plain girl with no magic."

"Your mom's really pretty."

Marcus shook his head. "My father hardly cared about such things. He was interested in magic and believed that magic should be kept within those of pure blood, those whose both parents were born with magic and descended from all magical families. And he joined a terrorist organization of sorts determined to kill - well, people like my mother. And like me - a half-blood."

Josh's brow furrowed. "That's horrific. Why don't the police -?"

"What can the police do when a wizard can kill without a gun, can kill with seven syllables and a soul full of hate?" Marcus realized he was shouting and took another deep breath. "Look, I don't mean to be abrupt. It's just - my father doesn't even know about me. He left my mother before she could tell him she was pregnant, and then we moved to China. That's how I know Cho - she's a witch, and her parents taught me magic when I was a child. When we moved back here, Mum forbade me from using magic, because the magical Ministry, they can track who uses magic, and where. And she was afraid that my father would find me. Find me - and kill me. Maybe her as well. And maybe kill you, because you have no magic, and you're my friend."

Horror dawned in Josh's eyes. "You - you've had to live with this all your life?"

"Not all my life. I didn't know any of it, not until Remus came to teach me," Marcus said. "You see, he went to school with my father, and he knew what sort of man my father was. And I insisted on the truth. I didn't tell you, in part, because I was afraid of what you might think of me. But I've also been afraid of what might happen to you."

"So your dad hates your mom and would see you dead?"

"Pretty much."

Josh ran a hand through his hair, looking dazed. "Damn. I'm gay, but, you know, they have support groups for that sort of thing. You --"

"Had Remus, and he might be dead."

Josh shook his head. "Hell. Dude, I'm sorry. I - to hell with the math. Let's go downstairs, steal some of my dad's brandy, and get mutually smashed."

Marcus smiled faintly. "As wonderful as that sounds, my mother would kill me if I came home hung over."

"I'll bet." Josh stared at him. "So. You're a wizard."

"And you're gay."

"Indeed." Josh slung an arm around Marcus's shoulders. "We make quite a pair, don't we?"

"We do." Marcus's smile was brighter this time. "So, are you glad we talked about stuff?"

Josh nodded. "Yeah. That was - hard. I don't know how girls do it all the time."

"They're girls," Marcus said. "Now come on - do you want to pass your O-level?"

"Wow, you really do hate talking about stuff."

"I just think we've both said all that can be, for now."

"For now."

* * *

Marcus came awake when Josh prodded him in the head with his toe.

"Brightman - get into the shower now if you want hot water."

Marcus groaned and open one eye. "Pardon?"

"Shower. Now. Hot water."

"Right." Marcus heaved himself onto his feet, shook his heard to clear the sleep-cobwebs away, and scooped up his bag. As a precaution - and a result of Josh's sister walking in on him several years ago - he locked the door before he stripped off his pajamas and climbed into the shower. He came awake slowly under the warm water, and as he did so, he realized the magnitude of just what he'd done the night before.

He was out the shower and dressed in record speed, and then he went to find Josh.

"Hey, mate." He caught Josh by the shoulder.

Josh was hunched over his keyboard, tinkering with chords. "Get enough hot water?"

"Yeah. Just - remember what we talked about last night?"

"What about it?"

"Don't forget it, but don't - don't tell anyone, all right? You can't." Marcus leaned down and caught Josh's gaze with his, willed Josh to understand.

Josh's brow furrowed. "I'm not going to forget it, obviously - I need it to pass the test."

And Marcus's blood ran cold. No. Aurors must have come in the night and obliviated Josh. They could've cast a sleeping spell on Marcus before he was any the wiser and just...if they knew Marcus had magic, they must have found out about his mother. Panic began to creep along his nerves. "Not the maths, Josh, the other stuff we talked about."

"What other stuff?"

Marcus sucked in a breath sharply. So they'd done it after all.

But then Josh broke into a smile. "You should see your face, Brightman. I thought you were about to turn blue and keel over dead."

Relief flooded Marucs's limbs, and he shoved at Josh's shoulder, spoiling a chord. "That wasn't funny. The wizarding world enforcers - Aurors - they can erase people's memories. So they forget that they've seen actual magic."

"If someone had tried to do that to me, you'd have zapped them to hell in a handcart." Josh was still smiling, amused at his own antics.

"Not if they cast a sleeping spell on me first," Marcus said. "I stopped having proper magic lessons when Mr. Lupin left. I've learnt as much as I can since then, and Cho helped, but - I'm not as good as an adult witch or wizard." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

After a moment, Josh's smile faded, and he reached out to put a hand on Marcus's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that this was such a big deal for you."

"And you too," Marcus said. "Now that you know, you could be a target. Just be careful from now on, all right?"

"A target? Like Mr. Lupin?"

"Who knows? I hope not." The reminder of Remus was like a sharp blow to the chest. Marcus straightened up, shook his shoulders out. "I should see about going home to speak to my mother. Hopefully everything I'm not supposed to hear has been sorted."

Josh nodded. "I hope so, too. Why don't you stay for breakfast, then give your mom a call afterwards and make sure it's safe? You know, give her as much time as she needs to, er, collect herself."

That she'd need to collect herself in the wake of Remus's death hung unspoken in the air. Marcus nodded. "All right. Your mother is a very fine cook."

"Don't let her hear you sat that - the rest of us would never hear the end of it." Josh closed his notebook and stretched. "Food time it is, then."

Together, both boys headed down the stairs. Mrs. Cameron already had a stack of buttermilk pancakes on the table, along with a gravy boat filled with maple syrup.

"Sleep well, boys?" she asked.

Josh nodded and reached for the plate of pancakes.

Marcus said, "Yes, thank you, Mrs. Cameron. It was good to sleep, after studying so hard."

Mrs. Cameron smiled. "Glad to hear it."

Mr. Cameron grunted vaguely from behind the newspaper. After breakfast, Marcus and Josh helped Mrs. Cameron with the dishes, and then Marcus went up to Josh's room to call his mother.

"Brightman residence. How may I help you?" It was Widow Farris who answered.

"Widow Farris, it's me. Is Mum ready for me to come home yet?"

"Oh, hello Marcus. Give me a moment to check, just stay on the line." There was a soft click as she put the phone down, and then Marcus heard voices in the background. One was his mother's and one was a man's. Unfamiliar. Perhaps that student of Mr. Lupin's who'd called the night before?

After several moments, the phone rustled, and Widow Farris spoke again. "Yes, dear, you can come home now. Although your mother would like you to pop round the newsagent's and pick up some tea - you know, the special kind."

"Tell her I will. Thanks, Widow Farris." Marcus hung up and reached for his bag, began to pack it slowly.

"Is everything all right at home?" Josh asked.

Marcus smiled wanly. "I can return. We'll see if I don't end up back here before the day is done."

Josh smiled sympathetically. "Well, good luck. And if things go south - we have new songs to learn, I guess."

Marcus stood up. "Thanks for - " Everything. For listening and believing and studying and everything.

Josh nodded. "I know. You're too much of Brit with a stiff upper lip to really say anything useful. Hopefully I won't see you till band practice."

"Right." Marcus scooped up his bag and headed for the door. He paused to thank Josh's parents for their hospitality, and then he stepped out into the sunlight.

Mr. Khapoor at the newsagent's smiled and handed Marcus precisely the type of tea he needed even before he asked. Marcus paid quickly, thanked Mr. Khapoor, and wished the newsagent's was a little further from home. What would he say to Mr. Lupin's student, to another wizarding student who'd known the world Marcus had been denied? And what could he possibly say to his mother to help?

For several moments, Marcus actually considered knocking on the front door of his own home. But that was preposterous. He did stick his hand into his bag and curl his fingers around the comforting length of his wand, and then he opened the door.