These Deep Solitudes

Chapter Nine - Slytherin Customs

"We in A.A. believe there is no such thing as a cure for alcoholism. We can never return to normal drinking, and our ability to stay away from alcohol depends on maintaining our physical, mental, and spiritual health."

-- Alcoholics Anonymous webpage

"Sometimes the Devil is a gentleman."

-- Shelley, "Peter Bell the Third"

The week moved with agonizing slowness for Rain. Severus returned in a foul mood the day after he was called, but he kept his word and sat up late into the night with Rain, playing wizard's chess with a ruthlessness that suggested he was trying to exorcise some of his own demons, as well as hers. After three games, two of which Severus won, she sighed and looked up at him.

"Would you like some tea?"

His lips thinned for a moment, and he looked up at her. "Thank you." Those words always sounded strange coming from him, but she didn't dare laugh. With a flick of her wand, she set a pot boiling to brew fresh. She busied herself in pouring for both of them and adding honey and lemon to her own tea. She knew he drank his plain.

He accepted his cup wordlessly and stared into the golden-brown liquid as if it held answers he believed didn't exist. Rain studied him for a long while, sipping her tea. His eyes were so shadowed as to appear bruised, and the lines around his mouth and eyes were deeply graven. She thought he had been looking thinner than usual, too. Finally she said, "Whatever it is, you know you can tell me."

He lifted his head slightly, as if she'd startled him. "Believe me when I say you don't want to know."

"It doesn't matter," she replied. "If you need to tell me--someone--I'll listen. That's what friends are for."

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and she saw then how exhausted he was. "I think if I tell you, these things will...become real...in a way they haven't yet, to me. Seeing it through your eyes..." He stopped speaking and hunched his shoulders; his knuckles turned white as he gripped the cup.

Rain stared at him. Could her opinion truly matter that much? "You know I would never pass judgment on you, Severus."

"Does that matter?" he snapped. "You wouldn't understand." He stood up and drained his cup. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Troubled, she watched as he let himself out and shut the door hard behind him.

~~~

The next day he looked slightly embarrassed as he sat at the head table for breakfast. He ignored her except to glance briefly in her direction when Professor Sprout commented on Remus' unusually long absence.

"It isn't that time of the month yet, is it, old girl?" she asked Rain, who gaped at her for a moment before comprehension dawned. Rain laughed before she could help herself, and Sprout flushed a faint pink as she, too, began to chortle. "Oh, dear me, that isn't what I meant!" she exclaimed helplessly. "Oh, lord! Oh my! Stop it!" she commanded Rain, who struggled vainly to quit laughing.

Hagrid, seated on Rain's other side, leaned over. "Are yeh all righ', Rain?"

This only made Rain laugh harder, so she nodded and patted his arm briefly. With tremendous effort, she finally controlled her mirth and wiped her eyes. Willing her mouth to stay in a straight line, she glanced at Sprout and said quickly, "The full moon is next week."

Sprout, who was leaning over, wiped her eyes and nodded. "That's what I thought. The Diananox Flowers haven't bloomed yet this month." She sighed. "Oh, goodness, Rain, that was the best laugh I've had in ages. It's getting bad. I never thought I'd see the day when we were losing teachers to the fight against Voldemort."

Rain's heart clenched briefly, even though she knew Sprout meant losing time, not lives. She forced herself to keep a calm face, though, as she said, "I know what you mean. But who would have ever expected Voldemort to return?"

"I knew he'd be back," Hagrid said, surprising both of them. "Always knew it. Wasn' enough human left in him to die, I reckon. And what was left of 'im was too nasty to let go. S'long as there was people willin' to do his work, he'd always be able to come back."

Rain sighed. Hagrid always had been smarter than he let people think. Just then the bell rang, and the Great Hall was filled with the sound of silverware clattering and students talking. She looked at them, so bright, so eager, so unafraid of what the future held for them, and she hoped that the day would never come when they began losing students to the fight.

~~~

The remainder of the week dragged into the weekend, and Severus was called once more to Voldemort's side. Rain was sitting in the staff lounge with him, marking essays in a companionable silence, when the quill dropped from his hand and he reached to cover something on his forearm. She met his eyes and saw the grief and resignation lurking in them. She nodded slightly at him, and touched his fingers for a moment. Then he pushed his chair back and strode out of the room.

Very early Monday morning, before most of the school was awake, Severus turned up at breakfast, looking haggard and angry. All day Rain looked for opportunities to speak with him, but she never even caught a glimpse of him in the hallways, and she hadn't time to go down to the dungeons; she had a class every period on Mondays. That evening, Rain received an invitation to dine in the headmaster's study, and to bring her dog with her.

Dumbledore, looking very grave indeed, waited until Rain, Minerva, Sirius (in his proper form), Hagrid, and Severus, were seated. Then, raising his hands in a gesture of benison, he conjured their meal. When they were well into the first course, he explained why he had brought them together.

"You all know that Hagrid has been negotiating with the giants to bring them to our side against Voldemort. They have agreed to a temporary neutrality while they deliberate. Bill Weasley was, before his disappearance, assisting his father in making alliances within the Ministry. " He folded his hands together and looked at them all. "Fleur de la Coeur has made some overtures to the veela on our behalf."

"Little hope there," Sirius muttered.

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore. "Nevertheless we cannot discount anyone, as we all have cause to know. The main reason I am outlining our efforts is to put into perspective what I have to say next." He paused and glanced at Severus, who nodded slightly. "The man who contacted us on behalf of the Welsh werewolves--a low-ranking man in the pack structure, we were led to believe--appeared before Voldemort two nights ago. He claimed they had an important leader in the resistance, and that, if Voldemort could afford it, he was his."

Remus, Rain tried to say. But although her mouth opened, no sound came out. Quite suddenly she felt very dizzy; she braced a hand against the table and blinked hard.

"Severus--" Dumbledore said, but he broke off, and suddenly hands were steadying and supporting her.

"Take deep breaths," Severus said softly, and pressed a goblet into her hand. She gulped the water and obeyed him, and after a moment the black spots left her vision. She blinked at him and the concern on his face faded back to frustration. He returned to his seat.

"There is more," Dumbledore said. "Severus?"

Severus didn't look at Rain as he said, "Voldemort allowed the man to believe they had a bargain. When the man left to retrieve the captive, Voldemort had him followed. The Death Eaters hit the safe location the werewolves were using. I was with them, and kept watch, but there was no sign of our werewolf."

"A likely story," Sirius muttered. Severus' eyes flashed.

"Do you call me a liar?"

Sirius glared at him for an instant, then met Rain's eyes and shifted in his seat. "Not in this matter," he admitted finally. It sounded like a grudging concession; Severus nodded in formal acceptance.

"Lupin is missing, though I can safely say Voldemort does not have him. I do not think the werewolves will be stupid enough to try bargaining with Voldemort again."

"I would feel better in someone had heard from him," Minerva said, glancing at Rain.

Rain shook her head dully. "Don't look at me."

"I think it most likely that Pritchard's men devised this trap to expose Voldemort's faithlessness," the headmaster interjected. "There is an excellent chance that the ruse was Remus' idea; he has a marvelous mind." Dumbledore beamed at them all for a moment, but to Rain it seemed forced. "I am sure there is nothing to be concerned about. Remus is probably safe and making strides towards an alliance with Pritchard."

Rain wished she believed it. As she left the meeting some time later, having hardly touched the rest of her meal, her thoughts were spinning. Ignoring Sirius' concern, she went past her rooms, shooing her dog in without her. She needed comfort, and with Remus gone, and Severus still closeted with Dumbledore, there was only one place to find it.

~*~

"What do you mean where's Rain?" Black growled. For all that they were safely in Rain's office and Black had resumed his human form to answer his question, Severus could practically see the dog's hackles raising. He frowned. Black continued, "She went off with you to the Three Broomsticks two hours ago! How the hell did you manage to lose her?"

Severus blinked at him, not understanding. "She wasn't with me. " Then all the pieces clicked together. "You idiot!" he snapped. "Why would you let her go to a tavern?"

"She can make her own decisions, you slimy git!" Black shot back.

"Not when it comes to this," Severus hissed. "I have to find her."

"Find her for what? For pity's sake, man! If you had any mercy in you, you'd give her some peace."

"Peace only comes to the dead," Severus retorted, "and not always to those. Stop wasting my time. Stay here in case Katraina returns on her own. If she's drunk, induce sickness. Is there room enough in that tiny mind for you to remember that? And send for me at once." He gathered his robes about her in preparation to go. Black's voice halted him.

"Where are you going?"

"To find her, Black," Severus said, and he left.

Though he was reasonably certain he wouldn't find her on the school grounds, Severus did check the kitchens and the library before hurrying to Hogsmeade. As he strode towards the village, he was fuming.

Had he not told her to avoid alcohol while taking the Sangrapura Potion? Had he and Lupin not told her to stay inside the school unless accompanied by someone safe? Had she not promised she would never again dismiss his warnings? And yet that bloody Ravenclaw chit had once again decided she knew best. Damn her! She was a thorn in his side, and his love for her was a very real liability.

This was the perfect opportunity, Lucius would say, to rid themselves of the problem that was Katraina McGonagall. Let the woman drink herself literally to death; while death would be sufficient, an agonizing one would entertain Lucius more. By hoping to save Rain, Severus was being decidedly unSlytherin. Or perhaps, he mused as he passed Honeydukes, he wasn't acting unSlytherinish at all. His real ambition was to be able to love her, to have her love him in return, to make that acceptable. That could hardly come about if she were dead. Yes, it might be unDeath Eaterish, but it was certainly Slytherinish to want her to live.

He pushed open the door to the Three Broomsticks and scanned the room. He did not immediately see anyone he recognized, Death Eater or otherwise. A second look found Rain, sitting by herself at a corner table, hunched into her cloak and staring fixedly at a tankard in front of her. Rosmerta, he noticed, had a subtle watch on Rain; when she saw Severus enter, she relaxed and motioned him over.

"What's she drinking?" he asked by way of greeting.

"Ogden's Old Firewhisky," Rosmerta whispered.

"How much?"

"A tankard and a half, so far."

"God have mercy!" he exclaimed, and hurried to Rain's corner.

She blinked up at him in confusion. "S--Sev?" she asked, and blinked again.

Damn it. "You little fool!" he spat.

Her eyes filled with tears. "Don't be angry with me, Sev," she pleaded. "I just--I couldn't--I needed comfort."

"And you couldn't come to one of your friends?" He knew he shouldn't say it, and yet the words fell from his mouth without his permission. "What in God's name were you thinking?"

"I--I wasn't," she admitted. A strange look flitted across her face. He recognized it as that of a person who has just realized how phenomenally stupid she is being. "Oh dear," she said, and put a hand to her head.

He pulled her to her feet and dragged her to the door. "You have ignored my every word since you and I met," he said, letting his exasperation creep into his voice. He managed to get her out of the village before she uttered a low groan and slithered out of his grasp to drop to her knees on the ground.

He felt like snapping at her, but instead he gripped her shoulders as she was sick. When she finished she said, "Sev--I'm sorry."

"You should be," he snapped, and wiped her mouth with a clean handkerchief. "Come. We can't stay here unless you want everyone to know about this." He hauled her, not ungently, to her feet, and supported most of her weight as she took half a dozen steps. She groaned again. "Stop that, you bloody Ravenclaw twit," he murmured. "Whinging about it won't help, so why don't you keep quiet?"

"S--sorry," she muttered. He noticed she was trembling violently. He held her up with one arm and with the other removed his cloak and settled it awkwardly about her shoulders. "Thanks," she whispered.

He shook his head and propelled her another twenty meters up the path. With very little warning she lurched out of his arms, fell over, and was sick again. She made no more complaints, but as he pulled her upright and wiped her mouth again, he saw the tracks of silent tears on her face. He chose to ignore them.

She was shivering more violently now, and her teeth were chattering. When he put a hand under her chin to look at her, he saw blood dribbling down her chin. At his alarmed utterance she made an effort to focus her eyes on his face. "B-bit my t-tongue."

"You need to hurry, Katraina. We need to get to my office."

She only looked at him, but he read her confusion. As he explained, he felt a shudder run through her body. "I told you the Sangrapura would do horrible things when mixed with alcohol. Considering that you had practically no supper, and you drank that much Ogden's Old Firewhisky, I expect it shall run through you quickly. Or, at least, it shall begin quickly."

She shuddered again, and this time he could tell it was unintentional. He bit back a curse. "Can't you walk any faster?" he snapped.

"Sorry...I'm sorry, Sev."

"If you were truly sorry, you wouldn't call me that," he muttered, and was surprised to hear her gasp a small laugh.

"Sorry," she whispered, and broke into a fit of coughing. When she had finished, she clung dizzily to his neck, and after a moment buried her face in his shoulder. He was ashamed to feel himself respond.

"This is ridiculous." He bent and lifted her into his arms; she hardly seemed to weigh anything, and he prayed desperately that her foolishness would not kill her. A part of his mind whispered that Mobilicorpus would be easier, but he ignored it.

By the time he got her to his office, she was drenched in sweat and still shivering. She had managed to not be sick inside the school, but as soon as he had set her down on a low settee, he had to fetch an empty cauldron for her. This time, after she was done, there was far too much blood for her to explain away. She merely stared at him miserably as he swore and went to mix something he hoped would help.

Severus had never been skilled as a nursemaid; he hadn't the temperament for it. Even with Rain he had never possessed heroic patience, and there was no other invalid he would ever have bothered with. Yet now, as Rain heaved every fifteen or twenty minutes, pathetically uncomplaining, he was moved by a strange tenderness. The bitter undercurrent was still there, of course, that she had gone out to get drunk over Lupin; but she was vulnerable, and a wondrous protectiveness flared up in him. When her tangled curls were in danger of falling in the cauldron, he smoothed them back from her face and placed one thin hand on her shoulder. When she shivered violently after another dose of antidote, he tucked the blankets more closely about her.

Through it all, though, he was still afraid. He had become used to fear. It was a constant companion to a Death Eater, and as close as a lover to a traitor. He rarely feared for himself, though--he wasn't worth fear; his fear was usually for Dumbledore and his supporters. Now he feared for himself nearly as much as he feared for Rain. Please, whatever skill I have, he prayed, but could not finish. He had just administered another dose of his improvised antidote potion, and she had fallen back too heavily on the settee, coughing with consuming urgency. He had been with her nearly three hours, and she was getting worse instead of better. He sat down on a straight-backed chair beside her and put his hand over his eyes.

She suppressed her coughs. "Severus?" she whispered. He lifted his head from his hand. "Is this it, then?" she asked. Her eyes glittered strangely, but there were no tears there. The fever, perhaps.

"You are not going to die, you foolish girl!" he snapped, anger once more superceding fear. He glared at her. "I thought you were going to listen to me."

She considered this. Her face was pale and sweaty, and tendrils of her hair clung to her skin. Suddenly she seemed so frail, so young. "I did say so, didn't I?"

He grimaced and stood, but she suddenly sat up, too quickly, and nearly fell off the settee in her haste to reach the cauldron. Severus wondered, as he caught and steadied her, if he would ever have the stomach to use that cauldron again. Perhaps he would give it to Longbottom. He sat gingerly on the settee next to her, holding her up.

Rain heaved much longer than usual this time, and although it was liberally sprinkled with blood, it seemed to him there couldn't be much more alcohol left in her stomach. When she was finished, she rested her forearms on the rim of the cauldron and placed her forehead against her hands. As she gasped weakly for breath, she sat up straight again, so that for a moment she was leaning against his chest. She rolled her head slightly so that she was nestled under his chin. "I wish you'd tell me you love me, Severus," she murmured, her voice raspy.

He went hot, then cold, and before he could even begin to frame a response, she had leaned over the cauldron again.

There was nothing he could say. Of course he loved her. But he was a spy and a former Death Eater, and he had nothing to offer her but sorrow and danger. Once, long ago, while both their fathers lived, he had dreamed of a much different life. But now? Now it was much too late.

At that moment he heard a snuffling noise, and then the creak of hinges. He realized that in his haste to get her settled, he must have left the door unlatched. Who had been and gone in the past three hours? Had anyone else seen? He turned his head slightly and, from the corner of his eye, caught sight of the large black dog. It stood in the doorway, head low, watching. It watched as Severus wiped her mouth and offered her a sip of water. It watched as she lay back weakly against the pillow and swallowed a large dose of the antidote. It watched as Severus smoothed her hair back from her forehead and checked her temperature, and tucked the blankets around her again. And at least, after watching all this, it looked straight into Severus' eyes, then turned and walked away.

When Severus turned back to her, she was watching him. Her eyes were only half-open, but she was breathing more evenly, and her colour had improved somewhat. He leaned over and took her hand. "Feeling better?" She smiled. "You're going to have the devil of a head tomorrow."

She rolled her head slowly from side to side. "I'm glad you never decided to really poison me."

He raised his eyebrows. "If I had been trying to poison you, Katraina, you would have died painlessly within thirty seconds. Saving you was considerably more difficult, especially with your apparent deathwish."

Her eyes darkened for a moment. "No," she said, "not anymore." Her voice was hoarse. He reached with his free hand for a glass of water, and gave her a sip. Her hand came up to steady the glass, and his fingers burned at the momentary contact.

"Your life has been...difficult," he managed at last.

"You might say that." She took a deep breath and held it for a moment. "But nothing next to yours, I imagine. I didn't realize--" She bit her lip, and he half-rose in alarm.

"Are you--"

She cut him off with a weak laugh. "No, sit down, Severus. I'm feeling much better. I just--" She sighed. "I thought better of my words."

Severus nodded, understanding. "You thought I had only spied on them. You didn't know I had truly been one of them."

She looked sadly up at him. "Please tell me I didn't somehow send you down the path to Voldemort."

He wanted to tell her she had, wished he could blame his betrayal on her, but he knew better, and he would not lie to her. He did not, however, harbour any qualms about sarcasm directed at her. "Don't flatter yourself. I would not have become what I did out of disappointment. Not even over you." Oops...even?

"Disappointment," she said softly, but her eyelids were drooping shut. Feeling incongruous relief, he stood up and went to a shelf.

"Here," he said, unstopping a bottle and handing it to her. "You need rest. It's a potion for dreamless sleep."

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him. "Thank you so much."

He smiled wryly at her. "Just wait until you get my bill."

She laughed out loud. "Severus! A joke? I'm impressed." She drained the bottle quickly and handed it back to her. "Stay with me?"

He sighed and tried to look as if he begrudged her the time. "You know I will."

As she slipped into sleep, he watched the candle's light dance across her pale face. So many struggles, for all of them--yes, even for Lupin, perhaps even for Black. The more suffering Severus saw, the more he understood the importance of grace. She had enough for all of them--enough to forgive Lupin for leaving her, enough to forgive herself for her mistakes, enough to forgive Severus for all the horrors he had committed, enough even to forgive Black for being such a prat. Severus had always been wont to see Dumbledore as his saviour, but it was easy to look at Rain and see an angel of grace.

He whispered, quoting,

"If it were now to die

'Twere now to be most happy, for I fear

My soul hath her content so absolute

That not another comfort, like to this

Succeeds in unknown fate."

~*~

When Remus woke, he was shivering with cold. He blinked at the uneven ceiling, which was about two feet above his head; in the grey light it was hard to discern what it was made of. He lifted a paw--no, a hand--gingerly and discovered by scraping his knuckles that it was stone. That's right, he was sleeping in a cave. A cave full of werewolves. In Wales. Where it had been raining non-stop for the past three days. He sighed and edged out of the little niche in which he'd been curled.

He had been filled with a slow-burning anger upon seeing the conditions in which Welsh werewolves were living. They couldn't find jobs anywhere except in the Wizarding mines at Eglwys Faen, where they mined rock crystals, ochres, and other such spell components--a job apparently too dirty for human wizards to do. Since Wales was a country dependent upon its sheep, werewolves were required to shut themselves up in cages during the full moon--cages with silver bars. Remus had been the only one last night besides Alpha Huw Pritchard who didn't burn himself by jumping against the bars.

Pritchard was crouched at the fire, warming his twisted hands. Remus went over and sat on his heels beside him. He had been surprised, when he met Pritchard, to see that the Alpha Wolf of the Brecon Pack--and leader of PAW (Persons Advocating Werewolves)--was an arthritic man in his early sixties. That alone proved werewolves were more than just animals, for a true pack of wolves would have ousted a crippled leader long since. He sighed, and Pritchard looked over at him.

"Doesn't relieve all the aches and pains, does it?" he asked in his quiet voice. "Or am I just feeling my age?"

Remus grimaced. "No, I feel them, too. It helps with the mind, not the body."

"Still," Pritchard said, with awe in his voice. "Mens sana in corpore sano," he said after a moment, and shook his head. "I never thought it could be."

"Dumbledore's Potions Master is a highly skilled man," Remus replied.

Pritchard looked sharply at him. "And this is what we may look forward to, if we join you?"

Remus held his gaze. "You know better," he said mildly. "You may have it, whether you join us or not. The headmaster is not such a man as would promise a gift and then withhold it."

"And what of those who decide to accept Lord Malfoy's offer?" Pritchard asked blandly.

Remus couldn't hold back a snort. "Malfoy's no lord," he said. "What he is, is a pureblood wizard. He has no respect for Muggleborns or Squibs; what makes any of you think he'll look more kindly on folk who don't even qualify as beings?"

Pritchard's lined face split in a grin. "And don't you know I was only winding you up, boy!" He chuckled and held out a battered tin cup of tea. "Think that's the first time I've seen you crack this whole week. Go on, now. You know I'm with you. It's some of the younger dogs that need persuading."

"Voldemort's attack on Ffordd-y-Glo should have told them something," Remus said.

The man nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, and it did. They can see Voldemort's not one to trifle with--some of them are thinking he's not one to cross, either. But there are plenty of them want to stay out of it altogether. Knowing they don't have to join you to get the Wolfsbane Potion will leave them with no incentive."

"They can't think the headmaster--or anyone--seeks to control them," Remus replied. "If they join us, they have to join on their own terms, of their free will, not ours. I won't have it said that one side's no better than the other. To Voldemort you would be servants. To us you would be partners."

"It sounds very pretty," said a cynical voice behind him. Garaid Jones was a good-looking werewolf just past school age, and he was bitter that he hadn't been allowed a real education. All the same, he was earnest in his desire to help other werewolves attain what he had not. Remus liked him.

"Not when you think of what we're asking," Remus replied. "Give up your safety, your homes, perhaps even your lives, to preserve a world that has been unkind to you, all in the hopes that if you help save it, you may be allowed to help shape it. Asking you to take a stand against the strongest and most insidious evil of our time. Asking you to risk everything for possibly nothing in return."

Garaid grinned. "You trying to talk me out of this, or into it? Best shut up now, old dog, before I change my mind." He put out his hand and Remus shook it. "I'm in. Now we just have to convince the others." Remus stared at him. "Ah, quit that! You knew I'd do it. You notice more than you let on. I imagine you had the measure of us before Huw even suggested we use you as bait for Voldemort."

Remus thought of the towering fear under which he had struggled, shivering in the wet and cold of Ffordd-y-Glo, waiting for the signal to come that the Death Eaters were on their way. Garaid had volunteered to go with Remus--or Eglwys, Church, as he had introduced himself to them--and show him the secret ways out of the set of caverns that had served as the old den of the Brecon Pack. Slowly he nodded. "I didn't think twice about trusting you with my life," he said pointedly to Garaid and Huw. "Some of the others seem a bit more shifty, though."

"Some are," Garaid acknowledged. "Some of them probably still think it'd be a safer bet to join with Voldemort. Better to serve the side that wins than to lead the one that loses, you know. But perhaps that's not an idea you had to live with, yourself."

Remus studied him. He didn't seem bitter, just curious, so Remus shrugged. "I'm familiar with the temptation, I suppose. I admit I've had a much easier life than any of you here."

"I expect it was hard enough," Huw said, surprising him. "Well, then. Garaid and I can give you a few ideas on who the key people are here; the pack's gotten much bigger than it used to be, with PAW becoming more vocal. We're more like a loose-knit clan of packs, really. Then once you've talked to them, they'll need time to think it over. I suggest you make some rounds today, and then head back home tonight. No point in keeping you here; the talks could take weeks."

Remus nodded slowly. He had been hoping for a swifter solution, but he hadn't really expected it. He was lucky he had Huw and Garaid on his side already. "Dumbledore authorised me to invite a select number back to Hogsmeade for a visit, during the new moon. I'd like you both to be part of the group."

Garaid grinned. "What, me visit a real Wizarding village? Me talk to real wizards? Wouldn't know what to do with myself. Probably walk around gaping at everything, sucking my paws and wishing I could crawl back home." He shook his head. "Does sound like fun, though."

"Think about it," Remus urged.

Garaid nodded, then finished off his tea. "We'd best get to work so you can persuade a few more to join the group." He stood up. "We have loads to do."

For the first time Remus felt as if he'd actually done something for the resistance; it only made it sweeter that he'd also done something, however small, for the werewolves. He thought of his parents, their long search for some way to cure his lycanthropy, and thought they would be proud of him. He wished they had truly known Rain; they had met her once or twice at King's Cross, but they had died within a few months of each other during the years of his self-imposed exile. It was easier to see, looking back, that he'd wasted those years foolishly, but he still wasn't certain what else he could have done.

Given his choice, he would have married Rain and spent those years making her happy--but after losing James and Lily, he'd lost his faith in storybook love. A penniless werewolf marry the Clan Lady?...he knew what people would think. For himself it didn't matter; people could say whatever they liked, he knew the truth. But to have it said of Rain, that her husband was only after her money, that no one else would have her--that was unthinkable.

And now? What made it right for him to hope now for her hand in marriage? Well, they were at war, weren't they? War changed everything. In this world, you had to seize happiness with both hands and hold on for all you were worth. And she loved him, and she clearly had not been happy that he was gone; and he himself had been miserable. Together they would create whatever happiness could be found in this mad world.

~*~

Rain did, as Severus had warned her, have the devil of a head when she woke up. She was still on Severus' settee, with several blankets tucked about her. There was a tray on the table next to her, with a teapot, cup, biscuits, a potion bottle, and a note. She smiled, looking at it. When she reached out and picked up the note, however, her smile faltered and tears welled up in her eyes.

"Oh, Severus," she whispered, and took a shaky breath. Hidden by the note was a single red rose, still closed tightly. She took another breath, blinked hard, and read the note.

"I'll take your first class for you. Dumbledore will arrange the rest. Drink the potion first; it should help with the headache. Do not get up before you have drunk all of the tea. S."

She felt too weak to get up, anyway. She swallowed the bitter potion and poured a cup of tea with hands that shook. With a sigh, she settled into the cushions and contemplated the rose. Well. I did ask him to say he loves me.

She fell asleep again after draining her cup, and she dreamed she was standing between two masked Death Eaters. A cold voice behind them said, "Crucio," and the Death Eater on her left began to convulse. In the distance she clearly heard a dog barking.

Rain awoke with a start. She lay perfectly still for a long moment, holding her breath. Then she sat up. She was alone. She gasped a few breaths while waiting for her vision to clear. When her heart began returning to a more normal beat, she poured herself another cup of tea; it was still hot, and she spared a grateful thought for Severus' Semprecalidus Spell.

She reached over and touched the rose lightly. The petals were beginning to open, and they quivered under her caress. She realized she was smiling, and sighed.

What was she to do with Severus? She blushed as she again remembered her words of the night before: I wish you'd tell me you love me, Severus. She couldn't pretend it was just the whisky talking; she knew better, and there could be no doubt he would, too. And he had said nothing. Perhaps he didn't love her, after all.

No, she couldn't be that bad at reading him. Why had she been so foolish? It had been an unkind thing to say, and more than that, it had been unwise. Dumbledore had asked her to be careful with Severus, and she had gone and said something to hurt and alienate him.

Alienate? said a sly voice in her mind. Then why did he leave you that rose?

"Oh, shut up," she said crossly. It was perhaps one of the hazards of living alone for so many years; she had begun talking to herself. She looked about restlessly. Severus had ordered her not to get up until she'd finished the pot of tea, but her back ached, and she wanted something to take her mind off her current situation--both that of having fallen off the wagon after twelve years, and that of having encouraged Severus to speak. Cautiously she stood up and tottered over to the nearest bookshelf.

Enthroned on the top of the bookshelf was an ancient phonograph, and Rain glanced at the record currently residing there. She grinned when she made out the title; it was an old favourite from their school days, Gordon Lightfoot's album "If You Could Read My Mind". Gordon Lightfoot's music, as well as Bob Dylan's and Joni Mitchell's, had provided a soundtrack to the exploits of the Marauders, the early years after leaving school, and her drinking years. She sighed. This album in particular had been her favourite. She lifted the arm and placed it carefully on the record, watching it spin, until she began to feel slightly dizzy. Humming along to the first song, she looked at the books on the shelves below.

Most Potente Potions. One Hundred and One Cures for Lost Poisons. The Rise and Fall of Grindelwald. The Collected Works of Keats. Virgin's Blood and Dragon's Tongue. Tess of the D'Urbervilles. Othello. King John. Hamlet. Paradise Lost. M. Her fingers brushed over the spine of each book as she read its title, Muggle literature scattered in among Wizarding volumes. She paused at the last, a green leather-bound volume with the single letter M stamped upon the spine in silver. She recognized the book, but it took her a moment to remember from where; her father had had a copy in his library. Curious, she selected that and the Keats and carried them back to the couch, wobbling slightly.

With a sigh, she sat down and pulled the covers back over her. She nibbled at a biscuit as she opened the Keats. She flipped through it for a few minutes, reading bits here and there, until it fell open to a sonnet that was marked in green ink:

Darkling, I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Called him soft names in many a mus'ed rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou are pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy.

She snapped the book shut. That was much too personal; she had forgotten how much could be revealed in the poetry one read. Laying the Keats aside, she took an absent-minded sip of tea and opened the green book.

The first page said, in a bold script, Livre de Memoire, Fergus McGonagall, Lord Heatherhall. Rain nearly dropped the book in her surprise. Narrowing her eyes, she studied the cover once more, until she found the scratch where she'd knocked it from her father's desk twenty-five years ago. This was her father's lifebook, his Book of Memories. But how had Severus come to have it? Had it been among the things her father had left to Asmodean Snape?

The first entry was dated 18 July 1940 -- his birthday. She flipped to the last page, which was dated the day before he died. Hastily she backtracked, not wanting to read the last entry; she opened it at random, and, seeing a familiar name, paused to read:

31 July 1973

Asmodean Snape and I spoke today about his son. Severus is a fine young man. He takes top marks in his lessons, is a decent Quidditch player, and is not lacking in ambition. I have it from Esme that Severus and Rain get on well. I am afraid of what Mairie would say of this; she was a Gryffindor, and never understood all the old Slytherin customs. But Asmodean considers it a favourable alliance, and I believe Esme will approve my plan. I only hope that my little Raincloud will understand. She is young yet to learn of this; I trust that when she is old enough to leave school, she will at least hear my reasons. I want to see her well-provided-for, taken care of; I hope that she would be treasured. From what Asmodean said, Severus would provide all that and more, when they are old enough.

As she reached the end of the passage, she heard a sound from the doorway and looked up. Severus was standing very still, his eyes fixed on the book in her hands. His face was pale, his mouth slightly open as if he had been about to speak. As she watched, his eyes grew cold.

"Severus, I--"

"I thought I instructed you to not get up," he said, his voice growing softer until it became a hiss. "I provided you with refreshment and entertainment--" Oops, entertainment? She glanced around and only then saw, hidden by her serviette, a thin volume by her tray-- "and still you felt the need to disregard my request. Instead you decided to snoop through my belongings."

She had been feeling guilty, but at this she bristled. "Your belongings? This book was my father's."

"And he entrusted it to my father." Severus bit off the words. He strode across the room and plucked the book out of her unresisting hands. Rain did not think it was possible for him to become paler, but as he gazed at the entry she had been reading, more colour drained from his face. He snapped the book shut and stood staring down at the cover as if it were a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"It's too late," she said, amazed at how calm she sounded. "I saw what was in there."

His eyes grew colder still. She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. After a very long moment he said, "And what, precisely, is in there?"

"Our betrothal. An agreement between my father and yours. You knew about this, didn't you?"

He didn't answer.

"He never asked me. Never even told me. Were you planning to abide by it?"

He didn't answer. He only stared at her, implacable as granite.

"And why, precisely, did you keep this a secret? Why then, when it could have meant something? Why now, when I've come back?"

He put his hands behind his back and blinked at her. Rain felt her face heat. "Why didn't you bloody tell me?" she cried. "Were you ashamed? Were you jealous? That must be it--you're jealous because now I have Remus and you have no one!"

Oh dear. That had been a mistake. The ice in his eyes vanished and his face twisted in fury. "If I were jealous, Katraina, I would have handled it much differently!" he spat. "Besides, I have no reason to be jealous. If I wanted you, I could have you." He went to his desk, withdrew a single item, then strode back and thrust a parchment at her, old and wrinkled and a little worn about the edges. "If I wanted you. You, Katraina, you belong to me."

It was the agreement, drawn up, witnessed, and signed by his parents, her father and sister, and Severus himself. She ran a wondering finger down the page. "It's quite correct," she said softly. She took a deep breath. "Why did you never tell me?"

"Would you have listened?"

Severus had nearly fled when he realized what she was reading. The look on her face was strange, a mixture of eagerness and fear. Dimly his mind registered that she had turned on his phonograph, and Gordon Lightfoot was singing.

"Of course I would have listened!" she exclaimed, sounding indignant. But she suddenly looked less sure of herself.

Severus pressed a finger to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. At last he sighed. "I did not tell you," he said, trying to sound calm and reasonable, "because your father asked me to wait. The day we signed that--" He waved at the precious parchment she still held-- "I told him I would like to be the one who spoke to you. He agreed, thought it was a good idea, even, but put forth the caveat that I must wait until you left school and were old enough to decide."

His heart pounded at his honesty. This was too much, it was painfully honest, and he knew she was going to rip up the paper, laugh at him. Instead she looked thoughtful.

"I need to think," she said slowly, her voice soft. "I need to be alone, and think."

That didn't sound as if she were going to reject him out of hand. His heart swelled for a single moment, he nearly smiled, then harsh reality hit him. He was a traitor and a spy, and if he were caught, Voldemort would kill him at the very least. If she wouldn't reject him, he would have to do it himself.

"What is there to think about?" he asked, disappointment making his voice harsh. "You can't think I still want this?" She stared at him in surprise, and he wondered if she would cry. Wondered if they both would cry. "Please, Katraina. Show some sense. I can't be saddled with a wife." He laced the word with scorn. "And if I were to marry, she would be a Slytherin, with ties to as many Death Eaters as possible."

"But--I thought--"

"You thought it might work?" he interrupted. He sneered at her. "Please. You'd only get in the way. You're spent too much time with Gryffindors to be of any use to me. How could you ever imagine we would get on? You never properly saw me, anyway."

In the silence that followed these words, he heard the phonograph quit playing. He had altered it many years ago, with a small levitating spell, so that it automatically flipped the record over and began on Side B. The bittersweet swells of "If You Could Read My Mind" laced through his words, fitting the situation with a delicate irony that could have made him weep, if he hadn't been so angry.

If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts could tell

Just like an old-time movie 'bout a ghost from a wishing well

In a castle dark or a fortress strong with chains upon my feet

You know that ghost is me

And I won't ever be set free as long as I'm a ghost you can't see.

"Did I ever truly have worth in your eyes, Katraina, or was I just a project, someone to fix up in your spare time? You kept me locked up in your thoughts, trapped in a skewed reality where I was good and noble and true, when in fact the only good and noble and true thing in my entire life was you--and you were blind."

He heard the scorn dripping from his tongue, saw the way her beautiful, hopeful face crumbled into shock, dismay, and hurt. Yes, he told himself savagely, you learned long ago how to hurt her. You still remember.

If I could read your mind, love, what a tale your thoughts could tell

Just like a paperback novel, the kind the drugstores sell

When you reached the part where the heartaches come

The hero would be me

But heroes often fail

And you won't read that book again because the ending's just too hard to take

"If you'll recall, you looked to Sirius Black when you wanted a hero. Not to me; I was your project. Remus was a good chum. Peter was to be pitied, James to be admired, and Lily to be emulated. But Black was to be worshipped. Well I ask you, Katraina, what did he do to deserve it? Nothing. The only big thing he's ever done was try to kill me. Rest assured that, Dumbledore and Voldemort--and your sweet ideals--notwithstanding, I will return the favour if ever I get the chance."

I'd walk away like a movie star who gets burned in a three-way script

Enter number two: a movie queen to play the scene

of bringing all the good things out in me

But for now, love, let's be real

She shook her head. "You're not like that, Severus. You don't want to be."

"Don't you understand, Katraina? I. Am. Not. Your. Project. There is nothing left of me to redeem. I am a selfish bastard who has sold all of you out more than once, and I will do it again if I must. I have committed acts that would make you weep and curse my name. I deserve whatever fate is coming to me. But I'm not why you're here. Draco is. And he does not."

She was weeping, quietly, with dignity. "That's not true. There is something left."

"And what is that?" he mocked. "You can't answer me, can you?"

"Love, Severus," she said calmly, and for the first time he faltered.

I never thought I could act this way and I've got to say that I just don't get it

I don't know where we went wrong but the feeling's gone

And I just can't get it back

No. He hurt her now to avoid killing her later. "Love!" he sneered, and barked a laugh that hurt his throat. "Be real, Katraina! Did you think I loved you? I used you. Used you to learn more about the werewolf and Black. Used you to throw Lucius and his master off my true intentions. Make myself look infatuated. Make them think love had made me a tame snake." Oh, the bitter echoes of those words.

If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts could tell

Just like an old-time movie 'bout a ghost from a wishing well

In a castle dark or a fortress strong with chains upon my feet

But stories always end

And if you read between the lines you'll know that I'm just trying to understand

The feelings that you lack

"No, Katraina, the fairytale ends here. Go back to your safe world, make blind love to your tame werewolf, and go on thinking there is good in the world. But never think there is anything good left in Severus Snape."

She tried to stand, got her feet tangled in the blankets, and fell to her knees. She stared at him with tears pouring down her cheeks, a rent deeper than the ocean on her face. Her entire body trembled, her outstretched hand shook. "Severus--" she pleaded. His soul quailed, and for the most horrible moment of his life, something in him screamed to be free of the entrapments he had placed upon himself.

"Go home, brat!" he said viciously, and she recoiled as if she had been struck. "Weak daughter of a fool, alcoholic clan leader who isn't half the woman her sister was. Go home!" He spat in her face, and as the spittle trailed down her shattered face, Severus felt the last pieces of his heart crumble into dust. He watched as she stumbled to her feet, kicked free of the blankets, and ran.

I never thought I could feel this way and I've got to say that I just don't get it

I don't know where we went wrong but the feeling's gone

And I just can't get it back