Competitive Assessment

Lupin's back as Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor for Potter's sixth year, and three times a week they have private lessons, cosy in the wolf's den on the second floor. Snape watches Potter knock on Lupin's door, politely at first but louder and more familiar as the year goes on. Sometimes, now, he doesn't even bother to knock.

Severus had the Defence Against the Dark Arts position in Potter's fifth year. Eight years of waiting for it and the job was finally his, just when the idiot-taught children were waking up to a real war intruding on their comfortable little world. The students needed him, and Severus enjoyed seeing the flickers of fear in their eyes as he casually described the ravages of the last war. Did he do all those terrible things? wondered the Hufflepuffs. Set a thief to catch a thief, decided the Ravenclaws. Even the Gryffindors handed in their homework promptly that year, and the Slytherins - ah, the Slytherins worked hardest of them all, uncertain what side they'd be on in the war, but determined to come out of it well, no matter what.

Potter was still as carelessly arrogant as ever, though, and Severus' bile rose in his throat to see Potter reading the textbook in the back of the class, ignoring his lecture, or slipping a note to Granger about Defence study outside the classroom. Potter got taller throughout fifth year, slowly, sedulously, and the more his eyes unfocused in class, the more detentions Severus set him. Ones that kept the boy's hands busy, making sure that if Potter learned to defend himself, it would be from him.

Severus cracked eventually. In March, they learned that Voldemort had secured an alliance with the giants and begun marching on Muggle London. At the news, Dumbledore sat calmly in his office like a cross-eyed sphinx, composing a letter to that blasted Hagrid, and Severus called the Boy Who Lived to his office to offer him private instruction. He tried to be polite. And with the panic rising fast, he tried earnestly to impress the importance of the situation on Potter.

"I don't need extra lessons, Professor," Potter had said, and left the room in his habitual slouch, his robes whisking up dust motes from the floor. Severus had watched him go and felt his face twist up with rage and all kinds of frustration and cursed a pipette into smithereens until Potter's extra eyes seemed to be winking up at him in pieces from the ground.

It's different with Lupin. Different enough that Dumbledore doesn't bother to tell Severus he's knocked back to Potions until the year's almost begun. He always did like to remind Severus to be grateful for his almighty benevolence. Lupin, Dumbledore's underprivileged little favourite, is back from his break now and ready to shoulder Severus aside again.

It's different with Lupin because Potter trusts him; likes him. Severus has even caught him calling him Remus on occasion, and Lupin, of course, called him Harry from the start. Lupin always had been good at getting students' defences down, Severus thought grimly, as he stirred another cauldron of that dratted wolfsbane potion.

Lupin unclawed, docile at Potter's knees... Severus dreams he can hear them sometimes, though Lupin's office is far away from Severus' cold, cluttered one. That office was his last year - office, desk, carpet, couch. Severus makes excuses to walk by it on the evenings. The evenings before Potter's lazy yawns in class, his hair messier than usual and red trails showing on his arm when his sleeve falls back. "Hard night with Lupin?" Weasley will whisper sympathetically, and Potter smiles hazily and Severus clenches his teeth and fires a detention at him.

One night Lupin forgets his potion, and Severus bangs open his old office door without knocking, wild-eyed and holding a beaker in one hand.

"Ah, Severus," Lupin says mildly.

Severus glances at the couch. Potter's lying there under a blanket that doesn't quite cover

his freckled shoulders, with his wand on the floor beside him. His eyes are closed.

"He's asleep," Lupin explains. "Really, I'd prefer if you didn't wake him."

Severus thrusts the beaker at him. "You're lucky you didn't kill him."

"I was just about to come to your office," Lupin promises, taking a long shuddering draught. "My. Does it really have to taste this bad?"

Severus stares at him unsmilingly. "Yes!"

Lupin drains the beaker, and for a moment there's a flash of sadness in his eyes. "Must it always be this way, Severus? Surely..."

"I'm going to the Headmaster tomorrow," Severus interrupts. He knows he's blustering, but he can't stop himself. "I'll tell him what I've seen. You thought the families hated you before? Just wait until they hear about this."

Lupin gives him a sharp, unafraid smile, and Severus steps back involuntarily. "Feel free to drop by my office any time to discuss your personal issues, Severus. But I have company right now."

The door closes. Severus hears the sag as another body sinks into the couch, and Potter's hateful, sleepy, happy sigh. He stalks back to his office in a fury, and tries not to lie awake imagining them.