To Face the Wolf

Severus Snape

Snape was patrolling the empty corridors of Hogwarts hoping to find a trace of Black, as he had done ever since the dark wizard had slashed the portrait of the fat lady. It was past midnight, but as he did not require much sleep he seldom went to bed before two AM (not that he slept a great deal after that either, unless he took one of his own potions). His wand was out: to give him the much-needed edge over Black, to cast about for unusual phenomena, or to scare the hell out of any students sneaking around and breaking the rules, such as Potter and his gang. A sneakoscope would have come in handy, but he did not own one. To know that Black was evil and Lupin dark one didn't need a sneakoscope, and he had not anticipated the mysterious appearance of suspect strangers.

Anyway, the voices murmuring at the edge of his hearing right now probably belonged to student trespassers. The Potions Master halted to locate the sound. This wasn't easy, as the acoustics of Hogwarts castle could be unpredictable. Fortunately he had many years of experience. When the voices did not come his way Snape followed them, gliding along soundlessly, another art he had mastered to perfection. Gaining on them with every stride he passed the Astronomy Tower, the favourite place for illegal trysts. He wondered what couple he would catch tonight. Lupin and Black would be to good to be true, he supposed.

By now, the voices were close enough for him to follow their conversation. One more corner and he would be able to see the speakers. Snape slowed his pace a little, deciding to listen before he showed himself.

'... could transform something into a harp for you,' said the first man, sounding a little hoarse.

The werewolf! Snape held his breath and waited for the reply, anticipation surging through him. Would he recognise the voice of his worst enemy after the Dark Lord?

'Do you play?' asked the second speaker, who was also male.

'I'm afraid not.'

'Then maybe not.'

'Ah.' A chuckle. 'Lacking musical expertise I wouldn't be able to get it right?'

'Not perfect,' the second man said regretfully.

The Potions Master sighed. Whoever this was, not Black. He would have recognised his drawl anywhere - even though a prolonged sojourn in Azkaban, where human conversation was reduced to a minimum, did nothing to improve a person's voice. The sound of this voice was perfection: as seductively beautiful as the song of a potion simmering softly in a cauldron. Inside or outside Azkaban, Black couldn't hold a candle to it. Moreover, there was a lilt to it, as if the speaker was turning language itself into music.

'Well, Finrod, if you want a perfect harp,' said Lupin, 'we'll have to look for another solution...'

Swiftly and noiselessly Snape rounded the corner; how close would he be able to get before the werewolf would catch a sound? Looking at the two men walking down the corridor he saw that he had guessed right. The speaker with the voice was the stranger he had found in the dungeons. And here he was, strolling through Hogwarts and chatting with Lupin. In English.

Remembering that the stranger was a Legilimens of sorts Snape banned his dark suspicions and other secret thoughts to the deepest recesses of his mind, and took another step. The two before him halted and turned simultaneously. Of course. Werewolf ears, both of them.

'Good night, Severus,' Lupin said. 'On the lookout for wayward students?'

'And stray criminals,' retorted Snape. He glanced at the tall stranger, whose appearance matched his voice; compared to him, even Black in his prime would have counted as plain. Or Malfoy Sr., or the Dark Lord, while he was still Riddle. Remarkable, how many that looked fair turned out to be foul. A satisfactory thought.

'So that's why you have your wand out.' The werewolf bared his teeth in what some would call a smile. 'A wise precaution - though I don't think stray criminals would openly use the corridors.'

'Not all people are too careless for their own good, Lupin,' said Snape threateningly, keeping his wand pointed more or less at the stranger.

'Criminals?' The stranger's eyes were suspiciously bright. Snape wondered which illegal potions ingredients could bring about such an effect, and resolved to figure it out.

'There's an escaped prisoner at large,' Lupin explained to his companion. 'He's dangerous, but this place is well protected.'

Was it Snape's imagination, or did a shadow cross the stranger's face at these words? Ah, yes, he looked decidedly unhappy now. How interesting. 'But the protectors are outside the castle, while the criminal has managed to slip inside - though nobody knows how.' Snape stared at Lupin.

The werewolf stared back before turning to his companion again. 'That's why it is good to have a protector inside as well,' he told the stranger in an explanatory tone, indicating Snape.

Had he actually had the evil courage to suggest that Snape was a kind of Dementor? The Potions Master was speechless, and Lupin went on: 'By the way, Severus, do you happen to know where to find a good harp?'

At this unexpected opening, Snape's tongue untied itself. 'Well,' he said silkily, 'there's the harp Quirrell used to lull Fluffy asleep. You do know who Quirrell was, do you, Lupin? One of those unlucky fellows who taught Defence against the Dark Arts before you got the job. It almost looks as if it's jinxed,' he added as an afterthought. 'I mean the job. As for the harp, maybe Dumbledore knows where it is. Well, Lupin, Mr. - Finrod, wasn't it? Past time to continue my patrol. Good night.'

'Good night, sir - and before I forget: thank you for your potion,' the stranger said. 'Without it, I would probably be dead.'

Perhaps you should be. Snape nodded stiffly, but instead of replying he strode past them to round the nearest corner, still hoping to catch at least one student to be righteously indignant at.

***

Sybill Trelawney

Until now, she had never had any problems unfogging future deaths. If the person did die, no one seriously blamed her; for after all, Seers weren't the ones who brought fate about. If, on the other hand, the person failed to die everyone was too happy to bother - and she always took great care not to predict deaths that were in any way desirable, such as the demise of rich old people, if she was consulted by their heirs.

Whatever others might think of her, Sybill Trelawney was not as foggy as that.

This time, though, she was faced with a dilemma. She had truly seen that horrible Grim (looking through the window rather than crystal gazing, but this was a minor detail), and something told her this sighting was connected to the mysterious stranger. The trouble was that he was about the last person she wanted to die - with the possible exception of her current, most tolerant employer, whose death she never predicted even though it was easier to foresee than most things, given his age.

Albus Dumbledore, though, was ancient and would agree that he was unlikely to see many more summers. But the classical beauty she had seen in the hospital wing was young (about her own age, Sybill assured herself) and deserved to live long and perhaps happily ever after.

Snape had said that Mr. gorgeous wanted her to foretell his future. If he paid her a visit, should she be brutally honest and risk making him unhappy and afraid, or would it be better to be a little short-Sighted for once? Pulling her shawls closer around her thin body Sybill cast a handful of pungent-smelling herbs into the fire to clear her head. Then she bent towards her orb, hoping to catch a glimpse of her own impending decision.

Alas, the fog refused to lift; no crystal clarity tonight. What would she do if she were a person with no talent whatsoever for Divination, like for instance - and she grimaced - that little pedant Hermione Granger? (She would have to rid herself of the girl before Easter.) While she inhaled the herbal fumes drifting through her room a slight smile spread across her face. If she made her man unhappy he would be in want of comfort. And of course, Sybill Trelawney would be there to give it to him.

Tomorrow, she would invite him. She smiled dreamily.

***

Remus Lupin

I have to tell him. The problem was that he liked Finrod and feared the expression of shock and disgust that would inevitably appear on the other's face if he would be confronted with the ugly truth. Would the knowledge that he had done the right thing outweigh the hurt of being hated and despised, and rejected once again?

As Finrod was remarkably taciturn after their encounter with Snape, it was possible that he was aware of his fate but reluctant to talk about it- and who would blame him? Not Remus Lupin. If he doesn't know I'm a werewolf - and how could he, when all he sees of me is my human form? - he won't be likely to broach the subject. If that were the case, it was quite simply Remus's moral duty to speak. What did he really know about his guest?

The answer was simple: too little.

Well, his guest wouldn't disappear overnight, Remus reassured himself; there was enough time to find out more about him first.

'Can I ask you a few things?' his companion suddenly spoke. 'This man, Severus Snape - I sensed distrust in him. Does he take me for - what was it, a "stray criminal"?'

Remus glanced aside and saw that Finrod looked curious, but not in the least upset or indignant. 'Severus doesn't know what to think of you,' he said. 'He's a suspicious man. Maybe he believes you're in league with this... escaped convict we were talking about.'

'Unlike you?'

An ambiguous question. 'Are you still reading my mind?' Remus wanted to know, feeling ill at ease. It would be terribly difficult for him not to think about this particular subject, and repress every memory of Padfoot. Maybe he could concentrate on Neville's boggart for a while... He bit his lip.

'I have not done so since I entered your rooms,' Finrod said, to Remus's relief. 'From now on, if I need a word, I will ask you. Anything else would be bad...'

'...mannered?' They had reached Remus's rooms now and halted outside the door.

'Yes.'

They went inside, both of them smiling. Closing the door Remus said: 'To answer your question - assuming you wanted to know if I take you for an accomplice of Siri... Black - no, I don't.' He grinned. 'You don't strike me as the criminal type. But... I would like to know more about you.'

When he saw Finrod's slight frown he hastened to add: 'But Not right away. It's past midnight. If Poppy knew I dragged you up the Astronomy Tower the day you were released from the hospital wing, she'd hex me into next year. Tomorrow's another day.'

Finrod sat down on the transformed sofa, the frown smoothened out. He seemed relieved; did he have something to hide, after all? Was Snape right to be suspicious? Damn! Remus liked Finrod, and likeable people should not be hiding dark secrets. Unfortunately, no one knew better than he did that having to hide a dark secret was an excellent reason to be a likeable person.

'So, want to take a shower before you go to sleep? Another bit of water magic to clean yourself?' he asked airily.

'Is it magic, if I can tell how it works?' Finrod countered, looking sly.

'Clever question, sayeth the teacher. Keep me informed of your findings. I know precious little about the arcane mysteries of plumbing. Most people don't need to know more than how to turn the various taps and handles.' Remus conjured up soap and a clean towel and showed his guest the bathroom. It was a clever question, he reflected, not nearly as rhetorical as it seemed. It could be fascinating to discuss magic with this somewhat unsettling person who was neither wizard nor Muggle. Provided there would be anything left to say once he had mustered the courage to bring up the Issue.

***

Next morning, he woke up at first light. As it was a Sunday, he could have stayed in bed well past dawn - except that he had a guest, a bad conscience and some residual post-transformation cramps that made his muscles twitch.

When he entered his sitting room, he saw Finrod standing at a window. He had pulled one of the dark red curtains a few inches aside and was gazing out, unmoving like a tree on a windless day. He wasn't breathing perceptibly and if he had worn a hooded cloak the colour of the curtains, he would have been virtually invisible. Remus stared at him, marvelling at his stillness. Then he saw from the corner of an eye that the guest bed had changed back into the old sofa some time during the night. He smiled wryly. Whenever anything larger than a teapot was involved, the only kind of transformation he was any good at, was involuntary. Admittedly, he had stopped doing his best when they told him that werewolves could never be Aurors; instead, he had concentrated on the subjects he really liked.

The honourable thing would be to offer Finrod his own bed, to compensate him for the lost hours of sleep. He took a step toward the window. Slowly, Finrod turned his head. His eyes, their glow slightly diminished at first, seemed to focus, and flared up again. Had he been asleep on his feet, like a Centaur?

'Good morning, Finrod. Sorry about the sofa,' Remus said. 'Can I offer you my bed?'

'Good morning, too, and thank you, but I am fully rested.' Finrod indicated the gap between the curtains. 'It would be good to go outside. If it were possible.'

He couldn't go as he pleased, if his presence was to remain secret. But Remus knew too well how it felt to be confined if you desired to run free. 'Not today,' he replied. 'It's Sunday, which means no classes, and too many students and teachers out there. Maybe tomorrow, if you avoid to come within sight of the classrooms.'

'Good! I would like to visit the lake, and the forest,' Finrod said eagerly.

Remus realised at once that he'd spoken prematurely. If Finrod strayed too far from the castle, he ran the risk of crossing the path of Dementor. A bad idea. 'On the other hand, I'm not sure if the Headmaster will agree. But there's a lot you can do inside the castle. I'll get you the harp Severus mentioned, so you can play. I can give you our alphabet, so you can study it.' He pulled his wand and crossed over to the hearth.

'Perhaps,' Finrod mused. 'Or I could study plumbing. But -'

He fell silent. Over the crackling noise of the newly lit fire Remus heard something tap insistently against the window. An owl? Who could be sending him owl-post?

But the scrawny, doleful looking bird, carried no message for him. It delivered a scroll, tied with a velvet ribbon and accompanied by a note from Madam Pomfrey. The scroll had been sent to the hospital wing but Poppy had sent it on to the person it was addressed to.

The message itself was from Sybill Trelawney. It contained an invitation, calligraphed in purple ink, for the Right Honourable Mr. Felagund. Would he like to visit her in the North Tower, and gaze into her crystal orb to have his future foretold?

***

Hermione Granger

She had been too deeply asleep to hear the other girls rise, wash, dress and leave the dormitory. All the same, when Hermione finally woke up she felt as if she hadn't slept more than a couple of hours. The temptation to stay in bed today was almost overwhelming. The only other living being in the room was Crookshanks, back from whatever he had been up to last night and dreaming on the windowsill now, the tip of his tail moving lazily .

She definitely needed more sleep, but she had so much homework to do that she couldn't afford to doze off. Hermione put a hand beneath her pillow, groping for her time-turner, a plan forming in her mind. If she turned it back until, say last midnight, she could climb the Astronomy Tower to make observations for the next class and then return to bed for a few more hours of sleep.

Filled with a renewed sense of purpose she sat up briskly. She would dress first (there was always a chance Snape would be prowling the corridors and if he was going to catch her, she wouldn't be wearing pyjamas). Then she would eat some of the biscuits stashed under her bed, take her writing equipment, turn back time, and sneak out.

Ten turns later Hermione was ready. The other girls in the dormitory were soundly asleep, the common room was dark and deserted, and she wouldn't have to deal with sir Cadogan until she returned. Not that he would pose a problem. He never challenged sweet young maidens, not even if they weren't really fair to look at. Munching a biscuit she exited the Gryffindor Tower.

The corridors were, as always at this time, eerily silent. No footsteps, not even her own, for she was carrying her shoes under her arm. With her wand drawn Hermione set out for the Astronomy Tower. The endeavour was not without risk; if she'd been in Harry's shoes, she'd have thought thrice before venturing alone into the night (though Harry himself wouldn't even have thought twice.) But it wasn't as if Black was after -

Hermione jumped. There they were, the much-dreaded footsteps. Snape! She froze, looking for a place to hide, but there were no convenient niches or staircases within sight. Breathing deeply, she straightened to face the worst...

... and felt her knees going weak with relief. The footsteps, more than one set, as she heard now, were not coming her way. She followed them on soundless feet. The entrance to the Astronomy Tower was around the next corner, but the feet were in the corridor leading from it. If the owners would look back she would be within full view - and it would be difficult to open the door to the tower without making any noise.

Just when she decided to wait, it became clear that she couldn't. There were footsteps behind her as well. One set only, yet two feet to many. Steeling herself, Hermione decided it was worth the risk and fled forward. She rounded the corner, her heart thudding fiercely.

Ahead, she saw two figures, engaged in conversation. One was unmistakably Professor Lupin, patched robes, greying brown locks and all. The other was dressed in blue, with a long, golden braid reaching down almost to the waist, but to judge by the gait, the height, and the sound of the voice drifting back to her, it was not a woman. For the briefest of moments, Hermione thought it was Gilderoy Lockhart, returned to Hogwarts with his memory restored. She gasped. He hadn't come to replace - but no. This couldn't be Lockhart, could it? Never had she seen such sun-kissed hair.

She froze. The unknown man's steps seemed to falter; had he noticed her presence She could not have moved if her life had depended on it.

But only for a moment. The footsteps behind her were closing in. Shaking off her paralysis she darted towards the Tower and grabbed the door handle, wishing fervently that the man with the golden braid wouldn't look back. Without checking if he did she slipped inside and closed the door, shutting out all sounds from the corridor.

Yet she could not help wondering when Professor Lupin's companion could be. For some reason, he struck a chord with her.

(TBC)