Two Lions And A Snape

Chapter I: In Which They All Wallow In Misery

Severus Snape.

When Severus first had set foot at Hogwarts as an ugly little boy some twenty odd years ago he’d been told (by none other than Lucius Malfoy, Sixth Year Prefect and unchallenged ruler of their House) about the giant squid. Some of the other Slytherin first-years had suffered through horrible nightmares about the huge Architeuthis but Severus (at the time only really afraid of one thing) had found the creature more fascinating than frightening.

That fascination combined with his skills in Potions (a subject in which Malfoy was almost as inept as Longbottom) and total lack of morals was what had endeared him to Malfoy who, for two wonderful, perfect years, took the little misfit under his protection. Those were undoubtedly the two best years of his life, Severus mused with a bitter smile. After Malfoy had left school there had been nothing to stop his arch-enemies, the Marauders, from humiliating and belittling him in front of the entire school.

He wrapped his dark cloak tighter around himself, enjoying the warmth and familiarity the heavy fabric offered. As much as he appreciated the solitude that the roof of Hogwarts offered he had to admit it wasn’t exactly ‘warm and cosy’, nor particularly well-protected against the odd burst of cold air.

Far down, in the muddy water below him a long, spidery limb splashed impatiently. Severus leaned forward slightly to have a better look at the pale flesh of the creature that had intrigued him so when he was a child.

He’d asked Hagrid about the squid once and the game-keeper had told him that he fed it every other week. As things were now with the half-giant in France with Madame Maxime it must have been a long time since it had last been given a proper meal. With a harsh, humorless chuckle Severus briefly wondered if it would enjoy a bony (doubtless more than a little sour-tasting) Potions Master.

Not that he was offering. Oh no. He’d experienced quite enough pain in his life as it was, thank-you-very-much, and he didn’t mean to end it all in the jaws of some Engorged monster dropped in the lake by a student a lifetime or two ago in some dunderheaded attempt at a ‘practical joke’.

Although he couldn’t stop the thought of falling from flashing through his mind as he looked over the edge, almost hypnotised by it; it wouldn’t be so bad to just... fall. Inching forward just a bit so that his toes kissed the edge of the roof he stared down into the dark water beneath him. He leaned forward slightly and with closed eyes he allowed himself to imagine just letting go. He wavered unsteadily as the emptiness beneath him sucked him even closer to the edge.

“Severus?”

The sound of a voice came so unexpectedly that he almost slipped. Only a surprisingly strong hand clamping down hard on his arm kept him from falling into the water where the hungry squid probably was waiting for him.

Sorry, my friend... Another time perhaps.

“Severus, dear boy, what on Earth are you doing?”

The Headmaster sounded more panicky than he had in all the years Severus had known the man and the Potion Master had to stifle a dark, slightly hysterical chuckle.

“I was just thinking, sir.”

“Thinking?” It was a bit too dark to be certain but it almost looked as if Dumbledore frowned. “What about? Merlin, boy, you almost fell to your death. If I hadn’t been here-”

“Nothing would have happened if you hadn’t sneaked up on me, sir,” he lied as he gave the man a guarded look, thankful for the protection that the dark and his too-long hair offered.

“Is that so?”

The look in Dumbledore’s eyes was almost Slytherin and it promised trouble.

Severus groaned.

Albus Dumbledore.

His voice shook as he muttered the password to his chambers (‘Cotton Candy’) . His legs shook as he fell rather than sat down in the soft, plush chair behind his desk. His hands shook as he hid his face in them, breathing harshly.

Severus Snape had been a part of his life for... almost thirty years.

First as a student among many others, perhaps slightly more in focus than most because of the many incidents with the Marauders. After he left Hogwarts the boy had been... not forgotten, but his existence had been placed in the back of Albus’ mind, not really supposed to be brought out again unless the student was to return to Hogwarts as a father with new children for Albus to care for. He hadn’t really expected that to happen though; Severus was a young man destined for greatness in the world of knowledge, not giddy romance and messy nappies.

But Severus had returned to Hogwarts. Not as a father but as a very troubled young man. He hadn’t been looking for salvation or to atone for his misdeeds (as many had assumed later) but more like a wounded animal returning to the one place it had felt safety before allowing itself to slip away and die. Albus, of course, had intervened. He’d never been one to give up on people.

‘Bright but misguided,’ he had convinced the Ministry (the Aurors hadn’t believed him, of course). ‘Willing to spy on Voldemort.’ Then, without asking Severus for permission, he’d added: ‘Also willing to stay at Hogwarts teaching Potions for nothing but food to eat and a roof over his head.’ They said yes after only a few hours of haggling the terms. Albus had never worried about the outcome.

Hogwarts’ Headmaster sighed sadly.

He hadn’t allowed Severus Snape to rot away in Azkaban or slip away unnoticed some fifteen years ago and he wasn’t about to allow anything happened to him now either.

‘I was just thinking, sir.’

‘Nothing would have happened if you hadn’t sneaked up on me, sir.’

Nothing would have happened, his foot!

Something had to be done and it had to be done right away; that much was obvious. But what?

Looking at his desk he spotted the letter young Harry had sent him two days earlier. He hadn’t written a reply yet; things were busy at Hogwarts these days and the questions the boy had asked him deserved some good thinking through if he were to offer good answers.

Picking it up gingerly he wondered if maybe, maybe somehow...

Sirius Black.

It was an obsession really. A unsatisfactory, self-punishing kind of obsession.

Looking into the mirror made him feel sick and slightly terrified. Yet every time he passed one he had to stare into it until something inside him broke with self-loathing.

It wasn’t that he was vain -- not really, not anymore -- but he kept expecting to see the face of his much younger self; his mind conveniently forgetting about more than ten years spent in nice, sunny Azkaban and, more recently, the two years (that, to be honest, felt much longer than his time in Azkaban) he’d been stuck in the Veil before the Order had finally managed to find a way to pull him out of limbo.

The hollow face staring back at him defiantly from the mirror looked nothing like that of his young self and it made him disgusted with both himself and the rest of the world. He knew bloody well that it was wrong of him to feel that way, so he always did his best to keep up a happy front. ‘A stiff upper lip,’ if you wanted to be terribly British about it.

Running a finger through thick, black hair, he considered a haircut. It was quite enough that he looked as emaciated as Snape (the-Greasy-Git); he didn’t necessarily need to have the same unkept hairstyle. Maybe a new style would make him feel more human.

Although, he mused with a small, unhappy smile, being human was of course highly over-rated. He much preferred his life as a canine. Dogs didn’t have the same complicated spectrum of emotions as humans. They were (of course) occasionally sad but with enough distraction, like say a rabbit running over a field; everything was forgotten for the thrill of the chase. Without really thinking about it Sirius melted into his Animagus form.

His tail waved around almost happily as he left the bathroom to find Moony. Somebody needed to have their ticklish feet licked.

Remus Lupin.

In the 'Daily Prophet' you could still read about Harry Potter’s fight against ‘The Dark Lord Voldemort’ (also known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, see pg. 14 for more shocking details about the Dark Lord’s upbringing). There were also detailed descriptions of how other wizards and witches had helped in the ‘War Against Evil’. There was even, Remus believed, a small feature about the ‘Death Eater Turned Spy,’ although Snape had apparently been unavailable for comments. (Very out of character for the man as far as Remus was concerned.)

After having read every single, bloody article in every single, bloody newspaper every single, bloody day since Voldemort’s defeat three months ago, Remus could with all certainty say that there had been no mentioning from anyone about the part that the werewolves had played. Not a single word about the seven werewolves who had died protecting the children at Hogwarts as Death Eaters had attacked the school. Not a word about the werewolf couple who -- along with their newborn daughter named Cilla -- had been killed after having refused to join Voldemort’s band of ‘merry followers’.

There was, however, a rather large article in the end of ‘The Sunday Prophet’ about a werewolf who had escaped its imprisonment during the last full moon. The ‘horrible beast’ had killed one and infected two. There was a long interview with the dead man’s relatives who demanded that ‘the murdering creature’ be put down. No mention of those infected or their fate though.

Remus could feel the rage building up inside him and he had to force himself to relax. It was hard though; the unfairness of it all was eating him up inside. He found himself wanting to hurt and maim and for once he couldn’t blame the wolf inside of him.

Hearing a small sound (quickly identified by werewolf enhanced senses as soft paws against cold stone floor) he looked up and saw Padfoot trotting into the room. He forced a small smile as the huge dog walked up to him and began licking his hand with a pink, wet tongue. Patting the dog with his free hand he felt the ribs so very clearly.

As he continued to pet the animal he wanted to ask his friend to please, just for once, come to him as Sirius instead of Padfoot. He needed to talk to someone who could reply with something else than “woff”. He needed to not feel alone. To not feel like the soul survivor of the Marauders. To not feel like something that was registered at the ‘Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures’. He needed to talk to someone about being a Creature rather than a man.

But he didn’t say anything, just kept smiling and patting the thin dog.

As the Muggle saying went: ‘The show must go on.’

Harry Potter.

To say that he was worried would be an understatement. He was afraid. Distressed. Upset. Panicky. Troubled. Weary. Seriously concerned. Horribly sick of feeling that way. And in serious need of a good thesaurus.

And why hadn’t Dumbledore answered him yet? It was several days (well, three at least) since he’d written to the man and although Hedwig had returned the same day it had been sans any comforting messages.

Harry sighed. He really needed some advice from his old Headmaster.

It was strange; for years he’d thought that if only Voldemort would just die already his life would become so much easier. He wouldn’t have to worry about his friends or family (Sirius and Remus; he was obviously not talking about the Dursleys) and life would be great. Normal even.

Well, he couldn’t blame himself for not knowing better. Before, while living with the Dursleys, he’d never had any friends or family to care about and ever since he’d come to Hogwarts he’d had to worry about Voldemort. There was no way he could have known that even with Voldemort and most of the Death Eaters gone there would still be reasons to worry just as much about those he loved.

Even more in some cases, as it became apparent that the defeat of ‘evil’ hadn’t fixed everything that he, for the above reasons, had been convinced it would.

Hermione was fine; she’d left Hogwarts with more OWLs and NEWTs than anyone had for almost two hundred years. She was going to apply to the best magical schools in order to continue her education come autumn. This summer was dedicated to reading a few courses in the Muggle world.

Ron and the Weasley family were mostly fine as well. The loss of Percy had affected them badly but in different ways. The twins hadn’t changed much on the outside but Ron told him that they had become even more dependent on each other. You never saw Fred without George or George without Fred. Ginny was slightly more quiet than usual and there was a sad look in her eyes that never seemed to completely go away. Bill and Charlie had returned to England during the last months of the war and hadn’t left the Burrow yet. Mr Weasley was even busier than usual and had still to comment on the grey in Mrs Weasley’s hair. Ron seemed fine most of the time but Harry had noticed that he never mentioned his dead brother.

It was Sirius and Remus who worried Harry the most though. It wasn’t a recent thing and Harry supposed that in a way he’d always known that something was wrong (wrong enough that it needed to be fixed) but, as with so many other things, he’d just assumed that it would fix itself after Voldemort had gone.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that Sirius and Remus’ problems wouldn’t go away by themselves though. The haunted look in his godfather’s eyes was still there and he hadn’t even begun to regain the weight he’d lost after his time in the Veil. Remus looked so exhausted most of the time that Harry felt weak just looking at him. And the worst part was that the two men, who had been friends for such a long time, obviously were driving each other nuts. Each time Harry set foot at Sirius’ place the werewolf and his godfather had been fighting over something and for each time the arguments got a little bit worse.

Which was why he had written to Dumbledore.

Now if only the Headmaster would write him back...