Chapter 10
Other than Lupin staring at him and then immediately looking away whenever Severus caught him during their shared Arithmancy class— which was honestly pathetic at this point —Severus’ afternoon was shockingly peaceful.
Well, as peaceful as it could be when people kept glancing his way and whispering. Probably about his entire existence since he came back to school.
It got so bad that Lily had to physically turn around —while the professor was talking— and glare at them until they shut up.
Severus didn’t particularly care about the gossip so he didn't mind it much.
He was too busy feeling a little proud of himself if he was to be completely honest. Finally saying something to the Marauders—even if it was minor—felt good. He never got that chance in his last life. Back then, any interaction with them had immediately escalated into wands being drawn, or—eventually—into them being too dead to argue back.
He didn’t care about them much anymore, but it was still deeply satisfying to finally say something he’d wanted to say for years.
After class, he upheld his promise to Lily and showed her where the kitchens were for their dinner. It was shockingly fun.
It was Lily’s first time seeing a house-elf, and her reaction was quite interesting, to say the least.
First, shock: “Wait, what are they?!”
Then, discomfort: “Oh my God, do they always act like this?”
Then, curiosity: “Can I talk to them? Are they happy? Do they like working here?”
And finally, a lifelong commitment to house-elf rights.
Severus was oddly pleased to see her reaction play out like this.
In his last life, he wasn’t sure if she had ever seen a house-elf—or worse, if Potter had been the one to introduce her. That would have been a disaster. Knowing Potter, he probably would’ve ruined the experience with his smug oh-I-know-something-you-don’t attitude.
Most purebloods Severus had met had either ignored their house-elves entirely or treated them as lesser beings. The only exception had been Regulus Black—but Regulus had been weirdly obsessed with his elf, so Severus wasn’t entirely sure if that counted as a good thing or not.
After eating as much as physically possible from the feast the house-elves brought out for them—or, in Severus’ case, stuffing some extra food into his pockets with a preservation spell for later—curfew was upon them.
They split ways, with Lily heading back to her dorm and politely threatening him on the way out.
“If any of those Slytherins so much as look at you wrong, I expect you to hex them into next week,” she warned, poking his chest. “Otherwise, I’ll be the one hexing you for letting them get away with it.”
Severus rolled his eyes but smirked as she walked off.
Now, he had far more pressing matters to attend to—mainly, his rapidly declining mental state due to a severe lack of nicotine. A minute longer without a cigarette, and he’d lose the last of his sanity.
So, he did what any responsible adult stuck in their teenage body wouldn’t do—sneaked out of the castle and made his way to his usual spot in the Forbidden Forest.
Once there, he cast a cushioning spell on the ground, set his robe down, and finally finally pulled out a cigarette. Lighting it with a lazy flick of his fingers, he took the first drag and immediately felt at peace.
His thoughts wandered.
It was nice talking to Lily again, without feeling like he was bothering her or constantly worrying about his housemates judging him for talking to a ‘lesser witch.’
It was nice talking to Charity again, even if she had no idea they were once friends.
He could see it now—how utterly he had wrecked his first attempt at being a teenager. All because of his own stupid hatred for Muggles, thanks to assuming they were all like his father. And his even stupider obsession with gaining some kind of power in the wizarding world—so he wouldn’t be a helpless, outcast freak with no say in his own life.
It didn’t have to all go to shit like it did in his first life.
He could protect the people he cared about now—without having to sell his soul to some megalomaniac wizard.
But the problem was…it would probably end up like that again, wouldn’t it?
No matter how hard he tried to keep the people he cared about safe, he couldn’t guarantee their safety. Not with that noseless bastard lurking around.
Severus hadn’t really put much thought into what role he wanted to play in the upcoming war—or if he even wanted a role.
Honestly, he was leaning toward the no role option. Just quietly sitting this one out, minding his own business, and letting the so-called heroes sort it all out.
But, unfortunately, most of the people he wanted to protect were in the exact same group being hunted and discriminated against.
So, whether he liked it or not, he’d have to get involved somehow. And the sooner he made up his mind about how, the better.
Call him selfish, but he wanted to delay thinking about that for as long as possible.
Even if the universe—and magic herself—had sent him back specifically to handle it.
As he took the last drag of his cigarette, he heard movement coming from his right.
Now, call Severus an optimist, but he hoped it was that giant Acromantula Hagrid had warned him about during his first year as a professor when he found him scouring the first for some potion materials.
That would be convenient.
A nice, quick, and painless death—relieving him of whatever cosmic responsibility had been shoved onto his shoulders. Then the universe could send someone more enthusiastic about fixing the wizarding world.
Preferably Albus. The old coot could sort this mess out in a month, tops.
But alas, when Severus turned his head to see if his plea had been answered, he was instead greeted by—
A giant black mutt.
A mutt that was way too close to his face.
Practically breathing on him.
Merlin’s balls, did Black never brush his teeth?! His Animagus breath reeked.
For a split second, Severus really wanted to make Black regret ever coming this close to him.
But then he remembered —his ridiculously easy and hilarious plan to mess with Black’s head.
So, instead of reacting with the sheer disgust he so desperately wanted to unleash, Severus did something far worse.
He beamed at the mutt.
"Hello there, you mutt—handsome boy!" Severus said, forcing as much excitement into his voice as he could without actually throwing up. "I was hoping I’d run into you here!"
He deserved an award for this performance. One of those Muggle ones. An Oscar or whatever.
Because this?
This was draining whatever shred of soul he had left in him.
The dog, however, squinted at him. Tilted its head to the side.
As if it was not convinced.
Because of course Black was the only person alive who could make a dog look this condescending.
Severus cast a quick, discreet glance around, scanning for Black’s actual owners. Surely, the Marauders were lurking nearby, barely hidden.
But…no one.
Not even a pair of poorly concealed feet sticking out from behind a tree.
Which meant he had an audience of exactly zero.
Which meant—no risk of anyone witnessing whatever he was about to do.
Which meant—he could go all in.
Severus turned back to the mutt, widening his eyes with fake concern. "Are you okay, pup?" he cooed, carefully holding up a hand near the dog’s snout as if offering it for a sniff. "It’s me, don’t you remember?"
The dog acted as if he did not, in fact, remember.
Severus continued anyway. "We met a few days ago? I called you the handsomest boy there ever was? Pet you until you whined when I stopped?"
The mutt still didn't look satisfied.
Oh no.
This was supposed to be about humiliating Black, not himself.
His own face was heating up in secondhand embarrassment. This was too much. Too far.
He should leave.
He should abandon ship before this gets any worse.
But before he could even move—
The mutt licked his hand.
Sirius Black.
Had just licked his fucking hand.
And now, more than ever, Severus wanted to die.
Severus stared at his hand. Then at the mutt. Then back at his hand.
The mutt just wagged its tail.
Black was smirking at him in dog form.
Fine. Fine. Severus could play this game too.
Swallowing his pride for just a moment— just a moment —he collected himself and, in the kindest voice that had ever left his mouth, said, “So you do remember me. I’m quite glad.”
He tried not to grit his teeth as the words came out.
And then, Severus went for the kill.
He knew exactly where to pet the mutt, and that’s exactly what he did.
A scratch behind the ears. A firm rub along the jaw. A slow, practiced stroke down the back.
The dog melted.
Merlin help him, Black was making all sorts of happy sounds. Whines. Huffs. Tail thumping against the ground.
His new chance at life couldn’t have gotten any fucking weirder.
But Severus wasn’t done yet. Oh, no. He was going to make this worse.
“You know,” he mused, continuing to scratch just under the mutt’s chin, “if we keep meeting like this, I’ll have to start calling you something, huh?”
The dog stilled just a little—like he was suspicious.
Severus smirked.
“Well,” he went on, “since you kind of fit the part, with your color and size, how about Grim?”
The mutt tilted its head. Scrunched its face.
Severus took that as a no.
That would’ve been enough to name him Grim out of spite, but Severus had a better idea.
“Okay, so not Grim,” he said, sighing dramatically. “My sincere apologies, but I’m not all that creative. So the only other thing I can think of is based on your colour.” He paused, as if deep in thought, before his lips curled into a slow smile. “So, how about… Black?”
The mutt froze.
Oh. Oh.
Severus had him.
He feigned innocence. “Before you reject it, hear me out! I’ve met four people with the name Black at this school. Two of them are friends, the other two are the worst human beings to have ever existed.” He leaned in slightly. “So really, you’d be the tie-breaker on whether Blacks are decent people or not.”
He almost added that one of those Blacks was single-handedly making his life hell —and it wasn't Bellatrix—but he held his tongue.
“For the record,” Severus added, tone light and conversational, “you’d actually be doing me a favour. So what do you say?”
The mutt was still frozen.
Severus took that as a yes.
“I’m glad you agree!” he said cheerfully, standing up and brushing himself off. “Here, have this.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out some of the food he had stashed from his and Lily’s house elf feast from the kitchens, and tossed it down in front of the dog.
Then—because he had to commit to the bit—he smiled.
A fond, soft, sickeningly genuine smile.
And in the gentlest voice he could muster, he murmured, “I’m really glad we became friends, Black.”
Black—because that was his name now —just stared.
Severus turned on his heel before he cracked, marching off toward the castle with the straightest face he could manage.
The second he was out of sight, he scrubbed his defiled hand against his robe and wiped the smile off his face.
That had been so much worse than he expected.
But, Merlin help him, it was so worth it.
Severus just wanted to get to his dorm, collapse onto his bed, and sleep off this day.
All in all, it had been... okay.
Which, for him, was saying something.
But the moment he stepped into the Slytherin common room, the chatter died.
Too quiet.
Too intentional.
Severus sighed. Here we go.
He didn’t bother engaging. Didn’t pause. Just adjusted his robes and headed straight for his dorm.
“What do you think you’re doing lately, Snape?” a voice called from a group of upper-year students lounging near the fireplace.
Severus didn’t even look. “Merlin’s balls, how many people are going to ask me this today?” he muttered under his breath, continuing toward his dorm.
“We’re talking to you here! You can’t just ignore us!” snapped another student.
Severus didn’t recognize him. Didn’t care to.
Still, for the sake of his own amusement—and because he was in just the right kind of mood for this—he slowed to a stop, turned slightly, and raised a single unimpressed eyebrow.
“Oh? Are you sure?” he asked dryly. “Because it really seems like I can.”
The silence stretched.
The upper-year's face twitched. Someone in the background—who sounded just like Rosier— snorted.
“I’ve owled Malfoy about your recent behaviour, Snape,” Mulciber finally broke the silence, puffing up like he expected Severus to keel over in horror.
Severus blinked.
Then blinked again.
Wow.
It was honestly impressive how little originality they had in their heads. Running to Malfoy? The guy was barely a few years older than them. This was the grand strategy of Voldemort’s future little foot soldiers? Telling on him?
Which, sure, was hypocritical of Severus to judge, considering he had technically followed multiple masters in his time—but at least he had independent thoughts once in a while.
Still, he turned to Mulciber with a perfectly unimpressed expression and said in a deadpan voice, “Oh? And what behaviour would that be, exactly? If you don’t mind reminding me of just how much of a disappointment I’ve apparently been to you, of course.”
Mulciber’s eye twitched. A vein in his neck was beginning to pulse, and Severus found that endlessly amusing.
Mulciber, to his credit, tried to keep his composure.
“The fact,” he said through gritted teeth, “that you have been consorting with Mudbloods —and even had the audacity to invite one to Slughorn’s party.”
Severus raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk.
Mulciber continued, voice getting tighter with barely restrained irritation.
“It’s bad enough that they’ve infested the school and the Ministry, but you —one of our own—chose to give one of them an unearned opportunity to speak with high-profile guests? Too far, Snape.”
Oh. This was good. This was rich.
Severus took a slow, deliberate step forward, tilting his head just slightly.
“So, let me get this straight,” he said, voice dripping with mock curiosity. “Your grand concern —the great injustice keeping you up at night—is that muggleborns had taking up their rightful place, of their choosing, in a world that best suits them and their magic? And that I chose one of those muggleborns to accompany me to a party full of guests that might help them advance in this world?”
Mulciber’s nostrils flared. “It’s the principle—”
“Oh, of course.” Severus clapped a hand to his chest, eyes wide with mock understanding. “The principle. That makes perfect sense. Is that the same principle that has no issue with every Pureblood in the wizarding world being handed endless opportunities—regardless of how little they deserve them—but Merlin forbid a muggleborn gets invited to one party?”
Mulciber’s face darkened.
“This isn’t funny, Snape.”
“No, you’re absolutely right. It’s serious, very serious,” Severus replied smoothly, folding his arms. “Please, do continue.”
“How about that time you hit Mulciber in the ribs with your trunk? Or when you accidentally spilled food on him in front of the whole school?” Rosier piped up, struggling to keep a straight face. “That was so fucked up, Snape,” he added, barely holding back laughter as Mulciber’s face turned an alarming shade of red.
“Oh yes, tragic,” Severus deadpanned. Then, as if just remembering something, he added in an offhand tone, “Speaking of unfortunate incidents, let me make this crystal clear—anyone who refers to my friends as ‘Mudbloods’ or even says that word around me? Well, let’s just say they’ll be getting the same treatment.”
“You can’t just do that!” the same upper-year student protested. Merlin, Severus really should learn that guy’s name.
“I can, and I did,” Severus shot back, just as nonchalant. “Oh, and one more thing—anyone whose homework I’ve so generously been doing? Congratulations, you’ll finally get to experience the joy of doing it yourselves. Because, well… I don’t want to anymore.” He glanced around at the guilty-looking faces, some still too stunned to process what he had just said.
“Snape,” Mulciber growled, fists clenched, “you’re going to regret this. You have no one to protect you. You think you can act like you’re some hot shit?”
Severus raised an eyebrow, smirking. “But I am hot shit. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be making such a big deal about all this.” He leaned in slightly, voice dripping with amusement. “I just realized… I don’t actually need you. Any of you. And as for what you’re offering me?” He tilted his head mockingly. “Not that impressive, really.”
“ Anyway, may I have your permission to go to sleep now?” Severus drawled, clasping his hands together in mock politeness.
No one responded, but judging by the way their faces were turning various shades of red, it looked like they were about to burst a vein or two. He took their silence as an answer and turned toward his dorm, smirking.
“No.”
Ah, so someone just had to open their mouth.
Severus stopped mid-step, turned his head slightly, and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “No?” he repeated, drawing out the word like he hadn’t quite heard correctly.
“Yes. No, ” Mulciber spat, looking like he was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. “It’s bad enough I have to share a dorm with some poor half-blood, but a poor half-blood who doesn’t know his place? Absolutely not. As a matter of fact, you’re not allowed in here anymore.”
Severus tilted his head slightly, putting on his best look of exaggerated confusion before glancing around the common room as if searching for something.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go too hard on him,” another upper-year muttered, sounding genuinely concerned. “He does look like he’s lost it.”
“What the fuck are you doing, Snape? Did you not hear me?” Mulciber snapped, his patience wearing thin. “Get. Out. ”
Severus let out a soft oh of realization, nodding as if things were finally making sense. “My apologies,” he said, voice drenched in sarcasm. “It’s just—I heard you kick me out, but I don’t recall you owning the dungeons. So I was looking around for a plaque with your name on it or something.” He gestured vaguely around the room, still feigning an earnest search.
“Oh, he actually is mad,” the same upper-year muttered under his breath.
Severus finally turned back to Mulciber, his expression shifting to something colder. “Listen, if you’re really so desperate to get rid of me, you’re going to have to do better than whining about it,” he said flatly. “I’m done taking orders from cowards. If you actually want me out, you better be prepared to make me leave.”
He took a single step forward, lowering his voice just slightly. “And before you start acting like you’ve got the upper hand here, let’s not forget why you were all so eager to have me in your little group in the first place. I may be a poor half-blood, but I’m also more talented than every single one of you. Especially when it comes to magic.” He let that sink in for a moment, then shrugged. “So unless you’re ready to prove me wrong…” He turned away with deliberate nonchalance. “I’m going to bed. For real this time.”
And with that, he walked off, fully prepared to ignore any further protests. He was exhausted, and he refused to waste another second entertaining these idiots.
Once he reached his dorm, Severus went through his usual nightly routine—showering, using the products he and his mother had made, and casting a few protection spells around his bed. He knew for a fact none of the fools outside would be able to break them.
The second his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.
Today had been a productive day. A long day, but a productive one.
It had been almost three weeks since Padfoot’s brilliant decision to send Snivellus straight to Moony on a full moon, and nothing had been the same since.
It all started when Moony—rightfully—decided he wasn’t going to talk to Sirius anymore. And by ‘anymore,’ James means a week. Actually, it lasted precisely until Snivellus came slithering back to school, because apparently, that was the most important factor here. But still, Moony had been off. He definitely lost some trust in Padfoot, and what was worse—James also got the cold shoulder for covering for him.
And what was James supposed to do? Just let his best mate take all the blame for a totally fair prank gone slightly wrong? Because of Snivellus of all people? The same Snivellus who hates them all and would sell them out to the Death Eaters in a heartbeat? The injustice!
Speaking of the greasy bat himself, Snape had been acting weird ever since he got back from his week-long absence. And James means really weird. The kind of weird that makes him question if Hogwarts is just testing his patience at this point. First off—Snivellus apparently wanted to be expelled. Just up and leave Hogwarts. Who even does that?! James has never heard of someone voluntarily abandoning the castle before!
But no, Snivellus was back, and he seemed determined to make James’ life as unbearable as possible —while acting like he wasn’t even trying. James knows that little snake is scheming. He knows Snivellus knows exactly what he’s doing.
And worst of all? He had somehow convinced Moony that they were the bad guys.
Moony actually had the audacity to sit them down after Snape’s little meltdown last week and lecture them—yes, lecture them—on how unjust their behaviour was toward Snivellus. As if Snivellus isn’t a wannabe Dark Wizard. As if he hasn’t spent years hexing them back just as bad. As if he isn’t practically one Dark Mark away from being a full-fledged Death Eater already!
And Sirius? Sirius has lost his bloody mind.
Padfoot has been sneaking out to the Forbidden Forestevery single night in his Animagus form. James knows this because, unlike some people, he keeps the Marauder’s Map on him. And what does he see? He sees Snivellus and Padfoot on the outskirts of the forest together sometimes.
What’s even worse is that Padfoot gets all sulky when Snivellus isn’t there for like the entire next day—like some rejected house pet. Like he wants Snivellus to pet him or something. It’s actually disturbing.
Wormtail, meanwhile, is acting like Snape has suddenly become You-Know-Who himself. He won’t even walk past him in the corridors anymore. And it’s not just him! Half the bloody Slytherins are actually scared of Snape now! James gets it, sort of—Snape does seem more… intimidating. But that’s beside the point!
And the real problem? The biggest problem?
Snape looks… different.
James almost gags just thinking about it, but it’s true. The greasy bat took the week off and came back looking like he discovered the concept of personal hygiene. His hair is long and shiny. Shiny. No grease in sight. His skin no longer has that sickly, I’m-so-poor-you-can-see-it-on-my-face look. His teeth— his teeth —still crooked, but healthy-looking?!
And worst of all? He’s smiling.
Like, actually smiling.
And not just at Lily—because of course it’s Lily—but at other people too. That Hufflepuff girl he invited to Slughorn’s party, random Ravenclaws, loads of Hufflepuffs. And, if James thought it was disturbing to see Regulus Black following Snivellus around like a puppy before, it’s actually so much worse now that Snivellus acknowledges him.
James has never seen Regulus Black look this happy in his entire life.
This is Sirius’ brother they’re talking about. Sirius Black’s actual, flesh-and-blood, miniature Slytherin clone. And yet, he’s practically skipping after Snape like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
And James? James is sick. He is physically ill. Something is wrong with the world.
It was Friday morning, Transfiguration class, and he was sitting directly behind Snivellus Snape. On purpose.
He had physically shoved Padfoot out of the way to claim this seat, because, honestly, he didn’t trust his best friend not to do something profoundly embarrassing again—like, say, pulling Snivellus’ hair like an actual eight-year-old.
James had confronted Sirius about that, too. And—oh, Merlin, the way Sirius' face went red when James mockingly asked, ‘Do you just really want to touch his hair that bad, mate?’
Sirius, of course, had shoved him off and told him to shut up, but that didn’t stop James from feeling like he had to take matters into his own hands. Someone needed to stop his friends from doing stupid things.
Speaking of stupid things, James’ eyes —against his better judgment —drifted to Snape’s hair.
It was styled. Again.
The same blonde Hufflepuff girl who had been all over Snape lately had done it. James knew this because he had totally accidentally overheard her telling Snape she wanted to test different styles on him for the party —because, apparently, Snivellus Snape was going to an actual social gathering now.
It had been a different hairstyle every morning.
Every. Morning.
And James knew this not because he was paying attention, but because he had definitely, absolutely, purely coincidentally happened to pass by their bench outside the Great Hall every morning before breakfast. That’s all.
He was definitely not invested in this.
He was, however, absolutely not paying attention to McGonagall’s lecture when Snape turned his head to whisper something to Lily—and that’s when James caught sight of it.
The scar.
His scar.
The scar James himself had put there while saving the ungrateful Slytherin’s life.
And, oh, Merlin, why did it always make his stomach feel weird when he saw it?
James tried to focus on his actual memory of that night—when Sirius had stupidly sent Snape down to the Whomping Willow, and James had heroically transformed into Prongs to stop him from getting murdered by Moony.
Except… the whole thing had been weird.
For one, when Prongs had charged in, ready to tackle Moony away from Snape, Moony hadn’t actually attacked him yet. He had just been… standing there. Staring at Snape.
But the second James stepped in front of the git, Moony did react—by snarling at James.
And that was also the exact moment Snivellus decided to faint. Like, full-body collapse. No drama, no screaming, no running—just straight to the floor like a Victorian woman at the sight of ankle.
So Prongs had lunged to catch him.
And in the process, one of his antlers had gouged Snape in the neck.
Which—yeah, okay, not ideal, but James still technically saved him.
Then Moony had actually started coming at them, so James had to awkwardly carry an unconscious Slytherin out of the shack in his stag form, before dragging him all the way back to the castle, shifting back into a human, and dumping him off at the Hospital Wing like a particularly cursed delivery.
And Snape?
Snape had never brought it up. Not once.
The only hint that he even remembered was a comment James overheard him telling Lily—some throwaway line about being ‘mauled by a stag.’
And that had been enough to make James sweat, because what if Snivellus knew? What if he had figured out that James Potter was that stag?
But even that wasn’t the real problem.
The real problem was that every single time James saw that scar, he felt weird.
And not a normal kind of weird.
The kind of weird that made it hard to look Snivellus in the eye sometimes.
Which was exactly what he was thinking about when Padfoot’s elbow jammed into his ribs, dragging him back to reality.
McGonagall was glaring at him.
James quickly flashed her his most charming grin and hoped that whatever anger she had would be directed at Sirius during his already scheduled detention tonight.
He was just about to leave when he noticed that Lily had walked past him, heading toward her actual friends in Gryffindor.
James immediately followed after her—ready to flash her a dazzling smile and ask her out again, because surely this time she’d see reason—
But then he heard it.
A deep, low voice from behind him.
Snape’s voice.
“Lupin, I need to speak to you in private.”
James froze.
James turned around to see Snivellus standing in front of Remus’ desk, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.
Meanwhile, Remus—still gathering his things—turned slightly pink and mumbled, “Right now?”
James frowned. Why are all his friends turning into actual idiots right now?
“Yes, right now.” Snape gave Remus a look that suggested he actually was an idiot.
That was when Sirius, standing next to James, stepped in with all the subtlety of a drunken Hippogriff.
“You’re not talking to him alone, Snivellus. For all we know, this would be the last time we ever see him.”
James had to admit, Sirius had a point— but still.
By now, the rest of the class had already cleared out, along with McGonagall and Wormtail, who had bolted the second Snivellus so much as glanced at his and Remus’ desk.
So now, it was just the three remaining Marauders. And Snape.
Snape rolled his eyes so hard James half-expected them to fall out of his head and roll across the floor.
He let out a long, suffering sigh, glanced around as if to double-check they were actually alone, and finally said, “Fine, I’ll just say it here. I don’t care.”
There was an air of dramatic exasperation in his voice that made James bristle.
Snape turned back to Remus. “I need to see you tomorrow for the potion room we talked about previously.”
James blinked. The what now?
Snape kept going. “Now, ideally, I wouldn’t have to actually communicate with you, but I need fresh samples for a potion I’m developing, so meet me after lunch in one of the student self-study potions classrooms. I have a feeling you’ll know exactly where I’ll be, so I won’t elaborate further. Just be there.”
James, having the absolute brilliant mind that he did, immediately pieced together what Snape meant.
The only conversation Remus and Snape would have had about potions was after the prank —when Snape had, for some completely insane reason, offered to help Remus with his transformations.
And now Snape wanted Remus for… samples?
James hated everything about this.
As Snape turned toward the door, James crossed his arms and called out, “We’ll all be there, so don’t think you can sneak something past us with that potion, Snivellus.”
Snape stopped, slowly turned back around, and smirked.
“Potter,” Snape drawled, his voice laced with smug amusement, “I’m fairly certain I could show you one of the deadliest poisons in the world, dump it straight into the potion for your friend right in front of you, and none of you would have a clue.”
James opened his mouth to argue, but Snape wasn’t done.
“Because, Potter,” he continued, “you’re all idiots. You wouldn’t know your arse from your head if it weren’t chronically attached to that bird’s nest you call hair.”
James gasped.
Sirius gasped.
Remus sighed.
And Snape?
Snape smirked wider. “But sure. If Lupin needs his little guard dogs to make him feel safe around me, then by all means—come along.” He turned back toward the door. “Just try not to ruin my experiment.”
With that, he walked out.
James spun to face Remus, ready to reassure him that Snivellus wouldn’t be pulling anything shady with him there—
But Remus was already glaring at him.
James blinked.
“What?”
Remus just sighed, shouldered his bag, and walked out without another word.
James turned to Sirius.
Sirius said seriously, “Don’t worry, mate. I’ll make sure Mooney won’t have to spend a minute alone with Snivellus. So Mooney wouldn’t get hurt by him, obviously.”
James rolled his eyes. “Yeah, just make sure you don’t do something as embarrassing as pulling Snivellus’ hair again. I get the feeling that if you ruin his hair now, that blonde Hufflepuff will actually hunt you down.”
Sirius’ face immediately turned red. “That was one time! It won’t happen again!” he snapped, turning on his heel and marching toward the door.
James just sighed, watching his friend storm off.
Merlin help him, everyone was acting weird.