Infinity Times Infinity

Morning had come quickly when you found yourself laying on a bed at the far end of the infirmary with nothing but a curtain separating you from the rest of the room. You could hear Snape, Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall murmur something along the lines of recent revelations of people who should be dead and the legal proceedings regarding Veritaserum. You blocked their voices out and found that you couldn’t care about them right now, not that your body would let you anyway. 

Your head pounded and your arms were too weak to push yourself up even a fraction to sit up, nonetheless carry you over to wherever it was they were to listen in. Mind too tired to process any new information, you let yourself think back about what happened hours earlier, the images all a flurry inside buzzing like a hoard of wasps. You closed your eyes. 

After having placed Ron and Snape on separate beds, you led McGonagall back to where it all happened. Using your heightened sense of smell, you found Harry and Hermione unconscious along with a very beaten and tired Sirius Black. McGonagall conjured them all individual stretchers and took them back to the castle while she allowed you to look for your dad. She magicked you a coat to take, offering you a careful look before you scampered off into the forest. 

He wasn’t too difficult to find, albeit his scent had begun to fade with time; a centaur pointed you to a clearing further into the forest from where you had found the others. That’s where you found him leaning against a fallen tree, taking deep, body-shaking breaths as he gauged where he might be. He was back in his human form and you could see the confused state he was in. You made your way towards him, nudging his arm with your snout to get his attention. He blinked out of his torpor at the sight of you, his eyes glassy and shaky. 

Remus was pale, cold, and sobbing. Fresh cuts marring his body bulged angrily against his fair skin; the smeared dirt painted across them made them look worse than they probably were. You tried your best to drape the coat over his quivering figure. 

Your father’s your lighthouse, you reminded yourself. That’s all you ever thought of when you were younger — 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out before covering his face with his hands. You wrapped your tail around him as another sob racked through his body. “I’m so sorry.” 

— But there’ll be times when you will have to be his lighthouse. 

After he tired and his voice resembled more of a croak, you carried him back to the castle — making sure this time to be discreet by taking another, much more vacant, corridor to the hospital wing even if it were shy of being five in the morning (highly unlikely that any students were up and wandering around the castle). Madam Pomfrey was quick to help and settled him onto the bed next to yours in the far right corner of the room. She patiently waited for him to drink the potions she gave him, his hands shaking terribly from how tired they were, then ran a few diagnostic scans on him before deeming him okay to rest. 

As the sun’s rays prodded through the mountains outside, you felt your bones begin to crackle and the skin tissue deep within spark like lit kindling. You poked Poppy’s side alerting her of your escalating discomfort so that she could step out and not witness your detransformation. She gave you a ruthful smile, closing the curtain between you and the others there. The faint casting of an imperturbable charm was the last thing you heard before the pain became too much and you succumbed to exhaustion. 

|| ⬫ ⬨ ⬫ ☾ ⬫ ⬨ ⬫ || 

When Remus woke, he was not surprised by his surroundings, he knew where he was all too well. 

He was used to it. Years of restless nights when he was a student himself at Hogwarts and even now that he was a professor always landed him a night or two after the full moon. However, in recent years, he’s had to remind himself that it wasn’t just him who he had to think of after every transformation: he had his daughter whom he remembered nearly attacking last night. 

He jolted from the bed he was in, his mind racing with varying degrees of thoughts, all of them about you. His eyes jumped from bed to bed hoping to find something that could lead him to you but found nothing. 

“If you’re looking for your daughter, she’s right beside you,” said a voice beside him, “Poppy’s drawn a curtain for some privacy.” 

He hasn’t had someone to wake up to at his side, not for a long long time. What wasn’t there after each transformation — or rather who wasn’t there after every transformation — was a certain dark-haired potions professor. His eyes darted to Severus who sat on a plush, dark magenta armchair to his right. 

The man must’ve had a change of clothes sometime before Remus had roused, his prominent cloak missing and in its place a dark attire: a black long-sleeve and matching trousers. It fairly stunned Remus to see his colleague in something a tad more casual than his typical wear having seen him wear the same thing nearly the entire school year. It was a nice look on him — it made him look younger. Remus blinked. The unexpected sentiment startled him so much that he felt a wave of warmth creep up his neck and averted his gaze in favor to look at the occupied bed to his left instead. 

“Is she asleep?” he asked quietly, not quite trusting his voice. 

“It seems so,” said Severus as he crossed his arms across his chest. “She hasn’t been asleep for long, an hour perhaps? The potions Poppy gave her have sleeping properties to help quicken the healing process and should wear off in about another hour.” 

Remus sunk into the mountain of pillows supporting him, a relieved look on his face. “That’s good.” 

When Remus said nothing else, Severus took it as an opportunity to chastise the man before him. If he had access to a rolled-up newspaper, Remus would have surely fallen victim to it. Lucky for the unsuspecting man before him, he did not have one nor was he going to expend any more magic on him to do so. 

“You daft wolf,” Severus said with an air of incredulity. “You barged into the shack like a freshly sorted first–year Gryffindor! No plan and absolutely no idea what could’ve transpired. I told you to wait but did you listen? No, you Gryffindors never do.” 

Severus was expecting some kind of reaction from the man, some pushback comment about his grandeur or pride but no — Remus had the gall to give a sheepish grin that only served to deepen Severus’ frown even more. 

“Oh come off it, Severus. We both saw his name — their names. They were with the children and I just… I had to do something,” Remus tutted. His eyes, which hadn’t quite yet met Severus’ drifted to find them; a hint of mischief in them. “Yes, my actions may have been rash, I’m well aware of that, yet you followed me.” 

“Just to make sure nothing happened to Dumbledore’s beloved pet,” Severus spat. He knew that wasn’t the reason, but Lupin didn’t have to know. “Who knows if Black had somehow managed to grow more deranged after his stay at Azkaban and decided to kill you?” 

Remus’ smile finally fell. Severus found that it wasn’t as satisfying as he thought it would have been. 

“Sirius.” He pushed himself up again, eyes roaming the room once more. “I’d nearly forgotten. What happened to him? Where is he?” 

“I’m wondering if your post-transformation dampened your usual keen perception seeing as it’s nowhere to be seen.” Severus rolled his eyes. “He’s asleep on the bed across from you.” 

Remus’ eyes shot straight over to the sleeping man in front of him for the first time in what felt like years. Dark bedraggled hair sprawled over the clashing white of the pillow, grey eyes hid behind dark eyelids, and still as a deceased person in a wake. The health potions Pomfrey must’ve been inducing him with seemed to be helping, there was a bit more color to him than last night but it still came as a shock to see him look so pallid and skeleton-like. Remus felt like he was seeing the bounding spectre of an old friend. Tears clouded his eyes. 

“He didn’t do it,” he murmured. 

The words whispered, nearly fought their way out with how little he had moved his lips. Remus wasn’t sure if he had said it loud enough for anyone to hear but himself, however, Severus hummed curiously. 

“Sirius didn’t betray them.” The words numbed him the more he repeated them in his mind. He blinked, the accumulating tears now trickling down his face. “He didn’t sell them to Voldemort. It was Peter. For fuck’s sake, it was Peter…” 

What Remus failed to see at that moment was the way Severus’ jaw clenched tight. The news did not comfort the man like it had for him, not one bit. 

“Is that supposed to make me like him? Congratulate him for his heroics?” Severus drolled, his tone the same cold one he had subjected Remus to earlier in the school year. “If so, then whoop-de-doo. I am over the moon.” 

Remus glared at him. Severus glared right back. He dropped that topic in order to turn to look at his friend… his friend. It had been so long since he last called him that, far too long. No doubt that word never crossed Severus’ mind and it never probably would. He could feel his vision to further cloud with tears. 

“I can’t believe Peter betrayed us.” Quiet, timid Peter. 

“Neither can I.” Severus leaned back into his chair, arms tightly crossed. “Cowardous pillock fooled us all for twelve years. He betrayed them – betrayed her.” 

Remus cursed his hearing then because he knew he wasn’t supposed to have heard that last part, yet he had. The lilt – that’s all it took for his heart to break for the man next to him. Remus had nearly forgotten how close Severus and Lily had been before the incident. They were nearly inseparable the two of them, from what he remembered; bound by the hip until a wedge had been driven between them. 

Perhaps Severus had lost her in their fifth year, after their great divide, but now she was well and truly gone. It was one thing to lose someone who had always been at your side, but it was another to lose them from your life. Remus hadn’t just lost his friends that dreadful night, Severus had as well. They had both lost someone that they deeply cared about. 

He tore himself away from his thoughts and picked at the bandages wrapped around his arm. He spoke again after a moment’s silence, not wanting to be left alone with his thunderous thoughts. “So… what do you think is going to happen now?” 

“Who knows,” said Severus as he massaged his temples. “Both Albus and Minerva have conducted their own investigation and are waiting for Fudge and some of his men to arrive to take him away. When word gets out, the wizarding world is going to have a riot.” 

Remus’ entire demeanor changed at the new information. He stiffened, his body rigid with unadulterated rancor. 

“They haven’t taken him away yet? Peter’s still here?” 

Snape raised an inquisitive brow but nodded tentatively, unsure of what to make of Lupin’s question. 

“They have him under a stasis charm so as to not lose the slippery bastard,” he explained, “Minerva is seeing to that. I trust a cat to keep a rat locked in its jaw.”  

Severus’ words must have gone in one ear and flown out the other as Remus attempted to get out of bed. 

“That stasis charm isn’t enough — it’s not nearly enough! Peter nearly escaped last night who’s to say he won’t again?” 

“Get a grip, Lupin,” Severus said in a lower register, hand gripping Remus’ uninjured arm to keep him down. When that didn’t work, he stood up to tower over the ragged man, pushing him back down onto the cot by the shoulders. “The Ministry will be here at any moment. It won’t do us any good if you kill our only lead or get yourself killed by an Auror if they see you attacking someone.” 

“If you’re worried that I’ll kill him, don’t worry, I won’t. I just want to talk.” 

Severus blinked, off-put by the man’s estranged behaviour. He had never seen him like this before, not even in the brief glimpses he’s had during the throes of war. This side of Lupin was something unknown to him, not that he knew the man much. 

“Remus,” he said assertively. The man reacted to his name just enough to put a brief end to his movements. “I will chain you to this bed if it’ll keep you from bloody killing that muppet. Be sensible.” 

“He betrayed Lily and James! Don’t you care that he —” 

“Of course, I do, Lupin!” He snapped, jostling the man with his short outburst. “But that sort of thinking will get us nowhere if we want any sort of rightful justice for them. As incapable as our current Minister appears to be, the Wizengamot will strike Pettigrew down when we turn him in. He will suffer a consequence far worse than anything you can think of inflicting him with. I understand that —” 

“— But you don’t understand it, Severus. You say you do but I don’t think you do,” Remus said in a low, haunted voice. “Have you ever lost everyone you knew and loved in such a short span of time? Tell me have you lost your partner — your child’s mother — your friends who you’ve known for nearly a decade, the first people who accepted you even with your affliction, and your estranged godson all within the same year?” Remus was now gripping his arms. “All I had was my daughter to remind me that I was still alive and that there was someone who needed me to be… even when I didn’t want to.”

Severus remained quiet, much to his dismay. He knew how it felt to not belong. To wish desperately for someone to stay by his side just like he would for someone else. His plea had once been answered in the form of Lily but had been ripped from his very hands by his own words. 

“I may not have lost as much as you have, Lupin, but I am no stranger to loss. Do not take your anger out on me simply because I am the only person in front of you.” 

Severus knew better than to open up to Lupin. He was no stranger to suppressing one’s emotions, he had learned to when it came to the war, especially when it came to de-escalating a potentially dangerous situation. A dead man proved to be worthless when fighting against an enemy. Lupin blinked a few more times, recognition now dawning on him. He looked at the man beneath him who remained still. If he didn’t know any better, Severus may have misconstrued the emotion for pity. 

“You very well know I can throw you off me, Severus.” Remus’ mouth twisted unpleasantly but made no move to push him off. The precipitous crackle of amber in his eyes remained but they looked different now, they looked tired. “Let go of me.” 

“I am well aware that you can and yet you haven’t. Tell me, why haven’t you?” 

Severus held his gaze; coal clashed with amber. He searched inside the wolf’s eyes without push, without legilimency. Not that he could try anyway, it was a losing game when it came to a werewolf. He waited for the man to answer with the quirk of an eyebrow. 

It wasn’t until Remus visibly calmed, when his heaving chest slowed and his arduous skin pressing into Severus’ fingers slackened, that the potion’s master let go. He sat back down on his armchair with a huff and fixed his hair back into place. 

“I must apologize, Severus,” Remus said as he palmed his head. Anger still simmered deep within but no longer boiled; the burst of emotion had become rather taxing. “It appears as though the moon still has quite an effect the day after you see.” 

Severus scoffed without much substance; the sound second nature to the man. He knew, of course, how emotions in werewolves were a bit unmanageable around the full moon, especially if there were a lack of wolfsbane potion in their system. It wasn’t inherently a bad thing, it just amplified their sentiments tenfold. 

He leaned forward, his hand pressing into the bed’s sheeting. “I’ll accept your apology as long as you learn how to behave.”  

It didn’t frighten him now. Now when he knew how to protect himself better than his sixteen-year-old self all those years ago (even if he let himself get knocked unconscious by said werewolf). His mind wandered even while they maintained their conversation. 

“You make me sound like a poorly behaved puppy.” 

“Perhaps because you are. Now, will you behave?” 

A warmth covered his hand and his gaze flitted between Remus’ hand atop his and his gaze, which held no ill intent this time. They were a pleasant hazel-brown color, he noted. Warm and kind, a kind of look that eased others, unlike the wrath they had emitted earlier. Their vigorous dichotomy struck Severus silent for a moment, and quite a moment it was for the other man who found himself amused.  

“Don’t worry, I will.” Remus’ lips shaped themselves into a rugged smile. “I can discern when something’s bothering you. Tell me, what’s on your mind?” 

Many things. 

Many things occupied Severus’ mind and he had no idea how he was going to sort through them. He made no move to respond, not willing to admit that Lupin was spot on with his deduction. He wasn’t too sure how to respond even if he did want to admit it. He watched as Lupin’s eyes fluttered but refused to stay closed, he was having trouble staying awake. Severus raised his other hand, the one unoccupied by Remus’ rather large one, to settle it over his, but caught himself before their hands could touch. He retracted it and dropped it on his lap, trying his best not to look disgruntled by the action. He was going to take this as an out from talking about his worries. 

“Rest,” said Severus whose hand did not move. “You’ve had a long night.” 

“But my daughter —” 

“I’ll see that she’s well when she wakes.” 

Remus’ lips twitched tiredly, eyes now closed. “Thank you.” 

Severus watched as the man in front of him drifted into silence. Deep chestfuls of air rowdied nothing besides the rise and fall of his chest. He slipped his hand out from beneath the other’s without trouble, then buried his face into his hands. He stayed like that for a few seconds, his own breathing hitching with every inhale.  

“I’m sorry,” Remus mumbled tiredly. 

Severus, startled, looked up to see that Remus’ eyelids were slightly parted. “What?” 

Remus licked his lips, his voice coarse. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what exactly?” he asked. 

“For everything.” 

Severus’ eyebrows furrowed. “Everything?” 

“I should have stopped them back when we were younger but I did nothing out of fear. Having done nothing was just as bad as having done it myself,” Remus said as he looked at him remorsefully. He didn’t fail to notice how the other man’s eyes trailed from his face to his neck, stopping just above his clothed chest. “You don’t have to forgive me. I’ll understand if you don’t. I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. If I could take it back I would.” 

Severus bit back every insult known to man and wizardkind. He didn’t want to talk about this right now — ever maybe. 

“Sleep,” he said, adding nothing else regarding the matter, “we can talk about this afterward when your brain isn’t sleep-addled.” 

Remus only closed his eyes in response. He stayed by his side until the man tired and his breathing evened. He made sure the man was truly asleep this time, watching as his chest rose steadily and uncombed brown hair laid messily over the light-coloured pillows. 

He’d never seen him promptly after a transformation — how tired and beaten it left the man. The only time he had seen him had been a day after the full moon as he hobbled through the staffroom, one hand clutching a walking cane while the other a mug of coffee. It was no wonder why he was littered with all of those scars. Snape’s hand moved as if it had a mind of its own, his senses warning him not to forget. His hand laid over his throat at the thought, thumb strumming at the scars as if he were playing a chord on a guitar. 

An archaic yet amiable warmth struck his chest. So unusual was the feeling that Severus had made himself cease all movement and sat there in harrowing awe. He hadn’t felt like this for so long — not for anyone, especially not for someone of the likes of Lupin — he looked away with a sharp snap of his chin but refrained from leaving like some character in a terrible muggle drama his mother used to read him. 

He didn’t want to think about this, yet here he was. Alone with his thoughts and nothing else to do. He couldn’t leave either, he had attempted to do so earlier but Poppy was hellbent on keeping him even though he had assured her that his head had stopped hurting long ago. Severus defeatedly stayed put, not wanting to face the wrath of someone who knew wizard anatomy like the back of their hand. His eyes roamed along the nearly empty room until they inevitably fell on the curtain in front of him, then back to Lupin. 

It had been months of feuding with the wolf. Torment became second nature to him as he continued seeing his face after nearly two decades of silence; he even faced him one last time in that wretched state. After the night’s events, Severus looked at Lupin and saw him for what — for who he was, begrudgingly. Something he hadn’t made a conscient effort of doing having been blinded by spite and loathing that festered for so many years that he still found himself too hurt by the past to push past it. He still saw the same monster who had left him permanent memories across his body and perhaps he would always see that, but now… well now he saw someone else. Almost as if a fog that had blurred Lupin’s face all these years finally lifted and left someone there, someone Snape could recognize. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have someone his age to talk to. Lupin wasn’t terrible company, a bit insufferable and chatty maybe, and if he could look past it… but he caught himself before he could entertain that idea any further, stopping his little bout of delirium. Memories from the back of his mind nagged him. 

He had done a stupid, impulsive, not-at-all-conscious decision to jump in between stupid teenagers and a werewolf. Wandless, disoriented, and crass — everything he had been that night, but he couldn’t fully antagonize himself as much as he wanted to. Something about last night’s events reminded him of that night all those years ago. A zealous and stupid Slytherin boy taking Black’s word on where the Gryffindor boy went every full moon. 

That blasted Potter had, in the end, dragged him away from the werewolf before any more damage could be dealt. Something about seeing the towering wolf there, in front of the students made something inside him snap. He wished all those years ago for someone to have been able to drag him away before anything could have happened — perhaps that’s why he did what he did… He should be angry and he absolutely was, don’t get him wrong, but the sentiment now felt empty and spent. 

There was one striking difference between Lupin and his friends, he could at least acknowledge that after tonight. He had done what no other Marauder had ever done before: he had apologized. 

The thought occupied his thoughts until he shook his head to clear his mind and rubbed tiredly at the scar, his back now flushed against the backrest. His eyes fluttered close for a moment, body too tired to stay conscious a moment longer, his mind too emotionally charged. Severus didn’t know what to feel anymore. 

|| ⬫ ⬨ ⬫ ☾ ⬫ ⬨ ⬫ || 

You woke again to the smell of leather and an amalgamation of herbs and other plants emanating from your left. You knew that smell very well that you didn’t have to turn to look at who it was to know but did so anyway. 

“Ah, you’re awake.” Snape sat in a plush velvet seat to your right. He didn’t have to look up from his book to acknowledge that you were conscious. 

“Yup,” you hissed, your eyes closing almost immediately. “Unfortunately.” 

“Watch it, you’re sounding a little too much like me,” Snape chuckled, closing the book he had been reading before vanishing it away. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling as well as every other post-full-moon transformation,” you grumbled. 

Maybe you were being a bit grumpy but your body was aching terribly and you were still cross with Snape for the stunt he pulled when your father had asked him to substitute. You hadn’t spoken to Snape after your career council and kept any conversation between the two of you clipped as a result. 

“I’ll include something for the muscle strain apart from what Poppy’s already giving you. I’ve recently brewed a new concoction, it should help with any aches regarding lunar transfiguration.” 

A new potion? Regarding lunar transfiguration? You were intrigued, but remembering how you were supposed to be irked, you did not comment on it. You massaged your wrists, eyes averting his gaze. 

“Sounds nice.” 

A second of silence went by. Then another before Snape seemed to realize what was happening. Your lack of questions regarding the potion must’ve tipped him off. 

“You’re upset with me.” 

“Oh?” You scoffed, finally turning to glare at him. “What gave that away?” 

Snape’s face churned, the corners of his mouth remained flat as he bit back a retort; a great feat for the professor as his face grew annoyed by your tone. You waited for some insult to come your way — a reprimand — but, to your surprise, he closed his eyes and breathed out, remaining silent for a few seconds before opening them again. He didn’t look you in the eye this time, his gaze resting on the hands sitting idly on your lap. 

“I find your lack of respect toward me as your professor — let alone your head of house — less than amusing. That is not, however, the discussion at hand so I will not reprimand you for it,” Snape said without gritting his teeth. 

You wanted to scoff again but thought against it. It sounded like Snape’s lacking tirade was leading toward an apology and you weren’t about to make him feel foolish with any of your own derisive behavior. Rarely did he ever apologize to people without it sounding like it was dripping with sarcasm or ridicule… which you found yourself to be the foremost recipient of said scarce apologies. You let him continue without much fuss. 

“I am, however, unaware of what I’ve done to accrue this kind of reproach.” 

“Oh come now, professor,” you said, pushing down the lump that was desperately clawing at your throat. How could it be that the potential — definite — slip of your condition meant nothing to him? That you meant nothing to him? “You do.” 

It dawned on him that you knew what he had done moons ago. He sat on his armchair like a convict awaiting trial, waiting for the judge to state his crime, his impending verdict and sentencing — your words now his penance. He remained silent and it struck you that perhaps this was some kind of odd way to give you power over the situation as he refused to confess. He wanted to hear it from you to see how you perceived his act of betrayal. 

“Remind me then,” he said, his words solemn. 

“You assigned the third year the werewolf essay in hopes of them figuring out my father’s condition,” you said, your voice despondent. “Why would you assign students that essay when you knew what that information could do if made public?” 

His face soured and you watched as he collected his thoughts. Guilt flashed across his features, a somberness you haven’t seen him display before marred his typical neutral expression. He looked away, not from what you hoped was regret, but to watch your sleeping father on his cot.

“I had an opportunity to hurt your father and I took it blindly,” he said truthfully, “and in my moment of weakness, I hurt you — I betrayed you and your father by disregarding his syllabus and proposing an earlier lesson regarding lycanthropy in retribution for a past animosity.” His words piqued your interest and Snape’s gaze flitted to yours. “There’s nothing that can justify what I did but I regret it all the same.” 

“Would you take it back?” you asked, a breath after his last word. Hardly patient enough to know. 

Again you saw something in his eyes, his eyes which wavered as recollection settled in his eyes like sediment after a flood. It looked as if he had time prior to this to remedy some turmoil within himself. You wondered what it was. 

“In a heartbeat,” he said just as quickly. 

The calm and unwavering stream of breath that filled his lungs, his poised posture, and his steady hands could have fooled anyone about Severus Snape. To most, he was collected, indifferent to others. Severus Snape had perfected the mask everyone saw. But you weren’t just anyone — you could hear his heart beat in a manner that only few could. You listened to the cadenced thumps that could only mean one thing: genuine regret. That kind of rhythm you couldn’t fake and that realization broke your resolve. 

“I was angry at first y’know.” You watched as you bunched the fabric beneath your hands. “I kept asking myself how you could do something so stupid and selfish. Then I questioned if maybe there was more to it. You said there was animosity between you and my father — why’s that?” 

Snape didn’t look upset by the question like you would have guessed he would have been from your snooping nose. Instead, he looked reminiscent, reserved, but reminiscent. Was there something between the two of them that you were missing? Surely that’s why you were asking. 

“Now that is something between me and your father. I won’t discuss this matter any further.” 

“I understand,” you conceded, no matter how much you wanted to know. Maybe in due time, when they were comfortable with you knowing they would tell you. Snape looked appreciative and you returned the gesture with a smile. “I forgive you by the way.” 

Snape raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t seeking your forgiveness nor do I deserve it —” 

You reached forward, ignoring the cries of your bones and fibrous tissue, to place your hands over his. The action stunted any further words from falling from the older man’s mouth. 

“I know you weren’t, but I wanted to let you know that I don’t despise you for it now that I know why.” You pat his hands playfully. “Nothing came of it in the end. Nothing serious at least.” You shrugged, retracting your hands and folding them back over your lap. “Longbottom confronted me about it sometime in March and Hermione apologized after the first time I woke up this morning.” 

“Yes, well it seems rather convenient, doesn’t it?” he muttered lightheartedly. “Just as ignorantly positive like your father.” 

“More than I could ask for.” You beamed. “And hey what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” he hummed, pleased. 

A sudden whooshing sound cut your conversation short. The two of you turned to look at the fireplace: green flames sprouted from where the usual red fire roared and a figure emerged from them. The minister stepped out onto the hearth with a handful of Aurors by his side looking absolutely frightening. 

“Where is he?” demanded Fudge as he made his way further into the infirmary.  “Where’s Pettigrew?” 

.

.

.

It was an onslaught of interrogations from Aurors after that spectacle. You feigned not knowing what the Aurors were asking, you weren’t supposed to have been outside during the full moon after all. You couldn’t afford to slip up and place yourself in deeper trouble. You told your father just as much before the two of you were separated by a curtain. 

“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I was in my father’s office during last night’s events”. 

“We both took the Wolfsbane potion so we were drowsy. We couldn’t even raise our snouts if we wanted to.” 

“How many bloody times do I have to explain it to you to get it through your thick skulls — I wasn’t there and neither was my father!” 

And when they asked again you counted to ten so as to not explode in their faces and get the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures called on you. Merlin forbid they believed the irritation of a teenager to be a danger for the Ministry’s highly trained Aurors. 

One of the Aurors who hadn’t been barraging you with the same questions over and over again made her way over to your bed. She placed a hand on the other Auror’s shoulder and informed him that Fudge was asking for him. He left with a huff but said nothing else. The new Auror conjured a spinning stool and took a seat beside your bed. 

“You look a bit young to be an Auror,” you noted. The others could easily be five years her senior, more perhaps. 

“And you look a bit young to be stuck in this bed.” 

“I’m inflicted with an ailment which, if you’ve noticed, tends to be quite unforgiving to a person regardless of their age.” 

You stopped to watch as the Auror’s striking purple hair rippled into a bright shade of pink that matched her flushed face. 

“I guess that was a bit insensitive of me to say, eh?” 

“No, it’s fine…” your voice trailed off, dumbstruck by the shift in appearance. “Your hair just changed color. Are you a —?” 

“Metamorphmagus?” she inputted, changing her hair color once more to confirm your suspicions. “Yup, sure am.” 

“That’s brilliant, I haven’t met anyone with abilities like yours.” 

“It’s pretty rare. I have a cousin who —” 

Your father’s voice sounded from the other side of the curtain, cutting your conversation with Tonks short. You listened in for the first time, unaware of what was going on. 

“Absolutely not!” he admonished, “he’s innocent and you bloody well know it. Even without a trial, the very fact that Pettigrew’s alive negates the conviction. He has every right to be out of your custody. Sirius doesn’t need to be held by the Ministry until his court date.” 

“Well versed in Wizarding Law now, are you?” asked the familiar voice of Cornelius Fudge. 

“My father valued the law enough for me to teach me the basics and technicalities growing up.” 

“Lupin, was it? So you’re Lyall’s son. How is he fairing?” 

“Doing quite alright,” your dad replied, his tone not quite right. “His new book regarding the Dark Arts is being considered for Hogwarts’ advanced curriculum: N.E.W.T. Level.” 

“Quite the achievement,” Fudge mused. 

“Enough with the niceties,” groaned Snape. “Get on with what you’ve come here for.” 

“Very well, granted that you’re Chief Warlock, Albus: what do you suggest we do about Black’s custody arrangement?” 

“Ah, I do believe that I have a say in our current predicament, don’t I?” hummed Dumbledore. “Professor Lupin’s concerns are to be taken into consideration. Seeing as he has yet to be exonerated from his conviction, he is, technically, protected under Article 5 of Medi–Wizard Law, he will remain under our custody where Poppy and I can keep an eye on him. She has a legal obligation as a healer not to abandon her patients after all.” 

Poppy, who was currently treating Sirius, nodded sternly. “All too true, headmaster.” 

“Don’t be rash, Dumbledore,” said another voice, “it’ll keep the public’s mind at ease if they know he’s in our custody.” 

“If you’d like to keep the people’s minds at ease, then perhaps it would be best to release the news of Pettigrew’s capture and his arrest. I will allow the Ministry to stage a couple of Aurors at the entrance of the Infirmary to ease your minds,” Dumbledore suggested, his voice disguised as if they had a choice in the matter. “Now, the dementors on the other hand…” 

“Right, they’ll be out of your beard,” Fudge quickly tacked on. “Suppose Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Prescott would like to stay behind and keep an eye on him? What do you propose, Alastor?” 

At the mention of her name, Tonks drew back the curtain. Fudge was fixing the bowler hat atop his head as he turned to face an older and rather tall Auror with wild grey hair and a magicked prosthetic foot. Alastor, you noted, looked in your direction, his magical eye continuously surveying the room whilst he addressed the Auror next to you. 

“You alright staying with Kingsley and Awtrid?” he asked. 

She flashed him an exciting smile and gave him a thumbs up. “I don’t mind staying here. The office was beginning to feel a bit cramped anyway.” 

“We’ll send Belghorn to cover your night shift.” Alastor nodded, taking her word “Don’t forget that you still have to finish the report that’s on your desk by tomorrow.” 

“Don’t worry Mad–Eye,” she said in a tone unlike what the other Aurors used with him. “Paperwork can wait a little longer.” 

Alastor raised what little he could of his mangled eyebrow before disappearing with the incarcerated body of Peter Pettigrew who was bound with what looked like every spell known to wizardkind next to him. A few other Aurors left with him, save for the ones you determined to be Kingsley Shacklebolt and Awtrid Prescott. 

Fudge stood by Dumbledore’s side as they discussed something in private, their voices low enough to not get picked up even by your ears. A polite hand from Dumbledore ended their discussion and they parted ways. 

“We’ll discuss this in further detail with Amelia at a later time.” Oddly enough, the Minister turned to address your dad. He looked displeased and made no attempt to disguise it from his voice. “If for any reason Black does not appear for his hearing, then I will unleash the Ministry’s wrath on your doorstep, do you hear me?” 

“Of course, Minister. I’ll make sure he’s ready for his exoneration.” 

Fudge said his goodbyes before he walked into the fireplace without another word. Dumbledore, Snape, and your father discussed for a moment longer before the Headmaster himself bid everyone a restful evening. 

“I hate paperwork with a burning passion,” Tonks said as she plopped back down onto her spinning stool, blowing a few strands of hair out of her face. “Can’t even use bright purple ink to fill them out. I tried once and got three more reports to fill out as consequence.” 

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Then I advice you do your job appropriately, Miss Tonks.” 

Tonks jumped slightly, her chair coming to a stop. “Of course, professor.” 

“I am no longer your professor and you’re no longer my student.” Snape couldn’t help but be amused by her skittish state. “I do wonder, however, how permanent those detentions I assigned you to fare long since you’ve graduated.” 

Tonks laughed, feeling much more at ease with Snape’s teasing having remembered that she was, indeed, no longer his pupil. The adults talked for a while and you half-heartedly listened to their conversation until she began to recount one of her earlier missions which you were enthralled by. 

It wasn’t until late evening, when the sun took its last remaining rays from the setting sky, that a man in bubblegum pink robes floo’d into the room, he regarded Tonks with a nod before making his way to the two large doors, disappearing behind them to guard the entrance. You groaned, displeased by the fact that she had been in the middle of another one of her stories, this time she recounted one of her most recent excursions. 

Both your father and Snape were listening in, intrigued at the fact that someone as young and bubbly as she was had actively chosen to work in such a perilous profession. You suppose they saw themselves in her, visions of a time past lost in their youth. They were her age when they fought in the first wizarding war after all; they had lost people they knew far too young. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked, oblivious to it all. 

“I’ll see you here if I don’t get discharged tomorrow morning. I want to know what happened for the dragon to somehow have ended up in the zoo’s enclosure.” 

“Oh, you don’t even know half of it!” She grinned, her hair turned now an electrifying yellow. “Anyway, now that Bel’s here, I should get going. ‘Night.” She turned to nod at the two older men. “Professors.” 

Your dad chuckled all the while Snape rolled his eyes. She waved goodbye before disappearing inside the fireplace, the green fire dying out before it flickered back to its usual red. Snape looked down at his watch. 

“I’m going to go make sure my students haven’t trashed the common area with how long I’ve been gone,” he said, standing up and vanishing his chair. “I’ll return with some more strength–replenishing tonics. I’ll be back in a few.” 

“Professor?” you asked just before he could walk through the flames. “Can you do me a favor?” 

“Depends,” he said as he turned around to humor you. “What kind of favor?” 

“I didn’t go to the dorms at all today and I’m sure Solaris is worried sick,” you explained. Typically you would give her some kind of excuse, but not having been able to do so today would raise concern. “Can you tell her that I’m spending the night in the infirmary and that I’ll see her tomorrow? You can choose the reason why.” 

“You sure you want to give me free rein of your malady?” he said, intrigued. He looked absolutely enthralled… in his own Snape kind of way. 

You shrugged. “You wouldn’t do me the favor if I don’t give you some kind of incentive now would you?” 

“I would have, but thank you for your encouragement,” he smirked before walking through the flames. 

You waited a few moments before sneaking out of your bed to sit at the foot of your dad’s. You buried your legs into the temperature–charmed covers and carefully prodded his leg with your foot; he reciprocated the gesture with a gentle smile. 

“How are you doing?” 

“I should be asking you that,” you said, worry laced in your words.  

“Yes, well I asked you first.” 

“Such a mature response, dad,” you teased but in the end gave a tired smile. “I’m alright, you?” 

“Doing better.” Which was true, he looked years younger to prove it. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” 

You shook your head. “I’ve seen you like that for almost all my life. You’ve apologized enough, no more apologizing.” 

“But —” 

“No!”

“Okay, okay,” he relented, cracking a shy smile. “No more apologizing, I get it.” 

Pleased with yourself, you prodded his leg again. 

“Snape no longer looks like he wants to strangle you,” you said as you made yourself comfortable against the footboard. Thankfully it wasn’t too hard on your back.  “Why is that? Did you hex him into being nicer to you somehow?” 

“Oh, heaven’s no.” Your dad laughed, the boisterous kind of laughter that you’ve admittedly missed. “I don’t think there’s a spell strong enough to make Severus do something like that — especially against his will. I think his body would reject it out of spite.” 

“I wouldn’t put it passed him… so what changed?” 

You weren’t aware if there even was something between them; you’d see them talk then ignore the other time and time again. It would honestly be weirder if there wasn’t something between them with how they acted around each other. You had asked Snape without much success and your father had once vaguely explained that they had been classmates during their time at Hogwarts, and not the best kind. 

“Let’s say a significant misunderstanding was recently cleared after yesterday’s events,” he said as he looked down at his hands. “We may not be the best of mates, but in due time I hope we can be more amicable. At least I’d like to think so.” 

You revelled with your father. There was no better feeling than reconciliation, save for a few other sentiments. 

“Well, I’m glad the two of you are getting on. It was a bit troubling seeing the two of you walk around each other like baby deer on ice.” 

He choked, his face blossoming pink in color. You laughed a fit, nearly falling from the bed at the sight of him. He cleared his throat, ready to say something when the floo roared with life, the green fire becoming incredibly familiar to you with how many times people have been coming in and out of the infirmary. You turned and saw Snape step over the hearth, his strides long and quick. 

“Severus, what’s the matter?” Remus asked, confused by the man’s hurried footsteps in your direction. “Is everything okay?” 

Snape’s chest heaved as if he had sprinted through all of Hogwarts. His demeanor was unlike the previous one he had prior to leaving which raised many alarms for you and your father. The hairs on your arm stood on end at the sight of his unease. None of it felt right. 

“They know,” he muttered as he plonked onto your once-occupied bed. 

“They know?” Your father asked, coupled with your own question: “They know what?” 

He pinched his nose, drawing breath. He looked unsure as to how to break the news, whatever it was that had him in such a state. The two of you waited, ready to snap at him to just get on with it when he opened his mouth. 

“The students know about your condition.” His eyes did not meet with either of yours. “The entirety of Hogwarts knows that the two of you are werewolves.” 

You nearly didn’t believe him, a chortle at the cusp of spilling, but Snape showed not the slightest bit of humor. He wasn’t the kind to pull stunts like these, or stunts at all for that matter. It wasn’t until the faint light of the fireplace sprung to life again that your brain put things together. Dumbledore and McGonagall appeared only a few moments after Snape had, their faces plastered with concern. Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest, the contents of your stomach churned, threatening to spill. 

“How?”