TDSC II - The Anthology

[potterknowitall]

While planning for the 3rd Annual TDSC, it was suggested that we collect up all the other TDSC stories into a sort of anthology, so that people can scan through all the stories that have been entered - so that's what we're doing! In here, you will find all of the stories entered in the first contest, as well as their scoring. See below for a table of contents. Note that all of the stories will be in alphabetical order by author. Remember to feel free to send the authors your comments Click on their name in the list below, and you'll be linked to their profile.

Author / Title / Posts # - #

Calavera / WIP / 1
Chris / Ghosts / 2-4
Drego / Every Teacher's Secret Wish / 5
Isbister / Through the Trap Door... Again / 6
Jack / Confrontation / 7-8
KoNeko / Pentagons / 9
Nialle / Au Clair de la Lune / 10-11
Nierme / Tears from the Past / 12
Rue / Candy Corn / 13-14
SilverPhoenix / Destroying the Light / 15
Willow / A Bed Time Story / 16

[potterknowitall]

Calavera - WIP

A waxing Rose* moon smiles down from her celestial throne, casting shafts of moonlight through the forest’s dense canopy of leaves and branches, illuminating the moss-carpeted earth below. Nestled in the arms of a hawthorne, Fox Birch reclines, watching the stars glimmer against a milky indigo expanse of sky. She rests her hands across her stomach, feeling the tension in her body slowly ebb away with each exhale of breath. A gentle breeze playfully lifts loose strands of golden hair across the elf-woman’s fair features as she sat in a state of harmony with the peaceful surroundings. A wash of pink began to creep along the horizon, heralding the arrival of the rising sun. She sat up, brushing her fingertips along the bark of the tree, feeling the protruding knots and furrows under her bare skin one last time. Fox nimbly climbs down from branch to branch, jumping a short distance to the soft, dew-laden ground below. After a soundless landing, she follows a broken path of fragrant jasmine bushes and fallen tree trunks to the main trail that would lead her to the outskirts of the glade. She had traversed deep into the heart of a neighboring forest for her evening constitutional, a quickened pace would bring her back to the grounds of Hogwarts in time for archery practice before her morning classes. Sounds from throughout the forest echo in Fox’s sensitive ears; a burrowing owl screeches as it swoops down to capture it’s prey, wind rustling through the leaves of surrounding foliage, trickling water of a flowing freshwater stream, and the murmuring of the trees themselves. Murmuring?

She abruptly stops her silent walk, the harsh voices of men clash against the gentle ones of the plantlife. She listens carefully for a few moments, her elven ears picking up fragments of the hushed conversation.

“... apparating into Hogwarts? Impossible...”

“ ... until Dumbledore... ”

“ ... surely he wouldn’t... “

“ At long last... “

“ Brilliant. ”

“ But who... ”

“... know how to do it...”

Fox is consumed with a sense of danger and foreboding. There was some fell planning underway and she had to obtain as much information as she could. Hogwarts and the lives of it’s residents were at risk. She concentrates then on identifying the speakers, resuming her swift but soundless trek, now towards the congregation. Eventually, the elf-woman spots a flicker of muted green light, but still cannot make out the faces surrounding it. She moves closer still, but dark shrouds mask each man’s features, even from their watcher’s keen eyesight. Determined to foil whatever foul plot was in question, Fox remains obstructed from view; pressing her back against a tree and closing her eyes, in order to focus solely on sound. A single voice speaks...

“ Very well, Severus... ”

The voice sends a chill down her spine. If a snake could talk, she thinks, this must be what it would sound like. Driving away whatever fear she might be experiencing, is the mention of the Hogwarts Potionsmaster. In the hissed speech of the group’s apparent leader, Fox unwittingly overheard what sounded like a plan. But what sort of plan would involve Professor Snape? The sound of rustling leaves brings Fox’s mind back into the present. Whispers and more hissing ensue, then silence except for the crackling of dried leaves and gravel under the approaching men’s feet. Her senses heightened with anxiety, Fox draws her bow instinctively as the footsteps draw near. The leader himself had discovered the presence of Fox, for elvenkind have an ethereal glow about their being. The Deatheaters walk as quietly as they can, soon spotting for themselves the tree from behind which the elfin shone. They draw their wands slowly from the layers of black robes, splitting into two groups to detain the eavesdropper from both sides. Despite her assailant’s efforts to be stealthy, Fox hears the the friction of the folds in the fabric; the tightening grip of flesh on wood, feet disturbing clumps of wild ivy. The irony of the situation would have struck Fox as humorous, if her life were not in certain peril. Before the cloaked men could surround the tree, Fox leaps out, striking one man between the eyes with a swiftly shot arrow. She would not be taken so easily. There were a few panicked curses from the remaining men, some remained rooted to the ground in fear. Fox notches her bow, letting loose another arrow that finds its target. A sharp cry of pain echoes through the darkness as a cloaked figure falls to the ground, clutching at the bolt lodged in his chest. The elf takes another arrow from her quiver, pulling back her right arm to dispatch another man with a shaky wand raised in mid-curse incantation. An inhuman voice can be heard above the commotion, accompanied by a flash of light and the sound of rushing wind. Suddenly, Fox’s entire body goes rigid and freezes in place before her fingers can relax. Her stormy green eyes go wide with disbelief, while her would be attacker cringes in fear, nearly falling over an unearthed root in his dread. Noting that the elf-woman had ceased her assault, the man musters what is left of his pride and takes advantage of the situation by punching her hard in the stomach, his eyes flashing with shame and rage. Fox grits her teeth, the fingers of her taught hand trembling as she struggles against whatever force is holding her stationary.

“That is quite enough, Avery... I will handle things from here.”

“Of course, my Lord... of course...”

The man retreats, still sputtering and prostrating himself on the ground at the arrival of his master. Fox felt her body go ice-cold as the owner of that raspy, hissing voice moved towards her, but she could not feel any life force emanating from her captor. The surrounding air becomes thick and musty, the acrid stench of charred flesh permeates her senses. A jaunted, tall figure slides in front of the immobilized archer, who glares back into the man’s (if it could indeed be called such) slitted, crimson eyes.



* A Rose Moon is a name for the moon during the month of May, according to certain offshoots of Wiccan belief.

[potterknowitall]

Chris - Ghosts

It was harmless. The Slytherin boys had always enjoyed coming up with new ways to torture Potter. Nothing they ever did would've hurt him... too badly. Truth be told Snape would’ve let it go on a little longer if it weren’t his duty to make sure no harm came to the miserable prat. He had fully expected to spend his night ignoring everything while he graded papers in his office, but something had gone wrong. Somehow Potter and a handful of Slytherin boys had gotten hurt badly. Now as Snape stood in the Hospital wing looking over those he had failed to protect the old feelings of guilt and loss crept back into his heart.

~*~

It had been harmless back then too. No amount of pranks or torture dealt to either house had ever resulted in tragedy or loss. At that time no one had yet tried to take his life in ‘a little joke’ and his days as a Death Eater were still far off. Voldemort’s magic had been strong then too, but he was still a child and his parents’ trouble had nothing to do with him. He had been a nervous first year then, standing on the platform as his parents told him to be careful. He watched in mute fascination as boys and girls piled into the train cars where they waved farewell to their parents. As he looked through the crowds, hoping to find a familiar face, his eyes locked with a pair of soft brown ones. At his age he had been too young to know about love, nonetheless, that one look made his heart flutter. He didn’t know how it had happened but somehow he ended up standing in front of the boy shyly introducing himself.

“M-my name is Severus Snape.” He had stammered.

“I’m James Potter.” James replied, even then he had been annoyingly confident.

“Are you going to Hogwarts?” Severus asked, unsure of how to keep up the conversation.

“Of course I am! I’m going to be a Gryffindor. What about you?”

“I dunno… I… I…”

“You should be a Gryffindor too! Then we can be friends. Me and you, and Sirius, and Remus, and… well I don’t know about Peter. He’ll probably end up being a Hufflepuff because he isn’t very brave but I guess he can be our friend too. Just as long as you don’t become a Slytherin. Slytherin isn’t a good house. My parents said that everyone who was in Slytherin when they came to Hogwarts works for you-know-who now. My parents were both Gryffindors and they work for the Ministry now. What about your parents?”

“My parents work for the Ministry too…”

“That’s great! Maybe our parents know each other! You know we could really be… Oh look! There’s Sirius and Remus! Oi! Sirius! Over here!”

Even back then James Potter had loved to ramble. That had been his first meeting with the leader of the group who would one day call themselves the Marauders. He’d see them again many times through out his years at Hogwarts but never again would they be on friendly terms. Just before Severus boarded the train, smiling giddily at James and ignoring Sirius’ glares, Lucius Malfoy had grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into another cabin where he scolded Severus for talking to “mud-blood lovers”.

In the end Severus had become a Slytherin and the rivalry between the two houses had begun anew. For his sake and the good of his house he had pushed thoughts of James and the friendship they could’ve had behind him. It had worked for many of his years at Hogwarts. He had been hiding his emotions since he was young so it was easier than he expected to push aside something like love in favour of his studies. By the time he was a fifth year he had fooled himself into believing he had never felt anything for Potter and his friends other than hate. It would’ve continued on in this way if Sirius had kept his murderous tendencies to himself and if that idiot fox would remain loyal to his house.

~*~

“P-Professor Snape?” A young female voice asked in concern.

“What is it Willow?” Snape sighed, unable to gather enough strength to yell at the girl.

“You didn’t show up for your class today…”

Snape’s head jerked up as he checked the clock that hung upon one of the walls in the hospital wing. It was well past his class. In fact the students were just now getting out of their final classes for the day. It was only a matter of minutes before young Potter’s group came running to his side. Severus Snape had spent all of the night and the day reminiscing on the past.

“Why are you here Willow?” Snape asked

“Well, I had Potion’s class last and you weren’t there so we were dismissed.” Willow replied, not really looking at Snape as she talked.

“Then why didn’t you run off with your friends?”

“I am with my friends. They’re all right here. See? There’s Jack, and Erik, and Draco, and Chris, and… well I don’t know about Sal. Sometimes I think I can do without him…”

Snape looked at each boy frowning slightly as he looked over all of their injuries. In time they’d heal but the memory of this night would never leave Severus. Like so many others the events of this night would remain forever burned into his memories. As he was about to speak Ira ran into the room, followed closely by a group of six Gryffindors. Snape sighed as Weasley began to argue with Willow he could definitely feel a headache coming on.

“This is all your fault!” Ron yelled, glaring daggers at Willow.

“How is this my fault?” Willow asked. She refused to give Weasley the satisfaction of seeing her angry.

“Well… you’re a Slytherin…”

“Very good observations Weasley. I am a Slytherin! You know what else? You’re a Gryffindor! Isn’t that just fan-bloody-tastic! “ Willow cheered sarcastically.

Ron was so angry his face was turning red. Ginny and Hermione were trying their best to calm him down, but the problem with Weasley’s is that they don’t know how to listen. The yelling had caused Snape’s headache to grow from a little annoying pain to the pounding massive migraine kind he often got when dealing with Neville in class. If they didn’t stop yelling he would have to start yelling and he was too tired to try and be lenient on anybody. Just as he was about to start yelling the fighting stopped. For a moment Severus couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his head, but as he listened closely he could make out a small whimper and then a yawn.

“Chris! You’re awake!” Abby cried happily.

“Wha’s going on? Why does my arm hurt? Why am I in the hospital wing? What are you all yelling about?” he asked a bit drowsily.

He had smiled at everyone as they stood around staring at him. Unlike the others Chris was a fast healer, partially because of what he was and partially because he hadn’t been as injured as the others. Snape just sighed and shook his head. Chris would never know how much he was like his father in every annoying little way.

~*~

Many years had passed since the initial meeting of young Severus Snape and James Potter. They had each gotten into different houses and for the most part both boys had seemed to forget about the friendship they might’ve had if it weren’t for Malfoy and Black. Severus had been walking alone after hours through the courtyard. As a prefect it was his job to make sure every Slytherin was accounted for, so far one boy was missing. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was gone or where they were. After all the dorms had been unusually quiet and it was a beautiful night. As Severus approached the clearing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest he saw whom he had been searching for. Prancing around cheerfully in the moonlight was Aiden Valentine, but he wasn’t alone. On this night, unlike all the others before it, he was dancing with none other than James Potter who giggled and clapped as he watched. It was in this moment that Severus had realized what it was he loved about James.

James was different than Severus. He was popular and well loved by the faculty despite his pranks and constant mischief. James was a free spirit. In words that maybe only Aiden could understand James "was light". He was a shining spot in the darkness of Severus' life. The constant teasing and torment was worth it just to see his smile.

“Why are you dancing again?” James asked as Aiden came to a stop near him.

“I… really don’t know. I think it’s just something we do when it’s pretty out.” Aiden replied a bit embarrassed.

“Well, you’re really good at it.” James laughed.

“Yeay! Thanks!” Aiden cheered

“You’re too nice to be a Slytherin. You should’ve been a Gryffindor.” James said thoughtfully

“You know… Sirius says the same thing.” Aiden said with a shrug.

“Well he’s right. Why are you in Slytherin anyways?”

“Because Severus is there. I want to make him happy.”

Aiden’s reply had caught Severus off-guard and he had almost dropped the now unlit lantern he was carrying. It was no secret that Aiden Valentine liked him. The boy had been following him around like a lost puppy for as long as he had known him. The thought that maybe Aiden did what he did to make him smile had never once crossed his mind. Every trick Aiden had ever played on him had been done on the days following a Marauder prank. The boy had managed, on occasion, to make Severus smile despite his best efforts to remain angry. Was it possible Aiden could see that one thing he had kept hidden?

“He likes you, you know?” Aiden said as he threw himself down upon the grass.

“What? Who?” James asked

“Severus! He’s like in love with you or something.”

“Oh…” James replied, looking down at his hands.

“Why are you so mean to him anyways? He’s never really done anything to you.”

“I don’t know…”

[potterknowitall]

Chris - Ghosts, con't

It was then that Severus decided he had heard enough. If Potter and his group of friends wanted to cruel for no reason then it wasn’t worth the pain. Sure their jokes were mostly harmless, but like many people Severus Snape had feelings too. Severus stepped towards them and cleared his throat to get Aiden’s attention.

“Hiya Sevie! Is it time to go in now?” Aiden asked cheerfully.

“ Hello Severus…” James said

“Inside, Valentine, now.” Severus growled, trying his best to ignore James.

Without too much of a fuss Aiden stood up and ran off back to the dorm rooms. As Severus moved to follow him James grabbed onto the sleeve of his school robe. With a sigh Severus turned around to face him.

“What is it Po…?” Severus’ question was stifled by a soft kiss, after a moment’s hesitation he kissed James back.

“I’m sorry…” James whispered, breaking the kiss, “I didn’t know.”

Severus said nothing. A single kiss and a whispered apology wasn’t enough to erase all the years of torment he had put up with. As he walked away he brushed past Sirius Black and Remus Lupin who were looking for James. He ignored both them and the stifled sobs as he made his way back to the Slytherin dorms. Silently he crawled into bed and buried his face into the pillow. He loved James but he had too much pride to just let anything go. He had gone to sleep that night confident that in the morning James would’ve forgotten all about what had happened.

The next morning at breakfast Severus received a letter from a glowering Sirius Black. Much to his surprise the letter wasn’t from James, it was a letter from Sirius and it was about Remus. Severus had been quite curious about Remus Lupin for a long time. Usually the boy was quiet and reserved he was most often the voice of reason in Potter’s gang. Occasionally, during certain times of the month, Remus would disappear for a week and then turn up as if nothing had happened. It was just about that time of month again. Remus sat beside Sirius at the breakfast table looking pale and tired. His food remained untouched and his movements seemed clumsier than normal. As he looked away from Remus he caught James’ eye and the night before came rushing back to him. James sat next to Remus looking like he’d just been slapped. Severus had made up his mind to talk to James about everything after he found out everything about Remus.

~*~

“Professor Snape!” Chris whined, “Ron’s trying to kill me!”

Snape looked up, once again distracted from his thoughts by the children he was supposed to watch over. Ron was indeed very upset. His robes looked a little charred around the edges and although none of the Slytherins had their wands out it was clear who the culprit was.

“Chris… remember what we discussed about burning other students…” Snape sighed
“I had to professor! I was only defending myself.” Chris whined.

With a sigh Snape lectured both students and sent Weasley off to dinner. There was no real point in trying to punish either boy. It was getting late and Snape was too tired to do anything. With a final good night to Madam Pomfrey and the other students who had woken up, Snape walked down the dark halls back towards his room. He lay in bed for what seemed like a long time too tired to sleep. For a moment he thought he’d end up just lying in bed until the sun rose. By then his Slytherins would be awake and he’d question them about what had happened. For now there was nothing he could do, but sit and wait. He looked out his window and realized there was a full moon out. It was just like that night so many years ago.

~*~

The moon had been full that night as Severus Snape set out on his little adventure. It was well past lights out and Severus had managed to silently make it all the way from the Slytherin rooms to where he now stood. It was dark down there. Many times he thought he had heard something in the distance. Thinking each time that it was just Sirius playing another trick he had ventured on unafraid. As he made his way further down the tunnel that led to god only knows where he suddenly became very much afraid. From somewhere in front of him he heard a howl followed closely by a growl. Holding his lantern out in front of him Severus came face to face with every wizard’s worst nightmare, a werewolf. He screamed in terror, narrowly dodging just as the beast lunged at him. Dropping his lantern Severus began running in the direction he had came. He could hear the monstrous beast behind him and at times he imagined he could feel it’s hot breath on his neck as he ran. Several times he narrowly avoided falling flat on his face. He wasn’t so lucky the last time. As he ran, looking back over his shoulder in the darkness, his foot came into contact with a large rock and he fell face down into the dirt. Now he really could feel it’s hot breath at the base of his neck as he closed his eyes and waited for certain death.

“Remus! No!” James cried from somewhere.

The werewolf was distracted long enough for James to turn his animagi form and rush forward. As Severus watched the battle a big black dog rushed forward and pulled him away from danger. With a bark it managed to snap Severus out of his daze long enough to get him to safety. Once they were safely away from the werewolf the dog turned back into a grinning Sirius.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” Sirius laughed
“Sirius! You idiot you could’ve killed him.” James yelled from behind them.
“Lighten up James! It was just a joke. The greasy git was never in any real danger.”
“Remus could’ve killed him…” James scolded, “I’m sorry Severus. I didn’t know…”
“Save it for someone who’d believe you Potter.” Snape growled.

With a final glare he walked away from Black and Potter, ignoring James’ hurt gaze and Black’s laugh. It was then that he decided the three of them would pay dearly for this. He had never liked Voldemort or what the man stood for but if it helped him get back at James and Black he’d gladly kill a few muggles for the man. He spent the rest of the school year ignoring James. During those final months James and Lily had gotten together and planned on marrying after graduation. Remus had attempted an apology, but Severus had never believed anything he said. He still loved James though. Somewhere deep inside he knew James had nothing to do with what had happened on that night, but now it was too late for any of that. Severus Snape graduated from Hogwarts and became a Death Eater.

~*~

Sleep took a long time to come to him that night. His head was full of mistakes of the past and what had to be done tomorrow. With a final sight Snape's thoughts drifted back to James and what could've been. When sleep finally came to him he dreamed about the past. He dreamed about the boy he had always and would always love, the boy who might have loved him too if he had only had the chance.

~*~

Morning came leaving Severus feeling just as tired as he had felt the night before. There were dark circles under his eyes and when another member of the faculty asked him about them he simply glared and ignored them. The morning had gone rather smoothly despite how tired he looked. He thanked god it was a Saturday. If he had to deal with Neville in his current state somebody would've ended up dead. With a sigh he turned his attention back to the group of Slytherin boys who sat in his office.

"Exactly what happened?" Snape asked.
"We don't know exactly, sir." Jack replied nervously.
"Something happened! Someone has to know. I want to know what happened and I want to know right now! Do you boys understand me?!" Snape yelled.
"We do sir... but we don't know." Sal replied.
"It's like this," Jack began, "We were just doing what we normally do. We were in the courtyard teasing Potter. It seemed like the perfect plan. No one but Potter was around so we wouldn't have to worry about Weasley or Granger. Then that rat Weasley used to carry around and a figure dressed all in black approached us. I don't remember anything after that."

Snape looked at each boy, trying to detect any signs that any of this could just be an elaborate lie. Each boy looked slightly frightened and Snape doubted Potter had enough power to badly injure so many. The only alternative was a bit too frightening to tink about. Voldemort had come. After the boys had left Snape took out a piece of parchment paper and began to write a letter to the Headmaster. Dumbledore was currently away on business and it was important he knew exactly what was going on. If Voldemort tried anything else Snape would be there to stop him. This time things would be different.

~*~

Years as a Death Eater had done nothing to get Severus closer to any kind of revenge. In fact the years he had been a Death Eater had only made him sick of himself. He had stood by and watched as the man he served destroyed towns full of muggles and muggle children. In a final attempt to redeem himself Severus had gone to Dumbledore and the Ministry. He had offered his help and they had gladly accepted. He had been a spy for the Ministry when the first tragedy occured.

Within the Forbidden Forest existed a small village full of what Severus used to call "idiot foxes". Their leader was the same idiot fox that had attended Hogwarts with Severus so many years ago. He had calmed down over the years and Severus often thought that perhaps if circumstances were different they would've become good friends.

[potterknowitall]

Chris - Ghosts, con't

At the time the people living there were planning on joining with the Ministry in an effort to defeat Voldemort. This village was a threat Voldemort wanted to handle for himself. When Severus had heard of the attack he rushed to the village to warn Aiden and his people. He had arrived too late. The village was littered with the bodies of the dead and dieing. Houses were set on fire and the piercing howling screams of kitsune in pain filled the night air. As Severus walked through the village he heard the soft whimpering of a baby. He bent down and reached out his hand to check when the dieing parent grabbed a hold of his wrist.

"Oh... Sevie it's you..." he whispered.
"A-Aiden?" Severus gasped.
"I think I'm gonna die Sevie. It's fitting, ne? I always said I would die alongside my people."
"You shouldn't talk Aiden..."
"He killed them Sevie. He killed them all. My people, my son, my Raine. Oh Raine..." Aiden sobbed.

Severus watched in silence as Aiden cried over the loss of his people and his wife, Raine. He kneeled in the steadily growing pool of blood and watched as the light from the flames flicked across Aiden's glasses. His violet eyes were growing distant as he gripped onto Severus' wrist.

"I can't let her die with me. You have to save her... she's all that's left of us Sevie. You have to take my daughter. Please save Luna." Aiden pleaded.
"Okay Aiden... I understand."
"Sevie... my only regret is that I never got to see you smile. I wish I could've made you happy just once. I didn't mean to annoy you... I just wanted you to be happy. I loved you so much..."

With that Aiden breathed his last breath and died. For a few minutes Severus knelt by his side, watching over a friend he had failed to protect. He stood up, carefully taking the sleeping baby from her dead father's arms. As he walked back through the streets of what had once been a peaceful kitsune village Severus came upon the dead body of Aiden's wife, Raine. He had never gotten to know the woman Aiden had grown to love and now it was too late. With a final glance back to where Aiden's body laid face down upon the groud Severus left. That night he went home and cried himself to sleep.

~*~

Snape stood staring out at the students who ran back and forth through the courtyard. He knew that many of the Slytherins had parents who had once again joined Voldemort, but he wondered how many of their parents had been friends who, like Aiden, he had failed to protect. He walked back into the Hospital Wing where young Potter still slept. Unlike many of the Slytherin boys young Potter had been hurt the worst. It would take a little more time for him to heal. As Snape silently watched over the boy he couldn’t help but smile a little. Harry looked exactly like James. Silently Snape wondered about Harry and Draco. The two of them fought and teased each other much like he and James used to do. With a slight shake of his head Snape dismissed the thought that his favourite student could have any feelings for young Potter.

As Snape watched young Potter sleep the boy began to stir. In a few minutes Harry was yawning, blinking sleep blurred green eyes as he looked at Professor Snape. He had never really hated Potter. He wasn’t cold enough to hate a child. The thing he disliked about Harry was that something in his eyes. There was something there, that sparkle of mischief maybe, that reminded Snape all too much of the ghosts that haunted him. These ghosts were so much different from the ones that floated through out the castle from time to time. They weren’t the kind you could yell at to go away or even threaten. These ghosts lived inside Snape’s heart, reminding him everyday of what he had lost.

~*~

He had seen James the morning before it had happened. Against his better judgment he had come out of hiding to see Severus. He hadn’t noticed it then but James seemed a bit different that day. He was still as beautiful as he had always been. His hair was still as messy as he remembered it and he blushed cutely when embarrassed. Severus had been delighted to see him even if he had acted differently. At the time it had been easy to overlook the nervous way James looked around the empty streets as the two men walked through Hogsmeade. The people there rarely ventured outside of their homes, fear of Voldemort and his Death Eaters kept them all prisoners.

“What’s wrong Potter?” Severus asked, “We’ve been walking for over an hour and you’ve yet to make any snide remarks or attempted apologies.”
“I-It’s nothing, Severus. Call me James… please?” James pleaded.

Severus had rolled his eyes but did as James had asked anyways. Their conversation had been nothing great. It wasn’t anything worth remembering really. Most of it Severus would forget over time. The only thing that mattered, the only thing worth remembering was that for one brief moment Severus had been able to walk alongside the man who he had loved since the moment he saw him. He had every opportunity to tell James exactly how he felt while they talked about the past, Aiden, and the baby named Luna. It would’ve been so easy for Severus to tell James that even though the time when they could’ve been together had long since past he still loved him. Severus never told him though. He had figured there would be another time, perhaps a more peaceful time, when he could tell James everything. Maybe then the two of them could start anew. Not as housemates, not as lovers, but as friends. After all what was left for Severus to ever hope to be if not his friend? James had left that afternoon, smiling and asking if he could come visit again soon. Lily had a baby and maybe Harry and Luna could play together. Severus didn't have the heart to tell James that he planned to put Luna into a muggle orphanage as soon as possible. It was too dangerous to keep her. Severus agreed after much prodding and James left. That was the last time Severus had ever seen him alive.

~*~

In the courtyard students were screaming. The sound had pulled Snape from his thoughts back to the present. His mind was just catching up to his body as he slid to a halt in front of a group of children. Before them dressed in his black robes and smiling maliciously was Voldemort. He had come to kill young Potter as he had killed James when Harry was still a baby. It was suicide for anyone to go up against Voldemort alone as so many aurors had found out, but it was also Snape’s duty to protect the students at any cost. This time there would be no regrets, no mistakes. No one would die while he stood idly by and watched from the sidelines. With a command to all the prefects to get every student into the safety of their common rooms Snape pulled out his wand and stepped forward.

~*~

The night James died Severus was at a meeting with Dumbledore. A wizard had run screaming madly into the room that something terrible had just happened. The two of them jumped up out of their seats and demanded to know what was going on. They didn’t know for a long time. A few hours after the terrified wizard had come screaming into the meeting an auror reported back. Voldemort had finally been defeated, but James and Lily Potter were dead. There was to be no joyous celebration at this’ war’s end. Young Harry was left all alone in this world, an orphan like Luna. Dumbledore sent Hagrid to retrieve young Harry while Severus and the work crew cleaned up what was left of the Potter house.

Severus had been the first to find the bodies, lying facedown on the floor as if they were sleeping. No marks, no blood nothing to mar the face of the one he had loved. For a while Severus almost wished that there were something. He wished that the explosion had left James unrecognizable but when he opened his eyes and looked down that perfect face was still there. Severus bit down his emotions, keeping everything in check so the only thing that showed was an apathetic mask as he called the other wizards over. He leaned forward and kissed James’ forehead, whispering “I love you” in his ear before the other wizards ran forward and took both James and Lily away. When they left Severus stayed behind, sitting in the rubble of what had once been a house and looking up at the starry night sky. He thought back to that time when he was in school and Aiden had danced in the moonlight while James giggled and clapped. He thought back to the kiss and whispered apology. It was his turn to apologize, but no one was alive to hear it. With a heavy heart he whispered his apology to the night sky and asked them, wherever they were, to forgive him for not being able to protect them.

~*~

Back in the courtyard Severus Snape leans against a fallen pillar and watches in amazement as the pool of blood beneath his grows bigger. Dark crimson, almost black in the dark of night colors the grass and seeps into the ground beneath him. He had done what he had set out to do. Voldemort was gone for now and the children were safe. Voldemort would be back and a new war would begin, but he would not be around to see it. Harry Potter would grow into a fine young man who resembled James very much and would put a stop to Voldemort once and for all. There would be peace in their world again but, much like James, Snape wouldn’t see it. His vision was beginning to fade and he was drifting into a world of darkness when the clouds finally passed. Looking up at the sky for the last time, Severus realized it was a full moon. The last thought he ever had was of James standing in the moonlight giggling.

[potterknowitall]

Drego - Every Teacher's Secret Wish

It was never an enjoyable task for a teacher to have to send a note home alerting parents that their child was having any sort of trouble in school, so as Professor McGonagall readied her quill and parchment she thought long and hard about how she should word her correspondence to the Malfoy family. As it was, she was less than pleased to be the one actually writing the letter, as that responsibility usually fell on the student’s Head of House. But Professor Snape, the Slytherin Head, proclaimed to have no knowledge of Draco Malfoy’s rude and unacceptable behavior toward teachers as well as other students, and he further stated that Draco was receiving top marks in Potions so he couldn’t understand how his academic status could possibly be in jeopardy. Nonetheless, it was more than apparent to everyone else in the school that young Malfoy’s attitude needed an adjustment. Headmaster Dumbledore felt confident that Professor McGonagall could clearly and concisely inform Draco’s parents of the issues he was having at school, and so he asked her to be the one to pen the letter.

Professor McGonagall had given the matter a lot of thought and reflected upon her past and current experiences as Draco’s teacher. At last, she took a deep breath and began to put her thoughts into words:

Dear Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy,

Have you any idea what form of menace to society you have given life to? Never before in my teaching career have I wanted to hit a child, but that stance flew straight out the window when your son became a student in my class. I was unaware that such a demonic presence would actually be allowed to attend a school such as ours these days, especially without some sort of restraining device.

Honestly, your son gives a whole new meaning to the term “Problem Student.” If he’s not busy testing the sanity and last nerve of every teacher here, he’s off harassing and berating the other students with his immature banter and mindless antics. It is my belief that the collective class IQ actually drops by at least 50 points the second he steps into the room.

Your child has literally made me question my desire to continue teaching and, more importantly, my will to keep on living. On more than one occasion I’ve heard a nasaly, whistling sound ringing in my ear and prayed that it was the whisper of death, coming to claim me, only to turn to see your snarling first-born ready to pounce. I pray to all that is holy that you’ll restrain yourselves from any further breeding until I’ve either retired or moved out of the country.

Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Reading over her work, Professor McGonagall was unable to suppress her sly grin.

“If only…,” she said to herself with a slight chuckle, as she tapped the parchment with her wand, clearing it of all the words she had just written.

With a resigned sigh, she returned her quill to the parchment and began writing a proper letter home to the Malfoy family, but the thought of their reaction if they had read her first draft stayed with her the rest of the day, as did her mischievous grin.

[potterknowitall]

Isbister - Through the Trap Door... Again

As Hermione placed her drink on the desk and sat down in front of the illuminated screen, she again thought about how strange it was to have an entire community of people discussing the events that had taken place during her time at Hogwarts. She also continued to debate in her own mind whether or not it was really fair of J.K. to have published such detailed accounts of certain happenings in their little known of world. Not only did she publish these works as historical wizard literature, but she also made them available for Muggles to purchase. Obviously, very few of these Muggles saw through the clever guise of the tales being "fiction," but it was still a rather big risk she had taken, and Hermione really believed J.K. was extremely lucky she had not yet been banished from the Magical world or stripped of her witch status, if such a thing was indeed possible.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, logged on to the site, and began to read the current musings of the members she had become quite familiar with since she discovered this special little place some eleven months ago. She had come to feel like she actually knew some of these posters in real life. It was odd to feel connected to people she had never before met, though it did speak volumes about the powerful nature of the written word.

Hermione occasionally found the ramblings of certain members quite amusing, but was astounded at how close some of these Muggles were to pinpointing actual events which they had not yet read about. It made her consider the possibility that perhaps there were more wizards disguised as non-magic folk on the site.

It was a guilty pleasure of Hermione’s to write in possible scenarios for herself, Ron, Harry, and all the others she had come in contact with at Hogwarts. Sometimes she felt like she was giving away too much in her posts, but other times she would deliberately put up something misleading, just for a lark. Hermione loved to read the reactions other members had to some of her more fanciful tales.

She constantly wondered if the other members of this community had any idea that these "stories" they are so fond of actually took place and that she was a major participant. But she hid her true self behind her assumed personality quite well, often enjoying the word games, entertainment threads, and trivia competitions which were a big part of the site.

And so, as Hermione was just finishing up her posting for the day, her husband, Ron, entered the room (the magical connection box, or "computer" as Muggles such as Hermione call it, had been a Christmas gift to her from Ron) and told her that the children were asking to hear one of her famous bedtime stories. Never one to keep her little tykes waiting long, Hermione promptly moved her mouse arrow to the top of the page and logged "Isbister15" off of Trap Door 2 for the night.

[potterknowitall]

Jack - Confrontation

"That’s another one, Harry," Ron says, throwing the latest addition of The Daily Prophet into Harry’s chest. "You are going to have to do something about this, you know that."

"I’m sure the Ministry will find whoever is doing it," says Harry, unfolding the paper to see the headline: ANOTHER WIZARD APPREHENDED BY MUGGLE AUTHORITIES. "Anyway, they’ve already come to see me. There’s nothing else I can do."

Ron takes a small paper card out of his jacket pocket. "There was another one, Harry," he says will staring at the card in his hand.

"Yeah, Ron, and it probably says the same thing is the other ten: I WANT POTTER or I WILL GET YOU, HARRY. I have guards outside my doors, Ron, just in case." Ron begins to speak, but Harry cuts him off "And no, I’m not worried about the Muggles. I don’t know how he—or whoever—is allowing them to see magic, but he can’t get to me."

"Come on, Harry, we at the ministry need your help. These wizards and witches need help. You know you are the most powerful wizard in the world. No, no…don’t be shy about it, we all know it."

"Ron…" Harry sighs.

"Harry. I hate to do this to you." Ron sets the card gently on the desk. "We have a portkey ready."

Harry stares at Ron, noticing the pain in his eyes. He picks up the card:

WE HAVE HERMIONE GRANGER.

POTTER, ALONE, OR THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.

DERVISH BUILDING, SEATTLE.

Harry sets the card back on his desk, the distinctness between the ink and cardstock driving a wedge in his mind. "Ron," Harry says dryly, "what have you done about this?"

"The Ministry hasn’t done anything. We thought it best to come to you first."

"Do you believe it?"

"I don’t know. We quickly analyzed it, and it appears to be from the same person or persons who left the other ones."

"Dangerous?" Harry asks, quietly, almost out of breath

"Yeah, dangerous," Ron reluctantly answers.

Harry stands up from his desk. "What else can I do? What’s the weather like in Seattle?"

"Rainy," Ron says. "Quite rainy."

- ( * ) -

"And what business do you have in the Dervish Building, today?" the woman with the Jennifer nametag asks Harry before allowing him past the oak door.

"I’m here to see someone about a Ms. Granger—Hermione Granger."

"Oh yes," Jennifer says, "and you must be Harry Potter?" Harry nods. Jennifer speaks into her headset microphone: "Sir, Mr. Potter is here to see you."

"He’s been expecting you, Mr. Potter." Jennifer motions to the door.

Harry opens the door, hesitantly, mentally prepared for anything he might see. The room is big and sparse: only a desk and chair at the far end overlooking the city skyscape, a mini-bar on one side, and a giant glass lingam in the center of the room.

From the desk, a familiar but impossible to place voice with a mixed, American-British accent: "Close the door, Potter, you’re letting all the heat out."

Harry closes the door and walks towards the desk. "Who are you? Where is Hermione?"

The man in the chair stands up and walks around to the front of the desk. His short but well-defined body, Harry notices, matches to the scarcity of the room. "Hold on, Harry, in time. First, I’d like to say how nice it is to meet you again. I’ve been preparing for this moment, you know. I can see that look on your face—you know you know me, but you just can’t place it. And second, those two ministry agents that came with you that were waiting in the coffee shop across the street have been taken care of. You can find them downtown, at the police station after we are finished."

"Who are you?" Harry asks insistently.

"Harry, Harry Potter. Rumor has it that you are the greatest wizard to ever live. Ever since you defeated Voldemort…well, I guess rumors can lie. But surely you don’t need me to tell you who I am. Would you like a hint? Look behind you in that glass structure."

Harry steps to his side to keep the man in his view while viewing the glass. It has holes periodically cut into its sides, where objects sit like cremated remains. Harry notices his name on a half-burnt piece of paper in one of the holes:

HARRY PO
4 PIVET

The next hole holds a jar containing a formaldehyde solution, preserving a withered and discolored corkscrewed pig’s tail. Harry straightens up as he realizes how these items fit together. The next two items only cement his idea: a snake skin with plaque reading "Brazil" and a piece of a British auto bumper bent in two.

As he turns around, Harry coldly says, "Dudley."

"Mr. Dursely, please, Harry, it’s the least amount of respect you can give me. Why don’t you take a seat," Dursley motions to the chair in front of the desk as he returns to his own.

Harry sits down. "Where is Hermione?"

Dursley sighs. "In time, Harry. Be patient. It goes so much deeper than just Hermione. Perhaps I should give you a choice? Do you want to hear the whole story or do you want the climax?"

"Talk," Harry says annoyed.

"Well, how do I begin?" Dursley starts sarcastically melodramatic. "Perhaps not at the very beginning, but just where it gets interesting. I had one year to go before I could enter the University. I had just received high marks in my classes, so my parents and I went out to celebrate. We came back to our house—4 Pivet drive, you might recall—and I got out of the car. It was a cool night, I remember that. I closed the door and stood there while my parents drove away. I forget now where they were going, possibly to the grocery store. I was intrigued by this light, a dim light, in one of the upstairs bedrooms. There should be no light on; there should be no one in the house. I stepped over the tulips my mother had planted and walked around the back of the house. You would be proud, Harry, I had begun to learn this concept of fore-thinking: the backdoor was quieter than the front and I didn’t want to scare whoever was inside. I open it, walk through the kitchen, up the stairs. The light was coming from the room you stayed in—you shouldn’t have been home, you should still have been at that wizarding school. So I push the door open, ready to do whatever I had to do. Do you remember what happened? ‘Dudley,’ you said.

"’Potter,’ I yelled. ‘You shouldn’t be here!" Dursely chuckles. "When I look back on this, I remember how brash I was. It is quite funny in hindsight. Anyway, you said that you were just getting your things. And then I said that you don’t live here, that you were kicked out and that you were no longer wanted. It went something like that."

Harry hesitates for a moment. "Yes. I remember that. I needed to pick up a picture of my parents I had hid because I knew you would burn it if you found it. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight, I was fatigued. Voldemort…defeating him took all I had. And then I had to deal with you."

"Yes, Harry. I later found that out. In hindsight, I should have realized that something was going on by the shards of clothing you were wearing. But, at the time, I didn’t know you had defeated him. Hell, at that time I didn’t even know of this Voldemort. But you know all this, and I still haven’t gotten to Hermione."

[potterknowitall]

Jack - Confrontation, con't

"Keep going."

"Alright. Let me summarize the story to move it along. I asked you to leave again, or rather I demanded it. And, to my surprise, you did. You walked right out the front door. Couldn’t believe it. I went to the window to watch you leave. A glorious site. Do you know, Harry, that that moment was the first time ever in my life I knew I could be superior to you? That was when I realized that I could, if I tried, beat you? Of course, in hindsight again, I really didn’t do anything. But it’s all about or perception of things, right?"

"I was done," Harry says, shaking his head. "I got the picture. I left. Yes, you didn’t do anything."

Dursley gives Harry a slight head bow before continuing. "Do you know what I saw when you left."

"I can guess," Harry says remorsefully.

"I saw my parent’s car. IT was turning the corner onto Pivet. I wish they would have seen you earlier, Harry, I really do. Either they would have been able to maintain control of the car or they would have realized it was you and just hit you. But we can’t change the past, can we? Let me ask you something, Harry. Do you know what happens to a housing structure when hit at 90 kilometers an hour. It collapses the wall. The second story of a house, resting on the now collapsed wall, falls down due to the sudden void beneath it. And whoever is unlucky enough to be standing next to the window watching his parents death at the hands of his cousin will fall as well, followed by the ceiling once supported by the second floor’s walls. And then you ran away."

"It was an accident. But what could I do? I was weak, beat up, it would have been too suspicious."

"Do not interrupt, Harry, this is where Hermione fits into the story. So you ran off and I’m laying in this rubble. I can’t hear my parents. I was later told that they died on impact because they weren’t wearing their seatbelts. I don’t lay there long, but it allowed for a lot of thinking. When you’re in a situation like that you start thinking at an incredible rate, so many thoughs run through your head you feel like you’ve been there hours. In any case, it was Hermione that pulled be from the wreckage. She was looking for you after this epic battle. At the time I didn’t know how she pulled me out and how I managed being almost completely uninjured. If I had been thinking straight I probably would have realized it was magic. But I didn’t.

"I asked her name, she said it was Hermione. I asked her why she was here, she said she was looking for you. As you might imagine, I was not pleased. At that time I never wanted to see you again. But you know what she did, Harry? The nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. She didn’t go after you—she sat with me. That’s all. She didn’t say anything, I didn’t say anyhting. The first sentence she ever said to me was simply ‘I have to go’ when she heard the sirens. ‘No,’ I said. She quieted me and said ‘You’re not as bad as Harry said you were, Dudley.’ I was suprised she new my name. ‘Don’t worry, Dudley, I’ll be back.’ And she did come back.

"Let me finish the story before you interrupt me again, Harry. The rest isn’t all that interesting, and you may have heard parts of it from Draco Malfoy. A nice guy, Malfoy. I approached him to see if he wanted to join me, but he didn’t. I think he couldn’t handle being beneath a human. After you killed my parents, all I wanted was revenge. A common feeling, I am told, in these sorts of situations. I was so blinded that I didn’t know what to do. Then I had this realization one night when Hermione was talking to me. It’s as the cliché goes: Revenge is a dish best served cold. You were the first or second most powerful wizard in the world at that time and I knew by the time I could confront you you would be number one. So I studied, got into Oxford, graduated top of my class. I worked out so I could be stronger than you physically. And I just learned and learned. Hermione taught me about magic. Of course, I don’t have one ounce of wizard blood in my body, so I couldn’t control it. But I found a way to block it. And, more importantly, I found a way to allow humans to see when magic is occurring. This is why wizards are being caught, Harry. Magic is losing it’s power.

"So this is what it all boils down to. I wanted to talk to you because I’ve been contemplating this revenge for a long time. I don’t want it to be over too quickly. I want it to be fun, to be enjoyable. Hermione is here because of her own free will. I just knew that you would come for her."

Harry final spoke through his pale lips. "Why is she working with you?"

"Good question. Love, perhaps. I doubt that is it, though it might have something to with it. She mentioned at one time that she didn’t like the—and I quote—‘isolationist tendencies of the Wizarding world.’ But you’d have to ask her." Dursley calls in his secretary. "Could you bring in Ms. Granger, please." The secretary leaves and Dursley turns back to Harry. "She didn’t know you were coming, so she might be a little surprised. But before she gets here, allow me to just offer a warning: We are coming for you and those who stand with you. You already know I can stop your magic.

"Be prepared, Harry Potter. Your mortality awaits."

[potterknowitall]

KoNeko - Pentagons

I came to Hogwarts on the Express with the other students five years ago, in the same year that Harry Potter did. Well, actually, the first time I met Harry was before we arrived at the school. He hasn’t changed much since then; I suppose he’s grown a little bit taller and he’s not as naïve as he used to be, but otherwise he’s still the same friendly, funny and somewhat reckless Harry, always leaping from one madcap adventure to another. He’s my Harry- he doesn’t know this, but I’ve always been there for him. We’ve helped each other through a lot, although I have to admit that sometimes I think he’s come to rely on me to get him out of trouble. But that’s just how he is.

Over the years we’ve become really close friends. We know each other so well. In our time together at Hogwarts we’ve shared so much- although we've never been in a single class together, we used to go walking in the grounds at night after dinner to catch up, and he would tell me about his day and things that were worrying him, things on his mind. Sometimes, if he was really busy, I would go and visit him in his dorm. The others didn't mind- they usually were busy with their homework too, all seated around the room. The room had five beds arranged around it, like the points of a star. A pentagon, perhaps. It was just like the other dorm rooms at Hogwarts, but it was special to me. Harry's point was near the window, and he would always have it open, with the light on. That's how I knew if he wanted to see me. So whenever he had a break in his work, I'd sit on his bed and we would talk.

He would open up his heart and soul to me, he would. But I never knew what to tell him in return. I couldn’t give him advice; not because he wouldn’t listen, but what could I tell him anyway? He was having adventures beyond what anyone could have imagined. Nobody, except perhaps Professor Dumbledore, could tell him anything worthy of advice. So I would never say anything. I was happy just being the shoulder for him to lean on, the kindred who would share his burden. He would tell me everything. I know he trusted me- when Harry tells me what’s on his mind, he has a look in those beautiful green eyes of his that tells me that what he’s saying is for me to hear only. And he knows that I will not break my oath of secrecy. No, I could never do anything like that to him.

I’m meeting Harry after dinner tonight. He wants to see me. He told me at lunchtime, just before he had to go to his herbology class. I hope he wasn’t late because of me. Harry says that tonight he has something to give me. I can guess what it is but you know how it is with Harry Potter- things can become rather unpredictable. Oh, how I want to tell him how I feel, but I can’t. I know that even if I tried to, he wouldn’t understand. Sometimes when we were out on the grounds, we would just sit there in silence, and he’d let me rest against his shoulder ever so gently. It was at times like this when we were alone that I could feel that bond closest between us. We didn’t really talk that much; we could sit in silence for hours under the trees and just enjoy being in the company of each other.

But sometimes I think that I need to let him know how I feel. He knows that I have feelings for him, but I don’t think he knows just exactly how much I care. And I know he cares about me as well. In all the years we have been friends he has never done me any wrong; never a bad word about me, always a friendly smile to greet me. He knows he can trust me. His friends do too. Sometimes, when I’m wandering around on the grounds during the day, Hagrid calls me over if he needs to see Harry. (Usually this means that Harry needs to sneak out that night, but anyway) He lets me pass on messages because he knows that I would let Harry know right away, that I am reliable. He knows that I am always there to help Harry. I wonder if Harry himself knows this. I wish I could tell him. I wish I could tell him everything.

So if I could, I would tell him all that there is to know about me. It would be the least I could do to have been the holder of Harry’s secrets for the last five years. I would start with telling him how I felt the first time I met him. How I knew I was to be his, from the first moment I saw him. I would tell him about my past, because, come to think of it, he has never asked. I’d tell him about how much I care about him, how much I want to protect him. I know he has a lot ahead of him, and I just want to make sure that he was safe. And I want to ask him what his plans are for after he finishes school here, because hopefully I’ll be with him then as well.
I would tell him everything, even the little things. I’d tell him how sorry I was that he had to live with the Dursleys over summer, and how much I appreciated it when he would sneak an extra serving of treacle pudding, so we could share it after dinner on our secret trips around the school. No, it’s not just that. He makes me feel special. I’d tell him that I appreciate the way he treats me, and how he respects me, and that I feel that he is my best friend. I would do anything for my Harry. I would tell him that I would go to the ends of the earth for him.

Footsteps. There’s a slight creak at the door. Harry’s here. The moon outside is shining through the window and there’s a soft light splashing onto the floor from it. Some of the torches have dimmed in the room; the flames are flickering and dying into the night. There’s a cosy, glowing sort of feeling as he comes in. Just when he crosses the floor and comes towards me, Harry looks up at where I am sitting and gives me a little smile. That is enough to make me feel all fluttery and I have to go to him.

I could see that he has a note in one hand. I wonder what it says. Just as I go down to greet him, he smiles again. I love how I can make him smile. I love how I can make his eyes sparkle. He offers his arm to me and I eagerly take it. He strokes my cheek and holds out his note for me. It is folded- like the tens of hundreds of other notes he has entrusted me with in the past. He knows that he can rely on me.

He kisses me on the forehead. It is a brief, but warm, kiss.

“Thanks, Hedwig. I know that you won’t let me down.”

Inside, I smile. That’s my Harry. Then I take the note, spread my wings and fly through the open window.

[potterknowitall]

Nialle - Au Clair de la Lune

I. January 28

[/center]

Even after six months, the office still feels empty. I cannot bring myself to shelve my books. I haven't actually unpacked them anywhere, not for years. Even if I stay someplace as long as I have here, there just never seems to be time.

I never seem to have enough time.

Whenever I look out the window, the moon is already waxing gibbous, and I can already feel the poison moving through me. I skip dinner so that I don't have to look at meat on a plate. I pretend I'm grading essays. The students haven't warmed to me anyway, so they hardly notice.

Except for Harry. Harry is bound to notice soon. His father was the first to realize what was happening, why I had to leave the school for "weekends home," sometimes in the middle of a week. Why I came back tired and bruised.

Of course he had thought the worst; at least, the worst that normal humans know. Then he realized that Lily and I got surly at about the same time every month. Oh, James -- if anyone else had made [/i]that suggestion, even I would have had to throw a punch.

James, James. Who else in the world would have come up with -- would have gotten away with -- such a dangerous way to stand by a friend?

James, James. I didn't have enough time with you, either.

That's really when I started losing time. When James and Lily died. I don't remember much of that night, other than the sound of a motorcycle and a good deal of questions I didn't want to answer. And I don't remember much of the years after that.

I visited Surrey once, where Dumbledore had sent Harry to live with Lily's sister. And another time I visited Azkaban. It had been a few years, and I thought I needed to at least see Sirius. At least say something. Tell him how much I hated him. Except that when I stood outside, when I saw those towers, when I heard the low moaning of those imprisoned within, when a Dementor hovered too close, I felt it reaching for that hatred.

And I let it go.

Thirteen years. I really don't remember what I did with them. I don't know when I realised that I don't hate Sirius. I don't understand, but I can't hate him. The boy I knew was thoughtful, ethical, a bit of a troublemaker, but weren't we all? And he's still alive for me. Though I suppose, by now, there's even less of him left. After the Dementors.

That's what I feel like. That's it. It's like having been close to a Dementor. It's like that emptiness they leave when they've taken something from you. Not Sirius, but my anger against him. Without the anger, though, I can't seem to think about him at all. Not... James or Lily, but my sorrow for them. And without the sorrow, I can't think about them, either.

Harry has his mother's eyes, though. I forget when I remembered that. Perhaps it was during a lesson. I lose track of time in lessons, too.

Make a list, Remus. Cover these twelve beasts, these six spells, these three curses. Make a list and keep them to it. Write a journal, Remus. Put down anything, everything. Try to keep a grip on at least the mere passage of days. Keep a calendar, Remus. Mark the days and remember to have the elves send up meals, those last two before the full moon.

It's almost sunset. I have an appointment. Where does the time go?

II. January 29

[/center]

It's early, but I started the vomiting before dawn. It's the potion. I can't be here without it, and the Shrieking Shack is quite out of the question after that Ministry investigation. And there's nowhere else I can go, either, and nothing else I can do. Except drink it and vomit. And sweat and shake and pace the room.

It's only three nights. It's only three nights. It's only three nights.

Severus doesn't know how to counter the side effects, because they're not treatable with the usual medicinal draughts. Last month he told me all the things he'd been trying, all the new additions he'd tested. He had made six dozen batches of the potion during the month, trying to find a combination that both nullified the poison and might calm my shaking, or still my stomach. I couldn't believe it. I was no dunce at potions, but I'd never even heard of some of the procedures and ingredients he'd described.

I wonder why he tried so hard. I know he can hardly be willing to help. It was a misunderstanding, all those years ago. We would have tried to make it up, tried mend our bridges with him, if he'd let us. But he just quietly hated us, never spoke to us. I could hardly believe that he agreed to make the potion for me now, let alone accept me as a teacher.

Of course he's still sniping -- that essay on werewolves, oh, how clever -- and yet, I don't think he meant for the students to discover the truth and get me tossed out. I really don't. At least, I think I don't. I don't know what I think.

In his office, last night, I drank the horrible stuff again, none too soon. I could already smell the dry sweat on his arms.

He looks ragged, and he was always small, but the man can withstand impossible temperatures, and he's got a wiry strength, especially in those arms. He was the only one in the class willing to carry a boiling cauldron across the room, that day when Peter put the cockroach eyes in his Calming Draught too soon. We were all turning sluggish from the fumes, and one of the Slytherin girls had even passed out. And Severus picked up the cauldron and carried it to the window. His hands blistered terribly, because he hadn't even taken the time to put on a pair of gloves; he knew he had to act. I've seldom seen a Gryffindor do as much.

I admit now that I thought it was out of character then, but now, I'm not so sure. I'm not so sure that he wouldn't do it again. That he hasn't done it again. I don't know what happened to him, those years when he was missing. Oh, yes, I know he bears the Dark Mark and I know what that must mean. But then and now, Severus is equally capable of icy dismissal and ultimate courage.

Is that why he makes the potion for me? Because he has to? Because he knows he has to protect the students, and because he follows Dumbledore?

A man like Severus Snape does not follow blindly. He did once, following Sirius, and maybe a second time, maybe Voldemort. But a man like that does not make mistakes if he can help it. Born a perfectionist. Born determined to do everything exactly as it should be done. Born brilliant, and yet... born dependent. He needed us to know that he could do everything. And he wanted someone's approval. I think anyone's might have done, really. Anyone's.

That, at least, I can understand.

But I found James, and Sirius, and Peter. Friends willing to study at all hours, friends willing to undertake danger so that I would never have to be alone. Severus never had anyone like that. I suppose he could have made friends, if he had been able to let himself. If they had reached out to him. But even then, he kept his own hours, his own space, his own distance.

He didn't say much last night. He asked whether I had made any arrangements I had to, and I told him I'd taken care of everything. Robin Sprouts, bless her heart, will water the plants in the classroom, and the elves know where to leave food, and nothing else was pressing.

And then he asked how Harry was doing. "Young Potter," he called him. I told him I'd started teaching Harry the Patronus charm.

"Yes, well, when he puts his mind to learning, he can manage, more or less."

That's what he said. From Severus, that's more or less high praise. I could have laughed if my stomach hadn't already started to cramp.

I am tired already. It's later than I thought; with the clouds, I'd hardly noticed time passing. The sun is already above my window.

I keep meaning to ask him about Harry. How he managed in his first two years. I've heard the facts from Dumbledore, of course -- through seven hazards only to face down Voldemort himself, at a mere eleven; and destroying a basilisk and a dangerous dark charm at twelve. But Dumbledore doesn't discuss Harry the person. Harry the boy. He leaves this to us, with all the students, to discover them ourselves.

But I don't have enough time. Despite Dumbledore's assurances, I fear discovery, and the reaction of the Ministry. This may be the chance I have to know my best friend's son.

III. January 30

[/center]

Don't know where the rest of yesterday went. I remember Poppy being here, I think, with Severus of course. I think I remember Dumbledore being here, too, saying something. That might have been a dream.

If I don't eat, I'll just gag, and if I do I'll just lose it again. My sheets are stuck to my legs. I must have been sweating all night.

It's worse this time. Worse than it's ever been. I must tell Severus. Someone must keep watch, in case it fails altogether.

---

He came at noon. He almost tripped over the tray the house-elves had left. I haven't eaten today. He told me I had better give it a go. No, actually, I quote, "Don't be an idiot, Remus. You have to keep up your strength." More or less tender, for Severus Snape.

Regardless of the lack of bedside manner, I was grateful when he brought the tray to me. I managed to eat the rice and beans, tasteless though they seemed. It is true that meat can overwhelm me during those three days, but anything less is like grazing. I am a wolf, not a cow. But they mean well. I managed.

He stared at my face while I ate. Fortunately I was too tired, too wrecked to bother with feeling unnerved. Anyway, it was Severus; the man never did know when to look away. And it's not as though he hasn't seen me in this state before.

[potterknowitall]

Nialle - Au Clair de la Lune, con't

I know I must reek. My hair is stuck to my head. I should take a bath, but the water feels too cold no matter what I do; it's as though my skin misses the fur, can't bear wetness, can't hold heat without it. I can feel little changes of heat in the air, too, and every fibre of the blanket. If Severus hadn't closed the curtains, the sunlight would have been enough to leave me sweating, and only the coolness of the stone wall keeps me from feeling feverish now. There is no medium. I am at extremities all the time.

I told him. I told him that I could hardly breathe last night. That my joints ache, that every scent worsens the pounding in my head. He said that the potion was never meant to be taken six months in a row. He doesn't think it will fail for us, but he said the side effects may grow worse, right up until the end of the term.

I should be ashamed of crying. Crying in front of Severus Snape, of all people. It's only three days, once a month, nothing a man shouldn't be able to bear.

I wish James were here. He would have understood.

IV. January 31

He does understand. Severus. I can hardly believe it, but he does.

He came last night, with the third dose. The last one for this cycle. But he stood outside the door and called to me, instead of just walking in. By then, I was less human than animal; I think I growled, or maybe screamed. He came in, carefully. Paused to open the curtains. I think I shrank from the cold light, the grey light of the swollen moon.

I think I resisted taking that final draught. I think he had to hold the cup to my lips. I drank it down, finally, and though my body revolted, shook, sweated, struggled against it, the red haze at last lifted from my eyes, and I saw him, quietly waiting.

He asked how I felt, and I told him, more or less human. He offered me the second goblet. He'd brought a basic sleeping draught.

I remember putting my hand on his arm. His skin was cool to the touch, a relief to my feverish hand. His skin was smooth, dusted with black hair, over the iron wire of muscle beneath. He pulled his hand away, but he put the second goblet on the bedside table. And waited.

There were so many things I wanted to say. My thanks for his help, he would have brushed off. My doubts about the potion he would have quietly dismissed, with a recitation of facts, with a quick lecture about the potion's workings.

My apologies, my regrets, about that time so long ago, he would have ignored. He would not have believed that Sirius hadn't meant to hurt him. I think he would not have believed I hadn't meant to hurt him. That I had wanted to befriend him. That I had wanted to be able to speak with him, about anything. Class, theory, or life. My old wishes, my old fears, he would not have wanted to hear.

So I said only, "About Harry. I meant to ask you about Harry."

"What about him?" he asked.

"I see his determination. His grief for his parents, still. His fear. Of the Dementors, of Voldemort, of... failure, too. But I really don't know who he is. I haven't known him, really, at all."

Severus sat down on the side of the bed, sighed, folded his wiry arms. "Young Potter," he mused. "He is resourceful. He has a gift for finding trouble, but... he has a way of handling it. He is resourceful." More or less respectful, oddly enough.

"What has he been like? What has he done? I know the facts, the short version of the story, but I don't know what he thinks, what he wants."

"You spend more time with him than any of us," he replied.

"But he's... formal. I am teaching him a charm. I am a teacher to him. Not a friend. Not someone he... confides in."

"He is like his father, that way."

I nodded. James. Formal with everyone, in that quaint and honourable Gryffindor way. But James had also played with me. Wizard's chess. Pranks and hide-and-go-seek. The Invisibility Cloak. Those strange romps in the Shrieking Shack.

Severus flexed his fingers. "I believe he respects you a good deal. He has certainly taken[/i] your class" -- emphasis on the 'your,' enough to make me smile -- "quite seriously this year. The subject fascinates him, perhaps for obvious reasons."

"I wish he'd just talk to me, though. I could talk to him about his friends, about life among... our kind. I could... I could tell him about James."

"You could probably give him terrible ideas." Severus' eyebrow arched, the closest he ever came to a smile.

I shook my head. "I just want to know him. He is... so much like his father. So much the child James would have wanted. I wish he'd talk to me. About anything."

Snape sighed, reached for the second goblet. A little cloud of steam rolled back over his hand, touching the black hairs with tiny drops of moisture, which sparkled in the light from the terrible moon. His crabbed fingers were roped with veins. I looked up at his face and realised how old we were, how old we were becoming. Old enough to have children Harry's age. Old enough to have found some comfort, by now. Old enough to have made peace, by now.

"Why don't you ask him?" Severus murmured.

"What?"

"Anything," Severus said. "He would love to hear about... about his father. He wants your acceptance. Ask him. He would talk to you."

"What if... I'm his teacher. Severus, we're adults. We're the enemy, you know," I smiled ruefully.

"I am. Disciplinarian. Slytherin." He took a breath, balancing the cup against his thigh.

I could think of nothing to say.

"Young Potter is every bit as... you will, I hope, excuse the honesty... irritating... as Potter himself. Proud. Disrespectful of rules. A little too quick to think what is best for others, by his own standards. But he is his father's son, and you are his father's friend."

I took a breath. "Severus... we all might have been. Friends. If you would only...."

"Your hands are shaking," he said slowly, "and I believe you are not quite your usual self. The Lupin I remember was quite reserved, and the Lupin I have since met is no less so."

"Severus," I tried again.

He held up a hand: the silencing gesture that could still a roomful of students. "Each of us lives with a poison in our blood, Remus. Each of us has a past. None of us can escape it, and I rather believe it is foolish to try." I saw his eyes slip to the Dark Mark, there on his arm, smoky black in stark contrast to his pale skin. "Yet... at least we can fight past it. As you must, and will."

"You can't give me a potion for missing James and Lily," I said, and tried desperately to keep the blame from my voice.

"I can't give anyone a potion to erase the truth," he answered coldly. "Not myself, and not you. And not Young Potter. We only have each day, as it comes."

"So little time in a day."

"So much," he whispered. "But now. Drink this down. It is over for now, or will be by morning."

"Severus."

He froze when my hands touched his, cupping his hands around the goblet, the faintly herbal steam rising up between our faces.

"Severus, I..." couldn't think of how to say it, any of it.

"You need only ask him. Potter would talk to you," he said, and pulled his hands from under mine.

"And would you?" I implored. "Would you talk, if I asked you to?"

"I have essays to grade," he answered quietly. "I will speak with you next month--"

"Or at tea, or at dinner," I interrupted. "Or in the library. I could ask your insight into some of these lessons." That was the wrong thing to say. "You could tell me about the school. About being here. We could talk anytime. Severus--"

"Drink it," he commanded, putting a finger to the bottom of the goblet and lifting it toward my face.

"There is never any time--"

"There is enough for your anti-Dementor lessons. So use it."

I looked down at the goblet, and then I lifted it to my lips. It tasted of chamomile. There is no chamomile in a basic sleeping draught.

"The chamomile is a nice touch," I whispered, and tried to keep the pleading from my voice.

"Goodnight, Remus," he answered. And he took the goblet from my hands, without touching me, and the other from the side of the bed, and he was gone.

The warmth of the potion traveled to my belly, and my stomach cramped, but I kept the potion down. Then I realised: he had talked to me. He had told me about Harry. He had understood. Severus Snape had understood.

I lay back on the pillows, felt my eyes start to close, and thought about Harry. About the son I would not have. About the black-haired boy I had known in school, many years ago. Who might be a friend, given time, more or less. More a help, or more the one unafraid to help, and less likely to say much about it.

But there is, there is, there is time. Enough. It is enough. And the moon is finally waning.

[potterknowitall]

Nierme - Tears from the Past

This story is very long, and may still be updated from time to time. To read the entire story, click here.

[potterknowitall]

Rue - Candy Corn

A few years back when I was a naïve fourth year, one of my friends jokingly exclaimed that I give people presents so often, sooner or later I'd begin giving them presents on my birthday. That year each of my friends had received a gift on March 19th, my 15th birthday. But after that first introduction to my new custom, I have been most often picking just one friend to present a present to on my special occasion days. I chose Dumbledore for graduation partly because I wanted him to know what a big part in my education he did play, but more importantly because it took me two years to think of the perfect present.

As I walked to my dormitory to retrieve the present, I thought about it thoroughly, making sure it really was perfect. I was giving him two things: Peanut butter cookies which I was able to borrow the kitchen long enough to bake, and a muggle book- The Giver by Lois Lowry. While reading the book over Christmas break, I had come up with the insane idea that Dumbledore was the Giver and I the Receiver. I needed to know if he thought that too.

No, I made a mistake. At the moment I was a student and Dumbledore was a book in the Restricted Section which I longed to read. He had only ever written me one note of permission, and that note was for only one chapter. If Dumbledore read this Muggle book and identified us as the same characters, he might let me open his book again; his book of memories.

*

Whenever I entered Dumbledore's office in the past, I felt unnerved. Being in the place where Dumbledore spends the majority of his time, where he figures out answers to problems which have been baffling all witches and wizards for centuries, made me feel inadequate. This time, though, I felt at home.

As soon as I knocked on the door and entered, Dumbledore asked me to sit down. I picked the chair with a floppy blue sleeping bag and quilt dumped over it. I recognized those blankets to be Flin's, my friend; he spent most of his time hanging out in Dumbledore's office, helping Dumbledore with his brilliant plots and ideas. It was comforting to see the blankets sprawled out so naturally, and I knew that this chair was Flin's and I was welcome to also sprawl. Dumbledore arose out of his desk chair and seated himself next to me in a brown leather chair to my left.

"Yes, Miss Nuvem, I'm very pleased you decided to call again." Dumbledore surveyed his office, his eyes smiling when he reached the sleeping bag I was sitting on. "I apologize for the disorder of my office."

I grinned. I couldn't hold it back, and it made Dumbledore chuckle. We knew the covers made it more home-like, instead of disorderly, and anything of a student's which appeared in Dumbledore's office was always exactly in its right place. I was instantly more relaxed, and held out my plate of peanut butter cookies. "A graduation present. I hope you're not allergic to peanuts."
Dumbledore smiled just at me. "Madam Pomfrey has been warning me I should be more cautious with the sugar I eat, but with fine men and women like Berty Bott and Arthur Drooble, and you, Miss Nuvem," he added as he took a bite of a cookie, "I am finding that increasingly difficult."

"I'm usually the guilty one for crimes of that sort," I answered. Peanut butter cookies are almost always the perfect present, but the book I wasn't as sure about. I blushed. "Here," I said. "I have one more present. When I give people presents they need to be perfect, and your present wouldn't be perfect without this. So, here's a muggle book I'd like you to read." I handed him The Giver and was about to add, "If you have the time" when Dumbledore let out a cry of surprise, which was one of the few things I had never in my life expected to come out of Dumbledore's lips.

"Aberforth," Dumbledore whispered. He lightly stroked the picture of the man on the cover, and I noticed tears in his eyes. I froze.

*

The last time I had visited Dumbledore in his office was the only time I had gone without being accompanied by Flin. I had noticed Dumbledore looked a bit off-colour at dinner. He didn't often eat dinner in the Great Hall because of recent business trips to the Ministry which were unavoidable. Eating in his office was also easier to do while working. But once a week or so, Dumbledore did make sure to eat with his students. Many students thought he ate in the Great Hall less frequently than once a week because we had rolling meal times, and in a two or three hour period students and teachers were welcome to eat their meals at whatever time was most convenient. I'd asked around, though, and Dumbledore hadn't missed a week yet.

At this particular mealtime, Dumbledore sat alone at the head table. Other teachers sat down next to him one by one and began to talk, but soon the teachers got up and sat farther down along the table. This happened to five teachers, leaving Dumbledore sitting alone at the center for most of his meal. Dumbledore had a rather hearty appetite, but that day his meal consisted of one cup of a liquid which looked like coffee or hot chocolate.

I knew Flin was studying in his dorm room and didn't want to disturb him to ask about Dumbledore. Instead, after Dumbledore had left the Great Hall and walked in the direction of his office, I walked to the kitchens and gathered a plate of food and a tall glass of milk.

I gently carried the tray to his office, amidst many jeers that I had decreased to the social status of a house elf. I actually cursed at people for maybe the first time in my life and walked faster toward Dumbledore's office. Flin had mentioned Dumbledore's new password just a few days ago. He was very proud that he was the one to introduce Dumbledore to candy corn. The password turned out to be a blessing. The statue moved aside without me having to fumble around with the tray in order to get a free hand. Dumbledore's door, however, was another issue all together. I wasn't able to free a hand to knock, because I would have had to withdraw the hand far enough away from the door for it to make a sound, and the tray would be too unstable in just one hand. The milk in the glass was very near the brim. I didn't think about kicking the door as an informal replacement for a knock until much later, when I was reviewing the situation. At the time I could only think of one alternative. I lowered both hands (and the tray) toward the door handle and fumbled with it (spilling the milk only a tiny bit) and walked right in.

I should have knocked, even if I would have had to set the tray down to do it and then pick it up again after Dumbledore gave me permission to enter. But instead I walked straight in and saw Dumbledore doing something extraordinary. Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office chair. He had his face bent down so he didn't see me enter. He was cradling his head in his hands and he was weeping, the tears running down to moisten his long, silver beard.

He looked up at my gasp and I nearly dropped the tray, but caught it in time to set it safely on his desk, even though I was scared to walk closer to him.

"I brought you food," I said bluntly, into the all too thick silence. "You didn't eat much at dinner, and I got worried."

My face was on fire. Dumbledore pulled a handkerchief out of his robe pockets and dabbed at his eyes. "Yes, I have not been able to eat well for the past few days." He paused, thoroughly wiping his face. Then he tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket. "I thought the students, with their own ferocious appetites, would not notice my lack of one."

He looked at me and my heart was hammering and I didn't know what to do. He had wiped all the traces of tears from his face and the only evidence left was the sadness that was seeping all through his body. "Um," I began. "Being one of those students, I mean, I always have an appetite and maybe that's why I don't notice it often, but, maybe… since the dinner I ate ten minutes ago feels like hours away, I could help you eat this dinner so the house elves won't be disappointed by being returned with a full tray. They might take it as an insult."

Dumbledore gave a sorrowful smile. "You do not wish to hear the troubles of an old man."

"I know," I whispered. My voice was caught in my throat and I was having trouble making it louder without croaking. "But I want to help you any way I can, and if hearing your troubles helps, I'm more than willing."

[potterknowitall]

Rue - Candy Corn, con't

I don't know what I expected Dumbledore to do, but he gave me a long, calculating look. I stared back into his eyes, even though my own were feeling weak at the great amount of sadness in his. He stood up without a word, walked to the other side of the room, and sat in an armchair, beckoning for me to do the same.

I carried the tray over and set it on a small, Mahogany table I hadn't noticed before. Dumbledore and I sat in the two chairs on either side of the table. We were in a comfortable silence. I took the silence to look over Dumbledore. Ho looked weary, as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep for a few nights in a row. His beard wasn't combed, though seeing it now in small tangles was the only way I had ever noticed that he must usually comb it. His body sagged into the chair while his head and shoulders remained upright enough to still be polite, but authoritative. But then the shoulders submitted to the comfort of the chair and he watched me instead of his now empty plate. He began telling me the cause of his lost sleep.

*

That night, now two or three years ago, was what made me believe that Dumbledore was an actual person instead of a genius from another planet. He told me the story of his brother, Aberforth, and about Aberforth's sickness. Since Aberforth loved and lived with muggles, he wouldn't let anyone perform magical remedies on him, and he died peacefully, after many days of waiting for the outcome. Dumbledore had been understandably strained, and the day I saw him was the day he had read the obituaries of the muggle newspaper from that small island off of Maine where Aberforth lived.

I knew Dumbledore didn't want to put any unnecessary burdens on me, and Dumbledore knew that I wanted nothing more than to take every single one off of his own shoulders. We compromised without discussing it. He let me comb his beard. It was one of the strangest situations I've been in, but I combed it out until it shone like the moons and stars on his robes. We talked, or rather, I talked, since I reprimanded him every time he moved his mouth. I felt like a 8 year-old attending a sleepover.

Once Professor McGonagall walked in when Dumbledore and I were back in our original chairs and his beard was laid out impressively across his armrest. I don't know if it was the shine in his beard or his eyes, but once she poked her head in she smiled a genuine smile and poked her head right back out again.

I slept in my chair and Dumbledore conjured up a comfortable bed for himself, since he said his limbs must be at ease in order to not trouble his mind. He also conjured blankets and a pillow for me, and though he would never admit to it, I'm positive he made them extra soft and warm.

And that's how we slept. I think that was more productive than the beard-shining, since everyone in trouble can find comfort in the sound of someone else's rhythmic breathing.

The next morning I woke up back in my own bed in my own dormitory and smiled. At breakfast Dumbledore's eye held an extra twinkle for me, and I drank a glass of milk instead of orange juice. We never mentioned it after that. But now, sitting in his office once again, having uncovered sorrow by the strangest coincidence of events, I didn't know what to do. So I smiled at Dumbledore, and burrowed into Flin's sleeping bag.