Chapter 13- Snape

The dark haired man panted as he rounded another corner, his feet skidding on a few loose stones. They skittered noisily across the pavement as he let out a muffled curse. He grabbed the edge of the wall to steady himself and pushed off of it, regaining the momentum he'd lost. He kept running. Down one street, then another, never stopping for breath. His robes snapped behind him like a flag as he dashed. He panted heavily as he put one leaden foot in front of the other. It felt like he had been running for days.

Finally, he saw the house. It was eerily still and quiet. He crashed unceremoniously through the front door, which was already swinging freely on its hinges, the latch broken. It slammed into the wall and bounced back. He paid it no mind. His eyes darted frantically around the place, catching on a pair of brown, sightless eyes staring up at him from the floor to his right. Not what he was looking for. He turned and pushed himself through an open doorway to his left. He searched one room, then another, never stopping longer than the time it took to survey the scene before running off again to the next place. Running. Always running.

He took the stairs two at a time, narrowly dodging a hole that would have sent him sprawling, likely with a broken ankle. He didn't have time for that. His footsteps echoed hollowly around him in the stillness. He arrived at last on the upper floor. He cursed again. There were too many doors. He threw open the first one and looked inside. A large bed, sheets rumpled. Empty. He turned to the next door. It banged open to reveal a sink cluttered with bottles, a toilet, and a tub filled with brightly colored toys. Maybe the next one. He paused, his hand millimeters from the wooden door. A breeze came from beyond the door, which stood slightly ajar. Steeling himself, he at last threw it open.

There she stood, as bewitching as always. Her back was turned, but he could have recognized the shape of her, the exact pattern of her curves, even in the dark. Her red hair flew in the breeze blowing through the gaping hole where the outer wall of the room should have been. The floor was littered with debris and tiny toys, but he had eyes only for her as she turned to face him. His breath caught and his heart stopped as he at last beheld her visage. Her face was screwed up in rage, emerald green eyes shining with malice. Even still, she was as beautiful as she was terrifying. She clutched a ragged bundle in her arms.

"How could you?!" she screeched at him, her voice echoing eerily through the room and seeming to drive into his very soul. "How could you do this to us?! To our son!?"

"I-I didn't know," he stammered, his own voice sounding pale and feeble compared to hers. "I didn't know he was ours. I didn't know it would be you."

"Pathetic excuses!" She continued as her green eyes flashed unnaturally, as they had always done when she was angry. "You should have tried harder! You should have stood up to him! You should have stopped it!" She took a step towards him, crunching drywall dust and pieces of a wooden train beneath her bare feet. "I trusted you and this is how you repaid me!?"

The man stepped back, retreating from the imposing figure.

"I didn't mean to!" He protested. "I swear! I couldn't stop it! I was too weak! Too afraid! I- I-"

"You are a coward and you disgust me," she spat. "I don't know how I ever loved you. It was a mistake." She began turning away.

"No! No, please. I can be better. I can fix it. I-"

"FIX IT?! NO ONE CAN FIX IT! Look at what you've done. LOOK!" Suddenly, she thrust the bundle out towards him. He took it in shaking hands.

He saw an infant's face, the child only just past a year old. He had dark hair, a long face, but still rounded with youth, a dominant nose, and green eyes that stared, unseeing through his own. As he watched, the face changed, morphed, grew. The body lengthened and the face matured until he was staring down at a sixteen year-old Harry Potter. He crumpled under the weight of the larger boy, his knees landing hard on the floor and sending up small clouds of dust. His eyes never left the boy's face.

"Harry!" he cried. He shook the boy vigorously, but his head only lolled back and forth sickeningly. He clutched the boy to his chest, searching for a sign of life.

"HARRY!" he shouted again, louder. The boy did not stir. His chest did not rise and fall. His pale face was devoid of the flush of life. The man stared, disbelieving.

"You see!?" the woman cried, again, "He cannot be saved! This is all because of you! You were too much of a coward to stop him, and now look what you've done! Our son is dead!"

"No!" he moaned pitifully. "No, it's not supposed to be like this! I was supposed to protect him!"

"You can't protect him! You can't even protect yourself! Look at you!"

He looked down at himself, and suddenly bruises and cuts blossomed across his body. He was aware of a splitting pain in his head, and he realized he could hardly breathe. He doubled over in pain, slumped forward over Harry's body, which he still gripped tightly in his hands.

"No!" he gasped. "No! Please! It's all wrong! It's not supposed to be like this! Please! Make it stop!" he begged. The woman merely looked at him with hate-filled eyes, turned her back, and walked away.

"NO! Come back!" he called after her, but she did not turn back.

He looked into the lifeless eyes of the young man still wrapped in his arms and sobbed.

"Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry," he choked out. "So sorry," he repeated as the edges of his vision dimmed. "So...sorry."

The last thing he saw before he saw no more, were the lifeless emerald eyes of his son, exactly like his mother's, staring forever into eternity.

Severus slowly blinked his eyes open in the dimly lit room. The first thought that came to him was one of confusion.

The second was pain.

He groaned and stretched back his head in an attempt to arch his back and ease the pain. His movements were far less than what he expected. A rustling beside him startled him, and he turned his head to investigate. He had barely moved it a few centimeters when tawny hair flecked with grey and concerned, pale green eyes swam into his field of vision. The eyes widened in surprise and the face vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He groaned again. What was the werewolf doing here?

And where was here, anyway?

Rather than trying to move, which seemed to be a futile task, anyway, he blinked a few times to clear his vision and observed his surroundings. White ceiling tiles set at regular intervals with mirrored lanterns, currently dimmed. A side table covered in half-empty potions phials. A chart on the wall with his name, the nurse's name, the date, and the time of last medication dosing. And beneath his hands, stiff, thin sheets, rough from too much washing.

He was clearly at St. Mungo's. He took a closer look at the date. November the 8th. The last thing he remembered was playing chess with Harry, but that was on November the 2nd. No, that wasn't quite right. The last thing he remembered was… torture… at the hands of Death Eaters, and… Lily? Harry? No. That couldn't have been right. Lily was dead and Harry was, as far as he knew, still safely at Hogwarts. The torture he was sure of, but the other was just a blur like a half-remembered dream.

At that moment, a nurse wearing bright green robes walked in the room, trailed by Lupin.

"Ah! Our patient is awake!" the nurse said cheerfully as she waved her wand and increased the lights. Severus squinted his eyes against the painful brightness and felt the head of his bed elevating, raising him into a more reclined position, rather than laying flat as he had been. "It's been a while. How are you feeling?" she asked, even as she had already begun waving her wand over his body.

"Not well," he croaked. His voice sounded rough from disuse.

"Well, that's to be expected. Your friend, here, tells us you were under the Cruciatus for a long time, in addition to the physical beatings and other curses. We've got you on a treatment regimen, but it can take time for Cruciatus damage to heal fully. Where does it hurt the most?"

"Ribs," he croaked again. She waved her wand over that spot and inspected the runes that appeared.

"You had a break, but we healed it up days ago. I'll have the specialist come in and look at it more closely. It's possible there's a fracture we missed. Anything else?"

"Head."

She gave him a sympathetic look.

"Yeah, unfortunately, there's not much I can do about that one. It's a side effect of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus. The neurological symptoms tend to linger. The good news is that you passed all our early cognitive tests, and the fact that you're awake is a good sign." She glanced at his chart on the wall. "It's been long enough that I can give you another pain potion, if you want. It might put you back to sleep again, though. You want it now, or later?"

Severus tested the pain by turning his head experimentally from side to side. It was bearable, but only just.

"Later," he replied, bringing his hand up to massage a particularly tender spot. He was pleased to note that his hands obeyed, though they shook alarmingly.

"All right. Well, the Healer in Residence will want to see you and do some more cognitive testing, now that you're more alert. I'll send him along as soon as I can. In the meantime, if you need anything, there's a panel on the side of your bed. If you press your hand to it for three seconds, it'll send us an alert and someone will come to check on you. Or send your friend, here. He knows where to find us. Let me know when you're ready for that pain potion."

Severus gave her the barest of nods and she turned and left the room. It was then that he remembered the other person present. His "friend."

"What are you doing here?" he tried to say, but it was too much for his dry and scratchy throat and it came out instead as a sort of prolonged growl.

"Well, good evening to you, too," the man replied in a teasing tone, filling a small cup of water from the pitcher on the end table. He handed it to Severus, who took it carefully in both hands. He was tempted to gulp it down, but he knew small sips were best and managed to restrain himself. When he had drunk half the meager amount, he lowered the cup to his lap and cleared his throat.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again. It came out much clearer this time.

"Guarding you."

"Why?"

"Because Voldemort is trying to kill you."

"Obviously. I meant why you."

"Because I volunteered."

"Why?"

"Why not?" the werewolf replied, insufferably. Severus merely glared at him and took another sip from his cup.

Lupin ignored his censure.

"I sent a patronus to Dumbledore," he continued. "He wanted to know when you woke up. I expect he'll be here soon." Lupin glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's early enough, he might even bring Harry."

Snape turned to look at Lupin.

"Is Harry all right?" he asked.

"Harry's fine," Lupin replied, waving his hand dismissively. "Worried about you, obviously, but otherwise okay. Don't tell him I told you, though. He doesn't think anyone's noticed." Lupin raised one eyebrow and tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. Severus seriously considered punching him.

"What's happened?" he asked instead. His desire for information outweighed his dislike of the messenger.

"Not much, honestly," Lupin replied, leaning back in his chair. "It's been quiet. The Aurors managed to round up a few straggling Death Eaters, but they seem like new recruits. They don't know anything. Voldemort's moved on somewhere new. Draco Malfoy also escaped. We've been looking for him, though. He's still got the Trace on him, so we thought he'd be easy to find, but they must have him under a Fidelius or something, because we've had no luck."

"Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts is Hogwarts. Dumbledore says it's pretty much business as usual, so at least there's that."

"Only he would consider my abduction by a student to be 'business as usual.' What about my classes?"

Lupin smiled slyly.

"Dumbledore told me he pulled Slughorn out of retirement."

Snape groaned as Lupin chuckled good naturedly. Severus considered punching him again and wondered if it would be more effective if he hit him in the nose or the stomach.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Lupin continued. "He was the one who taught you potions, so you'd think you'd approve of his teaching methods."

"I taught myself potions," Snape refuted. "And it's not the teaching methods that irk me. The man is an insufferable opportunist only concerned with fame."

"Yes, I remember. I'm sure Harry is loving it." Remus said with a smirk. Severus cursed. Remus laughed.

At that moment, Dumbledore arrived in the room with a pop.

"Good evening, gentlemen! Severus, it is good to-"

"You're awake!" Harry interrupted the old man, pulling off his Invisibility Cloak and tossing it on the foot of Severus's bed. The other two men quickly stepped to the corner of the room and began a quiet conversation, leaving Harry and Severus as alone as could be reasonably expected.

Severus examined the boy for any hint of injury, despite Lupin's reassurance that he was untouched. He looked unchanged, except for the dark circles under his eyes.

"So it would seem," Severus finally replied.

"I was…" Harry began, before changing tactics. He cleared his throat. "How are you feeling?"

Severus felt like he'd been run over by the Hogwarts Express. Repeatedly.

"A little sore," he said.

"Yeah, Lupin said it was pretty bad. He got you out as soon as he could."

Severus cast a calculating glance at the greying man currently talking to Dumbledore on the other side of the room. He had not mentioned that he'd been the one responsible for Severus's rescue. It seemed there was more to this story than he was being told.

"Do not concern yourself. I will be fine."

"I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to concern myself, actually. I think it's, like, part of the job description, or something. Ginny said she was worried about her dad when he was here last year, anyway."

Severus tried not to react to Harry's declaration of worry, though it touched him deeply. Lupin was right. The boy was trying very hard to play it cool.

"Then I think it is also my job to tell you not to worry. How are your studies?"

"Fine. You've got a substitute."

"Yes, I have heard. Harry, do not let him deceive you. Professor Slughorn is cunning and ambitious and will try to...collect you."

"For the Slug Club? Yeah, he sent little cards out to me and Hermione this morning. Ron didn't get one, and Slughorn's only going to be at Hogwarts for a little while, anyway, so we weren't planning to go."

"A wise decision. And quidditch?"

"Ron's still a mess, but he's doing better. Our first match is next Saturday against Slytherin. I'm hoping he can get it together by then."

"I am rather hoping he cannot. It will give Slytherin a better chance to win."

"Oh, so you'd choose house loyalty over your own son, would you?" Harry joked.

"In matters of quidditch, without question," Severus returned before his expression grew suddenly serious. "In anything else, I would never."

Harry fidgeted awkwardly, shuffling his feet and swiping his hand across the back of his neck and up into his hair causing it to stand up on end. Severus used to hate this maneuver, as it reminded him of the way James Potter preened like a peacock, constantly trying to achieve the just-stepped-off-my-broomstick look. He had come to realize that the gesture was not at all the same for Harry, though. It was a nervous habit, often followed up by a futile attempt to pat his hair down again, as the boy was doing now.

"Tell me more about Potions. What has Professor Slughorn been teaching you?" he asked the boy. Harry looked mildly relieved at the change of subject.

And so, Harry launched into a description of his first class with Slughorn. Snape was mildly amused that he recognized portions of the lesson from his own time in NEWT-level potions. He perked up when Harry told him about the Felix Felicis that was being offered as a reward. While he generally disapproved of the potion and thought it should be placed on the Banned Brews list, he had to admit that Harry would probably be able to make good use of twelve hours of good luck. And if it was something his son wanted to achieve, which he clearly did, and something Severus was more than capable of helping him with, then he would do whatever he could to assist him.

"I caution you strongly against the use of such a potion," Severus said once Harry was finished. "Once ingested, the effect can be...euphoric. Many witches and wizards have driven themselves to insanity through the use of such a substance. Though we do review it in my class, on a purely academic level, I have never provided a sample to any student, nor taught students how to brew it. I do see, however, the potential benefits in your unique case. For you, a bit of luck could be the difference between life and death, and in fact has been many times. If you would like, I can give you some advice that will help give you an advantage over your classmates."

"You'd do that? Even though you don't like it?"

"Sometimes it is necessary to put aside one's own qualms for the sake of others. You will find that I disapprove of most any substance that creates a feeling of intoxication or removes inhibitions, including alcohol. Though many people can consume such substances without negative repercussions, for some, one drink or one drop is all it takes to develop a debilitating addiction. The consequences of such an addiction can affect many people, not just the one who imbibes. I do not wish that for myself, nor do I wish it for you.

However, Felix Felicis is considered safe when consumed in very small quantities, such as the one you are being offered. Though it can cause an extreme feeling of glee while under its effects, it does not also produce an emptiness or depression when it wears off. The high without the ensuing low is thought to produce less of a chemical dependency. In fact, it is only those with significant predisposition to addictive behavior who are ensnared by it. The problem, though, is that a person does not generally know they are predisposed to addiction until it is too late.

I have mentioned very little about my childhood to you, but it is important, in this context, that you understand that my father was an unrepentant alcoholic. This is a trait often passed to children. As I have no desire to emulate my father, I have made it a point to avoid such things in my own life. I fear, were I to brew Felix Felicis myself, even once, that I would not be able to stop myself from brewing it again and again until I descended into madness. But you are not brewing it, nor will you ever, nor will I brew it for you. You also have not inherited any addictive behaviors from myself, nor from your mother, though that does not mean you are not still at risk. However, I am aware that I cannot expect you to follow the same path of abstinence I have put myself upon. Just as I will not prohibit you from drinking alcohol upon your coming of age, if that should be your choice, I will also not prohibit you from seeking to attain a single dosage of Felix Felicis. Now that you know the consequences, you are better equipped to make an informed decision. I will not pass judgement on you based upon your decision, as it is yours to make."

He watched as the wheels in Harry's head seemed to spin. Finally, the boy nodded.

"I think I still want to do it," he replied. "I get what you're saying, though. I'll be careful with it."

"Then I shall assist you, provided you promise to come to me or another adult if you should find yourself wishing for more of it after it has gone."

"I can do that."

"Good. Then you will need a parchment and quill."

Harry cast his eyes around the room, then pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and triumphantly retrieved a perforated roll of parchment and a lime green self-inking quill with the words "St. Mungo's Hospital" emblazoned on it.

"I'm ready," he said.

"You have just finished the second phase of the resuscitation draught, correct?" Severus asked. Harry nodded. "All right. In the third phase, the first instruction will tell you to raise the heat of the potion to 85 degrees, instead, heat it to 95 for one minute, before reducing your flame as small as you can make it and allowing the potion to come back down to 80 degrees. Then you may proceed with adding…"

He described the changes in the potion and Harry wrote them down diligently. When he had finished, he had Harry read them back to him, correcting one or two minor errors. By the time they were finished, Severus was rubbing his head almost constantly as the ache from before had magnified to a point it could no longer be ignored, even in favor of Harry's company. He glanced at the clock.

"It is getting late. You should return to Hogwarts," he said to Harry.

Severus saw panic and disappointment flicker across the boy's face, but they were there for such a short time, he almost wondered if he had imagined them. Harry schooled his features and nodded, turning to tap Dumbledore on the shoulder. Severus spoke to the older man a while as Harry and Lupin briefly caught up, then Harry donned his cloak and Dumbledore popped them both away.

Lupin returned to Severus's bedside and settled himself back down in the chair, pulling a worn book from the windowsill and opening it to a dog-eared page. Severus regarded the man warily. Lupin must have felt his gaze, because he raised his eyes to meet Severus's. His brow wrinkled in concern.

"Are you in pain? Should I call for the nurse?" Lupin inquired.

Severus rubbed across his aching head again, but said nothing. They stared at each other for several long minutes. At last Severus spoke.

"Harry tells me it was you who saved me."

"It was."

"He also tells me you have been by my bedside every day since."

"I have."

"You did not feel it was important to inform me of these events when we first spoke?"

"No, I did not."

Lupin was not teasing him, but regarding him with a serious, calculating look. Still, Severus was tired of his answers which revealed nothing. He huffed.

"Why not?"

Severus watched as Lupin leaned back in his chair, appearing to think. He pulled a hand through his greying hair and regarded the ceiling tiles with rapt attention. At last he pulled his eyes back to Severus, leaned forward with his hands on his knees, and rested his chin on his long, steepled fingers. He spoke.

"Harry is a remarkable young man. He has faced nearly as much adversity in his short life as I have faced in my significantly longer one, perhaps more, even. He is strong. He is smart. He is talented. Better than that, he's hardworking. He is fiercely loyal. He will do anything to protect those he loves. I am blessed beyond what I deserve to be counted among those privileged few, and I know that, without hesitation, Harry would come immediately to my aid if I required it. But Harry is also still a child and he has the vulnerabilities of a child.

Since I have known him, he has been desperate to find some remnant of family that he can cling to. Do you know what he sees and hears when a dementor is nearby? Lily's dying scream. He once confessed to me that he struggled to produce a patronus at first because that scream was the only time he could ever remember hearing her voice. Can you imagine? As a thirteen year-old boy, he yearned for his parents so much that he was willing to endure the despair of a dementor just so he could hear his mother die, simply because he'd rather hear that horrible sound than nothing at all. I tried to share with him as many pleasant memories of James and Lily as I could, but what he wanted most was evidence that they had loved him, scenes from their life together, and I had precious few of those moments to share. The suspicions that surrounded me during the first war pushed me away from my friends and their son when it should not have. I could not give Harry what he needed, but I did my utmost anyway.

Even now, with less than a year until he reaches the age of maturity, he still wants those same things. He wants to know that he was loved. He wants to know he was valued. And though he would never in a million years say it aloud, he wants to know he is still loved and still valued. Sirius had thought to show those things to him, and maybe he could have bridged some of the gap that I couldn't, but we will never know. And now he's just another person Harry has lost.

And then there's you. As I was watching them torture you and thinking of ways to get you out, I was also listening, and a lot of what I was hearing didn't make any sense. They kept taunting you, calling you names I won't repeat, insinuating things I'd rather not imagine, but they kept coming back to Harry and the fact that you were his father. And I didn't believe them at first, because how could you be? But when Voldemort himself said that he would kill you for your treachery, for, as he said, 'siring the most troublesome thorn in his side,' you finally spoke up. And you defended Harry, even though you knew it would almost certainly worsen your situation. And I knew in that moment that if I didn't get you out of there, you were going to die, and if you really were what they claimed you to be, I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let Harry down again. He couldn't lose anyone else. So I called for the Order, and we got you out.

I thought I'd leave once I got you settled here, but then Dumbledore arrived with Harry and I saw him for the first time wearing his true face. And I knew. In that moment I knew, without a doubt, that he was your son. I have never seen a child look so uncannily like his father as Harry had done before with James, but seeing his real face made the other one look like a cheap mask. And really, why had we not questioned the likeness? It really was unnatural. But for whatever reason, we didn't, so here we are. And so, I talked to him and learned about how you treated him, and at first I was angry with you for turning your back on him when he needed you the most, and you should consider yourself lucky that you were unconscious and safe from my wrath. But the more he talked and the longer I thought about it, the more I understood that you are trying to make up for it. So, I stayed. I wanted to wait at least until I could see for myself what Harry had said: that you were different, that you might actually care for him, that you want to do this right.

I believe now that you do. I believe that you have his best interests at heart. I believe that you loved Lily, and I believe emphatically that she loved you, as it was a part of who she was. I also believe that, if you do this right, that boy will love you, too. He has her heart. You may not have seen it because you have spent so many years blinded to his better nature, but I promise you, he does. His capacity to love is extraordinary. He may not cast as wide a net as Lily did, but he loves those close to him just as deeply as she did. That he was able to forgive you for all the things you have said and done to him over the past six years speaks to the capacity of his heart. He made room in it for me, an old werewolf with nothing to offer him but stories. He will certainly make room in it for his father, no matter what history you share.

But if you do this wrong, if you mess it up, he will never forgive you. You will lose him, probably forever. And he will lose you. Insofar as I am able, I will not allow that to happen. I have failed him too many times. I have not been there when he needed me. I have not fought for him hard enough. I have let him down. In my grief, I allowed myself to think that I was not worthy to be near him when those who he truly needed kept getting picked off one by one, and me, little old useless me, was still here. So, I left, made myself unreachable and allowed myself to be pushed away from him again. I will not do that anymore.

I am not returning to the werewolves. I will take missions that keep me closer to home, so that I can be available if Harry should need me. He should have been my priority to begin with, and I intend to correct that error in judgement immediately. But if we are both to be in his life, we will have to learn to put aside old animosities, for his sake. You are his father, and I do not wish to take that position from you. But neither will I be pushed out of his life simply because we do not care for each other."

Lupin's eyes burned with a ferocity, passion, and vulnerability Severus had never seen before. His own, he was dismayed to realize, were heavy with tears. He felt one slide from the corner of his eye, following a track down his cheek and over his sharp chin, tracing a trail down his neck.

"So, that's why I'm here," Lupin continued, at last leaning back in his chair. "For him, and for you. Apart from his friends, I am probably the person who knows him best, and I would share what I know of him with you to ease the transition and help you both grow closer. I could not save Lily from Voldemort's wrath, but I saved you from it, and I will do everything I can to make sure that it wasn't for nothing. You do not yet know how much that boy needs you, but I promise you, it is much more than you could ever imagine."

Lupin turned away at last, brushing his own tears from his eyes. Severus didn't trust himself to speak, but he knew what must be said.

"Thank you," he croaked. Truly it was a paltry sentiment for the man to whom he owed his life, his second chance. He ruthlessly squashed whatever irritating bit of pride prickled at needing to be rescued. If he was to be what Harry needed him to be, there would be no room for pride. And there would be no room for old grudges, either.

"I am in your debt," Severus continued.

Lupin shook his head.

"Whatever you think you owe me, you don't. Anyone would have done the same."

"No, they would not. Those I once called friends were the very ones shouting curses at me while I lay broken on the floor. I have burned every bridge I ever built. I am unpleasant and difficult to be around. And I have done these things to myself. You say how much Harry needs me, but truly, it is I who needed him. He is a light in my world that has been dark for so very long."

"Though it may sound strange coming from the friend of the man whose wife you had an affair with, I am glad you and Harry have discovered your kinship. The specific circumstances surrounding Harry's…" Lupin hesitated, searching for a word, "beginnings are not something I care to discuss, but I do not fault you for them."

"You have no desire to defend Potter's honor by challenging me to a duel? Punching me? Cursing me?"

Lupin scoffed. "I didn't say I didn't have a desire to do those things. And, honestly, given what we've been to each other for the last twenty years, I'm sure I could find a better reason to do them than defending James's honor. But nothing would be gained by it. James is gone. His honor is meaningless. If I defended anyone's honor it would be Lily's, but I don't think she'd thank me for it, actually. Besides that, it wouldn't be very honorable of me to duel a man who can hardly see straight at the moment, so you're off the hook"

"How magnanimous of you."

"I do try. In all honesty, though, what happened between you was the better part of two decades ago, and it resulted in the creation of Harry, whose virtues I have already highlighted. If it were undone, he wouldn't exist, and that's not something I want to consider. Besides that, any conflict between us would simply drive a wedge and force Harry to choose a side, which I also do not want. So, bygones, and all that, yeah?"

Severus rubbed his aching head and considered Lupin's offer. He was hard pressed to recall a time since meeting the man that they had a positive interaction. The first time he noticed Lupin, he was already one of Potter's sycophants, and therefore firmly cemented on Severus's list of people he disliked. Later learning that he was a werewolf was simply another point against him. But if he really examined what he knew of Lupin, those objections became meaningless.

He already knew Lupin was not a typical werewolf. He did not enjoy transforming and did all he could to distance himself from his animalistic side, unlike some other werewolves he knew. Furthermore, he had long suspected that Lupin had served as the voice of reason within Potter's inner circle. He enjoyed a good joke, to be sure, but then again, who didn't? And from what Severus had seen of Lupin and heard from others, he did not share Potter and Black's desire to be the center of attention, nor their disregard for other people's safety or for their feelings, which were the things which drove Severus most mad. In truth, the curious, academic, responsible, sedate man before him was exactly the sort of person Severus tended to tolerate above others. In truth, he no longer felt as if he actively disliked the man, rather that he simply did not care about him one way or the other.

But, he was a part of Harry's life, and was important to the boy. Indifference would not be good enough. Lupin had extended the olive branch, but Severus would have to take it. With his head feeling like it may actually explode, he stopped thinking so hard, and simply acted.

"Yes. Bygones."

Lupin smiled.

"Excellent. Now, I'm going to immediately jeopardize this tenuous truce by acting as a nursemaid and fetching the Healer. You look like you're in a lot of pain."

Severus's pride prickled again and he started to protest, but thought better of it and gave the man the barest nod as he finally allowed himself to close his eyes and press the heels of his hands into them in another attempt to stop the pain. As he heard the man leave the room, he felt the stiffness begin working its way down his neck and he groaned.

Lupin returned quickly with a nurse, who was carrying what Severus assumed was meant to be a pain potion, though it was either a woefully poor one or one that had been tampered with. When she stopped next to his bed, he took the potion phial from her, surprising them both with his rapid movement. He scrutinized the bottle.

The potion was meant to be sky blue, but it was much paler than it should be. He unstoppered it and smelled. It was clearly a pain potion, and he could detect no other scents, but it was weak, as if it had been stored beneath a sunbeam.

"Has this been kept out of direct sunlight?" Severus asked as he peered at it. Lupin approached and took it from his hands, adding a single drop that Severus recognized as a poison detection potion, clearly on the same mental path as Severus. Though, for all he knew, this could be something Lupin had done to all his potions. It wouldn't surprise him, actually. He was relieved to see that nothing happened, though he hadn't truly expected it to. The pain potion wasn't poisoned, just at the usual low standard characteristic of the hospital.

"Er, no. Should it be?" the nurse replied.

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "Any potioner worth his salt would know this."

"Well, I'm just a Mediwitch, not a potioner. Do you want me to get you another one?"

"As I suspect they have all been stored together, it would likely make very little difference. However, in the morning, I would like to speak to whoever is in charge of your potions storage."

He heard Lupin scoff in an amused way, though he did it while he was storing the poison detection poison in a bag against the wall, his back to Severus. Coward. This truce was proving troublesome already.

"Er, I'll see what I can do," the nurse replied hesitantly.

He would have to ask Dumbledore to transfer him back to Hogwarts as soon as possible. At least Madam Pomfrey knew how to store the potions he made her so that they would be most beneficial to her patients. And they probably wouldn't have to check them for poisons. Also, he wouldn't have to suffer the jabs he was sure to hear from his minder regarding his treatment of the lime-clad Mediwitch. Though, if she wanted to avoid his derision, she really should be better at her job. Nevermind that her job wasn't to brew or store the potions. That wasn't Severus's problem. Ruefully, he downed the contents of the phial and handed the empty bottle back to her.

Though the potion's efficacy was slightly diminished, he had truly exhausted himself speaking with Harry, not that he would ever tell the boy as much. The conversation that followed with Lupin had stretched him beyond his limits. He felt himself grow tired and heavy almost immediately. His headache mercifully began to dull and he drifted off to peaceful, dreamless sleep.

A/N: I apologize for the long wait on this one! I had planned on posting it on Friday, but when I went in to do my last minute edits (as I usually do), I just didn't like it. It felt too short and choppy and it lacked some needed detail. I also felt like, for a Severus chapter, it didn't really capture Severus's personality. I ended up rewriting the entire second half and making some significant changes to the first half, too. It gained another 2000 words and I like it MUCH better now. I hope you enjoyed it!