Been kinda neglecting Internal Monologues lately, haven't I? Sorry 'bout that. The problem was that I've been trying to write Arthur Weasley, and I can't. I've a mental block, or something. So, when in doubt, take a completely different direction! I'm not sure it needs saying, but there's just a hint of slashiness in this chapter. If you don't like it, I'm sure you can put your own interpretation on it. It's really quite mild.

And now it's time to thank my reviewers!

Sunny Moonlight: An interesting suggestion. I shall certainly consider it, although part of the problem is that I'm not at all fond of Snape. You'll be happy to know that I'm really thinking about doing another Sirius chapter where he's happy. Or maybe a happy-Remus chapter. But of course, in my head those are one and the same.

Emmaline: This one isn't any less depressing than chapter 7, luv. Sorry. It is canon, though. And I'm glad you liked it!

Vanna: I've seen lots of different things called songfics, but they mostly seem to fall into two categories. The all-verse ones, and the ones like chapter 8 where the character is described in relation to a song. And I hope you do have that song, but that's mostly because I'm a Simon and Garfunkel fan.

Pre HBP, no spoilers. Once again, I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters.

How long is forever? When does it end? When does childish anger turn into a lifelong grudge?

Platform 9 ¾, a lonely boy dropped off by his parents to make his own way onto the train. Confused, somewhat frightened, but still a little hopeful. There were almost a thousand other kids here. Surely he could find a friend or two. His trunk was heavy and awkward, and he was just trying to figure out how to manhandle it up onto the train when a helpful pair of hands took the other end of the trunk and helped him lift it up. While the stranger easily lifted his own rather shabby trunk onto the train, the boy studied him.

Thin, on the pale side, with light brown hair that had an odd greyish tinge to it. Sickly-looking, but obviously strong, if he could lift that trunk by himself with no apparent effort. A book stuck out of his pocket, and his robes were undoubtedly secondhand. The stranger seemed friendly, and the boy was just beginning to wonder if they could be friends when a hand was proffered, and the helpful stranger smiled and said, "My name's Remus Lupin. What's yours?"

The boy hesitated a moment, going through the mental list of names he was allowed to associate with. Yes! Lupin was on the list! Far down, but… he took the hand and smiled slightly. "Severus Snape."

Moments later they were separated by a flood of students boarding the train. The next time he saw Lupin he was talking and laughing with two black-haired boys, one of whom had an arm slung casually around the bookish lad's shoulder. Severus despised both of them immediately.

James Potter and Sirius Black. How I hated them. How I still hate them. I vowed I'd hate them forever, and never forgive them. But forever is so long, and they're both dead. And I'm so tired of hating…

I could never bring myself to hate Lupin. Not after the innumerable times he tried to moderate his friends' behavior, with more success than anyone outside their little circle would have suspected. Anyone, that is, who hadn't considered it a matter of utmost importance to know what Potter, Black, and Pettigrew were plotting, in order to avoid their pranks.

"Just give it a rest, Padfoot. He can't help that his hair's greasy, any more than James can make his lie flat, or you can help being prettier than any girl in the castle." Severus, sitting motionless behind a bush from them, didn't need to look to know that Potter's hand had gone to his hair defensively, and Black had smiled smugly and batted his eyes. A muffled cry and laughter announced that someone had tackled Lupin. Probably Black, he was the most physical of the group.

"Why Moony, I never knew you cared." The amused drawl confirmed Severus's suspicions as to the identity of the pouncer, although there was a strange note of underlying intent that puzzled the eavesdropper. "As I'm so pretty, why don't you give me a kiss, hmm?"

"Mmpfh… Sirius! Get off me!" A sound that might have been either a gasp or a sob, followed by a brief struggle, then footsteps fading off toward the castle. An awkward silence settled in after Lupin's exit, and lasted for several minutes before Potter finally broke it.

"We'd better go check on him. And take him his books. C'mon." Parchment rustled, then more footsteps left. Severus waited for ten minutes, to give the boys time to either get to the castle or get distracted before he left his hiding place, only to find that Black was still there, and crying. Of all people in the world, he, Severus Snape, was witnessing Sirius Black in tears! They were remarkably quiet tears, though. No sniffling or sobs—his eyes weren't even red. Still, Severus was delighted. Here was a chance to torment his tormentor!

"Well, what have we here? Sirius Black, crying his eyes out. What's wrong, Black? Did you and Lupin have a lovers' quarrel?"

Silvery grey eyes snapped toward him, darkening like storm clouds with anger as they recognized the speaker, but in that brief moment Severus had seen pain there. Staggering, all-consuming, heart wrenching pain, so profound that Severus almost apologized. Almost turned and left out of respect to the despair in his enemy's eyes. But then the anger came, and with it the typical Black arrogance. "What do you want, Snivvelus?"

"What do I want? Oh, nothing at all. Just wondering what you see in Lupin. Surely you can do better. At least choose someone healthy to disappoint your fanclub with." The needling worked. He knew it had worked, because now he was pinned to a tree with his feet dangling in the air, and Black was growling at him, an insane glint in his eye.

"Better? Remus Lupin is a better man than you'll ever be. And he's not sick. He's special." Severus wasn't fairly certain he was a dead man, but he would go out with a bang.

"Special, eh? Is that what they're calling it these days?" A hand closed around his throat, cutting off any further taunting.

"Don't believe me? If you really want to know how special Remus is, here's what you do. Tonight, go to the Whomping Willow and find the knot near it's base that's shaped like a dog's head…"

I knew then that I shouldn't have gone. But I did anyway, and I saw Lupin transforming. And I pitied him. Then Potter of all people had to save me. He'd stolen the first person I'd ever wanted for a friend, he'd made certain that I could never have any friends by his constant tormenting, and then he had the absolute gall to go and save my life. I hated him, and he'd gone and put me in his debt. I vowed never to forgive him. I didn't realize then just how big a word 'never' is.

It was burning again. Rastaban had said it would burn on and off for the first month or so. Severus had believed him, but hadn't expected the burning to be so painful. He'd learned, however, that it could be controlled. When he was feeling uncertain, it was worse. Right now, Severus was uncertain about the scar and what it meant.

It had seemed so simple at first. His mother having died during the school year, Severus had been sent to live with his mother's cousin Alsafi and her husband Thuban Lestrange. Their sons weren't much older than he, and had been popular in school. 'Twas only natural for Severus to imitate them. The meetings of their 'club' had appealed to his darker side, and he'd readily agreed to join them.

Then he started to realize exactly what was required of him. Last night he'd been involved in the torture of a muggle family. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. The sudden swift comprehension came that this group, these deatheaters, enjoyed the screams of the innocent children, and the futile attempt of their mother to defend them. Bellatrix Black had been practically orgasmic while torturing the youngest, a tiny girl with blonde curls and a cherub's face.

Severus knew what he had to do, but he didn't know if he had the courage, and that was what had started the Dark Mark on his arm burning. Ironically, it was Sirius Black who started him out of bed heading for Dumbledore's office. A decision to confess or not to confess would stop the pain in his arm, but only one of those choices would end the memory of the conversation he'd overheard the other day. There was no way Severus would spend the rest of his life listening to his conscience speaking in Black's voice, saying 'not only is he a greasy dungeon-dwelling git, he's a coward to boot.'

That was the longest walk of my life. That night Dumbledore recruited me as a double agent for the Order of the Phoenix. And when the end came, I wasn't even involved in the Dark Lord's downfall. Destroying Voldemort had become my purpose, my reason for being. And once again, Potter and his friends took what should have been mine. I'm a Slytherin, after all. Ambitious. What better way to gain power than to bring down the greatest enemy of the wizarding world?

And now… now. Now he's back, and still a Potter is between me and my dearest ambition. Odd… the Dark Mark on my arm is burning…

Hmm… wonder what Snape's indecisive about this time? This chapter was a bit of a challenge, as I don't like Snape. I despise him, in fact. But that's neither here nor there. The important thing is, I think I know who the next chapter's about! Huzzah!

Review or I'll lock you in a padded room with a tone-deaf would-be opera singer.