A/N: Severus shows us where everyone has been. Warning: Foul language, disturbing concepts, and references to sex. I.e. one of the lighter chapters for this year.

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Chapter 2: Holding Back The Strain

He'd known it to be a bad idea to fuck her again. At that time, in that context— wrong, wrong, wrong. And yet…

Severus sighed quietly, acutely conscious of the state Bella was in. Last year's situation with Antares probably hadn't helped, haunting her as it still did, but how it had left her was nothing compared to how she was now. Wound tight, she shifted restlessly beside him, stiffly changing position from moment to moment. And, most telling, her wand was in her hand, clutched in a grip so tight that Severus avoided looking.

He hadn't looked last night, when she'd clung to him. Severus moved closer to her, carefully. With her in this state, the last thing he wanted was to actually see what had caused it. Seeing would only make her more distressed, just now; Bella was like that, with her secrets. She parcelled them out to him bit by bit, teasing in her restraint, becoming angry when things were revealed out of sequence, out of her control.

Severus, moving very slowly, dropped a soft kiss on Bella's shoulder. Telling her about…recent events now seemed out of the question. She needed to know, no doubt. But she didn't need to be burdened with the decisions racing madly in his mind. What she needed now was rest. Peace.

Somehow, I'll give you that. Another kiss later, Severus began untangling himself from Bella, certain that it would wake her up. Before peace would come worry, outrage, and possibly fear. But after…he would see to that.

Bella came awake very suddenly, jolting Severus from his morbid thoughts with the press of her wand to his neck. Unerring aim, as ever— the tip of her wand hit him in the the jugular, making him jump. It was taken away a moment after, of course, and replaced by her warm, sleepy mouth.

"Sorry," she murmured into his skin. "Sorry." The grip she now had on his arm hurt.

But that was not what he said. "We need to talk, Bella. I know you're tired, but…"

"Is it that important?" That tickled, or felt as if it should have. But the tone she said it in was so very weary that it sapped those familiar words of the spice they usually carried. Severus put his hand in her hair as he pulled away, for reassurance. For her, he told himself firmly. Just for her. "Fine." She drew away from him, abruptly falling back to the pillow. "Talk."

Severus swallowed. When she put it like that…but no. It was important.

He cleared his throat anyway. "Your cousin…Black. He's—"

Bella's heavy sigh cut him off. "Sirius' death is about the least important thing—"

"He's not dead," Severus said, interrupting, stroking her forehead as he did so. "He escaped."

That got her attention. But the cost…more colour drained from her already pale face, and her whole body went still. Severus bit his tongue to prevent himself from offering sympathy; sympathy was not what Bella would need, not now.

Her answer proved him right. "How?" Bella took a deep breath, but did not move more than that. "But— Azkaban—"

"Could not hold him," Severus said, ruthlessly restraining the grudging admiration he still felt for the very idea. "They're still investigating."

"But—"

"He is in Ministry custody only because he appeared at the Weasleys' little hovel in Devon," Severus went on, ignoring the fact that he'd drawn Bella closer, and was rubbing foolish circles into her back. "And that…well, I'll just say it." But he didn't, not immediately. The very thought of saying the words seemed ridiculous. "Pettigrew is alive."

"What?" Bella clutched at him, bringing her expression of alarm temptingly close. "But—"

"He's missing an arm, actually," Severus added reluctantly. "And the famous finger. But it comes out that the finger was his doing, and long since done. The arm, however…" Severus shook his head. "Molly Weasley is saying that your cousin…splinched it from him. On purpose."

Though the shock on her face showed she was still listening, the look in her eyes told him that she wasn't completely present. She was pondering the matter as he had done, she had to be. "How did he find Pettigrew in the Weasleys' house?"

"Not yet clear, that. Apparently, he saw a newspaper—"

"Wait, why was Pettigrew at the Weasleys' in the first place? And how could he have hid there?" Bella turned her face into his shoulder, muffling her words with more than simple confusion. "They can't have known, obviously, but—"

"Apparently, he— Pettigrew— is an Animagus," Severus said softly, shaking his head again. How, he could guess. The hows of this were surprisingly easy to understand. The whys, however… "A rat Animagus, to be precise. He hid as their pet."

"But why?" Bella demanded, her voice low. "Why would he hide if Sirius couldn't kill him? He was in Az— well, I suppose there is the fact that he escaped, but—"

"It doesn't make sense," Severus finished for her, feeling oddly content. He could smell her warmth, could almost taste it. He was discussing the sudden re-emergence of both Black and Pettigrew, for god's sakes, and yet Bella still managed to distract him by withdrawing slightly and biting at a nail and looking up at him with such…understanding. "Dumbledore wangled a meeting with Black for yesterday. I still haven't heard back from him in full, but…" He stroked her hair. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

Bella rolled her eyes at him. For one dark moment, all that had happened to Antares last year seemed to stand between them, palpable as the feel of skin on skin. Severus, feeling reckless, ended the moment by pressing a kiss to her lips. Relief bit fiercely into him as she responded, slow and warm. The kiss ended too quickly, leaving Severus acutely aware that they were naked and closely entwined, but careless of the fact in the face of what might happen next.

"You'll be going to Hogwarts today," Bella said, into the sensitive skin of his neck. "Won't you."

Severus nodded, and sighed, and then she was on top of him, kissing him with the desperate urgency of the night before, and there was no time to think.

---

The morning passed by slowly, as if to make up for the frenzied nature of the night before. As had become usual, breakfast was nearly ready by the time Severus went downstairs. Today, he did not try to help Antares make it, taking a seat at the kitchen table and going through today's post instead. As usual, it consisted only of the Prophet and a pair of letters from Antares' friends, and was laid out on the table in front of the seat Bella usually occupied. Severus, discarding the letters, began to examine the front page of the Prophet.

MALFOY ACCOUNTING FOR DARK OBJECTS DECLARED UNSATISFACTORY was the only headline, a fact that had Severus sighing in relief. How he might have kept the news of Black's escape from Antares if the Prophet had reproduced it today was a mystery. He had the distinct impression that Bella wanted to tell her son of it herself, so—

"Anything interesting?"

Severus shook his head, hiding how that small question had startled him. It did not lessen his relief that the Prophet had been forced to hold back the news, especially once Antares shrugged went back to what he had been doing. Again, however, Severus found himself watching the boy direct plates to the table with a smoothness that came of long practice, much the same way he'd been unable to stop closely watching Antares do tasks around the house ever since Bella had left.

As always, something about it raised the hair on the back of Severus' still-damp neck; he'd never been able to feel magic in the way others could, but judging its preciseness had always come easy to him. None of the plates rattled. All of them settled exactly where they'd been settling ever since Antares had taken over setting the tables without jostling the mugs that were already set out.

A soft whistle broke the silence in the kitchen, silence that Severus very suddenly put together with the precise, disciplined spellwork, and came up with what had been unnerving him for the last three days. Once the thought had occurred to him, he could not help staring at Antares.

Ludicrous, he thought, that a child can have so much power. Antares hovered near the teapot, checking the temperature of what was in it. That charm was voiced, a fact that confused Severus momentarily until he remembered how completely one needed to understand each spell before attempting it without words. The next spell, one that moved the salt within Antares' reach, was conspicuously silent.

For a moment, not even the long-known fact that the boy had always been good at charms that moved things could temper Severus' horror that he had been allowed to do this. Or, to be frank, that he was capable of doing this. Nonverbal spells. At twelve. Is Bella mad?

Severus, distantly feeling himself set down the newspaper, tried to pull together something more than horrified wonder. Antares, he now realised, was using his wand— a rare occurrence, nowadays. That was something; that meant that Bella had at least thought of the danger of someone so young and uncontrolled being set free from the constraints of both wand movements and carefully spoken spells.

"How long?"

Antares glanced back at him. "What?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "How long have you been neglecting to speak your spells?" At that, Antares looked guilty— a sign, perhaps, of Bella not quite approving of his new habit? "Do you know how dangerous—"

"Mum said it was fine," Antares said quickly, dashing Severus' hopes on the matter. "I'm using my wand for it; it's fine."

"Was it fine when you managed to turn her boot into a snake last month?"

"I turned it back." Antares was now looking down at his feet, but the clenching of his hands clearly signalled that he was avoiding Severus' gaze out of anger, not remorse. "It only took a minute—"

"Just because your power lets you operate without constraints doesn't mean you don't need them!" Severus glared at Antares, trying to think up words that could convince him to stop being so careless. "At the very least, you should say your spells."

"And that way, no one will notice how easy they are for me." Antares' tone was only slightly mocking, but the meaning was clear. "Right."

"You don't take this seriously, do you?" Severus forced a sigh, trying to remain calm. "Did you learn nothing after last year? When something goes wrong—"

"I'll be blamed for it anyway," Antares snapped. "If I hide things, they'll suspect something. If I don't, they'll point the finger. What I learned last year," he put vicious emphasis on the words, "is that I can't win."

"Look—"

"I'm not stupid, you know," Antares said, cutting him off. "I'm hardly going to stop carrying my wand."

"And you'll do wandless magic in front of anyone who cares to see it, is that it?"

"It's not going away," Antares said, turning back to the stove. "Might even get worse. More pronounced." His tone was light now, ill-suited for the concealment of the bitter resignation so plainly on his face. "Magical core growing consistently, Pomfrey said. Normal development. You don't remember?"

Severus did remember hearing that now. That had been after St. Mungo's, during Antares' second trip to Hogwarts. Severus faintly remembered the odd expression that had flashed across Dumbledore's face, remembered being irritated at how distracted the man had been afterwards. He'd half ignored it then, too busy worrying about Bella's near-hysterical reaction to the news that the fusion of the Dark Lord's magic into Antares' magical core was permanent.

Antares was completely ignoring him now, as usual, and the near-silence in the kitchen was now only broken by faint clinks and the soft hiss of frying bacon. Severus could not help but feel he deserved this, deserved to be thoroughly unnerved, especially after failing to reach what now seemed a very obvious conclusion.

It's not going away.

"Save the wandless magic till your fifth year," Severus found himself saying, because it was true. Antares' ability would likely plague him as long as he lived; best that he got used to the attention it garnered him as soon as possible. The look he now received from the boy made him hasten to explain. "That's when a talent for it tends to show. Be a little less out of the ordinary, then."

"Fourth year," Antares countered. When Severus opened his mouth to object, he was cut off again. "We learn Summoning charms then."

"But—"

"I can explain those charms easily," Antares argued. "And it'll be a good place to start— Professor Flitwick won't be too surprised. He won't mind. He knows I can do them with a wand already, doesn't he? He might even encourage me to try other spells."

Severus nodded slowly, hoping his surprise didn't show on his face. He hadn't quite expected the boy to have so careful a plan already half-laid.

But Antares was already giving him a thin, sarcastic smile. "Not stupid, remember?" He turned back to the stove again, and deftly put the burners out. "Do you mind more eggs than bacon? I used the last of the bacon this morning…"

---

Breakfast passed quickly and in grim silence, one determinedly held up by Antares. He stared at the back of the Prophet as Severus continued to read it, obviously peering at the Quidditch scores, but shook his head when offered the paper. Bella's arrival did little to offset the silence. Arriving just as Severus finished eating, she made a beeline for the newspaper, half-snatching it out of his hands and proceeding to scan it in tense silence.

"There's nothing in there," Severus eventually said, unwilling to continue watching her determined, slightly manic perusal of the Prophet. "Not yet, anyway."

Bella sighed, folding the Prophet and putting it down. "I didn't think they would wait."

"I suppose Albus got Cuffe to suppress it for the time being," Severus said, eyeing the newspaper. "And of course the Ministry might have helped—"

"Got who?"

Though Bella had said that offhand, Severus felt compelled to answer. "Cuffe, Bernard Cuffe. The editor; Albus knows his father."

The statement produced no significant reaction. "Ah," Bella said, without much enthusiasm. "I see." Severus held back a sigh, trying to tell himself that she likely had a good reason for being uninterested in the identity of the editor of the Prophet; it could be that she'd already heard of him, after all. Besides, he had just given her a very nice lead into broaching the subject of Black's escape with Antares— she could be nerving herself to begin, or—

"Suppress what?" Antares asked. He looked expectantly at his mother. "Has something happened?"

"You should get going," Bella said to Severus, ignoring Antares. "I doubt the Headmaster will like to be kept waiting."

Severus paused in the midst of pushing back from the table, confused. He'd expected to stay for the discussion, to help her lay out the facts of her cousin's escape. "It's not quite time to—"

"But you want to be early," Bella said, nodding as if he'd said anything of the sort. "Off you go."

Severus could hardly ignore a hint like that. Hiding his annoyance as he rose didn't take much effort, especially not after Bella pulled him down for a brief kiss as he passed by her seat.

When it ended, she did not let him go. "How long will you be?"

"Three hours," Severus murmured. "Wait, make that four; I'm stopping in at the butcher's in Hogsmeade."

"But they can be so expensive," Bella complained, letting go of him reluctantly. "That muggle butcher down the road—"

"Not safe, and not a habit to get into," Severus reminded her, regretting anew his decision to stop in there late last month when they'd run out of everything, and he'd been too tired to think of going all the way to Hogsmeade for food. "Better I'm not remembered on that street— can't go warding or obliviating everyone I deal with if I need to, can I?"

Bella sighed, but nodded in agreement. "You know what we've run out of?"

"Bacon, bread, potatoes and cheese," Antares said, a little too quickly. "And oatmeal as well, I think." Severus gave him a sharp look, but didn't blame the boy for wanting him off as fast as possible; it was likely clear enough to Antares that Bella wouldn't tell him anything until Severus left. "And you might want to get some cream, too."

Severus nodded, already on his way out of the kitchen. He stood outside the rapidly closed door for a moment, debating whether to try and listen in, but the slow squelch of the Imperturbable charm being applied to the door convinced him that eavesdropping would not be taken lightly. He made his way to the hearth in the living room with bad grace, and shouted his destination into the green flames a little louder than was needed. He regretted it a moment later, when he found himself dumped back out into the living room he'd just tried to leave.

Cursing, he dusted himself off needlessly, and tried to distract himself by counting the number of sequins he could spy on the floor while he waited the requisite five minutes for congestion in the Floo network nearby to die down. He cursed again, loudly, when he finally got out at Hogwarts and found himself thickly covered in soot.

"Bloody house elves," he muttered, spelling himself clean with a sharp, angry movement. They hadn't skimped on cleaning out the hearth in his rooms at Hogwarts to this degree for years. Muttering, Severus made his way to the door, hard-pressed to keep from slamming it on his way out. The fact that he hadn't been coming up here as often as he usually did during the summer didn't seem adequate reason for their annoying neglect.

Thankfully, the walk up to Albus' office took little time and offered no further annoyance. It gave Severus time to compose himself; time that he sorely needed, what with what would likely happen during his meeting with the Headmaster. Despite the looming prospect of meeting Black again in the flesh— if you could call seeing him rave within a Pensieve that— Severus was in a civil mood by the time he spoke the password at the entrance to Albus' office.

That mood dissolved with the look Albus pinned on him once he stepped through the wide-open door of his office.

"I spoke to Peter."

Several questions suggested themselves at the same time, ensuring that Severus stood before the old man for full half a second with his mouth half open. "But Fudge said—"

"He wouldn't let me, yes," Albus waved a hand at him. "Sit down, why don't you."

Severus did so slowly, now peering dubiously at the contents of the pensieve already set out on the table between them. "Then how—"

"I asked him to reconsider, and he did," Albus said. "Just after I'd got to Sirius' cell, word came to me that I could see Peter afterwards, in a nearby cell." As usual, he supplied no extra comment. However, not even the slightest hint of smug pleasure accompanied those words. Undoubtedly, something had gone wrong. "Peter was well, to an extent. As well as one could be in his situation." Severus only half-listened to Dumbledore's calm description of how Peter Pettigrew was coping with the loss of an arm; the tight expression on his face belied his level, direct tone.

When Albus paused, Severus sat up, on full alert. Something was wrong.

"Peter had an explanation," Albus finally said, his expression grown tight and closed. For a moment, Severus did not quite understand what he meant; gradually, realisation dawned on him.

He could not help but laugh; lowly, shortly, bitterly. "An explanation," he said, trying to keep the worst of it from his tone. "For what? For masquerading as the pet of one of the Weasleys' brats for ten years?"

"Exactly the sort of thing that crossed my mind, before I saw him," Dumbledore said calmly, seeming to take no notice of Severus' shaking hands. "But Severus—"

"His mother mourned him publicly. Wizarding England mourned his cowardly life— his finger is still on display," Severus said, unable to stop himself. "What sort of explanation can stretch to cover his behaviour?"

"Am I asking you to take my word for it?" Severus could see the tension in the Headmaster's voice mirrored in the taut line of his hands, which stretched out on the desk before him palm up, beseeching. "Only come in with me, and look. We can do Peter first, if you'd rather."

Severus gave Albus a searching look, wondering what lay behind this tensely obliging behaviour. He would very much rather get Peter Pettigrew's pathetic pack of lies out of the way first. Professed terror or fear of murder at the hands of a traitorous friend did not cover ten years of rathood, and certainly did not excuse the false sainthood so generously heaped upon the stupid man's inadequate shoulders. Eventually, Severus nodded his assent, saying nothing as he quietly made himself comfortable in his seat. At least Black would be truthful, in his own vicious way. And a far more entertaining listen—

"Ready?" Albus pushed the pensieve towards him. "After you."

Severus, ignoring the tight knot of apprehension forming in his belly, put a finger into the bowl and fell hard into what he recognised as a Ministry cell. Though empty of anyone but Severus himself, it sent a shiver down his back. The drab bareness of the room was vaguely familiar, in a way that set his skin to itching with unease.

Severus' reaction to the memory did not diminish even after the Headmaster's rather more graceful fall into the memory. He seemed to sense that, saying nothing, beckoning to Severus as he headed for the room's only door. The corridor they entered was soberly lit, and there was a particular sort of distance to everything around them that calmed Severus' irrational anxiety somewhat.

"So," he said, to help dispel it entirely, "Black is in one of the worse cells." It was a rather obvious observation to make— anyone who'd been in this unsavoury part of the Ministry with their brain and eyes functioning could not have missed the fact that he and Dumbledore were descending into darker, dingier corridors, and that the junior Aurors posted along them were looking less and less junior. But it put a sort of smile on Albus' face, and, more importantly, got him talking.

"You would remark on that," he said evenly, whatever amusement Severus' words had given him submerging in the abstract thought behind the forced calm on his face. "They both are, of course," Albus continued. "No one wants to take chances with either of them this time, especially if Sirius' story is true."

"They believe him?" Severus exclaimed, before he could think better of it. "I suppose it does explain why they didn't kill him on sight—"

"That, I'm afraid, is due to Sirius' quick thinking alone," Albus said, his tone virtually free of expression. "He joined himself to Peter using much the same sort of spell that diary used on Antares. And he warded them both, to make sure no one intending to kill him could cross into the room. I'm not entirely sure of the practical purpose of the sticking charm he used, but I suppose that was for extra emphasis."

"You said he was unconscious when they found—"

"He woke an hour later, in exactly the same spot where he passed out," Albus said, his tone gaining a hint of steel. "The Aurors on the scene had decided it to be in their best interest to talk to him, by then."

Severus bit his lip, wholly able to imagine the sheer frustration the Aurors hunting Black that day must have felt. "Dementors?"

Albus' smile was almost bitter. "Things were determined to be too uncertain in Azkaban to spare even one of them. And, until this morning, he was the only one that knew he escaped as a dog." Albus slowed his steps. "Well, him and the guard he robbed of a wand. And he's still in St. Mungo's in critical condition."

"So Black is an animagus as well?" Severus asked, only able to keep the envy from his tone by sheer force of will. "You'll be telling me that they all were, next. Well, except for Lupin—"

Albus gave him a look. "James was a stag," he said, quietly. "And they all became animagi for Remus' sake, to help him bear…things."

Severus laughed. "Fitting," he said, unable to stop himself. "It would be still more fitting, of course, if they were all alive. Or better, all dead, save for him."

"Severus—"

"I believe you said we would listen to Pettigrew's account first," he said, ignoring the Dumbledore's chagrined tone. "If you don't mind." The last, Severus knew, was rather venomous. Right then, however, he could not bring himself to care. "Well?"

Albus sighed. "Peter first."

They fell silent soon after, reaching a cell door only to see Albus' memory self emerge from it. He closed it abruptly by hand, the stony look on his face deepening as he did so, then paused, staring at nothing in particular. One of the two Aurors posted behind them shifted loudly, nervously, probably in reaction to the Headmaster's unnerving silence.

The real Albus ventured next to nothing in explanation. "Seeing Sirius was a shock," he said simply, not seeming to register the unnerved looks the guards were giving his memory self as he turned towards the door next to the one he'd just emerged from. "Hearing him speak was…worse."

"And Pettigrew?" No answer was supplied for that, excepting a simple, calm shake of the head. Severus barely restrained a sigh of impatience. Now that he was here— that they were here, he began to think Pettigrew's interview might not be as free of entertainment as he'd thought. Albus' face and demeanour oozed reluctance, and the distanced feel of the memory was not enough to detract from the murky atmosphere of the corridor around them. Clearly, something had happened here that Albus did not like to remember, and liked even less to relive with Severus hovering nearby.

"Aha," Albus said, uselessly, as his memory self opened the other door. Peter's door, evidently. "Here we go…" They both followed him inside, the closure of the door as Severus was halfway through it chilling him slightly.

Severus nearly stopped short, unready enough for what he felt on seeing Peter Pettigrew's lumpy, shivering form huddled on a bed. It might have been anticipation, except that the definition of anticipation did not stretch to cover raw satisfaction. The first rush Severus felt on seeing Pettigrew flinch back from the other Dumbledore was pure and clean, free of sweat and rapid heartbeats and the usual trappings of excitement.

Somehow, it was easier to hide that pure, strange feeling. Severus stood still, acutely aware of Albus' covert scrutiny, and just as aware that contentment, not detachment, was what held him calm enough to soak in the ensuing conversation. The start of which, to be frank, didn't exactly lessen his inconvenient, prurient anticipation.

"Professor," Pettigrew said weakly, through dry, cracked lips. The soft creak of the conjured chair beside him only added to the pathetic sentiment of his words. "You came."

Dumbledore-of-the-memory did not answer him directly, settling back into his chair, his face an artificial sea of calm. "You four," he said, tapping the wooden arm of his rickety armchair, "you always had more power to hurt each other than anyone else. Severus made quite the effort, of course, but he wasn't close to you. Not enough to know the sort of things he would need to strike, and strike hard." A light pause later, he was leaning close, suddenly twice the grave old headmaster he'd ever been to Severus. "Did Sirius tell you why he did this?" He patted the flat long sleeve that would have contained Pettigrew's left arm.

It was both hard and easy to watch Pettigrew sigh, his face twisting in pain despite the obvious comfort a direct question like that was giving him. "He felt me Apparating," was the low answer. "Didn't want me getting away again."

Memory Dumbledore stroked the sleeve for a long, silent moment. "Why?"

"We had a secret," Pettigrew said slowly. Heavily. "He didn't— doesn't trust me to keep it."

"And he thought splinching your arm off might help," Severus muttered. "Typical." He ignored the real Dumbledore's sharp glance in his direction, of course; he had to be allowed at least one joke at their expense. "Pathetic," he added, whispering, and could have smiled when Dumbledore pretended not to hear.

Of course, watching a copy of the man bend over Pettigrew and stroke his armless sleeve sucked away the pleasure from that. Not much more came of the interview for a time, save for pathetic tears (Pettigrew's), firm questions and gentle suppositions (Dumbledore's) and an almost remarkable display of uncompromising cowardice (Pettigrew's).

"I wanted everyone to remember me better," he whispered at the last. "Not like— not as his. Not as his plaything."

"There, there," Memory Dumbledore said, patting him very gently on the shoulder. "I understand."

I most certainly do not, Severus thought, keeping his face free of emotion. You seemed quite content to label me the Dark Lord's fucktoy, to add to the rumours like everyone else. He smirked inside, suddenly realising what that meant. Well, well, look who ended lower down the totem pole—

And Pettigrew had ended lower down indeed. Bit by bit, he now surrendered the information Dumbledore asked of him, all of it stained with the reality of how he'd likely acquired it. Pettigrew knew, and seemed to try to put a braver face on it. Albus' memory self also seemed to know, and kept from asking for the damning context. But the spectre of Pettigrew's failed relationship with Black hung heavily over the conversation, right till the very end.

Pettigrew was sobbing again by then, and being comforted with annoying sincerity. The real Dumbledore turned sharply to face Severus, a blank expression on his face. "Satisfied?"

"Almost," Severus said, raising his eyebrows slightly. "I still have yet to hear Black's side of the story." He said nothing more, enjoying the slight confusion that appeared briefly on the Headmaster's face as they left the room. He'd obviously been expecting some sort of orgy of gloating, a public self-condemnation that revealed Severus' insecurities as sharply as it skewered those of an old, old enemy.

But Albus, of course, did not have the full facts of Severus' current living situation. Just now, looking back on the foolish conflicts within the Order from the the vantage point of ten years of experience and almost two years of an impossibly stable relationship, the rumours and bitterness that had grown with it all seemed very, very small. What was left was older, hardier, somehow stale…and already quite pleased with the spectacle Pettigrew had just put on for Severus' enjoyment, pleased enough that no signs of pleasure needed to be shown.

Which meant that Severus could outwardly be civil, and keep his gloating to himself. "Shall we?"

Dumbledore nodded, closed his eyes briefly, and suddenly they were watching his memory self enter Sirius' cell, looking determined. Severus followed both versions of him in, and was then treated to a fundamentally disturbing display of raging delusion.

For, in contrast to his old friend, Sirius Black was no coward, and quite blatantly insane.

"He did it," he said immediately, as soon as the door opened, "not me." His hollow eyes fixed unnervingly on Dumbledore's memory self as he sat down into another rickety chair of his conjuring, looking taken aback. "I couldn't know," he continued, pleadingly. "He was too good. We were so stupid, we transferred it, I could have borne it and I didn't—"

"Sirius—"

"You left me Secret-Keeper," Black spat, his fists clenching on his knees, "and I just…I gave it to him. I see it in my dreams, again and again—"

Severus, blanching at the mental image of Black going feverishly over his former…dealings with Pettigrew, could not help but feel the slightest twinge of sympathy for the pathetic bastard. Hiding as a rat, that was low. But hiding as a rat, from this…well. That just struck Severus as badly executed common sense.

"And he just…walked away. Gave it away." Black's eyes gleamed. "I saw him after. Packing. I tried, Professor, I tried my fucking best, and all he lost was a fucking finger." Even Memory Dumbledore flinched a little at the sudden vehemence of those last two words. Severus tried not to think of what it must have been like to face that, in a place you thought you had sought sanctuary, however misguided your choice had been. "That finger." A bleak smile spread over Black's face, at odds with the fury in his eyes. "He used to call mine golden. Blessed. And he gave it away. Gave them away, just like that. He cost me everything, and what did he pay? A finger. An arm." He leaned forward, a terrible hunger on his face. "Just let me finish it. That's all I ask."

Dumbledore took in a sharp breath. "Sirius—"

"Oh, it's my fault, I know," Black said, cutting him off in a bizarrely normal tone, leaning back. Crossing his legs at the ankles, picking at his tatty trouser knees with twitching fingers. "It won't bring them back." His voice broke on that last word, sending chills down Severus' back. "Won't bring him back," he went on, his tone becoming low and garbled. "Their son. They had a son." He shook his head, hard. "Bastard." He curled his hands into fists again, not looking at anything in particular. "At least let me have him. Let him pay."

Severus sniffed scornfully. Over Bella's dead body, he thought. More likely, over yours. Dumbledore gave him a dry look, his mind obviously reaching back to all-too-recent memories of Bella's protective rage. She'd die before she let anyone harm Antares that she could prevent from doing so, and though Black was insane and probably quite free of the restraints a normal wizard might have on their more foolhardy tendencies, his single-minded ferocity might not extend to confrontations that didn't involve the possible death of Pettigrew. For all the babbling he was doing now, cursing and crying over Lily and James' supposedly dead son, it was Pettigrew that held his attention.

"You'll let me?" he was saying now, hands twitching. "Professor, answer me!"

"I will do everything in my power," Albus' memory-self replied, "to ensure you get what you deserve."

Severus couldn't help it. He choked on his laughter, biting his tongue when the real Albus gave him a singularly annoyed look. Moments later, the Ministry room was dissolving around them, taking Sirius Black's pathetically grateful sobs with it, and Albus was shifting the Pensieve to the side, still looking disgruntled. Severus forced the remnants of mirth off his face as soon as he could, but could not quite resist one last shot. "So," he said, "when's the reunion?"

"Do not make that joke," Albus said, giving him a warning look. "That's two men's lives that hang in the balance—"

"What balance?" Severus returned the hard look he was pinned down with with one of his own. "Well? Pettigrew destroyed any chance he had at anything resembling a normal life when he stayed underground. And Black— well. Whatever he was, whatever he could have done…" Severus shrugged. "Gone."

"Sirius was likely already mad upon entering Azkaban," Albus said, slowly removing his glasses. "I suppose the thought of harming Peter kept him focused enough to escape."

"Did they tell you how that—"

"Yes and no," Albus said, interrupting. Now engrossed in cleaning his glasses, he had no eyes for the annoyance surely showing on Severus' face. "The guard— the one Sirius attacked to escape— he said he was attacked by a dog, but not much more than that. No one has yet tried to test the truth of it, but it will be done." He sighed. "Besides, you heard Peter confirm it."

"Yes, I did," Severus said, forcing the crude joke that had occurred to him then out of his thoughts. The Headmaster had replaced his glasses, but was looking down at his still hands, clasped loosely on the desk. "But beyond that…?"

"Nothing," Albus said, frustration leaking into his tone. "Nothing at all, unless we question his fellow prisoners. And that, of course, will not happen."

Severus hesitated before asking the question, now certain that it would only add to Albus'…displeasure with the circumstances. "When will they execute him? Black, I mean."

As he'd expected, it was a moment before Albus replied. "In a week or so, probably. After they've let the Prophet run wild with the story, of course." His tone was low. Resigned. "How's the boy getting on?"

"Well enough." Severus said. Recognising the approaching dismissal, he rose from his chair. "Bella, however—"

Albus sighed. "Another defiant Black. I suppose she didn't tell you where she went?"

"I was smart enough not to bother asking," Severus said, resisting the urge to protest the unjustified comparison. However upset Bella was right now, she was a long way away from wherever her cousin had escaped to in his madness. "I think she's intending to go to work tomorrow, however. I believe I remember her grousing about some project or other that she hadn't finished on time." He'd heard no such thing, of course, but Dumbledore didn't know that.

And, judging by the closed, distant look on his face, he didn't care. "You know to call if anything happens, of course." When Severus began heading for the door, all Albus offered was a disinterested, "Taking a walk?"

"Hogsmeade," Severus said, opening the door. "One little errand to take care of," he added reluctantly, when no insulting inquiry into why he was going to Hogsmeade followed his deliberately short answer. "Get some sleep, or Poppy'll be after you."

No reply to that either. Concerning, really, but it still took some minutes for Severus to decide to alter his course so he could remind Poppy to be after Albus for his obvious malaise. The absence of non-addictive cures for heartsickness did not mean some good-natured badgering and good food wouldn't help take the old man's mind off recent events to some extent.

Of course, the good deed was easier grudgingly thought up than actually executed. Though well acquainted with Poppy's lingering disapproval of him by now, Severus still occasionally found himself expecting a polite welcome on entering her tidy little office. Today was one of the days when it took him half by surprise that she didn't look up when he sat down in front of her, complaining about Albus' newly maudlin ways.

"I suppose one of his intrigues has come to a bad end again," Poppy said, after just enough time that he'd begun itching to start all over again in case she hadn't heard him. "What is it now?"

"Nothing I can speak of just yet," Severus replied, taking up one of the magazines piled to the right on her desk. "I will say that it's the wrong time for sentimental reminiscing, though."

"Don't blame me," was the short reply. "I tried to teach you how to cut him short when it matters."

"By being horribly rude, you mean?" Severus said, rolling his eyes. "I like keeping my job, thank you."

"As if yours has ever really been in doubt," Poppy muttered, her low tone lending extra edge to the old joke. She looked up at him then, pinning him with the cool gaze he was starting to wish he could avoid. "How is Antares?"

"Fine," Severus replied, clamping down on the urge to add to that statement. In light of his discovery earlier on, it seemed useless; Bella obviously wasn't interested in sharing important milestones in Antares' progress with him any more. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Bella doesn't always have the time to go into detail when she visits with me," Poppy said, sitting back. "And by the time he's here next week, he won't have time to sit through more than a few rudimentary tests, so all I'll be able to do is observe."

"Then you can call them both in for a chat next weekend, and test him till his skin falls off," Severus retorted, not liking the determined look on Poppy's face. "I'm not his keeper."

"Not last year, you weren't," was her cool answer. "I don't care what kind of front you put up in public here, but you will look out for him this year. You'll be a good house head to him, or you'll know the reason why."

Severus sighed, trying to ignore the urge to share how he'd tried to do that this morning, and found himself both ignored and outmanoeuvred. "The reason being—"

"I will begin to question the efficacy of your long-form potions," Poppy said, matter-of-factly. "I will suggest that you are overworked and over-employed, and ask Albus why he keeps sending you off to all those conventions when you clearly need that time to rest and brew." She gave him an uncomfortably knowing look. "I doubt he'll do more than brush me off, of course; you've laid your bed very well on that score. But he will begin to question why you keep going to those events."

"You can't be serious," Severus said, after a moment's pause, simply because he couldn't quite bring himself to ask if she was blackmailing him. It was all in the tone— a tone that he now realised Poppy must have been using all through this conversation. "I don't think—"

"Not clear enough for you? Fine," Poppy said, her tone flattening dangerously. "I'll put it in Albus' head that you're seeing Bella." Severus sighed loudly, covering his panic with amused disbelief. If there was one person who could start the Headmaster on that train of thought, it was her, and she bloody well seemed to know it, to Severus' misfortune. "Wasn't hard to puzzle it out, really— anyone in her position would be unable to speak to you at length, regardless of whether they were living with you or not. Unless, of course, they had a very good reason for thinking well of you."

"For goodness' sake—"

"Love," Poppy said, cutting him off, "is a very good reason. Hand in hand with lust and loneliness, it is one of the greatest motivators of human action."

By now, Severus was gritting his teeth, unsure of how on earth to strike against her all too true beliefs about his and Bella's relationship. "You're barking up entirely the wrong tree here, you know," he said, struggling to keep his tone calm. "The only reason she's ever spoken to me is on behalf of her twice-cursed son."

"Really," Poppy said, dryly. "How is it that she knows where the last Potions Master Conference was held, then?"

"The only reason—"

"Oh, fine," was the amused answer. "I'm completely convinced. You don't like her, and she certainly doesn't like you."

"You've set this up very well, haven't you? Nothing I say is going to change your mind." Severus laughed sourly. "Well? Is it?"

"Unfortunately not," Poppy said, reaching over to pat his hand perfunctorily. "And Albus'll be just the same once I'm through with him, you can be certain of that. Just think of it—"

"No thanks," Severus returned, spitefully. Letting things alone before he further sealed the truth in her mind was likely the best thing to do, but it was still galling in the extreme. Severus didn't know what was more exasperating, the fact that Poppy was so cheerfully bent on thinking that Bella was seeing him, or the slightly less obvious fact that she entirely disapproved of their relationship. "What have I ever done to you?"

It was exactly the wrong question to ask. Severus could have kicked himself to see the little amusement drain from his once-cordial acquaintance's face. Worse, he could easily have supplied the answers, and they both knew it. It was a mercy that Poppy did not deign to reply; her acid commentary on his actions would only have strained things more. Rising, Severus sought to leave no time for further mistakes.

"You might not think it," Poppy said, her newly sharp tone slowing his departure, "but I'm doing you a very big favour." Severus, paused in the doorway of her office, could feel her eyes digging into his back. "How on earth you haven't been more proactive about protecting the one thing she treasures is beyond me."

He blinked. "And I suppose that makes it friendly blackmail," he said, hating himself for asking, for staying for the answer.

"Oh, it could turn unfriendly in a moment," was Poppy's brusque reply. "Just say the word." But her sigh belied the makeshift menace in her tone, and her next words all but vanished it. "Don't think it wouldn't."

In other words, if you hurt her again… "I won't," was Severus' hesitant reply. He hated himself for it; he didn't need Poppy's approval to see Bella, not hers and not anyone else's. But he still found himself repeating his folly. "I won't."

After that conversation, it seemed like nothing else could go as blatantly wrong. Severus' quick, uninterrupted walk to the large butchers' in Hogsmeade bolstered his spirits, as did the polite cheerfulness of the clerk in allowing him to browse to his heart's delight. He was done in a thrice, loaded down with a large enough package that he couldn't help feeling self-conscious as he left the shop. Once out, he strengthened the odour-repressing charm on the package and made sure to wrap it in a cushioning charm before shrinking it down for his pocket.

The next few minutes passed quickly; once at the grocer's, Severus ran into one of the few people that he regularly spoke to in Hogsmeade. Polite, simple conversation with Will was always easy to endure; it was easier still to accept the offer of a quick drink and short chat in the Hog's Head. Eloquent when he wished to be and still as a rock when he didn't, Will Twilden made an excellent living fencing items of dubious origin. He knew everyone who lived in Hogsmeade, and a good portion of those that passed through the town regularly, and was therefore the perfect person to make inquiries with about getting hold of certain items.

And, with Dumbledore engrossed in Black's affairs and the school year about to begin, now was the best time for Severus to put more effort into getting hold of one of the few substances destructive enough to dispose of the most dangerous articles that had been recovered from the raid on Malfoy manor. Will would not be able to find star fire immediately, of course— punishment for producing and trading it without Ministry sanction had been harsh for long enough that even Will's long-term contacts would think twice before committing to anything out loud.

Not that anyone ever sounded like they'd be reluctant to do business with Will. Severus, who had never had the patience for cultivating contacts on the scale Will did, sometimes envied the way Will could walk into the Hog's Head and nod at half the bar and wink at the rest. He peeled away from Severus in no time, ostensibly to find a table for them to sit at, but more likely to have a quick word with a waiting customer or impatient contact.

Which left Severus to get the drinks, a task he did not ordinarily mind. However, still smarting from seeing Dumbledore and Pomfrey earlier on, Severus had no desire to stand and wait while Aberforth Dumbledore prepared other people's orders, raking his piercing eyes over Severus all the while.

"Right, then," Severus said, when it got to be his turn. "Two—"

"Stirrers," Aberforth supplied. "Saw you walk in with young Twilden. What you always have, isn't it?"

"Yes," Severus said shortly, glad to be able to turn and look away from that unnerving gaze for a moment, if on the weak pretext that he might be looking for Will, who had very openly sat down at a dirty little window table nearby moments ago.

Two glasses thunked down on the counter before him in quick succession. Severus looked down; as always, they were unusually clean. "Headmaster driving you to drink already, I see."

The sarcastic tone in which that was said made Severus look up. A mistake; there was, as always, something behind Aberforth's sour expression that stopped Severus' tongue, however momentarily. "No more than usual," he said politely, returning his gaze to the slowly filling glasses.

They rose into the air abruptly, making Severus start. "Business, then." And then the awful man had turned away and was attending another customer. Severus took control of the hovering glasses, determined to maintain calm. He wouldn't be here for long, and Aberforth had never made a habit of leaving his well-worn spot behind the counter. The thought of leaving soon sustained him through the ensuing small talk with Will; it had all but consumed him by the time he was halfway through his drink.

"Just go, will you?" Will finally said, giving him a frank look. "You're starting to make me look bad."

Severus sighed. "But I haven't even got to—"

"Owl me, for Merlin's sake," Will said, now idly spinning his empty glass in the air. "You haven't forgotten how to charm a letter, have you?" When Severus glared at him, he fully suppressed the smile that had been struggling onto his face. "Look, there's obviously something on your mind. Go gnaw on that in your own time, eh? Come back when you're ready to talk business."

Severus, already half-risen from his chair, gave him a sour look. "How do you know business isn't what's bothering me?"

"Well you'd have asked for the Three Broomsticks for that, wouldn't you?" Will gave him a tight smile. "Anyway, ta for the drink."

Severus only answered with a nod, rising quickly, not bothering to finish off his drink. A minute later, he was firmly on his way out, threading his way around the small groups gathered here and there at the rickety tables, pretending not to hear anything of their low conversations. Already thinking gratefully of getting away, Severus barely noticed the person leaving the pub before him until he'd run into them hard enough to jar his tongue out of his head.

"Sorry," he said shakily, carefully taking himself out of the way of the closing door so no one could stumble into him as stupidly as he had just done to the young—

Oh. Oh dear. "Sorry," Severus repeated, his polite tone covering his sharply rising dismay. Sonya was dressed in clean, simply fitted robes, and looked very much the same save for the slight tear in one sleeve and the way she was feeling carefully at the back of her head.

"Professor," she said ruefully, giving him a brief smile. "Well! It's been a long time."

"I suppose it has been," Severus said, trying to restrain the paranoia clawing into him now. He gestured in the vague direction of her sleeve. "Shall I try and—"

"Oh, I'll survive," Sonya said, shaking her head. For a moment, Severus thought this might end with no further embarrassment on their parts, but soon noticed the way she was already straightening, and the nervous look she was giving him. "Now, I know this isn't the best of times to raise this sort of thing, but I haven't seen you in some time. And when I saw you with Will…" She smiled briefly, and the nervousness disappeared. "A drink, maybe?"

"Well—"

"Needn't be here, you know." Sonya made an abortive gesture at the pub behind them. "We could—"

"Look, Sonya, I'm not—"

"Interested?"

Severus could not keep himself from looking around, though he knew it wouldn't do any good. Anyone determined enough to follow him out and spy on him would likely be sensible enough to conceal themselves sensibly. Somehow, he got out the words. "I'm not available."

"I see," Sonya said encouragingly. The look in her eyes said the opposite.

"I'm quite serious, actually." When he saw the brief flash of disappointment on her face, Severus half wondered if he should have lied, and called it unfortunate that he could be so serious. Then he thought of Bella's possible reaction to spying this in his thoughts, and could have hit himself. "Look, I—"

"Oh don't," Sonya said, cutting him off. "Bound to happen eventually. You know what they say, all things come to an end." She smiled a little then, sudden and bright. "Take the Malfoys. Who'd have known? They always seemed so put together to me."

"Aye," Severus said, now torn between the attraction of receiving fresh news and the impulse to end this…unfortunate conversation as soon as possible. "They've been about?"

"Oh, around and about," Sonya said, shaking her head in amusement. "Mostly each other. The little dance Narcissa did to avoid her dear husband's notice in the post office the other day's the closest to them disagreeing with each other that I've seen in years." She glanced up at Severus, then away. "Most likely it'll be in the Prophet tomorrow, it caused that much of a stir."

"First I've heard of it," Severus said, keeping his face straight. "I'll owl you something, shall I?"

Sonya smiled at him, shrugging regretfully. "Suppose you shall. Good day." She was gone, then, and he could breathe, and count himself up for Apparation to steady his whirling thoughts. Taking a quick walk to calm himself before he left seemed like tempting fate; at this rate, Lucius himself would turn up and invite him to his cavernous home to rant about how the whole world was against him.

A moment later, Severus was in the empty kitchen at home, nursing sarcastic guilt. Nothing really significant had happened during his short-lived trips to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, but he he felt tired, and achy besides. Bella, he soon discovered, was not at home, and neither was Antares. A dull panic seized him until he spotted the note stuck to the mantelpiece.

Took Antares down Diagon to finish his school shopping, it read, in Bella's impatient hand. Back after lunch.

Additional relief coursed through Severus on reading the last three words, heightening his sense of guilt. But the time until then— two or three hours, by the clock above the mantelpiece— was a godsend. He could relax, come down off the strange, roiling high that had carried him through this morning. He could collect his thoughts, could go over the meeting with Dumbledore in his head, could analyse it properly.

And, he thought, feeling even more guilty, he could owl Sonya, and try to explain as clearly as possible that he was taken without insulting her intelligence, and compensate her for the interesting titbit without insulting her dignity. Sighing, Severus, let himself fall onto the sofa, note in hand.

As far as he was concerned, everything else could wait.

---

A/N: You know, for a long time, I thought I wouldn't finish this chapter at all. Shows what I know, eh? Anyway, please do not panic about Sirius, or about Peter, for that matter. All will be revealed.