Christmas Eve saw the school
curiously empty as the bulk of students had buggered off home. Amelia
made a point of waving off the majority of the Weasley family, mostly to ensure
that the twins really were going home. She’d sternly instructed Ginny to run rings
around her elder brothers and received a particularly evil grin from the small
witch. It was clear that the youngest Weasley would also be one to watch in
future.

She spent the morning relaxing in
one of the least dangerous greenhouses with Poppy and Pomona; they were joined
around lunchtime by Minerva and Eveline Vector, the wife of the Arithmancy
Professor, and the five of them enjoyed an excellent cream tea lunch –
apparently a tradition for the mistresses of Hogwarts – while discussing
current events*.

Once her Christmas presents had
been delivered to Argus Filch, the gruffest and least likely Santa Claus that
she could ever have imagined, she headed down to the kitchens in order to
arrange the ‘traditional’ provisions for the night before Christmas. After
wishing the eager elves a Merry Christmas she headed back to the upper echelons
of the castle.

Remembering the conversation of
the previous evening, she detoured to Remus’s rooms, which turned out to be
empty once she’d reached them. Leaving a note explaining her plans she wandered
back to her rooms to decorate. Whilst hanging some origami fairy lights above
her window (and fondly recalling late nights in the old Mill buildings back at
Uni’) she spied Hermione, Ron and Harry
leaving Hagrid’s cottage. She was glad that Hermione had the boys to be with
these days.

0o0

Remus wandered in around mid
afternoon and was cheerfully pressed into service decorating her rooms –
knowing a few more spells than Amelia, he
charmed a string of coloured lights to hover delicately above the small tree
she had up in a corner. He seemed truly bewildered at her seasonal enthusiasm
as the elves set out the food on a rickety table. Amelia laughed at him and
told him that he was very cute when he was confused; he’d blushed so hard he’d
matched the red of the poinsettia adorning the wreath on the door, which of
course made Amelia laugh all the harder.

Hermione and her friends seemed a
little down when they arrived, but Amelia
received an ‘I’ll tell you later’ look in answer to her questioning glance.
After gorging themselves on salmon, walnuts, clementines and gingerbread during
the first film (Ruthless People) and laughing themselves silly at the ending
everyone was more cheerful and relaxed. Even Harry,
who looked totally exhausted, managed the odd smile. During the second film, Amelia
took out her knitting bag and swore loudly.

“Miss!” said Ron,
greatly impressed.

“Oh, we’re all friends here, Ron,
just call me Mel.” She turned to her cousin and
declared, “There’s a yarn in my knot!”

Hermione took hold of the
proffered knitting bag and sighed. Amelia’s yarn
stash had apparently decided to mate with itself.

“Honestly, it’s worse than
tribbles in here…” she declared, earning confused looks from all but Amelia.
Nevertheless, she delved into the bag and extricated several balls of wool to
untangle. Very soon all five of them were contentedly puzzling their way
through the intensely tangled yarn bag. Amelia
realised, once it had all been packed away again, that she’d missed most of the
film, instead being enthralled by Lupin’s nimble fingers, working the threads
beside her. Aware that there were three kids in the room she tried very hard
not to speculate what those nimble fingers would feel like on her skin…

Hermione, who had noticed a
certain lack of concentration on her cousin’s part, gave her a dirty wink at
the earliest opportunity, earning herself a stern glare. Turning back to the
film (and genuinely trying not to snigger) she decided that Amelia’s
glares were more effective when she wasn’t blushing.

The end of Shrek heralded a
general reshuffling of positions as the five friends stretched their limbs and
refilled their plates. Amelia emerged from her
bedroom with a box of Lebkuchen, sent on by the infamous Aunty Bea,
which Hermione, now lying on her front by the fire, happily began to munch
through. Harry and Ron
were sat on either side of her, almost protectively, their backs to the sofa,
upon which Remus sat, cross legged, nursing a glass of wine. Amelia
folded herself into the seat next to him, not quite close enough for them to be
touching.

As Harry
stood up to start the next film, Role Models, Remus and Amelia
could feel the skin of their arms prickle where they had accidentally brush
against one another. Amelia was trying to watch
the film, laughing at all the inappropriate moments, but her mind was dwelling
on the warmth in her arm as she again grazed against her fellow professor.

Now just imagine what they
would feel like on your stomach, her mind taunted, and she quickly finished
her glass of wine, trying desperately not to do just that.

For his part, Remus was
struggling, once again, with the thought of Amelia sat on his desk, not wearing
very much – an image that had fleshed itself out in his mind considerably since
it had first occurred to him; this time, however, she had a ribbon tied about
her wrist like a Christmas present.

The Amelia
on the sofa beside him gulped down her wine and shifted a little, before
topping up his glass, which he took a larger sip from. The Amelia
in his mind bit her lip at him, seductively. Oh Gods…

Neither adult noticed Hermione,
who was immensely amused by their inability to concentrate on anything other
than each other (and the boys’ inability to see any of it), slyly conjure a
small garland of mistletoe above Amelia’s door.

0o0

Remus lingered after the party
had wound up and the kids had wandered off to bed. A little embarrassed by her
feelings, Amelia chose to clear away her computer before turning, arms laden,
to see him leaning against a nearby door joist, just watching her; his head was
a little to one side in quiet contemplation.

“What?” she asked.

“I…” he met her eyes before
looking away. “Let me help you.” Together they carried the remains of the yarn
and (to Remus’s mind) the bizarre array of Muggle technology through to Amelia’s
room, where, equipment safely stowed, the pair experienced a second moment of
awkwardness.

“I should be off, I suppose,” he
said, slowly making for the door.

“Yes… it is rather late…” Amelia
replied, glancing at the clock. “…Remus?”

“Yes?” he answered, pausing by
the door, one hand on the frame.

Amelia
hesitated and her nerve failed.

“Er- Merry Christmas,” she said,
helplessly, turning back to her dresser and furiously cursing inside her own
head.

“Amelia?”

“Yes?” she turned back to face
him.

“I just wanted to thank you… it’s
been a lovely evening with you and the others. I haven’t felt so, well, wanted
at Christmas since… well it’s been a long time… and...” he trailed off, staring
at the floor in front of him.

Amelia,
once again marvelling at the solitude that her colleague had been subject to,
crossed to him and, not really knowing what else to do, gently ruffled his
hair. He met her gaze and smiled sadly, her hand still resting on his shoulder.

Now if this were a film, dear
reader, there would at this point be some poignant violin action, or at least a
gentle piano melody as the two of them slowly moved in for a kiss; but as this
is not, in fact a film…

At the last second Amelia,
deafened by the sound of her own heartbeat and almost completely absorbed by
the man in front of her, was instantly and entirely distracted by the
bottommost leaves of Hermione’s conspiratorial garland of mistletoe. Her head,
following her gaze, shot up and she glared at the offending greenery, moment
lost.

“Oh, I am going to kill
her! No, maim her and then kill her!”

Remus, whose eyes had mirrored Amelia’s
in their journey skywards, burst out laughing, despite himself. Amelia,
momentarily nonplussed, regarded him with alarm before she, too, dissolved into
laughter.

“I-I’ll help if you l-like,”
Remus managed, between sporadic (and inherently un-manly) giggles.

Amelia
reached out an arm to steady herself and found Remus’s shoulder.

“You know what would drive her
really nuts?” she queried, gasping for breath. “If w-we did the same to her one
d-day!”

Remus nodded, “We’ll have to
choose our moment carefully and th-th-then pounce!”

Sides aching with mirth and tears
rolling down their cheeks, they held each other upright until the waves of merriment
ceased.

Amelia
sighed heavily and kissed Remus sweetly, intending to turn away in order to
usher him off. Remus, whose eyes had fluttered closed as their lips had met,
had other ideas. He gently pulled her back to him, once hand tangled in her
hair, one delicately resting on the small of her back and kissed her again,
tenderly but more firmly.

After several minutes they came
up for air, faces flushed and hair tousled, and stood, bodies closely entwined,
eyes met in new understanding until the cry of a distant night bird broke both
their gaze and their embrace.

“…I really should go,” Remus
said, reluctantly. “My transformation…”

Amelia
nodded and wished him a Merry Christmas before watching his retreating form
move down the passage. Returning to her room she began to plot her cousin’s
demise in intense detail.

0o0o0o0

Just as Amelia’s
rooms had been festooned with the colours of the season, the usual magnificent
Christmas decorations had been put up in the rest of the castle, despite the
fact that hardly any of the students had remained to enjoy them. Thick
streamers of holly and mistletoe were strung along the corridors, mysterious
lights shone from inside every suit of armour and the Great Hall was filled
with it usual twelve Christmas trees, glittering with golden stars. A powerful
and delicious smell of cooking pervaded the corridors, making the stomachs of
those remaining at Hogwarts rumble in anticipation.

On Christmas morning Amelia
was woken by the memory of Remus’s lips on hers and she dressed as if in a
dream. Mentally scolding herself for drippiness, she applied herself to the
first order of business for Christmas – the unwrapping of presents.

She was delighted to discover
that Pomona had provided her with
several jars of hard-to-obtain herbs, while Poppy Pomfrey had opted for a
bottle of sparkling wine.

She received several excellent
books from various staff members, including an unexpected but appreciated
collection of 16^th century ribald limericks from Dumbledore. She
found herself blushing as she read through them, realising just what that
twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles might represent and wondering whether
she’d ever be able to meet his eyes again. Being once more amused by the
general oddness of her employer, Amelia returned
her attention to the few remaining packages. There was a beautiful shawl from
Aunty Bea and an Egyptian ‘Khet’ game from Hermione; Molly Weasley, bless her,
had provided her with a stack of peanut brittle and a pair of magnificently
colourful socks.

Clearing away the majority of
bright wrapping paper Amelia discovered two
hitherto overlooked gifts, one wrapped in elegant silver and green wrapping
paper the other more simply clad in brown packing paper. The former, from
Severus, contained several packets of seeds (‘For that garden you miss’)
and an apology (‘Sorry I’m so bloody grumpy’); she was happy to find
that he’d even remembered her favourites, Sweet Peas.

Amelia
smiled. It seemed that her morose colleague was trying to mend their battered
friendship; well, it was a start.

The second package contained a
worn copy of Much Ado about Nothing. Inside the front cover was a slip of paper
with the words:

‘To my pleasant spirited lady,
sent in the hopes of further sharpening that keen wit, from your Benedick’

Amelia,
familiar with the play, bit her lip. It seemed that Remus really cared for her.
An odd but not unpleasant feeling settled in her stomach as she began to turn
the pages. Smiling to herself, she curled up in her windowseat and followed the
thread of the words to Messina.

0o0

At lunchtime she went down to the
Great Hall to find that the house tables had been moved against the walls
again, and that a single table, set for twelve, stood in the middles of the
room. Dumbledore, Minerva, Severus, Pomona,
Filius and Argus were all there. Argus had taken off his usual brown coat and
was wearing a very old and rather mouldy-looking tail-coat. There were only
five students: Hermione, Harry, Ron
and two extremely nervous-looking first years.

Amelia
greeted them brightly, thanking Hermione and her colleagues for their presents;
Severus, ostensibly avoiding her gaze exchanged a brief nod
and smile with her before recollecting his usual dour expression so as not to
lose face in front of the students. He was wearing her gift, a black scarf with
the occasional fleck of emerald green, and he would periodically rearrange it
and smile.

Dumbledore happily showed off his
knitted, knee-high, violently colourful socks to Minerva, who
shook her head jovially and herself nodded at Amelia.

“Merry Christmas!” said
Dumbledore as her cousin and her friends approached the table. “As there are so
few of us, it seemed foolish to use the house tables… sit down, sit down!”

The three of them sat down side
by side at the end of the table.

“Crackers!” said Dumbledore
enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver one to Severus,
who took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker
flew apart to reveal a large, pointed witch’s hat topped with a stuffed
vulture.

Harry
and Ron exchanged amused grins, as did Hermione
and Amelia, who also noted that Pomona
and Minerva were shaking with ill-contained silent mirth. The
legend of Snape and the Boggart would clearly not be one that died quickly.
Briefly assessing her colleagues she decided that Pomona
and Filius were probably responsible for the hat; Filius winked at her in a
conspiratorial fashion.

Severus’s mouth
thinned and he pushed the hat towards Dumbledore, who swapped it for his
wizard’s hat at once.

“Tuck in!” he advised the table,
beaming around.

As Amelia
was helping herself to gravy, the doors of the Great Hall swung open once more.
It was Sybill Trelawney,
gliding towards them as if on wheels. She had put on a green sequinned dress in
honour of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering,
oversize dragonfly.

“Sybill, this is a pleasant
surprise!” said Dumbledore, standing up.

“I have been crystal gazing,
Headmaster,” she said, in her mistiest, most faraway voice, “and to my
astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join
you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my
tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness…”

Crystal gazing my bottom,
thought Amelia. It hadn’t escaped her that the
woman looked rather overdressed for a solitary luncheon, nor the way she’d
looked at Severus, who, to her amusement, looked rather like a
deer caught in the headlights of a particularly fast moving truck.

“Certainly, certainly, Dumbledore
was saying, his eyes twinkling. “Let me draw you up a chair –”

And he did indeed draw a chair in
mid-air with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds before falling with a
thud between Minerva and the stricken Severus.
Sybill much to Amelia’s surprise, did not sit
down; her eyes had been roving around the table and suddenly she uttered a kind
of soft scream.

“I dare not Headmaster! If I join
the table we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget
that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!”

Amelia
felt her eyes roll involuntarily.

“We’ll risk it, Sybill,” said Minerva
impatiently. “Do sit down, the turkey’s getting stone cold.”

Sybill hesitated, then lowered
herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though
expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table. Minerva poked a
large spoon into the nearest tureen.

“Tripe, Sybill?”

Amelia
attempted not to choke on her roast potato as she met Filius’s eyes.

Sybill ignored her. Eyes open
again, she looked around once more and said, “But where is dear Professor
Lupin?”

“I’m afraid the poor fellow is
ill again,” said Dumbledore, helping himself to what Amelia
could only assume was bread sauce. “Most unfortunate that it should happen on
Christmas Day.”

“But surely you already knew
that, Sybill?” asked Minerva, a little too innocently,
eyebrows raised.

Sybill gave her a very cold look.

“Certainly I knew, Minerva,”
she said quietly. “But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I
frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make
others nervous.”

Across from Amelia,
Filius was sniggering into his bacon-wrapped sausages.

“That explains a great deal,”
said Minerva, tartly.

Amelia
snorted into her roast dinner and quickly feigned a coughing fit on
Dumbledore’s stern glance; next to her, Severus was also
trying not to smile – his eyes twinkled as she glanced up at him. At the other
side of the table Pomona was biting
her lip as Filius began to turn puce beside her.

Sybill’s voice suddenly became a
good deal less misty.

“If you must know, Minerva,
I have seen that poor Professor Lupin
will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is
short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him –”

“I’ll bet he did,” muttered Severus,
under his breath.

“Imagine that,” said Minerva,
drily.

“I doubt,” said Dumbledore in a
cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to Minerva
and Sybill’s conversation, “that Professor
Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus,
you’ve made the potion for him again?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” said Severus.

“Good,” said Dumbledore. Then he
should be up and about in no time… Derek, have
you had any of these chipolatas? They’re excellent.”

The first-year Hufflepuff boy
went furiously red on being addressed directly by Dumbledore, and took the
platter of sausages with trembling hands.

Sybill behaved almost normally
until the very end of Christmas dinner, two hours later. Full to bursting with
Christmas dinner and still wearing their cracker hats, Harry
and Ron got up first from the table and she
shrieked, loudly.

“My dears! Which of you left his
seat first? Which?”

“Dunno,” said Ron,
looking uneasily at Harry. Amelia
made a mental note to have a word with the boy about elocution.

“I doubt it will make much
difference,” said Minerva coldly, “unless a mad axe-man is
waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall.”

Even Ron
laughed; Sybill was glaring daggers at the older witch.

“Coming?” said Harry
to Hermione.

“No,” she muttered. “I want a quick
word with Professor McGonagall.”

Minerva took
Hermione to one side; Amelia, unable to contain
her curiosity watched them and was beckoned over by the older witch.

Hermione was wringing her hands
wretchedly.

“Go on, Miss
Granger,” Minerva
encouraged.

“Well, it’s just –” she looked Amelia,
who frowned and nodded at her.

“Harry
received a Firebolt this morning.”

“Lucky bu-cough-boy,” Amelia
interjected.

Hermione nodded, “It’s world
class, really expensive. But it didn’t say who it was from – I can’t think of
anyone who could afford to give him something like that…”

The expressions of the two older
witches darkened considerably.

“Sirius Black,” said Amelia,
less a question now than a statement.

“Exactly!” exclaimed her cousin,
“it’s the one thing Harry won’t be able to
resist using, and if it’s got some sort of dark magic on it…”

Minerva nodded,
“We shall have to test it. Miss Granger,
if you’ll come with me.” The two of them left the Great Hall looking
determined.

Amelia
turned back to the party to find Severus watching her
hopefully; Sybill was once more attempting to engage him in flirtatious
conversation, but he was doing his best to avoid her. Taking pity, Amelia
sat down beside Trelawney and engaged her in a detailed discourse about her own
astrology. Sybill, delighted that someone was finally taking an interest in her
art entirely abandoned all attempt to attract favour from Snape and began to
provide Amelia with a full analysis of her
charts, jotting down notes on a hitherto concealed notebook.

After a while she looked at Amelia,
frowning, and said, “But that can’t be right… you’re impossible.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Amelia,
a little unnerved by her colleague’s sudden change in demeanour.

“Your charts suggest, my dear,
that you’re – no,” she said, looking up at her. “I’ll double check, my dear, no
use worrying you.”

Amelia
marvelled at the irony of this statement, but decided not to dwell on this and
forced a laugh. “What’s my future then?”

Sybill turned back to her, “Your
immediate future contains much trouble and unhappiness, I’m afraid; an old
wound will be opened and you will come off the worse for it.”

Amelia
was left gaping after Trelawney, nonplussed.

0o0

Severus escorted
her back to her rooms.

“Thank you for distracting
Sybill,” he said to her as they reached her door.

“Oh, it’s nothing mate,” Amelia
smiled. “Thanks for the apology – the seeds will be lovely.”

Severus smiled
slightly, “There, you see? I do listen to people. Thank you for the scarf – how
did you know that black was my colour?”

Amelia
smacked him lightly on the arm as his evil grin developed.

“Perhaps I’m just psychic, my
dear – schooled in the ancient and mystic arts,” she continued, in a creditable
impression of Sybill.

It was Severus’s
turn to smack her in the arm and they laughed.

“I suppose you’ll be spending the
evening with our lupine friend?” he asked, giving her a sidelong glance.

Amelia
sighed, a little exasperated.

“What’ve you got against him
anyway? Is it just the wolf thing or did you both fall for the same girl in
school or something?”

A dark shadow crossed Severus’s
features.

“Amelia,
just leave it, will you? We have contentedly hated one another for the better
part of twenty years, you aren’t going to change that now,” he said in a tired voice.

As ridiculous as this sounded to
her, she nodded, reflecting that there were a good few schoolmates that she
could happily continue to detest until she died.

“Alright. But you have to be at
least polite when I’m around. I value your friendship and enjoy your company –
both of you – and I don’t want to be constantly being the umpire in an endless
bickering match.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded,
pleased that their rekindled friendship wasn’t going to suffer because of that
bloody werewolf.

“I was just wondering if you’d
care to join me for a game of chess or something, but if you’re… otherwise engaged…
we could do it tomorrow.”

Amelia
smiled, blushing very slightly at the direction his filthy mind had apparently
taken.

“Sounds good, but I warn you, my
chess skills will bewilder and bedazzle you.”

“Oh yes? I happen to be the
ex-Hogwarts champion, I’ll have you know.”

“And I’ll have you know that I’m
probably the worst player ever to have looked at a board.”

Severus chuckled
at her mischievous grin.

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow.”

0o0o0o0

As Amelia
settled down with one of her new books she reflected once more on the dire
warnings that Sybill had so calmly proclaimed; frowning and with an effort, she
cast them from her mind.

She had barely finished the first
chapter when there was a knock at her door; marking her page, she crossed to it
and it opened to reveal a frowning Snape.

On her questioning look he moved
back slightly to reveal a shaking and tearful Hermione who was promptly pulled
into a hug.

As Amelia
hustled her cousin into her rooms, she indicated through means of wild sign
language behind her back that Severus, who was hovering
uncomfortably by the door, should put the kettle on.

Feeling that this was very much Amelia’s
area of expertise he gratefully and awkwardly did as he was told. Although
dealing with crying young women was technically part of his job description he
tended to deliver them to Madame Pomfrey
after patting them ineffectually on the shoulder a few times.

As Hermione tearfully explained
about the Firebolt and the boys’ reactions to its stripping down, and Amelia
rubbed her shoulders comfortingly, Severus hid in the corner
of Amelia’s living room devoted to the making of
tea. He carried three mugs of steaming tea over to the sofa, and handed the one
with four sugars to Hermione, having remembered something his mother had once
told him about treatments for shock.

“And even before all this they
were distant because Crookshanks tried to eat Scabbers, and now they h-h-hate
me!”

Snape, a little flummoxed,
mouthed ‘Crookshanks?’ over Hermione’s head as the girl dissolved into a fresh
wave of sobs.

‘Hermione’s cat tried to eat Ron’s
rat,’ Amelia mouthed back.

‘Ah.’

“Oh, come on Hermione, they’re
just being angry teenagers,” she said, trying to get her cousin to look up.

“B-but if the b-broom is from
Black, then-”

“Yes. Harry
could be killed,” she agreed, deciding that honesty would be the best approach.

Hermione looked up at her,
shocked, perhaps, by hearing her fears spoken out loud so matter-of-factly.

“The thing about young lads –
well young people in general – is that they think they’re immortal,” Amelia
said, gauging her cousin’s expression. “Oh sure, we’ve all heard of death,
walked through graveyards, even seen it in our own families and all that, but
we don’t really get to understand properly until we’re a little older. You
remember when Aunty Bea was
young she used to break in horses down at the riding stables?”

Hermione nodded, still sniffling,
but calming down enough to listen.

“She used to fall all the time,
even badly, but she’d always get right back up into the saddle until her Ernie
died. The first time she fell after that she stopped riding for years – she’s
only got back into it recently.”

“So?”

“So she realised how easy it was
to die. Until he realises that, Harry won’t
fully understand the true danger that Black represents. Which
is better, I suppose, than him jumping at everything that moves – but it does
mean that he’ll be angry with you for a while.

“You did the right thing though,
and he’s a smart boy, he knows that, it’ll just take a bit for him to realise
it.”

“I suppose so,” said Hermione,
sniffling a little.

Amelia
looked at Snape imploringly; he cleared his throat uncertainly.

“Er- yes. And as for Ron
and his rat, boys are idiots at your age – they’ll figure out that they miss
you soon enough.”

“Do you really think so?”
Hermione had apparently forgotten that it was Snape she was talking to and was
looking up at him with big eyes; behind her Amelia
was nodding fervently.

“Well, you know my opinion of the
two of them,” he began, lip curling slightly. “But you seem to keep them out of
a lot of the trouble that they are so good at getting themselves into. You’re
one of the most sensible and intelligent witches of your age that I’ve met in a
long time, Miss Granger
– no matter what I usually say – and as Amelia
says, they know that too. The three of you will be thick as thieves and
annoying the crap out of me again in no time,” he finished, hoping that this
would do the trick.

Hermione stared at him for a few
seconds then despite, or perhaps because, this had come from someone who
couldn’t normally stand her, she nodded briskly and pulled herself together.

“Ok?” Amelia
asked her, still concerned.

“M-yeah,” she replied; Amelia
was struck suddenly by how young she looked – she’d become so used to the
tough-girl act that she’d almost forgotten her cousin’s youth.

“Tell you what, why don’t you
have a wash, grab some of my old pyjamas and curl up here with a book?”

Hermione nodded and wandered off into
Amelia’s bedroom.

“Thanks,” Amelia
said, as soon as she was out of earshot; Severus shook his
head.

“I found her outside the library.
Is she going to be alright?”

Amelia
nodded. “Maybe not right away, but she’ll get there. What you said really
helped.”

“Well she is a good witch,
despite her dubious choice of friends.”

Amelia
rolled her eyes, “they’re good lads, Severus,” she said, “and
you could treat her with slightly less contempt.”

“I’m working on it,” he said, but
frowned. “Potter will take more work however – his father and
I… were often at odds with one another, and he resembles him so closely.”

Again, Amelia’s
eyes flicked skywards, “must have been some extra-friendly odds for you to hold
a grudge thirteen years after his death…”

“Er- yes. Look, if she’s alright,
I’ll be off…”

Severus
gratefully retreated on her nod as Hermione emerged from the bedroom wearing
some pyjamas that had probably last been worn in Mel’s
‘bright college days’. Their owner retrieved her warmest cardigan from the back
of a chair and wrapped it around Hermione in a tight hug.

“You’ll be alright, my love,” she
said. Hermione returned the hug.

“Did Professor
Snape mean what he said?” she asked,
allowing herself to be led to the windowseat.

“I think so. He’s an odd man,
that one – but he’s trying to be less…” Amelia
searched for an appropriate word.

“Evil?”

“… unpleasant.”

Hermione laughed at that and
wrapped the cardigan around her more tightly, then looked rather confused at
the crackling noise that this produced. Curious, she identified the source of
the sound in the pocket of the garment.

“Oh, I’d forgotten about that,” Amelia
exclaimed, “looks like it’s from Aunty Bea,
you open it.”

Hermione did so, unfolding the
crisp paper within.

“Dearest Amelia,”
she read, “hoping that you and the little monster are well. I hate to
inconvenience you dear, but…” Hermione trailed off, eyes flicking rapidly
across the page.

“But what?” Amelia
asked, that familiar prickle of concern pressing the back of her neck.
“Hermione?”

Wordlessly, and with a face
deepened with worry lines she handed the letter to her cousin. Once she’d read
it, the pair stared silently at one another for some time. It was Amelia
who broke the silence first, “I’ll have to go.”

“Mel,”
Hermione began.

“He’s harassing Bea.”

“Mel,
don’t -”

“I’ll head out straight away.”

“Mel,
for gods’ sake! He’ll –”

“I know!” she snapped. “Sorry.”
Then: “I have to.”

“I know…”

“I’ll go straight to Dumbledore;
can you do me a favour?”

0o0

Severus was sat
in his rooms listening to the wireless when Hermione knocked on his door.
Deftly switching the machine off, removing his feet from the desk and smoothing
down his robes, he steepled his fingers together.

“Come.”

Hermione, still bundled up in her
cousin’s clothes and paler than live humans are supposed to be, came into the
room. Despite her fragile appearance she stood straight backed and determined
before him.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Amelia
– that is, my cousin – has been called away unexpectedly to deal with a family
emergency. She’s spoken to Professor Dumbledore,
but asked me to inform you that she is regrettably unable to join you for chess
tomorrow.”

Concerned both by his student’s
demeanour and the suddenness of Amelia’s
departure Severus began, “may I enquire after the nature of
the predicament, Miss Granger?”
he matched her formal tone.

“Only that it is a personal
matter and that she does not yet know when she will return.”

“I see.”

“She also wishes to ask a favour
of you, Sir,” Hermione continued more timidly.

“Oh?”

Hermione bit her lip.

“Sit down, Miss
Granger, and tell me what you can.”

Several floors above, Remus lay
by the fire in his office, quietly excited and awaiting Amelia’s
arrival. He looked up as the door opened and began to wag his tail; this action
ceased abruptly however, as he saw who it was that had entered.

“Forgive the intrusion, Lupin,”
Snape sneered.

Remus, despite himself, growled.

“I am simply here to relay a
message. Miss Brown
has been called away unexpectedly on family business and does not know when she
will return. She sends her apologies.”

Remus’s heart plummeted into his
stomach **; this felt like real trouble.

“She also suggested I offer my
own company in her stead, though I suspect we are both equally opposed to that
idea.”

Remus vaguely resisted the urge
to chew on Severus’s leg and nodded.

“Right. I expect that the house
elves will be available to feed you and attend to your needs; do try not to eat
them.” With that he swished out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

If he hadn’t been so worried
about Amelia (or currently a wolf) he might have
chuckled.

Had Severus
just made a joke?

0o0o0o0

Hermione, curled up on the window
seat in Amelia’s room, watched the December rain
trail down the window miserably. As she intended to remain in Amelia’s
quarters until her cousin returned safely Severus had, kindly
and unexpectedly, instructed the house elves to bring up her books and some of
her clothes, and keep her appropriately fed. She was seeing and entirely new
side of her dour professor, she mused; after ensuring her relative well-being
he had, somewhat awkwardly, wished her a good-night and instructed her to send
a message to him immediately if either she or Amelia
needed anything.

What she needed, Hermione
thought, was for Amelia to be back safe and
sound. She’d picked at her food and made a few notes on her work but she was
too worried for her cousin to properly concentrate.

Although she knew Aunty
Bea could take care of both herself and Amelia,
Hermione could still imagine the kind and extent of trouble that that bastard
could cause. She remembered sitting beside Amelia’s
hospital bed waiting for her friend to wake for days after their last
encounter. Her cousin had seemed so small and pale compared to her usual
colourful nature; Hermione had never been more afraid in her life, even when,
the summer before that she’d run, unthinking, across town to the smoking pile
of rubble that had once been her home.

Amelia
had been there, pale and shaking, but still strong and sensible enough to hold
her cousin. Without her, Hermione knew, she would not have survived thus far.
Without Amelia…

Desperately, she reached for her
Potions homework and tried, unsuccessfully to banish such thoughts from her
treacherous mind.

0o0o0o0

*i.e. Gossiping.

**  Although as he was currently a wolf, this was
more of a sideways movement than a downwards one.