It was two days before New Year’s
when Hagrid met an unusually quiet Amelia from
Hogsmeade Station. There were dark circles under her eyes and she gave the
impression of complete exhaustion; the usually spry and verbose young witch
winced as she walked and the journey to the castle was a silent one.

Hermione, who had spent the day
trying to dig up information for Hagrid’s case, jumped up as Amelia
entered her rooms and quickly removed her cousin’s backpack; Amelia
put up no resistance whatsoever.

“Could you tell Dumbledore I’m
back please, Hermione?” she said quietly, without looking at her cousin.

Hermione, relieved at her
cousin’s return but aware of its likely cost, complied immediately, making a
short detour to the dungeons.

When Severus
reached Amelia’s rooms she was still stood just
inside the room, apparently staring into space.

“Amelia?”
he asked, cautiously.

When she didn’t respond he laid
an arm upon her shoulder and gently led her to the sofa, gingerly pushing her
down onto it; he frowned as she winced at the movement.

Hermione skidded back into the
room at that instant and was set to making tea in a curious parody of Christmas
day.

When hot beverage had been served
to needy recipient Hermione sat beside her cousin on the sofa and Severus
stood by the fireplace, aware that he was probably intruding on something
private, his frown deepened by the flames.

“Is it done with?” Hermione
asked, conscious of the Potions Master’s presence.

Amelia
nodded slowly, “For now.” Her voice seemed very quiet in a room full of
lengthening shadows.

“And Bea’s
ok?”

Another nod.

Hermione relaxed a little,
satisfied; as her gaze travelled down she saw a deep patch of red blossoming on
the sleeve of Amelia’s shirt.

“What did he do to you?” she
demanded, suddenly furious.

Severus was
struck suddenly, somewhere in that part of the mind that ticks over when action
is needed, by their resemblance to one another; both equally fierce and
vulnerable, and both entirely unwilling to show it. His admiration for Hermione
moved up a notch.

He moved forward and gently
tapped his wand to her arm; slowly, the bleeding stopped.

“Are there any more?” he asked,
trying to keep his own anger at his friend’s treatment out of his voice.

Amelia
indicated several other areas that were causing her pain and each time Severus
carefully removed the wound.

Gently, he knelt before her.

“Amelia,
tell me what is going on,” he instructed, laying a hand delicately on her
shoulder as she began to sob. Hermione held her hand tightly as she began to
explain.

“I was engaged to this guy, Steve,”
she began, trying to steady her voice. “He was sweet, charming, thoughtful, the
works – when my mother died he was a brick, he stuck around and picked me up
each time I fell down.”

Amelia
went quiet and Hermione frowned, before turning slightly towards Severus.
The younger witch explained quietly how Steve
had become strange when Amelia had begun to
recover, snapping and shouting at the slightest things.

“I think he liked being in
control,” Amelia managed, “and when I got better
I took that away from him. Then, last summer…”

“I was staying with friends and I
got a phone call from the hospital that Amelia
had been badly hurt,” Hermione continued, grimly. “Steve
had just lost it. When I got there Mel was in
intensive care, covered in scars and bruises, white as the sheets she was
wrapped in… the doctors didn’t know if she’d wake up.” Hermione suddenly looked
much older to Severus.

“I stayed with her… it was a
couple of weeks before she woke up. I got most of my summer homework done in
her hospital room… I wouldn’t let Steve in when
he came to visit…”

“When I woke up, Hermione was
still there,” added Amelia, “and Steve
was waiting for us outside when we left. He kept saying he was really sorry and
that it would never happen again,” she gave a sort of strangled laugh. “I told
Hermione to go and stay with Aunty Bea
–”

“Which I only did because you
shouted at me,” Hermione added, stubbornly.

“- because I was afraid he’d hurt
her.” She turned to Hermione, “I couldn’t see another way…”

“I understood,” said Hermione,
and held her cousin’s arm a bit tighter.

“When he drove me home he kept
saying how it was all my fault and that if I’d behaved he wouldn’t have to act
like that. I waited until he’d gone to the pub that night, called one of my mates
and got out of there. Since then he’s taken to harassing various family members
and friends – Aunty Bea wrote
to me because he was threatening her and smashing things on her farm. She
didn’t want the police involved for my sake…”

Hermione, despite herself,
snorted. “Oh, because the police arriving is so much worse than being beaten to
a pulp.”

Worryingly, Amelia
didn’t even react.

“It’s done with now,” she said,
patting Hermione on the hand. “Aunty Bea’s
safe and there’s no way he can reach you here.”

Hermione’s expression suggested
that this assessment of the situation was fairly removed from her own, but
chose not to say anything, instead running for the kitchens to get some food
for Amelia. As she did so Severus
laid a hand on Amelia’s shoulder; she glanced up
at him.

“I would have gone with you,” he
said gently.

“It was something I had to do.”

“I know.”

They were silent for a moment,
then:

“Next time, you won’t be alone.
Now, go and have a bath, or whatever it is you women do to relax.” With that, he
swept from the room.

Amelia
was touched, she suspected that few people got to see this side of Snape, and
felt oddly privileged because of it.

0o0o0o0

After a hot bath and a good meal Amelia
felt much better, and played a few rounds of crib with her cousin until
Hermione took her stuff back to her dormitory, satisfied that Amelia
was going to be ok.

Amelia
removed the festive decorations a little sadly, packing them into a box with a
wave of her wand; as she flicked her iPod onto shuffle there came a knock on
her door.

“It’s open,” she called, through
the strains of ‘All That Jazz’; Remus came in as she turned around, he gave her
an uncertain smile, which she returned, a little tiredly.

“Severus said
you were back.”

Amelia
raised and eyebrow, “I didn’t realise you were on speaking terms.”

“Well, when we can avoid it, but
we’re both worried about you…” he chuckled, “… for the first time since we were
fifteen you have provided common-ground for non-abusive conversation.”

Amelia
took a small bow and then winced, “Glad to be of service. Ouch.”

Remus frowned and sat beside her
as she gingerly lowered herself onto the sofa.

She took in his expression and
said quietly, “I’ve had worse.”

“Yes,” he replied, “that’s what
worries me.”

Amelia
afforded him a grimace and he decided that it would be politic to change the
subject; she would explain her absence and injuries when she was ready, and not
before.

“Thank you for the book, by the
way – it’s been a while since I read something Muggle.”

Amelia
smiled, “It’s a good one, that, full of whimsy. Thanks for the play – it’s my
favourite Shakespeare.”

Remus grinned.

“I thought it might be, somehow,”
he paused, still smiling but more serious now, “I meant every word, you know.”

“I know,” she replied quietly,
and gently took his hand. “It meant a great deal.”

He looked up at her and frowned.

“He really hurt you, didn’t he.”
It wasn’t a question; Remus had noticed a deep purple bruise adorning her
wrist.

“Yes,” she said, so quietly that
he almost missed it; he pulled her into a hug.

“Next time he’ll have to face
me,” he said, and she could feel the growl in his voice reverberate through his
chest.

Changing the subject once more,
he started, “I was less sure about this, however –” and he extracted a collar
from the depths of his pocket. Waving it in Amelia’s
general direction he enquired, “Wolfy McWolferson?” expression almost serious.

Amelia
laughed, and then winced again; “Yeah, sorry about that – I have these ideas
pop into my head and I really shouldn’t pay attention to them.” She glanced at
him conspiratorially, “I thought you might appreciate the joke.”

Smiling, he replied, “Mostly,
but, Wolfy McWolferson? What did I do to deserve that?” he was doing a
good impression of a stung man and Amelia
suppressed a giggle.

“Have you heard your name
recently? I mean, you don’t have to be a classicist to know that the founders
of Rome were suckled by wolves; and
then there’s your surname, which is Latin for what?”

He laughed along with her and
held up a hand in mock defeat, struck again that his old friends would
certainly have approved of Amelia.

“Alright, alright. I hope you’re
not expecting me to wear it though!”

This image sent Amelia
into a fresh wave of laughter – and wincing.

Remus decided that Amelia
laughing was infinitely better than Amelia
worrying, so he suggested that they put on another film. They cuddled up
contentedly under a much loved woollen blanket and put on St Trinian’s,
Amelia saying that Remus needed a ‘proper’
education. A couple of hours and copious volume of eggnog later found them
snoring gently in one another’s arms in Amelia’s
bed, inhibitions and several layers of clothing discarded.

0o0o0o0

Amelia
woke the next morning more comfortable than she had been in a long time;
despite her injuries she was warm, contented and safely in someone’s arms. This
feeling of contentment lasted precisely until she opened her eyes, at which
point the winter sunlight pouring in through a chink in her curtains decided to
scorch its existence into her retinas.

Screwing her eyes shut and making
a small noise of intense distress she attempted to escape the blinding daylight
by turning over and burrowing back under her duvet but instead encountered an
equally hung-over and increasingly embarrassed Remus Lupin.

Painfully, they squinted at one
another for a moment before each scrambled for the clothes that they had
abandoned the evening before.

“Er…”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“Ow.”

“Yeah.”

Remus, now almost fully dressed
(and a fetching shade of crimson), was attempting to cross to the door but was
currently hampered by some pyjamas which had attached themselves to his ankles
in a determined fashion. He bent down to disentangle himself and caught a
glimpse of a delicate tattoo disappearing beneath an old jumper as he did so.
Fighting the sudden, delicious urge to see the rest of the now concealed
artwork he reached for the door handle and turned, if possible, an even deeper
shade of red.

“Erm,” he began, “I think this
may be –”

Amelia
snatched the offending item and hid it behind her.

Finding that he couldn’t quite
look up at her, he stuttered, “Um, yes, well…” and fled after another painfully
awkward silence, leaving Amelia stood alone in her room wearing naught but a
jumper and a pair of (reasonably frilly) knickers. With a feeling of
resignation, she sat down on her bed, placing the offending (also reasonably
frilly) item down beside her and swore quietly.

Then, carefully avoiding the
glare of the sun from the window she placed her hands either side of her head
and collapsed gently onto her bed as last night’s rum caught up with her once
more.

0o0o0o0

Sometime later, Hermione was sat
at one end of the now-lonely Christmas table, picking at her lunch. She was
largely being ignored by her two ‘best friends’ so she periodically glanced up
at her teachers. Much to her amusement, many of them were wearing items of Amelia’s
knitwear – including Snape, who to her surprise afforded her a stiff nod. Her
interest, and that of the Potion’s Master, was piqued when her cousin entered
and blearily sat down next to her; she appeared to be struggling to remain
awake.

“Long night?” she asked, unable
to stop herself.

Amelia
turned to her cousin and glared, grimacing at the fireworks that this action
set off behind her eyeballs. Hermione chuckled into her lasagne while Amelia
proceeded to glare at her plate until food appeared. Still highly amused by her
cousin’s plight she caught Professor McGonagall’s
eye and both women fought off a smirk.

Amelia
perked up a little after eating, even managing vague conversation. She, Madame
Pomfrey and Hermione were discussing the
evolutionary advantages of eyebrows when the door opened once more to admit a
rather battered looking Remus Lupin.

Amelia
felt herself colour slightly as curious pairs of eyes flicked between herself
and the obviously hung-over professor; she slid down in her chair and returned
to glaring at her pudding, grateful that the minimal number of students were
currently present.

Hermione’s mouth twitched as she
watched Professor Lupin gingerly lower himself into a seat beside Harry,
wincing as the boy wished him a good afternoon. She decided to strike up a
conversation with Madame Pomfrey
over Amelia’s head as her cousin appeared to
have entirely lost her vocabulary and sunk another few inches.

As the occupants of the table
began the befuddled wandering that always follows a good meal, Hermione noticed
Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall in conversation with one another; to her
curiosity and mild alarm they each glanced at Professor
Lupin and Amelia
before exchanging a meaningful look. As they were each led aside by their
superiors she shared an altogether more perturbed look with Professor
Snape before reluctantly leaving the Great
Hall and heading for the Library.

Feeling frazzled and altogether
put-upon, Amelia allowed Minerva
to lead her to a corner of the Great Hall, where the older witch appraised her
colleague.

“You’re in love,” she stated,
simply.

Amelia,
who had been expecting a dressing down for her altogether too obvious hangover,
simply stared at her.

“Come again?”

“I don’t know what’s happened, or
precisely why you and young Remus are now completely unable to look at one
another without blushing, but this sort of thing has got to stop. It’s rather
letting the side down I’m afraid,” she continued, sternly.

Amelia
grimaced, she wasn’t at all sure that she liked where this conversation was
heading.

“I’m afraid I shall have to put
my foot down, Miss Brown.
This sort of behaviour is entirely inappropriate in front of the students.”

Amelia
had become certain that the grimace she was currently wearing was in imminent
danger of making her face implode.

“So stop dithering and kiss the
man, there’s a good lass,” Minerva finished.

Amelia
felt her face slacken with shock as she ran that last sentence through her head
a few times; she blinked at the Deputy Headmistress, as if hoping that this
would help.

She smiled, and said more gently,
“Seriously though, I’ve known Remus since he was a boy here and I can honestly
say that I’ve never met a kinder or more lonely man. You make him smile more
than he has done in years, you know, and you’re obviously happier around him.”
She looked her colleague up and down and added, “So get on with it!” before
sweeping out of the Great Hall.

Amelia, who realised that her
mouth had been hanging open for some time now, closed it abruptly, and began to
make her way back across to the table, where she’d left her jumper. As she
turned back towards the door, she came face to frightened face with Remus, who
had himself just escaped an equally astonishing conversation at the opposite
end of the room.

They froze momentarily, before
hurrying on their way, both an attractive shade of red and staring at the floor
with absorbing interest.

Had Remus been paying attention,
he would have seen Filius shake his head in an exasperated fashion and pass a
galleon to a triumphant Pomona. Had
Amelia been paying attention, she would have
heard the muffled giggles of her Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress who were
hiding just outside the door of the Great Hall and shaking with mirth.

Severus, who had
followed Amelia out of the Great Hall, and who
was feeling a great deal more observant, rolled his eyes at his senior
colleagues.

“You really do enjoy fucking with
people, don’t you,” he announced to the corridor at large before proceeding
towards the entrance to the Dungeons. The laughter followed him all the way to
his office, where he allowed himself a smirk; it had been pretty funny.

0o0o0o0

By the time Amelia
reached her rooms (thanks to taking the scenic route) there was a small bottle
of hangover cure alongside a note from Severus.

“The trick is to not let it
touch the sides – S.”

Taking this advice to heart, she
downed the bottle in one, and almost immediately regretted it as her insides
turned to fire. After an unpleasant few minutes she felt well enough to drag
herself to the windowseat, in order to feel sorry for herself at a new
elevation.

0o0

Remus was equally surprised to
find an identical bottle several floors below; this note read:

“Don’t imagine that this means
that we’re friends – S.”

Having previously experienced
this particular cure he made sure that a jug of water was nearby before downing
the vial.

Feeling a great deal better he
leant against the mantelpiece and warmed his hands. As he lost himself to his
thoughts his treacherous mind wandered to the evening before and the feel of a
creamy waist and hip beneath his sleeping hands. Blushing, he shook his head;
he was relatively certain that nothing much had happened.

Other than waking up mostly
naked next to a beautiful woman? His mind (he suspected the Wolf)
supplied. A beautiful woman who didn’t object to your hand being on that
creamy waist… a beautiful woman who wouldn’t object if that hand –

Frantically, he cast around for
something else to think about, but his mind kept returning to that intriguing
tattoo, and what it would feel like to trace it with his fingers…

Suddenly the recent and entirely
unnerving conversation that he’d had with Dumbledore sprung irritatingly to
mind:

“Just get on with it lad, she’s
clearly interested. You’re letting the side down!”

He was attempting not to dwell on
the downright lecherous look the older wizard had given him when providence
provided relief in the form of a diminutive Charms professor.

Filius asked if he would be
joining the traditional post-Christmas staff snowball fight and Remus agreed,
much more quickly and emphatically than he had intended.

0o0

Finally managing to quench the
flames in her stomach, Amelia too found herself
being dragged out into the Grounds for a spot of winter cheer. Once the first
snowball had been thrown, she really began to enjoy herself; there were no
discernable teams, as in all good snowball fights, and magic had been
forbidden. She had just finished pelting Hagrid with an expertly aimed volley
and was turning her attention towards Severus (who was
perpetrating a sneak attack on Poppy from behind a tree) when she heard someone
come up behind her.

As she spun around to face her
attacker a stray missile from the flurry that was Pomona
and Dumbledore caught her off balance and she fell into her mysterious
assailant. Together, they tumbled down the side of a small hill and came to
rest in a snow drift at its base.

Shaking the snow out of her face Amelia
realised that she was pinned into the drift by a laughing and out of breath
Remus. She laughed too, all awkwardness forgot, until it dawned on her that
Remus’s nose was just inches from her own; the same thought had apparently
occurred to him, as his laughter diminished and he leant in to kiss his lover.

At that precise moment, however,
a stray snowball arced over their heads and embedded itself into the snow
beside them. Remus stood, swiftly helping Amelia
up from her prone and snow-drenched position as Poppy and Severus
crested the hill.

“You alright?” Poppy called down
as Amelia attempted to shake the snow out of her
hair. Severus smirked down at them, and Amelia
glared back.

“No harm done,” Remus called
back. Poppy nodded and dragged Severus back to the game.

Remus gave her a slight smile before
they struggled up the hill together to rejoin the fray.

0o0

A good few hours (and icy coups)
later, the staff of the foremost school of witchcraft and wizardry strode back
into the castle and out of the darkening grounds, frozen but very chirpy.

Abandoning the others to Filch’s
grumbling about wet floors, Amelia headed up towards her rooms, chattering
happily with Remus, who seemed to have forgotten that he was following her.

Shivering slightly, Remus made
two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and placed them on the mantle, taking the
opportunity to warm up a little by the fire. Amelia
returned with an armful of clothes and towels, which she handed to her friend.

“They’re old digging clothes from
Uni’, they should fit you.” She looked at him, head tilted, “most of them are
men’s anyway.” Pausing to take in his expression, she continued, “that is, if
you want to stay for a bit – I mean, you don’t have to leave if you don’t –”

Amelia
was pleasantly startled to discover that he’d reached out and placed a gentle
hand on her arm.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly.
“You seem to have a knack for making people – for making me feel right
at home.”

She could feel his thumb rubbing
her shoulder through her sodden jumper. They looked at one another, blue eyes
to grey, and felt the moment begin to stretch out forever. Gently, he leant
into her and brushed his lips against hers; his lips felt dry, chapped against
her own. His eyes fluttered closed as she tenderly nibbled at his lips, her
hands winding their way up his back and tangling in his hair. His hands, which
had been gripping her arms, slid down her sides and came to rest on her waist
and back; she moaned into his mouth as he deepened their kiss, tasting the
inexplicable sweetness of her tongue as she explored his mouth with equal
fervour. The heat between them was delicious and the second moan that
reverberated through his body forced him to firmly grip that wonderful arse and
pull her still closer.

Somehow, her fingers had found
their way up through the layers of snow-soaked jumper and onto his bare skin
and she was running them up and down his spine, taunting, teasing. They broke
apart then, his hands also having found a way inside her clothes, as they
grappled with one another’s sodden clothing; jumpers discarded he paused to
take her in. Her skin was creamier even than he dimly recalled from the evening
before, sheer perfection; he was aware that she was in turn appraising him. For
a moment he was struck by the overwhelming need to flee before she realised how
defective he was compared to her, but she stepped closer to him and began to
trace his scars with her beautiful hands.

“So many…” she said, looking up
at him, not with pity or disgust, as he’d been dreading, but with love. Her
fingers came to rest above his heart and she felt its thudding beat; pulling
him to her she kissed him tenderly, then took his hand gently in hers and led
him to her bedroom. As she turned to close the door he caught sight once more
of that intricate design that graced the area between her sacral dimples and
was caught by the sudden urge to trace its pattern.

Amelia was about to turn back to
him when she felt those long fingers begin to trace intricate circles on her
back, sending delicious shivers through her body, his breath hot on her neck.
Tantalisingly he slid his fingers up to her bra, slowly undoing the clasp and
lightly cupping her breasts; she leaned back against him as he nibbled along
her neck, causing her to gasp.

It was this small noise that did
for him, really. Turning her around, he pushed her against the door, the wood
cool at her back, and crushed his lips against hers. She matched his need grope
for grope and moan for moan, pressing against him and sliding her leg up
against him. She could feel him harden against her as she kissed his neck and
jaw.

“Beautiful,” he whispered into
her ear as his lips passed by, melting her with the lightest of touches.

They made quick work of one
another’s remaining clothes as he carried her to the bed, laying her down with
a growl. It occurred to Amelia as he trailed
kisses like butterflies across her stomach, that she’d never heard anything so
damned sexy in her entire life.

0o0o0o0

It was a good deal later that
either of them considered the abandoned mugs atop the fireplace; Remus watched
her from the door as she moved around her rooms, firelight lending an exquisite
glow to her naked body.

“What?” she asked, walking back
to her lover with refilled mugs.

“Just looking,” he said, putting
his mug down and pulling her back into his embrace. “I was thinking how bloody
lucky I am that I got to see that tattoo.”

Amelia
laughed into his chest, “that’s a hangover from my roadie days.”

“I imagine you were quite the
wild child,” he grinned.

She gave him the kind of smile
that made his knees weak.

“Stick around and you just might
see how wild…”