Title: Mended Cauldrons
Author: Vera
Rating: NC-17
Summary: From master to apprentice lessons are passed and relationships
are forged stronger then steel. Neville/Severus, Neville/Draco,
Severus/Sirius, Draco/Sirius
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: I do not make profit from writing this nor do I own the
characters.
Archive: Yes, let me know where.
Feedback: Desired, craved and cherished.
Author's Note: This fic was intended to be no more then a page or two made from a silly plot bunny. You can see how well that worked out.

    When James Potter and his band of merry men were still attending Hogwarts the potion master had been Professor Giddle, a plump middle aged woman with half glasses and a temper hotter then lava.  She wore sweeping black robes and kept her white hair in a tight braid curled around her skull.  Her lips had all but disappeared into her face after years of being held in a thin disapproving line.
    After sweeping into class, a year before the Marauders would arrive
to exacerbate the condition, Alice Giddle realized she was tired. She had been the potions master and the Head of Ravenclaw for nearly half a century and it was starting wear on her nerves. Her bones ached from years spent cramped over a cauldron in her lovely dungeon rooms and her mind was starting to flutter and waver.  No one would notice her decline for another decade, but she knew what it meant in an instant. It was time to train an apprentice.
    That very night, she approached the Headmaster's office. With a grimace of distaste, she muttered 'donuts' to the gargoyle. She took the stairs with quiet confidence even though in made her legs ache.
    Dumbledore was waiting for her as he usually was.  
    "Lemon drop, Alice?"
    "No thank you, Headmaster. I'd like to get right to the point."
    "You usually do." He sighed a little. "What can I do for you?"
    "In a decade, I am going to retire."
    "That's a bit of advanced notice, Alice." His eyes twinkled. She snorted.
    "You know what I mean, Albus. I'm going to pick an apprentice out
of the first years and I need your sanction to do so."
    The sanction had been put in place so that the Headmaster could
veto the decision if he felt the child could not endure the first seven years of training. The chosen apprentice would not know they had been picked until they were about ready to graduate.  In theory. Any potions' master in training worth their salt would figure it out long before that. Alice herself had come to the conclusion in the middle of her sixth year after a particularly ugly battle with her Professor when he had alluded to her promiscuity.
    "You have it. Would you like a dossier on the incoming students?"
    "Yes, thank you." She blinked owlishly at him. Over the years, Alice had become resigned to fights. She wasn't used to instant cooperation. It
made her nervous.
    "On your desk within the week. Good luck." He smiled warmly at her.
She could feel her insides curdle.
    "Thank you, Headmaster."
    There were ninety dossiers in a neat pile on her desk three days
later. Each included a wizarding photo, background information and blood line if it could be traced.  Any extremely good looking or confident students were immediately set in the discard pile.  Any of them already expressing an extreme interest in Quidditch was also cast aside. No potions master had been fit or confident in their youth.
    It wasn't until she was halfway through the pile that she found a likely candidate. The picture struck her immediately. Even for his age, the boy was small and very thin. His black hair had been cut close to his scalp, making his head seem even larger then it was. Hands far to big for his body fidgeted with his robe. Every so often long fingers would push thick black plastic framed glasses up a heinously large nose. The boy gave the camera a small pained smile. 
    Chewing meditatively on a long piece of black licorice, Alice read the dossier.

Name: Severus Samuel Snape Bloodline: The Snape family tree is available in the library in the fourth Book of Families. The line can be traced back to the third century to Cornelius Snapendli. The name was shortened in sixth century for unknown reasons. Description: Severus is noted to be a quiet, reserved child. He does not enjoy sports or group activities. He is fond of books and has been known to enjoy being alone for weeks at a time. He will be a fine addition to Ravenclaw.

    Alice continued to chew deliberately. Albus' house predictions were
almost always correct. No one bothered to bet against him in the pools.  She tapped one gnarled finger against the moving picture. The boy in the photo glanced up at her sharply.  Potion masters were never sorted into the house everyone thought they would be. Her own family had laid money on her as a Hufflepuff and at the time she thought they were right. She had been a plump cheerful laborer until Professor Cewlin got his hands on her. 
    Yes. She went through the rest of the pile out of courtesy and drew out one or two other candidates, but Severus came back to her attention both times. Well, they would see how he was sorted and move on from there. 
    The summer passed quickly, the years turning faster as one aged. 
Professor Giddle found herself once more watching a group of gawky boys and frightened girls stand huddled together before the Sorting Hat.  It would be the last time they stood as a united group. Usually, Giddle allowed herself to play sorting games as the children were called to the hat, but this year she had eyes only for one. 
    Severus looked just like his picture, even a little more dour in real life.  His hair was still cut ridiculously short and his nose seemed to have been even further enlarged.  The glasses were pushed up every ten or fifteen seconds. He stood alone waiting to be called.
    'S' was fairly far down the list and a certain anticipation welled up in the potions master's chest. It had been a long time since something as serious as this had occurred in her life, disrupting routine. When Severus was finally called, she had to keep a firm grip on her control.
    The boy shuffled along and plucked himself down on the stool, pushing his glasses up once more. The hat landed on his head with soft thump.
    "Hmmmm a Snape, one a generation. Ravenclaws from your line yessss, but not this one I think. Crafty cunning and thoughts of power. Isolation below the towers.  Slytherin!"
    The boy blinked, obviously taken aback.  After a moment, he collected himself and moved over the cheering green and silver bedecked table. The moment he sat down, another first year moved tentatively to his side and whispered something in his ear. Alice watched the blond with sharp eyes. Lucius Malfoy. Well, that would make things interesting. Severus listened, eyes narrowed and nodding, a small smirk curling on his lips.
    "Headmaster?"  Alice turned to Albus, who was already tucking into
his meal.
    "Yes, Alice?"
    "I choose Severus Snape."
    The Headmaster nodded a little, his eyes gravitating over to the Slytherin table.
    "Yes...yes, I see. Admirable choice. I'll sign off on it tonight. Do try not to be to hard on the boy."
    Professor Giddle let the comment slid. Albus knew perfectly well that that was exactly what she would have to be. For the next few years, she must make Severus fear her to the point where he was totally incompetent in class. Otherwise, he might discover his aptitude early and wreak havoc. It wouldn't be hard, she was a notoriously harsh teacher anyway.  Her eyes followed the small, dark haired boy as he made his way out with Lucius at his side. Already, she could feel a bond with him.   She hoped that he was an early learner, finding her out sooner then she had her own master. It was a wonderful relationship, apprentice and master.  Once he had pieced everything together they were going to get along famously.   
    The next five years were harder to endure then she thought possible. With Voldemort's rising, Severus had followed Lucius over, taking the Dark Mark. He still cowered before her in Potions, but other professors complained of a know it all attitude and standoffishness.  On top of that, she was constantly having to run after him, trying to save his skinny arse from being burnt to a crisp. Between joining Voldemort and following the Marauders, she found herself pulling his nonexistent fat out of the fire several times a year. 
    At last...at last he came to her. A beaten, broken youth with his silly tattoo and shattered hopes.  He poured out his story in her office, on his knees, sobbing as though his heart had been shattered into a thousand pieces. He told her of the Marauder's pranks, Lucius' betrayals and the ugliness of the Dark Lord he had bound himself too. He was afraid. 
    She took him to Dumbledore as soon as his tears were dried. They sat in a meeting for three hours, weighing their options. When they finally departed for sleep, Dumbledore had a spy and Giddle had a new apprentice. 
)*(
    Snape paused outside the Headmaster's office, arms crossed and an
indecipherable expression on his lined face.  It was a pause he always took before seeing the Headmaster, to gather himself and focus on the things he wanted to tell him.  Stray floating bits of information passed about with the chicken fricassee and caviar at Lucius' latest dinner party might turn the tide of battle one day. He snorted indelicately.
    "Sugar Daises." He informed the gargoyle before mounting the steps.
As he trudged upwards, he allowed himself to dwell on his other topic of conversation. It was early for it, but he didn't have the teaching stamina that Alice had. He wanted to do research and finish writing his text... He wanted to be able to dream about a life after Voldemort.
    It wasn't until he was finished giving Albus every detail that he brought up this new point.
    "Albus...I'd like to pick an apprentice."
    Wise blue eyes regarded him steadily and only years of practice
kept Severus from squirming in his chair like a four year old.
    "You're young yet, Severus....I know you dislike teaching, but really, so soon?"
    "If we defeat Voldemort it will be in the next ten years Albus and if I am still alive, I shall want nothing more then to be freed of my labor at this school." Black hair hung into his eyes, a satisfying curtain. Those keen eyes were on him still and he knew there would be no getting what he wanted until he said something painfully revealing. So more quietly, "I need to believe that there is something afterwards."
    "My dear boy, of course.  The full list of incoming students will
be here soon. I should say I will have the dossiers ready within the month."
    "Thank you." And he meant it for the first time in many years.
    The dossiers arrived, unchanged in format since Alice's time. Severus made a mental note to visit her before the term began to tell her about the successor. She'd been goading him to choose one since the first lines had appeared around his eyes, so much younger then she had been when it happened. Severus was made to research in his own place, deep in the earth, she would say and he was inclined to agree with her.
    The dossiers flipped passed his judging eyes as he cast aside the best of the best. If only the other students knew that this happened that the wonderful strengths that they would be forever praised for had no hold in this one selection, this one teacher's judgment.
    In the end he has three suitable candidates, but like Alice before him it is one that draws his attention again and again.

Name: Neville LongbottomBloodline: The Longbottom family tree is available in the library in the second Book of Families. Description: Neville is a shy boy. When asked about his hobbies, he seemed unable to name any. He is being raised by his Grandmother. Some of his early life it was suspected he was a squib, this has obviously been proven false. The quiet of Hufflepuff will do him a great deal of good.
    The picture was promising. A doughy boy with a fringe of limp brown hair stared reluctantly up at him, his lips pulled into a forced grin. Forlorn, Severus decided. The boy was forlorn.  Hufflepuff....
    In person, Neville was every bit as pathetic as his dossier and picture prescribed.  Still, there was a touch of fervent quiet brilliance in the boy that was long repressed by sadness and terror.  When the Sorting Hat placed him in Gryffindor no one was more surprised then the boy himself.
    Severus leaned idly back in his chair. There was Quirrel to deal with and he could tell already that the Potter boy would be trouble and on top of all this an apprentice to train. Five years at least of keeping that genius well buried and hope that it sought it's own way through the soil.
)*(
    It was after double potions, the first week into Neville's sixth year that he approached Severus desk looking rather less nervous then usual.
    "What is it, Longbottom?" He glared hard at the boy until he began to squirm.
    "I'm your apprentice, aren't I?"
    For a long moment, Severus said nothing. Then slowly, he finished tidying the stack of papers in front of him and regarded the picture before him. Neville had grown into a sturdy young man over the years, shedding baby fat and cowardliness as the prospect of war made both unacceptable. Though no one publicly acknowledged it, fear and anger rose everywhere in the wizarding world until the air fairly trembled with it.
    Neville, like many others, was forced to grow up. There were no feasts any more to keep the students full and sickly sleepy with food. DADA classes met all times of day, extra for any who wanted and the young man had become toned and sleeker. The hair that had once flown wild about his face had been grown out long and was tied tightly back.  His eyes, at least, were the same watery brown as if even the war could not stop him from nursing some private sorrow.  It had been a hard summer for all of them.
    "What brought you to that singular conclusion?" He tried to remain mild, but internally, he rejoiced. An apprentice had taken on new meanings for him.  Ousted as a spy, his life was practically forfeit. Before he died, he wanted to pass at least a modicum of knowledge onto an heir lest all the years of training be for naught. 
    "When I was home this summer, I was growing plants for Professor Sprout." His voice did not waver, his hands did not shake. This was not a Longbottom afraid of the man before him. Not anymore.  "Around midsummer my Gran got sick...very sick. The medi-wizards have been so busy with the...casualties that it was difficult to get help. I started looking for cures myself. I stumbled across a rather complex potion's recipe for which I had apparently been growing the ingredients for. I tried to find someone else to brew it, but no one in my family could spare the time to come out." Neville didn't seem particularly bitter, but perhaps, like Severus, he had lost all faith in his extended family long ago.
    "I put it together myself and when it didn't blow up, I figured it was the best I could do. I tested it on a mouse from the garden and it didn't seem to suffer any.  When I gave it to my Gram, she said it tasted awful, but she was up and around the next day. I was so happy it worked that I didn't give it much thought. It was only when I was cleaning up the worktable that I realized the potion should have taken far more time to be effective. I flooed her into St. Mungo's and searched until I found someone to help." He paused here, searching Severus' eyes.  Nothing else indicated his excitement, except for those two bright black circles.  "He said he'd never seen anything like it. I had actually enhanced the potion by adding more hazel."
    "It interacted with the rose hip." Snape put in. "You were attempting Fitz's Cure-all?"
    Neville nodded, some of his old dumbfoundness returning.
    "I still didn't think much of it, except to hand over the rest of the Cure-all to the medi-wizards for his patients.  Then, I started paging through my reading for this year and it occurred to me that I could make those potions. All of them.  It was simple enough when I looked at it right, after all I had made the Cure-all without help or panic. It was the first potion I made without you looking over my shoulder. As the summer went on, I tried a few of things recommended for our year. Not only did they work...but sometimes they worked better because of things I wanted to add."
    Almost imperceptibly, Severus shifted forward in his seat, leaning his chin on one hand.
    "Hermione gave me Hogwarts: A History a long time ago and I started paging through the sections on potions...when I got to the bit that talks about the apprenticeship, it all started to make sense.  Am I your apprentice?"
    "Don't ask me, boy." Severus commanded. "Tell me."
    Brown eyes met black and held for a long thoughtful moment.
    "I am your apprentice."
    For the first time, in the six years of being his student, Neville saw a genuine smile on Severus Snape's mouth and it wasn't nearly as terrifying as he thought it would be.  Actually, it was sort of charming.  The type of smile that came out so rarely that it was a little sad around the edges as if it knew it's doom was only moments away.
    "I shall inform the Headmaster and your new course of study will
begin. You have a choice. If you wish, you can continue to attend your other courses and study with me in the evenings or you can formally declare yourself and turn you sole focus to potions." It was, in it's way, a final test though nothing could truly disqualify the boy now.  He had the gift. 
    "I'm likely to fail most of my other classes." The boy admitted, a
little ruefully. "If I formally declare would I still be able to take some lessons with Professor Sprout?"
    "They would be mandatory. A potion is only as good as the ingredients.
And before you ask, your DADA lessons will also continue."
    "Then I should like to declare. It feels like I have a lot catching up to do."
    "I shall inform the Headmaster immediately in that case. Your new rooms should be ready within two days."
    "New rooms?"
    "You can't very well stay with everyone else. As a formally declared apprentice you will eat, sleep and dream potions and for that, you must be on hand in the school's workshop at all times. There's a fairly large storage room that should suit." He watched terror dance slowly over the boy's face and felt his heart sink, then it seemed Neville rallied and relief was painted there instead.
    "That's great, sir." He said with an odd enthusiasm. "I wasn't much
looking forward to dorming this year anyway. Is it all right if I tell my housemates tonight, sir?"
    "Yes, yes. Now get of my sight, we shall be seeing a lot more of each other then either of us might desire for a long time."
    The boy swept out of room, leaving the scent of eagerness and fear behind.  Severus settled down his chair to grade papers feeling oddly defeated. His own introduction to the art had been so abrupt and pushed that he had never had that first joy. Of course, potions were his passion and as the years went on, his only consolation, but he had never had that first leap that Alice and now, Neville had. It was worth something, to know that one had a destiny.  It seemed that of all the people he had known, it was he alone who fate had passed over.
)*(
    "No, no, no!" Severus threw a counter-solution in before his whole workshop was blown to bits. "Mordred's curse, boy, where is your head today?"
    That was all it had taken for Neville to burst into hot wet sobs. He had been crying for over twenty minutes now, completely inarticulate. At first, Severus had just stared at him in surprise. In the six months they had been working together, Severus had said things far worse to him and the boy had simply taken it or in some cases would smile quietly and say, "Good one, sir."
    This time was obviously different. Tears were not one of Severus' strong points though he had shed more then a few of them in his youth.  He'd awkwardly put one hand on the boy's shoulder in stiff comfort. In another wracking sob, Neville threw himself into his teacher's arms and continued to cry.  The grip was cutting off his circulation, but all attempts to disengage the wet, sticky body from his robes were met with another cry. Finally, he relented and placed his arms lightly around Neville's shoulders.
    After what seemed like hours, Neville finally let up long enough to
speak, albeit between long hiccuping breaths. Hiccups were easily dealt with and Severus poured a glass of water, relieved to have a concrete task.  Neville took it and sipped disinterestedly.
    "My par-hic-ents were st-hic-ill in St. Mun-go's when the
infec-hic-tion hit.  They shouldn't have been -hic- affected, but they'd stuggled -hic- with a nurse the day before and gotten scratch -hic- marks." He sipped at the water and took a long deep breath. " I got the an owl this morning. They're dying and the worst part is that they've always been dead to me really, but it still feels awful..." It all came out in one long breath.
    "When did you get the owl?" Severus asked stiffly.
    "This morning while I was chopping shrivelfigs."
    "And you've been working all this time! Of all the ignorant..." He shook his head, unable to summon anger on this one occasion. "Never work when you are this upset, ever again. I'm going to have to throw out all of today's work."
    "What? Why?" Neville looked suddenly contrite, distracted from his sadness for a moment.
    "Have you learned nothing?" Severus glared at him. "Why are you an apprentice and not Ms.Granger, hm? She knows just as well as you, better perhaps, exactly what to do with everything and her potions come out perfect if she is left to her own devices."
    "I...I don't know. I never really thought about it."
    "Well, start now! Potions are not dormant things, Mr. Longbottom. A Muggle could mix together everything precisely as I have showed you and nothing would come of it. *Unless they had some innate magic.* For whatever reason, you have a sympathetic magic when it comes to brewing. Things fall together for you, you add just what you must at the right time. It is what is responsible for your spectacular failures in my class as a boy when your magic was still unwieldy and weak.  Your obvious upset today was what caused your Lever Knot to go awry, who knows what other projects you've ruined!"
    "I-I'm sorry, sir." Neville curled further into himself. "I just wanted to forget all about it."
    "These thing cannot be forgotten, boy. They cannot be suppressed. If you don't accept and get past what you feel then it will taint your work."  It was a point that Alice had drilled into his own skull a thousand times when his guilt and depression swallowed him whole.  It was a worthwhile threat. Severus put his work above all else and now, Neville did too.  No matter how angry, tired or afraid Snape was, it all bled away when he set to serious potions work.
    "I see that now, sir. May I go then? I should spend some time with them, before..."
    "Give me a moment, I shall take you myself. No need to get the Headmaster involved."  Severus rose and wiped his hands on a clean rag, ignoring his student's baleful stare.
    "But sir...I thought it was against school rules for a student to leave the grounds without prior permission..."
    "Gryffindors." Severus muttered darkly. "Do you want more time with them or would you rather go up eight flights of stairs, be stuffed full of Lemon Drops and watery tea, only to be sent off via the train?"
    Neville wisely said nothing and only followed his teacher out of the workrooms and through the school grounds.  Hidden in one of the Quidditch storage shacks was an old fireplace, large enough for teachers and prefects to use in emergencies.  Neville had seen it before when he'd been asked to wait for Professor Sprout to return from an errand, but never used it himself.
    Snape handed him floo powder and as something of an after thought spoke softly as Neville stepped up.
    "You cannot lose what you never had, but that does not make the mourning any less sad or painful." The words were tinged with memory, but before Neville could even be sure he had heard them correctly, let alone ask a question, he was standing in the busy entrance way of St. Mungo's, a somewhat dusty and now silent, Snape standing next to him.
    The reception nurse only smiled sadly at Neville as he walked by,
but gave Severus a small little frown. He ignored her. Long ago, he had learned that if one appeared to have a destination, almost no one would stop you. Of course, it helped that she had most likely been in one of his classes.  Despite his height advantage of nearly half of a foot, he had to struggle to keep up with Neville. This was the boy's territory and he knew a thousand short cuts and passages. 
    It was with relief and a little out of breath that Severus sunk into one of the plush armchairs outside the Longbottoms' room.  He watched the boy square his shoulders and go into face his personal hell. Bloody Gryffindors. A Slytherin or Ravenclaw would have long ago learned to detach themselves from the shells of people in that room.
    Belatedly, Severus realized his robes were still covered in snot and wet with tears.  With a flick of his wand, he cleaned them, but the feel stayed with him. He realized that the sad embrace of his apprentice was the closet physical contact with a human being since he'd stopped casually fucking Black. Damn the man for being so blunt and persistent. The sex had been good, especially after such a long dry period, but it had not served to make their relations any better and gave Black an ever more swelled head.  That had been almost a year ago now.  That long? Maybe less.
    It had been a long day of classes, followed by the irritating
evening of
fumbles on Neville's part. Eventually, Severus dozed off.
    When Neville finally emerged two hours later, the last of his tears were spent and his throat felt raw.  Gran had come and gone in the middle, unable to face her son's final demise.  He had been the only one present when they both stopped breathing within moments of each other.  When they finally arrived, the medi-wizards were kind, but impatient.
    He plodded out of the room, wondering if he could perhaps rouse the Headmaster or Snape in a fire talk to ask to return home when a strange sight greeted him. The normally impenetrable and removed professor was asleep, his chin resting on his chest and dark sooty eyelashes flickering every so often. The lightest snore issued out every other breath. Cautiously, Neville approached to tap him lightly on the shoulder to no avail.
    "Sir? Professor?" Neville said softly. In an instant intense black
eyes were on him, fully aware. 
    "What is it?"
    "Take me home, please." 
    Without a word, Severus steered him back to the floo, leaving one warm hand curved over his shoulder the whole time.
)*(
    There was a marked difference in their relationship once Neville's parents died.  Previously, it had not been much different then the days before the apprenticeship, except that Neville reacted with calm instead of fear in the face of Severus' frequent baiting and verbal beatings.
    After the day at St. Mungo's, most of insults faded away. Not to say that Severus' became softer. If anything, he was much more demanding of what he expected Neville to do, but if it wasn't done right there was no berating. Instead only the dreaded, cold demand, "Do it again."
    On Neville's part, he found himself talking more easily to the older man though Severus did nothing to actively encourage this. While they worked together in the lab, Neville frequently spoke aloud about his activities of the moment, the day that had passed and any manner of odds and ends. Usually, Severus was the perfect picture of cool indifference only stopping the flow of words on occasion when they reached an extremely delicate state.
    It was during one of these silences that Neville had his second and hopefully last, epiphany of his life. The first had been about his apprenticeship and it was hard to say if that was more or less mind shattering then the second.  His own work for the night done and pushed aside, he was watching Severus decant his newest strain of Veritaserum.  The older man worked with perfect concentration, his long stained fingers nimble, his hair swept back from his face and his face still.  The whole process of decanting took about thirty seconds. In that time, Neville understood that he was very much attracted to his master. 
    It seemed so unlikely that Neville pushed it away immediately, but
through the next few weeks the thought continued to turn up like a bad
penny. Blaming it on their recent isolation from the rest of the school, he used one of his rare nights off to hang out with the rest of boys from his year in Hogsmeade. Although it was technically against school law to be out at night without a chaperone and a lot of advanced notice, such troubled times created new laws. Hogsmeade had so far remained generally untouched by the rising danger, safe enough for now for a handful of students to venture out together. It would be fun...
    Seamus got spectacularly drunk, Ron patted him on the head and told
him again how sorry he was that Neville was stuck with the greasy git and Harry was so exhausted from extra training that he fell asleep at the table moments after arriving.  Neville left early after helping Dean peel Seamus off the floor.
    As he walked through the cool night air towards the closet sized
room he thought of as home, he saw Ginny sitting on a bench by herself. Surprised, he headed towards her. She smiled weakly at him as he sat down. 
    "What's wrong, Virginia?" He asked as he settled in. She still
preened a little when someone used her full name.  "It's too late for you to be out here alone."
    "You're alone." She pointed out. Neville shrugged. "I know I shouldn't be out, but I knew Harry was going....and I'm so worried about him! Oh, promise you won't tell anyone?"
    "Of course not. Just walk back with me. I could use a bodyguard!"
    She tittered nervously, a little high pitched. Halfway back she started speaking again.
    "Do you think Harry will ever feel about me, the way I feel about
him? I mean, I feel so silly most of the time, but I care so much about him... When he's not around I get this sick feeling inside." She shuddered. "I
can't stop thinking about him or recently, worrying. Every day he looks more and more tired. I want to comfort him, but he must be so sick of hearing all that."
    As she went on, Neville started to tune her out. He thought about
the fine lines around Severus eyes where the years had been unkind.  Severus had never lied to him about his duty as a spy. It was important that the boy knew, the man had insisted to Dumbledore while Neville stood behind him.  For the better part of a year now, Severus had been a dead man walking. It was only the strengthen wards and his care in leaving the school rarely and disguised that kept the potion master alive. And yet, he had risked taking Neville all the way to St. Mungo's...
    "I'm sorry to have talked your ear off, Nevvie. "
    "It's all right." He assured her with a smile. They began the long
climb to Gryffindor tower. "You know, Harry's biggest worry right now is that people he care about might die. I think if you really want to show him how you feel, you should take the extra classes in DADA and learn how to protect yourself."
    "That's a great idea!"
    "Ah, it's nothing. You know how Harry is. He can talk about stuff
like that." With a clarity and candidness that Neville neither understood nor envied.
His tragedies and hardships had nothing on the Boy-Who-Lived. 
    When they reached the fat lady, Ginny invited him in for a game of chess.
 He considered if for a long moment as the portrait revealed the common room. It was still warm and friendly as he remembered it and Ginny was smiling at him, bright and sunny.  If he played his cards right, she might even kiss him tonight, shyly, before remembering her love for Harry. 
    Or he could return to his cool, slightly slimy, room with it's
strange spicy smells and the muted sound of Severus' occasional burst of insomnia induced work.
    "Maybe another night." He told her with a grin, before turning to
descend back to the dungeons and Severus....back home.
)*(
    "I can't believe she agreed!" Neville crowed, triumphantly waving
the freshly delivered parchment in one hand.  Severus looked up from the tests he was grading. 
    "I assume that's from your Grandmother, then?"
    "She said I could stay for the summer! No relatives! No proper tea
parties! Just this glorious damp dungeon!"  He trembled faintly with
excitement, before easing into a chair. Embarrassment painted his cheeks red, but it didn't stop him from humming lightly.
    "You do realize that a full schedule of potions is in store for the
duration of the break?"  Severus was staring at him incredulously.  He had never expected to like Neville, in his heart of hearts. After playing the role of hateful teacher for so long, he had come to genuinely embrace it. Now, nearly a year with his new apprentice had past and he found himself considerably warmed to the boy. 
    Perhaps, it was that the work itself had changed him. Assured of
his own talent, Neville had grown into a new confidence. The boy was slowly, but steadily becoming a man that Frank Longbottom would have been proudof.  He had a purpose and a lust for life that before had been remarkably absent. In fact, Neville had been on the Head of Houses' list of potential suicides for years.
    "I know!" Excitement gleamed in the young man's eyes. "There's so much to do.... Would you like me to start treating the giant's nose hairs for tomorrow?"
    "Tomorrow we won't be in the workroom. In fact, now that your Grandmother has given permission, the first thing we will do is see Alice. I promised her a visit some time ago."
    "Alice?"  Neville stared at his master with a look of bewilderment. It was the first time he had ever heard Severus refer to another adult by their first name.
    "She was my potions master and she has wanted to meet you for some time."
    The prospect of meeting the woman with enough brass to have Severus say her name in awe, made Neville shiver. Still, he packed his bags that night and helped Severus prepare the lab for their absence.  They'd be gone about a week.
    In the morning, after a light breakfast in the nearly empty Great Hall, the two flooed to High Stone Manor. They landed abruptly in a parlor that was chillingly similar to Neville's Gran's.  Stuffy and proper with the faint scent of mothballs, decorated almost entirely in maroon velvet. 
    Sitting in one of the stiff chairs, her dark eyes bright with curiosity was Alice Giddle. Her hair was still steel gray and pulled back in a tight, uncompromising bun. She wore a sweeping black dress, but it's effect was entirely lost as she hadn't removed her working smock and gray smudges marked her finely wrinkled skin. She rose immediately as they arrived with a spryness not associated with women of her age. 
    "Severus!" She greeted cheerfully, her smile a small, but sincere
effort.
    "Hello, Alice."
    Then they did the most remarkable thing. After Alice had stared at
Severus for some length, she took him in her arms and they embraced for
a long minute.  Neville stared on in complete shock.  Excepting the night his parents had died, the boy had never thought of any one daring to touch Severus that intimately and living to tell the tale. Yet, this woman, who seemed part crazed sorceress and part grandmother was enfolding him in his arm's like a hen with an errant chick.
    "I do think we've shocked the boy."  Hard brown eyes fixed on him and for a moment, he could have been a First Year again trembling under Snape's glare.
    "Hello, ma'am." He finally managed. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
    "Someone's drilled manners into his head." She nodded approvingly,
before turning a wicked glance at Severus. "Only hope some if it rubs off on you! Albus sent me another letter this term, asking me to have a word with you. Honestly, at the very least you could behave so I don't have to put up with that old coot."
    "It is not my fault that McGonagal will insist on invading my privacy. That woman has absolutely no respect for her coworkers."
    "I understand, Severus, but don't you think hexing her robes green and silver was a bit childish?"
    "You did that?!" Neville stared with astonishment at his master.
"But everyone said it was Bulstrode!"
    "I assure you that Ms. Bulstrode had nothing to do with it." Severus sniffed disdainfully.
    "That's brilliant!" 
    Both Alice and Severus stared at him.
    "She is your Head of House." Severus said sternly. "Don't you wish to exact revenge?"
    "Not at all! Do you know she never said anything when I moved out of Gryffindor tower? She's good to pure Gryffindors like Harry and Ron, but people like me or..... Percy Weasley, for example, she barely sees us.  I'm glad you hexed her."
    "Wonderful." Alice looked peeved.  "Keep telling him that and I'll never get Albus to shut up. "
     "I'm sure Albus will understand if you remind him that I am an adult, who will not be lectured to about his attitude."
    "Don't get huffy with me, young man." She scolded. Before Severus could give an indignant reply, she shifted her attention back to Neville.
"Come lad so I can show you your room and the workshop.  Don't touch anything in it, there was a bit of fireball there this morning and I haven't quite unraveled the mess yet..."
    Living with Alice, even though it was only a week, showed Neville a whole different side of Severus. Together the two masters were relaxed and a little giddy. They fed into each other's genius, finding deeper and deeper twists in Alice's research that went beyond Neville's ability to understand. He was relegated to a corner table to dabble in whatever he liked as long as it stayed contained in his bit of space.
    While he worked, he overheard them speak, sometimes the short grunted short hand of two people who had worked closely for some time and other times in long fluid conversation littered with history. Neville listened and learned.  He gathered the story of two lonely and isolated people, who had built two decades of friendship off a three year apprenticeship. 
    Alice wasn't exactly kind, but she wasn't cruel in her treatment of Neville. She made sure he was fed and comfortable and watched his progression with shrewd eyes. When he completed a particularly difficult salve near the end of their stay she had smiled and said,
    "Severus, you found a good one."
    The single compliment filled him with more pride then any he had
received
before. And best of all, it was directed at Snape, who had nodded
silently.
    "I have...confidence that he will do well."
    It was the first affirmation of Severus' faith in him and Neville had to excuse himself to the bathroom.  It took him fifteen minutes of splashing cold water on his face to ease down the pink flush that had flooded his face and neck.
     That night, he couldn't sleep and remembered a book he had left in the living room. Quietly, he tiptoed from his room to retrieve it.  As he progressed, he saw that the light was still on. Peering around the corner of the wall, he spied Alice flipping idly through some correspondence. Gingerly, he walked into the room, heading with single mindedness towards his book.
    "I was hoping you would come sit with me alone, before this week was done." Her voice startled him badly and out of reflex his hand went to his wand. It met only with the cotton of his pajama pants and he blushed again.
    "Just getting my book, ma'am."
    "Well, it can wait. Come and sit with me." He complied, settling in the seat across from her, once more on the hard side of her glare. "I meant what I said this afternoon. You will be a good potions master."
    "Thank you, ma'am."
    "But by now, I don't think you had many doubts about that."
    "No ma'am." He said without thinking. Gran would have pinched him, but Alice only nodded.
    "There is potions making and then there is potions making." She said cryptically. "And I rather suspect that both are going on in your workroom."
    "I'm not sure I understand."
    "Perhaps not." She continued to stare at him speculatively. He stared guilelessly back at her. Finally, she let out a long solid sigh and rose from her chair, walking slowly towards the door. At the last instant she turned to him,
    "At least have the good sense to wait until your apprenticeship is
over. One master deserves another."
    Then she was gone. Neville sat in the musty chair for a long time.
)*(
    The summer passed far more quickly then Neville had thought
possible. The days melted by in thickly laid routine. Every morning he rose with the sun, washed his face and ordered breakfast for himself and Severus. They would eat at Severus' desk, in the man's living room, the only room Neville had seen of the older man's apartments. It connected to the large workroom where they would spend the rest of the day, working straight through lunch. A lot of what they brewed were antidotes that Severus would need once the school year started again.  Some others were for the school infirmary or first aid kits. A select few were private commissions which were mostly Severus' job.  Finally, weary and hungry they would break for dinner. For an hour or so after they ate, Severus would hand him a new article or passage for him to read and grill him on the previous nights' assignments.
    They had been so busy that the transition to fall was barely noticed. They still rose early, but to prepare for the day's courses. Neville would attend his DADA lesson with the rest of his year and then spend an hour in private tutorials with Professor Sprout. In the afternoon, he would assist Severus' with the sixth and seventh year classes. Their nights continued unchanged.
    The day that Neville finally noticed the trees shedding their
leaves, everything changed abruptly. He had arrived back to the workroom after dinner to find someone else in the stool that Severus usually inhabited. He was a thin, silvery blond boy, his head resting on his chin.
    "Malfoy?"  He stared, stunned.
    "We've been schoolmates for seven years, Longbottom. I should you could recognize me."
    "But you've been missing for ages!"
    "Five months. I was on the run." Grey eyes finally turned to train themselves on him. "When I first found you were to be Snape's apprentice, I couldn't believe it. But now...." He shook his head. "Stranger things have happened."
    "What were you running from?"
    A grimace swept over pale features.
    "The whole list? Far too long. Dumbledore has offered me safety here for a time." The blond did not sound at all grateful, but miffed as if the Headmaster had offended. "As long as I 'make myself useful'."
    "Will you be helping, Professor Snape?"
    Draco snorted.
    "Not bloody likely. Why, looking to lighten the load?" Tapered
fingers traced patterns absently onto the table top. "I'm to work with Professor Lupin."
    "On Defense?"
    The bitter laugh crawled over Neville and cooled the room.
    "Something like that. But I'm to stay here.  Out of sight, out of mind, you know?"
    Neville did know. It had once been something of his motto. 
    "Actually, he's to stay with you." The familiar snarl brought all the warmth rushing back and Neville turned to face his master. Severus stood in the door, his face drawn and tired. "The Headmaster has asked the castle to expand your room for an additional bed.  All right?"
    "Yes, sir." He tried to achieve a flat tone, but he must have betrayed himself for Severus shook his head.
    "It's only for a month or two, boy. Not a fate worse then death. Besides, Mr. Malfoy is here on very tenuous grounds. If he causes to much trouble, he is free to make his own arrangements." The vitriol in Severus' voice made it perfectly clear that other accommodations would be far less pleasant.
    "I'm sure everything will be fine, sir."
    Neville watched a look of amused doubt cross Severus face, but didn't begrudge him.  He didn't quite believe it himself.
    The newly expanded room gave a healthy amount of space for two nearly grown boys. Their beds were salvaged dorm beds that had met with some accident or another that made them unsuitable for others' use.  Neville's bed had one leg that was irreparably shorter then the others.  It rocked gently whenever he turned in his sleep. At first he had found in disconcerting, but the slow motion gradually become soothing and familiar.
Draco's bed turned every sheet placed upon it a sickly mauve color. He glared at it distastefully after crawling in. Discreetly, Neville turned out the lights, plunging the room into the perfect darkness that could only be achieved in a dungeon. He could have sworn that as he did so, a soft cry came from the other bed.  As he attempted to settle to sleep, having to reaccuston himself to breathing sounds of another person, he heard tossing and turning with a few muffled cries.
    The impossible occurred to Neville. Draco Malfoy was afraid of the
dark. At first, the very thought made him want to invoke revenge for every tripping foot and nasty sneer. The very thought! But then...when a boy of eighteen was afraid of the dark there must be a very good reason. Neville had the sinking feeling that the reason wasn't one he wanted to hear about.
    Obviously, he had to get some light into the room, but he had to do it without making Draco feel antagonized or condescended to. After some thinking, he rose and went to the bathroom. It was a close room with two sinks, a toilet and a shower stall.  When he left the bathroom, he very casually forgot to turn off the light or close the bathroom door.
    Even the slender white light cast the darkness into stiff relief. Neville could just make out Draco drawing in a deep, relieved breath before turning over. An intense sadness rose in Neville.  He allowed himself one pitying thought, 'Poor, Draco' before casting it aside. Pity did no one any good.
    When Neville woke, Draco was already in the bathroom brushing his teeth. Neville steeled himself for the morning encounter, before entering the cramped room. He picked up his brush to undo the snarls of the night. Out of habit, he avoided the mirror and stared avidly at the sink.
    "You look like a potions master." Draco said suddenly, looking as if he had surprised himself with his own words. "You didn't before. Now, you look a little like Snape."
    For the first time in months, Neville raised his head to really look in the mirror. His hair had grown long from disinterest, laying limply beyond his shoulders.  Like Severus, his hair had become oily and thick with grease from bending over steaming concoctions.  From the skipped meals and fewer sweets (he hadn't had time to buy them from Honeyduke's and Gran stopped sending them), he had become nearly as thin as his master though his face would always be full and soft. All of those changes he had known about, albeit distantly. What caught him by surprise were his eyes.  The soft brown orbs had been the coup de grais on his I'm-a-Victim look.  Cow-like and permanently glossy as if he was just about to shed tears, he'd never liked to meet his own eyes in the mirror...but now...
    Now, they were hard and focused. They no longer drifted nervously, but burned with intensity. 
    "I suppose I do look the part." He said vaguely, looked away. 
    "You're hair." The slender boy tsked. "I'm going to do you a personal favor, Longbottom.  I can't stand to see hair treated like that." Before, Neville could protest, Draco snatched away his brush and whispered a charm across the bristles then handed it back. "Now, when you brush your hair this little beauty will take out all the slime and oil."
    He stared at the brush as if it were a live snake and gently, replaced in on the sink.
    "I have to go prepare a Visible Draught for the fifth years." The
nervous stammer that would have once betrayed his nerves was gone. Severus told him that if stammered, then he'd have to repeat the sentence over again until he said it correctly. Against all odds, that had cured him.
    He fled the scene at a saunter, stopping only to pull on his working cloths and grabbing his smock from where it hung reverently by the door. In the bathroom, Draco sunk to the floor, laughter turning slowly to tears, his silent sobs wracking through his body until his nightshirt was soaked through with sorrow.
)* (

Maybe it was the shared living space, maybe it was their similar positions or Draco's new and improved attitude or the isolation, or even the sheer fatigue of both boys at the end of the day, but a truce and a tentative friendship arose between the two boys.
    It was slow to build. Substantially helped along by the fact that Draco saw only Professors Lupin, Snape, the Headmaster and Neville for weeks on end.  A few shared words over dinner, heated discussions about the lines between Dark and Light and elbow jostling for room at the sinks in the morning. Gradually, they spoke at length when retiring to bed, their words soft silbant whispers through the bathroom lit bedroom.  Months of silence and fear had forged a need in Draco for a confidante and Neville had long practice at being a kind, silent ear.
    So all in all, it wasn't much surprising that when Draco finally melted down, it was to Neville he turned.  It was lunch and for once, Neville had enough time to actually sit down and eat. He had taken a plate of food down to the workroom, only to find that after months of skipping the meal, he now had no appetite for it. Picking idly at a sandwich, he started grading some first year exams that Severus had handed to him in a fit of disgust.
    "You do it." He'd said. "If I have to look at one more bumbling imbecile's attempt to explain material covered in nursery school, then the Headmaster may have to write a note to Alice."
    The tests were fairly pathetic, Neville agreed silently. It couldn't be helped. Gryffindors, with obvious exceptions, were never going to take potions seriously. It wasn't in their nature.   
    "Oh, you're here." The door slammed behind Draco, as the silvery
haired boy, bent over trying to catch his breath. His cheeks were flushed red and his eyes were blazing.  Swiftly he rose and as if possessed he slammed his fist into the wall. "Bloody fucking werewolf!" A pause. "Shit!"
    "Is your hand all right?" Neville rushed to his side, gently prying the injured hand from the cradling healthy one. The knuckles were thick with blood, but all the fingers were in working order. "Come on, let's get some salve on this."
    "I don't want any fucking salve!" The hand pulled abruptly away.
"That's everyone's fucking solution to a problem! Gloss over it, pretend it isn't bloody there! It will heal!"  The blonde picked up a glass cauldron that Severus had been using to regulate the heat on his new strain of wolfsbane and threw it into the wall.
    The resulting shatter scattered bits and pieces of glass all over
the workroom. In an instant, Draco was upon the table throwing everything he could lay a hand on at the wall. Neville had had enough. This was his workroom! His life! Without another thought, he slapped the tantruming aristocrat.
    "Shut up."  He said calmly. "Sit down." Rubbing his face, bemused, Draco sat down on the nearest stool.
    Neville surveyed the damage. The glass cauldron was beyond help, the two dented metal ones could be used for first and second year classes with
a little repair, likewise four of the stirring rods. The half completed Venus Juice was a loss.  He rounded on Draco. The blonde was still breathing fairly heavily, but other then that he was the picture of composure.
    "Tell me what happened."
    Gray eyes blinked, once, twice and then the tears began to fall. It was so sudden, so out of character that Neville could do nothing, but stare.
    "He called my father evil."
    "Professor Lupin said that?"
    "He referred to my work with him as penance.  I asked him penance
for what? I'd already betrayed everyone that's ever meant something to me, to avoid doing wrong. He said that I was doing penance for the actions of my father." Draco's voice was strong for someone still in tears. His anger leaking through even in sadness. "When I told him that my father's actions were no more evil then if we killed for the side of good. He isn't right, but he thinks his actions are justified because he believes! That's when that bastard
werewolf said it.  'You're father is an evil man, Draco.' And in this fucking condescending voice like he was going to console me!  Righteous son of a bitch."
    "Is he?" Neville asked softly. "Evil?"
    "Merlin, no!  Every time I was injured, my father stayed by my side
until they were sure I recovered. He watched me while I played when he could just as easily hired a nanny. No matter how busy he was, he always had time for me. He was my dad, Neville.  I don't agree with him, I don't approve of his actions, but Merlin!" A sob ripped through him.
    "He sounds like a good father."
    "I thought he was...You've got no idea what it was like to betray
him." The blond continued softly. "The next time I see him, one of us will probably die at the other's hand. And I'm not sure if that's a fight I want to win."
    Slowly, as careful as if he was dealing with a vicious plant, Neville took the slender boy into his arms. For a moment, Draco tensed up and Neville began to pull away, then the other boy collapsed, accepting the embrace and crying the frustrated, angry tears of six months worth of fear and self-loathing. Finally, Neville attempted to break the mood.
    "Do you think Snape'll make you pick up all the glass by hand?" He
received a weak watery laugh in exchange and by degrees Draco pulled
away.  The injured hand was by now a bloody, caked mess.  "Can I clean up your hand now or are my salves the root of all things wrong with society?" 
    "If you bandage it up enough, maybe Snape will think I broke it and manual labour will be out of the running."
    "Nah. He'd just tell you to use your tongue!"
    It turned out that the cuts on Draco's knuckles were fairly shallow
and a bit of salve closed them in a matter of minutes. While Neville taped a bit of gauze over the worst of them, Draco stared at him thoughtfully.
    "You're good at this." It sounded like a small revelation.
    "Bandaging? After all the minor injuries I've sustained, you've got
to be. Madame Pomfrey won't treat me any more!" He smiled good naturdly at his own dig.
    "No, I mean at making people feel better."
    "I suppose.  When I was still living in Gryffindor tower, the girls were always telling me their problems because I was so quiet. They said it made me a good listener.  After a while, some of the guys started to talk to me too because I knew so much about the girls." He shrugged finishing the bandage off with a light tug. "Don't you have someone like me in Slytherin?"
    "Not really. You only talk to people that you trust. And it's hard to find them."  Gray eyes flickered over Neville's face. "I should have been nicer to you when we were younger. I could have used someone to talk to like this."
    "It's okay." And Neville was surprised to find he meant it. "Back then, I would have been too afraid of you to listen."
    "I guess we've both grown up, then."
    Neville tried to remember a time when he was afraid of this damaged
boy and lived in terror of the potions master. It all seemed distant and unreal.
    "Yes." He agreed. "Things have most certainly changed."
)*(
    That night Neville did his usual bathroom light trick and walked softly to bed. He could feel Draco's eyes on him, but said nothing until the blond broke the silence.
    "It occurs to me that since I've lived with you, you haven't tripped or broken anything. Is my natural grace contagious?" It wasn't the question Neville had been anticipating, but he was quick to answer.
    "The first day I began working with Snape, I broke a stirring rod. I was so flustered that I almost ruined my potion." Neville recalled, now fondly though at the time he had been terrified. "He stared at me for a long while and I was sure he was going to tear a piece out of my hide.  But he instead he said, 'Go slowly. Prepare all your ingredients first and never rush. If you need add something quickly, anticipate the need. Most of your errors in class were from poor preparation.'
    "My potions work improved and I realized that it made sense, not just for potions, but everything. I was always tripping and making a mess of myself because I didn't have enough time or didn't plan. If I take things slowly then I don't mess up nearly as much."
    "You really like him now, don't you?"
    "Snape?" Neville pulled the blankets closer around him and turned
so he could catch the wet glint of Draco's eyes in the semidarkness. "Once I wasn't terrified of him, it was hard not to respect him."
    "Respect is separate from like." Came the sullen reply.
    "Is it?"
    "I respect Lupin. He's a good teacher and he deals with his...disease without making a fuss, but I will never like him." The venom in his tone could have killed.
    "I guess."
    They were silent for a long time until Neville was sure that Draco had fallen asleep.  Then the blond spoke again.
    "What about me, Nev?" The use of his pet name startled him. "Do you
respect me? Or even like me?"
    "Of course I like you! Well, now at least. I didn't like you much
before..."
    There was a stir and suddenly, Draco was on his feet and Neville watched dry mouthed as he slunk towards the bed with all the unearthly grace that had made the girls and boys of Hogwarts go to their knees for.  Neville scrambled farther up the bed until he was sitting up. Still Draco towered over him. In the dark, he looked like a ghost.
    "Do you respect me?" He demanded again. "Because I respect you.
Once you were pitiable and weak, but in the workroom you recreated  yourself into something worth looking at. Someone worth being with. So I ask, do you respect me?"
    "Yes." It was unequivcal. Neville dropped the sheet he had been
anxiously clutching. "I do. You're one of the bravest people I know."
    The smile that flitted across Draco's face made him mortal and solid again.  
    "Bravery is a Gryffindor trait."  In a strange curving movement, the blond lowered himself onto the bed, straddling the other boy. "But I accept it."
    "What are you doing?"  The soft, unyielding pressure of lips against his came in answer.
    In his head, Neville had imagined his first time being romantic and candlelit or fast and mindless, but with Draco it was something in the middle. They kissed for what seemed like an eternity, their hands eager, sweaty wanderers that fluttered over and under night clothes. Eventually, they sought the object and took each other in hand, stroking quickly to shuddering sticky orgasm. 
    Collapsed together, their breath uneven and their skin overheated, it was perfect. Eventually, Draco roused him and they showered together in the dim light. Afterwards, Draco insisted on brushing Neville's hair with the brush he had enchanted.  The long silken mess had darkened substantially over the sunless year that Neville had spent in the workroom. It was almost black now, gleaming with health.  With quick, talented fingers, Draco braided it tightly down his back until it hung like a partial second spine. Back in the bedroom, they charmed the beds together and slept close. For the first time in two months, the bathroom light was off.
    If Severus noticed their new sleeping arrangements he said nothing and the two were careful to betray no change in public. Neville found he could not contain the piece of himself he had discovered. He had never been particularly sexual before, beyond the hormonal rushes of any teenage boy.  Now, the whole world seemed filled with sensual things. The polished wood of his work table, the pounding water in the shower and the slide of his robes on bare skin all became glorious to his newly sensitized nerves.
)*(
    The night was hot and thick with moisture. The two men lounged on top of the sheets, one smoking languidly while the other stared off into the distance. They were odd complements, both black haired and dark eyed. Both their bodies were worn by time. One was muscled and broad shouldered, the other whipcord thin.  In the many years they had known each other, they had been many things together: friends, enemies and lovers in turn. Now, what were they? Severus wondered idly as he turned on his stomach.  Just two familiar bodies coming together in loneliness and fear.
    Three months since Sirius had returned, three months of him back in his bed. They had fallen back into the routine of it as if nothing had changed in fifteen long years.  Well, changed a little ... years ago this session would have ended in a painful scene. Now...there was only contented emptiness. An itch scratched, a comfortable routine completed.
    "Don't fill my chamber with that stench." He chided absently.
    The other man dragged on his cigarette, ignoring him. Through the thick walls came a muffled cry.
    "I suppose they're having their send off as well."
    "And why not?" Severus laid his head in his arms. "Draco ma perish."
    "He won't."  The answer was sure, firm. "I'll see to that."
    "You like the boy, don't you? For all his a Slytherin and a Malfoy."
    "I suppose." Sirius shrugged. "He's....not as obnoxious as he could be. I handle him better then Remus does. Poor old wolf doesn't always know what's best left unsaid."
    "I would think that of the Marauder's, its you who has the most difficultly keeping his mouth shut." A leer flickered briefly over the sallow face.
"Not that I'm complaining."
    Sirius smirked.
    "You might if I opened it around Draco. That boy is gorgeous."
    "I rather think Longbottom has beaten you there." The potions master growled.  "But I think he's mature enough to handle you."
    "Are you saying I'm immature?"
    "I was going to go with regressed, but that works as well."
    "Don't tell me you've never thought about Draco that way?"
    "I held him on my lap when he was three. I'm practically his uncle."
    "What about Neville then?" The cigarette winked out existence, fluttering to the floor as a red handkerchief. "He's grown into a handsome lad."
    "He's my apprentice." Was the swift return.
    "So that makes him a eunuch? I mean, he's not my type...."
    "Good. Because I rather think he hates you." Severus grinned. "A record that. A Gryffindor who doesn't like Sirius Black."
    "...and is hopelessly devoted to Severus Snape." Sirius finished more solemnly. "He likes you a great deal you know."
    "Don't be ridiculous."
    "I mean it. He looks at you like you make the sun rise and set. I know unrequited love when I see it."  "Really?" Severus asked idly. "Is that why you think Draco might return your affections?"
    Sirius looked startled.
    "I don't know what you're talking about."
    "Mmm..."
    There was a long silence, then Sirius rose to dress. Severus watched him cover up one article at a time, fixing it in his encyclopedic memory should there ever come a time when memory was all he had. There was a good chance that Sirius and Draco would be among the causalities of war. Severus was surprised that he was almost as upset about the prospect of Sirius' death as he was about Draco's.
"Be safe." He ordered. Sirius gazed at him one last time, glancing over one shoulder in the doorway. Then he was gone. Knowing he would be unable to sleep, Severus went to the workroom and started to tinker.