Dark Side Challenge Fic: Traitors and Allies, 1/2 (Snape/Lupin, R)

We're all going to turn the other way and pretend I did not just miss the deadline for my own challenge, okay? Oi. (The Masterlist will go up tonight, though, so if there are any other stragglers like me, let's get those stories/art posted today!)

Title: Traitors and Allies (1/2)
Author: snegurochka_lee
Characters: Snape/Lupin, Tonks, Hermione
Rating: R
Words: ~11,000
Quote: #8. Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Warnings: character death/murder (not Snape or Lupin); some background Remus/Tonks; political philosophy. Also, non-traditional structure. Not precisely mindfuck, but all the pieces may not quite make sense until the end. Avoid if that sort of thing drives you nuts.
Summary: "If he starts talking, be careful. Remus Lupin could sell fire to a dragon," said Tonks, glancing at Hermione. "You're here to take his statement, got it? Don't let him talk you into anything else."
Notes: Written for the Dark Side of Snape/Lupin challenge, and also inspired by a prompt that mnemosyne_1 gave me ages ago: Dark!Lupin/Dark!Snape - they've been lovers since the first war and neither of them was ever devoted to Dumbledore other than to save their own skins... dystopian ending, but Snape and Lupin are happy. In their own dark and snarky way, of course. There, look! Two stories in a row for this community where I tell you the ending in advance. Gah.


TRAITORS AND ALLIES

by Snegurochka

*

i. run

"RUN!" Snape screamed, his lungs burning and his feet flying across the grass as fast as they could. "Don't you dare, Draco! Don't you dare stop!"

It was beyond Snape's comprehension that the boy still hadn't grasped the severity of their situation, racing across the Hogwarts grounds to the safety of Hogsmeade and Apparition as Dumbledore's broken body landed in a heap at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower. The boy was slowing, one hand clenched in his robes where the knot in his side was presumably blossoming into a knife stroke of pain after the distance they had already covered under such stressful conditions.

But stressful conditions were Snape's forte; he never ran at any other time.

"Stupid– fucking–" He narrowed the lead Draco had had on him and grabbed the boy by the arm, hauling him forward with a twist of fingers into muscle. "Get to the gate," he hollered over the wind, or what he thought was the wind – the buzzing in his head that heralded every stressful situation.

"Get– off–" Draco panted, shaking off Snape's arm and stumbling in the grass. "Fuck–"

There would be time later to throw the boy up against a wall and watch him bleed from the eyeballs from the curses Snape would hit him with; time enough to punish him for every single mistake he had made in the past nine months, and as Snape had lost count as to how many that was, exactly, he relished the thought of making Malfoy's ignorant, arrogant brat pay for the things he'd done. That image alone kept Snape going, a grimace bordering on a smile tugging at his lips as his own stomach began to knot from the effort of sprinting so far, and in such a short time.

"Here– get–" He grabbed the boy's arm again and shoved him through the gate, not releasing his hold even when Draco fell to his knees and was dragged a few paces before he could right himself.

"Get the hell off me!" shouted Draco, yanking his arm free and pushing Snape away. "What are you–"

"Silencio," muttered Snape, his breath coming in quick gulps as he narrowed his eyes at Draco and concentrated on the wandless hex. "Shut up," he added as Draco glared at him with wide eyes and continued flapping his silenced mouth. "Just shut up."

He swallowed and breathed deeply to steady himself, his eyes glancing back to the school for only a split second before he grabbed Draco's arm again, digging his fingers in harder than was strictly necessary, and closed his eyes. The world flashed by in colour – blacks and greens and knots of silver exploding behind his eyes as the air closed in around him and he focused on their destination.

With any luck, this whole mess would not be quite as big a fuck-up as he imagined. With any luck, everything would already be prepared for them when they arrived.

His stomach clenched against splinching and he gripped Draco even harder, and in another second they emerged from the colour and the stagnant air with a loud pop. Draco immediately collapsed to the floor and Snape let him, releasing his hold and lifting his hand away in a single gesture of annoyance with the boy. As an afterthought, he waved his hand again and lifted the Silencing spell.

As Draco began to cough, Snape wiped a hand across his mouth, cocked his head to the side, and took a good, long look around the room in which they had landed. Greying carpet stretched too thin and peeled back in the corners; two nearly broken wooden chairs lined one wall; a loaf of bread and a kettle sat alone on the grubby counter of a kitchenette.

And on a sofa of indiscernible colour sat a man, greying himself and stretched too thin, nearly broken but still looking better off than that loaf of bread.

Draco knelt on the floor and gaped, his eyes darting between Snape and the sofa. Snape ignored him.

"Nice place," Snape quipped, arching an eyebrow at the man.

The man shrugged. "Short notice," he shot back. "You expected the Ritz, I suppose?"

"I expected a bed, at the very least."

"Ah. Yes, well." The man gestured around the room. "I'm sure the carpet will suffice until we can move you."

"And you?"

The man paused, sparing a glance at Draco before presumably deciding how much to say. "Me? I was expected at the hospital wing with a family of redheads, oh, about three minutes ago." His mouth twisted in a slow, sugared grin. "And I'd best get back to my new girlfriend, hadn't I?"

Snape stared at him a moment before dropping his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Christ," he muttered. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I've a funeral to attend and a woman to console," the man said, rising from the sofa and walking up to Snape. He reached out to straighten Snape's robes, brushing dirt and leaves from his shoulders and smoothing down the front. He held Snape's gaze and his voice turned hard. "The Dark Lord doesn't want to hear a peep from either of you for the next forty-eight hours. Is that clear?"

Snape looked into the blue-grey eyes and licked his lips, suppressing a smile at the man's tone. "Crystal," he murmured.

The man leaned in close, his hands still flat against Snape's chest, and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes and smiled before stepping away.

"Draco," he said sharply to the boy on the floor, who was still staring between the two men with wide eyes.

The boy did not respond, but moved his lips as though he meant to.

"Can we trust you not to disclose to anyone that you have seen me here tonight?"

Draco blinked rapidly a few times before nodding. "Yes," he muttered.

"Yes, what?"

Draco blinked again. "Yes… Professor Lupin."

Lupin turned to Snape, amused. "'Sir' would have sufficed, but I can't deny it's nice to be called 'Professor' once again."

Snape rolled his eyes. "You are much too easy to please."

"Oh, I don't know about that." He headed towards the door. "Forty-eight hours," he repeated. "If I hear anything from you before then, I'll kill you myself."

The door clicked shut behind him and Snape glanced down at Draco.

"Sleep," he ordered the boy, waving his hand at the empty floor. "Tomorrow, we'll talk."

*

"Is he talking yet?"

"Nope. Just sitting there like he's got all the time in the world, like he's been sniffing wormwood."

"He does look a bit out of it."

"Well, if he's smart – which he is – he'll have a million thoughts running through his head right now, trying to figure out a way to escape."

"But… you've ensured he can't, right?"

"Fuck off. What am I now, an amateur, Shacklebolt? Drink your latte."

"Sure I can't get you one?"

"God. If I have any more caffeine my head'll explode. Been watching this fucker all night. And stop laughing."

Shacklebolt's grin faltered and he raised an eyebrow. "You didn't bring him in till five a.m., Tonks. You want to tell me what you were–"

"Not really."

He gave her a pointed look, and she let out a slow breath, squaring her shoulders and looking him straight in the eye.

"Fine. I captured him… in bed. All right? Now fuck off about it."

"You – ah." He paused. "Handcuffs?"

She swatted his arm. "Oh, yeah. Handcuffs. Because that would have worked. Look, I know what I'm doing with this one, and he's here, isn't he? So back off."

He pointed a finger at her. "Go home and get some sleep, Tonks, and quit the queen bitch attitude, okay? I know he took you for a ride, but we've got him now, and he'll pay. If he hasn't started talking by four o'clock, we'll take active measures. He'll be in Azkaban by dinner."

She ran a hand through her short hair and stared through the one-way mirror shielding them from the prisoner. "You know what? You're going to have to be careful. I'm not sure we want him talking."

"What?"

She glanced back at Shacklebolt over her shoulder. "I got him bound by midnight, chief," she offered, her voice less certain than it had been before, "and damned if he nearly talked me out of it. All night I sat there, my finger just itching at my wand. He just about convinced me to let him go. He's got… I don't know. I never saw it before, but it all makes sense now."

"What does?"

She held Shacklebolt's eyes. "Remus Lupin could sell fire to a dragon, chief. If he starts talking, just… be careful."

He rolled his eyes. "Get some sleep. I'll see you back here this afternoon."

* * *

ii. a traitor among us

Snape tried to wait as patiently as he could which, at the end of the day, was not patiently at all. Patience was a virtue of the weak, after all. There were things to be done; actions to be taken; plans to nail down. He couldn't very well wait around here forever.

Except no, that wasn't quite right. He could wait forever, and he probably would, considering who he was waiting for. Call it patience; call it weakness. It was there, and he couldn't do much about it. Lupin made him patient.

Lupin made him weak.

At the sound of a crack behind him, he turned and glared. Loud as a shotgun, as usual. It was a small miracle the man hadn't been captured yet. He waited a moment, glancing around. "Were you followed?" he asked at last, and Lupin made a face as he headed towards him.

"Probably," he snapped. "Left the Ministry a map on my way past."

"No need to get testy."

"I'm tired of flying around after old socks," he muttered, tossing the used Portkey over his shoulder and wiping his hands on his trousers. "You really can't think of a better way to meet?"

"My suite at the Ritz is being redecorated," said Snape dryly. Lupin smiled, and there it was again, that damn weakness. He stepped forward, ignoring the bicycle traffic on the cobblestones around them and leaning in close to Lupin, bending his head and inhaling.

"Not here," said Lupin softly, his lips barely moving, and Snape paused. He took one more deep breath, almost letting his nose brush Lupin's jaw.

"Then where?" he murmured.

"Monday night," breathed Lupin, "Headquarters. There's that room in the basement."

"That Lucius used for his whores," muttered Snape, lifting his head again with a scowl.

Lupin smiled. "Well, then, we'll just have to play the Lucius and his whore game. I get to be Lucius." He glanced over his shoulder. "I don't have much time," he added, his tone hardening. "What did you want?"

"Draco's dead," said Snape, and Lupin pursed his lips.

"That's not really worthy of a press conference, is it? He had it coming." Lupin paused. "You?"

"I wish. It was Bella."

Lupin winced. "Oh, ouch. Poor kid. But Albus has been dead six months – why'd she wait so long?"

"Hoping the Dark Lord wouldn't notice, I imagine."

"So it's up to me to tell him?"

Snape nodded. "If you don't mind."

"Christ." Lupin folded his arms over his chest and dropped his eyes to the street. "You need anything?" he added, glancing up again.

Snape gave him a pointed look, and Lupin grinned.

"I told you – Monday night. Can you get there?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Where are you right now, by the way?" he asked, and Lupin puffed out a breath, raising his eyes to the sky.

"At the market with Molly," he said. "Apparently I'm buying potatoes as we speak."

"Such a gripping life you do lead."

"Well, so far she's told me Bill's security code at Gringott's, the patrol schedule Arthur's on at the Ministry next week – including, I might add, the tidbit that there's an emergency shaft out of Shacklebolt's office that leads straight to the train station – and all about the deal Charlie just brokered with an estate up in Wales for two litres of Horntail blood every Thursday."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Who?"

"Don't know yet."

"What do they need it for?"

"Don't know yet, but if you let me get back to my potato purchasing, I just might find out."

Snape waved a hand. "Fine, fine. Monday," he added, holding Lupin's eyes.

Lupin smiled, fishing the return Portkey out of his pocket. "Monday," he assured him.

*

"He still won't talk?"

"Nope. I don't know what's going on in his head, either."

Tonks sighed, setting down her coffee and placing both hands on her hips. "Fuck."

"I hate to do it, but I don't think we have a choice."

She eyed the small phial on the table and closed her eyes, fearing what might actually come out of Remus Lupin's mouth if he was given Veritaserum. No scratch that. She didn't fear what he would say, only her own ability to hear it. "All right," she huffed after a pause. "All right."

"I'll talk," a calm voice came suddenly from behind the one-way mirror, as though he had heard them debating his fate, "but only to one person."

Tonks and Shacklebolt both stared through the shield. Shacklebolt recovered first, tapping his wand to the mirror to switch on the audio from their adjacent room. "Who?" he called.

Lupin fidgeted for a moment before glancing up at them again. "Hermione Granger," he said quietly.

Tonks glanced at her boss, raised an eyebrow, and then turned back to Lupin. "Why, exactly? She's not an Auror, Remus. She's not… anything, really. She's a random eighteen-year-old girl. Or, wait." She let out a short, bitter laugh. "Is that what you're about now? Shall I tell her to wear lace?"

Both Lupin and Shacklebolt winced.

"Tonks, please," said Lupin. "That's not fair." He paused, but when no more comments came from the Auror room, he continued. "I owe her an explanation for some things. It has to do with Harry," he added. "She's the only one who'd know what I'm talking about."

"Is Harry in danger, Lupin?" said Shacklebolt, his voice rumbling through the audio shield. "We know you're not really a bad man. You don't want to do anything that would hurt James and Lily's son." He glanced up at Tonks, who smirked. The chief always knew how to get under a suspect's skin.

"Harry's fine," said Lupin wearily, "but he won't be for long, unless I get to talk to Hermione."

"We'll get a message to her," Tonks called. "How about that? Go on and tell us what you need to say to her."

He looked up at the sheer one-way mirror, nothing but a reflection to him, and was quiet for several seconds. "Tonks," he said at last. "Please."

She paced the small room, hands still on her hips and her mind whirring. "Fuck," she said again, shaking her head. She took a deep breath and turned back to Shacklebolt. "Can we get her?"

He shrugged. "You know where she is?"

"Not really, but I know a few ways to find out."

He paused, glancing back at the prisoner. "All right," he said at last. "Get her in here."

* * *

iii. soliloquy to the dead

Not many people knew where James and Lily were buried, or that they were even buried anywhere at all, but Remus Lupin was one of the few who possessed that information.

He should have. He was the one who buried them, after all.

The lawn sloped gently, the grass was thick and damp, and the stone tablets rose from it with menace and a touch of judgement. Lupin Apparated to the gates on October 29 of the year Harry set off in search of the last Horcruxes and pushed the creaking iron back with a weary sigh. It was a Muggle place, at the insistence of Lily's parents. Formidable people they were, and James's parents had been so sick of the war at that point and so crippled by their grief that they had welcomed the chance to lay him to rest away from the world that had killed him.

As far as it was possible to welcome the chance to lay a strong, healthy, twenty-one-year-old husband and father to rest anywhere at all, of course.

Against his better judgement, Lupin came here every year on the same day, not as a commemoration, per se, but as a warning. And to avoid the crowds, naturally.

"So," he began softly, as he did every year, crouching beside the twin headstones, "Happy Anniversary. You're looking well," he added with a smile. "Alert, energetic. You'll be happy to know that Harry has once again managed to live another year, against all odds. Quite resilient, that boy. Or just lucky. Or, perhaps most likely, he's just too stupid to recognise it when he's truly in danger, so he doesn't have time to become a sitting target, paralysed by fear. Pity, really." He rose again, knees groaning, and stared down at the tombs. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Don't get me wrong – I don't want the boy dead. I'm not a complete monster." He paused a moment before forcing a laugh. "Or, no, wait – I am, aren't I? At least, you always thought so. As if I couldn't hear you whispering. As if I really didn't know what you said to each other in the dark, and to Sirius the next morning, about me and my monsters. As if a friendship can ever recover from that. So you died hating me. Wasn't that a waste of energy? I never did anything to you, not then. Not really. It was Peter, you know. I might have told you, but if you wouldn't listen to me about Sirius, you sure weren't going to listen to me about Peter, were you?

"That's the problem with Gryffindors, really – always trying to play both sides. Noble and courageous and loyal to a fault, sure, except on Tuesdays, when they can turn on their best friends for no reason at all. Did I turn on you? Maybe. But not really, not any more than you deserved for turning on me first."

He began to pace, circling the tombstones with slow, careful steps and not taking his eyes off them as he spoke. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten the details! I remember as though it were yesterday. But then, I'm a bit obsessive like that, aren't I? You always said so, Prongs. I like all my things kept in their place, and I only trust those who trust me back. Not so complicated, is it? I asked for very little from Gryffindors, but in the end, every one of them let me down." He paused. "Can you hear me, James? Would you roll over right now if I told you that the Sorting Hat was wrong? That I begged it to put me in Gryffindor against its better judgement? That even at eleven years old I figured no one would suspect a werewolf among the heroic Gryffindors. I was clever, you know.

"And would you roll over again, old friend, if I told you that the only person who has trusted me in my whole life, without wavering, including my parents and my supposed best friends… was a Slytherin? You always put so much stock in House loyalty, so there's one for you to ponder. I hear you have some time on your hands down there, so go ahead and try to figure that one out."

He paused for breath, and a voice near the gate called out to him. "Lupin, honestly. Now you're just being maudlin and melodramatic and embarrassing yourself."

He turned, scowling. "No one asked you to come."

"Don't be ridiculous. You'll get yourself killed by Aurors coming out here alone at this time of year."

"They never start patrolling till the morning of the thirty-first, and anyway, I know my way around Aurors."

Snape made a face and a strangled noise. "Please. We have a meeting with the Dark Lord later; I'd rather not have sick on my robes. You'll be killing her soon, I hope?"

"She's useful."

"She knows about as much about anything as Molly Weasley. Will you be shagging her as well?" Snape grumbled.

"I might. There's quite a bit I'm willing to do for the cause, you'll notice."

"The cause." Snape smirked. "Yes. How loyal you are. You turned on them with barely a second thought, if I remember correctly," he added, nodding at the tombstones. He paused. "How do I know you won't do the same to me?"

Lupin smiled, putting his hands in his pockets and strolling towards the gate. He slowed as he passed Snape, letting their shoulders press together and leaning in to brush his lips over Snape's jaw line. When he lifted his head, he cast one last look at the graves, silently promising to return the following year if he was alive, before turning back to Snape. "You don't," he said simply.

*

"All right, here she is." Tonks led Hermione into the interrogation room and pointed her wand at Lupin for good measure, even though he was already bound by just about every spell at the Ministry's disposal. "You've got till sunrise to explain yourself to her."

He looked up. "What happens at sunrise?" he asked. "Unless I've been in here so long I've lost track of the lunar cycle."

"Hilarious." She glared at him. "At sunrise, we move you to Azkaban as a hostile combatant."

"You've got no evidence that I am anything of the sort," he said calmly, his eyes on Hermione. "It's against my rights as a citizen of Wizarding Britain to be sent to prison without trial."

"No," said Hermione slowly, glancing between Tonks and Lupin with a nervous expression. "There's no such right, actually. Wizards in Britain are regularly detained without trial or evidence. You know that," she added, "after what happened to Sirius."

"Oh, God," he muttered, dropping his eyes. "You're right."

"Sunrise," Tonks barked. "If you want to spend the next twelve hours debating the Wizarding justice system, be my guest."

"Sunrise," he repeated. "And do I have your word on that?"

"On what?"

"That we won't be interrupted before then, no matter what may happen in here?"

She stared at him a moment before suddenly striding forward, slamming her hands down on the table and leaning over at him. "Just what do you plan to do in here, then?"

"Just want to talk to her, Tonks. It's not a crime."

"You haven't exactly got the right definitions of what's a crime and what's not lately. And I know how you talk, Remus. Like the devil himself controls the words coming out of your mouth." She glanced at Hermione. "You're here to take his statement, got it? Don't let him talk you into anything else."

She nodded, her brow creased, and Tonks headed to the door, grabbing the edge of it and making to swing it closed behind her. She paused just before she did. "Oh, and Remus?" she said, her voice a jagged edge.

He looked up.

"Fuck you."

He dropped his eyes again and nodded as she slammed the door. With a sigh and a shy smile, he glanced at Hermione. "I deserved that," he said apologetically, "although, not for the reasons you may think."

"I don't think anything," she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from him. "But… please tell me this is a mistake. You're not really supposed to be in here."

He sighed. "No, I am."

"You are?"

He nodded. "I mean, I'd rather not be in here, of course, and if you don't mind not telling them that I confessed to you in the first twenty seconds, although – ah, yes, of course, they'll be listening." He paused to raise his eyes, glancing around the room. "Well, at any rate, there you have it. I do in fact deserve to be here."

"What she said is true?" Her eyes widened. "You're a traitor!"

He frowned. "I suppose that's one way to look at it, but it's not how I think of myself."

"How can you think of it any other way!"

"What did you just tell me, Hermione? About Sirius? You know exactly what they'll do to me at sunrise, whether I'm guilty of anything or not." He leaned forward, holding her eyes. "The system we live under isn't right, and you know it. I'm just fighting to change it."

Her mouth fell open a bit and she stared at him. Too easy, he thought to himself, suppressing a satisfied grin. This was going to be much too easy.

* * *

iv. the prince

Meeting with the Dark Lord was never a pleasant experience.

The chamber was invariably dark, deliberately cast in shadow both to satisfy his peculiar red-tinged vision, and to sufficiently alarm his visitors. Nagini was always close by, slithering between legs and curling around feet, hissing at anyone she didn't like. And there was always a muted sense of pure power in the chamber, like a stream of electric current clamped off with bolt cutters. It hovered just beneath the surface of the conversation but could be let loose at any time.

Lupin and Snape pushed the door open carefully.

"My Lord," they both said at once, dropping to one knee before him and bowing their heads low. He bade them rise again with a pass of his hand, the magic burrowing under their chests and chins and lifting them forward. When they were face-to-face with him, he began his routine investigation.

"Yes, yes," he murmured to himself as he held Snape's gaze. "Nothing but sexual congress in there, as always." He turned to Lupin. "I assume these are not merely fantasies on Severus's part? You are an active and consenting participant?"

Lupin kept his breathing even. "Yes, my Lord."

The Dark Lord allowed himself a tiny smirk, as he always did. "I am still of two minds on the pair of you," he began, his voice sharp and cold. "On the one hand, sex in wartime is most unadvised, as you surely know. It causes lapses in judgement. Poor decisions. Heroic ventures to rescue one at the expense of the other, and so forth." He made a bored gesture with his hand in front of his face. "And yet on the other hand, it is a dream come true for me, is it not? It gives me tremendous power over both of you."

They both remained silent.

"Tell me, Remus," he said softly, "if I were to capture Severus and send him to the dungeons, perhaps hang him from the ceiling, could I trust that you would come to his rescue?"

"No, my Lord," he answered without hesitation. "You could not."

The Dark Lord paused. "Interesting," he said at last, before turning to Snape. "And Severus? In the reverse situation…?"

"No, my Lord," he echoed. "The werewolf is a convenience to me, nothing more."

"Ah." The Dark Lord settled back in his ornate chair. "If only that were true." He turned to Lupin. "And what is in your mind today, Remus?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Their gazes locked for nearly a full minute before the Dark Lord averted his eyes and Lupin closed his, pulling in a sharp breath.

He glanced back at Snape. "Fucking," he drawled, swinging his eyes back to Lupin, "and reading. What a pair. Tell me, Remus, what is this interest of yours in the work of long-dead Muggles and their ideas?"

"They motivate me to serve you, my Lord."

"And why do you need motivation to serve me?"

"I must understand the principles behind a cause before I can support it, my Lord."

"Ah. What are the principles of my cause, then?"

"You are a classic Prince, my Lord. You are able to separate authority from morality and in doing so, establish total rule that relies on individual power not weakened by benevolence."

The Dark Lord smiled, sticky lips turning up as he looked at Lupin. "I see," he said. "You are aware, of course, that Machiavelli most likely wrote those things only to gain favour with a despotic ruler desperate to stay in power."

"Perhaps, my Lord, but the text remains brilliant. Rulers who worry about being loved by the people are destined to fall. Moral men do not make strong leaders. This was Dumbledore's major mistake," said Lupin.

"Are you calling me immoral?"

"Yes, my Lord. As a compliment."

The Dark Lord glanced at Snape. "This is the man you're fucking, Severus? Does he ever stop spouting such rubbish?"

"No, my Lord."

"I thought not," mused the Dark Lord. He moved his eyes over Lupin again. "You may have your unorthodox opinions and motivations, Remus, but I would be happier if you put them to better use."

"My Lord?"

"I have very good reasons not to trust either of you." He paused. "But as you also know, Machiavelli's Prince needs neither aides nor allies. He acts alone, as do I. One might even go so far as to say that your allegiance is irrelevant – to either side."

Lupin bowed his head. "I couldn't have said it better myself, my Lord."

"Tell me what Greyback is plotting," said the Dark Lord, leaning forward in his chair, "and then, when you are dismissed, bring me more philosophers like yourself. The learned of the world are dangerous in the hands of the enemy. We use logic and reason, and when that fails – fear."

"I prefer to use only logic and reason, my Lord."

The Dark Lord glanced again at Snape. "Get him out of here," he ordered. "He annoys me, and his position is precarious. Has he learned anything from the Auror yet?"

"Yes, my Lord," answered Snape. "She has been useful in providing Ministry security information."

"She will find him out shortly. I want someone else in place when she does."

Lupin narrowed his eyes. "She will not find me out, my Lord."

The Dark Lord glared back. "You underestimate her," he snapped.

"With all due respect, my Lord," said Lupin, "you underestimate me."

The chamber throbbed with loaded silence.

"Do I?" the Dark Lord said softly after a long pause. "Go ahead, then. Prove me wrong."

*

"Change the system." Hermione's voice was slow and even. "What exactly does that mean?"

"You're a smart girl, Hermione," said Lupin softly. "You're well-read, and you've studied Muggles enough to know a thing or two about the way they generally run things, isn't that right?"

She nodded, her brow still creased.

"Then you know that a system that imprisons its own citizens without trial, and uses torture in its prisons, and has no Constitution to speak of… well. It's not a system worth defending, is it?"

She watched him carefully. "And You-Know-Who has a better system?"

"I didn't say that, although think about what you know of him."

"I know that he's vile and evil and cruel," she spat without pause, her face reddening.

"You know only what those on your side have told you. You don't actually know anything about how he would run a government."

"He's prejudiced!" she insisted, glaring at him. "He would wipe Muggles and Muggle-borns from the earth!"

"And our Ministry wouldn't? You know a thing or two about the plight of the house-elves, don't you, Hermione? And I don't need to tell you that your side is not so friendly to werewolves."

"That's very self-serving of you," she said coldly. "Here I thought you were the sort of man who would help others above yourself, but you're not. You're just looking to join the side that best suits your personal interests!"

Lupin paused, cocking his head to the side. "Listen to yourself," he said with a smile. "You just said that you, a Muggle-born witch, oppose the Dark Lord because of what you fear he would do to your kind. Yet I, as a werewolf, cannot oppose the Ministry because I fear what they would do to mine? Or, I should say, what they already do?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond and then shut it again, glaring at him.

"You learn to look out for yourself when there isn't anyone else around to do it for you," he said, watching the way her eyes flickered as she processed what she was hearing. "Besides," he added casually, "don't you remember the first thing you assumed about me when you discovered I was a werewolf?" He held her eyes.

"I–" Her mouth fell open a little. "I assumed you'd betrayed us," she murmured, dropping her gaze to the table. She paused for a second before raising her head again. "But you had," she added.

"In what way? Have I ever harmed you, or your friends? I made some mistakes that night, it's true, but were they because I am evil by nature and should be slaughtered?"

She didn't answer right away, and Lupin carefully pressed his advantage.

"Hermione," he began gently, "have you ever read a philosopher named Niccolo Machiavelli?"



Part 2