"So Snape was offering to help him? He was definitely offering to help him?"

Amisty was spending the holidays at the Burrow while Hermione left for her parents' house. Harry had just finished telling them about what he'd overheard Snape and Malfoy talking about in the empty classroom the night of the party. It came as no surprise to Amisty, however, that Malfoy had some sort of mission going on.

"If you ask that once more," Harry said threateningly, "I'm going to stick this sprout - "

"Harry!" Amisty exclaimed, flicking a stray sprout into his hair.

"I'm only checking!" Ron said quickly.

The three of them were peeling sprouts for Mrs. Weasley, everyone elsewhere in the house. It had a warm, cheery atmosphere, snow drifting down outside.

"Yes, Snape was offering to help him!" Harry flicked a sprout back in revenge, scowling at Amisty. "He said he'd promised Malfoy's mother to protect him, that he'd made an Unbreakable Oath or something - "

"An Unbreakable Vow?" Ron blinked. "Nah, he can't have. . . Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Harry replied. "Why, what does it mean?"

"Well, you can't break an Unbreakable Vow. . ."

"I'd worked that much out for myself, funnily enough," Harry said. "What happens if you break it, then?"

"You die," Ron said. "Fred and George tried to get me to make one when I was about five. I nearly did too, I was holding hands with Fred and everything when Dad found us. He went mental. Only time I've ever seen Dad as angry as Mum. Fred reckons his left buttock has never been the same since."

Amisty snorted.

"Yeah, well, passing over Fred's left buttock - "

"I beg your pardon?" Fred said as the twins walked into the kitchen.

She choked, turning away from the chopping board so she didn't cough-laugh all over their vegetables.

"Aah, George, look at this. They're using knives and everything," Fred pressed a hand to his chest, pouting. "Bless them."

Ron pulled a face, "I'll be seventeen in two and a bit months' time and then I'll I'll be able to do it by magic!"

"But meanwhile," George sat down at the kitchen table, kicking up his feet so his chair balanced on two legs, "we can enjoy watching you demonstrate the correct use of a - whoops-a-daisy!"

Amisty winced as Ron's knife slipped, nicking his thumb.

"You made me do that!" Ron said angrily. "You wait, when I'm seventeen - "

"I'm sure you'll dazzle us all with hitherto unsuspected magical skills," Fred agreed around a yawn, easily flicking away Amisty's sprout.

"And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald," George butted in, knocking down his own sprout, "what is this we hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called - unless our information is faulty - Lavender Brown?"

Turning back to the cutting board, Amisty hoped her expression of distaste wasn't as obvious as it felt.

Ron, in turn, went pink as he turned around, "Mind your own business."

"What a snappy retort," Fred said breezily. "I really don't know how you think of them. No, what No, what we wanted to know was. . . how did it happen?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Did she have an accident or something?"

"What?"

"Well, how did she sustain such extensive brain damage? Careful now!"

Mrs. Weasley walked in just as Ron threw his knife at Fred's head, who turned it into a paper airplane with no hesitation.

"Ron!" She glared at him. "Don't you ever let me see you throwing knives again!"

"I won't," Ron said, rolling his eyes as he turned back, "let you see."

"Fred, George, I'm sorry, dears, but Remus is arriving tonight, so Bill will have to squeeze in with you two."

"No problem," George shrugged.

"Then, as Charlie isn't coming home, that just leaves Harry and Ron in the attic, and if Fleur pops in with Amisty and Ginny - "

Amisty froze in horror.

" - that'll make Ginny's Christmas - " Fred muttered.

" - everyone should be comfortable. Well, they'll have a bed, anyway."

"I'd rather sleep on the floor," Amisty whispered under her breath.

"Percy definitely not showing his ugly face, then?" Fred asked.

Mrs. Weasley's mouth turned down, "No, he's busy, I expect, at the Ministry."

"Or he's the world's biggest prat," Fred scoffed as soon as his mother had left the kitchen. "One of the two. Well, let's get going, then, George."

"What are you two up to?" Ron asked, perking up. "Can't you help us with these sprouts? You could just use your wand and then we'll be free too!"

"No, I don't think we can do that," Fred shook his hand solemnly. "It's very character-building stuff, learning how to peel sprouts without magic, makes you appreciate how difficult it is for Muggles and Squibs - "

" - and if you want people to help you, Ron," George threw the paper airplane at his brother's head, "I wouldn't chuck knives at them. Just a little hint. We're off to the village, there's a very pretty girl working in the paper shop who thinks my card tricks are something marvelous. . . almost like real magic. . ."

"Buy me a journal while you're gone?" Amisty asked with a smile.

"Normally, I'd say yes to such a winning grin," Fred Summoned a sprout and tossed it up and down. "Unfortunately, sprouts are just as bad as knives when it comes to throwing projectiles."

And he threw it back at her.

"Rude."

"You threw first."

"Gits," Ron scowled, watching them darkly as the twins stomped through the snow. "Would've only taken them ten seconds and then we could've gone too."

"I couldn't," Harry said, shaking his head. "I promised Dumbledore I wouldn't wander off while I'm staying here."

"Oh yeah," Ron said, starting up peeling once more. "Are you going to tell Dumbledore what you heard Snape and Malfoy saying to each other?"

The sprouts were suddenly much more interesting to Amisty.

"Yep," Harry replied. "I'm going to tell anyone who can put a stop to it, and Dumbledore's top of the list. I might have another word with your dad too."

"Pity you didn't hear what Malfoy's actually doing, though," Ron said.

"I couldn't have done, could I?" Harry pointed out. "That was the whole point, he was refusing to tell Snape."

An awkward silence fell, interrupted by the occasional clunk of their knives against the cutting board.

"'Course, you know what they'll all say? Dad and Dumbledore and all of them?" Ron shook his hair out of his eyes. "They'll say Snape isn't really trying to help Malfoy, he was just trying to find out what Malfoy's up to."

"They didn't hear him," Harry said with an air of finality. "No one's that good an actor, not even Snape."

"Yeah. . ." Ron agreed, glancing away. "I'm just saying, though."

Harry turned, "You think I'm right, though?"

"Yeah, I do!" Ron said quickly. "Seriously, I do! But they're all convinced Snape's in the Order, aren't they?"

Harry pressed his lips together, throwing a questioning look at Amisty.

"I'm saying nothing, Harry," Amisty said quietly. "He wouldn't tell me anything anyway, you know that."

She stepped away from the cutting board, her mountain of sprouts conquered.

"I'm going to work on my journals," She said, already halfway up the steps. "Call me down for dinner, will you?"

"Will do," Harry called over his shoulder.

Within five seconds of Amisty's trek up the steps, she could hear their whispers.

"Is she alright?" Ron whispered.

"She misses Hermione," Harry replied. "And Malfoy and she saw each other again after the party. . . it didn't go very well."

She sighed, disappearing into Ginny's bedroom with a soft click.

»»————- ♡ -————««

Christmas Eve was a welcome change in tone. Ginny and Amisty had spent the entire day making paper-chains, draping them off every spare corner and lamp in the living room. The Christmas tree was covered in cheerful decorations, twinkling in the firelight, the angel on top possibly the biggest eyesore in the room. Celestina Warbeck, Mrs. Weasley's favorite singer, warbled out of the wireless on a Christmas broadcast, flooding the room with music. Fleur was, evidently, not a fan, talking loudly in the corner with Bill. In retaliation, Mrs. Weasley would turn up the volume every few minutes. While Celestina started up a jazzy, merry melody, Fred and George began an intense game of Exploding Snap with Ginny. Ron, on the other hand, kept glancing over at Bill and Fleur as if they'd suddenly drop their secrets on their relationship. Professor Lupin sat by the fire, dressed in his same shabby cloak, seemingly lost to the world.

Oh, come and stir my cauldron,

And if you do it right,

I'll boil you up some hot strong love

To keep you warm tonight.

Amisty choked on her drink, coughing into her elbow as Harry cackled at her misfortune beside her.

"We danced to this when we were eighteen!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, wiping her tears with her knitting. "Do you remember, Arthur?"

"Mphf?" Mr. Weasley popped up from peeling his satsuma. "Oh yes. . . marvelous tune. . ."

Soon after, Mr. Weasley turned to Amisty and Harry, "Sorry about this. Be over soon."

"No problem," Harry grinned, knocking Amisty's back as she struggled to breathe properly. "Has it been busy at the Ministry."

"Very," Mr. Weasley sighed. "I wouldn't mind if we were getting anywhere, but of the three arrests we've made in the last couple of months, I doubt that one of them is a genuine Death Eater - only don't repeat that, you two."

"They're not still holding Stan Shunpike, are they?" Harry asked, his grin dimming slightly.

"I'm afraid so," Mr. Weasley said. "I know Dumbledore's tried appealing directly to Scirmgeour about Stan. . . I mean, anybody who has actually interviewed him agrees that he's about as much a Death Eater as this satsuma. . . but the top levels want to look as though they're making some progress, and 'three arrests' sounds better than 'three mistaken arrests and releases'. . . but again, this is all top secret. . ."

Amisty's coughing ceased, her expression solemn.

"I won't say anything," Harry said, his voice trailing off for a moment. "Mr. Weasley, you know what I told you at the station when we were setting off for school?"

"I checked, Harry," Mr. Weasley replied. "I went and searched the Malfoys' house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn't have been there."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, "I saw in the Prophet that you'd looked. . . but this is something different. . . Well, something more. . ."

Harry told him what he'd overheard between Snape and Malfoy, keeping quiet as not to alarm the other guests. It was quiet, Mr. Weasley's mouth turning down at the edges.

Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?

It's left me for a spell. . .

"Has it occurred to you, Harry," Mr. Weasley said placatingly, "that Snape was simply pretending - ?"

"Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy's up to?" He replied. "Yeah, I thought you'd say that. But how do we know?"

"It isn't our business to know," Lupin cut in quietly, no longer staring into the flames. "It's Dumbledore's business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us."

"But," Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, "just say - just say Dumbledore's wrong about Snape - "

"People have said it many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus."

"But Dumbledore can make mistakes," Harry insisted. "He says it himself. And you, do you honestly like Snape?"

"Harry - " Amisty whispered.

"I neither like nor dislike Severus," Lupin said vaguely. "No, Harry, I am speaking the truth. We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon."

Amisty winced, thinking of Hunter and how thankful he was to even have accessible Wolfsbane on hand.

Harry huffed, "But he 'accidentally' let it slip that you're a werewolf, so you had to leave!"

"The news would have leaked out anyway," Lupin replied with a shrug. "We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful."

"Maybe he didn't dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!"

"You are determined to hate him, Harry," Lupin's lips quirked, although his eyes were sad. "And I understand; with James as your father, with Sirius as your godfather, you have inherited an old prejudice. By all means, tell Dumbledore what you have told Arthur and me, but do not expect him to share your view of the matter; do not even expect him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might have been on Dumbledore's orders that Severus questioned Draco."

. . . and now you've torn it quite apart

I'll thank you to give back my heart!

The song ended with a round of applause off the wireless, which Mrs. Weasley joined in without hesitation.

"Eez eet over?" Fleur asked loudly. "Thank goodness, what an 'orrible - "

"Shall we have a nightcap, then?" Mr. Weasley leaped to his feet, cutting Fleur off. "Who wants eggnog?"

"What have you been up to lately?" Harry asked Professor Lupin.

"I can help, Mr. Weasley?" Amisty offered, not wanting to intrude on Lupin's conversation.

"No, no, it's quite alright," Mr. Weasley smiled gently. "Besides, I think this is something you'd like to hear, if that's alright with you, Lupin?"

"Yes," Lupin nodded, waving her closer. "I think it's important for you to know."

Amisty nodded, sitting down in Mr. Weasley's empty chair.

"I've been underground," Lupin said. "Almost literally. That's why I haven't been able to write; sending letters would have been something of a giveaway?"

"What do you mean?" Amisty asked.

"I've been living among my fellows, my equals," Lupin said. "Werewolves. Nearly all of them are on Voldemort's side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was. . . ready-made."

Looking at the floor, Amisty frowned, winding her fingers together.

"I am not complaining," Lupin added hurriedly, "it is necessary work and who can do it better than I? However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing - and sometimes killing - to eat."

"How come they like Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life," Lupin said. "And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there. . ."

"Who's Greyback?" Amisty asked.

"You haven't heard of him?" Lupin's hands twitched in his lap. "Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback specializes in children. . . Bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people's sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results."

He paused, "It was Greyback who bit me."

Amisty gasped.

"What?" Harry said. "When - when you were a kid, you mean?"

"Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me; I even felt pity for him, thinking that he had had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal the werewolves. I cannot pretend that my particular brand of reasoned argument is making much headway against Greyback's insistence that we werewolves deserve blood, that we ought to revenge ourselves on normal people."

"But you are normal!" Harry said angrily. "You've just got a - a problem - "

Lupin broke out into laughter, "Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He called it my 'furry little problem' in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved rabbit."

Amisty smiled, but her heart felt heavy, "Do you know if he was the one who bit Hunter Lamark?"

Lupin sighed, "Yes, he was."

She swallowed, "Oh."

"I'm sorry, Amisty," He said.

"You're not the one who's supposed to be apologizing," Amisty replied, a little shorter than intended. "I think I'm going to write Hermione, excuse me - "

"Amisty," Lupin rested a hand on her shoulder. "You and I both know that Hunter would never allow himself to be turned to the Dark."

His words held more meaning than the surface implied, and she nodded.

"Thank you."

"Of course."