Harry Potter: Raised by Wolves.

Severus' scowl deepened. Muttering the password to his private quarters, he slunk inside and shed his cloak, tossing it to hang itself on the hook in the wall. All he wanted for Christmas was a glass of brandy, a good book, and at least twelve hours without having to see any students, or Albus Dumbledore. The old headmaster was even further from Severus' good graces than he had been at the start of the year.

The embrace of his preferred armchair was a welcome one, and Severus closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath. When he opened them, he paused. There, on his coffee table, was a brown paper wrapped package. It definitely hadn't been there when he'd left for lunch. He reached for it with trepidation, knowing without needing to look where it had come from. That sodding wolf.

Sure enough, the handwriting across the top was familiar.

Severus,

I know you weren't expecting anything. I highly doubt you've got me anything. Don't worry — I just couldn't resist.

Perhaps we could have a drink when I'm feeling better. I'm going to need help working through the bottle of Glenfiddich Minerva will undoubtedly gift me. I'm not asking for things to be how they were. I'm just asking for us to move forward.

Merry Christmas,

Remus

Severus almost tossed the whole thing in the fire without opening it, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Carefully undoing the Spellotape holding it together, he peeled off the paper, expecting some potions book or perhaps something Dark Arts related. It was nothing of the sort.

It was a wooden puzzle box. Muggle in origin, by the looks of it. Interlocking pieces of dark stained wood, intricately carved and fit together in a way that Severus could tell the solution would take time.

He thought about a shelf, in a bedroom in a muggle house he hadn't visited in years, where a small collection of similar puzzle boxes resided, no doubt covered in dust by now. A collection that had begun when a nine year-old redheaded girl eagerly gifted him one for his birthday, gushing about the trip to Turkey she'd taken with her family, and how she'd seen the box and just had to get it for him.

Long fingers brushed carefully over the wood, his brain already beginning to look for next possible moves, keen to see if there was anything inside the box. From Lupin, it could be anything. Severus didn't know what he was hoping for. Perhaps the box would be better off empty.

Cursing under his breath, Severus screwed the paper up into a ball, throwing it into the fire, note and all. The puzzle box remained in his lap, taunting him.

Move forward. He scoffed. That was easier said than done. They'd barely been able to figure things out the first time around, when they were young and naive and so bloody hopeful — at least, Remus was hopeful. Thinking about the werewolf back then made a sharp ache pierce Severus' ribcage.

Remus was right. They certainly couldn't go back to how things were. Everything had changed far, far too much for that.

He shook his head, tearing his gaze away from the puzzle box and staring into the flames as they turned the wrapping paper to ash. He'd been well on his way to fucking things up for good, before. Merlin only knew why the idiot wolf was still trying.

Moving forward. Severus wondered what that would look like.

He cursed the corner of his shrivelled up heart that was desperate to find out.

.-.-.-. Ron was itching for a fight.

That much was obvious to Harry. Between his worry for Scabbers and his anger at Hermione turning the Firebolt in to McGonagall, Ron was a tightly wound ball of rage that would explode at any moment. Harry himself wasn't even mad about the Firebolt; he, too, was suspicious of its origin. He just hoped he could have it back before the match against Ravenclaw.

"Parkinson's looking at you funny," Ron muttered as the two of them walked to the greenhouses for Herbology. Harry glanced over his shoulder — Pansy Parkinson was indeed looking at him, but it was more calculating than anything, arm in arm with an oblivious Tracy Davis. Harry thought back to his odd meeting with Zabini and Greengrass, before Christmas. Perhaps word was spreading further. Or maybe Malfoy had said something, after one of their mostly-accidental late-night meetings.

"She's not doing anything, Ron," Harry assured, grabbing Ron's elbow and tugging him forward, away from the Slytherins. "It's fine." If Ron was going to pick a fight, he didn't want to be part of it.

"I swear, Malfoy hasn't given us a good reason to hex him in ages," Ron groused. "It's like you don't even exist to him anymore."

"Maybe he feels guilty about Buckbeak." Malfoy wasn't completely ignoring Harry in public these days, but he wasn't quite as eager to mock him as he used to be. Harry was honestly surprised this was the first time Ron was bringing it up.

"Doubt it. Git's probably just waiting til after the trial so he can rub it in our faces some more. Oh, look, there's Zabini!"

"Leave him alone, Ron," Harry said with a scowl, blocking him from going after the tall Slytherin.

"What's with you, lately?" Ron asked, a dark look on his freckled face. "You getting chummy with the Slytherins or something? You never get back at them anymore."

"Maybe I've just got bigger things to worry about than the Slytherins." The Slytherins weren't really bothering him anymore, he had no reason to be angry with them. Besides, the whole house rivalry thing had sort of lost its shine. Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, after all. Houses clearly didn't mean much.

"That doesn't mean you can just let them go around acting like they own the school!"

"Oh, grow up, Ron," Harry snapped before he could help himself. The redhead recoiled, shocked, before a venomous look crept in. "I didn't mean it like that," Harry hastened to soothe his friend. "I just… it all feels a bit petty, doesn't it? To be going after someone just because they're in a different house. It's stupid." "Petty and stupid, am I?" Ron asked bitingly. "You've changed, Harry. I figured it was just about Black, but you're weird this year. Always off by yourself, doing Merlin knows what. Making friends with Slytherins. I'm not sure I like it."

Before Harry could say anything more, Ron ripped his arm out of the green-eyed boy's grasp and stalked off to the greenhouses, leaving Harry alone in the courtyard. Suddenly, Hermione appeared at his side. "What was all that about?" She seemed a little breathless, which was odd, because they'd just come from Transfiguration and it wasn't that far a walk.

"Nothing. Ron being a git," Harry muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and carrying on his way. He knew the redhead didn't really mean it he just wanted to take his anger out on someone — but it still made the ever-present guilt rise like a snake, twisting in his belly. He really had been neglecting his friend this year. He just… the older he got, the more he found Ron's personality hard to deal with. Especially after getting used to spending more time around people like Neville, and even Malfoy.

Ron was his first friend at Hogwarts, and he'd always be grateful for that. But did that make him the best choice?