WARNING: This is a slash story, which means it contains male/male erotic content involving consenting adults. If you're not of legal age or are offended by such material, please go find something else to read.

Title: Wicked Game I: Strange What Desire Makes Foolish People Do
By: JayKay
Rated: R for language
Category: Drama/Angst, Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter related characters and concepts are copyrighted by JKR and Warner Brothers; this is for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.
Notes: This is set at the beginning of PoA, and will follow the thread of the story, only from Snape and Lupin's POVs. Some dialogue is quoted directly from PoA.

*~*~*

In the Great Hall of Hogwarts, hundreds of white candles hung, suspended in mid-air, filling the room with a muted glow. Shadows danced on the walls, flickering with a life of their own, forming strange shapes that sometimes seemed independent of the objects or person casting them. Perhaps they were.

Not a single drop of wax marred the tables or floor despite the multitude of candles, and their soft golden light gave the spacious hall an intimate air and drew out hidden beauty: fair skin was illuminated to translucence; harsh features were softened; dark skin appeared burnished. But it was all wasted on one participant in the evening's festivities.

Severus Snape perched like a malevolent vulture on his chair at the head table, glaring at anyone who looked as if they might be even thinking of approaching him. He crossed his arms across his chest, the voluminous black folds hiding what little sallow skin his robes revealed, concealing himself in shadow, as he wished. Framed by his dark hair, Snape's face appeared almost ghostly, his expression closed and forbidding.

Around him, students gazed at the Headmaster, interrupted from their laughter and chatter by the usual beginning-of-the-year speech; they had tumbled into the Hall, excited about reuniting with their friends, full of stories about their summer adventures. The noise and relentless good cheer had given Snape a headache, and he was, unfortunately, at least an hour or more away from escape to the quiet solitude of his dungeon.

"On a happier note," Albus Dumbledore continued, casting his serene gaze across the Great Hall, seeming to meet the eyes of every student there. "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Snape turned his head slowly to stare at Lupin, who acknowledged the sparse applause that greeted Dumbledore's announcement with a small, calm smile. He sat up straight, his hands folded neatly in his lap, but his thin face was etched with fatigue, and the strain across his shoulders spoke of the effort he made not to reveal his weariness.

But Snape saw it plainly enough. It was there, for anyone who cared to look and see.

Snape didn't care.

Dumbledore was still talking, but he didn't care about that, either.

He was looking at a Remus Lupin who was older. Whose thick brown hair was turning grey. Whose features were too sharp, whose body was too thin. Who looked too tired.

That was at whom he looked.

The Remus Lupin he saw had eyes that still held a mischievous sparkle. Whose face was unlined. Whose cheeks were full and tinted with the rosy bloom of youth and health. Who stood at the side of Sirius Black.

The snarl curling Snape's lip was not for the Lupin who sat at the head table with him, but for the phantom Sirius Black beside him, and for the memories that particular ghost of the past brought back.

"Look at the infant! Is it even old enough to be here?"

"Stupid little first year can't even stay on its broom! It's too small!"

"Aww, look at the ickle baby! Whatsa matter? Want your books back? Come get 'em!"

Snape's features darkened further, his eyes glittering with old malice as he fell deeper into the past.

An endless litany of names.

An endless round of stolen books and quills, "accidental" shoves, and the like.

One voice in the wilderness.

"Push off, then. Leave him alone. He's done nothing to you... There. That's got them all. What's your name?... All right, now, Severus?"

One carelessly kind boy. One golden moment in a mire of torture.

He was too little, too smart, too ugly. He was in the wrong house, he had the wrong body, he had the wrong life. Those were the messages he heard every day, the ones they tried -- and failed -- to brand on his soul.

But one day, he would show them. One day, it would be his turn, and he would show them all how useless their attempts to break him had been.

A childish vow, nurtured by the sting of embarrassment and the slow burn of resentment. Funny how years later, he still carried the anger that had fueled it. He had forgotten nothing. Not a single insult. Not a single "prank." Especially not the moment when what little hope had nestled within him died, strangled by fear when he realized how close he had come to injury or death -- and who had led him there.

Oh, no. He had forgotten nothing.

And now his past had returned once more. Had invaded the sanctuary he had created for himself, where he had grown more complacent with every year that passed, more certain that nothing could hurt him again. That he was safe from the memories.

Once his hope.

Nearly his murderer.

Remus Lupin was back at Hogwarts.

*~*~*

"Orange, Longbottom."

Snape's lip curled, and his nostrils flared as he winced away from the acrid tang of Neville Longbottom's flawed potion. After years of practice and experience, he had developed a knack for knowing when a potion had gone wrong, not only by sight, but by scent as well, an ability which had served him well over the years -- especially when dealing with his students' concoctions.

"Orange."

He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, feeling another headache coming on, and it was still early days yet. God, but this didn't bode well for the rest of the term.

"Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours?"

"It's a simple kick-off. Any two year old could master it on a toy broom. Why are you having such a hard time with it?"

"Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

"How many times do I have to explain it to you, Snape? Oh, for God's sake, just give it up. I hope you learn to Apparate better than this, or you'll end up having to use Muggle transport to get anywhere."

"Please, I could help Neville put it right."

"Maybe you should ask Potter to tutor you."

"I don't remember asking you to show off." His voice was as cold and clipped as he could make it.

In front of him, Longbottom stood shivering, eyes as huge as saucers and brimming over with unshed tears, and Snape forced himself not to recoil physically from the loathsome sight.

Buck up, Longbottom! he thought, glaring down at the terrified boy. Come on -- stand up for yourself, you little custard! Don't you realize the more you take, the more you'll get?

But Longbottom said nothing, and Snape's contempt doubled.

"We'll be testing it on your toad at the end of this lesson," he snapped. "Perhaps that will give you sufficient incentive to get it right."

He swept back toward his desk, wishing the lesson were already over; he heard whispers from behind him, but he ignored them. He had thought classes would provide distraction from the unpleasant memories dredged up by Remus Lupin's return, but apparently, the ghosts had risen and were determined to haunt him, no matter what he did.

Damn the man.

Why did he come back here, of all places? The world was a large enough place. Surely they could have plodded through the rest of their lives without ever having seen each other again.

"Professor Snape, sir?" A timid voice cut through his reverie, and he glanced down to see a fourth year girl standing at his elbow, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

"What?" he demanded, rounding on her, and she squeaked in alarm as she held out a small scroll.

"From the Headmaster, sir," she whispered. "Wanted you to have it right away."

Snape snatched the parchment from her hand, and she fled without waiting for him to read it, much less respond.

A summons.

Oh, grand. Just grand. This was exactly what he needed to cap off his day: his presence requested in Dumbledore's office at five o'clock. He had an idea of what this meeting would be about; he had, in fact, been expecting it. He wasn't the only one who kept up with the latest developments in potions, after all.

Crumpling the scroll in his fist, he stalked to the shelves, seeking one bottle in particular among the completed potions he kept on-hand along with all the individual ingredients. There it was -- a dark blue bottle, small and unobtrusive.

"Why do you love potions so much?" Lupin's voice had been filled with curiosity, not derision, and for that reason, Snape had given an honest answer.

"Any fool can wave a wand. There's an art to brewing 1000 potions. It takes talent and skill, and I have both."

He grabbed the bottle, tossed the scroll on his desk, and eased the stopper out of the bottleneck. He was aware that his students were watching his every move. Let them, he thought. Holding the bottle well above the parchment, he carefully tapped out a single drop, a grim smile curving his thin lips as the drop splattered on the parchment, which smoldered, curled in on itself, and disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

Not the most mature reaction, to be sure, but immensely satisfying nonetheless. And at least it gave his thick-witted class a practical lesson in the true power of potions.

*~*~*

"Ah, Severus. So glad you could join us."

Remus turned to look at the Potions Master as he entered Albus' office, giving him a polite smile that wasn't returned. Severus glared at Albus, not even acknowledging that Remus was in the room at all.

"Your message didn't indicate choice was involved," Severus replied. "What do you want, Headmaster?"

With a quiet sigh, Remus leaned back in his chair. So that was how it was going to be, was it? He had thought -- hoped -- time and distance had eased the animosity Severus had felt when they graduated, but apparently, all the old feelings were still there, as strong as ever.

He watched as Severus accepted Albus' invitation to be seated, sitting on the edge of the chair, his posture ramrod straight, poised as if he intended to make his escape as soon as possible.

In Remus' memories, Severus was still a tall, thin, gawky teenager with a big nose and intense dark eyes. He remembered how Severus had been a target for so long, keenly intelligent and in Slytherin to boot. He'd hoped the pecking order among the houses had eased up somewhat, but it hadn't, not even with the lull in Voldemort's influence between his generation and this one. Gryffindor was still the "best" house, and Slytherin was still the "worst."

Actually, Severus as a boy -- small for his age, slight of build, dark-haired -- had been similar in appearance to Harry, but Remus doubted either of them would appreciate the comparison, he thought, hiding a small smile behind his fingers.

But then in the summer of his sixteenth year, Severus had begun having growth spurts, and when classes resumed in the fall, he had returned to Hogwarts looking quite different, which had only garnered him a different kind of teasing.

"Well, you *have* sprouted up, haven't you?"

Severus looked at Remus with disdain. "I suppose you'll want to accuse me of using a potion to change my appearance, too."

"No, I just thought you'd grown up a bit. It happens to all of us."

But now, the gawky thinness of adolescence had bloomed into adulthood. Severus' shoulders were broad, his chest had filled out, and even his face was fuller, although his nose was still too big for his features. His eyes, though... His dark eyes were just as intense as Remus remembered, although now they were shadowed -- with what, he couldn't yet read. Two deep lines cut grooves on either side of Severus' mouth, framing lips which he knew could be hard with disapproval, or, more rarely, pliant.

Oh, yes, all the old feelings were indeed still there.

"Your skills are needed, Severus," Albus was saying, but the compliment appeared lost on its intended recipient, who remained stone-faced and said nothing. "You'll have heard, I suppose, of a potion recently developed that can ease the suffering of those afflicted with lycanthropy?"

"Of course." Clipped words, forced through stiff lips.

"It's terribly complicated, something only the most advanced Potions Masters should dare attempt," Dumbledore continued, his tone casual as he leaned his elbows on his desk and focused his bright blue gaze on Severus. "I've no doubt you're up to the task."

"You want me to concoct this potion, once a month. For him," he grated the words out, without even glancing at Remus. "Is this a request or an order?"

"I should like it to be a request," Dumbledore replied, his mild tone infused with a slight hint of steel.

"Albus, there's always the old solution--" Remus spoke up at last, hating to see Severus forced into a situation he clearly didn't want to be in.

"No!"

For the first time, Severus looked at him, whirling to face him with a snarl, relentless fury glittering in his eyes.

"Potter and his friends are carrying on old traditions," he said coldly. "I would dislike seeing history repeat itself when this time, there is an alternative. I'll brew the damned potion."

Remus returned his gaze steadily. "Thank you, Severus." He paused, then added, "For the students' sake, not my own."

Severus' expression grew even harder and more closed, and he turned away. "Are we finished here?" he asked Albus, who nodded and waved vaguely towards the door.

Another sigh escaped Remus as he watched Severus rise to his feet and stalk out of the room, black robes billowing in his wake, but as soon as the door closed behind the Potions Master, Albus' voice jolted him out of his reverie.

"You've quite a task ahead of you, I'd say."

"I beg your pardon?" Remus darted a startled look at the older man. Was he so easy to read? But then, this was Albus Dumbledore, after all, the wizard who seemed to have eyes not only on the back of his head, but also conveniently placed around the entire castle as well.

Albus chuckled warmly. "Our Severus is a stubborn man," he said, fishing a foil-wrapped sweet from a jar on his desk. "And he's been through much since last you met. It's changed him." He unwrapped the sweet and popped it into his mouth, then picked up the jar and offered it to Remus, who accepted a piece of candy with a polite smile. "However, I'm an optimist at heart, and I believe you'll be able to mend fences with him -- eventually. He can be brought round to listen and accept the truth. It will simply take a great deal of time and patience." His eyes glittered with amusement.

"I have plenty of both."

"I wish you luck, then! I do enjoy seeing all my faculty getting along." At that proclamation, Albus laughed heartily, and Remus laughed with him, feeling lighter than he had since his arrival at Hogwarts.

For the first time in a long time, he felt something that seemed akin to hope.

*~*~*

His quarters were a little smaller than those of some of the other faculty members. That was what Remus had been told when he'd arrived, and Professor Dumbledore had seemed apologetic about it, as if he was concerned Remus might feel slighted in some way. But looking around, Remus found the words of a famous Muggle writer coming to mind: "I could be bound in a nutshell and count myself king of infinite space." That was exactly how he felt about his new quarters. After the poverty he'd suffered in the years since graduating from Hogwarts, he would have been happy to have found shelter in a broom closet here, as long as he could have called it his own.

He couldn't remember when he'd last lived anywhere without the worry of whether he'd be able to scrape together enough money to pay for the next month's rent, or how long he could make his meager food supplies last. Now those worries were lifted, and he could scarcely believe it was true.

Circling the parlor, he trailed his hand along the backs of chairs, along the surface of the desk, along the mantelpiece, along the windowsills, as if by touching everything, he could convince himself it was all real. In what few lodgings he had stayed in that provided furniture, none of them had had anything like this. His idea of luxury had been a rickety stool and a crate for a table.

Now he had two whole rooms plus a bath, furnished with everything he could need and more. There was even a stand for an owl cage in one corner, but it would remain unused while Remus stayed in this room. He had never been able to afford an owl, and he was reluctant to spend his salary even though Professor Dumbledore had given him a little advance on his first month's pay. It had probably been a kind and subtle hint for him to buy himself some new robes, but he had been through too many lean times, and he felt safer hoarding the money instead. There would, he felt certain, come a time when he would need it.

The over-stuffed wingback chairs next to the fire were inviting, but he still felt like a guest at times, waiting for their proper owner to walk in and tell him his stay had ended.

And the bed!

The first night here, he'd made a flying leap onto the bed and wallowed around on it just because it was so damned big, and it was all his. After countless nights sleeping on a cot or, in his darker times, curled up in nothing more than his cloak on the floor, it felt odd being able to spread out if he liked, and to have thick covers keeping him warm all night long.

Wandering into the bedroom, he found himself standing in front of the full-length mirror, staring at the image reflected back at him. Raising both hands to his face, he traced the sharp edge of his cheekbones, appalled by this gaunt, shabby version of himself. How long would it take, he wondered, until he began looking less like a scarecrow and more like the memory of his former self that was still so clear in his mind?

It was a vicious cycle. He couldn't get a job because he looked disreputable, and he looked disreputable because he couldn't get a job. And the few times he'd been able to get a job, he hadn't been able to hold it more than a few months before people began piecing the puzzle together. Thank God for Albus Dumbledore, he thought. This was a life-saver for him, perhaps literally.

His thoughts turned to his first day as a teacher, and he was fairly pleased. The students seemed to enjoy his lessons. Perhaps a bit too much in some cases, he thought with a grimace, remembering Neville and the Snape-shaped boggart. No doubt that juicy little tale was already being circulated among the students, and it was a matter of time before Severus heard it. Perhaps it would be best if he warned Severus of it himself.

With a little sigh, he scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to wipe away his fatigue and mentally bracing himself for another encounter with Severus. Neither of their meetings that day had gone well, and he suspected the only reason Severus had spoken to him at all in the staffroom was because he wanted to make a point about poor Neville.

It didn't take long for him to make his way down to the dungeons, and he saw the door to Severus' office standing open as he rounded a curve in the hall, torchlight flickering from within. He stopped and knocked politely on the door even though it was open, and Severus looked up from whatever he was working on, scowling when he saw Remus standing on his threshold.

"What do you want?" he demanded brusquely, and Remus took that to be the closest thing to an invitation as he'd get.

"I thought you may as well hear the news from me first," he said quietly, moving towards Severus' desk. "When Neville helped me subdue the boggart, it assumed your shape, and he defeated it by dressing you -- it -- in his grandmother's clothes."

There was a very long moment of very uncomfortable silence.

"Did he."

"Yes." Something, his own inner imp of mischief perhaps, prompted him to add in his most grave tone, "There was even a hat and a red handbag."

"Were there."

"I'm sorry, Severus," he said, and he meant it; the last thing he wanted to do was widen the yawning chasm between them. "It wasn't my intent to embarrass you in any way, but the fact remains, you are Neville's greatest fear. I understand what you're trying to do--"

Severus leapt to his feet and banged both fists on the desk.

"You understand nothing about me!" he snarled.

"Perhaps not now, but I did once, and you know it," he replied in a calm, even tone, bracing his hands on the desk as well, capturing and holding Severus' gaze.

Severus' glittering black eyes never left Remus' own tawny brown, but neither man flinched or looked away, and Remus witnessed the exact moment when memory sparked in those obsidian depths.

"Severus, you'd spare yourself some of these problems if you were only a little nicer..."

"*Nicer*?" Severus whirled to face him, face set in lines of fury. "Are you mad? I know these vultures, Remus. I've been their prey for years. One hint of niceness, and they'd smell blood. My bones would be picked clean in a heartbeat. Oh, no. I won't play nice just to worm my way into their good graces. I won't play their petty games. They aren't worth it. This is *me*," he cried passionately, thumping his fist against his chest.

"This is who I am. Like me or not as you will, but do *not* expect me to change for anyone. I will *not* be pressured or shamed into being anything less than I am, and if being intelligent, talented and Slytherin, if wanting to -- God forbid! -- follow the rules set down for us in these dangerous times means that in their narrow estimations, there's something *wrong* with me, the problem is theirs, not mine."

He stood, trembling, and Remus took a hesitant step towards him, unsure of what to say or do.

"One day," Severus continued in a low, cold voice. "I'll find people who will appreciate my abilities instead of mock them, who will accept me as I am rather than scorn me for not fitting their idiotic ideas of what it means to be 'normal'. If changing myself to suit them is what it would take to fit in, then no, thank you! I'd rather live out my life a hermit than turn into one of them!"

"Severus, *I'm* one of them," he pointed out softly.

"No, you're not. If you were, you wouldn't be here now. You'd be whispering and laughing at me behind my back with the rest of them. You're different, just like I am." He paused, and for the first time, Remus saw something that came very close to being a smile curve Severus' lips. "Only you're far kinder and more patient."

"Neville Longbottom isn't like you," Remus said, trying to be as careful and tactful as he could. "He cares what people think of him. God help him, he cares what you think, because you're his teacher. He doesn't possess the kind of willful streak you do that lets you to tell the world to piss off and mean it. If he did, then what you're trying to do would work, but as it is, you're only terrifying him into being completely unable to function in your class."

For a moment, Remus thought he saw understanding flicker in Severus' eyes. For a moment, he thought perhaps he'd broken through the first wall.

And then Severus drew himself up and stared down his nose at Remus, his mouth twisted in a disdainful sneer.

"Don't presume to tell me how to teach my classes or handle my students, Lupin," he said in a voice dripping with ice.

With that, he sat down and resumed work, and Remus backed away, recognizing the cutting dismissal and knowing to stay would do far more harm than good. Dumbledore was right: it would take time and patience to wear down those thick defenses, and he couldn't expect success on the first attempt. He harbored no illusions that they would ever again share their former rapport, but perhaps with time, they could at least reach a peaceful understanding.

If he could ever get Severus to listen to him.

That was going to be the real challenge, but they were both here, and Severus wouldn't be able to avoid or ignore him all the time. Meanwhile, Remus would wait, watching for the perfect moment to close in.

No, if Severus thought he could escape forever, he was quite, quite wrong. One day, he would listen. One day, he would hear the truth. And after that... well, at least after that, there would be no more reason for Severus to harbor hostility against him, and that's all that really mattered. He didn't hope for more. Having a cordial relationship with Severus would be more than enough.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

*~*~*

Given the unfortunate incident with the boggart, Remus decided that a subtle approach might be best for a time. He had initially planned to approach Severus in a more direct manner, making it clear that he intended to hang about until Severus gave in and consented to the serious talk they needed to have in order to settle matters between them. That plan, however, was likely to be met with redoubled resistance now, and he settled on less obvious means: making small talk at meals, giving him a smile and a polite greeting when they passed in the halls, sending regular reports on the progress of the Slytherin students.

But Severus' ability to deflect all these little overtures was nothing short of phenomenal. There was no sign of relenting in even the slightest degree, and after a time, Remus decided a change in tactics was in order.

His next opportunity arose on the day of the third years' first outing to Hogsmeade. He could have gone as well, of course, but he was expecting a delivery, and even if the grindylow hadn't been due to arrive, he would have remained at the school. There was no need to venture into town and expose himself to the lure of the shops; after years of privation, he doubted he could resist temptation, especially when he remembered Honeyduke's.

No, he was much better off staying at Hogwarts and keeping his money in his pocket. As it turned out, it was for the best, since it meant he was on hand when Harry wandered by, looking lost and alone. He invited the lad into his office, hoping to offer some distraction for a while. He knew it wouldn't be much -- having tea with a teacher was hardly enough to make up for being left behind when one's friends were all off having a grand time in Hogsmeade -- but at least he was able to ease Harry's mind about why he hadn't been allowed to fight the boggart.

Harry had been on the verge of asking something else, something about the dementors, when he was interrupted by a knock on the door, and they both glanced up to see who walked in when Remus invited the visitor to enter.

Severus. Bearing a goblet.

Remus froze for an instant, apprehensive. Harry was an inquisitive boy, and he would probably ask questions, which meant Remus would have to think of some answers to placate him, fast.

"Ah, Severus. Thanks very much."

He mustered a smile, but neither Severus nor Harry were paying much attention to him. They were too busy regarding each other with suspicion.

Harry was too young to hide much of what he was feeling, and Remus could almost see him itching to knock the goblet out of Severus' hand.

"Could you leave it here on the desk for me?"

Without a word, Severus placed the goblet on the desk, and the steam from the potion within rose between them, momentarily forming a veil to obscure them from each other's sight. The steam, the pungent scent of the potion, Severus' face on the other side of a thin mist...

"You're a hopeless bungler, Remus," Severus said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice as he took the vial of death's-head moth antennae out of Remus' hand and set it aside. "Look, it's very simple, if you just pay attention. Think about what each ingredient does, and the possible effects if you put them all together. It makes sense, then, doesn't it?"

"Of course, Severus," Remus replied, a smile twitching his lips.

"Then *why* in God's name were you about to put death's-head moth antennae into a shrinking solution?"

"Because I like watching you get annoyed trying to explain things to me."

Severus narrowed his eyes, his mouth thinning into a displeased line. "If this is merely a joke to you--"

"No, no, it isn't." Remus rested his hand on Severus' arm, giving him a conciliatory look, and to his surprise, the light touch wa 1000 sn't shaken off. "I'm sorry, I was only teasing. My best subject is Transfiguration, you know that. I've always been weak in Potions."

He glanced down at his simmering cauldron, regarding the dubious results of his attempt at a shrinking solution with a rueful smile. "I appreciate your help, I really do. When you're talking, I can tell you can see it in your head, and how everything falls right into place for you, but it doesn't for me. Sometimes, I get flashes of understanding when you explain things to me, but it's just memorization work, for the most part."

Professor Mugwort, Hogwarts' Potions instructor at the time, had assigned Severus to be Remus' partner in class. Mugwort hadn't been a Potions Master, but he had been good enough and honest enough to recognize talent when he saw it, and he had known Severus Snape would surpass him. Thus he had paired his brightest student with his...

With his bungler, Remus laughed to himself. Call it as it was, he thought. He was at the head of the class in Transfiguration, but when it came to Potions, he was mediocre at best. Mugwort had wanted Severus to work with Remus, helping him since Mugwort couldn't give his students the one-on-one time and attention they might have needed due to the size of the classes, which had been larger then than they were now, since thanks to Voldemort, Harry's generation were thinner in the ranks.

It was a far more successful arrangement than anyone expected it to be, given the animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin in general, and between Severus and some of his classmates in particular.

But Remus had liked Severus from the beginning. He couldn't have said why, because Severus had always been just as sneeringly condescending to him as he was to everyone else. Perhaps his instincts were at work, telling him there was someone worth knowing beneath the scowls and "draw near me at your peril" body language. Perhaps Severus had been right that they were both different from everyone else, and he'd been drawn to a kindred spirit. Whatever the reason, they had developed a harmonious partnership in class, and a budding friendship out of it.

Much like Neville and Hermione, Remus thought. According to Neville, he worked most often with Hermione in Potions, and Remus wondered if Severus allowed it for the same reasons Professor Mugwort had thrown him with Remus. Not that Severus would ever admit it, of course. He'd scoff and bluster and assure Remus the notion was ridiculous. But still...

"I was just showing Harry my grindylow," he said, dragging himself back to the present before Severus could leave. He wanted to throw out something -- anything -- that might make Severus remain; he even had the notion of inviting him to join them for tea, but with the way Severus and Harry were glaring at each other, that didn't seem like the wisest idea.

"Fascinating." Severus' tone made it clear he was anything but fascinated. "You should drink that directly, Lupin."

"Yes, yes, I will," Remus assured him.

"I made an entire cauldronful, if you need more," Severus added, and Remus saw his opportunity to pounce on the excuse to arrange another meeting between them, hopefully in private this time.

"I should probably take some again tomorrow," he said casually. "Thanks very much, Severus."

"Not at all." With that, Severus left, and just as Remus had expected, Harry was eyeing both the goblet and him with unabashed curiosity.

"Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me," he said, deciding to launch into an explanation before an interrogation could begin. "I've never been much of a potion brewer, and this one is particularly complex." He reached for the goblet, sniffing it gingerly and trying not to recoil from the acrid tang wafting to his nose. "I've been feeling a bit off-color," he added with a small smile at his own understatement. "This potion is the only thing that helps. I'm very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape. There aren't many wizards who are up to making it."

Let Harry chew on that, he thought. Perhaps Severus' teaching techniques weren't as effective as they might be, but he was a Potions Master for a reason, and Remus had a feeling that his students lost sight of that in their dislike for his arrogance and impatience. It wouldn't hurt to issue a reminder that, despite any personal feelings for the man, his students should at least respect his abilities, for they were indeed worthy of respect.

"Professor Snape's very interested in the Dark Arts," Harry blurted out.

"Really?" Remus took another healthy swallow of the potion, unable to keep from making a face. For God's sake, what did Severus do? Add the most sour, rancid ingredients he possessed just to make it as disgusting as possible?

"Some people reckon..." Harry hesitated, obviously uncertain whether he should continue. "Some people reckon he'd do anything to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts job."

Outwardly, Remus ignored this comment and, holding his breath, concentrated on getting the rest of the concoction down. Inwardly, however, he was saddened. How unreachable Severus must have become if his students knew so little about him that they thought, even for an instant, he would ever give up Potions. Remus had no idea how or why the ugly rumor Harry parroted had started, but unless Severus had changed out of all recognition, Remus knew there was no truth to it.

Cut Severus Snape's veins open, and he'd probably bleed a Deflating Draught.

To Remus, it seemed tragic his students didn't understand that.

*~*~*

The school was abuzz with nervous gossip the next day, thanks to the terrifying events of the night before. Remus could scarcely credit what he'd heard. Sirius Black in Hogwarts? How had he gotten in?

I don't need to wonder *why*, Remus thought with the first touch of bitterness he'd felt in a long time. Even after all these years, the betrayal hurt, but he was no longer angry. Sirius was a creature of thoughtless, careless impulse and hot, relentless temper, and he had betrayed Remus once before, so it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise.

"C'mon, Remus, you lead. You've got the best nose of all of us. You can smell trouble coming!" Sirius gave Remus a playful shove to the front of their little group as they stood, peering into the secret tunnel they'd discovered.

Peter drew back, hesitant, but James seemed eager to explore, and Remus laughed.

"All right, but you stay up here with me," he replied, slanting a teasing smile at the other young man. "If I smell any trouble, *you* can go meet it, as usual."

"Deal!" Sirius slung one arm around Remus' shoulders as they proceeded down the tunnel, and Remus could barely keep himself from beaming with delight, in danger of letting himself get drunk on the sensory overload from the delicious weight of Sirius' arm around him, and the warm scent of Sirius' skin in such close proximity.

Desire spiked within him, and he quickly squelched it. Sirius loved girls -- lots of girls, as often as possible -- and Remus wasn't about to spoil a precious, rare friendship over a mere crush. He would simply enjoy what he was offered, when he was offered it, and hope that one day, he'd find someone he found just as interesting as he did Sirius, only next time, he hoped it would be someone who could *return* his interest.

Remus blinked back the sting of tears his sudden lapse into memory had caused, and shook his head, dispelling the last nostalgic cobwebs. What had happened, had happened. There was nothing he could do to change it. All that he could do now was protect Harry as best he could.

His gaze fell on the goblet Severus had brought, and he was abruptly reminded that he'd said he wanted a second draught, just to be on the safe side. Scooping up the goblet, he wound his way along the corridors and down to the dungeon, finding Severus alone in his office once more.

"I've come for another dose," he said, holding out the goblet as he approached.

Severus stood up and watched him, but said nothing until he placed the goblet on the desk and stepped back to wait for it to be refilled.

"What do you know about Sirius Black?" Severus demanded without preamble, his dark eyes flashing with suspicion.

Remus' eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline. He hadn't expected to be accosted so bluntly, or on that subject. Still, he'd just been handed an opportunity to discuss exactly what he wanted to with Severus, and he wasn't about to back away from it.

"I know that after everything he's done to hurt me, I could easily hate him, but I don't," he answered, keeping his voice soft and steady. "I know that you can't possibly understand him, because you've never come close to allowing your impulses to rule you as he once did... Although judging from his actions last night, apparently he still does."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant. You're asking if I'm conspiring with him," he replied without anger or bitterness. "You're asking if I knew what he intended to do last night. You're asking if I helped him get inside Hogwarts."

"And?"

Severus' gaze was implacable, but Remus met and held it easily.

"I don't betray people I care about."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"On the contrary, it should answer a great many of your questions."

"You're talking in riddles!" Severus spat accusingly, and Remus shook his head.

"It only sounds that way because you're not ready to hear the truth." With a small, wistful smile, he lifted the goblet and held it out again. "Now then, if I could get a refill, I'll leave you in peace."

Severus snatched the goblet from his hand and walked away, but not before Remus caught his angry mutter, "Not bloody likely."

Remus' smile widened marginally. Maybe he was succeeding better than he realized... Well, if that was the case, he'd keep right on trying. Oh, yes, indeed he would, and Severus would learn the futility of trying to run from a wolf when it had its goal in sight.

*~*~*

"Feeling vindicated now?" Remus asked politely as Severus served himself a helping of potatoes, keeping his voice low so that no one else at the head table could hear him.

The full moon had waxed and waned for the month, and Remus was feeling much better; the potion had worked as well as Albus had said it would, and he had spent the nights of his transformation curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace in his quarters.

It had been a new and different experience, transforming from man to wolf with his mind intact. He'd been able to observe the process as if from a distance, and even though the pain of it, which was quickly forgotten in the now of wolf-thought, remained sharp and vivid to his human memory, it was worth the price. He'd spent at least an hour or more investigating his room from an animal perspective, sniffing and snuffling anything within reach, amazed at how different it all seemed when filtered through his heightened senses.

But the best thing of all was no longer experiencing the overwhelming blood lust that drove him to hunt and to kill, which put anyone who strayed into his path in deadly peril. No one was in danger from him now, and he was more grateful to both Albus and Severus than he could possibly express.

When he "recovered from his illness" and returned to his classes, he'd discovered that Severus had exacted what seemed to be a bit of vengeance for the boggart incident, assigning his third years to write an essay on werewolves. Not Severus' most subtle moment, but quite unsettling for Remus. After finding a haven after all these years, he didn't want to lose it, and he had decided to have a word with Severus, taking his opportunity at dinner that evening.

Setting the serving dish back on the table, Severus glared balefully at him. "What are you babbling about?"

"The essay you assigned to my students," he replied, focusing his attention on slicing his roast beef. "The one about werewolves."

A sidelong glance at Severus revealed that he looked neither apologetic nor chagrined at being called on his behavior. "You're a threat to this school, Lupin, and to every person in it."

"You have so little faith in your own potion?" Remus shot him a questioning look, but Severus waved that idea away dismissively.

"While your lycanthropy does indeed concern me, as long as you take the potion every month, it's not my primary concern. It's your loyalty to Black I consider the most immediate danger. Your first loyalty was always to him then, and I've no doubt it still is now."

"You're wrong, Severus," he replied quietly. "On both counts."

"I think not."

A mixture of regret, frustration and longing welled up in Remus' chest as he gazed at Severus' profile, wishing he could sweep away all the invisible barriers between them, so that Severus would listen and accept what he had to say. Severus sat stiffly, staring down at his plate, his hands wrapped around the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

"Severus..." Remus whispered, touching the back of Severus' hand lightly -- ever so lightly -- with his fingertips, waiting for the moment when the hand would be snatched away, but it wasn't.

Perhaps Severus didn't want to draw attention to himself even though their hands were hidden by the table, or perhaps the touch wasn't entirely unwelcome. Either way, the lack of resistance stoked Remus' resolve, and he covered Severus' hand with his own. A simple touch, but one he hadn't experienced in longer than he could remember, and he relished feeling the warmth of another living being blending with his own, luxuriated in the feel of skin on skin, no matter how slight. His affliction had kept him isolated in so many ways, and the language of touch -- taken for granted by everyone around him -- had been almost nonexistent in his life ever since he had lost his dearest friends.

"Severus, listen to me," he entreated. "Believe me, please. Sirius hasn't been my first priority in any way for years, and you know exactly when he was replaced."

A slight flush bloomed in Severus' sallow cheeks and spread across his nose, but he remained silent, and Remus stroked the back of his hand gently with his thumb, watching him with growing hope.

And then Severus yanked his hand away, turning on Remus with a look of pure fury.

"I will not be played for a fool again," he hissed, just loudly enough for Remus to hear before shoving his chair back, rising to his feet, and storming from the table without looking back.

Slumping in his chair, Remus watched him go, dejected and disappointed. For the rest of the meal, he picked dulsitorily at his food, his appetite having fled along with Severus. The only good to have come from the conversation was a qualified "good" at best: his suspicions had been confirmed. Remus had guessed all along that Severus held him equally responsible as Sirius for what had occurred in the Shrieking Shack, and he hadn't been any more willing to listen to any explanations then than he was now.

After dinner, he slipped out of the Great Hall quickly and quietly, feeling far too restless to return to his quarters. Instead, he took advantage of his position and roamed the halls; he half-expected Filch to turn up and order him back to his house, and he laughed at himself for such foolishness, but the wariness was ingrained. He'd spent far too many nights sneaking around with James, Sirius, and Peter not to feel residual apprehension about getting caught even now, years later, when he was perfectly within his rights to be out and about if he desired.

He let his feet lead him, wandering aimlessly and reacquainting himself with old haunts; some of the figures in the paintings lining the corridors remembered him and waved or greeted him cheerfully. He smiled back, but didn't stop to chat; instead, he kept walking, a lone figure in faded black robes, his hands clasped behind his back, his head often bowed as he lost himself in thought.

"Professor Lupin..."

A throaty purr jostled Remus out of his private reverie, and he glanced up to see a tall, painfully thin woman drift out of the shadows. She was an unusual sight, even for Hogwarts; she was dressed in what appeared to be layers of multi-hued gauze, and her long, frizzy hair was covered with a gaudy scarf. Innumerable beaded necklaces dangled around her neck, clinking gently as she moved, and her arms and fingers were also covered with tacky baubles. He blinked at her, wondering if she was real, or Severus' potion had unusual hallucinatory side-effects, but then the stifling scent of patchouli threatened to engulf him, and he realized she was quite real indeed.

"Ehm..." He searched his memory and came up with only one name that could be hers. "Professor Trelawney, is it?"

"Quite right," she replied, moving closer and angling her body in way that made him think she was attempting some sort of odd contortionist move at first, and then he realized she was attempting to show off her cleavage, such as it was.

"Very nice to meet you at last," he said politely.

"I hope we'll become great friends."

She smiled, gazing at him from beneath her lashes coyly, and Remus felt his face growing hot. How was he to extract himself from this situation? He didn't want to give her any encouragement, but he didn't want to be rude, either.

"Perhaps you'd care to join me in my quarters?" she continued, moving even closer, and he began to edge away as much as he could without giving offense. "I'd be delighted to part the veil of mystery for you--"

Remus' eyes went wide and round.

"--and I'm especially talented with crystal balls."

"I appreciate the offer, I truly do," he said, courtesy winning out over amusement. "But I'm afraid I must decline. I've got... homework to grade before my classes tomorrow."

Before she could make a response, he made a hasty retreat, making a note of where he was so that he wouldn't inadvertently wander into her lair if he ever took another night-time stroll. By the time he got back to his own quarters, his equilibrium and good humor were restored, as much by the unusual encounter with Professor Trelawney as his own natural recuperative abilities. He'd struggled against adversity all his life, and the difficulties he was having with Severus were just another set of obstacles for him to overcome.

Besides, he felt as if he'd made some progress. Severus had allowed a touch, after all, and he thought it boded much better for his chances that Severus reacted with such vehement anger. Apathy would have been a far more ill omen for him.

Once he was undressed and nestled beneath his thick, down-filled comforter, he leaned back against his pillow and brought his fingers to his nose, wishing for his heightened animal senses now, when he might have caught Severus' scent lingering on his skin. But his normal, human nose could detect nothing, and he closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his mouth, remembering that moment in as much vivid detail as he could, and imagining his lips had caressed Severus' hand instead.

*~*~*

Shivering as the knife-edge wind whipped around him, Remus wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself, but it did little good. In addition to his sparse wardrobe of Muggle-ish clothes, he only had two sets of robes, and one cloak, and none of them were heavy enough for winter. His only set of winter robes had fallen to ruin long ago, and he hadn't been able to afford replacements. The sweater he wore -- the only sweater he possessed -- was worn thin and frayed, offering little shielding against the cold. He longed to be back in his quarters, bundled in his chair by the fire with a cup of hot tea, but tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and he knew he'd be indisposed, so he had to buy his presents and distribute them early. His first Hogwarts Christmas since graduating, and he'd have to miss it, he thought wistfully.

There were two people for whom he wanted to buy presents this year: Albus, in thanks for having given him the teaching position, and Sever 1000 us, in thanks for providing the potion every month. This was the first year he'd had anyone to buy presents for in far too long, and he found himself getting caught up in the holiday spirit just as much as when he was young. The decorations in every window caught his eye, luring him over to marvel at the lights and fancy displays; the smell of evergreen from the garlands and wreaths bedecking every door filled the air, and he breathed it deeply, the scent bringing back fond memories. He even splurged on a cup of eggnog at the Three Broomsticks while taking a break from his shopping, indulging himself with both the drink and an enjoyable conversation with Hagrid, who had a pile of bags and brightly wrapped boxes shoved out of the way beneath his table.

Albus had been easy to buy for; Remus had four pairs of thick, wool socks, each a different color, in the bag he carried under his cloak.

Severus, on the other hand... Well, Severus was impossible to shop for. It didn't help that the man's attitude had been even more frosty of late. He ignored Remus entirely unless he couldn't avoid it, and the times when he was forced to acknowledge Remus' existence, he was rude, bordering on hostile.

Remus had spent most of the afternoon searching the shops in Hogsmeade, but nothing struck him as being an appropriate gift. He'd seen a number of things he would have gotten had he held the position in Severus' life that he wanted, silk boxers topping the list, but he doubted Severus would respond well to such a gift, their relationship being what it was at present.

But now the sunlight was fading; people were drifting home for dinner, and he was still empty-handed and at a loss for where to look next. With a quiet sigh of frustration, he stopped outside of Zonko's and leaned against the wall, looking up and down the street to see if there was any store he'd missed that might serve his purpose. Nothing stood out, however, and he was about to give up and return to Hogwarts when he felt an unexpected tug.

Glancing down, he saw a tiny black kitten, its left front paw tangled in the tattered hem of his cloak. Smiling, he knelt down and gently freed its claws; it promptly backed off and hissed at him.

"There's gratitude for you," he said, laughing at the ferocity on its wee fuzzy face. "Why did you accost me, if you didn't want my attention?"

It gave him a disdainful look, turned its back, and began washing its leg, as if removing all trace of his touch.

"You remind me of someone I know," he told it, and it ignored him, of course.

Despite its bravado, Remus could tell it was a stray. It was thin, almost frail-looking, and its fur was matted and dirty as if it had been roaming the alleys and gutter. He hated to leave it; it was so young, yet obviously on its own, but he'd never had an animal of his own, not because he didn't want one, but because he didn't want to be responsible for another life when his circumstances were so precarious. What if there came a time when he couldn't afford to feed it? It had always seemed far wiser, if also far lonelier, not to take on the responsibility.

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

Severus. He'd take the kitten back to Hogwarts, clean it up, and give it to Severus as a Christmas present. That way, it would have an excellent home with someone who could care for it as it deserved.

Ignoring the kitten's squawk of protest, Remus scooped it up and sheltered it under his cloak; it squirmed and struggled for most of the walk back to the castle, and had it not been as young as it was, he knew he would have had scratch marks on his chest. As it was, its claws were too tiny to reach his skin through his clothes.

As little as it liked its unexpected journey, it liked the bath it got upon arrival even less, but in less than an hour, it was clean, dry, and settled in a pillow-lined basket Remus had conjured and decorated with a large red bow. Once it was clean, he saw that it was pure black, without a single white hair anywhere. He also wrapped Albus' socks with a card inside; he would have one of the house elves deliver them on Christmas morning, but he wanted to deliver the kitten in person straight-away.

"I hope you like your new home," he remarked as he carried it down to the dungeon, and it ignored him in favor of peering over the edge of the basket to see where it was going.

Both Severus' office and classroom were dark, and Remus went to his quarters, hiding the basket behind his back as best he could before knocking on the door. A moment later, the door swung open, and Severus stood there, gazing down at him in surprise.

"What the bloody hell do you want?" he demanded.

"I come bearing a gift," Remus said mildly, not at all put off by Severus' rude greeting; he was far too distracted by the fact that Severus was out of his robes for once, with his jacket and waistcoat off, his starched white shirt unfastened down to the third button, and the sleeves rolled up. He couldn't remember seeing Severus like this, even when they were students.

"You what?"

"Gift." He shouldered his way past Severus into the parlor, moving to the nearest table, where he placed the basket. "For. You," he added, speaking slowly and carefully as if to a small child, because he knew nettled Severus, and he wanted to distract him from the idea of kicking Remus out long enough to give him the present.

"What on earth for?" Severus closed the door and marched over to the table, wearing a formidable scowl, but he hadn't shoved Remus out the door and slammed it in his face. That, at least, was a good start.

"It's Christmas, in case you hadn't noticed, and I'll be indisposed for the holidays, so I'm giving you your present early," he explained, gesturing to the basket. When Severus made no move to look at or touch it, he added, "It's not just a Christmas present. It's a thank-you gift as well. I know you were..." he paused, searching for a tactful word. "Reluctant to accept me as part of the faculty, and to help me regarding the potion, but I appreciate your efforts. It's been..." He hesitated again. "There are no words to describe the difference the potion makes, Severus, and I'm deeply grateful."

"I'm doing it for the students."

Remus' answering smile was both knowing and sad. "I'm under no illusions about that."

As if delivered on cue to interrupt the conversation, a muffled "meep!" from within the basket caught Severus' attention, and he peered inside, one eyebrow arching as he reached in and captured the kitten, holding it up for inspection. The kitten submitted without protest, staring back at him unblinkingly.

"A cat?" His tone was laced with disbelief, and a wave of doubt assailed Remus.

This was, he realized, potentially one of the most idiotic things he'd ever done. He didn't even know if Severus liked animals. That he didn't have one already may have been a hint that he didn't want one.

But before he could decide to take the kitten back, Severus drew it close to his chest, cradling it in his hand while he scratched behind its delicate ears, and Remus breathed a silent sigh of relief. Naturally, Severus wouldn't be the type to cuddle and coo over anything, even a kitten, but it seemed he didn't disdain his gift either.

"It doesn't like me much," Remus admitted sheepishly. "I think it senses... well, you know."

"Probably." Severus' tone and expression were bland. "Why a cat?"

"I found it in Hogsmeade while I was shopping," he admitted. "I was having trouble figuring out what to get you, and I remembered you don't have an animal, so..." He shrugged and spread his hands. "Merry Christmas."

For an extended moment, the room was silent except for the increasing volume of the kitten's purring, and Severus directed his gaze to the black ball of fuzz nestled in his palm. Without looking up, he seemed to force his next words out, as if to speak them pained him.

"Thank you."

*~*~*

The afternoon was well along by the time Remus awoke on Christmas Day and felt steady enough to crawl out of bed and face the world. Despite being able to think as a man while he was in wolf form, the transformation was both painful and draining, and he always needed time to recuperate afterward.

Yawning and stretching, he threw back his covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed -- and discovered two packages on the floor nearby. One was a small, flat box wrapped in bright, shimmery green paper printed with glittery snowflakes and topped with an over-sized white bow, presumably to match the snowflakes. The other was larger, wrapped in a more sedate cranberry red paper with a matte finish, and there was no bow, only a gold ribbon tied around it.

Kneeling on the floor, Remus ignored the chill seeping through his thin nightshirt from the stones and reached for the smaller package first; there was a card tucked into the bow, and he pulled it out, his fingers shaking a little as he read it.

"To Remus -- May your Christmas wishes come true -- Albus Dumbledore."

A present... for him...

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, he ripped off the wrapping paper with all the haste and excitement of a child, and pulled the lid off the box to reveal a long, knitted scarf in the Gryffindor colors. He took it out of the box and draped it around his neck, raising one end and rubbing it against his cheek. It was soft and warm, and he wanted to get dressed and go for a walk on the grounds immediately, just to have an excuse to wear it.

But he still had another present to open first. Turning it over, he searched for a card, but there wasn't one on the outside, and he shredded the paper of this present as mercilessly as he had the first, quickly removing the lid of the box -- and he rocked back on his heels, his jaw falling open with shock when he saw what lay within.

Winter robes. Pure wool.

"My God..." he breathed, lifting the robes out of the box as carefully as if he expected them to vanish at any moment. "Who...?"

A card fluttered from the folds of the robes and landed on the floor next to his foot; he picked it up, but there were only two words written on it in an unfamiliar hand: "To Remus."

It wasn't a mistake, then. This really was his present, but who had sent it? Robes were expensive, and heavy winter robes like these were even moreso; he knew of no one who had reason to give him a gift like this. His parents were dead, and even if anyone else in his family knew where he was, he doubted they would care. Other than Albus, he wasn't particularly close to any of the other faculty members, certainly not close enough to warrant this.

Unless...

His eyes narrowed speculatively. Severus, perhaps?

No... No, that was wishful thinking. Severus had never been prone to sentimentality, and Remus doubted the spirit of Christmas had moved him to overcome his animosity enough to send a present, even an anonymous one. Remus distinctly remembered teasing him about resembling a Muggle literary character named Scrooge, and if anything, Severus was probably more Scrooge-ish now than he had been then.

Perhaps in gratitude for the kitten? a little voice of hope piped up in the back of his mind, but he quickly silenced it. Severus would likely view the kitten as recompense for the potion brewing, and he wouldn't consider himself indebted.

No, it was best to chalk up the identity of his benefactor as a mystery and not waste time thinking it might be Severus. The chances of that were far too slim, and experience had made him a pragmatist, not given to fooling himself with false hope. He would wear the robes and enjoy them, and if anyone stepped forward to claim credit, he would thank them profusely. Between the robes and the scarf, he could look forward to a far more comfortable winter than he'd anticipated.

That in itself made for a very merry Christmas indeed.

*~*~*

"Have you seen that fuzzball following Snape around lately?"

The sound of Ron's voice carried down the hall, and Remus paused outside the open door of his classroom and listened, intrigued. He hadn't seen the kitten since Christmas, nor had Severus made mention of it, and he had wondered how it was faring in its new home.

"Oh, you mean Her Befurred Majesty?" Harry replied. "I don't know which is worse: Mrs. Norris, Crookshanks, or that stuck-up little hairball."

"Her name is Morgause, and I think she's sweet," Hermione interjected, and someone blew a raspberry at her.

"You would," Ron said scornfully. "Funny thing, though. I didn't take Snape for an animal lover. I wonder where he got it, and why."

"Maybe it was a Christmas present," Neville suggested hesitantly.

"No way! Who'd give Snape a Christmas present, especially a kitten?" someone else piped up. "Imagine giving a poor, innocent animal to someone like him!"

"I dunno..." Harry mused. "She seems to like him an awful lot, and she looks fine to me. He must treat her well enough."

Ron made a disparaging noise. "He treats her better than he treats us! I was in his office yesterday for detention, and he had me write an essay on the spot, only when I tried to sit down, he made me get up and move. Said I was sitting in her chair."

Edging back down the hall, Remus muffled his laughter behind one hand. It certainly hadn't taken long for Severus to get wound around Morgause's delicate black paw! Drawing himself up, he straightened his robes and tried to quell the grin which would reveal to the entire class that he'd overheard the conversation.

But the news he heard the next day was not nearly as good. Far from it. The first thing he learned when he arrived at the head table for breakfast the next morning was that Ron had been attacked during the night -- by Sirius Black.

Severus shot him suspicious glares all throughout the meal, but Remus was too stunned to notice. He had thought Sirius could fall no further than he already had: multiple deaths on his hands, betraying his friends, turning to Voldemort. But now he could add attempting to kill an innocent boy to the lengthening list of his crimes, and Remus was sickened by the very thought.

When he returned to his quarters that evening, he dragged his small piece of luggage out of the bottom of the wardrobe and opened it, rummaging around until he found what he was looking for: an old photograph.

One corner was torn, and it was creased, and more than a little battered, but the four figures were still in place. James smiled brightly and waved at him. Peter nodded solemnly, and the young Remus gave his older counterpart a sympathetic smile.

And young Sirius grinned and winked, slinging his arm around the Remus by his side, who gazed at him with blatant adoration.

"You love him, don't you?"

Severus handed back the photograph, which Remus and his friends had just had taken the previous week, and Remus stared down at it, flustered by the question.

"A little, I guess," he admitted, feeling his face grow hot. "I don't know. I thought it was love once, but now..." He shrugged. "I'm not so sure it wasn't just a crush. I care a lot about him, but I'm not going to waste my life on an unrequited love."

Remus laughed and shook his head. "Ah, famous last words," he murmured. Looking at the photograph, he could scarcely believe what had become of each of them. When that picture had been taken, they'd been carefree, their greatest concern being whether Filch would catch them when they tried to sneak out after curfew.

Now...

Now two of them were dead, slain by the third, who had fooled them all, and the two survivors were back at Hogwarts where they began.

When had the turning point come? When had it all gone wrong?

For a long time, he had felt responsible; his friends had never approved of him spending time with Severus. Of all of them, James had been the only one who tried to understand and accept the odd relationship to any degree. Sirius had made no secret that he disliked and distrusted the Slytherin, and he badgered Remus constantly to stay away from him. But while Peter may have been happy to be led around by the nose, Remus wasn't about to let anyone, even his dearest companions, dictate what he could and couldn't do, especially when it came to a relationship that had grown so important to him.

But with distance and perspective, he had come to understand that Sirius had made his own choices, and would have turned to Voldemort's side, no matter if Remus had begun snubbing Severus as Sirius had wanted, or not. He wasn't responsible for Sirius' choices, only his own.

And as far as his own choices were concerned, his only regret was not telling Severus the truth when he had the chance...

The sun shone with gentle warmth on the grounds of Hogwarts, light breeze creating ripples on the lake. Every so often, Remus caught sight of a suckered tentacle, as if even the giant squid wanted to partake of the day's beauty. He leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs out in front of him, luxuriating in the glory of such a perfect day.

His books were piled nearby, unopened, despite all the homework he should have been doing. Beside him, Severus sat cross-legged, his posture straight, an open case cradled in his lap. Remus watched as Severus' long fingers sorted through the collection of jars and vials scattered in the grass around him, caressing each one as he placed it snugly in its own little compartment. Severus was absorbed in his labeling-and-storing process; he had spent the last few weeks compiling his own personal, portable collection of ingredients and storable potions. It wasn't something he'd been assigned to do, merely something he'd wanted to do, for his own convenience, and Remus had helped, pouring things into the containers once Severus had measured them.

The sunlight glinted off of Severus' glass bottles, and the blue-black highlights in his hair; his brow was furrowed with concentration, and somehow he looked both deadly serious and utterly content at the same time. Remus thought about Sirius, mentally comparing them, although there was no comparison, really. Sirius was handsome, intelligent, and athletic; he exuded a natural charm that lured people to bask in the glow of his presence, shedding warmth on them that sometimes felt as bright as the sun.

Then there was Severus. Tall, gawky, hook-nosed and sallow-skinned Severus. Shadow of the Star. Sirius called to people like a siren, and Severus pushed them away, avoiding contact, never revealing anything except his impatience and disdain -- except to Remus. Only Remus was allowed to see him as he was now: unguarded and at peace, doing what he loved best.

Why? he wondered. Why did Severus seem to trust him more than anyone else? They should have hated each other. Why didn't they? Why was he drawn to someone so prickly and remote?

Then Severus glanced up, seeming to feel the weight of his gaze. He looked a question at Remus, his dark eyes holding only curiosity, his features relaxed and open. There might have even been something close to a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched Remus watching him.

And in that moment, all of Remus' questions were answered.

*~*~*

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

A map of Hogwarts bloomed onto the formerly blank piece of parchment, and Remus picked it up and examined it. Although all four of them had worked on the map together, it had been James' idea to create it in the first place; while Remus considered it oddly appropriate that Harry should have gotten it, he was disappointed the boy had used it in a time of such great danger. It was bad enough that Severus had caught Harry sneaking around, but if Sirius had caught him--!

Remus shuddered, not wanting to even consider that possibility. It had taken fast talking and fast acting -- getting himself and Harry out of Severus' office before the Potions Master could formulate more questions -- to avert trouble, but doubtless Severus was even more suspicious of him and his motives.

He let his gaze wander idly over the map, checking to see where Harry was in case he hadn't learned his lesson the first time -- and then a name leapt out at him, and he gasped, sitting bolt-upright, staring in disbelief at what the map revealed.

It was true... It had to be... James had enchanted the map so that it never lied...

Before he was aware he'd made the conscious decision to do so, he had pushed himself out of his chair and was sprinting out the door, headed for the Whomping Willow and praying he get there quickly enough.

Within minutes, he had reached the Shrieking Shack, led upstairs by Hermione's desperate scream, and he burst into the room, apprehensive about what he might find inside. A darting glance around the room showed him things weren't as bad as he feared, but the young ones were trying to defend themselves against Sirius, which, considering their inexperience, put them in as much danger from themselves and each other as it did from Sirius.

"Expelliarmus!" he cried, gathering all their wands to himself, keeping his own wand trained on Sirius.

A thousand conflicting emotions rushed through him as he gazed down at the supine body of his former friend, Hermione's cat guarding him for some bizarre reason of its own. Anger welled up as fresh as if the past twelve years had never happened, and part of him wanted to exact justice himself rather than wait for the Dementors. But his calmer, rational side urged him to wait and find out the truth first. Even after all these years, he found it difficult to accept that they had all been so wrong about Sirius, especially in light of what he had seen on the map.

"Where is he, Sirius?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice low and steady.

Mutely, Sirius lifted his hand and pointed at Ron. Remus kept his gaze fixed on Sirius, his mind whirling as he tried to sort out all the new information he had learned in such a short time.

"But then... why hasn't he shown himself before now?" he asked, talking to himself more than to Sirius, since it appeared Sirius wasn't going to provide any answers. "Unless..." He felt his eyes grow wide as the last pieces of a twelve year old puzzle fell into place. "Unless he was the one... unless you switched... without telling me..."

Still staring directly, silently at him, Sirius nodded, and Remus took an involuntary step backwards, a flash of hurt slicing through him. Sirius had given up the role of secret keeper and hadn't told Remus, hadn't trusted him with that vital information, because of Severus. Remus had the taint of Slytherin on him, therefore he couldn't be trusted.

But as painful as it was to know his former friend had distrusted him so deeply, he was too overcome with joy to care at the moment. Sirius was innocent.

He was innocent!

He hadn't killed Peter, and it followed that he hadn't betrayed James and Lily either. Remus was overjoyed to know the friendship he had cherished hadn't been merely an act played out by a cunning manipulator.

Without another word, he strode across the room, pulled Sirius to his feet, and caught him up in a warm, tight embrace, his throat too clogged with emotion to let him express with words how happy he was to have his friend returned to him at last. He felt Sirius wrap his arms around him, felt how gaunt Sirius had become, and he held on tighter -- until Hermione's outraged cry forced them to part.

"I didn't tell anyone! I've been covering up for you!"

An icy claw skittered down Remus' spine at her words, which confirmed that Severus' attempt to disclose his secret had worked with at least one student.

"I trusted you!" Harry's face was red, and he looked to be teetering on the edge of losing control. "And all the time, you've been his friend!"

"You're wrong," he replied, hoping if he remained calm, that would help diffuse the rising hysteria of the situation. "I haven't been Sirius' friend, but I am now. Let me explain..."

"NO!" Hermione shrieked. "Harry, don't trust him, he's been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too -- he's a werewolf!"

The entire room plunged into silence. Remus stood still, his breath caught in his throat as he waited for the inevitable fallout. His secret was out now. There was nothing he could do about that. He just hoped he could make them understand the truth, that they would listen to him in spite of what he was.

"Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione," he said quietly. "Only one out of three, I'm afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle, and I certainly don't want Harry dead..." He shivered, hating to say the next words aloud. "But I won't deny that I am a werewolf."

Ron scrabbled to get up -- to get away -- and when Remus moved as if to help him, the boy recoiled. The same boy who had been so friendly and had seemed to enjoy his class so much flinched away from him.

"Get away from me, werewolf!" he gasped, and Remus gazed down at him with a sadness not for himself but for Ron.

Dehumanized already. How regretfully typical. He'd expected more, expected better from these young ones, but apparently they were no different from the others who had turned on him with hatred, disgust, and suspicion when they learned about his condition. It was an unfortunate aspect of human nature that Remus was all too familiar with; he was disappointed by the reaction, but not surprised.

It took returning Harry, Ron and Hermione's wands and putting away his own to convince them to listen, and even then, Harry kept interrupting with suspicious questions. The boy seemed most surprised to learn that Remus had helped write the Marauder's Map, but that was a mere trifle compared to what was to come.

"I saw Sirius collide with you," he explained. "I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow."

"One of us!" Ron exclaimed angrily, still seeming resistant to accepting anything Remus said.

"No, Ron," he corrected gently. "Two of you. Do you think I could have a look at the rat?" he asked, careful to keep his voice calm and even. The young ones were still upset and not entirely convinced, and he had no wish to alarm them.

"What's Scabbers got to do with it?" Ron demanded.

"Everything."

Ron retrieved the wriggling, squealing rat from his robes, clutch 1000 ing it against his chest as if to protect it as Remus moved closer, studying the terrified rodent.

"That's not a rat." Sirius spoke for the first time since Remus had entered the room, his voice a hoarse croak, nothing at all like the rich, soothing baritone Remus remembered.

"He's a wizard," Remus added, supporting Sirius' claim.

"An Animagus by the name of Peter Pettigrew," Sirius concluded.

"You're both mental."

If the situation hadn't been so dire, he would have laughed at Ron's unthinking bluntness.

"Peter Pettigrew's dead," Harry said, looking pole-axed. "He killed him twelve years ago!" He pointed at Sirius, who growled at the rat, his expression feral.

"I meant to, but little Peter got the best of me. Not this time, though!"

Without warning, he lunged at Scabbers, and Remus threw himself at Sirius; even fueled by anger, Sirius' strength was weakened by his physical condition, and Remus dragged Sirius backwards, restraining him from getting near Ron again, who was getting enough damage from the frantic rat clawing his face and neck in an effort to escape.

"No!" Remus exclaimed, wrestling with Sirius, who still struggled to free himself. "Wait, you can't do it just like that -- they need to understand -- we've got to explain--"

"We can explain afterwards!" Sirius snarled, trying to throw Remus off, but he refused to loosen his hold.

"They've got a right to know everything," he panted. "Ron's kept him as a pet! There are parts of it even I don't understand, and Harry -- you owe Harry the truth, Sirius."

The magic words.

Remus knew a reminder of Harry -- Sirius' last link to James -- would calm him, if nothing else would, and sure enough, Sirius stopped struggling.

"All right, then," Sirius agreed wearily. "Tell them whatever you like, but make it quick. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for."

But Remus' explanation met with more resistance. To Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Peter had been killed twelve years ago by Sirius. Period. It wasn't until Remus informed them that there had been three unregistered Animagi at Hogwarts that they seemed to give any credibility to his story at all.

Just then, he was interrupted by the bedroom door opening with a loud creak, and they all turned to stare at it, but no one appeared. Remus strode over and peered out on the landing, but he saw nothing. Puzzled, he returned to the bedroom.

"This place is haunted!" Ron exclaimed, but Remus shook his head, still looking at the door in bewilderment.

"It's not," he assured them. "The Shrieking Shack was never haunted..." He paused, steeling himself for another painful admission. His condition was never something he cared to discuss, even with his friends. "The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me."

He stood, silent and still for a moment, with all eyes upon him, but he was lost in his own thoughts, awash in memory. Raking both hands through his hair, he glanced around at his waiting audience, bringing himself back to the present.

"That's where all of this starts -- with my becoming a werewolf."

Scrabbling in the underbrush, a child's curiosity.

"None of this could have happened if I hadn't been bitten..."

"Is someone there? Are you all right? Should I get help?"

"And if I hadn't been so foolhardy..."

A fierce snarl, a sudden rush of air, musky animal scent surrounding him, fangs ripping his flesh.

"I was a very small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those days, there was no cure," he said matter-of-factly.

The time in his life when he felt sorry for himself was long gone; he had learned many years ago that whether he was happy or despairing depended on him, not on his affliction. It was his choice either to let the circumstances of his life make him bitter, or to accept what he couldn't change and deal with whatever obstacles he faced with as much good grace as possible.

"The potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent discovery. It makes me safe, you see."

He continued to weave his tale, aware that the room was quiet except for Peter's terrified squeaking and his own soft voice. Whether they believed him or not, Harry, Hermione and Ron were at least listening.

"All this year, I have been battling with myself," he said, his face and voice growing hard, "wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius is an Animagus. But I didn't do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I'd betrayed his trust while I was at school, admitting that I'd led others along with me..."

It would have meant admitting irrevocably that he'd been wrong about Sirius, and that their friendship had been a charade. It would have meant giving Severus more reason to distrust him when he was trying so hard to rebuild a connection between them.

"And Dumbledore's trust has meant everything to me. He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am. And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using dark arts he learned from Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it... so, in a way, Snape's been right about me all along."

"Snape?" Sirius abruptly turned his full attention on Remus, scowling. "What's Snape got to do with it?"

"He's here, Sirius," he said, feeling as if yet another match had been struck and tossed dangerously near the powderkeg. Sirius would be less than pleased to learn that Remus had been in such close proximity to Severus again, never mind that Severus scorned him utterly. "He's teaching here as well."

He glanced over at the three young people, who looked confused. "Professor Snape was at school with us," he explained. "He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons... You see, Sirius here..."

Remus looked at Sirius long and hard, trying to explain what had happened in a way that wouldn't incriminate Sirius further in their eyes. But at the same time, he did hold Sirius responsible for being thoughtless and vindictive. "He played a... trick on him..."

"You selfish, self-centered bastard! Did you *once* stop to think about the consequences if he'd walked into that room? I could have *killed* him, Sirius! At best, he would have survived, only to become the same kind of monster I am, and at worst, his blood would now be on my hands. I'd have to live the rest of my life, knowing I'd killed someone I care about, and honestly, I don't know if that's something I *could* live with. And all because *you* decided we needed to be punished. Is that what you wanted? Did you really think either of us deserved that fate?"

"It served him right," Sirius sneered, and Remus turned away, his mouth thinning into a line of disapproval; even after so many years, Sirius was implacable, so certain of his utter rightness that he couldn't admit any hint of culpability on his part.

"Severus was very interested in where I went every month."

"Is something wrong? You're not ill, are you? You'd tell me if you were, wouldn't you? I don't understand why you won't tell me the truth."

"We were in the same year, you know, and we -- er --" He nearly choked on the lie he was about to tell, but it was far better to keep things simple than try to explain the complexities of that particular situation along with everything else. "-- didn't like each other very much. He especially disliked James." More deflection. It had been Sirius whom Severus detested most even before the Shrieking Shack incident. "Jealous, I think, of James' talent on the Quidditch Field." As if Severus ever came close to placing Quidditch over potions.

"Anyway, Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madame Pomfrey one evening as she lead me toward the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be -- er --" He swallowed hard, forcing himself not to reveal his own residual anger. "--amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he'd be able to get in after me. Well, of course, Snape tried it -- if he'd gotten as far as this house, he'd have met a fully grown werewolf --"

Repressing a shiver, he forced the words out; the thought of what might have happened that night had haunted him for months afterward, and he had been plagued with nightmares in which Severus had not been stopped in time.

"But your father, who'd heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life..."

Oh, James, I owe you such a debt for that, he thought. You saved both of us that night.

"Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody, but from that time on, he knew what I was."

"So that's why Snape doesn't like you," Harry said, looking shell-shocked by the overwhelming amount of news he had learned in such a short time. "Because he thought you were in on the joke?"

"That's right."

There was no mistaking the voice answering Harry's question. Remus didn't have to turn to know Severus was standing behind him, but he did, feeling his heart plummet at the sight of Severus pointing a wand at him, knowing what little progress he'd made over the course of the year was made all for naught by this one brief moment.

He lifted mournful brown eyes to meet furious black, silently entreating Severus to look beyond what had happened in this very place so many years ago, to remember the beautiful truth of what had occurred b 1000 etween them before that fateful night...

Remus dropped his quill, closed the heavy book and pushed it aside, scrubbing his face with both hands. "My eyes are crossing..."

In the chair next to him, Severus glanced up from the book in which he was engrossed, something about derivatives of mint and how they could be used in bug repellent potions. "Hhm? Have you finished the essay yet?"

"No, but I don't care. I'll finish it tomorrow after Charms."

"You shouldn't have waited until the last minute," he said, almost primly, and Remus gave a tired chuckle.

"Yes, Mother. Next time I'll do better." He slid his parchment over to his study partner. "Check it for me?"

"Of course."

The library was deserted, everyone else having packed up their books, quills and parchment long ago and returned to their houses; torches flickered dimly, casting shadows all around their table. As Severus read the essay, Remus studied his profile, memorizing the details of the hawkish nose, the stubborn chin...

Maybe it was the lateness of the hour and his own fatigue, or maybe it was the golden glow of the torchlight giving the small study nook an intimate aura, or maybe it was just the pull of the moon combined with his own wayward teenage hormones. Whatever the reason, he found himself reaching out and brushing back a stray lock of hair that had fallen across Severus' cheek, tucking it behind his ear with gentle fingers. Severus' head shot up, and he stared at Remus, obviously stunned.

But not disgusted.

Oh, no, there was no trace of revulsion in Severus' face or eyes. Only shock, and that was quickly fading, replaced by... curiosity? Perhaps even a hint of desire?

Feeling bolder, Remus skimmed his fingertips along Severus' jawline, meeting his gaze and holding it; Severus opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but nothing came out, and Remus saw no reason to waste an opportunity.

Leaning forward, he framed Severus' face between his hands and sealed his mouth over the other young man's, claiming it completely. Severus froze... and then Remus discovered the lips that were so adept at delivering sarcasm and insults were adept at other modes of expression as well. He felt Severus' lips soften, felt them part at his gentle coaxing, felt them warm and silken and yielding.

Long, thin fingers crept along his scalp, anchoring him in place; Remus may have initiated the kiss, but it was clear Severus had no intention of releasing him any time soon. Fueled by hunger, he slid his tongue past Severus' lips and found another waiting, eager to meet and mate with his. A noise that was part groan, part growl rose in his throat as their tongues danced and explored, and he groped blindly for the fastenings of Severus' robes.

Unable to find them by touch alone -- his shaking fingers were all but useless -- he pulled back, but Severus followed him, lips clinging to his own, reluctant to part, and he gave in to the silent plea, drawing Severus' tongue back into his mouth and sucking it gently.

And then he felt his robes being pushed up, felt a hand on his thigh, felt the warmth of it even through the fabric of his jeans.

"Sev... Oh, Sev, yes..." he whispered, shivering at the nip at his earlobe, at the graze of teeth along his neck.

He opened his eyes just as Severus lifted his head; their gazes locked and held, and Remus saw the heat he felt mirrored in the obsidian depths of Severus' eyes. No doubt this was mutual, whatever "this" was. Remus felt as if he was teetering on the brink of something vast and life-changing, but he didn't care. All he knew was that he wanted Severus, wanted him *now*, and he would willingly surrender himself to the Slytherin, even if it meant making love for the first time on the cold stone floor of the Hogwarts library.

Another kiss, this one hot and demanding. He wasn't certain who initiated it, but that didn't matter, not when it was so good. Greedy hands clutched him, pulled him closer, and then, they were both rising to their feet, bodies straining for contact. He fastened one arm around Severus' waist, holding that lithe body tightly against his own, and Severus clamped both hands on his hips, long fingers curling into his robes. Twin moans filled the small nook as their kiss deepened, and they explored each other's mouths thoroughly, mapping out the new territory with lips and teeth and tongues. But it wasn't enough for Remus; he wanted to taste more, to feel more...

Footsteps. Echoing in the empty library, growing closer.

Remus pulled away reluctantly, falling back in his chair, his breathing labored as he fought to tamp down the desire surging in his blood. A sidelong glance at Severus revealed him to be flushed and panting, looking thoroughly disheveled. If he hadn't been so flustered himself, Remus might have laughed at seeing the dignified Slytherin in such a state.

Moments later, Sirius poked his head around the corner and all but dragged Remus back to the Gryffindor dormitory.

One snog.

One far-too-brief snog in nearly two decades, and they'd never even gotten a chance to talk about it. Remus had wanted to ask him if it was a fluke, if he'd merely given in to loneliness and hormones, or if it had meant something. But the next day, Sirius kept unusually close, and the next night was the first night of the full moon.

It was also the night Severus learned the truth behind the stories about the Shrieking Shack.

*~*~*

"I'm sorry."

The words felt woefully inadequate even as he said them, but Remus knew they were about fifteen years overdue.

He sat in the chair across from Albus Dumbledore's desk, the same one he'd sat in months ago when he had accepted the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, only this time, the occasion was much less happy. He had just tendered his resignation, but that had been the easy part. The hardest still lay before him.

"I won't try to shift the responsibility onto anyone else," he said, staring down at his hands, which were twisting in his lap. "I don't remember whose idea it was for Sirius, James and Peter to become Animagi, but it doesn't matter. I didn't say no, and I should have. I was too happy that my friends cared enough about me to try it in the first place. I'd never had friends like that before, who were willing..." He trailed off and shook his head. "That's no excuse, I know. I lied by omission. I should have told you Sirius is an Animagus. If he really had been trying to kill Harry..." He broke off again, shuddering. "It would have been on my hands."

There was silence from the other side of the desk, and t 1000 hen Dumbledore spoke.

"Why?"

Remus look up at him, meeting his eyes, shamed to see compassion blended with the confusion in Albus' gaze. He didn't deserve it.

"Because this is the first job I've had in years," he replied. "I was desperate to hold onto it. I've been living hand-to-mouth for so long. I've even lived among the homeless in the Muggle world more often than I care to admit. To have this job... to have food on a regular basis, to have a roof over my head... and in the one place where I've ever known any happiness... I didn't want to lose it."

He shook his head again, staring at his twisting fingers once more. "It's no excuse, and I know that. I just... I wanted a respite from poverty, and I wanted a place to belong, even if only for a little while. I was selfish."

There was a scrape of wood on stone as Dumbledore pushed back his chair and walked around his desk to stand beside Remus and rest a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You've been alone too long, my friend, and I'm more sorry than I can say for that. You've had to be strong for a very long time with no one to turn to for help or support," Albus said, his tone laden with kindness. "I'm not pleased with your decision to keep this information from me, but I understand that you acted out of pain and desperation, not malice, and I forgive you."

"Thank you." It was a faint whisper, but it was all Remus could muster at the moment.

"Of course, there's also Severus to consider in all of this, hhm?" Albus stood up straight. "Given how hard you've tried to convince him to trust you again, I imagine telling him you've been hiding a great secret would not have helped the situation."

"No," he admitted reluctantly. "That was part of it as well."

"I thought as much." The sparkle returned to Albus' eyes. "Strange what foolish things love will make people do, isn't it?"

Remus looked away and said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin, harsh line. He should have told Albus the truth right from the beginning. It would have changed everything for Harry and the others, and changed nothing between himself and Snape.

"I'll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a kiss for him too."

The words still bit into Remus' soul. All hope had died in that moment, and a part of him that had bloomed even amid all the darkness of the years since graduation was now shriveled and crumbling to dust.

"Wasted effort," he said at last, forcing the words out through a twisted attempt at a self-mocking smile.

"I told you here in this very office that it would take patience and time," Albus reminded him gently. "Especially now..." He trailed off, as if lost in thought for a moment. "Did you ever happen to ask our Severus what he did between graduating and returning to teach here?"

"No."

"You should. It may prove insightful."

"Provided we ever speak again," Remus said, not quite bitterly, but close.

"Yes... The events of the past year haven't helped your cause any, have they. He suspected you of conspiring with Sirius all year."

"I know." He rose to his feet, not wanting to discuss the situation or Snape any further. It was over. Done with. Now it was time for him to move on. Again. "I should go pack now." He paused, then lifted his gaze to meet Albus'. "I really am sorry."

"So am I."

To Remus' surprise, the older man reached out and enfolded him in a tight embrace, and Remus returned it gratefully, trying not to cling no matter how much he wanted to. When people knew what he was, they tended to avoid touching or being touched by him, as if the slightest contact would transfer his affliction to them. This was the first embrace anyone had given him since his parents' deaths, and he felt his throat clogging up with emotion despite his best efforts to control himself.

"I'll have a carriage brought round front whenever you're ready," Dumbledore said as he released Remus.

Remus nodded his thanks and fled Albus' office before he lost his composure, intending to return to his quarters to begin packing, then clean out his office last. But somewhere along the way, he made a different turn and headed for the dungeon instead. He had spent the entire year using a slow, gentle approach with Snape, and it had gotten him nothing but more suspicion and scorn heaped on his head. He had nothing to lose now, and he was going to have his say before he left Hogwarts for good.

Bursting into Snape's office unannounced, he strode over to the desk and leaned on his fists, looming over Snape, who glanced up at him from the book he was reading slowly, his expression dismissive.

"I want a word," Remus growled, and Snape leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, his eyes hooded and guarded, but he said nothing.

"You've won," he ground out through clenched teeth. "I've just resigned. I'll be packed and gone within the hour -- just as you wanted. But I'm not leaving here until I've said my piece about what happened in the Shrieking Shack when we were students."

"I hardly think there is anything that needs to be said on that subject." Snape's tone was icy, but Remus refused to be put off by it.

"Maybe not for you, but there is for me, and by God, you will listen to me this time." He felt as if pressure was building in his chest, demanding release, and for once in his life, he let it go. "Damn you! Damn you, and damn Sirius! I've never been anything to either of you except a convenient tool you've used against one another!" he cried passionately, pushing himself away from Snape's desk and beginning to pace back and forth.

"Both of you have done nothing all these years but focus on your own anger over what happened, never once realizing how it was hurting yourselves -- and me. You never once stopped to think about it, except to wallow in self-righteousness! Did you never wonder why Sirius wanted you to go to the Shrieking Shack that night?"

"I know why!" Snape snarled, leaping to his feet and glaring at Remus over the desk. "You were both conspiring--!"

"NO!" Remus shouted, his eyes squeezed shut, his fists shaking with the strength of his long-dormant anger. "I had nothing to do with it. Sirius saw us in the library the night before."

Snape froze, his dark eyes widening marginally. "He saw...?"

"The kiss, Severus. He saw the kiss," Remus confirmed, his voice and expression grim.

"You go on." Sirius waved casually to James and Peter. "We'll catch up."

James darted a quizzical look between Sirius and Remus. "All right, but hurry along. It's the exam review today in Transfig."

"Yeah, all right. There's just something I want to talk to Remus about. Alone."

Peter obeyed immediately, hurrying out the door of their shared bedroom; James gave Sirius another long, searching look, then shrugged and followed Peter, closing the door behind himself.

The moment they were alone, Sirius grabbed Remus' shoulders and shoved him against the nearest wall, pinning him there.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Remus demanded, pushing against Sirius' chest, but he wouldn't budge.

"What were you doing in the library last night?" Sirius skewered Remus with his gaze, refusing to let him look away.

"Studying." It was true... for the most part.

"Bollocks. I saw what that bastard did. Did he hurt you? Tell me the truth, damn it!"

"Wha-?" Remus gaped at him. "No, he didn't hurt me! Why would you ever think that?"

"I saw him!" Sirius snarled. "I saw him kiss you! I saw him force himself on you!"

"*Force* himself--? No, Sirius, you've got it all wrong. Severus wouldn't do something like that. *I* kissed *him*."

"You..." Sirius' eyes went round with shock. "How *could* you? My God, Remus, if you're that desperate for sex, then why didn't you say something? I know how you feel about me. I'd have helped you out."

Remus went still, feeling a ball of ice forming in the pit of his stomach. "And you would have done what, exactly?" he asked scathingly. "Given me a pity-fuck?"

"If it kept you away from that Slytherin piece of shit, I'd have fucked you, yes, but it wouldn't have been for pity." He smoothed his hand down the side of Remus' face, his expression softening. "I care about you, you know that. We're friends. I'd never pity you."

His voice took on that soft, seduction tone that Remus knew all too well, having heard it used on countless young women over the past couple of years, and he brushed his lips against Remus', not quite kissing him, but suggesting it.

"You want this..." he murmured, aligning his body against Remus' in a way that, had this moment occurred months prior, would have left Remus boneless and melting. "Tell me you want this..."

"I do..." Remus put his hands on Sirius' shoulders and firmly pushed him away. "But not from you. Not anymore." He drew himself up, surrounding himself with a quietly dignified air. "You don't really want me, Sirius. Your tastes don't run... in my direction. They never have. You're only doing this because you're angry and possessive, and you're prejudiced against Severus."

"Prejudiced? You're calling *me* prejudiced? I can't believe you're defending that -- that arrogant, stuck-up git to me!"

"You don't know him as I do."

"I don't *have* to know him!" Sirius roared. "We've been at school together for six years. I know all about him! He's a disgusting toad who knows far more about the Dark Arts than he should. He'll turn, Remus. You mark my words. As soon as he's away from Dumbledore's influence, he's going to turn, and he'll probably try to take you with him!"

"Nonsense." Remus crossed his arms and glared at Sirius. "You're judging him unfairly. He's not evil. Arrogant, yes. Insufferable at times, yes, but he's brilliant, especially with potions, and I find it understandable if he's a little proud."

Sirius gaped at him, looking dumbfounded. "Remus... My God, do you realize what you're saying? You... you sound like you're in love with him."

Averting his eyes, Remus gave an insouciant shrug. "I wouldn't go that far," he replied, hoping the lie would appease Sirius and convince him to back off before he did anything stupid and rash out some misguided notion of retaliation.

But no matter what lie he allowed to fall from his lips in order to protect Severus, his heart knew the truth: wolves -- and by extension, werewolves -- mated for life, and his instincts were screaming that he had found his intended mate.

And it wasn't Sirius Black.

"Sirius was accustomed to getting his own way," Remus added, feeling the heat of anger ebbing at last. "He didn't want me, except as a friend, but he didn't want my complete attention diverted from him either. I believe he wanted me to be like Peter: a devoted follower."

Snape gave a derisive snort, bringing a small, wry smile to Remus' lips; that snort told him Snape understood him well enough to know he'd never fall into such a role, not for anyone.

"He didn't approve of my relationship with you."

"We spent nearly three years working out this Animagus magic, just for you, and this is how you repay us? This is your idea of loyalty? Chasing after that slimy weasel?"

"I also believe he expected a measure of gratitude from me, in recompense for his bestowal of friendship." He shrugged negligently. "There were many factors involved. The bottom line is, you were Slytherin, and you were a threat because you diverted my attention away from him. He saw us together, and he wanted to tear us apart. I'd say he succeeded beyond his wildest dreams."

He also failed, Remus mused silently. When he learned what Sirius had done, he had been furious; it had taken a great deal of talking from both James and Peter to help Remus reach the point that he could consider forgiving Sirius for the betrayal, and it had been the beginning of the rift that yawned ever wider between them until Peter's treachery and Sirius' wrongful imprisonment. Already heart-battered, they had found it easy to believe the worst of each other.

"So congratulations to you both." His smile was mirthless. "You got what you wanted. I hope it makes you very happy."

With that, he turned and walked out, never once looking back.

*~*~*

"I don't suppose I need to express how disappointed I am in you."

It was amazing, really, how easily Albus Dumbledore could make him feel like an errant six-year-old, Snape thought as he sat in a chair opposite the Headmaster's desk. He wasn't squirming under the intense relentlessness of Dumbledore's bright blue gaze, but at that moment, he could certainly understand why someone might want to.

"Why did you do it?"

Snape didn't need to ask to what Dumbledore was referring. There was only one thing that could have resulted in his being summoned to this office, mere hours after Lupin resigned and departed.

"Remus Lupin was a threat to this school," he replied, meeting Dumbledore's gaze steadily, without flinching.

"As long as he took the potion you brewed for him each month, he was not a threat to the school or anyone in it."

"He didn't take it last night," Snape argued.

"There were extenuating circumstances involving the safety of one of our students, whom he was trying to protect."

"He was in league with Sirius Black all year." He knew he was reaching on that point, but if he was going down, then by God, he'd go fighting all the way.

"I am persuaded that Professor Lupin was not assisting Sirius Black in any way, and even if he were, Sirius was not the real threat here, as we all now know, thus it is a moot point."

For the first time, Snape looked away. He had no more arguments. At least, no arguments he intended to articulate. There were numerous personal reasons for his actions, reasons he didn't care to admit aloud or to examine too closely.

Dumbledore folded his hands and rested them on top of his desk, leaning forward slightly.

"When I hired Professor Lupin, I made it clear that I wanted the rest of the faculty to treat his condition as confidential information. You deliberately ignored my instructions. I don't pretend to be entirely pleased with some of your teaching methods, Professor Snape, but your classroom is your domain, and I will not interfere."

His eyes turned flinty.

"However, when I give my faculty instructions, I expect to be obeyed. What you have done has caused the school to lose an excellent Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor, and it showed blatant disregard for my instructions. Moreover, you have failed to provide any valid reasons why this violation was necessary."

He paused, staring at Snape over his spectacles. "You are a Potions Master, Professor Snape, you are the Potions instructor here at Hogwarts, and you are an adult. By virtue of your age, experience and position, you are expected to provide a better example for your students than this tawdry display of petty spite. It does not become you, and your actions do not become this school. This is an official reprimand, and it will go on your record."

Snape locked gazes with him, mouth set in a hard line. He'd expected a dressing-down, but not the official reprimand. Damn Lupin for being able to cause problems without even being here!

"Is that all, Headmaster?" he asked icily.

"One thing more." Dumbledore's expression softened considerably. "The difficult times have returned, Severus. We are headed towards dark days, and there will be little enough to be happy about until it's all over, one way or another. Remus isn't perfect. He's made mistakes, just as you and I have done, but betrayal is not one of them. Enough time has been wasted, don't you think?"

"I do indeed, especially when I have much work awaiting me," he replied. He knew what Dumbledore meant, but he wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it. "You may consider me appropriately chastised, Headmaster. If you will excuse me."

He rose to his feet, awaiting Dumbledore's dismissal, which he gave with a weary sigh and wave of his hand. Once out of the office, Snape stormed down the hallways, headed to the dungeon, stormclouds brewing in his eyes. No one got in his way or accosted him; even Peeves took one look at his face and decided pranking Snape would not be the wisest thing to do if he wanted to continue in his afterlife without ill effects.

Once he reached his quarters, Snape slammed the door shut behind himself hard enough to splinter the wood on the edges and began pacing up and down the length of the parlor, stopping every so often to rake both hands through his hair and growl.

"Bastard!" he hissed, but he wasn't sure whom he meant: Lupin, Black, Dumbledore, or all three.

Finally, he threw himself into his chair by the fire and stared at the crackling flames, looking at them, but not seeing them. His gaze was turned inward, and his mind was replaying snippets of conversations both new and old.

"Mrraow?"

He felt a little feline head butting against his leg, and he glanced down to see Morgause watching him. Stretching her front paws out and kneading them into the hearth rug, she yawned, then began walking back and forth across his feet, arching her back and leaning against his legs as she always did to indicate she was prepared to receive his attentions.

He dangled his arm over the side of the chair and stroked her from head to tail, the repetitive motion and her loud purring acting to calm and soothe him somewhat. When she grew tired of that, she leaped gracefully into his lap and curled up, still purring.

Snape rested one hand on her back, an odd little ache pulsing in his chest. As comforting as her presence was, Morgause was also a reminder of Lupin; she wouldn't be here, if not for him. He remembered all too vividly Lupin's pleased smile when it became clear Snape wasn't going to refuse his gift. But he pushed that thought aside, burying it along with the ludicrous notion that Hogwarts felt emptier somehow now that Lupin was gone.

*~*~*

The breeze off the ocean was cool and smelled of salt, and Remus breathed in deeply, letting it fill and invigorate his lungs. He veered off the path that led to the small cottage he now called home and moving to stand near the edge of the cliff overlooking the rocky beach below. Waves crashed rhythmically on the shore, and gulls squawked overhead; it was a peaceful scene, a peaceful moment, and once more he was reminded how little he regretted turning his back on the Wizard world entirely.

Nearly three months, he mused, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers and returning to the path. His home was over two kilometers outside of the little Muggle village where he now worked, but he enjoyed the walk. When fall and winter set in, he supposed he would buy a bicycle; a car was out of the question, and really, he didn't need it for a mere two kilometers there and back again five days a week.

He had come here in June, not long after leaving Hogwarts, and now it was August. Classes would resume soon, and life would go on there as usual. Snape would go on as usual.

At first, Remus had drifted, unsure of where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do. He had no ties to anyone or any place, and rather than being intimidating, the thought was liberating. It had struck him that he could go anywhere he wanted; he had enough money from the year of teaching to sustain him long enough to travel somewhere and settle in. The question was, where?

He soon learned, however, that he was even more of a pariah than he'd been before. News of his condition spread like wildfire from Hogwarts and its environs to the British Wizard community at large, which meant he had only two options: leave the country, or leave the Wizard world.

It had been surprisingly easy to turn his back on the life he'd known and live among Muggles. There was nothing for him, now that Hogwarts was closed to him, and among the Muggles, he could get a job and keep it far more easily. Even if they'd known of his condition, they likely wouldn't have believed it.

He had searched for a tiny, remote village where he wouldn't be easily found, not that he expected anyone to actually look for him. But if Sirius or Dumbledore ever did try to find him, they'd have a bloody damn hard time of it, and that was what he wanted. Their problems were no longer his problems.

Having found his ideal village on the coast, he had gone to Gringott's, gotten his money converted, and disappeared from the Wizard world. He'd had enough to pay rent for a small cottage while he looked for a job, and he had found employment quickly in the local bookseller's. He had explained to his new employer that he needed three days off each month to visit his aged mother. The owner of the bookstore, a kindly middle-aged woman, had been so touched by his filial devotion that she granted his request with tears in her eyes.

That had been settled to his satisfaction, and since his cottage was located near a patch of forest land well away from the village, he had felt certain he wouldn't endanger anyone. So far, he hadn't. There hadn't even been a whiff of gossip about some strange fierce beast roaming the woods, much to his relief.

And thus, he lived as a Muggle. His robes had been folded and stored away, along with his wand. There were a few little conveniences he missed, but the addition of television and films to his life made up for it. He'd spent every evening for about three or four weeks doing nothing but watching telly or a rented videotape until the novelty wore off, and he started viewing in moderation. Since the bookstore saw little business, he spent most of his days reading, fascinated by the kinds of fantastic tales Muggles writers came up with, even if the pictures didn't move.

He'd also been drawn in by Muggle music. The sheer variety it offered was astounding, and he'd splurged a bit, buying different kinds of CDs, trying to figure out what kind of music he liked best. It seemed to him as if the Muggles' form of magic manifested itself through their imaginations, and he was quite intrigued by it.

He'd gotten to know many of the villagers, and it was delightful to be around people who didn't judge him because of his condition. They were warm and friendly, and he liked them; life was quiet and peaceful there, and he felt as if he'd finally found someplace where he could set down roots, somewhere he could belong permanently.

The path curved, and once he got beyond the bend in the road, he saw his cottage. His home. He smiled at the thought, more pleased than he could express at having a place to call his own. Why hadn't he done this years ago? he wondered. Why hadn't it occured to him that he would fare so much better away from the Wizards who'd done nothing but persecute or discriminate against him all his life? As long as this beautiful village stood, he would never have to live in poverty again.

As he drew nearer, he noticed the front door was ajar, and he stopped, frowning slightly. He didn't remember leaving it open...

Slowing down his pace, he approached with caution. There wasn't much of a crime problem around here, but occasionally, a vagrant wandered through and broke into isolated homes, looking for cash or easily pawned items.

Nudging the door open, Remus glanced around, but he saw no one, and he couldn't see anything missing. His television and VCR were still there, as were his small stereo and all his CDs.

He stepped into the room, still alert and wary, but he could hear nothing --

--and then the door slammed shut behind him.

He whirled around, coming face-to-face with a tall, hooded and cloaked figure, and his breath froze in his lungs as he realized he stood before a Death Eater.

"Greetings, my young friend." The Death Eater's voice made Remus think of open graves. "We have heard of your unfortunate circumstances, and we wish to discuss a matter of great importance with you."

'We'?

Remus glanced around -- and found three more hooded and cloaked Death Eaters surrounding him, hemming him in their tight circle.

"We have an offer we should like to make you."

Remus glared at the Death Eater who had spoken, feeling certain he knew what the offer would be.

"And if I refuse?" he demanded defiantly.

"Then you die."

The words were spoken in an off-hand manner, as if the speaker attached little consequence to Remus' -- or anyone else's -- death, and that chilled Remus far more than the threat itself did.

"I know what you want," he said, staring unflinchingly at where the man's eyes should be beneath his hood.

"Perhaps you do. But we also know what you want."

"You've no idea what I want," he scoffed. "You know nothing about me."

"On the contrary." The Death Eater began pacing a leisurely circle around him, trailing one hand along Remus' shoulders and causing a shudder of pure disgust to ripple down his spine at the unwanted touch. "We know a great deal about you. We know what you are. We know what you've been through."

The Death Eater stopped in front of him again, leaning closer, as if he wanted to create the illusion of friendly intimacy between them.

"You've been scorned by Albus Dumbledore and his misguided followers, have you not?" His voice turned silkenly persuasive. "You've been discriminated against and reviled as a monster. Your true worth has never been appreciated, but that could change."

"How? Are you trying to tell me Voldemort's followers would accept a werewolf with open arms, when they have such hatred of Muggles and Mudbloods?" Remus shook his head. "I'd be no better off with your lot than I was with Dumbledore and his crowd."

"There's where you're wrong, my friend. Your lot would be considerably improved. Our lord recognizes and appreciates power, something that old fool Dumbledore could never understand about you. He wanted to tame you, to make you safe. We want you to revel in the power you've been given, and use it to hasten our lord's inevitable victory. We want you for what you are."

"Their side won't accept me for who I am, and your side only wants to use me for what I am." Remus made a rude gesture, knowing it would seal his death warrent. If he was to die, then he would die fighting. "You can all fuck off."

The Death Eater reached for his wand, but before he could raise it, Remus leapt at him, snarling, and sent them both tumbling to the floor; he grabbed the Death Eater's wrist and began pounding his hand against the hard wood in an effort to force him to release his wand, but the other Death Eaters yanked him off of their leader. It took all three of them to hold him as he struggled to free himself, and the leader rose shakily to his feet.

"You're a fool," he said, his voice dripping with icy fury. "You should have accepted our offer. Barring that, you should have kept your hands to yourself. You've just made certain that your death will be an exceptionally slow and painful one."

He lifted his wand, and silvery tendrils shot out of the end, wrapping around Remus until he was bound, hand and foot. If the situation hadn't been so dire, he might have laughed: who would have thought he'd find himself victim of the same spell twice in the space of three months?

"You two." He gestured to his fellow Death Eaters. "Destroy everything. You, assist me."

The third Death Eater stepped forward while the other two disappeared into the back rooms of the cottage; Remus could hear the crashes, bangs, and other sounds of destruction drifting from down the narrow hall. The leader raised his wand again.

"Morpheus!"

The blast from the Death Eater's wand struck Remus in the stomach, and he doubled over from the impact, but the Death Eater beside him yanked him upright again, just as the effects kicked in.

The world faded away, his small but cozy parlor disappearing to be replaced by a forest glade. Remus glanced around, disoriented, trying to get his bearings, but this wasn't a place he recognized. And this was wrong somehow...

He frowned a little. This was very wrong. It was full night here, but it hadn't been at home. Had he somehow lost several hours? He glanced up and saw the full moon suspended in the black velvet sky, and his blood ran cold.

Was what going on here? The full moon had just occurred two weeks prior... And how was he able to maintain his human form?

Panic surged through him, but he forced himself to breathe deeply and calm down. He would figure this out. He would--

In the distance, a wolf howled; another answered, this one sounding closer, and he shivered involuntarily.

Folding his arms around himself to ward off the night's chill, he picked a direction at random and began walking. The forest would end eventually, and he would figure out where he was once he was out of it. Branches cracked and leaves rustled under his feet, announcing his presence to any predator that cared to listen, and he wasn't surprised to hear more howling, only even closer.

Determined, he kept walking, resisting the instinctive urge to flinch at every strange sound from the underbrush. He was a calm, logical man; he would get himself out of this mess with his wits and sense. There was absolutely nothing to be concerned about, and certainly no need to give in to primal fear.

And then he heard the growling.

It was faint, still some distance away, and he walked faster, resisting the urge to break into a run. Running would only mark him as easy prey. Fear made him want to look back, to see how close the beast was, but he kept his eyes on the path before him.

The growling grew louder, as if another creature had added its voice to the deadly chorus.

He walked faster still and searched desperately ahead of him for any sign of civilization, but there were only more trees, more concealing underbrush, more misleading shadows.

Behind him, the growling escalated, and he could ignore the danger no more. It was too close, he had to look, he had to face what pursued him.

He froze in his tracks and turned slowly to see a half-circle of wolves behind him, their yellow eyes gleaming in the pale moonlight. The leader stepped forward, growling low in its throat, and he stood his ground. He would not show fear to this beast.

It sprang, lunging for his throat, and the rest followed. He struggled to fend them off, kicking them viciously, but their numbers overwhelmed him. Their coarse fur filled his hands as he shoved them away; their bestial musk filled his nose as they fell upon him. But instead of ripping into his vulnerable flesh and killing him instantly, they tore at him gradually, taking away small pieces.

He had a very long time to scream.

*~*~*

Awareness returned slowly, one level at a time, but one thing that remained consistent as Remus drifted out of unconsciousness was the heavy weight on his chest, which he couldn't account for, even after he was more or less awake. Cracking his eyes open, he peered out at the world -- and encountered a familiar, if fuzzy, face. Green eyes regarded him curiously for a moment; a small, wet nose was touched lightly against his.

"Mrraow?"

"Morgause, I presume?" His voice was a raspy croak, and every word was a razor blade slicing his throat.

"Mrr."

She sat up, still perched on his chest, gazing down at him with queenly dignity. Then, light as air, she leapt to the floor and trotted out of the room. Relieved of the pressure on his torso, Remus struggled to push himself upright with partial success; his limbs were weak, and he had to give up, collapsing against the pillow, panting.

He had lifted himself up enough to be able to have a good look around, though, and he saw he was in a strange bedroom. The walls and floor were all stone, and the furnishings, though sparse, appeared to be antiques. The bed itself was huge, hung with dark green bedcurtains; a small table stood beside the bed, but the only things on it were a lamp, a half-full vial, and a spoon. There was a small fireplace, in which a fire had been lit, a chair pulled near the hearth, a wardrobe, a full-length mirror, and a clock on the mantle. Other than that, the room was devoid of decoration.

Even though she had grown, there was no mistaking the haughty air of the kitten he had rescued, and seeing Morgause had made him think for a moment that he was back at Hogwarts, but he knew that couldn't be the case. This room had a window, which Snape's dungeon quarters didn't have.

Suddenly, Morgause sauntered into the room again, and Remus heard footsteps approaching; a moment later, Snape appeared in the doorway, pausing to give him an appraising once-over.

"You look like hell," Snape announced flatly.

"I feel like hell." He winced and swallowed hard, but the moisture did nothing to alleviate the soreness of his throat.

Her tail lifted in a jaunty curve, Morgause strolled across the room and leapt onto the bed again and rested one paw on Remus' shoulder, peering intently at him, before giving a little huff as if satisfied by what she saw. Nestling by his side, she curled up in a tight ball, and he could feel her purring even through the sheets. Apparently, he thought with no little amusement, her initial dislike of him had undergone a transformation. For whatever reason, she approved of him now and had, it seemed, appointed herself his nursemaid.

"I'm sure you've got questions," Snape said as he approached the bed, stopping in front of the table. "Not the least of which being, 'how is it that I'm still alive'. However, I advise you against talking until your throat heals. You'll only set yourself back if you do. Here."

He picked up the vial and spoon, unstoppered the vial, and poured out a measure of thick, amber-colored liquid.

"Take this, then I'll provide you with some answers."

Obediently, Remus took the spoon and swallowed the medicine, bracing himself for some vile concoction, but it tasted like honey, and it coated his throat soothingly.

"Now then." Snape clasped his hands behind his back, as if preparing to give a lecture to his students. "As to where you are and how you came to be here, you are in my home. Not my family home, mind you, but my private residence, which is located in a remote area of Yorkshire."

It was all Remus could do not to roll his eyes. The moors. Snape lived on the moors. It figured.

"It's modest, but it serves my purpose during the summer holidays."

Remus lifted one eyebrow at this. He hadn't known Snape had his own home; it seemed far more likely that the man lived in his dungeon all year round.

"You're here, because I brought you here," he continued. "I happened to arrive while your guests were too preoccupied to notice me. I was able to drive them away."

Remus frowned slightly, wanting to ask how, but Snape lifted his hand for silence and gave him a warning look.

"I'll give you a full account later. Right now, you should rest. Are you hungry? Nod or shake only."

He hadn't thought about food until Snape mentioned it, and suddenly, his stomach decided to wake up as well, growling as if to answer the question for him, and Snape's lips quirked up marginally on one side.

"I'll take that as a yes." He turned to leave, but he paused at the door, looking back at Remus, his expression even more somber than usual. "No one knows you're here. You're safe now."

Closing his eyes, Remus searched his memory, trying to reconstruct what had happened. He'd been at home... the Death Eaters surrounded him... One of them had cast a spell... "Morpheus"... That was it, but he couldn't remember ever learning about that spell, or what it was supposed to do.

"Here. Drink this."

At the sound of Snape's voice, Remus' eyes flew open, and he found a mug of steaming hot broth being offered to him. He accepted it with a grateful smile and sipped it gingerly, glad that Snape hadn't brought it in a bowl. He didn't feel steady enough to manage a spoon yet. As Remus drank the broth, Snape fetched the chair by the hearth and placed it near the bed, settling himself as if he intended to remain a while.

"Do you remember what curse they used on you?" Snape asked after Remus had finished nearly half the mug. "From the effects, it looked like the Morpheus curse. Does that sound right?"

He nodded, and Snape's expression turned grim.

"What do you know about it?"

Remus shook his head to indicate he knew nothing.

"It's not among the Unforgiveable Curses," Snape told him. "But it probably should be. Under the influence of the Morpheus curse, the victim is plunged into a world straight from his own nightmares. He is trapped within his own mind, where his worst fears are brought out and used against him. It's a particularly effective form of psychological torture. It also has the potential to be deadly, should the victim's nightmare images inflict damage on his dream-self."

Remus went still, remembering the wolves and how they had attacked him. He remembered being sprawled on the ground, watching his own blood pool among the fallen leaves. He remembered the world greying out...

"You were quite lucky."

Staring into the depths of the mug, Remus gave an indifferent shrug. He was alive, yes, but he wasn't certain he'd call that lucky.

Once again his life had been thrown into turmoil, and he'd been uprooted from a place he'd wanted to call home. He doubted much, if anything, from his little cottage was salvageable. Death Eaters were notoriously thorough, and even though Snape had arrived in time to stop them from killing him, he doubted he had anything left to return to. Besides, how was he to explain his disappearance after the attack? No, his life there had been destroyed along with his belongings. He would have to start over somewhere else -- again.

Part of him was beginning to wonder if it was worth the bother.

Of course, another part of him loudly wondered why the bloody hell Snape had showed up there in the first place. A few months prior, a little hopeful voice would have whispered that perhaps it meant he did still care, but that voice was dead. No doubt, it was simply that Dumbledore needed Remus for The Cause, and had sent Snape to deliver the message, nothing more.

Suddenly, he felt warm fingers grasping his chin, tilting it up, and he was forced to meet Snape's piercing gaze; dark eyes searched his face, turning stormy at what they read there.

"Damn it all," Snape muttered, releasing his chin as abruptly as he'd seized it. "I am not going to discuss anything with you right now, no matter how necessary it is," he said curtly. "You need rest, and your throat needs to heal. You screamed it raw. You could lose your voice if you don't stay quiet." He rose to his feet and glared down at Remus. "So shut up, stay put, and go to sleep. We'll discuss this when you're recovered, and not a moment before."

Your bedside manner is sorely lacking, Remus thought, returning Snape's glare and hoping the message got across in his eyes, since he couldn't deliver it aloud.

Pivoting on his heel, Snape strode out of the room, not quite slamming the door behind himself. Stewing in resentment, Remus set the mug aside and burrowed deep under the thick covers, careful not to jostle Morgause too much. Who did Snape think he was, anyway? Telling him to shut up and sleep. Tyrannical bastard, Remus fumed. And what the devil did he think they had to talk about, anyway? Remus had nothing to say to him. It had all been said and done in June, and there was nothing left.

Nothing.

"Mrrw?"

He felt another touch of a damp nose, on his cheek this time, and he turned his head to look at Morgause. She was watching him intently, as if she had sensed his agitation somehow.

"I'm fine," he whispered. "But I'll be even better when I'm away from here."

Away from him.

Morgause gave him a look that was eerily reminiscent of Snape's own "you're an idiot" look before curling up again, this time with her back to him.

Fine, be that way, he thought, rolling over on his side. I only saved your life, that's all.

And Snape saved yours, a wee voice in the back of his mind reminded him.

Remus pulled the covers over his head and ignored the voice, ignored Morgause, ignored everything until he lost himself in the oblivion of sleep.

*~*~*

For the next two days, Remus saw more of Morgause and Nibley, Snape's house elf, than he did of Snape. Morgause seemed to be in charge of monitoring his progress, and Nibley took care of his comforts, including bringing his meals, changing the bedclothes, and drawing baths. Nibley was a cheerful elf, who was quite proud of his role in helping Remus.

"Nibley is knowing all of Master's bottles," he informed Remus, puffing up his chest with pride. "Master says get something, and Nibley gets it. I is helping Master save Mr. Remus' life!"

Between the two, Remus was so well looked after that he barely had to lift a finger for himself, but Snape kept his distance; despite Remus was still furious, he was also hurt by Snape's ignoring him, which made him annoyed with himself. As soon as he was well enough, he vowed, he would leave. He would sneak out if he had to, but he would put as much distance between himself and Snape... as soon as he could walk farther than from his bed to the bathroom without feeling as if his legs were going to give out beneath him.

The first day, he did little more than sleep and eat the thick stew Nibley brought. According to Nibley, who imparted the information with a somber air, that was to be expected. The Morpheus curse was a mental and physical drain, and Remus had been far closer to death than he realized. On the second day, he felt his strength returning, but he was consigned to bedrest.

"You may feel as if you're ready to get up," Snape said during his morning visit, "but you shouldn't push yourself. Rest, and regain your energy."

Other than offering to bring Remus some books, Snape left him alone after that, and Remus told himself he was glad. A tight knot of anger still burned in his chest, and if he let himself think about the last time he'd seen Snape, he began seething with resentment all over again.

The next morning, Nibley came to fetch him for a bath, and he followed the house elf to the bathroom, wishing he knew where his clothes were. He'd been wearing the same nightshirt -- one of Snape's, no doubt -- since his arrival, and he was ready for a change.

He sank down into the steaming hot water as Nibley whisked the nightshirt away for a quick cleaning, leaning back and closing his eyes. The heat penetrated his muscles, relaxing him, and he let his mind wander. Sweat beaded at his temples and rolled down his face, reminding him of a hot July afternoon when he'd helped his nearest neighbor with his garden. Mr. Farnon was elderly, his hands stricken with mild arthritis, and Remus had volunteered to help weed, hoe, and harvest throughout the summer. They had spent the afternoon in question weeding out rows of vegetables, and Mr. Farnon had done most of the talking, recounting stories of his youth as Remus listened and soaked up the warmth of the sun as it beat down on them and warmed the earth beneath his hands.

Emotion clogged his throat at the memory, and he felt his eyelids prickling.

It was one more loss in a string of many, and he had accepted the inevitable pattern of his life long ago. But acceptance of what he could not change didn't make the hurt go away. He had to work through that first; he had to release his anger and pain before he could reach the point of peaceful acceptance again, but to do it here... under Snape's roof... where Snape might discover how vulnerable he was...

But in the end, his own needs were more important than some silly notion of pride. Remus had to deal with this pain, had to face it and let it go. Otherwise, it would continue to eat at him, and he'd end up just like Sirius and Snape: angry, bitter, festering with old pain. He had chosen not to walk that path years ago, and he wouldn't allow this set-back to cause him to stray now.

Hugging his knees to his chest, he rocked back and forth in the soothing bathwater, beginning to work through the healing process he had developed over the years to help him cope: all anger was rooted in fear; expose the fear to the light of scrutiny, and the anger would shrivel and die.

To begin with, he was angry. Why? Because Snape had refused to listen to him and to accept the truth. But, he reminded himself, Snape was acting out of anger as well, and he did have a reason, albeit a misguided one, for being angry, just as Remus did. All things considered, he understood why Snape distrusted him, even if he didn't like it.

On to the next level.

Why else was he angry? Because after almost twenty years apart, he thought he had a chance to claim his mate at last, only to be rejected. Again. He was tired of being separated from his mate; he was tired of being alone; he was tired of feeling a constant, dull ache in his heart because part of it -- the part that had been and always would be with Snape -- was missing. It looked as if he would spend the rest of his life bound to, yet cut off from the one person he wanted to share it with.

But it could be worse, he thought. At least he had found his mate, even if they couldn't be together. That was far better than never having loved at all. And above all else, Snape was still alive. Considering how many lives had been lost during Voldemort's attempt to gain power, Snape might easily have been among the casualties, but he was alive and well. Where there was life, there was hope, after all.

What else lay behind his anger? Fear... fear of rejection, such as he had faced many times, in many ways. It was worse, coming from someone he loved. The pain bit deeper, and it was harder to let go. But he had faced the worst blow Snape could deal him, and he had survived it. There was nothing left to fear. He was stronger, and nothing else Snape did or said could hurt him any worse than he already had been.

So what was left? Nothing. He had reached the bottom and, breathing in deep, cleansing breaths, he began moving back up from anger and despair to peace and acceptance once more.

By the time he opened his eyes again, the water was cold, and his knees were aching; he winced as he unfolded his legs and began slowly climbing out of the bathtub. A few more ablutions -- brushing his teeth and shaving off two days' worth of itchy beard stubble among them -- and he cracked the door open, knowing Nibley would be waiting outside with the clean nightshirt.

Nibley was indeed waiting, but in addition to the nightshirt, he also had a dark green dressing gown for Remus as well.

"Master says today you may be going to the parlor," he explained as Remus accepted the clothes with quiet thanks.

Remus pulled on the nightshirt and dressing gown as quickly as he could, ready to enjoy the unexpected pleasure of not having to spend another day stuck in bed. The scent of mint wafted up from the folds of the dressing gown, and Remus inhaled it deeply, a rueful pang constricting his heart. Under different circumstances, it would be a delicious intimacy to wear Snape's clothes, but this... this was merely expediency.

When he walked into the parlor, Snape was there, sitting in a chair by the fire, reading. He glanced up when Remus arrived, marked his place in the book and set it aside.

"Would you care for some tea?" Snape gestured to the pot and two cups and saucers on the nearby tea table.

"Yes, thanks very much," Remus answered politely as he sat down in the overstuffed wingback chair across from Snape. His throat was still a little sore, but Snape had told him the redness and swelling had diminished enough that he could speak again; his voice sounded rough and raspy to his own ears, but at least he hadn't lost it.

Snape served him, and they plodded through the paces of an awkward social dance, avoiding eye contact and pretending the silence between them wasn't oppressive. It wasn't until Remus set aside his empty cup that Snape reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out the cracked and splintered remains of Remus' wand. Remus took them, fingering the pieces lightly, but seeing them didn't make him feel as sad as they once might have done. They were little more than symbols of a broken life he'd left behind months before.

"I'm sorry. This was my fault."

Remus' head snapped up, and he stared at Snape, shocked at hearing those words coming out of Snape's mouth. They were spoken in a low, tight voice, and Snape's pained expression revealed how difficult it was for him to speak them, but he had done it.

My God, Remus thought, fighting to keep his lower jaw from unhinging. He's actually taking responsibility for his actions. He's growing up at last...

With that, the walls crumbled, and every ounce of love Remus felt came flooding back full force. There was a reason he had chosen Severus Snape as his mate, and he was being reminded of it now: as proud and insufferable as he might be at times, Severus was also just and 1000 honorable, in his own way. Remus wanted nothing more than to let his heart swell with pride, but he knew that wasn't the best way to handle Severus. Not if he wanted the lesson to stick.

"You're right. It was," he replied quietly, keeping his expression neutral. "They knew what I am. You've ruined me, Severus. Why do you think I was living among Muggles? It wasn't my first choice. It was the only option left after word spread about me."

"I wasn't thinking..."

"No, you weren't. No more than Sirius was thinking the night he led you to the Shrieking Shack."

"Don't you dare draw comparisons between Black and me!" Severus snarled, clutching the arms of his chair.

"How can I not, when you've both behaved in exactly the same way?" Remus retorted sharply, not about to back down. "You're both always so damned certain you're right. You lash out like spiteful children to assuage your anger, using words like knives to cut and sting your victims. Bollocks, all of it. If I had any sense, I'd tell both of you to piss off for good."

"Is that what you want to do?" Snape asked stiffly. "Is that what you intend to do?"

"No, the more fool me." He put the shattered pieces of his wand on the tea table and folded his hands. "So tell me: what were you doing there in the first place?"

Severus didn't pretend not to know what he meant. "I'd been looking for you," he admitted, turning his gaze toward the fire rather than to Remus. "Albus scolded me, I did a lot of thinking over the summer, and..." He gave an elegant shrug. "I was forced to accept that I was wrong. What happened in the Shrieking Shack was all Black's doing, none of yours. I... thought it only fair to let you know."

"What finally convinced you?" Remus leaned forward in his chair, waiting for the answer.

"I remembered how desperately you tried to get to me afterward," he replied. "In hindsight, I realized if you had been guilty of conspiring against me, you wouldn't have bothered trying to talk to me afterward. You would have been in the Gryffindor dormitory, laughing and gloating with your friends. I lost count of how many times you tried to approach me, and I wouldn't listen. I didn't want to listen. I thought I knew what had happened."

"But why, Severus? How could you believe me capable of betraying you like that?"

"From my perspective, it made perfect sense," Severus said matter-of-factly. "You were Black's friend beginning our very first year at Hogwarts. You shared a history with him. A bond. Until our sixth year, you and I were nothing to each other. What were a few months of some odd, nebulous rapport compared to six years of friendship?"

Looking at it from that angle, Remus had to admit he could see Severus' point, even if he didn't agree with it.

"I had no reason to believe you cared enough about me to risk losing Black, especially since I also knew you loved him."

"It was a crush," Remus corrected. "It faded away quickly enough." He caught himself before he blurted out the truth: his crush on Sirius had dissipated like mist in sunlight once he felt the first stirrings of love for Severus.

"I wasn't aware of that."

"I should have told you," he conceded, acknowledging his part in the whole mess. "I did care enough about you to stand up to Sirius. We argued about you the morning before the Shrieking Shack incident, and I'm not so sure that wasn't what pushed Sirius into doing it in the first place. He was furious when I defended you, and in a way, he tried to make me choose between you and him. If he had pushed me for a decision, he would have lost by default." Remus' tawny brown eyes darkened, and his tone held a warning note. "So would you, had you forced me to choose."

"I would never have done that," Severus said quietly. "I was too certain I would lose."

"And Sirius was too certain he would win," Remus sighed. "I should have faced my fear and told you the truth about how I felt sooner."

"I would say I should have had more faith in you, but we both know trust is hardly my strong point." He shrugged and spread his hands. "But I was wrong about what happened, and I was wrong about you."

"And?"

"And what?" Severus' eyebrows snapped together. "I've apologized. I've admitted I was wrong. What more do you want?"

"I think you know."

A long moment of silence spun out between them, with the popping and crackling of the fire the only sounds in the room as Severus leveled an unblinking gaze at him.

"We can never go back," Severus said at last.

"I know. But is there any reason why we can't start over?"

"I've changed. I'm not the person you knew then."

"Then let me get to know the person you are now. I'm not asking for any promises or commitments, Severus. All I want is a chance to see what might happen, if we let it."

As if he could no longer bear to sit still, Severus rose to his feet abruptly and moved to stand in front of the hearth, his back to the room.

"It's all very well to say what we should have done then, but there's no guarantee things would have worked out between us. If Black hadn't caused a rift, there were other factors that would have done it later."

"Such as?" Remus frowned slightly, puzzled and intrigued, but Severus gave a dismissive wave and refused to elaborate. "Fine, but whatever those factors were, they're also in the past." Remus stood and went to Severus' side, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's over. Let's forget all of it and start anew."

There was another long moment of silence, but this time, when Severus turned his head to look at Remus, amusement lurked in the depths of his eyes.

"I do hope you're not expecting me to break down and weep in your arms, or something equally soppy."

"If you did, you wouldn't be the Severus I know."

He nodded, then turned his gaze back to the fire, and they stood that way for a while: side by side, Remus' hand on Severus' shoulder, and Severus allowing it. Nothing more was said. Perhaps, Remus thought, everything that could be said at that point had been. After a time, Severus murmured something about needing to check on a potion, and he walked away, pausing once to glance back at Remus.

"I'm pleased to see the despair is gone from your eyes."

And then Severus was gone, leaving Remus alone with his thoughts and, he noticed, a plateful of chocolate biscuits. Curling up in his chair again, Remus snagged the plate and munched the biscuits, feeling far more at peace than he had mere hours before.

*~*~*

"Lupin."

The sound of his name, softly as it was called, penetrated Remus' light doze and roused him to wakefulness again; he blinked, yawned, and looked around to orient himself. He was still in the parlor, still in the same chair, only with a book in his lap, and he decided he must have drifted off while reading. Severus stood nearby, a piece of parchment in his hand, and Remus noticed it had the Hogwarts seal on it.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, sitting up straight and inadvertantly letting the book slip from his lap.

"No." Severus shook his head and glanced down at the parchment. "Albus has summoned all the faculty back early."

"So... you won't be here for the next two weeks?"

"No, for I must away." He refolded the parchment and tucked it away in a hidden pocket. "Hogwarts is hosting a special event this year, and there are preparations to be made." He waved one hand, clearly irritated by all the fuss and bother. "But there are some things I want to settle with you before I go."

Remus leaned back in his chair, eying Severus warily. "Such as?"

"Here." Severus reached into his robes again and pulled out a small pouch, the metallic clinks from within telling Remus that it contained coins. "I want you to go to Ollivander's, and buy a new wand. I'd do it myself, but you know Ollivander's policy: the wand chooses the wizard, and all that rubbish."

"Severus, I can't--"

"You can and you will," Severus interrupted him sternly. "It's the least I can do, all things considered. Think of it as a belated Christmas gift, if you must."

Remus nodded, disappointed, but not surprised by the implications of that remark, and he accepted the pouch in silence.

"Apparate there, and straight back again, and try to be seen as little as possible," Severus continued with his instructions. "No one other than myself and Albus knows what happened to you, or where you are. I pulled up my hood before I went charging into the fray, which means the Death Eaters cannot link your rescue to me. They probably have doubts whether you even survived, and the less they know, the better."

"Of course." Remus stared down at his hands in his lap, not really seeing them. He had thought he would be able to coax Severus into letting him remain until the term began, but it appeared he would have to begin searching for a place to start over again sooner than expected.

"There's something else I want you to do."

Remus lifted his gaze to Severus' face, which was as closed as usual. "What's that?"

"Stay here."

"What?"

"Stay. Here. What's so damned hard to understand about that?" Severus replied, his voice generously laced with irritation. "You've been targeted by the Death Eaters, for God's sake. You need a safe place to stay. This house," he gestured to the stone walls, "not only has the benefit of being in a remote, sparsely populated area, but it also has... certain protections on it." A negligent shrug punctuated that casual remark. "Nothing so elaborate or effective as Hogwarts, but it will suffice."

"I can't -- I won't hide forever," Remus said sharply.

"Not forever, just the year. Perhaps by then, Voldemort's intentions will be clearer." Severus paused, then added darkly, "or you'll be needed elsewhere." Suddenly turning business-like again, he clapped his hands together. "Now then, there's a cauldron of the wolfsbane potion in my workroom. You needn't do anything to it, except make certain it remains on low heat until you've finished taking it for the month. If you think it's disgusting hot, you'll find it doubly so cold."

"It tastes worse?" Remus could scarcely imagine that was even possible.

"It congeals."

"Oh, God..." He made a mental note never to let the fire go out beneath that cauldron, if he had to spend the night on the floor next to it.

"You'll also find a trunk in the cellar. I salvaged what I could from your cottage. There wasn't much left, but what I found is in there." He paused, thinking. "I believe that covers it. If not, I'll send you an owl."

With that, he turned as if to leave, and Remus jumped up, stretching out his hand.

"Wait!" he cried, and Severus glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised. "That's it? That's your idea of saying good-bye?"

"What is it you want, exactly?" Severus turned to face him again and folded his arms. "Roses? A tear-stained letter?"

Remus laughed and shook his head. "All right, fine. You've said good-bye your way. Now I'm going to say it my way."

He stalked towards Severus with a rolling, predatory gait and a wicked gleam in his eyes as he closed in on his prey. Severus backed up a step involuntarily before he caught himself and stood his ground, dark eyes filled with curiosity, but not apprehension. Remus moved in close and slid one arm around Severus' waist; Severus rested his hands on Remus' shoulders as if he intended to push him away, but somehow, he never got around to doing it.

With gentle fingers, Remus stroked the small expanse of skin revealed between Severus' jaw and his high-collared shirt and waistcoat, breathing deeply of his mate's scent now that he had the luxury of being so close. He felt the heat of Severus' body radiating even through the layers of clothes, heard the slight acceleration of his breathing. Sheer proximity was causing Remus' instincts to rampage, urging him to take his mate now, but he knew giving in to that impulse would do more damage than he could ever repair.

Instead, he pushed the fabric down and sealed his mouth over that exposed patch of skin, sucking hard enough to draw blood to the surface.

"What the blo -- oh..."

Severus' fingers gripped his shoulders tighter, but he didn't stop until he was certain he had created a mark. Then he drew a tight little pattern within the boundaries of the mark with his tongue before stepping back and giving Severus his most disingenuous smile.

"Something to remember me by," he said as he smoothed the collars back into place.

"You really must want to go all the way back to the beginning, giving me a hickey like some hormonally charged adolescent." But while his tone held its usual hint of annoyance, there was no heat behind the words, which Remus assumed meant he didn't mind, or perhaps didn't mind enough to get angry about it.

At least, not until he finds out the truth, Remus thought wickedly.

"All done with our leave-taking?" Severus raised a questioning eyebrow, and Remus tried to look innocent.

"Yes, Severus," he said as meekly as he could manage, but Severus' quiet snort said he didn't pull it off well.

"Good. I'll be off, then, as soon as I collect Morgause." Once more he made as if to leave, and once more, he paused, this time to level a warning look at Remus. "Be careful," he reiterated.

"You too," Remus replied, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of the dressing gown to keep himself from running over and claiming a kiss. Or more.

A curt nod was the only answer he got before Severus was gone, the door closing behind him. Remus released a slow sigh, rocking back and forth on his heels as he thought about all that had transpired within the last few minutes. For the next nine months, he had a place to stay, which was a huge relief, and he had reached a tenuous agreement with Severus. A rather unexpected but not unwelcome turn of events.

Whistling to himself, he headed to the celler to check the trunk and see what remained to him, wondering exactly how much righteous indignation Severus Snape was capable of communicating in writing, or if he'd just send a Howler instead.

Oh, yes, he thought with a pleased little smile, life had definitely taken a most interesting new turn.

TBC in Wicked Game II: Let Me Dream of You