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coriariaSummary: loneliness, desperation and pity are a poor basis for a relationship.
Pairings: Lupin/ Snape, Lupin/ Tonks, reference to others from HBP and DH.
Word count: 7900
Era: Half-blood prince and start of Deathly Hallows
Warnings: *Angst. Anal sex. Canon character death. Illness. Reference to torture. Gratuitous hurt/ comfort.* (highlight to view)
Rating: R? NC-17?
Notes: this is a standalone fic but fits within the context of a longer story "Cast in the Mould".
Disclaimer: this is a work of fan fiction. All recognisable characters belong to JK Rowling, as does the dialogue in section 2 which is taken directly from HBP. I make no profit from this etc.
1.
The werewolf looked as if he hadn’t bathed or shaved since Black had fallen through the veil. His hair was a matted mess which would have embarrassed even James Potter and puffy, bloodshot eyes peered out of a face covered with scruffy stubble. His expression was haunted. He was surrounded by empty firewhisky bottles, and the whole cottage stank of unwashed flesh.
He was also nearly naked. The only item of clothing he wore was a faded pair of checked boxer shorts. His skin was covered with scars – there were so many across his chest that the hair seemed to grow only in patches. But underneath the muscles were firm. His legs were long and his hips slighly bony. And he seemed entirely unselfconscious about his state of undress.
“Severus?” Lupin said hesitantly, as if two weeks in a drunken stupor had robbed him of the ability to recognise his colleagues. There was a slight slur to his voice, confirming Snape’s assessment that Lupin was still drunk.
“Lupin, you look and smell as if you’ve bathed in hippogriff urine.”
Lupin flinched, and Snape realised the reference to hippogriffs was probably interpreted as a dig at Black and his pet.
“Come to gloat then, Severus? I’m really not in the mood.”
He turned away and Snape definitely didn’t look at the scarred, muscled back and tight buttocks. Nor did Snape watch as Lupin leaned down to rummage in the back of a cupboard, or as he stood again, clutching a vial in one hand and unconsciously scratching his balls with the other.
“Knew I had some Sober-up potion somewhere.”
Lupin downed the contents of the vial then stood blinking at Snape. Eventually he sighed.
“Don’t suppose you have any hangover potion on you, do you Severus?”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Lupin, go and clean yourself up and put some clothes on.”
Lupin shuffled out the back door and began to splash water over his face from a basin in the makeshift bathroom beside the back step. He walked over to what appeared to be an old-fashioned privy, then reappeared a few minutes later. He retrieved his wand and cast a few cleaning charms over himself before running a comb through his hair.
He returned inside and turned his back to Snape, pulling clean underwear from a drawer. As if Snape wasn’t even in the room, he simply pulled off the old boxer shorts and replaced them with a clean, but equally faded, pair before pulling on trousers and a crumpled shirt. Snape turned his back, grateful that his robe hid the fact that he found the sight of Lupin’s bare arse more appealing than he should have.
Lupin made himself a cup of coffee, boiling the water by tapping his wand on the side of a mug and scooping in an excessive amount of cheap instant coffee. He drank it unsweetended and black, making a face at the flavour. He drank about half the cup before turning his attention back to Snape.
“Is there a reason you are here, Severus? It seems an awfully long way to come just to insult me, even for you.”
Snape pulled a bottle from his robe and placed it on the bench.
“Albus asked me to make it for you. Well, told me. I wasn’t given a choice.”
Lupin looked dubiously at the bottle.
“Wolfsbane,” Snape added. “He was clearly worried you would do something stupid at the full moon in your… state.”
“He said that, did he?”
There was an undertone to Lupin’s voice, a unexpected hint of bitterness.
“He… his exact words, I believe, were “the poor boy is overwrought. I’m concerned. Having the Wolfsbane this month will help him to restore his equilibrium”.”
Lupin gave a slight snort.
“He didn’t happen to mention why he thought I was overwrought, did he? Or what he’s asked me to do?”
“No. I thought… well, Black.”
Lupin sighed and his shoulders sagged.
“And the rest of it,” he said.
“The rest of it?”
“Three days after Sirius has gone, and Albus tells me he’s got a mission for me. You know Fenrir Greyback? Or of him, at least. He’s aligned himself with Voldemort, and he’s been… recruiting. Albus wants me to go and join his pack, try and talk them around. I’m to leave after this full moon. Getting you to make the Wolfsbane is… I suppose it’s intended to be some sort of compensation.”
Lupin’s jaw was tense, his hands balled into fists.
“Are you scared to go, Lupin? Don’t like the company of your own kind?”
“Not particularly, Severus, no. Well, yes and no.”
“It’s a war, Lupin. We all have to do things we don’t want to do.”
“You think I don’t know that, Severus?”
Suddenly the werewolf was in Snape’s face, breath smelling of cheap coffee and his lip curled into a snarl.
“I’ve done everything he’s asked of me, I’ve put my life on the line more times than I care to remember, through two wars. I’ve done all the nasty little jobs that he won’t mention at the Order meetings because I know I’m lucky to even be at the table, but this… this is… Merlin’s arse, Fenrir fucking Greyback. I have to grovel at the feet of the bastard who turned me. I was four. Four years old, and he turned me into this monster. That’s who Albus wants me to cosy up to.”
Lupin was shaking now, closer to losing control than Snape had ever seen him. It was a frightening thought, seeing such a calm man pushed to the edge. But that’s what Dumbledore did. He would ask whatever he thought was necessary, without flinching, whatever it cost the person he asked it from. Snape knew that only too well.
“Pull yourself together, Lupin,” Snape said, but his voice was less harsh than he intended it to be. The close proximity of the man he’d wanted for years was having an uncomfortable effect on him. He wanted to be even closer, and he took a step forward without realising what he was doing. He lifted one hand to Lupin’s arm.
Lupin went very still and Snape could feel tense muscles under his fingers.
“Lupin, I…”.
He tried, but he had no idea what to say.
“I know, Severus,” Lupin said softly. “You understand. You’re the only one who could. Going back to Voldemort, time and again.”
“Don’t say his name.”
“Sorry.”
Then Lupin leaned into him, and before Snape quite knew what was happening they were wrapped in eachothers arms. Lupin’s strong arms were tight around him and his soft lips were brushing against his neck. He tilted his head slightly and slid one hand down Lupin’s back, pressing the bony hips closer and rubbing his already firm erection against Lupin’s thigh. Then they were falling onto Lupin’s bed and Snape was pulling at Lupin’s clothes and thrusting his hips and whimpering with need. Lupin reached up and unbuttoned his shirt and then his trousers, sliding them down over his hips and then doing the same for Snape. He took Snape’s cock in his hand then leaned over to whisper in Snape’s ear.
“Do you want to fuck me, Severus?”
Snape made a sound which was intended to be “yes” but was more of an incoherent moan. Lupin twisted himself around and offered Snape his back and buttocks. Snape suddenly stilled, hesitating. After wanting Lupin for so long, he felt unsure of what to do with him.
After a long moment, Lupin grabbed his wand and murmured a few words. Snape felt his erection slick with lubricant and realised with relief that Lupin had prepared himself. And then Snape was urgently, desperately penetrating him, hands scrabbling at Lupin’s shirt, hips thrusting, breath panting. He had come before he really knew it was happening, giving an inarticulate cry and collapsing across Lupin’s back. He could feel Lupin taking care of himself, but couldn’t bring himself to reach forward and help him.
When Lupin came with a long shudder and a soft whimper, Snape stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling dirty and ashamed. He grabbed for his wand and cast a vicious scourgify over both of them. It felt like sandpaper on his genitals and evidently had the same effect on Lupin, who jumped and gave a startled squawk.
“Ow, Severus, what the hell?” he said, giving Snape a wounded look. “You don’t use that for… intimate situations.”
Snape looked away, embarrassed, and began to rebutton his disarrayed clothes.
“Severus, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Lupin,” Snape snarled back.
Concern showing on his face, Lupin rose from the bed and reached towards Snape.
“You haven’t done this much, have you Severus?” he asked gently.
Snape was suddenly defensive, folding his arms across his chest.
“What do you mean, Lupin? I have plenty of experience.”
Lupin frowned slightly.
“I didn’t mean it like… to imply… I just, well, you didn’t seem very confident in what you were doing, that’s all. And now you seem upset. I realise that I made some assumptions…”
“Assumptions, Lupin?”
“Well, I assumed you would prefer to top, but I realise I don’t know that. I don’t even really know whether you usually go with men or women. I… I hope…”
Lupin lifted his hand to Snape’s face.
“I, however, have no such uncertainty, Lupin. You are clearly a bottom, you’re so passive and spineless you’d just lie there and take it from anyone.”
Lupin withdrew his hand and crossed his arms, his face closing down.
“Statements like that, Severus, simply reinforce the impression that you don’t know a lot about sex. You talk as if it’s something that one person does to another, rather than something that two people share. It’s a rather… adolescent view of it.”
“That’s how it was with you and Black, was it, Lupin? Rather than just you taking it up the arse. That’s what they used to say about you at school, you know. That you took it up the arse for Black and Potter. And Pettigrew.”
There was a flickering of emotion in Lupin’s eyes and Snape wondered if he had actually succeeded in angering the implacable werewolf twice in one day. But then Lupin sighed instead.
“Sirius and I weren’t… it wasn’t… there wasn’t ever anything sexual between us. Between any of us. Not that it’s any of your business, Severus.”
“So the fact you followed Black around like a whipped puppy? That was just because you enjoyed his company as a friend?”
Lupin gave another sigh. His face was suddenly sad.
“Does it make you happy, Severus? Hurting people?”
“What?”
“You lash out at the least excuse – Harry, Sirius, me… I don’t understand you. Do you enjoy being hurtful? Do you get something from it?”
Snape stepped back, searching for his next barb. He remembered this from the year they had taught together, that when it came to verbal sparring the werewolf was cunning and inventive, taking the conversation through convoluted twists and turns which could easily throw him off balance.
“Or is it a case of hurting others before they hurt you? Is that it, Severus? You’re just trying to protect yourself?”
Snape straightened his posture and fixed Lupin with a glare.
“I merely state the truth, Lupin. Unlike you.”
Lupin had the grace to look slightly ashamed, and Snape went for the jugular.
“Did it every cross your mind, Lupin, that in your fear of stating the truth because it might hurt people, you have ended up hurting people more?”
Lupin dropped his head and gave a sigh.
“That irony had not escaped me, Severus. It’s been a painful realisation, but one that I am now aware of. It’s one reason that I’m trying to do things differently now.”
He gave another sigh, then looked up with a determined expression on his face. He straighened his shoulders slightly, and spoke again.
“So, in that spirit – did it ever cross your mind, Severus, that by hurting others in order to protect yourself from being hurt, you are actually causing yourself more suffering, not less? You may not think so, but there are people who care about you. You could have friends, Severus. But you just drive everyone away, don’t you. Never letting anyone in.”
That silenced Snape. The comment was brutally close to the truth and for a moment he could only gape in reply. When he saw the look of concern return to Lupin’s face, he knew he had to get out of there. He took a step backwards and gestured to the bottle where it sat on the bench.
“You should drink some of the potion. Since I went to the trouble...”
“Oh, of course, Severus. Thank you.”
Snape turned and fled.
2.
Remus Lupin was an expert in denial. He’d taken his first lessons in his parents’ cellar, curled naked on the cold floor, imagining life as a quiddich star instead of thinking about the bonewrenching pain which awaited him. He’d had years of practice at Hogwarts, ignoring the fact that the only friends he’d ever had were actually not that nice to him sometimes, and that they treated others a lot worse than they treated him. He’d honed his skills during the first war, when he tried to ignore the growing distance his friends were putting between them. And then he’d achieved true mastery in the long lonely years living hand to mouth and trying to avoid revealing his secrets by never becoming close to anyone. If he had needed proof of his skill, he had it in the year he’d taught at Hogwarts. He had managed to convince himself that the fact Sirius was an animagus had nothing to do with how he was getting into Hogwarts, therefore avoiding the need to mention it to Dumbledore.
Now, however, he was finding it hard to retreat from reality. He realised that it was time he accepted that he was what wizards called “crooked”, and muggles called gay.
The fact that he’d slept with more men than women was largely irrelevant, in his mind. When he was desperate for companionship, he would take whatever was on offer. He’d discovered that if he went to certain bars, it didn’t really take much effort to find someone. But it was generally men who approached him.
Who or what he wanted hadn’t really entered his consideration. All his life he’d been told that nobody would want him if they knew him, if they knew what he was. He’d learned to be grateful for whatever scraps of attention and affection were thrown his way.
The first time he’d had sex with Severus Snape had undoubtedly been a mistake. He’d had his suspicions about Snape wanting him for a while – although the idea of it was so strange he’d largely put it out of his mind. But when Snape had turned up at Lupin’s cottage, all sneers and insults and repressed need, he couldn’t deny it any more. And Lupin had been lonely and desperate, and felt sorry for Snape.
It wasn’t really a good reason for sleeping with someone. It had been a mutually unsatisfying coupling followed by a rather bitter argument, and ended with Snape storming off.
The next time he had seen Snape was weeks later, at Grimmaud Plance. The man had been as vicious as ever in his insults and they’d ended up with their cocks pressed together and getting eachother off in one of the upstairs bathrooms. Snape had returned to Hogwarts and Lupin to the werewolves, and that was that.
They’d settled into a routine with the Order meetings. Lupin would be painfully polite and Snape sarcastically insulting. Then Lupin would evade his pink-haired shadow to join Snape in one of the less-used rooms. Snape would ward the room to prevent interruptions and Lupin would be responsible for the spells to clean them up afterwards. After his first experience with Snape, Lupin wasn’t prepared to trust him with that again. Then they would part without goodbyes and return to playing their respective roles.
It was his relationship, or whatever it was, with Snape which had finally made Lupin confront his sexuality. He had always been able to justify what he did with “beggars can’t be choosers”. But for the first time in his life, Lupin found himself with a choice. And when a beautiful, vibrant young woman offered body, heart and soul to him, Lupin found himself rejecting her in favour of the deeply flawed man who offered him little more than regular insults and occasional sex. But Snape and Lupin understood eachother, and that mutual understanding was worth more than anything else.
It was that understanding that left Lupin often finding himself in the role of intercessor, or even Snape’s defender. The presence of a former Death Eater in the Order caused a similar degree of disquiet among its members as the presence of a werewolf had in the first war. And Lupin knew the result of that only too well. It concerned him particularly that Harry was so determined to see Snape as the enemy, watching him with an obsession that was distinctly unhealthy and reporting on every scowl or comment as if it was a sign of betrayal.
He was doing it again at Christmas, when Lupin gained a brief respite from life among the werewolves. Although grateful to be invited for Christmas, he wasn’t in the mood for the chaos of the Burrow and tried to stay out of the discussion. But Harry launched into yet another round of speculation on Snape’s actions and motives, and Lupin leaned across to join, or preferably end, the conversation.
“It isn’t our business to know,” he said, interrupting Harry’s rant on Snape’s intent to Arthur Weasley, who wasn’t having much success calming him down. "It's Dumbledore's business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us."
"But," said Harry, leaning in towards him, his green eyes burning with an intense fervour, "just say… just say Dumbledore’s wrong about Snape."
Lupin sighed. There was so much more to it than Harry knew, than Harry could know.
"People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus."
"But Dumbledore can make mistakes," argued Harry. "He says it himself. And you" – he looked Lupin straight in the eye – “do you honestly like Snape?"
Lupin looked back at Harry, his gaze unflinching.
"I neither like nor dislike Severus," said Lupin mildly. It was completely true. They were tepid emotions, like and dislike, and Lupin’s feelings for Snape were not tepid. Complicated, confusing and sometimes troubling, tense frustration, melting sympathy, burning lust, cold rage, anything but tepid.
Harry rolled his eyes and made a face.
"No, Harry, I am speaking the truth. We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there.”
That, Harry could not argue with.
“But…” Lupin continued, searching for something he appreciated about Snape that he could say to Harry. Something that wasn’t about the hungry look in the spy’s eyes when they met, the fierce need of their coupling, the brief moments afterwards when Snape’s mask slipped and his face was vulnerable and almost tender. He would drop his eyes and thank Lupin rather formally when he cleaned them both up, and Lupin’s heart would melt just a little at the glimpse of a man as lonely and lost as he.
Lupin drew himself back to the present moment, to the way Harry leaned forward, hands clenched into fists.
“I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon."
"But he 'accidentally' let it slip that you're a werewolf, so you had to leave!" said Harry angrily.
Lupin remembered Snape’s wounded eyes. He didn’t have it in him to feel angry at the man for revealing his secret.
"The news would have leaked out anyway. We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful."
"Maybe he didn't dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!" said Harry.
Lupin masked his irritation at Harry’s singlemindedness with a small smile.
"You are determined to hate him, Harry."
He couldn’t blame the boy, really. Snape had transferred his loathing of James Potter to his son and had behaved in a disappointingly juvenile and petty manner. Nor had Sirius been helpful.
"And I understand; with James as your father, with Sirius as your godfather, you have inherited an old prejudice. By all means tell Dumbledore what you have told Arthur and me, but do not expect him to share your view of the matter; do not even expect him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might have been on Dumbledore's orders that Severus questioned Draco."
Lupin sighed. He was tired. He didn’t want to talk about Snape with Harry. Didn’t want to talk at all really, but Harry seemed out of sorts too. Perhaps he wasn’t in the mood for the loud family dramas either, with Molly’s bickering with Fleur, random pranks from the twins, the endless sniping about Percy. He felt guilty that he’d barely seen the boy, that he had spent his few precious moments away from the werewolves in the company of Snape rather than trying to contact Harry.
So Lupin put the potions master out of his mind, and turned again to the Harry. He knew made a rather woeful substitute for Sirius, but could at least give Harry his full attention when the troubled young man was sitting beside him.
3.
“Severus, are you alright?”
Lupin had been enjoying a blessed few days of solitude at his cottage, escaping for a short time the brutality of life in Greyback’s pack. A storm had blown through, but now it was past and the sky was blue with a few wisps of cloud. The wind though, was as burning cold as a silver blade.
Snape had turned up in the middle of the afternoon with a bottle of Wolfsbane and another of firewhisky. He had the same look that Lupin had seen when he’d first met Snape at Hogwarts – eyes that had seen more than a child should see. Snape had wordlessly handed over the firewhisky and Wolfsbane, and stalked over to sit on the edge of Lupin’s bed. Lupin poured a good slug of firewhisky into two glasses and carried them over.
“What is it, Severus?”
Snape shook his head. Lupin slipped one arm around his shoulders. He could feel Snape trembling.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk.”
Snape swallowed half the firewhisky and leaned in to Lupin’s chest. They sat there sipping firewhisky and looking out the window as the sky turned pink, then grey then black.
“Lupin, may I stay tonight?”
They were the first words he had said in the hour since he had arrived. Lupin murmured “of course”, lit the fire and topped up both their drinks.
When Snape put down his glass and turned to Lupin with downcast eyes, Lupin leaned in and began to kiss him, softly, on his lips, on his face, on his eyelids as they closed at Lupin’s gentle touch. Lupin moved across to his ear, then worked his way gently down Snape’s neck. He drew back and cradled Snape’s jaw, lifting it so that he could look Snape in the eye.
“Severus, let me take care of you.”
Snape nodded slightly and let out a soft sigh, then Lupin had his arm around Snape’s waist and his tongue in Snape’s mouth and the world had shrunk to a few points of contact between the two men. Lupin began the painstaking process of undoing Snape’s buttons, baring the pale flesh, covering the exposed skin with kisses, stripping himself, pressing skin to skin as they lay in the awkward, narrow bed.
Lupin’s hand slid between Snape’s thighs, parting his legs, tilting his hips. He prepared Snape meticulously, by hand, first one finger, then two and three, brushing the sensitive gland until he whimpered. Then he entered him slowly, firmly, inexorably, filling him deeply, throbbing, thrusting deep within him, Snape’s erection pressed between their writhing bodies, until Snape came in a series of gasping, shuddering waves which sent Lupin over the edge.
Afterwards, Snape’s face was more relaxed that Lupin ever remembered seeing, lips slightly parted, eyes half closed. He was struck with the impulse to cuddle up and fall asleep with Snape in his arms. It was something they’d never done, somehow it was too intimate to let their guard down in that way despite the other things they had done together. But now something had shifted between them.
Lupin sank down, taking his weight on his elbows, leaning down and bringing their lips together for a brief moment. Snape gave a sharp gasp of breath and Lupin moved in again, his lips firmer. He felt Snape’s arms come up, one hand slipping behind his neck, the other tangling in his hair. Their bodies seemed to melt together, sticky and sweaty, limbs entwined. Eventually Snape shifted under him, perhaps uncomfortable under the weight, and Lupin slipped off him to one side, nudging Snape to roll over so his back was pressed against Lupin’s chest. Lupin finally remembered to cast the cleaning spell over them and Snape gave a little sigh. Lupin summoned a blanket to cover them and they lay together in silence.
“I don’t think I can go on like this.”
Lupin’s hand immediately stopped its lazy movement across Snape’s chest. His whole body went still.
“What do you mean, Severus?” he said, his voice carefully neutral to mask the sudden turmoil inside.
“I… I can’t… I can’t take it any more, Lupin.”
Lupin pushed himself up on one elbow so that he could see Snape’s face.
“I’m not sure I understand you, Severus. What can’t you take?”
“Everything. The war, the spying, the killing…”
He let out a shuddering sigh. Lupin lifted his hand and began to stroke the strands of hair back from his face.
“Oh Severus. I wish I could say it would be alright. But…”
He continued to gently stroke the side of Snape’s face.
“It won’t be alright, Lupin. It’s only going to get worse before the end.”
“I know. But… well, I thought you were saying that you couldn’t go on with us. I’m glad you’re not.”
“Oh… oh. I didn’t, no. You… you are the only thing, the only one… just…”
Snape fell silent again and Lupin could see that there were tears in his eyes.
“I’m here, Severus, alright?”
Lupin leaned in and kissed his temple.
“I’m here.”
4.
“The only answer is Constant Vigilance.”
To emphasise his point, Alastor Moody thumped his fist on the table, jolting the tea from several cups. In the ten minutes he had been speaking, that had been the only actual point he’d made and Snape, who was sitting next to him, had managed several good eye rolls and a couple of glares at Harry. However to Lupin’s informed eye, Snape looked distinctly unwell. For a start, he was sitting between Moody and Mundungus Fletcher, both of whom he normally managed to avoid. He’d barely managed a sneer at Tonks, who had glued herself to Lupin’s side the moment he’d walked in the room. And when Moody had thumped the table, he had given a definite flinch.
“Indeed, Alastor, that is quite true. Thank you for those most enlightening thoughts.”
Dumbledore sounded as earnestly sincere as he always did and Lupin was really not sure whether he was serious or sarcastic. But then Dumbledore turned to Snape and any sign of good humour evaporated. Dumbledore’s face bore the same concern that Lupin felt.
“Now, Severus? I understand you’ve been summoned a number of times in the last few weeks, including last night. Do you have anything for us?”
As winter had turned into spring, then spring into summer, the summonings had become more frequent. Snape would report on the meetings in some detail, but usable information was sparse. It provoked much grumbling from some members of the Order and did nothing to reassure Harry. He was still obsessed with questioning Snape’s loyalty, updating Lupin and presumably the rest of the Order on third-hand, overheard conversations. Lupin tried to reassure him, but Harry was also talking to Moody, who was fuelling the boy’s paranoia and loathing of Snape even more than Sirius had.
If Lupin was being honest with himself, which he was sometimes, he couldn’t really reassure Harry about Snape’s loyalty himself. He knew that Snape was under a desperate strain, but the spy never actually discussed anything with Lupin. Occasionally, when Lupin had a few days at the cottage, he would turn up, morose and taciturn, bearing Wolfsbane if it was close to that time, otherwise just firewhisky. He would help himself to a drink and sit silently for a while, ignoring Lupin but tolerating it when the werewolf wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Eventually he would turn to Lupin, not meeting his eye, but reaching across for his hand.
“Please, would you… take care of me?”
Sometimes he would stay the night, but often he would hasten away, muttering excuses about being summoned by one master or another. There were very few words between them, although Lupin had some occasional success by pointing out particularly egregious grammatical errors in the old copies of the Daily Prophet he scrounged from his neighbour. He attempted to convince Snape to play chess, but the one time they played, Snape had been unable to focus and had been swiftly beaten.
Snape sat in silence, not evening acknowledging that he’d heard Dumbledore’s question.
“Severus?” Dumbledore asked again, and cleared his throat.
Snape suddenly seemed to realise where he was.
“I… did you say something, Albus?”
“Meetings, Severus,” Dumbledore replied.
Snape paused a moment, looking at his hands before lifting his head.
“There has been more activity than usual. More meetings. Four in the last two weeks that I’ve been summoned to, including last night.”
Moody gave a snort.
“Albus has already told us that, Snape, tell us something we don’t know.”
Snape looked startled and dismayed, and a frown line appeared between his eyebrows. Dumbledore looked more concerned – Snape never showed this much vulnerability at meetings. Lupin quelled the urge to rush over to him.
“Actually, Alastor,” Lupin said, “Albus was not specific. “He said “a number of times”, but he didn’t specify what that number was. Do go on, Severus.”
Moody and Harry both gave Lupin dirty looks, while Snape appeared to be trying to compose himself. Finally he began, as he always did, with a recitation of dates, times and attendees. It was tedious, but it had recently led to the identification of two Ministry employees, one in Arthur Weasley’s department, due to their absences coinciding with Death Eater gatherings.
“Thank you, Lupin,” Snape replied with exaggerated politeness. “Last night, from seven until a quarter to nine, there were sixteen in attendance, including Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, the Carrows, Gibbon, Goyle, Pettigrew, Rowle and Travers.”
“No Yaxley?”
Snape shook his head.
“At the previous meeting, on June the 1st, nine pm until one am, there were fifteen. All of the above, minus Draco but with Yaxley this time.”
Snape paused, taking several deep breaths.
“On May… on May 26, five pm until midnight, there were… twenty. Greyback and three other werewolves I didn’t know… Carrows… Gibbon… Goyle… Carrows… Goyle… twenty…”
“Severus?”
Snape stood up, pushing his chair back and breathing heavily. He stepped forward and rested his hands on the table. His already pale face had blanched to chalk white.
“Carrows… Gibbon… Pettigrew…”
Sweat broke out on his forehead and he put one hand to his face. Then he retched, the hand covering his mouth completely failing to prevent the table from being sprayed with vomit.
Lupin was on his feet and around the table in a moment. Snape was still retching. He tried to push his hair away from his face with his hand and only succeded in wiping vomit in his hair. Lupin placed one hand on Snape’s back and gently tucked his hair behind his ears. He could feel the heaving of Snape’s ribs, as well as a deep trembling. For a moment, their was an unearthly calm, shocked faces staring at Snape in silence. Then the room erupted and Snape jerked from Lupin’s hands and fled out of the door.
Minerva McGonagall, at least, showed some presence of mind in vanishing the vomit from the table. She also cleared away the tea cups, since nobody was going to drink from a cup that had sat in a pool of vomit. The Weasleys were babbling at eachother, Moody was shouting and Dumbledore was staring at Lupin as if he expected him to do something.
Lupin walked from the room after Snape, looking up and down the corridor before he saw a huddled dark shape near the back door. Snape had slid to the floor, back to the wall, arms around his knees. Lupin could hear him whimpering.
He knelt beside Snape, placing one hand over Snape’s hands and another on his back.
“Severus, what’s the matter. Are you ill?”
He knew it was a stupid question, but wasn’t sure what else to say. Snape let out a shuddering breath.
“I… I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, Severus.”
Snape shook his head.
“It’s not. It will never be alright.”
Snape began to cry, an unrestrained sobbing, gasping for breath and almost seeming to choke in his distress.
“Severus, please, breathe, come on now, deep breaths.”
Snape shook his head again, then turned and buried his face in Lupin’s chest, his hands grabbing at Lupin’s arms and clutching at the fabric of his shirt. Lupin’s body muffled the sound, but Snape began to make an eerie keening noise.
Lupin felt a tingle of magic behind him, and he turned to see Dumbledore and Tonks. Tonks was casting a silencing spell and Dumbledore was looking down at them, looking concerned but not particularly shocked.
“Minerva is contacting Poppy,” Dumbledore said. “Do you think you can get him to move? He wouldn’t want everyone to see him like this.”
Lupin nodded and slipped one hand under Snape’s knees and another around his back, preparing to stand. Snape reached one arm around his neck and buried his face in the side of Lupin’s neck. He was still sobbing.
“If you give me a couple of minutes,” Tonks said, “I reckon I can disable some of the internal anti-apparation wards. The family might have disowned me, but the house still recognises my magic. If that works, you could just side-along him up to one of the rooms. There’s a decent guest room on the second floor.”
Lupin shot her a grateful smile. She was as irritating as a coatful of fleas when she followed him around like a lovesick schoolgirl, but he liked her a lot more when she acted like the competent auror she was. He held Snape close and waited for Tonks to get the wards disabled.
She was as good as her word, and in two minutes the wards were down and Lupin was laying Snape gently on the guestroom bed.
“I’ll wait downstairs for Madame Pomphrey and show her up,” Tonks said after she had reinstated the wards.
Dumbledore turned his head and watched as she left the room and closed the door.
“Nice girl, Nymphadora,” he said. “Bright, very loyal. Hufflepuff, you know. She’d be good for you, Remus. Wouldn’t let you down.”
Lupin gave an irritated sigh. Half of the Order had already offered their opinion on how lucky Lupin was to have such a nice, young girl interested in him.
“She thinks she’s in love, but I doubt it,” Lupin replied. “She feels sorry for me, thinks I’m a good rescue project.”
“Well, you’d find a lot in common then, wouldn’t you,” Dumbledore said sharply.
Snape now had both arms around Lupin’s neck and was weeping softly, while Lupin rubbed his back. Dumbledore looked pointedly at Snape before glacing back at Lupin. The older wizard’s blue eyes twinkled with all the warmth of the Arctic sun on an iceberg. Lupin was relieved when Poppy Pomphrey entered the room.
She bustled over and immediately began to scan Snape with her wand.
“Merlin’s teeth, Severus, you should have come to me.”
Madame Pomprey gently unwound Snape’s arms from Lupin’s neck and laid him back on the bed. She moved her wand slowly around his body and Lupin could see a slight release of the tension in his muscles. She then lifted his head to make him drink a vial of potion.
“Remus, come with me,” Pomphrey said when she was finished.
He followed her out the door, and she handed him several vials of potion.
“He’ll need one of these every couple of hours, for the pain. If he’s sleeping, wake him up.”
She handed him a jar.
“And if he will let you, rub this into his muscles, particularly the neck, shoulders and back, as soon as he can tolerate it. It will stop his muscles seizing up.”
Another vial.
“I’ve done an anti-nausea spell, but it will wear off. If he is still feeling sick, give him this after midnight. Just check how he is when you wake him for the pain potion.”
“What’s the matter with him?”
“Torture,” she said grimly. “Cruciatus mainly, I think. A few others thrown in for good measure. He’s been in this state much more often lately, I think that You-Know-Who is not pleased with him. And there were multiple casters, so it wasn’t just the one wizard doing this to him. Of course he’s probably had to join in doing it to someone else. That distresses him more than if it was him being tortured.”
Madame Pomprey gave a sad sigh.
“Lonely life, being a spy. But then you’d know that, wouldn’t you.”
She gave him a small smile, then turned and left in a swish of starch.
“It’s alright Severus, it won’t be for much longer.”
Lupin paused at the door, not sure if he should disturb the conversation.
“No… no, Albus. Not yet, please.”
“It’s nearly time, Severus. It has to be.”
“Please, you can’t ask that.”
“I can and I will.” Dumbledore’s voice was firm and a little cold. “When the time comes, Severus, I trust that you will do your duty.”
Snape began to cry again, and Lupin slipped back into the room. Dumbledore looked up, his face weary. He looked older than Lupin had ever seen him.
“If you could stay with him tonight, Remus,” he said softly, “I think that would be helpful.”
Dumbledore squeezed Snape’s shoulder, before standing and walking from the room. He didn’t say goodbye.
5.
The wedding ring was the first thing that Lupin removed. He placed it carefully on the bedside table, beside his wand, then began to absently rub the finger it occupied. The ring was not too tight, but he still felt it around his finger like a noose.
Then came the shoes, neatly tucked under the bed, and the socks, which he dropped into the laundry basket. He removed his cardigan, folding it with more care than its ratty, patched state warranted. The trousers were next, again folded neatly, then the shirt, which joined his socks in the laundry basket. He shivered in the chill air of the cottage. He hated this part, the dehumanising act of stripping naked, of shedding the protective layer that separated people from animals. Finally, he took off his underwear, new boxer shorts that Tonks had insisted on getting when she’d seen the state of what he normally wore.
He shivered again as he opened the door to the cottage. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, although the path to the shed was mostly clear. He stepped out of the cottage and walked gingerly down the path, bare feet feeling every stone until they went numb with cold.
At the shed, he uttered the passwords that released the wards surrounding the shed and slipped inside. He lifted the heavy wooden bars across the door by hand, then reversed the passwords to reset the wards. He paced around the shed, checking that everything was secure. He’d already checked everything, and then checked again, but where was the harm in one final check? He had nothing else to do while he waited for moonrise.
No Wolfsbane. Every time he thought about it, he felt his chest tighten up. Rationally, he knew that he’d survived most of his life without it. But it was different now. He knew what he was missing, and worse – who he was missing.
This was the fifth transformation now, since… the betrayal. Since… he couldn’t bear to think about it, but he forced himself to. Since – he steadied his breathing – Snape had killed Dumbledore.
He should have been used to it, really. He’d been betrayed before. He had believed others to be good, he had trusted them, and he had been wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. He’d been betrayed by Peter. He thought he’d been betrayed by Sirius. He had been, really – Sirius had considered him untrustworthy and that had contributed to James and Lily’s deaths. And Sirius did nearly cause Lupin to kill Snape in the Shrieking Shack. Then, there were all the times his parents had taken him to healers, and they had said that this potion or that spell would make him better. The potions and spells had done many things – not least empty his parents wallets – but nothing had helped. Nobody had helped. Until…
Wherever it wandered, his mind kept taking him back to Snape. After everything Lupin had gone through, that betrayal hurt most of all. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was just the most recent. Perhaps, after all the others, it was the last straw. Perhaps it was because he had argued in Snape’s defence so many times and had tried so hard to reassure Harry, and then he’d been proven wrong. Or perhaps, he was beginning to admit to himself, it might possibly have been because – perhaps, maybe – he had fallen in love with Severus Snape.
Lupin rubbed his finger where the ring normally sat again.
He’d last seen Snape the time he’d been so ill at the Order meeting. Snape had been desperate, on the verge of breaking. By morning, he had seemed calmer, more himself, but still very, very lost. He hadn’t asked to make love, had simply wanted Lupin to hold him close. Then he had gone, his final words one of apology.
The overheard conversation haunted Lupin. What had Dumbledore been asking of Snape that had pushed the spy over the edge? Snape had flinched from nothing Dumbledore had asked, that much was clear. He might have done it with bad grace – just because he was asked to keep Harry alive didn’t mean he’d be nice to him – but he’d have done it. Was it simply the accumulation of all those years doing Dumbledore’s dirty work, or was it a task that was too terrible, a burden too heavy, for the strongest man that Lupin knew?
Or had it been something else?
It had nagged away at him, night after night, week after week, as he lay awake at night listening to the gentle breathing of the woman he’d taken refuge with. He replayed everything in his head, every conversation, every casual gesture, every look. How could he not have known that Snape was a traitor, when he was surely one of the closest to him?
Finally, Lupin had come to a chilling conclusion. He remembered exactly what Harry had said, every word that the young man had reported from both Dumbledore and Snape. Dumbledore’s final words had been “please, Severus.” Not “please don’t kill me, Severus”, not “please don’t hurt me, Severus”, not even “please, no, Severus”, but “please, Severus”. Had he been asking Snape to do the unthinkable?
If Lupin was right, then he himself was the traitor, doubting and then abandoning the man he loved. He’d done what he’d always done and given in to what others told him to do.
The Order had gathered after Dumbledore’s death, and Tonks had attached herself to him once again. He tried to be kind about it and put her off gently but in the end he’d been driven to uncharacteristic directness. It hadn’t worked.
“Tonks, you don’t understand. I don’t love you and I don’t believe I could ever love you.”
“You don’t know that Remus.”
“Tonks–“
“Remus, please would you call me Dora?”
Lupin sighed. He should have refused, should have said no. But he never did.
“Dora. I’m… crooked. I’ve had more… relationships with men than women. I… it would never work between us.”
“But… you’ve had relationships with women. You just said. So you can’t be entirely, you know, right?”
Lupin looked away. Tonks still wasn’t getting it.
“Remus, you’ve had a lot of… difficulties in your life. You’ve lived on the margins, have been exposed to a lot of unpleasant people. And you can be easily led. It’s not surprising you were dragged down… in that way as well. But that doesn’t mean… with the right woman… you just need someone to lead you back.”
It was a seductive idea. That he could have what his mind always wanted – acceptance respectability, the approval of others, to be normal – as well as what his body and heart desired. But an alternative view, the one he knew to be true when he was being honest with himself, was that his desire for the approval of others sometimes overrode his other desires, and that meant that he ignored his true sexuality for one which was more socially accepted.
“Dora, I really don’t think it works that way.”
“Is this about Snape?”
Lupin went suddenly still.
“I don’t want to talk about that traitor.”
“It is though, isn’t it. There was something going on between you. Did he… hurt you, Remus.”
Lupin curled his fingers into a fist, nails digging into his palm. He shook his head. That was a lie, of course, Snape had hurt him more than he had been hurt in years, but not in the way Tonks meant.
“I don’t want to talk about this, Dora. We need to get to the funeral.”
In the end, it had been Dumbledore himself who had broken Lupin’s resolve. Tonks had cornered him, the Weasleys had ganged up on him and then McGonagall had blackmailed him by saying that it was what Dumbledore would have wanted. When he remembered what Dumbledore had said to him the last night they’d spoken, he had given up fighting.
And now here he was. Curled on the floor of his shed awaiting oblivion, a pregnant wife waiting for him at home. Why had he agreed to that? It was insane. There was a war on, he didn’t – he couldn’t – love Tonks, he was a werewolf. What future did he offer for a child?
As he felt the first twitches in his limbs which signalled moonrise, Remus Lupin was, for once, grateful for the fact that he was about to lose his mind. At least then, he wouldn’t have to think about what the man he loved had done. And what he himself had done. Merlin, what a mess.
Pairings: Lupin/ Snape, Lupin/ Tonks, reference to others from HBP and DH.
Word count: 7900
Era: Half-blood prince and start of Deathly Hallows
Warnings: *Angst. Anal sex. Canon character death. Illness. Reference to torture. Gratuitous hurt/ comfort.* (highlight to view)
Rating: R? NC-17?
Notes: this is a standalone fic but fits within the context of a longer story "Cast in the Mould".
Disclaimer: this is a work of fan fiction. All recognisable characters belong to JK Rowling, as does the dialogue in section 2 which is taken directly from HBP. I make no profit from this etc.
1.
The werewolf looked as if he hadn’t bathed or shaved since Black had fallen through the veil. His hair was a matted mess which would have embarrassed even James Potter and puffy, bloodshot eyes peered out of a face covered with scruffy stubble. His expression was haunted. He was surrounded by empty firewhisky bottles, and the whole cottage stank of unwashed flesh.
He was also nearly naked. The only item of clothing he wore was a faded pair of checked boxer shorts. His skin was covered with scars – there were so many across his chest that the hair seemed to grow only in patches. But underneath the muscles were firm. His legs were long and his hips slighly bony. And he seemed entirely unselfconscious about his state of undress.
“Severus?” Lupin said hesitantly, as if two weeks in a drunken stupor had robbed him of the ability to recognise his colleagues. There was a slight slur to his voice, confirming Snape’s assessment that Lupin was still drunk.
“Lupin, you look and smell as if you’ve bathed in hippogriff urine.”
Lupin flinched, and Snape realised the reference to hippogriffs was probably interpreted as a dig at Black and his pet.
“Come to gloat then, Severus? I’m really not in the mood.”
He turned away and Snape definitely didn’t look at the scarred, muscled back and tight buttocks. Nor did Snape watch as Lupin leaned down to rummage in the back of a cupboard, or as he stood again, clutching a vial in one hand and unconsciously scratching his balls with the other.
“Knew I had some Sober-up potion somewhere.”
Lupin downed the contents of the vial then stood blinking at Snape. Eventually he sighed.
“Don’t suppose you have any hangover potion on you, do you Severus?”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Lupin, go and clean yourself up and put some clothes on.”
Lupin shuffled out the back door and began to splash water over his face from a basin in the makeshift bathroom beside the back step. He walked over to what appeared to be an old-fashioned privy, then reappeared a few minutes later. He retrieved his wand and cast a few cleaning charms over himself before running a comb through his hair.
He returned inside and turned his back to Snape, pulling clean underwear from a drawer. As if Snape wasn’t even in the room, he simply pulled off the old boxer shorts and replaced them with a clean, but equally faded, pair before pulling on trousers and a crumpled shirt. Snape turned his back, grateful that his robe hid the fact that he found the sight of Lupin’s bare arse more appealing than he should have.
Lupin made himself a cup of coffee, boiling the water by tapping his wand on the side of a mug and scooping in an excessive amount of cheap instant coffee. He drank it unsweetended and black, making a face at the flavour. He drank about half the cup before turning his attention back to Snape.
“Is there a reason you are here, Severus? It seems an awfully long way to come just to insult me, even for you.”
Snape pulled a bottle from his robe and placed it on the bench.
“Albus asked me to make it for you. Well, told me. I wasn’t given a choice.”
Lupin looked dubiously at the bottle.
“Wolfsbane,” Snape added. “He was clearly worried you would do something stupid at the full moon in your… state.”
“He said that, did he?”
There was an undertone to Lupin’s voice, a unexpected hint of bitterness.
“He… his exact words, I believe, were “the poor boy is overwrought. I’m concerned. Having the Wolfsbane this month will help him to restore his equilibrium”.”
Lupin gave a slight snort.
“He didn’t happen to mention why he thought I was overwrought, did he? Or what he’s asked me to do?”
“No. I thought… well, Black.”
Lupin sighed and his shoulders sagged.
“And the rest of it,” he said.
“The rest of it?”
“Three days after Sirius has gone, and Albus tells me he’s got a mission for me. You know Fenrir Greyback? Or of him, at least. He’s aligned himself with Voldemort, and he’s been… recruiting. Albus wants me to go and join his pack, try and talk them around. I’m to leave after this full moon. Getting you to make the Wolfsbane is… I suppose it’s intended to be some sort of compensation.”
Lupin’s jaw was tense, his hands balled into fists.
“Are you scared to go, Lupin? Don’t like the company of your own kind?”
“Not particularly, Severus, no. Well, yes and no.”
“It’s a war, Lupin. We all have to do things we don’t want to do.”
“You think I don’t know that, Severus?”
Suddenly the werewolf was in Snape’s face, breath smelling of cheap coffee and his lip curled into a snarl.
“I’ve done everything he’s asked of me, I’ve put my life on the line more times than I care to remember, through two wars. I’ve done all the nasty little jobs that he won’t mention at the Order meetings because I know I’m lucky to even be at the table, but this… this is… Merlin’s arse, Fenrir fucking Greyback. I have to grovel at the feet of the bastard who turned me. I was four. Four years old, and he turned me into this monster. That’s who Albus wants me to cosy up to.”
Lupin was shaking now, closer to losing control than Snape had ever seen him. It was a frightening thought, seeing such a calm man pushed to the edge. But that’s what Dumbledore did. He would ask whatever he thought was necessary, without flinching, whatever it cost the person he asked it from. Snape knew that only too well.
“Pull yourself together, Lupin,” Snape said, but his voice was less harsh than he intended it to be. The close proximity of the man he’d wanted for years was having an uncomfortable effect on him. He wanted to be even closer, and he took a step forward without realising what he was doing. He lifted one hand to Lupin’s arm.
Lupin went very still and Snape could feel tense muscles under his fingers.
“Lupin, I…”.
He tried, but he had no idea what to say.
“I know, Severus,” Lupin said softly. “You understand. You’re the only one who could. Going back to Voldemort, time and again.”
“Don’t say his name.”
“Sorry.”
Then Lupin leaned into him, and before Snape quite knew what was happening they were wrapped in eachothers arms. Lupin’s strong arms were tight around him and his soft lips were brushing against his neck. He tilted his head slightly and slid one hand down Lupin’s back, pressing the bony hips closer and rubbing his already firm erection against Lupin’s thigh. Then they were falling onto Lupin’s bed and Snape was pulling at Lupin’s clothes and thrusting his hips and whimpering with need. Lupin reached up and unbuttoned his shirt and then his trousers, sliding them down over his hips and then doing the same for Snape. He took Snape’s cock in his hand then leaned over to whisper in Snape’s ear.
“Do you want to fuck me, Severus?”
Snape made a sound which was intended to be “yes” but was more of an incoherent moan. Lupin twisted himself around and offered Snape his back and buttocks. Snape suddenly stilled, hesitating. After wanting Lupin for so long, he felt unsure of what to do with him.
After a long moment, Lupin grabbed his wand and murmured a few words. Snape felt his erection slick with lubricant and realised with relief that Lupin had prepared himself. And then Snape was urgently, desperately penetrating him, hands scrabbling at Lupin’s shirt, hips thrusting, breath panting. He had come before he really knew it was happening, giving an inarticulate cry and collapsing across Lupin’s back. He could feel Lupin taking care of himself, but couldn’t bring himself to reach forward and help him.
When Lupin came with a long shudder and a soft whimper, Snape stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling dirty and ashamed. He grabbed for his wand and cast a vicious scourgify over both of them. It felt like sandpaper on his genitals and evidently had the same effect on Lupin, who jumped and gave a startled squawk.
“Ow, Severus, what the hell?” he said, giving Snape a wounded look. “You don’t use that for… intimate situations.”
Snape looked away, embarrassed, and began to rebutton his disarrayed clothes.
“Severus, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Lupin,” Snape snarled back.
Concern showing on his face, Lupin rose from the bed and reached towards Snape.
“You haven’t done this much, have you Severus?” he asked gently.
Snape was suddenly defensive, folding his arms across his chest.
“What do you mean, Lupin? I have plenty of experience.”
Lupin frowned slightly.
“I didn’t mean it like… to imply… I just, well, you didn’t seem very confident in what you were doing, that’s all. And now you seem upset. I realise that I made some assumptions…”
“Assumptions, Lupin?”
“Well, I assumed you would prefer to top, but I realise I don’t know that. I don’t even really know whether you usually go with men or women. I… I hope…”
Lupin lifted his hand to Snape’s face.
“I, however, have no such uncertainty, Lupin. You are clearly a bottom, you’re so passive and spineless you’d just lie there and take it from anyone.”
Lupin withdrew his hand and crossed his arms, his face closing down.
“Statements like that, Severus, simply reinforce the impression that you don’t know a lot about sex. You talk as if it’s something that one person does to another, rather than something that two people share. It’s a rather… adolescent view of it.”
“That’s how it was with you and Black, was it, Lupin? Rather than just you taking it up the arse. That’s what they used to say about you at school, you know. That you took it up the arse for Black and Potter. And Pettigrew.”
There was a flickering of emotion in Lupin’s eyes and Snape wondered if he had actually succeeded in angering the implacable werewolf twice in one day. But then Lupin sighed instead.
“Sirius and I weren’t… it wasn’t… there wasn’t ever anything sexual between us. Between any of us. Not that it’s any of your business, Severus.”
“So the fact you followed Black around like a whipped puppy? That was just because you enjoyed his company as a friend?”
Lupin gave another sigh. His face was suddenly sad.
“Does it make you happy, Severus? Hurting people?”
“What?”
“You lash out at the least excuse – Harry, Sirius, me… I don’t understand you. Do you enjoy being hurtful? Do you get something from it?”
Snape stepped back, searching for his next barb. He remembered this from the year they had taught together, that when it came to verbal sparring the werewolf was cunning and inventive, taking the conversation through convoluted twists and turns which could easily throw him off balance.
“Or is it a case of hurting others before they hurt you? Is that it, Severus? You’re just trying to protect yourself?”
Snape straightened his posture and fixed Lupin with a glare.
“I merely state the truth, Lupin. Unlike you.”
Lupin had the grace to look slightly ashamed, and Snape went for the jugular.
“Did it every cross your mind, Lupin, that in your fear of stating the truth because it might hurt people, you have ended up hurting people more?”
Lupin dropped his head and gave a sigh.
“That irony had not escaped me, Severus. It’s been a painful realisation, but one that I am now aware of. It’s one reason that I’m trying to do things differently now.”
He gave another sigh, then looked up with a determined expression on his face. He straighened his shoulders slightly, and spoke again.
“So, in that spirit – did it ever cross your mind, Severus, that by hurting others in order to protect yourself from being hurt, you are actually causing yourself more suffering, not less? You may not think so, but there are people who care about you. You could have friends, Severus. But you just drive everyone away, don’t you. Never letting anyone in.”
That silenced Snape. The comment was brutally close to the truth and for a moment he could only gape in reply. When he saw the look of concern return to Lupin’s face, he knew he had to get out of there. He took a step backwards and gestured to the bottle where it sat on the bench.
“You should drink some of the potion. Since I went to the trouble...”
“Oh, of course, Severus. Thank you.”
Snape turned and fled.
2.
Remus Lupin was an expert in denial. He’d taken his first lessons in his parents’ cellar, curled naked on the cold floor, imagining life as a quiddich star instead of thinking about the bonewrenching pain which awaited him. He’d had years of practice at Hogwarts, ignoring the fact that the only friends he’d ever had were actually not that nice to him sometimes, and that they treated others a lot worse than they treated him. He’d honed his skills during the first war, when he tried to ignore the growing distance his friends were putting between them. And then he’d achieved true mastery in the long lonely years living hand to mouth and trying to avoid revealing his secrets by never becoming close to anyone. If he had needed proof of his skill, he had it in the year he’d taught at Hogwarts. He had managed to convince himself that the fact Sirius was an animagus had nothing to do with how he was getting into Hogwarts, therefore avoiding the need to mention it to Dumbledore.
Now, however, he was finding it hard to retreat from reality. He realised that it was time he accepted that he was what wizards called “crooked”, and muggles called gay.
The fact that he’d slept with more men than women was largely irrelevant, in his mind. When he was desperate for companionship, he would take whatever was on offer. He’d discovered that if he went to certain bars, it didn’t really take much effort to find someone. But it was generally men who approached him.
Who or what he wanted hadn’t really entered his consideration. All his life he’d been told that nobody would want him if they knew him, if they knew what he was. He’d learned to be grateful for whatever scraps of attention and affection were thrown his way.
The first time he’d had sex with Severus Snape had undoubtedly been a mistake. He’d had his suspicions about Snape wanting him for a while – although the idea of it was so strange he’d largely put it out of his mind. But when Snape had turned up at Lupin’s cottage, all sneers and insults and repressed need, he couldn’t deny it any more. And Lupin had been lonely and desperate, and felt sorry for Snape.
It wasn’t really a good reason for sleeping with someone. It had been a mutually unsatisfying coupling followed by a rather bitter argument, and ended with Snape storming off.
The next time he had seen Snape was weeks later, at Grimmaud Plance. The man had been as vicious as ever in his insults and they’d ended up with their cocks pressed together and getting eachother off in one of the upstairs bathrooms. Snape had returned to Hogwarts and Lupin to the werewolves, and that was that.
They’d settled into a routine with the Order meetings. Lupin would be painfully polite and Snape sarcastically insulting. Then Lupin would evade his pink-haired shadow to join Snape in one of the less-used rooms. Snape would ward the room to prevent interruptions and Lupin would be responsible for the spells to clean them up afterwards. After his first experience with Snape, Lupin wasn’t prepared to trust him with that again. Then they would part without goodbyes and return to playing their respective roles.
It was his relationship, or whatever it was, with Snape which had finally made Lupin confront his sexuality. He had always been able to justify what he did with “beggars can’t be choosers”. But for the first time in his life, Lupin found himself with a choice. And when a beautiful, vibrant young woman offered body, heart and soul to him, Lupin found himself rejecting her in favour of the deeply flawed man who offered him little more than regular insults and occasional sex. But Snape and Lupin understood eachother, and that mutual understanding was worth more than anything else.
It was that understanding that left Lupin often finding himself in the role of intercessor, or even Snape’s defender. The presence of a former Death Eater in the Order caused a similar degree of disquiet among its members as the presence of a werewolf had in the first war. And Lupin knew the result of that only too well. It concerned him particularly that Harry was so determined to see Snape as the enemy, watching him with an obsession that was distinctly unhealthy and reporting on every scowl or comment as if it was a sign of betrayal.
He was doing it again at Christmas, when Lupin gained a brief respite from life among the werewolves. Although grateful to be invited for Christmas, he wasn’t in the mood for the chaos of the Burrow and tried to stay out of the discussion. But Harry launched into yet another round of speculation on Snape’s actions and motives, and Lupin leaned across to join, or preferably end, the conversation.
“It isn’t our business to know,” he said, interrupting Harry’s rant on Snape’s intent to Arthur Weasley, who wasn’t having much success calming him down. "It's Dumbledore's business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us."
"But," said Harry, leaning in towards him, his green eyes burning with an intense fervour, "just say… just say Dumbledore’s wrong about Snape."
Lupin sighed. There was so much more to it than Harry knew, than Harry could know.
"People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus."
"But Dumbledore can make mistakes," argued Harry. "He says it himself. And you" – he looked Lupin straight in the eye – “do you honestly like Snape?"
Lupin looked back at Harry, his gaze unflinching.
"I neither like nor dislike Severus," said Lupin mildly. It was completely true. They were tepid emotions, like and dislike, and Lupin’s feelings for Snape were not tepid. Complicated, confusing and sometimes troubling, tense frustration, melting sympathy, burning lust, cold rage, anything but tepid.
Harry rolled his eyes and made a face.
"No, Harry, I am speaking the truth. We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there.”
That, Harry could not argue with.
“But…” Lupin continued, searching for something he appreciated about Snape that he could say to Harry. Something that wasn’t about the hungry look in the spy’s eyes when they met, the fierce need of their coupling, the brief moments afterwards when Snape’s mask slipped and his face was vulnerable and almost tender. He would drop his eyes and thank Lupin rather formally when he cleaned them both up, and Lupin’s heart would melt just a little at the glimpse of a man as lonely and lost as he.
Lupin drew himself back to the present moment, to the way Harry leaned forward, hands clenched into fists.
“I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon."
"But he 'accidentally' let it slip that you're a werewolf, so you had to leave!" said Harry angrily.
Lupin remembered Snape’s wounded eyes. He didn’t have it in him to feel angry at the man for revealing his secret.
"The news would have leaked out anyway. We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful."
"Maybe he didn't dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!" said Harry.
Lupin masked his irritation at Harry’s singlemindedness with a small smile.
"You are determined to hate him, Harry."
He couldn’t blame the boy, really. Snape had transferred his loathing of James Potter to his son and had behaved in a disappointingly juvenile and petty manner. Nor had Sirius been helpful.
"And I understand; with James as your father, with Sirius as your godfather, you have inherited an old prejudice. By all means tell Dumbledore what you have told Arthur and me, but do not expect him to share your view of the matter; do not even expect him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might have been on Dumbledore's orders that Severus questioned Draco."
Lupin sighed. He was tired. He didn’t want to talk about Snape with Harry. Didn’t want to talk at all really, but Harry seemed out of sorts too. Perhaps he wasn’t in the mood for the loud family dramas either, with Molly’s bickering with Fleur, random pranks from the twins, the endless sniping about Percy. He felt guilty that he’d barely seen the boy, that he had spent his few precious moments away from the werewolves in the company of Snape rather than trying to contact Harry.
So Lupin put the potions master out of his mind, and turned again to the Harry. He knew made a rather woeful substitute for Sirius, but could at least give Harry his full attention when the troubled young man was sitting beside him.
3.
“Severus, are you alright?”
Lupin had been enjoying a blessed few days of solitude at his cottage, escaping for a short time the brutality of life in Greyback’s pack. A storm had blown through, but now it was past and the sky was blue with a few wisps of cloud. The wind though, was as burning cold as a silver blade.
Snape had turned up in the middle of the afternoon with a bottle of Wolfsbane and another of firewhisky. He had the same look that Lupin had seen when he’d first met Snape at Hogwarts – eyes that had seen more than a child should see. Snape had wordlessly handed over the firewhisky and Wolfsbane, and stalked over to sit on the edge of Lupin’s bed. Lupin poured a good slug of firewhisky into two glasses and carried them over.
“What is it, Severus?”
Snape shook his head. Lupin slipped one arm around his shoulders. He could feel Snape trembling.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk.”
Snape swallowed half the firewhisky and leaned in to Lupin’s chest. They sat there sipping firewhisky and looking out the window as the sky turned pink, then grey then black.
“Lupin, may I stay tonight?”
They were the first words he had said in the hour since he had arrived. Lupin murmured “of course”, lit the fire and topped up both their drinks.
When Snape put down his glass and turned to Lupin with downcast eyes, Lupin leaned in and began to kiss him, softly, on his lips, on his face, on his eyelids as they closed at Lupin’s gentle touch. Lupin moved across to his ear, then worked his way gently down Snape’s neck. He drew back and cradled Snape’s jaw, lifting it so that he could look Snape in the eye.
“Severus, let me take care of you.”
Snape nodded slightly and let out a soft sigh, then Lupin had his arm around Snape’s waist and his tongue in Snape’s mouth and the world had shrunk to a few points of contact between the two men. Lupin began the painstaking process of undoing Snape’s buttons, baring the pale flesh, covering the exposed skin with kisses, stripping himself, pressing skin to skin as they lay in the awkward, narrow bed.
Lupin’s hand slid between Snape’s thighs, parting his legs, tilting his hips. He prepared Snape meticulously, by hand, first one finger, then two and three, brushing the sensitive gland until he whimpered. Then he entered him slowly, firmly, inexorably, filling him deeply, throbbing, thrusting deep within him, Snape’s erection pressed between their writhing bodies, until Snape came in a series of gasping, shuddering waves which sent Lupin over the edge.
Afterwards, Snape’s face was more relaxed that Lupin ever remembered seeing, lips slightly parted, eyes half closed. He was struck with the impulse to cuddle up and fall asleep with Snape in his arms. It was something they’d never done, somehow it was too intimate to let their guard down in that way despite the other things they had done together. But now something had shifted between them.
Lupin sank down, taking his weight on his elbows, leaning down and bringing their lips together for a brief moment. Snape gave a sharp gasp of breath and Lupin moved in again, his lips firmer. He felt Snape’s arms come up, one hand slipping behind his neck, the other tangling in his hair. Their bodies seemed to melt together, sticky and sweaty, limbs entwined. Eventually Snape shifted under him, perhaps uncomfortable under the weight, and Lupin slipped off him to one side, nudging Snape to roll over so his back was pressed against Lupin’s chest. Lupin finally remembered to cast the cleaning spell over them and Snape gave a little sigh. Lupin summoned a blanket to cover them and they lay together in silence.
“I don’t think I can go on like this.”
Lupin’s hand immediately stopped its lazy movement across Snape’s chest. His whole body went still.
“What do you mean, Severus?” he said, his voice carefully neutral to mask the sudden turmoil inside.
“I… I can’t… I can’t take it any more, Lupin.”
Lupin pushed himself up on one elbow so that he could see Snape’s face.
“I’m not sure I understand you, Severus. What can’t you take?”
“Everything. The war, the spying, the killing…”
He let out a shuddering sigh. Lupin lifted his hand and began to stroke the strands of hair back from his face.
“Oh Severus. I wish I could say it would be alright. But…”
He continued to gently stroke the side of Snape’s face.
“It won’t be alright, Lupin. It’s only going to get worse before the end.”
“I know. But… well, I thought you were saying that you couldn’t go on with us. I’m glad you’re not.”
“Oh… oh. I didn’t, no. You… you are the only thing, the only one… just…”
Snape fell silent again and Lupin could see that there were tears in his eyes.
“I’m here, Severus, alright?”
Lupin leaned in and kissed his temple.
“I’m here.”
4.
“The only answer is Constant Vigilance.”
To emphasise his point, Alastor Moody thumped his fist on the table, jolting the tea from several cups. In the ten minutes he had been speaking, that had been the only actual point he’d made and Snape, who was sitting next to him, had managed several good eye rolls and a couple of glares at Harry. However to Lupin’s informed eye, Snape looked distinctly unwell. For a start, he was sitting between Moody and Mundungus Fletcher, both of whom he normally managed to avoid. He’d barely managed a sneer at Tonks, who had glued herself to Lupin’s side the moment he’d walked in the room. And when Moody had thumped the table, he had given a definite flinch.
“Indeed, Alastor, that is quite true. Thank you for those most enlightening thoughts.”
Dumbledore sounded as earnestly sincere as he always did and Lupin was really not sure whether he was serious or sarcastic. But then Dumbledore turned to Snape and any sign of good humour evaporated. Dumbledore’s face bore the same concern that Lupin felt.
“Now, Severus? I understand you’ve been summoned a number of times in the last few weeks, including last night. Do you have anything for us?”
As winter had turned into spring, then spring into summer, the summonings had become more frequent. Snape would report on the meetings in some detail, but usable information was sparse. It provoked much grumbling from some members of the Order and did nothing to reassure Harry. He was still obsessed with questioning Snape’s loyalty, updating Lupin and presumably the rest of the Order on third-hand, overheard conversations. Lupin tried to reassure him, but Harry was also talking to Moody, who was fuelling the boy’s paranoia and loathing of Snape even more than Sirius had.
If Lupin was being honest with himself, which he was sometimes, he couldn’t really reassure Harry about Snape’s loyalty himself. He knew that Snape was under a desperate strain, but the spy never actually discussed anything with Lupin. Occasionally, when Lupin had a few days at the cottage, he would turn up, morose and taciturn, bearing Wolfsbane if it was close to that time, otherwise just firewhisky. He would help himself to a drink and sit silently for a while, ignoring Lupin but tolerating it when the werewolf wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Eventually he would turn to Lupin, not meeting his eye, but reaching across for his hand.
“Please, would you… take care of me?”
Sometimes he would stay the night, but often he would hasten away, muttering excuses about being summoned by one master or another. There were very few words between them, although Lupin had some occasional success by pointing out particularly egregious grammatical errors in the old copies of the Daily Prophet he scrounged from his neighbour. He attempted to convince Snape to play chess, but the one time they played, Snape had been unable to focus and had been swiftly beaten.
Snape sat in silence, not evening acknowledging that he’d heard Dumbledore’s question.
“Severus?” Dumbledore asked again, and cleared his throat.
Snape suddenly seemed to realise where he was.
“I… did you say something, Albus?”
“Meetings, Severus,” Dumbledore replied.
Snape paused a moment, looking at his hands before lifting his head.
“There has been more activity than usual. More meetings. Four in the last two weeks that I’ve been summoned to, including last night.”
Moody gave a snort.
“Albus has already told us that, Snape, tell us something we don’t know.”
Snape looked startled and dismayed, and a frown line appeared between his eyebrows. Dumbledore looked more concerned – Snape never showed this much vulnerability at meetings. Lupin quelled the urge to rush over to him.
“Actually, Alastor,” Lupin said, “Albus was not specific. “He said “a number of times”, but he didn’t specify what that number was. Do go on, Severus.”
Moody and Harry both gave Lupin dirty looks, while Snape appeared to be trying to compose himself. Finally he began, as he always did, with a recitation of dates, times and attendees. It was tedious, but it had recently led to the identification of two Ministry employees, one in Arthur Weasley’s department, due to their absences coinciding with Death Eater gatherings.
“Thank you, Lupin,” Snape replied with exaggerated politeness. “Last night, from seven until a quarter to nine, there were sixteen in attendance, including Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, the Carrows, Gibbon, Goyle, Pettigrew, Rowle and Travers.”
“No Yaxley?”
Snape shook his head.
“At the previous meeting, on June the 1st, nine pm until one am, there were fifteen. All of the above, minus Draco but with Yaxley this time.”
Snape paused, taking several deep breaths.
“On May… on May 26, five pm until midnight, there were… twenty. Greyback and three other werewolves I didn’t know… Carrows… Gibbon… Goyle… Carrows… Goyle… twenty…”
“Severus?”
Snape stood up, pushing his chair back and breathing heavily. He stepped forward and rested his hands on the table. His already pale face had blanched to chalk white.
“Carrows… Gibbon… Pettigrew…”
Sweat broke out on his forehead and he put one hand to his face. Then he retched, the hand covering his mouth completely failing to prevent the table from being sprayed with vomit.
Lupin was on his feet and around the table in a moment. Snape was still retching. He tried to push his hair away from his face with his hand and only succeded in wiping vomit in his hair. Lupin placed one hand on Snape’s back and gently tucked his hair behind his ears. He could feel the heaving of Snape’s ribs, as well as a deep trembling. For a moment, their was an unearthly calm, shocked faces staring at Snape in silence. Then the room erupted and Snape jerked from Lupin’s hands and fled out of the door.
Minerva McGonagall, at least, showed some presence of mind in vanishing the vomit from the table. She also cleared away the tea cups, since nobody was going to drink from a cup that had sat in a pool of vomit. The Weasleys were babbling at eachother, Moody was shouting and Dumbledore was staring at Lupin as if he expected him to do something.
Lupin walked from the room after Snape, looking up and down the corridor before he saw a huddled dark shape near the back door. Snape had slid to the floor, back to the wall, arms around his knees. Lupin could hear him whimpering.
He knelt beside Snape, placing one hand over Snape’s hands and another on his back.
“Severus, what’s the matter. Are you ill?”
He knew it was a stupid question, but wasn’t sure what else to say. Snape let out a shuddering breath.
“I… I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, Severus.”
Snape shook his head.
“It’s not. It will never be alright.”
Snape began to cry, an unrestrained sobbing, gasping for breath and almost seeming to choke in his distress.
“Severus, please, breathe, come on now, deep breaths.”
Snape shook his head again, then turned and buried his face in Lupin’s chest, his hands grabbing at Lupin’s arms and clutching at the fabric of his shirt. Lupin’s body muffled the sound, but Snape began to make an eerie keening noise.
Lupin felt a tingle of magic behind him, and he turned to see Dumbledore and Tonks. Tonks was casting a silencing spell and Dumbledore was looking down at them, looking concerned but not particularly shocked.
“Minerva is contacting Poppy,” Dumbledore said. “Do you think you can get him to move? He wouldn’t want everyone to see him like this.”
Lupin nodded and slipped one hand under Snape’s knees and another around his back, preparing to stand. Snape reached one arm around his neck and buried his face in the side of Lupin’s neck. He was still sobbing.
“If you give me a couple of minutes,” Tonks said, “I reckon I can disable some of the internal anti-apparation wards. The family might have disowned me, but the house still recognises my magic. If that works, you could just side-along him up to one of the rooms. There’s a decent guest room on the second floor.”
Lupin shot her a grateful smile. She was as irritating as a coatful of fleas when she followed him around like a lovesick schoolgirl, but he liked her a lot more when she acted like the competent auror she was. He held Snape close and waited for Tonks to get the wards disabled.
She was as good as her word, and in two minutes the wards were down and Lupin was laying Snape gently on the guestroom bed.
“I’ll wait downstairs for Madame Pomphrey and show her up,” Tonks said after she had reinstated the wards.
Dumbledore turned his head and watched as she left the room and closed the door.
“Nice girl, Nymphadora,” he said. “Bright, very loyal. Hufflepuff, you know. She’d be good for you, Remus. Wouldn’t let you down.”
Lupin gave an irritated sigh. Half of the Order had already offered their opinion on how lucky Lupin was to have such a nice, young girl interested in him.
“She thinks she’s in love, but I doubt it,” Lupin replied. “She feels sorry for me, thinks I’m a good rescue project.”
“Well, you’d find a lot in common then, wouldn’t you,” Dumbledore said sharply.
Snape now had both arms around Lupin’s neck and was weeping softly, while Lupin rubbed his back. Dumbledore looked pointedly at Snape before glacing back at Lupin. The older wizard’s blue eyes twinkled with all the warmth of the Arctic sun on an iceberg. Lupin was relieved when Poppy Pomphrey entered the room.
She bustled over and immediately began to scan Snape with her wand.
“Merlin’s teeth, Severus, you should have come to me.”
Madame Pomprey gently unwound Snape’s arms from Lupin’s neck and laid him back on the bed. She moved her wand slowly around his body and Lupin could see a slight release of the tension in his muscles. She then lifted his head to make him drink a vial of potion.
“Remus, come with me,” Pomphrey said when she was finished.
He followed her out the door, and she handed him several vials of potion.
“He’ll need one of these every couple of hours, for the pain. If he’s sleeping, wake him up.”
She handed him a jar.
“And if he will let you, rub this into his muscles, particularly the neck, shoulders and back, as soon as he can tolerate it. It will stop his muscles seizing up.”
Another vial.
“I’ve done an anti-nausea spell, but it will wear off. If he is still feeling sick, give him this after midnight. Just check how he is when you wake him for the pain potion.”
“What’s the matter with him?”
“Torture,” she said grimly. “Cruciatus mainly, I think. A few others thrown in for good measure. He’s been in this state much more often lately, I think that You-Know-Who is not pleased with him. And there were multiple casters, so it wasn’t just the one wizard doing this to him. Of course he’s probably had to join in doing it to someone else. That distresses him more than if it was him being tortured.”
Madame Pomprey gave a sad sigh.
“Lonely life, being a spy. But then you’d know that, wouldn’t you.”
She gave him a small smile, then turned and left in a swish of starch.
“It’s alright Severus, it won’t be for much longer.”
Lupin paused at the door, not sure if he should disturb the conversation.
“No… no, Albus. Not yet, please.”
“It’s nearly time, Severus. It has to be.”
“Please, you can’t ask that.”
“I can and I will.” Dumbledore’s voice was firm and a little cold. “When the time comes, Severus, I trust that you will do your duty.”
Snape began to cry again, and Lupin slipped back into the room. Dumbledore looked up, his face weary. He looked older than Lupin had ever seen him.
“If you could stay with him tonight, Remus,” he said softly, “I think that would be helpful.”
Dumbledore squeezed Snape’s shoulder, before standing and walking from the room. He didn’t say goodbye.
5.
The wedding ring was the first thing that Lupin removed. He placed it carefully on the bedside table, beside his wand, then began to absently rub the finger it occupied. The ring was not too tight, but he still felt it around his finger like a noose.
Then came the shoes, neatly tucked under the bed, and the socks, which he dropped into the laundry basket. He removed his cardigan, folding it with more care than its ratty, patched state warranted. The trousers were next, again folded neatly, then the shirt, which joined his socks in the laundry basket. He shivered in the chill air of the cottage. He hated this part, the dehumanising act of stripping naked, of shedding the protective layer that separated people from animals. Finally, he took off his underwear, new boxer shorts that Tonks had insisted on getting when she’d seen the state of what he normally wore.
He shivered again as he opened the door to the cottage. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, although the path to the shed was mostly clear. He stepped out of the cottage and walked gingerly down the path, bare feet feeling every stone until they went numb with cold.
At the shed, he uttered the passwords that released the wards surrounding the shed and slipped inside. He lifted the heavy wooden bars across the door by hand, then reversed the passwords to reset the wards. He paced around the shed, checking that everything was secure. He’d already checked everything, and then checked again, but where was the harm in one final check? He had nothing else to do while he waited for moonrise.
No Wolfsbane. Every time he thought about it, he felt his chest tighten up. Rationally, he knew that he’d survived most of his life without it. But it was different now. He knew what he was missing, and worse – who he was missing.
This was the fifth transformation now, since… the betrayal. Since… he couldn’t bear to think about it, but he forced himself to. Since – he steadied his breathing – Snape had killed Dumbledore.
He should have been used to it, really. He’d been betrayed before. He had believed others to be good, he had trusted them, and he had been wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. He’d been betrayed by Peter. He thought he’d been betrayed by Sirius. He had been, really – Sirius had considered him untrustworthy and that had contributed to James and Lily’s deaths. And Sirius did nearly cause Lupin to kill Snape in the Shrieking Shack. Then, there were all the times his parents had taken him to healers, and they had said that this potion or that spell would make him better. The potions and spells had done many things – not least empty his parents wallets – but nothing had helped. Nobody had helped. Until…
Wherever it wandered, his mind kept taking him back to Snape. After everything Lupin had gone through, that betrayal hurt most of all. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was just the most recent. Perhaps, after all the others, it was the last straw. Perhaps it was because he had argued in Snape’s defence so many times and had tried so hard to reassure Harry, and then he’d been proven wrong. Or perhaps, he was beginning to admit to himself, it might possibly have been because – perhaps, maybe – he had fallen in love with Severus Snape.
Lupin rubbed his finger where the ring normally sat again.
He’d last seen Snape the time he’d been so ill at the Order meeting. Snape had been desperate, on the verge of breaking. By morning, he had seemed calmer, more himself, but still very, very lost. He hadn’t asked to make love, had simply wanted Lupin to hold him close. Then he had gone, his final words one of apology.
The overheard conversation haunted Lupin. What had Dumbledore been asking of Snape that had pushed the spy over the edge? Snape had flinched from nothing Dumbledore had asked, that much was clear. He might have done it with bad grace – just because he was asked to keep Harry alive didn’t mean he’d be nice to him – but he’d have done it. Was it simply the accumulation of all those years doing Dumbledore’s dirty work, or was it a task that was too terrible, a burden too heavy, for the strongest man that Lupin knew?
Or had it been something else?
It had nagged away at him, night after night, week after week, as he lay awake at night listening to the gentle breathing of the woman he’d taken refuge with. He replayed everything in his head, every conversation, every casual gesture, every look. How could he not have known that Snape was a traitor, when he was surely one of the closest to him?
Finally, Lupin had come to a chilling conclusion. He remembered exactly what Harry had said, every word that the young man had reported from both Dumbledore and Snape. Dumbledore’s final words had been “please, Severus.” Not “please don’t kill me, Severus”, not “please don’t hurt me, Severus”, not even “please, no, Severus”, but “please, Severus”. Had he been asking Snape to do the unthinkable?
If Lupin was right, then he himself was the traitor, doubting and then abandoning the man he loved. He’d done what he’d always done and given in to what others told him to do.
The Order had gathered after Dumbledore’s death, and Tonks had attached herself to him once again. He tried to be kind about it and put her off gently but in the end he’d been driven to uncharacteristic directness. It hadn’t worked.
“Tonks, you don’t understand. I don’t love you and I don’t believe I could ever love you.”
“You don’t know that Remus.”
“Tonks–“
“Remus, please would you call me Dora?”
Lupin sighed. He should have refused, should have said no. But he never did.
“Dora. I’m… crooked. I’ve had more… relationships with men than women. I… it would never work between us.”
“But… you’ve had relationships with women. You just said. So you can’t be entirely, you know, right?”
Lupin looked away. Tonks still wasn’t getting it.
“Remus, you’ve had a lot of… difficulties in your life. You’ve lived on the margins, have been exposed to a lot of unpleasant people. And you can be easily led. It’s not surprising you were dragged down… in that way as well. But that doesn’t mean… with the right woman… you just need someone to lead you back.”
It was a seductive idea. That he could have what his mind always wanted – acceptance respectability, the approval of others, to be normal – as well as what his body and heart desired. But an alternative view, the one he knew to be true when he was being honest with himself, was that his desire for the approval of others sometimes overrode his other desires, and that meant that he ignored his true sexuality for one which was more socially accepted.
“Dora, I really don’t think it works that way.”
“Is this about Snape?”
Lupin went suddenly still.
“I don’t want to talk about that traitor.”
“It is though, isn’t it. There was something going on between you. Did he… hurt you, Remus.”
Lupin curled his fingers into a fist, nails digging into his palm. He shook his head. That was a lie, of course, Snape had hurt him more than he had been hurt in years, but not in the way Tonks meant.
“I don’t want to talk about this, Dora. We need to get to the funeral.”
In the end, it had been Dumbledore himself who had broken Lupin’s resolve. Tonks had cornered him, the Weasleys had ganged up on him and then McGonagall had blackmailed him by saying that it was what Dumbledore would have wanted. When he remembered what Dumbledore had said to him the last night they’d spoken, he had given up fighting.
And now here he was. Curled on the floor of his shed awaiting oblivion, a pregnant wife waiting for him at home. Why had he agreed to that? It was insane. There was a war on, he didn’t – he couldn’t – love Tonks, he was a werewolf. What future did he offer for a child?
As he felt the first twitches in his limbs which signalled moonrise, Remus Lupin was, for once, grateful for the fact that he was about to lose his mind. At least then, he wouldn’t have to think about what the man he loved had done. And what he himself had done. Merlin, what a mess.
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Date: 2017-07-10 04:48 am (UTC)I also loved the glimpse of competent Auror Tonks, who seemed to show some compassion for Snape even though he's her rival in love. (I really loved canonical Tonks so much in Book 5 before she turned into mopey lovesick Tonks, which was one of the big disappointments for me in Book 6.)
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Date: 2017-07-10 11:02 am (UTC)I agree that lovesick Tonks was a disappointment, and I enjoyed giving her a bit of depth. Of course that only made her harder for Remus to refuse...
The sequel is mostly done, I'm just distracted by Moonlight Madness right now.