
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7711462.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Severus_Snape/Loraina_Cobbleshot, Remus_Lupin/Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape,
      Remus_Lupin/Harry_Potter, Harry_Potter/Loraina_Cobbleshot, Harry_Potter/
      Severus_Snape, Remus_Lupin/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Remus_Lupin, Severus_Snape, Hermione_Granger, Loraina
      Cobbleshot, Minerva_McGonagall, Kingsley_Shacklebolt, Arthur_Weasley,
      Original_Female_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Vampires, Werewolves, Bloodwolf, Dark_Creatures, Teacher-Student
      Relationship, Revenge, Heavy_Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic_Stress
      Disorder_-_PTSD, Anxiety, Depression, Suicidal_Thoughts, Torture, Rape
  Series:
      Part 3 of Dark_Creatures
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-08 Updated: 2018-03-09 Chapters: 79/? Words: 229738
****** A Crimson River ******
by Slytherkins
Summary
     Final installment in the Dark Creatures trilogy.
     Remus and Severus strengthen their unlikely alliance in order to
     pursue Harry into the unknown.
     Revisits previous installments from Remus and Severus' point of view.
***** Now Thou Turn'st Away Thy Face for Shame *****
                                 Before: Remus
 
Remus refused to believe what he was seeing. He recognised the boy’s features,
but it still didn’t seem possible. Of course, he knew about the spell and that
it had broken at midnight. He knew how it functioned and why it had been
placed. He thought he’d known what to expect.
He was wrong. So wrong. And now he was panicking because he knew he was meant
to be interacting with the boy, but he could not yet manage it. He was so
overwhelmed by the sight of him he could barely manage to breathe.
He felt shame wash over him. This was James’ son. Harry was sixteen for gods'
sake! Remus was thirty-six. Not elderly by any means, but still far, far too
old to be feeling… And for a child. Remus thought he felt ill.
But Harry no longer looked like a child. Harry hardly looked like himself at
all, despite that Remus had seen the boy only months prior. And it wasn’t
simply that Remus was now allowed by the spell’s dissipation to appreciate him
aesthetically. Their recent loss seemed to have aged the young man. Harry had
always had a serious bent, but much of his innocence seemed to have died with
Sirius. There was a new maturity to the firm set of his finely shaped jaw and
more wisdom in his brilliant green eyes.
Whatever the reasons for his unexpected reaction, Remus had to get ahold of
himself. Harry had not yet noticed his presence in the shadows of the anteroom
and was clearly apprehensive. He hadn’t known where he was heading when he took
the leap of faith and touched the portkey, and Grimmauld Place had changed
considerably since he’d last seen it, which was why Remus was there to greet
him.
“Hello?” The quaver in Harry’s voice spoke to his disquiet. Remus felt a fool.
He composed himself, stepping forward and laying a hand on the young man’s
shoulder to reassure him. He startled the boy instead, but it was short-lived.
“Happy Birthday, Harry,” Remus whispered, somehow summoning a smile. And the
radiance of Harry’s answering one almost undid Remus completely. Surely Harry
would not feel such happy relief if he knew what Remus was thinking, if he knew
how badly the hand resting on the boy’s shoulder ached to move elsewhere.
Remus’ self-control was embarrassingly lacking, and he tightened his grip
against the temptation to stroke his palm down Harry’s arm, though he could not
yet bring himself to remove it.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said.
"I think we're past formalities, Harry," Remus replied, his voice tenser than
he’d intended. “This isn't Hogwarts, and I'm no longer your professor now am
I?” he managed in a softer tone. “Call me Remus." Harry nodded, and the man
took half a second more to get a hold on his unseemly impulses before releasing
the boy. Breaking the contact seemed to make it easier to breathe, so long as
Remus could avoid those eyes.
"We're still here, then?" Harry asked ruefully, looking about him, finally
recognising where he stood. Remus simply nodded, drawing his resolve from the
musty shadows as his gaze swept, unseeing, across them. "Wasn't this a bit
dangerous?" Harry asked, referring to the toy snitch displayed in his open
palm. "I mean, what if Voldemort had intercepted the owl? Might have been a
nasty surprise to find him here instead of me."
"The plan had its risks," Remus conceded with a small sigh, taking it from him.
"But we felt this was safer than transporting you here by broom again,” he
explained, studying the cartoonish toy to avoid lifting his eyes to Harry’s
face, lest he be unable to pull them away. “Besides, to anyone other than
yourself this would just have seemed a worthless plastic bauble, given by a
very poor --or very cheap-- friend," Remus sneered. It had seemed an
appropriate gift from the penniless werewolf. "It was keyed to you,” he went
on, turning it in his fingers. He’d have to look at the boy again. But not yet.
“It was designed to activate at your touch and yours alone. A very tricky bit
of magic, but Professor Dumbledore does have a knack for these sorts of
things."
"Dumbledore?" Harry asked. "Is he here?"
"Of course he is," Remus replied carefully, and he even more carefully returned
the Snitch to him to avoid any accidental brush of skin. "He's waiting for us
in the kitchen. Come along, Harry," he said, weary already, and for none of the
reasons he’d anticipated. "There are many things we need to discuss." He gave
Harry's shoulder a hesitant pat and, for the first time since Harry had
arrived, dared a brief moment of eye contact before turning abruptly to lead
the way.
Remus took a steadying breath as he strode down the hall, felt his head
clearing now that they were no longer so close in such a small space. Grimmauld
Place yawned before them. The heavy air had never seemed fresher.
He realised he was being inexcusably absurd. Sirius had been lost scarcely
eight weeks ago. Was Remus’ affection really so fickle? But then, he’d realised
before now that the two of them hadn’t really been in love. They had cared
deeply for one another; with the exception of Harry, there had been no one more
important to the werewolf in all the world. They had shared an unbreakable
bond, an unspeakable past, and an inexhaustible fondness, but not necessarily a
strong romance. Their physical relationship had been a natural growth between
two so lonely, two for whom there could be no others.
Sirius, perhaps, had not felt the same. But then Sirius had had eyes for the
lycanthrope since they were children. Remus strongly suspected it had even
influenced his animagus form. Sirius had worked his way through a legion girls
trying to deny it, even to himself. But the discovery of Firewhiskey at fifteen
had led to drunken confessions and clumsy kisses that Remus wasn’t certain the
young aristocrat even remembered the next morning. He hadn’t acted as if he
did, which was just as well to Remus. Because Remus’ heart had belonged already
to another: a dark-haired, bespectacled rake who was taken from Remus, without
ever knowing about the young man’s feelings for him, just a year after Harry
had been born.
And now his doppelganger followed Remus through the haunted halls of Black
Manor.
Remus was startled from this reflection by a clattering noise behind him,
followed by the sound of a body striking the floor, and he was momentarily
terrified that something had happened while his guard was lowered, while he had
been distracted by inappropriate thoughts; until he recalled, almost instantly,
where they were and that there were no threats here. He spun toward the
commotion, baffled nonetheless, to find Harry on the floor. On his knees. Holy
Hell.On his bloody knees, face upturned, his mother’s eyes staring widely and
his father’s lips hanging open in anticipation of...something. Remus couldn’t
work out what was happening. His brain was momentarily unable to function at
all as they stared at each other.
“She didn’t scream,” Harry said finally.
It took half a moment more for Remus to banish the completely sinful but
equally unbidden fantasy the scene evoked. “Ah,” he said shakily. Remus finally
noticed the toy Snitch clutched in Harry’s hand. He’d dropped it. It all made
sense now. How many times had Tonks tripped over the umbrella stand that used
to sit just here at the bannister? And how often had Harry himself joined the
battle against the shrew whose painting once hung in this spot? He’d not been
here since Remus had removed her. The man gestured to the soot-stained wall
beside him, and he and Harry both regarded it.
Much as they needed a safe headquarters, Remus couldn’t help but feel it a
shame that the blaze he’d started when he’d burned the bitch from the wall
hadn’t taken the rest of the miserable house with it. Thankfully, the memory
reminded him of his grief and what it had led him to do, and his lingering
contempt for the woman who had so mistreated one of his dearest friends helped
distract Remus from the other confusing emotions elicited by Harry’s
appearance. "Don't fret about making a bit of noise, Harry," he said with a wry
expression. "She'll not be bothering us ever again." But Harry was still on his
knees, and Remus decided against helping him to his feet. He turned toward the
kitchen instead, going on ahead to allow himself an opportunity to finish
untangling his impulses, leaving the boy to pick himself up.
He nodded to Albus as he entered the kitchen and stationed himself at the head
of the table, waiting for Harry to appear.
“Any news?” the Headmaster asked anxiously, noticing Remus’ grim expression.
Remus shook his head. Harry had volunteered nothing and Remus hadn’t had the
presence of mind to ask. Not that he’d be explaining why to Albus.
“I don’t think he knows,” Remus said softly. “Let’s not ruin his birthday.”
“I agree,” Albus murmured. Harry would have to be told, and soon, that his pet
had preceded him to Grimmauld Place. But she looked unlikely to survive, if she
hadn’t already passed while Harry and Remus had been in the hallway. Perhaps
they should tell him, let him spend her last moments with her. But Molly was
comforting the poor thing already, and they simply didn’t have the heart to
deliver such bad news on a special day that would already hold enough shock and
disappointment; that is if Remus knew anything about the boy’s attitude toward
his Potions Master. Why did that sad bastard have to be the only person skilled
enough in Legilimency to teach the young man?
The Headmaster’s whole demeanour changed the instant Harry walked through the
door looking pleased as he chased the scent of Lunch until he found it bubbling
on the hearth. "I see you have arrived safely," Albus said with an effortless
smile, pointing Harry to a seat directly across from him. "Very good. You are
welcome to whatever you may find, afterwards," Albus assured him when Harry’s
attention refused to stray from the steaming cauldron. "Molly has even been so
kind as to leave the stew on for you. Right now, however, I feel we need your
full attention."
As they took their seats, Harry's stomach growled loudly. "I'm sorry,
Professor, but that may be impossible with Mrs. Weasley's cooking so close by,"
Harry said with a shy, endearing grin that made Remus’ stomach flutter. Albus'
eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Indeed," he chuckled, steepling his fingers delightedly on the table before
him. "But there are a few things we must get out of the way before we feast.”
The old man became more sombre. "How have you been Harry?" he asked quietly.
Harry swallowed and cleared his throat, looking sheepishly between the two of
them, but his voice suddenly eluded him, so he merely nodded slowly.
"As well as can be expected, I guess," he was finally able to croak. Albus
nodded his sad understanding. Remus’ heart ached for the young man. Now was his
cue to comfort him, to reach over and soothe his melancholy with a friendly
touch, but sadly he still didn’t dare.
"Harry, has anything odd happened lately?" Albus asked now, very seriously.
"Anything at all you wish to share with us?" Harry looked nervously between the
two men who waited anxiously for his response.
"You mean besides that the Dursley's are acting like human beings?" Harry
asked, earning him a smile from the Headmaster. Remus breathed a sigh of
relief. They still didn’t know what recent events foreshadowed, but luckily it
didn’t seem to yet touch the boy. Unburdened days were few for the young man.
Hopefully, today would be at least one more. "Nothing I can think of," Harry
shrugged. Albus was visibly pleased.
"Alright," he said. "Now, since I believe Remus here has some other business to
attend to, I think firstly we should discuss the matter of Sirius' will and
your inheritance." Albus had decided that he preferred to speak to Harry alone,
particularly to break the news to him about his resumption of Occlumency with
Severus, and so they had agreed that Remus would to travel to Surrey to collect
Harry’s things while the Headmaster finished their meeting. Albus let the young
man process this news, waiting to continue until Harry looked back up at him
expectantly.
"As I'm sure you know, Sirius was the last remaining member of the Black family
to bear that name. However, because of his long imprisonment, much of the Black
fortune has either been seized by the Ministry or redistributed among his many
relatives." The injustice of it ate at the pit of Remus’ stomach for the
umpteenth time. He could tell it irked Harry, as well. "As a result," Albus
continued, "Sirius' holdings were few. Among them, however, is Number Twelve
Grimmauld Place, which was likely overlooked, or ignored, due to its apparent
abandonment."
"I've inherited Order headquarters?" Harry blinked.
"Well, not exactly," Albus corrected. "For so long as the Order has need of it,
or until you leave Hogwarts, whichever comes last, the deed will be held by
Remus here. Which brings me to the next matter, the matter of your
guardianship." Remus saw Harry look over at him from the corner of his eye, but
the man was still summoning his self-control and so kept his attention
turned to Albus. “Granted, you are, as of today in fact, sixteen and have
reached the age of consent by Wizarding standards.”
Remus saw his lips moving, but he did not even hear the Headmaster’s next few
sentences. The last one he’d spoken echoed deafeningly in the werewolf’s mind
and the timing of the revelation was less than convenient.
The glamour had expired because Harry had reached the age of consent. The age
where Harry was legally permitted to be physically intimate with whoever he
chose so long as that person was also of legal age.
It was immaterial. The spell had been cast in the first place in order to
safeguard Harry’s innocence, and nothing in all the world could persuade the
man to endanger that. Still, Remus’ mouth went suddenly dry.
"However. While you still attend school, any question or decision that might
arise concerning your well-being shall now be directed to Remus, as necessity
dictates."
Remus woke at the sound of his name and dragged his attention back to the
present, finally steeling himself to meet Harry's eye. It was well past time
for him to pull himself together and act like the responsible adult he was
expected to be, that he’d volunteered to be.
"Sirius asked me long ago if I might take over his responsibilities as your
godfather should anything ever happen to him," he told Harry, his tender
thoughts of the man making it easier to speak to the boy. "To which I readily
agreed." The affection in Harry’s expression was returned; and not in the vile
and lecherous way Remus had been battling since he arrived, simply in the
paternal sense he’d felt for the boy since he’d first set eyes on him sixteen
years ago to the day.
"Brilliant," Harry said in response to the pronouncement.
"Thank you for trusting me, Harry," Remus said softly, hoping that trust was
not misplaced, resolving that it would not be. He would master himself, and
he’d fulfil his new duties to the best of his ability. Harry had gone too long
without a guiding hand.
After that, Remus excused himself, trying not to seem eager to escape the young
man’s presence but feeling relief to be doing so. And gratitude that it would
be just for a little while.
***** Oblivion and Hateful Griefs *****
                                Before: Severus
Travelling to Grimmauld Place was a pain in the arse. Especially at midday,
Severus reflected irritably. But if Albus was determined, despite Severus’
vehement objections, to drag Loraina out of the woods and drop her into a
castle teeming with virgin blood, then Severus needed to start her on
Substisanguinus now. Which meant he’d have to double his output. And he
couldn’t do that until Albus approved the invoice for additional lobalug venom.
 
Doubling his bloody output. He fumed. As if it were such a simple matter. As if
this school year wasn’t going to be full enough already. The Dark Lord was
demanding increasing amounts of his time now that his plans could finally move
forward. And Severus did not dare to be unaccommodating, especially if he
wanted to be kept abreast of those plans and convey them to the Headmaster; not
to mention Severus’ fondness for continued breathing. He was a double bloody
agent, for fuck’s sake. He was Head of House. He taught a core subject that
required mentoring of both O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students. He had to spend extra
time in the lab to support a werewolf and now two vampires on top of keeping
the infirmary stores stocked. He would have to keep a weather eye on his
thoroughly insane ex-lover as no one else seemed to comprehend the utter
foolishness of inviting the woman to interact with children. And to ice the
shit-cake he was perpetually forced to eat, he now would also be required to
attempt, yet again, to force some understanding of a very delicate and elusive
area of magic into the thick skull of Saviour Potter-Spawn, despite that he’d
so thoroughly and inexcusably violated the man’s small amount of privacy the
last time.
It was enough to drive a person to atrocities. Albus asked too much, dangling
his guilt and his Dark Mark over his head in order to justify his impositions
as if a single bloody mistake fresh out of Hogwarts merited a lifetime of
death-defying labour in punishment. If Potter’s proficiency in Occlumency was
not vital to safeguarding the secret of Loraina’s presence, and so also both
their lives, Severus would have refused.
Still, he thought to himself as he strode peevishly down the hall of Grimmauld
Place, the boy had one chance. One. And if he stretched one toeout of line-
Just. Bloody. Perfect.
Severus had thrown open the door to the kitchen to find the insufferable brat
in question seated at the table opposite Albus. And something about the sight
of him arrested Severus’ breathing and muddled his thoughts. Severus put it
down to his utter distaste for the young man and the unexpected shock of
suddenly being faced with him without the benefit of mastering his disgust
beforehand.
At least it was mutual, Severus thought on seeing the violence of the boy’s
expression when he turned to him. Severus occasionally had those students who,
despite his sincere effort to discourage it and for reasons the professor would
never be able to comprehend, took a liking to him and would haunt his office
door and try to catch his eye at the staff table. Thank the godsPotter would
never be one of them.
"Snape," the boy muttered acknowledgingly under his breath.
"Professor Snape," Albus reminded him quietly but firmly. Severus was pleased
by the correction. He’d informed Albus he expected at least a show of respect
from the little shit. "Severus, what excellent timing. Come in and have a
seat," Albus said, turning to him.
The man must be mad. Despite ample evidence to the contrary, Severus was not,
in fact, a masochist, and he could think of few things more torturous than
sitting down for a nice chat with the Headmaster and Saint Potter. He raised an
eyebrow to express his disinclination. Apparently unaffected by the flat out
refusal of his invitation, Albus elaborated, "I was just about to inform Harry
here that he is to resume his Occlumency lessons with you tomorrow."
"What? " Potter blurted. Quite rudely if you asked Severus. So he hadn’t been
aware. "I thought youwould be teaching me Occlumency. What was all that talk
about playing too distant a role?" he demanded, forgetting all sense of seemly
behaviour. If Severus were the Headmaster, he’d be sorely tempted to slap some
manners into the boy.
"Harry," Albus said patiently, "this is exactly what I had been working toward
telling you. Though I have been far too distant, and though I hope to become
much more involved with your affairs, as always I have your best interest in
mind. And in this matter, we think it best that you continue to study
Occlumency with Professor Snape."
"We?" Potter looked incredulously from the Headmaster to the Potions Master.
Severus smirked at his struggle to make peace with the news. If Severus had to
accept the situation despite his loathing, it was only fitting the boy should
suffer as well.
"I can't see how this is in my best interest," Potter muttered, looking
pointedly at Severus. "What if he just decides to abandon me again?"
Severus’ entire body seemed to contract. It was taking every ounce of willpower
he had to keep from strangling the boy then and there. How dare he! After the
magnitude of his trespass, he presumed to lay the blame on Severus? The little
bastard pulled a satisfied smirk at the Potions Master’s temporary lapse in
control, and Severus very vividly imagined murdering the boy.
"Do you see what I endure, Albus?" he hissed angrily as he and Potter glared
daggers at each other. Fortunately, the Headmaster intervened before Severus
could succumb to the impulse to draw his wand.
"Professor Snape and I have discussed the events of last term," he said, trying
unsuccessfully to draw Potter’s attention away from Severus. "What happened was
indeed unfortunate. But he has been gracious enough to overlook it and is
willing to continue your lessons together on the condition that you apply
yourself to his teaching."
Potter gaped disbelievingly at the Headmaster. He was beside himself. "Gracious
enough to-...apply myself-...But it was him that threw me out!" he finally
managed to sputter.
"I'm afraid I cannot be swayed in this, Harry," Albus said with an air of
finality. Potter was undeterred.
"But why can't you teach me? Or anyone else?" the boy begged.
"Harry, there is no one else. Even if I had the time to devote to your daily
teaching, I still do not believe my tutelage would be as conducive-"
"But he hates me!" he interrupted.
"Exactly, Potter," Severus intoned, deciding it was time to inject some
perspective into the matter. The boy shuddered and turned to glower at him.
"Mister Potter," Albus gently corrected.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Severus curled his lip and continued.
"Whoever might attempt to use Legilimency against you, Mister Potter, will very
likely not like you. The attack will be neither gentle nor pleasant. It will be
a sudden and savage rape of your subconscious in search of your most painful
memories or anything else that might make an effective weapon against you.
Albus, we feel, has neither the heart nor the ability to train you properly."
"Oh. So he isn't a cruel and sadistic bastard and you are?" Potter sneered.
A cruel and sadistic bastard who won’t always have to play nice in front of the
Headmaster, Severus thought with a small, satisfied smile. At least there was
that consolation. The foolish boy never took his concerns to anyone, especially
when he should. His failure to report the Umbitch’s use of a Black Quill to
Minerva last term was evidence enough of that.
"I would not have put it in quite that way," Albus said now, not at all
pleased. "But that is the gist of the matter." Potter looked from one to the
other, finally crossing his arms and heaving an exasperated though defeated
sigh. Severus wanted to find some enjoyment in it, but he was feeling much the
same himself.
"I think I have had quite enough of this discussion, Headmaster," said Severus.
"At your convenience, however, I do need a word with you." Dumbledore nodded
and waved his understanding, and thankfully Severus was allowed to make his
escape.
Brilliant, he thought sardonically to himself as he stepped off the doorstep
and Apparated to Hogsmeade. The next few weeks should be just fucking
delightful.
***** And Maintain Such a Quarrel Openly *****
“Severus.”
A sleepy looking Mrs. Weasley greeted him coolly as he stepped into the kitchen
the next morning. He was not her favourite person, nor she his, but soldiers
cannot be choosy in their company.
“Molly,” he nodded in reply. “You’re up early.”
“Making Harry a bit of breakfast before I fetch him,” she explained, building a
plate before setting it at the near end of the kitchen table. Severus eyed it
covetously. Rumor had it Molly was an excellent cook, and breakfast had always
been Severus’ favorite meal, back when he took them. He occasionally ventured
it still. He’d been taking Substisanguinus long enough that his body did not
reject most foods any longer. But his digestive tract seemed to resent being
roused, and nothing was ever palatable. He sometimes would simply take a bite
or two of ham and eggs, though, pretending it tasted juicy and savory and not
like chewing gelatinous dust and wet cardboard. It had been so long, the man
wasn’t even certain he was imagining it correctly.
“You look tired,” Severus noted. “I’ll wake him myself in a moment. Why don’t
you go on back to bed?” he offered. She looked grudgingly grateful, as if she
didn’t like Severus giving her reason not to dislike him.
“You’d think I’d be used to feeding an army,” she commented with a weary shrug,
removing her apron. “But then, we always had a strict schedule around the
Burrow. These arbitrary comings and goings about run me ragged.”
Severus nodded his understanding as he took a seat at the far end of the table,
trying to prepare himself for the trial to come. Molly, however, hesitated to
take her leave, and it made Severus apprehensive. He did not exactly dislike
the woman, but he wasn’t particularly fond either. She could be overbearing.
But besides his doubting the wisdom of their fervor for procreation, the
Weasleys seemed decent enough. For Gryffindors, that is. Pity the whole batch
couldn’t have been like Percy. The boy had been a model student. The same could
not be said of the youngest two. And the twins had veritably given the Potions
Master conniptions.
“Did you have something on your mind, Molly?” Severus prompted, growing
irritated by the stern scowl she was giving him. As if waiting for the
invitation, she drew herself up.
“I was just thinking that Harry could use a bit more kindness and understanding
at the moment and far less…” Seeming at a loss for words, she waved her hand,
gesturing to the length of Severus’ seated form. He sighed.
“What, exactly, are you implying?”  
“Just that you aren’t rosiest of persons. Harry’s got some shocks coming,
Severus Snape. He doesn’t need you making his life any harder than it already
is,” she scolded, wagging her finger at him as if he were one of her
disobedient offspring. Somehow the woman often succeeded in making Severus feel
he was just that. He tossed her a resentful glance and adjusted his robes
almost poutily.
“My treatment of the boy is a direct reflection of his behaviour,” he insisted.
“Should he manage to remain respectful, then so shall I,” Severus explained as
civilly as he could.
“I think you can manage a great deal more than you attempt,” she replied,
eyebrows lifted and lips pursed. “I don’t want to hear you’ve given my boy a
hard time, now,” she informed him matter-of-factly, waiting for his exasperated
nod of acknowledgment before returning a satisfied one and turning toward the
door. “I made extra if you’re hungry, by the way,” she tossed out casually as
she was passing through the door. Severus grumbled at her back as it
disappeared up the stairs. Though his condition had not been divulged to most
of the Order, he thought the woman more than half suspected what he was and was
simply trying to irritate him. No doubt she considered anyone who declined her
cooking to be suffering from somesort of dire ailment. Regardless of whether it
was intentional, she had certainly succeeded in riling him. And it wasn’t just
the mention of food.
He was so bloody tired of hearing how difficult life was for the Boy Who Lived.
Especially when Severus was the one who spent most of his spare time catering
to the whimsy of a tyrannical, Unforgivable-loving madman. Potter would be dead
now many times over already if it hadn’t been for Severus. But saving the
brat’s life wasn’t enough, apparently. No. Severus had to make it ‘rosy’ as
well. He sneered. Hell would freeze over before he placed Harry Potter’s bloody
comfortas a priority, particularly above his own. Severus had more important
things to worry about than humoring an impetuous teenager.
He wasn’t certain if the boy was summoned by his thoughts or if he simply
thought of the wretch too often and it occurred by coincidence, but Potter took
that moment to stumble into the kitchen looking groggy, idly scratching his
side while he searched out the smell of breakfast.
Good gods. Did the boy even own a comb? Severus didn’t spend much time on his
own appearance, but he did at least possess a hair brush which he used daily.
The boy probably thought his disheveled hair made him look ‘cool’. James could
never keep his hands out of his bloody hair either, always tousling it whenever
he thought Evans was looking. How disgustingly like his father he was.
"What a surprise," Severus smirked, startling the boy who had not yet noticed
his presence. "Eager to begin are we?" Potter’s expression perfectly reflected
Severus’ own lack of enthusiasm for present company. "I was just about to rouse
you," he informed him. Severus was fairly sure he didn’t imagine the boy’s
shudder.
"We're to begin so early?" Potter complained through a yawn as he wiped the
last of the sleep from his eyes.
"The sooner the better," Severus answered in clipped tones. "We do not have an
unlimited window of opportunity. The Dark Lord is eager to do away with you
and, at your rate of comprehension, it will be a miracle if you survive until
Christmas. It is indeed unfortunate that you require such time-consuming
distractions as sleeping and eating, so let's get that out of the way so we can
begin, shall we?" Severus finished, nodding to the plate on the table before
the boy.
"Funny," Potter muttered. "Suddenly I'm not quite so hungry anymore."
Severus ground his teeth, feeling as if it were already the most trying morning
ever. "I did not ask if you were hungry," he replied smoothly but firmly. "I
told you to eat. You need your strength. Though, I doubt the entire contents of
the cupboard would be sufficient, considering," he sneered. As he said it,
Severus looked the boy up and down. But he’d remembered him looking far
more...scrawny. Not so...filled out and...
It didn’t bloody matter, Severus thought irritably to himself. "And I thought I
made it quite clear last term how you were to address me, Mr. Potter," he
huffed.
Potter seemed to be biting back a retort as he plopped down moodily in front of
his plate and began shovelling food into his face. Damned ungrateful creature.
He was showing the meal no respect.
"I see those Muggles you live with failed to teach you anything in the way of
manners," Severus remarked disgustedly. "Though I sympathise, as I myself find
it very difficult to teach you anything at all."
"You told me to eat, Sir," Potter slurred, intentionally through a mouthful of
scone, making Severus once again contemplate violence. It would do no good to
start bickering so early in their ordeal, however, and the boy had already
turned his attention away from Severus and to his eggs.
Eggs, Severus thought with longing. His mouth practically watered watching them
disappear between Potter’s unappreciative lips. Severus’ mother had made the
besteggs. He’d seen so little of her when he was a child. She had worked such
long hours supporting him and his deadbeat father. But she had made a special
effort to make him breakfast whenever possible, sipping her coffee and hanging
on Severus’ every word between bites as he chatted delightedly, cherishing her
presence and her attention before she would rush off to work leaving Severus
all alone with his miserable, neglectful, bad tempered, Muggle-
“Do you have to watch every bite?" Potter asked peevishly, waking him to the
present. "I promise I'm not hiding them down my jumper."
Severus started, flustered to realise he’d lapsed into worthless nostalgia.
Over bloody eggs.
"Hurry up," he snarled, rearranging the sleeves of his robes as if they
suddenly irked him. Potter threw him a suspicious look through his fringe but
did as he was told. Finally, he pushed his empty plate back noisily and downed
his orange juice, setting the empty cup down with a bang.
"Quite finished?" Severus asked, eyebrow raised as the boy glowered at him as
though he'd been waiting impatiently on Severus for hours.
"Quite," Potter replied, smacking of sarcastic politeness. The little shit.
"Good," Severus muttered.
He led Potter to an unused room on the topmost floor, far from where the rest
of the house slept so he could berate the boy as loudly as necessary without
Molly overhearing. He was sure to receive a bad report from the boy regardless,
but he preferred Molly not hear the alleged mistreatment firsthand. Plausible
deniability and all that. He held the door open for the boy before closing it
soundly behind them and sweeping further inside the room, turning abruptly when
he reached its centre. Seeing Severus’ wand already in hand, Potter scrambled
for his own.
"Relax, Mr. Potter," Severus said, his lip curling. "I have come to the
conclusion that my previous method might not have been the most efficient," he
reluctantly conceded. The boy tried to do as he was told, lowering his wand but
seemingly finding it difficult to loosen his death-grip on it. "Now, I realise
you've slept since,” Severus said with a withering sigh, “but do you, by any
chance, remember how to prepare yourself for a Legilimency attack?" he asked,
his eyebrows arched doubtfully.
"Clear my mind. Let go of emotion," Potter said shortly.
"Very good," Severus said with feigned admiration. "At this rate, you may yet
live to see Easter."
Potter seethed, every muscle clenched in a seeming effort not to say something
he'd regret. There was no subtlety to the boy at all; his every emotion was
always screamed unambiguously through his body language. He wouldn’t survive a
day as a spy. Severus eyed him coldly. "This is impossible," he muttered to
himself, turning his back on the boy. He put away his wand and found a chair
among the sheeted furnishings, sitting down heavily. Potter shuffled as if not
knowing what to do with himself. Regarding him, Severus wasn’t sure what to do
with him either.
"You realise, Mr. Potter, that should the Dark Lord attempt Legilimency, you
will not be warned beforehand and so will not be given the opportunity to
prepare. We will still practice the spell but, in addition, you must learn to
achieve the desired state of mind instantly and at will,” he explained wearily.
“Starting today, I'd like you to perform daily meditation. Though what is
desired here is not exactly relaxation, meditation willstrengthen your
discipline of mind."
Discipline. Severus snorted. Harry Potter learn any form of discipline? They
were all doomed.
"Meditation?" Potter asked sceptically. Severus glared at him until he
remembered himself. "Sir?" he added quickly. Severus took a calming breath and
answered.
"Yes, meditation,” he drawled. “I realise you may not be extremely world savvy,
but surely you know what meditation is, don't you?"
"Yes, Sir," Potter replied tersely.
"Bravo," Severus said dryly. "As it comes naturally to me I cannot, nor do I
care to, instruct you on the process. Though, I'm sure you can alert Miss
Granger to your need,” he sneered. As if the boy might fail to. He sometimes
wondered if the rest of the trio weren’t somehow eavesdropping at all times.
Just as well. Granger certainly had far more sense than Potter, and someonehad
to act as his brain as the boy seemed to lack the organ. “No doubt, if she
isn't already as well versed in this as she is every other subject under the
sun, it should be no problem for her to procure the necessary information."
"You want me to involve Hermione in this? Sir? I thought I was supposed to keep
this all a secret, pretend I'm taking remedial potions?" Potter cheeked.
"I did not tell you to inform her whyyou were meditating, only that you shall
be and require her assistance," Severus said snidely. "Though, contrary to what
you may believe, I am not an imbecile, Mr. Potter, and know perfectly well that
you share everything with Granger and Weasley...as unwise as that may be.
Though it seems you have no qualms about endangering the lives of those around
you out of your selfish craving for pity and attention," he spat disgustedly.
Severus watched as offence washed over the boy. He scowled at Severus as if
debating on whether to voice it. Predictably, he decided he should.
"How dare you!"
"Propriety, Mr. Potter," Severus reminded him darkly. If the boy was going to
be so reckless, he had no business being tetchy when more responsible persons
pointed out his foolishness.
"Bugger propriety!" Potter spat. Severus' eyes narrowed and glinted
dangerously, warning the boy not to take his insolence too far, but Potter
wasn't deterred. "You don't know anything about me and I'm sick of your
assumptions. I'm sick of the way you treat me because of them."
For a moment, the irony of the statement robbed Severus of words and he simply
scowled at the boy. Assumptions? Assumptions? Oh, to be sixteen and so
absolutely confident of the lack of understanding in others and completely
oblivious to one’s own. "I know enough," Severus replied finally, his voice
bitter, "have seenenough to recognise your total disregard for caution,
consideration, common sense, and the well-being of those around you. Like
father like son," he finished in a low hiss.
"I am not my bloody father! Don't you getthat?!" Potter bellowed. His temper
really was becoming unacceptable, and Severus, for one, had had enough of it.
He rose swiftly to his feet.
"I cannot believe the fate of the world rests in the hands of an impertinent
child!"
"I am not a child!" Potter whined, sounding very childish indeed. Did the boy
possess no self-awareness whatsoever?
"Dumbledore is a fool,” Severus muttered darkly. “He's been far too free with
you, allowing you to run amok unchecked. Even after everything, you still don't
seem to comprehend that your impulsive behaviour may bear consequences other
than you intend." Severus was standing menacingly over him now, so aggravated
at the boy he didn’t mark actually approaching him. "It takes a veritable army
of us to chase along behind you, trying to keep you from killing yourself!”
If the boy only knewthe difficult position his actions routinely put the man in
with the Dark Lord; forcing him to come to Potter’s rescue time and again, and
in doing so increasing the danger of his true allegiance being discovered. It
was as if the boy considered it all a game! And Severus was tired of risking
his life to compensate for Potter’s lack of foresight. “I shudder to think how
many more lives will be lost on your account," he spat.
The boy flinched. The comment had wounded. "It wasn'tmy fault that my
parents...that Cedric-" Potter croaked, his voice proving fickle as he appeared
to be fighting tears.
Of course those would be the examples he chose. "I suppose what happened to
your travesty of a godfather has simply slipped your mind," Severus spat
through gritted teeth. He saw defiance flash in the boy’s eyes.
"You can't blame me for Sirius!" Potter cried desperately, shoving at Severus
who had come to lower menacingly only inches from him.
"Oh, can't I?" Severus said coldly, effortlessly resisting the boy’s efforts to
expel him. Someone hadto make him understand the seriousness of the matter. And
as with most seemingly impossible things, the task apparently fell to Severus.
"Voldemort," Potter squeaked, short of breath as if he physically fought
understanding as frantically as he fought Severus’ proximity. "He-"
"Did not intend or even wish Black's physical presence at the Ministry that
night," Severus returned, growing more and more incensed at the boy’s
resistance to reason.
Potter stopped struggling to budge the man and glared at Severus instead, anger
replacing desperation. "If youhadn't goaded him,” he accused. “If you hadn't
thrown a fit about the Pensieve and stopped giving me my lessons..."
Severus looked down at him icily, suddenly very calm. Much as he had hated the
insufferable arsehole, he refused to be blamed for his death.
"Your godfather was a grown man, Mr. Potter, though he rarely behaved as one.
Still, he had enough sense to understand the danger of his situation. That he
decided to risk his own life to save yours was his prerogative. Despite my
'goading', he refrained from leaving this house until the day he died. And at
that time, considering your immediate peril, I assure you, no amount of
pleading on my part --nothing short of a full body bindingspell-- would have
kept him here."
Potter had backed away from Severus until he was pressed flat against the wall
behind him and was shaking so badly he might have collapsed if he hadn't.
Severus felt a small twinge of guilt seeing the pain in his eyes. But this had
to be done. Everyone else always handled the boy with kid gloves. Perhaps this
was simply what it would take to get him to finally accept responsibility for
his own actions. And it was imperative that he began to do just that. Because
the stakes had never been higher. The Dark Lord had returned. Had returned and
had been revealed to the world and so had nothing to lose by charging full
steam toward the goal of Potter’s demise. And it would be one thing if his was
the only life at risk. But when Potter fell, he’d take the rest of them down
with him. Severus hardened himself against the boy’s helpless expression and
prepared to drive his point home.
"As far as your Occlumency lessons are concerned," he continued condemningly,
"if you had made the slightest effort to cooperate, I might have reacted
differently. I might have called you back after I'd had time to calm myself.
But it was apparent to me my efforts were in vain. I could have spent every
waking moment attempting to teach you Occlumency, but as you welcomedthe Dark
Lord's bait, it would have been utterly futile."
He seemed to be getting through. Potter’s expression turned less pitiful, and
his building resentment blasted toward the man with each heaving breath. It was
heartening.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter," Severus said now, sounding completely unapologetic,
"but you can no longer live under these self-delusions. We simply cannot afford
it. We don't have time for your self-pity. I won't pretend to believe a word
of, or to give a damn about, what that ridiculous prophecy has to say. But that
doesn't matter. What is important is the Dark Lord doesbelieve it. And the
longer we keep you alive, the more time we buy; the longer we have to derail
him before he launches an earnest attack. The truth is," he said, his voice
dropping to an ominous whisper as he leaned in closer to Potter, ignoring the
sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He told himself this cruelty was
necessary, that this pain would end up saving the boy’s life. "You provide a
very valuable distraction, Mr. Potter. And. Nothing. More."
Severus saw the comment break through the boy’s vehement denial. He watched as
Potter’s resentment crystallised. Severus recognised the bitter resignation the
boy must be tasting. It was a shame. He was still so young. But then so had
Severus been when his own innocence had finally been obliterated. It had been a
jagged pill to swallow, but it had kept the man alive through all else he’d
been forced to endure. With any luck, this would do the same for Harry.
Potter straightened and squared his shoulders, looking Severus dead in the eye.
"You're a bastard," he said calmly.
Severus was impressed with the boy’s new self-possession but still reflected
Potter's distaste back at him. "And you are an arrogant, ungrateful,
incompetent, reckless, and insufferable prat," he replied in the same even
tone. The boy did not reply. They seemed to finally be getting somewhere. "Now,
are you quite ready to get on with it?"
Potter nodded and Severus took several steps back, not bothering to count down
before he uttered an impassioned 'Legilimens!'
For once, the boy seemed to be ready for it. He struggled for a moment, but he
never broke eye contact with Severus, and after only a moment's disorientation,
Potter was able to cast a disarming spell. Severus' wand went flying out of his
hand and over his head.
Potter was bent double, but he still held his wand, and he was still standing.
He lifted a triumphant gaze to Severus and the man eyed him critically.
"Bravo," he whispered, stone-faced. And for once, the comment was sincere.
       
***** This is the Tragic Tale *****
                                     Remus
 
Remus was exhausted. He’d been in Surrey for two days with Kingsley, in the
background trying to be unobtrusive as the Ministry scrambled to sort the
nightmare playing out around the Dursley home. Kingsley dealt with the Muggle
law enforcement with Remus left, for the most part, to communicate with Harry’s
relatives.
Properly meeting Lily’s sister had been surreal. Remus saw nothing of the girl
he knew in this woman. Though Remus’ sincere condolences were not warmly
received, she had been far less hostile than her husband. It was tiring dealing
with Mr. Dursley and the conflicting impulse Remus had to both comfort a
grieving parent and plant his fist into the face of perhaps the most difficult
and dislikable man he’d ever met. And that was saying something, considering
Remus was acquainted with Severus Snape. He couldn’t fathom how Harry had
managed to survive so long under this man’s roof with his sanity and optimism
as intact as they appeared to be. Such a childhood would have undoubtedly
broken those of lesser character, and Remus bore the boy an enormous new
respect.
The bonfire had already been blazing in the back garden when they arrived, by
chance, before the fire engines; far too late to salvage any of Harry’s
belongings but early enough to neutralise any remaining magic in the charred
remains, obtain the information they needed, and head off any real damage. What
followed had been tedious and heartrending. If they hadn’t already been on
their way to retrieve Harry’s things, it might have been much harder to control
the fallout. The Muggle police had in no way been convinced of Harry’s guilt,
despite Vernon’s vehement assertions. They saw only an accidental overdose by a
boy with whom they’d had run-ins before --and the Ministry ensured their
toxicology results would reflect precisely that-- but they were still looking
for Harry as an endangered runaway. Fortunately (but depressingly) the
Dursley’s had not a single photo of Harry to provide the police to aid their
search. And with the expedient burning of Harry’s personal effects, which had
commenced after the police had expressed they were not inclined to consider
Harry a suspect, there was no evidence left whatsoever that a boy named Potter
had ever stepped foot in 4 Privet Drive, much less that he’d lived there for
fifteen years.
It broke Remus’ heart and made him almost blindingly angry. And though he felt
guilty for thinking it, he really concluded that people capable of such
prolonged and intentional cruelty did not deserve a child of their own,
regardless of the influence the chastity spell might have had on their actions.
That level of abuse was inexcusable for any reason. He resented the feeling but
could not shake it.
But as difficult as the last few days had been, Remus knew the next few minutes
might prove the hardest. He should have known that agreeing to act as godfather
to Harry Potter would be a daunting task, though he hadn’t expected it to be so
so immediately. He had no idea if Harry held any love whatsoever for the boy
who died in his stead but, regardless, the news couldn’t help but be upsetting.
And Remus would have to be the one to deliver it. Reluctantly, he rapped
quietly on the boys’ door.   
"Is Harry awake yet?" he inquired softly when Ron answered. But it was not the
ginger who answered his question.  
"Remus!"
Remus stepped into the room and searched for the owner of the happy voice that
greeted him,  hating that he was about to snuff the boy’s enthusiasm; but he
almost failed to notice Harry kneeling between the room’s twin beds. When he
did locate him, his heart fairly stopped. Remus had been so preoccupied with
the aftermath of the attempt on Harry’s life, he had practically forgotten
about his forbidden attraction to the boy. But the sleek, bare torso peeking
from behind Ron’s bed quickly reminded him, further complicating an already
difficult situation. Harry leaned forward against the mattress, head cocked
questioningly, but Remus had turned away. He cleared his throat, wondering
desperately if he could manage this errand without looking at the boy.
"Excuse me," he rasped. "I didn't realise you…” It was no good, he thought,
trying to find somewhere to rest his eyes besides Harry’s bare chest. Maybe if
he’d prepared himself beforehand. But even then, he wouldn’t have expected the
boy to be in a state of undress. “Perhaps it would be better…” he stammered.
Holy Hell. Remus couldn’t even manage to excuse himself. “I'll come back
later," he mumbled, stepping back toward the door.
"No!" Harry objected rising to his feet. "I'm not busy or anything. I just woke
up is all."
The hopeful entreaty in his voice was impossible to miss. Remus glanced over
his shoulder at him. Thank the gods he at least wore trousers. Remus didn’t
think he could have handled the young man in just his pants. This, however,
might be doable. He cleared his throat again. "Yes. Well. Ron, would you excuse
us, please?" he requested politely. Besides the sensitive nature of the news he
was about to deliver, Remus knew he was behaving oddly and was less than
comfortable with the way the other boy was looking at him.
Ron shrugged. "What for? He's gonna tell me anyway." Remus bit back a curse.
"Go on, Ron,” Harry prompted thoughtfully as if he could tell Remus was
struggling. “I'll meet you downstairs in a bit."
"Not going downstairs,” Ron protested. “Was going to Ginny and 'Mione's room."
"Then I'll meet you in Ginny and 'Mione'sroom," Harry said impatiently.
Reluctant, but arguing no further, Ron shrugged and left. Remus closed the door
securely behind him but didn't turn around.
"So what's up?" Harry asked brightly.
"Harry, don't you think you ought to put on your shirt?" Remus said, hand still
on the doorknob as if he was considering a speedy escape. He hadn’t intended
the comment to be so sharp. If Harry thought anything of it, he didn’t let on.
"Can't find it," he explained, unfazed. "I'll have to wear one you've brought
me." The comment reminded Remus of the sad purpose of his visit. He sighed,
chastised himself for the dozenth time, and finally turned to look at Harry.
Though, he was still reluctant to make eye contact. As distracting as the rest
of him was, Remus seemed to have a special weakness for the young man’s eyes,
was unsettled by the thought they might see something damning in Remus’ own.
"Actually, that's what I've come to talk to you about," he told Harry
anxiously. Harry scrunched his nose in confusion.
"Um...you wanna sit down or something?" he offered, yanking at his trouser leg
and sitting himself.
"Oh no," Remus said very quickly but, after another furtive glance, changed his
mind. He was the adult here. He needed to behave as one. Haltingly, he took a
seat on the corner of the bed furthest from Harry.
"About your things,” Remus began. “Actually, about your relatives, Harry.” Good
gods. How does one even go about explaining such a situation? Especially with
such a distraction. Where was he to begin? “Are you sureyou can't find your
shirt?" he asked sheepishly to the floorboards, dreading the coming revelation.
"I've not looked very well," Harry shrugged. "Why are you on about my shirt?"
Remus looked up at him sadly. Judging from the size of the blaze, the boy had
had so little to begin with, and now Remus had to inform him that little bit
was gone forever. "Because it's the only one you'll have until we make it over
to Diagon Alley to buy you some new ones," Remus said apologetically.
"What?" Harry asked with a small laugh as if thinking for a moment this was a
joke. "Why?"
Remus sighed. "Because you don't own another,” he reluctantly explained. “In
fact, you don't have anything at all anymore except your wand and the clothes
you came in." He could tell the boy was becoming aggravated with him, and he
couldn’t blame him.
"Plain. English," Harry requested tersely. Remus pinched the bridge of his nose
between his thumb and finger.
"Harry, you see, the Dursleys…” Might have lost their minds? “Well, it's your
cousin." Harry was giving him an impatient but apprehensive look. Perhaps he
should try another tact. Remus took a very deep breath and fished from his
pocket the colourful paper candy straw Kingsley had lent him. "Harry, have you
ever seen one of these?" They’d tested it thoroughly but would, of course, be
needing it back. It was such a delicate situation, however, Kingsley did not
feel Harry should be interrogated by a Ministry official. He’d given Remus the
straw with instructions on what information he’d like to glean from Harry. If
there was any to glean.
"Yeah. Ron sent me one for my birthday,” Harry shrugged. “The twins made it.
But I left mine behind," Harry explained quickly as if urging the man to get to
the point.
"Did you give it to your cousin?"
"No," Harry began but recanted. "Well, yes, sort of on accident. I gave him the
box of chocolates Hermione sent me, and I forgot that I dropped it in there."
"Did your aunt and uncle seeyou give it to him?"
"Yeah, why? What's going on?" Harry asked, clearly growing unsettled.
Remus studied Harry's face, hoping the blow would not be too much for him.
"Harry, your cousin is dead," he said gently.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Harry looked at Remus sceptically, then
started to smile, as if he suspected Remus was having him on. But Remus' grim
expression made him pause. Remus could see the moment the truth of the matter
finally broke through Harry’s denial.
"Dead?" Harry whispered. Remus nodded sadly.
"Poisoned," he explained. "It took quite a bit of doing, but we managed to get
this from the Muggle policemen," he said, referring to the now empty straw.
"You mean it was the candy?" Harry blinked. "But Ron's tried them, too," he
rushed to explain, "and he's just fine."
"No. It wasn't candy, Harry. The candy had been replaced with a poison." Harry
shook his head, not comprehending, then gasped and looked back up at Remus.
"Wait...surely you don't think Ron or-"
"No, of course we don't suspect Ron or the twins," Remus assured him quickly.
"But we do think Ron's letter was intercepted." And of course, now Hedwig’s
injuries made perfect sense. That was news Remus knew he’d have to deliver
soon, as well, but not just yet. He didn’t want to overwhelm the boy.
Remus watched him process the information, perhaps replaying the morning in
question in his mind. Remus wasn’t sure what was passing through Harry’s
thoughts, but there was a momentary, frantic anguish that flashed across his
expression before he sobered and seemed to stare off into space. Remus wasn’t
certain yet, though, if the boy required comfort.
"Dudley's dead," Harry said dazedly. Then his eyes flashed with panic. "I
didn't mean to," Harry blurted. Tears were rising in his eyes, gently breaking
Remus’ heart that he would blame himself.  "I...I didn't know," he insisted
shakily.
"Of course you didn't, Harry," Remus consoled, laying a comforting hand on
Harry's knee. He really felt he should have done more. He wanted more than
anything to do more, to wrap the youth in an embrace, to take his pain from
him. And not just from this, but all of it. Remus wanted to show him all the
love and affection Harry’d obviously been denied as a child, to soothe the
sting of the countless injustices he’d experienced since. Remus had once
thought escaping to the Dursley’s had been a kind of reprieve for the boy and
the recurrent dangers he faced in their world, but now the man knew better;
that it had been the other way around. How sad that a life so fraught was the
lesser of evils. Remus would take it upon himself to be a true sanctuary for
the boy from now on, but he didn’t trust himself to embrace him just yet, and
it made him burn with self-loathing. "We aren't blaming you at all,” he assured
him, “but we've got to be very careful from now on. They came much too close
this time."
Harry nodded glumly. "Do they know? I mean, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, do
they know that the poison was...meant for me?" he asked timidly.
Remus hesitated. "They seem to believe you did it yourself," he said slowly.
"They think that's why you disappeared. They had the Muggle law enforcement
looking for you. Of course, the police aren't so sure,” he assured him quickly.
“Dudley ran with a tough crowd. They think his death involves drugs...or at
least, if they didn't before they do now. The Ministry has been working since
day before last to get it all straightened out. But yes,” Remus informed him
sadly, “your relatives are blaming you."
"Me?!" Harry sputtered, hurt and shock flashing across his expression before it
settled into anger. "So is that why they wouldn't give you my things?" Harry
demanded, jaw clenched. "Couldn't you have just takenthem?"
"I couldn't take them, Harry, because there was nothing left to take,” Remus
confessed. “Your uncle destroyed everything. All evidence you ever existed at
Privet Drive." Harry was absolutely livid. "It's unfortunate," Remus said,
watching him unsuccessfully attempt to reign in his temper. "But I'm afraid,
all things considered, you won't be able to return."
"I wouldn't go back if they beggedme on their hands and knees!" Harry spat
bitterly.
"You don't understand, Harry. You've lost your only real safe haven."
"As long as Dumbledore is secret keeper, I'm safe here," Harry argued.
"It's not the same kind of protection, Harry. Not as secure."
"I should have come here before, anyway," Harry went on as if Remus hadn't
spoken, growing more and more upset. "I should have come lastsummer, while
Sirius..." Harry choked on the remainder of his sentence.
Instead of comforting him further, Remus withdrew his hand and looked away,
drawing a painful breath himself. He couldn’t bear to touch the boy and think
of Sirius. His grief was still too fresh and his shame too sharp. Sirius had
wanted so badly for Harry to come live with them, but his safety had been far
more important.
"My Firebolt. Remus,”  Harry said, pulling Remus from his unexpected misery.
“Please tell me he didn't-" Harry had barely started his sentence before Remus
frowned at him sadly and began to shake his head.
The statement seemed to tip Harry’s anger into proper rage. Every muscle in
Harry's body was taut. He clenched and released his fists, flexing his arms in
a near-futile attempt to reign in his anger. Sirius vanished from Remus’ mind.
All Remus had the capacity for was the rippling display playing across Harry’s
upper body. His fervour for Quidditch had sculpted his already impressive torso
into something almost sinful. Something only hinted at when those muscles were
at rest but which would be sufficiently evident in the act of-
Remus abruptly realised that Harry had gone still and he ripped his gaze from
the young man’s flesh and met his eyes, startled. He saw Harry shiver. Remus
flushed badly and jerked his eyes away, suddenly restless and stammering.
He’d failed them both. His weakness was inexcusable.
"I suppose we'll have to get you some new things this week, first thing,” he
muttered. “I do believe your Hogwarts letters have come in this morning. Yes.
So it will be quite convenient."
But Harry didn't respond. He simply stared at Remus, and it felt as if he was
reading the man’s guilt in every line of his shocked expression. Remus had to
leave. Immediately, before he made matters worse.
"If you can't find your shirt," Remus continued to the far wall, standing
suddenly, "perhaps Ron can lend you one. Though you aren't the same size. Let's
see, I might have one.” He was practically babbling at this point, saying
whatever came to mind to distract them both from his indiscretion. “Then
there's always...Sirius' closet," he said, voice trailing off to a hoarse
whisper.
Remus felt his shame might be terminal. He glanced at Harry, wanted to say
something else, but abandoned it and strode hastily to the door. There he
stopped, half-way through. He swallowed hard and wet his lips, and chanced
another glance over his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Harry," he said softly, before slipping through the door and
striding quickly to his own room to try and quiet his disgraceful arousal; all
the while hoping the young man didn’t understand what Remus had really been
apologising for.
***** Lest We Remember Still That We Have None *****
                                    Severus
 
“You’re certainyou’ve heard nothing from Voldemort? No scheme to draw him out
like last time?”
The werewolf looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown but that did not
necessarily make Severus inclined to treat him with any special charity.
Severus was just as frantic, thinking of the chaos that would ensue if the Dark
Lord caught wind of the disappearance.
“Let’s see,” he replied flippantly. “Oh yes! Now that you mention it, he did
tell me over tea yesterday he thought he might traipse into London and pick up
a few things: A new set of robes, some parchment, The Boy Who Fucking Lived,”
he spat, pacing up and down the kitchen. He had no idea how the other two men
could bear to sit still at the table when the future of the free world was
being imperilled by the tantrum of an angsty teenager. “Of course I haven’t
heard anything from the Dark Bloody Lord!” he groused. “You were the last one
to speak to the delinquent. What did hebloody say?”
Severus expected shouting in response, but Lupin looked subtly furtive,
wringing his hands as they lay on the table in front of him as he wracked his
brain. “He seemed to take the news about his cousin well, I thought,” he
offered lamely. Severus eyed him, puzzled, as Lupin’s cheeks coloured ever so
slightly, but Severus could not interpret this body language. “But you know how
close to the chest he plays things,” Lupin mumbled in conclusion.
“Close to the fucking chest,” Severus scoffed, turning to pace some more. “His
every bloody thought tumbles straight from his brain and immediately through
his cheeky fucking smirk with no filter in between to slow the goddamned
freefall,” he muttered sourly.
“Severus, you are not helping,” Albus scolded. “Where might he have gone?
Whymight he have gone? Remus, do you have any ideas?”
“I think,” Lupin said hesitantly, thinking aloud, “he blamed himself for his
cousin’s death, as if he thought his proximity was at fault.”
“Which is an accurate appraisal,” Severus pointed out frankly. Lupin scowled at
him but did not argue.
“Are you saying he might have left Grimmauld Place in order to protect us?”
Dumbledore asked. The other two men were silent, considering the possibility.
Severus wasn’t certain what Lupin might be thinking, but he was anxiously
replaying his comments to the boy from the day before.
He could imagine how they might have inspired Potter to set off on his own. But
if so, the fool entirely missed Severus’ point. Blast him! As if they wouldn’t
try to find him, putting everyone in further danger. If he was lost, it would
be his own damned fault for not thinking things through. His regular failure to
do just that had been the entire impetus for Severus’ implying his culpability
in Black’s death. Still, he could see how he might have miscalculated, and
Severus felt mildly guilty. Not that the man could have known at the time what
had happened to the boy’s cousin, which cast the conversation in an entirely
different light. The suspicion that he might partially be at fault for the
boy’s flight, however, made him uncomfortable in the extreme.
Albus rose to his feet and stepped around the table toward the door with
purpose. “Most of the Order has arrived by now. We’ll arrange search parties.
He cannot yet apparate and without a broom, he could not have gone far.”
“Unless he hailed the Knight Bus,” Severus reasoned as the man swept past.
“Excellent point, Severus,” the Headmaster said over his shoulder. “I’ll have
Sturgis check with the operator.”
“I’m going out, as well,” Lupin said determinedly, springing to his feet. “I’ll
just go and fetch a jacket, and then I’m off.”
And abruptly, Severus was left standing alone in the kitchen. After the
intensity of the conversation and the sudden flurry of activity that had
followed, the empty room seemed screamingly quiet. Just as well. Severus’
anxiety was plenty loud enough without adding to.
He, for one, had no intention of wandering about the city looking for the
ingrate. He determined to stay just where he was in order to be present when
they dragged the boy home, so he could be one of the first in line to issue a
tongue lashing. He continued to pace the room, though. There were far too many
people in the hallways, and most were ancillary players within the Order,
meaning they were not privy to Albus’ strictest counsel and did not understand
Severus’ roll here. They knew only that Albus trusted Severus, which earned
their silence for the most part but did not save the Death Eater from their
unspoken hostility. Severus’ patience was not abundant at the moment and his
tongue not inclined to be checked. He decided to stay where he was so as not to
tempt fate.
Which is why it was so aggravating to hear the door creak open behind him.
“Kitchen is closed,” he barked without turning around. “Kindly fuck off.”  
“Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?”
Severus’ breath froze in his chest, and his eyes drifted to a close.
It was rougher than he remembered it, deeper; but Severus was well acquainted
with this voice. He hadn’t heard it in almost fifteen years, had thought he’d
all but forgotten its timbre and cadence. But hearing it now, it seemed only
yesterday it had last been breathed in his ear. Severus turned almost
involuntarily to face the stringy blond leaning lazily against the doorframe
with her arms crossed, giving him a fond, knowing smirk. “Loraina.” The name
had fallen softly from his lips without his realising. Her eyes danced when she
heard it.
“No one has called me that in ages,” she said, pushing off the wall to saunter
closer. Severus felt spelled, could not move, could only watch her approach and
wonder on the familiarity of her stride; and also on everything new in her
posture and the casual hardness of her expression.
“Severus,” she sighed, stopping only a few feet from him. “Time has treated you
well, my love,” she observed as if she knew the same could not be said of her.
Everything in her manner spoke of nonchalance, but Severus saw through the
charade. Behind her blasé expression, she was drinking in his every detail, as
she had to know he was doing as well.      
“You’ve arrived, then,” he said, his tone impersonal. He had made a living of
deceiving the most powerful Legilimens in the world, but he knew he did not
fool this woman for a second. She smiled at him.
“Just in time, it would seem, to miss our young saviour.”
“I’m sure he’ll be retrieved shortly,” Severus said with a shrug. “I imagine
he’ll reveal himself in some dramatic and unfortunate fashion. It will likely
just be a matter of following the chaos. Trust me, I’ve been picking up after
the brat for years.”
She nodded. “Just so long as they find him before the Dark One does. I’m
counting on our little Harry,” she informed him. Severus could hear the flint
in her voice, wondered on how she had managed to retain such vehemence for so
long. Severus’ own grudge was tired and faded. Though, its vividness seemed to
be reviving a bit in present company.
“Apparently the whole world is, though they might not know it,” he replied, but
he was almost too distracted for conversation.
He was far more overwhelmed by the encounter than he expected to be. He’d spent
years trying to forget this woman only to find himself contemplating, far more
frequently than was strictly sane, if she still lived and where she was and
what she might be doing and what she must look like now. And here she was,
appearing far more worse for wear than he’d imagined but somehow still
breathtaking, because what had made her so before had had so little to do with
her physical features.
If he were honest, ever since Albus had advised him she would be taking the
Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Severus had worried that, on seeing
her, his love for her might reawaken and he would fall back under her dangerous
sway, like a star in doomed orbit of a black hole. But it couldn’t be
reawakened, he understood now, because it had never been dormant, had never
faded. He realised he felt just the same toward her now as he had the last time
he’d seen her; with all the same mournful knowledge he’d had then that this was
not the girl he’d fallen in love with. His love had not died, the person she
had been had.
Not that Severus was not moved by the sight of her, but his fear that he would
be swept away with longing thankfully did not materialise. Severus had no doubt
she read this sad relief in him, suspected she mourned as well, but they both
knew what this was and what it wasn’t. It was a bittersweet reunion and a
resigned truce.
“So, my love, I hear you’ve a tonic for me,” she said now, wiping the sadness
from her eyes and taking a small step back. “I can smell the young ones
upstairs. Surprising, really. You’d have thought they’d have figured how to
fuck by now. We certainly didn’t wait so long.”
Severus wondered if the comment was meant to do more that it appeared to on its
surface; if it was not an innocent observation but an intentional trigger to
bring to mind memories of the two of them. Did she realise that he hadn’t
touched another woman in that way since? That there had always only been her?
And he wondered as well, with a sudden and surprising but foolish jealousy, how
many men she might have entertained since he’d last touched her. As if it
mattered. But Severus had always been the jealous type.          
“Granger has a fetish for propriety,” he explained, “and Weasley is an idiot.
Though, considering his parentage, I’m certain he’ll figure it all out before
much longer. Potter, of course, remains pure, though perhaps not by choice.”
“Why’s that then?” she asked innocently. “I’d have thought his celebrity would
have gained him entry into a veritable mountain of knickers by now.”
Severus regarded her. Had Albus really not explained? Perhaps he simply hadn’t
had an opportunity. “We’ve taken special steps to ensure it,” he said. “The
protective magic surrounding the boy relies on his retaining his virginity.
Though our precautions against that particular problem seem to have expired
recently.”
“So his life depends on him having perpetual blue balls? Pity, that. What’s the
use of fame if it can’t get you laid?” she said offhandedly as if already
losing interest in the topic. “So, I’ll wait for you to bring the stuff to me,
then?”
Severus nodded. “Will you be staying at Grimmauld Place?” he asked
apprehensively.
“Gods, no. With all these innocents running about? Not that I couldn’t control
myself, but it’s likely to make me cranky. I don’t know how you do it, frankly.
How effective could a potionbe at quieting the bloodlust?” she asked slyly,
stepping forward. She was suddenly far too close for Severus’ comfort. “You’re
practically swimming in virgin blood on a daily basis. Do you not walk around
with a permanent erection?”
“I am very often cranky, actually, but the potion makes the condition easily
tolerable,” he said shortly, trying to resist the urge to place his hands on
her, only to push her at least to arm's length. No doubt, knowing her, that’s
exactly what she was trying to get him to do. But if he didn’t, she’d simply
drift closer. Either way, he’d be playing into her hands.
Her chuckle at his obvious discomfort was a little too gleeful to be considered
entirely sane. “Cranky always did look good on you. But do you do nothing else
to alleviate the strain?” she asked suggestively.
He should have known to expect this, but he’d been so preoccupied with his own
reaction to their being reunited he hadn’t given much consideration to what
hers might be. “Loraina,” he began cautiously, but the opening of the kitchen
door interrupted him. Fortunately, as he’d had no idea what he was about to say
to her.
“Ah. Rainey, my dear. You’ve arrived,” Albus said as the door swung to a close
behind him. She smiled at Severus as if to say they’d continue this later
before bringing back up her mask and turning to the Headmaster.
“Yes, just a little while ago, Professor,” she said with a polite smile, her
hands held respectfully behind her back. Severus was glad to see she’d learned
to pretend at normal, at least.
“I’m sorry you’ve turned up at such a hectic time,” Albus went on. “Has Remus
not made his way back downstairs yet?” he inquired of Severus.
The Potions Master shook his head. “I’ll go see what the delay is,” he offered,
not to be charitable but to have an excuse to remove himself from Loraina’s
presence. He tried not to make eye contact as he brushed by her, half expecting
her to attempt some inappropriate physical contact as he did.
The conversation in the hallway nearest the door quickly died as Severus
emerged from the kitchen. He ignored it and scaled the stairs as quickly as he
could without raising suspicion. Though, this was easily out of habit and
Severus did not pay the effort much attention. He was distracted. Loraina did
that to him. She distracted him. And distraction was the last thing he needed,
considering the circumstances.     
He was so preoccupied with his preoccupation, in fact, that he did not knock
when he came to Lupin’s door. Instead, he opened it smoothly and stepped inside
before any ideas of courtesy could pass his mind. What he saw when he bothered
looking, however, drove his conundrum from his thoughts.
"Potter!"
The blasted boy was standing in Lupin’s room, plain as day, half clothed,
looking for all the world as if he were having a leisurely chat with his
alternate godfather, who was himself resting against the writing desk in the
corner as if dozens of people we not currently losing their minds downstairs
wondering where the two of them might be.
Potter turned a dazed look to Severus, standing in the doorway, livid; and the
boy had the nerve to seem disgruntled at the intrusion. "Where in hell have you
been?" Severus snarled, baring down on him. Potter opened and closed his mouth,
looking at Severus as though he were some alien creature.
"I found him in the wardrobe," Lupin said now.
"The wardrobe?" Severus demanded, raising an eyebrow at Lupin then turning an
ugly grimace of confusion to the boy. "You mean to tell me the entire Order was
set on alarm because you felt like playing Hide. And. Seek?!" It really was too
much. He supposed, somewhere beneath his absolute fury, there was a measure of
relief that Potter hadn’t actually put himself in danger of capture by the
enemy, but Severus was far too aggravated to enjoy it.
"Now, Severus," Lupin cautioned gently but firmly, rising to his feet. But
Severus only sneered at the boy, too disgusted to insult him further, and
looked to his guardian.
"He's your bloody responsibility, Lupin," Severus pointed out. "Can you not
even keep up with him? Can you not impose some discipline?" If it were left to
Severus, he’d have soundly whipped the boy the instant he’d found him.
"Yes, Severus," Lupin began, drawing himself up. "He is my responsibility. Not
yours. And as such, I ask that you leave me to see to it. You're advice, though
duly noted, is neither requested nor desired. However, if you'd like to feel
useful, I suggest you go and inform Albus that Harry has been found and will be
coming downstairs directly to explain himself."
Severus glared at the werewolf, hearing the challenge in his voice but deciding
he couldn't be bothered to answer it. He’d had enough of this evening and
wanted nothing more than for it to conclude so he could go back to his quarters
and try to pretend his life hadn’t descended into the tangle of fuckery in
which it now found itself. Harry Goddamned Potter and his terminal recklessness
were bound to send him to an early fucking grave one way or another. And not
just Severus. With a final disgusted glance, Severus muttered, "We're all going
to die," before he turned on his heels and swept back down the stairs.
  
***** And What Not Done, That Thou Hast Cause to Rue *****
                                     Remus
 
Climbing the stairs to his room to retrieve his jacket, Remus reflected sadly
on how he had come to find himself here.
Not that he wasn’t grateful to be. His life had been truly miserable when Albus
had knocked on the door of his halfway house three years ago. He’d been
penniless and unemployable. The riots of Dogtown only a few years prior had
taken from him, not only his shabby but much-loved, longtime home, but also
several of his friends; fellow werewolves whom Remus had considered brothers
and sisters. Being given the opportunity to teach at Hogwarts had been the
answer to his prayers and more. It had reconnected him with a world he thought
had perished overnight well over a decade earlier. It had given him food and
lodgings, an income...and Harry. And before the position had been lost, it had
given him back Sirius, as well, and a seemingly permanent home at Grimmauld
Place.
His life had regained a sense of stability which he did not take for granted.
He no longer had to fear hunger or cold and wouldn’t for the foreseeable
future. Being the legal guardian of the most important boy in the wizarding
world guaranteed him all the basic necessities, at least until that boy no
longer needed him. What’s more, he was surrounded by new friends; people who
did not share his condition but knew what he was and loved him regardless, who
supported and encouraged him. He knew he had no right to complain about his
circumstances, and he wasn’t. Remus was simply trying to wrap his mind around
the fact that he was the last.   
Somehow, despite his lifelong disadvantage, hewas the last Marauder; the only
one remaining to watch over the only child the four of them ever had. Sixteen
years ago, he never could have imagined it.
He still clearly remembered the day Harry was born. They had all stood around
Lily’s maternity bed and talked about how they would always be friends, and how
all their children would play together some day. Sirius had mentioned he wanted
three children. (Preferably all with the same woman, but you know how these
things sometimes go.) And so, of course, James had then proclaimed, “We’ll have
five, in that case,” before Lily had corrected him and advised: “You will have
two and be happy about it, James Potter.”
“But what about Peter?” James had objected. He had just asked Sirius to be his
first son’s godfather with the promise that Remus would be next.
“We’ll just have to make it up to him some other way,” Lily had replied.
“Moony, old boy, you simply have to have at leastone,” Sirius had informed him
smilingly with a clap on the back. As if that were up to Remus. As if the
werewolf dared procreate. Besides being less than inclined toward the opposite
sex, there were prohibitions by the Ministry. And how could Remus subject a
child to that kind of stigma, anyways, regardless of how badly he ached for
children of his own? Remus had not replied, had simply smiled and reached out
in a silent request to hold James’ newborn son. He was already in love with the
child and resolved to be the best Uncle anyone could hope for.
“He’s a natural,” James had remarked as he laid the boy in Remus’ arms. “He’ll
get around to it eventually, Padfoot, you’ll see. Watch Wormtail have nine!”
James had laughed. And they all had laughed with him; even Peter, though he had
declined to hold the infant and certainly didn’t seem inclined to children in
general.   
They had planned to be one large family, with many offspring which would grow
up together in a brighter world which they were working actively to create. But
there had only ever been one; one child born to them out of hope and optimism
in the middle of war and strife; and now it fell to Remus to look after him.
And he was cocking it all up.
Remus couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that his actions earlier had had
something to do with Harry’s leaving. He’d seen the hunger in the man’s eyes
before, Remus was certain of it. He could imagine how hewould feel if he were
sixteen and his newly appointed guardian had ogled him like a piece of fresh
meat. He would have wanted to escape. Perhaps that was exactly what Harry had
done. Perhaps he had scared the boy away through his deplorable weakness.   
“Oh, Harry,” Remus sighed, stepping into his room, weary before the search had
even begun. “I’m so sorry.” He could still make this right. But first, he had
to find the boy.
Remus plucked his jacket from the back of the chair at the writing desk but
dismayed at the worn elbows and frayed seams. There were so many holes in the
thing, he doubted it would be much use against the chill. Remus reluctantly
glanced to the wardrobe. He knew Sirius had had more than one sturdy dragonhide
jacket.
But Remus hadn’t opened the wardrobe since Sirius had passed. Though he lived
in it, the room still didn’t seem properly his, despite that he and Sirius had
shared it for at least that man’s last year of life. Remus had been reluctant
to disturb Sirius’ things, thinking he could somehow preserve his memory in
preserving the man’s belongings, but Harry was more important than his silly
sentimentality. Remus crossed resolutely to the closet and opened it quickly,
like removing a plaster, as if it would lessen the pain of the action.   
And miraculously, there in the floor at his feet, was his missing ward.
"Harry!" he gasped, crouching over him, trying to determine whether he was
hurt. The young man’s eyes were closed but he was stirring.
"No!" the boy cried out weakly as if fighting to wake from a nightmare.
"No what? Harry?" Remus begged, wondering if he dared pull the boy into his
arms like he wanted so desperately to do. Harry opened his eyes and squinted at
Remus, struggling to lift a hand to shield his face from the light pouring in
from behind the man. "Gods! Harry, you're drenched. What's wrong?” Remus asked
desperately as he dropped to his knees beside him, hands hovering as if he
didn’t know where he was allowed to touch him. “What's happened? How did you
get here?"
"I'm...I'm not sure," Harry said shakily. "I mean, I came in here to find a
shirt. I just, I think I nodded off."
Remus gawked at him. Sleeping? Harry had been sleepingwhen Remus had
frantically searched the house, coming to his own room twice and loudly calling
the boy’s name? James had been an exceptionally deep sleeper, as well, but
Remus still couldn’t quite accept what he was hearing.
"We've been searching for you for hours," Remus told him, "since you missed
your session with me. Severus is downstairs waiting to give you your Occlumency
lesson. Dumbledore's there. He's frantic. I was frantic. We all were. What in
Merlin's name..." Remus stopped and took a deep breath to calm himself. He
decided it didn’t matter. Harry was here and safe, and that was the important
thing. "Are you alright?" he asked more gently, though still anxiously. "You
look pale."
"I think I need to lie down," Harry said pitifully. Remus reached immediately
to help him to his feet. With Harry’s arm hooked around Remus' neck they
shuffled out of the wardrobe and over to the bed where he lowered Harry onto
his pillow and fussed over him, stroking back his sweat-soaked hair and mopping
his brow with his tattered coat sleeve.
There was more to this than Harry was letting on. He was weak and worryingly
pale, and the room was much too cool to account for his perspiration, even in
the closed wardrobe. Grimmauld Place was perpetually freezing. Remus supposed
it might have been a night terror; but whatever it was, he felt certain Albus
would coax the truth from Harry after the boy had had a chance to recover. As
soon as the young man was settled and appeared to relax, Remus sat back and
carefully placed his hands on his knees.
"I need to tell the others I've found you," he said, but Harry halted him.
"Not yet. Don't leave me alone just yet," he begged. Definitely more than
sleeping, then. The entreaty in his voice could not be denied and Remus gave
him a worried but indulgent look and settled back onto the bed.
Somehow, in the rush of his discovery, Remus had failed to notice the boy was
still without a shirt. It was a heartening realisation, gave Remus reason to
believe he could set aside his forbidden but involuntary attraction when
necessary. Even now, noticing that the young man’s torso glistened with sweat
did not trigger any major internal crisis. His previous, protective instincts
still lingered, cancelling the worst of his base urges.
Having nothing better on hand, he reached over and stripped the case from
Sirius’ pillow and set to drying Harry's neck and chest with it. But he guarded
himself closely. The act was still intimate enough to unsettle him, but he took
it as a kind of personal challenge, to prove to himself he could overcome this
flaw in himself and be what Harry needed him to be.
He was so lost in concentration on this task, it was a long moment before he
noticed the young man was staring at him. His eyes were concerningly empty, his
expression placid. "I'm going to go and get the Headmaster," Remus informed
him, rising quickly to his feet.
"Do you blame me?" Harry asked quietly before he reached the door.
Remus froze. A number possibilities passed through his thoughts, but he was
fairly certain he knew to which the young man was referring. Still, he turned
back to Harry with a carefully crafted expression of confusion.
"Harry," he said cautiously, "I've said before, there's no way you could have
known. No one believes your cousin's death was your fault."
"I didn't mean Dudley," Harry replied, his voice as flat as his gaze had been
before. He propped himself up on his elbows; and something about the pose, the
way it casually accentuated all the muscles of his upper body, rattled the
werewolf. "I meant...do you blame me for Sirius? Do you think it was my fault
he died? Do you think I killed him?"
Remus stared blankly at Harry, but he didn’t really see him. It felt as if all
the air had been pumped from the room. He hated that Harry felt at fault, ached
for him and how that must gnaw at him; but he could not deny that in his
darkest moments, when he could not banish the image of Sirius falling through
the veil, Remus had cursed the boy for his lack of foresight. Though, never
aloud, even to himself. He knew Harry had made his flight to the Department of
Mysteries in a desperate attempt to save the man’s life, but the fact remained
that doing so resulted in his death. He didn’t blame Harry for Sirius, exactly;
but though Remus’ bitterness toward him for it was not active, he could not
pretend that it never existed.
That did not mean, however, he wanted the young man to suffer over that guilt,
even for a second. Sirius had not belonged exclusively to Remus. Harry had lost
him, as well, and the pain of it certainly sufficed.   
"Of course not," Remus finally managed to tell him, though with a poorly
repressed shudder. "How could you think such a thing?"
Harry would not be so easily placated. He didn't answer, only looked away,
staring thoughtfully at the empty air before him. "You all blame me don't you?"
Remus hesitated, debating whether to continue on his errand and let Albus
handle the situation or to return to Harry's side. Slowly, he drew back to the
bed and looked down at Harry with an expression of deep distress, absently
reaching out to retuck a strand of damp hair that had fallen into the boy’s
eyes. Harry looked up at him then, holding Remus’ reluctant gaze unflinchingly,
and Remus could not divine what the boy might be thinking.
"Is that what youbelieve, Harry?" Remus asked, shaking his head, his brow
furrowed. "Do you really blame yourself?"
"That doesn't matter. I want to know if youblame me."
Softly, "Harry, I said I didn't."
"That doesn't mean you don't," Harry replied in a hollow voice. "That doesn't
mean anything at all, really." It hurt Remus far more than he thought it might.
But he couldn’t blame the boy for his lack of trust. Remus had given Harry very
little reason to trust him since he had arrived. "If you don't blame me,” Harry
went on, “why do you avoid me? Why won't you look me in the eye?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Remus said with a nervous laugh. If
Harry truly did not understand what forced Remus to wrench his eyes to the
floor in the young man’s presence, Remus thanked his lucky stars. He certainly
wasn’t about to explain it. "I'm looking you in the eye now, aren't I?" he
pointed out. But being reminded of his transgressions, and the reasons for
them, reawakened what Remus thought he’d successfully put to bed. "I'm going to
fetch someone. You aren't well," he said, turning quickly to leave the room
lest he stumble and do something unforgivable.
Harry reached out and took hold of Remus' wrist to keep him there, and the
contact was like touching a match to the kindling of his jumbled emotions.
Remus was set on fire. He was still thinking about Sirius, but also about his
tenderness toward Harry; his desire to comfort him but also all the reasons why
he could not bring himself. Though he pulled against Harry's grasp firmly and
steadily, Remus did not jerk away or try to wrench himself free. He couldn’t.
Even the gentle resistance he managed required a monumental effort. Harry’s
touch paralyzed him. Remus met the young man’s eye and was terrified by what he
saw there: not just the beauty of their shape and color but also the intensity
of Harry’s stare, and the reflection of his own guilt-ridden expression on
their surface.
"Why did you flinch?" Harry asked, his manner insistent and unnerving. Remus
didn’t understand his fey mood. "You act like my touch hurts you."
"It does," Remus rasped breathlessly, surprising himself with the admission.
Harry scowled at the comment. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and
rose to stand before Remus, allowing only enough room to accommodate the wrist
he still held gripped between them. He looked searchingly deep into Remus'
eyes, and Remus, though he stood in place, slowly began to lean away from the
young man.
"But why?" Harry asked in genuine and innocent confusion.
"Harry, this isn't the time for this," Remus tried to say sharply, but the
quaver in his voice ruined his attempt to sound authoritative. He could not do
this. He had to free himself from this room, from this boy. The stress of the
evening on top of the reopening of his barely healed emotional wounds over
Sirius left him with no strength left to resist the urge he had to bare his
soul and consequences be damned; to reach out and yank the boy to him and kiss
the gently pouting lips so close to his own. It was a thought that made him
shiver even as it twisted his stomach.
"When is the time?" Harry demanded, seemingly oblivious to the man’s struggle.
"Harry," Remus said, his composure rapidly crumbling. "I can't.”Can’t resist
the temptation of your nearness. “You're…” Everything I want and everything
I’ve lost and everything I can’t have. “ This is…” he sputtered breathlessly.
Sinful but delicious and completely impossible. “It's too soon," Remus gasped.
Because I haven’t yet learned how to ignore what was revealed all at once with
the glamour’s fading, what should have crept up slowly with puberty so that I
could become inured to it.
"Too soon for what?" Harry whined, desperate to understand. And Remus was
positively frantic in his determination that Harry would not understand. Not
ever, though Remus' wrist flexed under the boy’s fingers, longing to be
released but savouring the captivity.
"Too soon,” Remus stammered on, unable to think of an explanation that might
satisfy them both, “after Sirius-"
"What does Sirius have to do with you and me?" Harry interrupted. "Because
Sirius is dead I can't touch you?” he demanded. “Because he's dead you can't
look at me?"
"Yes!" Remus gasped. Harry grimaced at him, not comprehending, unaware he was
tightening his grip on Remus' wrist. "Harry, you don't understand. I can't
explain it. This is just...wrong," Remus said firmly.
"But why!" Harry cried, growing more upset.
"I'm your godfather, Harry-"
"Siriuswas my godfather!" Harry said vehemently.
"You're right!” He was. Gods. Sirius was this boy’s godfather. James was his
father . Remus was meant to be his uncle , for fuck’s sake! What in bloody hell
was wrong with Remus? “I shouldn't be feeling...It's that damned spell," he
growled. "This isn't right. You're still too young. It's too soon." He knew he
was babbling, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never felt so lost and confused and
desperate in his life.
"What are you talkingabout?" Harry bellowed.
"We were lovers, Harry!" Remus bellowed in return. Harry gaped at Remus,
unconsciously releasing him, and Remus stumbled back away from him, grateful to
be loosed. In the absence of the young man’s touch, Remus’ mind began to clear.
He backed all the way to the writing desk, further lessening the effect of
Harry’s presence.  
And there is was. Not the whole explanation, but perhaps enough. Remus did not
know Harry’s opinions on such matters, he did not know if the confession would
upset the boy or inspire disgust in him for Remus. Though really, if the boy
could forgive his lycanthropy, surely he could accept this as well. He hated
the thought that he might have just marred Sirius’ memory for Harry but,
really, he hadn’t known what else to say. He waited anxiously for Harry’s
response.   
"What?" Harry blinked.
Remus reached behind him to grasp the desk for support. "Your godfather and I
were lovers, Harry," he repeated, and saying it out loud, considering the
circumstances, only made Remus feel more wretched.
Perhaps he should confess it all, he considered. Perhaps he should simply be
honest about his failings and beg the boy’s forgiveness. Harry deserved the
opportunity to reject him before Remus did anything that would ruin their
relationship forever.
"I feel I'm betraying him,” Remus began tremulously, though the admission was
painful. “I can't imagine what he would think of me if he were still alive."
Would Remus even be feeling this way toward Harry if Sirius was still with
them? Or was it simply Remus’ loneliness and heartache mistranslating to
physical desire? He lay his face in his hand. "You turned sixteen," he said
helplessly. "I just never thought it would ever affect me."
Harry clearly had questions, and Remus steeled himself to answer them. But
before they had the chance, Remus’ bedroom door burst open and Severus strode
inside, stopping dead in his tracks on spotting Harry.
"Potter? " he hissed incredulously. "Where in Hell have you been?" he snarled,
baring down on the boy. Harry was still reeling from Remus’ revelation and
could not answer, so Remus did so for him.
"I found him in the wardrobe," he explained, rapidly composing himself. He felt
a bit as if he were waking from a spell. Severus’ appearance had lifted the fog
on this thinking, and he was slightly horrified considering the last few
minutes. He couldn’t believe he’d almost admitted his attraction aloud to
Harry. It had been a foolish and unforgivably selfish impulse. Harry did not
deserve that confliction, he had quite enough complication in his life to be
getting on with.
"The wardrobe ?" Snape said, raising an eyebrow at Remus before turning an ugly
grimace of confusion to Harry. "You mean to tell me the entire Order was set on
alarm because you felt like playing Hide. And. Seek?!" he spat.
"Now, Severus," Remus threatened gently but firmly. He and Harry had both had
enough stress for one evening, and Remus would be damned if he would hold his
tongue as the sallow bastard went on one of his snarkish rants. But Severus
only sneered at Harry, apparently too disgusted to insult him further.
"He's your bloody responsibility, Lupin," Severus said. "Can you not even keep
up with him? Can you not impose some discipline?"
"Yes, Severus," Remus began, drawing himself up. "He ismy responsibility...not
yours.”
Will never be yours, Remus thought. And in that moment, he firmed his resolve
to never reveal his feelings for the boy, in order to ensure that he
remainedRemus’ responsibility. Despite them, Remus knew he was by far the best
suited to look after Harry. And having decided that, as if by magic, his
physical attraction to him seemed to vanish. Remus was the last Marauder, by
gods. He was the closest thing to real family that Harry had left, and once
again Remus determined to be everything the young man needed and more.
“Your advice,” he told Severus icily, “though duly noted, is neither requested
nor desired. However, if you'd like to feel useful, I suggest you go and inform
Albus that Harry has been found and will be coming downstairs directly to
explain himself."
Severus and Remus glared at one another, but Severus simply sneered. With a
final disgusted glance, he muttered, "We're all going to die," before turning
on his heels and disappearing back down the stars. Harry watched him go, still
thunderstruck, then turned to Remus. But the man only regarded Harry for a
moment, regretting his partial confession, and followed Severus out of the
door, motioning for Harry to follow.
***** Wilt Thou Kneel With Me *****
                                    Severus
 
“There’s your boy wonder now,” Severus commented to Loraina when Potter
appeared on the landing, pausing and looking over the congregation as if
performing a benediction. “Don’t ask me why he’s naked,” he muttered, “I’m sure
I don’t know unless he really is that desperate for the attention.”
“Well, he’s got mine,” she replied with a sly grin, leaning closer so as not to
be overheard. “Have fun guarding hisvirginity. You might have to protect him
from me.”
Severus sneered and crossed his arms. “You see some virtue in that?” he scowled
incredulously, nodding toward the stairs. It was true that the spell had hidden
certain charms, but Potter’s body was still clearly that of a child. Well, not
a child, exactly, but a pre-adult. Not that Severus was any more strapping, but
there was still more of him.
“Oh, stop pretending you don’t,” she teased, making Severus cast her a
disgruntled glance. “He looks positively delicious.”
“You know, if you intend on teaching, you really need to start trying not to
view the students as food,” he pointed out.
“I’d certainly like to sink my teeth into him, literally and figuratively. But
thankfully you’ve given me my medicine. I’ll behave.” Her sing-song promise did
not inspire confidence. Severus raised an eyebrow at her. Loraina was
constitutionally incapable of good behaviour.
It was unexpectedly nice to have her around, however. So few could match him in
cynically snide conversation. He’d feared their interactions would be awkward
and stilted, but they’d fallen into a casual familiarity so effortlessly, one
would have thought they’d spoken every day for the past fifteen years. Not that
she wasn’t still mad as a hatter. But she seemed to recognise it and had grown
adept at keeping its expression to a minimum. Even crazy, Severus still
understood the way she worked, and no one on Earth knew him better than she
did. Not that he’d changed much in her absence, except to become increasingly
more bitter. But then she’d kept pace with him in that regard. He couldn’t
enjoy her company much longer at the moment, though. Albus had been summoned
and was leading the fugitive toward the kitchen, and Severus knew he was meant
to follow.
“I may be a while,” he warned Loraina as he readied to fall into step with the
approaching procession.
“I’ll entertain myself,” she assured him, and before he could turn to
acknowledge her comment, she was already gone. He cursed softly under his
breath. She wouldn’t be able to pull that vanishing act at Hogwarts. She should
not attempt it here in so crowded a space, but luckily all eyes were on
Grimmauld’s patron saint.
Severus wordlessly followed the trio into the kitchen, closing out the riffraff
in the hall and stationing himself in the shadows by the doorway, trying not to
be sick as the room’s occupants fell over themselves to fawn over their
resident pain in the arse.
"Good Lord," Arthur sighed. "It's so good to see you're all right, Harry," he
smiled, taking Potter by the shoulders and hastily inspecting him as if to
assure himself the boy was indeed still in one piece.
"Back away from the boy, Arthur. Give 'im some air," Mad-eye called gruffly,
nonetheless clip-clopping over to station himself in the exact same position
the other man had just relinquished. Moody studied Potter distrustfully,
prodding him here and there. Severus almost chuckled to himself at the boy’s
indignant expression as he moved his arms to shield his ribs from further
assault.
"Say," Moody called over his shoulder to the others. "Just how do we know this
is the real Potter? Looks a bit suspicious to me," he grunted under his breath,
his magic eye sweeping up and down the boy while his normal one squinted Potter
in the eye. "Thought he was scrawnier than this," he added with another prod.
Potter's brow furrowed in offence. It was quite an entertaining show. "And I
never knew the boy to have a penchant for nudity. If you ask me, we should-"
"Oh, come off it, Mad-eye," Nymphadora interrupted, elbowing the former Auror
aside. "Wotcher, Harry!" she grinned, hitting him playfully in the arm.
Actually, if they all felt like assaulting him, Severus sympathised and would
gladly invite the rabble in the hall to come inside to have a go, as well.
Severus wondered vaguely if he could get away with slapping the boy. "Gave us a
run there. Where've you been hiding anyway?" Potter, however, simply gawped at
them all like a fish out of water, and Severus decided he was tired of this
show.
He rolled his eyes and threw an impatient look to Albus who nodded and began
waving the others away from the boy. “Thank you, everyone. I understand your
enthusiasm, but if you would kindly excuse us. Remus? Severus? I’d like you to
remain behind, if you would, please.” Everyone complied without comment except
for Molly.
"Now you be sure to drink this all down, Harry Dear," she said, setting a cup
of steaming tea before him. “Dear gods, Albus, he's so very pale! And he's
clammy all over. Just feelof his skin,” she remarked. Albus acknowledged her
concern but gently urged her to follow her husband. As she was ushered outside
with the others, Severus looked at the boy more closely.
He was pale. Worryingly so. Something that Severus had failed to notice until
Molly had pointed it out. Perhaps there was more to the boy’s absence than he’d
thought. Though, really, how was heexpected to notice such things? He’d had
other matters on his mind. Severus had just spent the whole afternoon in the
Dark Lord’s presence, having been blithely informed that they had negotiated
with the Dementors to defect and bring the Dark Lord’s followers in Azkaban
with them. He’d been unable to break away until the deed had been done, cocked
up, and the ensuing chaos had been sorted. Once the Dark Lord had finished
destroying most of his furniture and one of his house elves in a rage at the
cowardice of one Lucius Malfoy, Severus had rushed to Grimmauld Place to advise
the Headmaster of the new developments, only to find the house in an uproar
over the apparent disappearance of their supposed saviour. Really, all things
considered, Severus didn’t think he should feel bad for failing to notice that
the brat had looked a bit peaky when he’d crawled out of the closet. But
annoyingly, Severus did.
"I cannot understand this commotion," he snarled, huffily snatching up the
teapot from the table in front of Harry and setting it, almost violently, on
the counter. "He was in a wardrobe for crying out loud! You'd think he was
snatched from the icy grips of Death itself."
"Severus," Albus said calmly. "We are all merely relieved to find he is indeed
safe. We might easily have not been so fortunate. Let us not make too light of
the situation until we've heard what Harry has to say." Severus snorted and
stalked moodily back to his corner, glowering at the whelp and his audacity to
be legitimately unwell.
But Potter’s ensuing report so unsettled Severus, he forgot to be aggravated.
For quite sometime, while they were waiting for news from the prison, the Dark
Lord had disappeared, emerging from his quarters already irritated to receive
the bad news of Lucius’ cowardice and the loyal soldiers it had cost him. Now
Severus understood why the Dark Lord had withdrawn and what he’d been doing,
and Severus felt mildly ill. He was no longer planting images in the boy’s
mind. He was actively mining it. And Harry had no defense against the
intrusion.
Severus had had years to perfect his own defense, compartmentalizing and
camouflaging everything the Dark Lord was not allowed to discover so that he
could give the fiend free reign to examine all else and so not raise suspicion.
Harry could not do this, and one of the things foremost on Potter’s mind, one
of most dangerous things the boy could reveal, was Severus’ sincere attempts to
teach the boy to shut the Dark Lord out; which would raise suspicion enough in
him that he would search Severus’ mind more thoroughly. Any attempt to resist
the scouring would confirm Severus’ betrayal and result in the Potions Master’s
hasty demise. But not only his. Without Severus, they had no safeguard against
the Dark Lord’s plans, no way to counteract them in time to prevent his
creeping dominance of their world. If Severus fell, the world fell with him.  
All three men were struck dumb by the narrative. Severus found himself staring
at Harry. No wonder the boy was pale. Severus knew what it was to have Lord
Voldemort in one’s head. But beyond this, Severus was thinking of Loraina. The
boy knew her name, even if he had not yet seen her face. He would not know to
try to keep the information from the Dark Lord. And if the villain realized
Severus had kept this information from him, they would both be doomed.  
"Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, waking him from his thoughts. Severus
nodded and slid soundlessly from the room. He would need to return to the Dark
Lord and try to determine if any damage had been done.
Loraina was waiting for him in the hall. It was still too occupied for comfort,
but the crowd had thinned considerably. Severus ignored the distrustful stares
they drew and slipped past the woman, motioning for her to follow him to the
anteroom.
“So. You’re on your way to go kneel before the Bastard, I assume?” she said
sneeringly, following closely on his heels.
“I must.”
“Why?” she demanded curtly.
“What would you have me do?” he asked in a fierce whisper, spinning to face
her. “Do you want the child to live long enough to kill the arsehole? Then
someone has to keep him breathing, and so far that person has been me. And I do
that by ‘kneeling before the Bastard’. Some things are more important than
pride.”
Loraina returned his hard stare. “Why must you be the only one to risk yourself
so regularly?” she asked, a subtle tremor in her voice. “Why must you be the
old man’s puppet?”
Severus was taken aback to recognize worry in her stony expression. “Because
I’m the only one who can, Loraina,” he replied softly. “You know that. This is
my penance and my duty. But, my love,” he began anxiously, surprising himself
with the ease with which the old words fell from his lips, with how natural it
felt to take her lightly by the arms so that she marked what he was about to
say. “You must keep away from the boy, if you can. At least until I return.”
She looked at him apprehensively and then heaved an exasperated sigh.
“Sev, I wasn’t being serious about-”
“It’s not that,” he interrupted, glancing around them to make sure no one else
was near. They were alone, but he stepped closer anyway. He wasn’t certain if
Albus had intended to tell Loraina this. Surelyhe did, but just in case,
Severus had to warn her. “The boy. He is connected to the Dark Lord.”
“Connected?” she asked skeptically.
“Psychically. We don’t yet understand exactly how it works or why, only that it
exists. But he does not yet have the skills he needs to shut the fiend out. For
the most part, they’ve simply transmitted images to each other of what they are
seeing at the time, especially when one of them is experiencing a surge of
emotion. And the boy is forever emotional. You cannot be in his sights when it
happens, do you understand?”       
She nodded and Severus released her, relieved. “I must go,” he said, turning
toward the door.
“Severus,” she called to him. He stopped, hand on the knob, but did not turn.
“Be careful. Or else I’ll have to try to kill the bastard again, and we both
know how that turned out last time.”
Severus didn’t respond. He simply slipped out the door into the night,
Apparating before his feet hit the pavement.   
***** In Wrongful Quarrel *****
Severus returned to Grimmauld Place frustrated. After several stressful days,
he still had no new information regarding what the Dark Lord might have gleaned
from Potter’s head. Instead, he’d spent most of his time trying to dissuade the
Lord from his latest ambition of making a new attempt to lure the Romanians to
his cause. The bastard had actually had the audacity to suggest Severus should
be the one to return to the arseholes who’d ruined his life and try to strike a
deal. Severus tried to convince him that they had even less to offer the Coven
than last time and that returning might provoke them. But though he seemed to
listen closely to Severus’ counsel, he could tell the Dark Lord had decided his
course of action before even broaching the subject with Severus. Unlike last
time, Lord Voldemort actually needed their help.
And Severus could not bring up the matter of the Dark Lord’s connection to the
boy, because he wasn’t meant to know about it. Confirmation of its existence
had not been shared with his Death Eaters, not even with Severus. Before, he
had simply assured them all that the boy would turn up at the Department of
Mysteries with no explanation as to why. And Albus had not wanted the Dark Lord
to know the Order was aware of the link, so Severus had told him only that
Potter was a stubborn brat who refused to share his motivations for running off
to London unaccompanied. It made Severus’ job of mining for information nearly
impossible, but the advantages of the deception far outweighed the
disadvantages. First and foremost, it gave them the opportunity to attempt to
teach the boy Occlumency without raising the Dark Lord’s suspicions. But
according to Albus, they weren’t making much headway. As they had suspected,
the Headmaster was not suited to the task. It would have to be up to Severus.
He found Potter in their unofficial classroom, peeking through the curtains,
obviously waiting for Albus to arrive. For a moment Severus simply watched him,
and the weight of responsibility he felt was almost crushing. Despite his
combative spirit, this boy was no warrior. Severus had entered the room without
him even noticing. Even before his infection, no one would have been able to
sneak up on Severus in this way. The boy was an innocent, simply reacting to
the events that surrounded him, and not even reacting well.
But he must learn. He must become ready. He must become more like Severus, the
man reflected, and no one had ever gone easy on the Slytherin.
Severus reached behind him and opened and closed the door again, making enough
noise this time for Potter to notice, and to Severus’ absolute aggravation, the
boy still did not spring at the sound. Instead, he moved to unhurriedly close
the curtains before turning to his visitor. It was unacceptable. Regardless of
whether Grimmauld Place was meant to be a safe space, Potter needed to be more
cautious. Severus cast Legilimens before the boy even bothered to turn around,
seizing memories at random.
A Muggle dining room on someone’s birthday. Potter had been given rice crackers
instead of cake; his rotund relative cackled through his icing at the smaller
boy’s longing expression.
The little shit must have done something serious to be denied cake at a
birthday party in punishment. Whatever it was, Severus had no doubt the
sentence was well deserved. He moved to another memory.
Potter leaning back against a stall in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom while Granger
brewed Polyjuice within.
Severus seethed remembering the theft of his potions ingredients. As if
lacewing flies weren’t a significant chunk of his annual budget for N.E.W.T.-
level students. The little criminals. Severus was too angered by the vision to
linger in it. 
Potter’s first glimpse of Severus, glowering at him from the staff table during
the Sorting Ceremony his first year at Hogwarts.
Severus was taken aback enough by the memory to release the boy from his spell.
He remembered the moment clearly, though had not thought of it for a while. He
was usually so guarded. He hadn’t realised his distaste had been written so
clearly in his expression at the time. Severus had known the child would be
attending. It was all the staff had gossipped about for months beforehand. But
setting eyes on the boy had shaken Severus in a way he hadn’t understood at the
time. He couldn’t reflect on it at the moment, however.
Severus walked over to the boy who was stirring beneath the curtains. He’d
fallen to the floor when Severus cast, pulling the things down on top of him.
Potter groaned on seeing him, and Severus sneered his disappointment in the
boy’s performance down at him.
"I see you have learned precious little in my absence," Severus said. "Not that
I had hoped for much else," he muttered, nudging at the puddle of fabric at his
toe.
Potter scowled at him as he pushed himself to his knees. "That wasn't fair," he
complained to the buttons on Severus' waistcoat. "You didn't even give me a
chance to-"
"Am I mistaken, or did the word fair just pass your lips?" Severus snorted,
making no move to help Potter to his feet. "You, of all people, should know
that fairness is a farcical concept best reserved for fairytales and children's
stories. We live in the real world, Mr. Potter. Legilimens."
Potter was still teetering on one knee, midway through his struggle to a
standing position, when he was sent crashing back to the floor.
A sour-faced, middle-aged woman in a hideous flowered blouse, inflated like a
balloon and floating near the ceiling.
A tomato-nosed house elf in the Top Box at the Quidditch World Cup.
A white ferret dangling in the air.
"Damn it!" Potter grimaced, rolling to his back. It was as if the boy was
making no effort at all!
"Do you think the Dark Lord is going to be so gracious as to allow you to draw
your wand or even gain your bearings if he can prevent it?" Severus said
nastily. "Get up!" he barked, pulling his wand back and drawing breath to cast
the spell again. Potter plunged his hand into his robes and withdrew his own
wand, casting a disarming spell before the word could pass Severus' lips.
Severus gave a kind of growl low in his throat. "That'smore like it," he
snarled, his harsh tone belying the praising words. As he stalked over to
retrieve his wand, Potter scrambled to his feet, his own wand prone on the
stooped Potions Master. But Severus only straightened and stared daggers at
Potter as the boy brushed the grey dirt from his new trousers and righted his
clothes, running his free hand through his hair to remove it from his eyes.
Both of them were breathing heavily as if meaning to blast their animosity
toward the other with each exhalation. Though Severus's wand lay slack in the
hand at his side, Potter refused to relax his guard.
"Was that reallynecessary?" Potter asked sharply.
"You think it wasn't?" Severus replied, lips tensing to near invisibility. "The
Dark Lord is plotting your demise, traipsing through your thoughts and memories
like a housewife doing the daily shop, and you think my teaching is
unnecessary?" he hissed.
"I didn't mean the Occlumency! I meant you sneaking up on me when you know I'm
not advanced enough to defend myself," Potter snapped angrily. "And stop making
it sound like I've sent Voldemort an invitation or something."
"Your refusal to cooperate with me is just as good asan invitation to the Dark
Lord."
"Who says I'm not cooperating!" Potter objected, growing increasingly
aggravated. "Listen,just because you're in a shitty mood after visiting with
Lord Thingy doesn't mean-"
"What did-you-just-say?" Severus hissed, hand tightening on his wand until his
knuckles whitened, eyes glinting dangerously. The comment momentarily robbed
him of breath, he was so infuriated. What in hell did the little fucker think
Severus was doing? Why did he think he was doing it? As if Severus likedtossing
out his dignity and all sense of decency and bowing down to a deranged madman!
The spell left his wand before he could even consider the wisdom of it. It
struck Potter in the chest like a fist, knocking him backwards and off his
feet. He blinked up at Severus, unable to speak and so waving his hands in a
silent plea for ceasefire.
"I have warned you before not to treat mention of the Dark Lord with such
disrespect!" Severus spat, leaning down over him. If the boy had seen only half
of the atrocities Severus had witnessed being committed at the Dark Lord’s
hands, he would not dare to make light of him, even in his thoughts. Severus
had no sympathy for the boy’s lack of breath, not when he so regularly placed
himself in mortal danger of that monster in cleaning up after Potter’s
mistakes. "Do you think this is a game?" he demanded, taking Potter's
shirtfront in his fist. "Do you think we're simply playing tag with the most
powerful and ruthless dark wizard to ever walk the earth? You naive, impervious
little..." Severus had to literally bite his tongue, desperately trying to
reign in his temper. "Do you have any idea what he wants to doto you?"
"Yeah," Potter sputtered, finally finding his breath. "I thought the idea was
to killme. Though it looks like you're trying to beat him to it," he shot,
looking down at his own collar bunched in Severus' iron grip. The man gave him
a particularly cold, ugly sneer and released him abruptly, flinging Potter away
from him so that the back of the boy's head struck the floor. He straightened
slowly and brushed the front of his robes.
"You should be so lucky," he spat. Clearly, the boy did not understand the
extent of the Dark Lord’s sadistic inclinations, how long he would prolong
Potter’s suffering if the boy fell into his hands. Or the horror Severus would
face if his betrayal were revealed, though he doubted the boy cared about that,
should the possibility even occur to him.
Potter rubbed at his neck where his collar had chaffed him and propped himself
on one elbow. "Look," he said. "I'm sorry for calling him that,
alright?...Professor Snape?" The apology almost sounded sincere, and Severus
took a calming breath. He swept his eyes coolly over Potter's sprawled form
before commanding him calmly and sneeringly to "Get up...Mr. Potter."
Apprehensively, the boy did as he was told and Severus waited until he was
standing to continue. "Prepare yourself," he told him, raising his wand.
"But...I've lost my wand," Potter said with a note of panic, eyeing Severus'
and taking a small tentative step away from it.
"And just what good do you think it would do you?" Severus asked, wearied by
Potter's simplicity. The boy's eyebrows knit and his bottom lip pouted in
distress.
"If you don't think I can do this," he complained, "then why are we even
bothering with-"
"You misunderstand my point," Severus drawled, casting Potter a withered look.
"You are not preparing yourself against me. Ideally, you are preparing yourself
against the Dark Lord. The attack will be internal, your wand will be of no use
to you. You must learn to rely on the strength of your mind alone to repel the
attack."
"But Dumbledore said you told him I shouldn’t meditate," Potter argued. "I
haven't been. So, I can't fight it without-"
"I know perfectly well what I told you. And I know perfectly well what I am
doing. I'm the Master here, remember? Now prepare yourself," he said, wand
already rising.
"No wait!" Potter cried, but it was too late.
The reptile house at the London Zoo.
Miss Chang sitting across the table beyond a veil of raining, pink, heart-
shaped confetti.
James and Lily Potter smiling from within the Mirror of Erised.
The last would have been a useful memory for the Dark Lord to exploit. "Fight
it!" Severus shouted. "Now. Again!"
Lupin sleeping on the Hogwarts Express.
Diggory's shade asking Harry to return his body to Hogwarts.
It was just getting worse. "Damn it, Potter. What did I tell you!" Severus
growled angrily. Potter gazed up at him from the floor, eyed glazed, desperate
and dreading. Severus felt a pang. He knew he was being severe, but the boy
mustlearn this skill. All their lives depended on it.  "Again! Fight it."
"I can't!" Potter cried as Severus' wand cut through the air to cast again.
Severus halted.
"You won't,” he insisted, resisting the silent entreaty in Potter’s eyes. “You
musttry," he said desperately, preparing to continue through with the spell.
"No! I can't!" Potter wailed. "Stop it! This...this is pointless!" he shouted
in frustration. "I can't do this," he repeated to himself, rolling to his
stomach to hide his face in his arms. He seemed near to tears.
Severus was more shaken by the sight than he wanted to admit to himself. He
expected cheek and defiance. He hadn’t been prepared for despair and defeat.
He’d really thought, if he pushed him hard enough, the boy would succeed simply
out of spite in order to prove the Potions Master wrong.
Regardless, the boy could not be allowed to give up. It may require a different
tact, but Potter had no choice but to learn this skill. "Get up," Severus said
firmly.
"No."
"Excuse me?" Severus said, eyebrows rising.
"I told you. I can't do this!" Potter whined, not looking at Severus.
But he could. Despite the impression he gave the boy, Severus knew he could, or
he wouldn’t be bothering with him in the first place. They hadmade progress the
last time. Severus wracked his brain. What had he done during their last
session that had inspired it?
"So," Severus scoffed. "This is the rose and expectancy of the fair state. The
boy who aspired to train a juvenile army to do battle with the Dark Lord
himself cannot even manage elementary Occlumency," he said with cold, jeering
condescension, trying to provoke a response. "That your godfather was the only
one lost during that little crusade of yours is indeed most fortunate."
"You would consider Sirius dying fortunate," Potter spat venomously, peeking
from the fold of his arm to glower at him. Severus only arched an eyebrow and
sucked his tongue. Perhaps now they were getting somewhere. "You're enjoying
this aren't you?" Potter said in a low voice, fixing him with a searing,
suspicious look.
"Enjoying what exactly?" Severus asked incredulously. If he wasn’t so terrified
of the consequences of his failure here, he might have laughed.
"Torturing me," Potter said as if convinced of it now. Severus crossed his arms
and rolled his eyes. The boy's melodrama was causing him a headache.
"Circumstance requires that you learn this skill, and apparently Iam the only
one qualified to see that you do so. I didn't exactly volunteer for this
nightmarish undertaking with bubbling enthusiasm. I assure you that in no part
of this arrangement do I find enjoyment, Mr. Potter." But the boy pushed
himself to a sitting position and gave Severus a look that said he knew better
and was offended that Severus would so insult his intelligence.
"Why won't you just admit it?" he challenged. "You're still bitter about what
Sirius and my father did to you, but since they aren't around anymore you're
taking it out on me. Admit it. You hated them."
"You can hardly blame me," Severus said tersely through pursed lips. "You were
in the Pensieve." Severus's features darkened as anger at the memory of
Potter's trespass washed over him afresh. "You witnessed their cruelty."
"But I didn't do those things to you!" Potter said, leaning forward and placing
a hand on his breast to punctuate the statement. "I've never done anything to
you. Why? Why do you hate me?" he cried, desperation and a genuine desire to
understand infecting the frustration in his voice. "Why have you alwayshated
me?" Potter's voice broke on those last words, but his gaze remained true, and
it pierced the Potions Master straight to his heart.
Severus kept his gaze steady as well, but he took his time considering his
answer to the boy’s question.
He didn’t hatethe boy. Did he? He resented his disrespect and his sense of
entitlement, his constant suspicion despite the lengths Severus went to on his
behalf. But then he recalled Potter’s memory of him from the Sorting Ceremony,
and he reluctantly acknowledged to himself he’d certainly given the boy little
reason to believe otherwise. Severus mentally reviewed their history, trying to
mark just when he’d started properly disliking the boy; what Harry had done to
inspire it; and Severus rather drew a blank. It was true he’d done little to
endear himself to the professor, but considering the boy’s limited
understanding of the situations, with the exception of trespassing on his
memories the year prior, there wasn’t much Potter had done that merited the
vehemence of Severus’ ire.
After a silence so long Potter seemed despaired of a response, Severus
reluctantly answered him, his voice as stiff as his posture.
"It's true, Mr. Potter. I hated Black, and I loathed your father." The boy
looked slightly taken aback. He straightened and regarded Severus uncertainly
"It's also true that I hate what I see of your father in you. Which is far too
much, I might add. And I hate the dangerous influence that inheritance has had.
I hate many things, Mr. Potter," Severus went on. "I hate continuously risking
my life for an ungrateful whelp of a boy without the sense not to be
shepherded, almost wistfully, into one blatant trap after another,” he spat. “I
hateknowing that this behaviour is the result of the way you have been
alternately sheltered or else left completely to your own devices your entire
life with grossly impractical proportion and timing. I hate fate. And
necessity. I hate circumstance. But no,” he concluded much more softly as if to
himself as much as to the boy, “I do not hate you, Mr. Potter."
Harry looked up at the Potions Master’s severe expression, at a loss for words.
Neither of them seemed to know what to do now. Severus was as unsettled by the
admission as Harry appeared to be. He disliked it. He disliked the sneaking
suspicion that he’d been unfair to the boy. And he was uncomfortable
considering, for the first time, that his reaction to him might be more
complicated than his frustration at the boy’s actions. It was something Severus
would need to carefully consider. But not here. Not now. Severus heaved a sigh.
"Well," he said shortly, ready to be away and to ponder the matter, "I feel
that is enough for one night. It's already quite late and I believe you have a
train to catch in the morning. We shall continue this when you arrive at
Hogwarts."
Potter opened his mouth to speak, but Severus was already passing through the
door, leaving so swiftly and silently he may as well not even have been
corporeal. He practically flew down the steps and out the door, growing
steadily more disturbed the more the thought about it. If Severus didn’t really
hate Harry Potter, then why in hell did he hate Harry Potter?
***** Bid Him Farewell *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                     Remus
 
A week had passed since Remus had found Harry in his wardrobe, and things were
both easier for the man and harder.
He’d initially thought his problem had simply been that he was unaccustomed to
loneliness. Which was strange. Remus had been so alone for so long before, and
even now he was surrounded by others, but this loneliness wasn’t born of a lack
of company but rather from a lack of intimacy. Once he and Sirius had been
reunited, he’d rarely spent a night outside the man’s presence. And so Remus
had also assumed his recently rediscovered but now long unsatisfied libido had
perhaps caused his inappropriate reaction to Harry. But since that night in the
kitchen, Remus was no longer so sure.
When he closed his eyes, he could still feel the shape of the young man in his
arms. He’d held him long enough that evening to memorise everything about it.
His attraction had not been an issue at the time. For almost two hours he’d sat
on the floor cradling the boy, and his only thought had been to comfort him.
Not that it was entirely innocent, and it certainly hadn’t been completely
selfless. Despite the discomfort, if Remus had had his druthers, he’d never
have let Harry go. As wrong as it felt to admit to himself, as horrible a
person as he thought it made him, Remus knew he felt more for the boy than
paternal pride and friendly fondness; felt more for him, even, than simple
lust. Harry’s passion was magnetic, and his pain was a siren song Remus’
nurturing instincts ached to quiet. Though, he hesitated to define it beyond
that.
Sirius had adored him, as well, but had seen him as James’ torchbearer. Sirius
had never quite gotten over the loss of his best friend. Till the day he died,
he still looked for him when conversations opened themselves for one of James’
witty comments, and Sirius would become melancholy and disoriented upon
remembering the man was no longer there to make them. Azkaban had broken
something essential in Sirius that Remus’ affection could never mend, resulting
in lapses Remus watched over carefully but never remarked on. Correcting the
man when he called Harry by the wrong name only pitched him into despondency,
and so Remus had stopped altogether. He wondered sometimes if, much as he loved
him, Sirius had truly appreciated how individual and exceptional Harry was.
Despite his lingering feelings for James, Remus, for one, did not see Harry as
a replacement for his father, no matter how much he looked like the man. He
respected the boy in his own right, admired his fortitude and strength of
character. What’s more, he saw potential in him. This boy was not shattered
irreparably as Sirius had been. There was hope still that Harry could weather
this storm intact if only he had someone to keep a steady hand on the till as
he navigated it. Remus could be that for him. He could put his selfish conflict
aside and soldier through. He’d been doing just that for several days now and
through many private lessons with Harry, successfully pretending that nothing
had changed between them since Remus had been his professor at Hogwarts.
Today, Remus was seeing the young man back off to that place and he was a
little stricken. He’d be following, of course. But for a little while, he’d
have to relinquish him. It made Remus uneasy. At least the trip was relatively
short, and then Harry would be protected by the impenetrable defences of
Hogwarts until Remus could join him later. Besides, they were taking every
precaution, including this one Remus had come to deliver personally.
He raised his hand to knock on the boys’ bedroom door, but before the deed was
done, Harry came bounding unexpectedly up the stairs toward him, almost bowling
him over as he swung on the bannister.
"Harry," he greeted him sunnily. "There you are. I was just looking for you."
"I was on my way to breakfast," Harry explained breathlessly, easily returning
Remus’ smile. The man was glad to see the boy was still capable of it after
recent events. "I've just come to fetch Archimedes."
"Ah," Remus said. "Don't worry. I'll be bringing your things separately, and I
promise not to forget him."
Harry looked apprehensive. Remus told himself to relax, that he was being
paranoid, that it was not due to the hand he rested on the small of Harry's
back to guide him back down the stairs.
"Our things aren't going on the train?" Harry asked.
"Well, yoursaren't," Remus explained evenly.
"Am Inot going on the train?" Harry asked, growing confused.
"Oh yes, youwill, of course. But we're hoping to keep up the pretence that you
are not. At least until we get you there and on your way," Remus told him,
pausing on the final landing. There he took in hand a bundle he'd had tucked
under his arm which Harry had not previously noticed. "You'll be wearing this
on the way to the platform," he said, handing the neatly folded square of
silvery fabric to Harry. He was the only person Remus would even consider
relinquishing the item to, and even so, it was still difficult. "It was
Sirius',” Remus told him somberly. “He'd left it to me because, at the time, he
knew you already had your father's. However, since that one has been lost, I'm
sure Sirius would rather this come to you."
Harry took the invisibility cloak from him, looking as gutted as Remus felt. He
knew they were both missing the two men bitterly. "I want you to keep this on
until you are seated and the train gets going, alright?" Remus asked, waking
Harry from his thoughts. Harry nodded mutely, casting his eyes back down at the
cloak. But Remus was at a loss, could think of nothing comforting to say, and
so simply lay a hand on Harry’s shoulder and nodded before rushing off to
continue their preparations.
While the children finished their breakfast, Remus reviewed their gameplan with
Albus via floo. It was fairly simple. The Ministry would send a car for them.
And not an inconspicuous one. They wanted to make something of a show of the
party leaving ‘without Harry’. Then Remus would return to Grimmauld Place to
collect the young man’s things, driving to Hogwarts and so acting as a decoy.
His going would be slower and would hopefully distract the enemy until long
after Harry was safely ensconced at school. It was far from foolproof and
leaned heavily on assumptions, but it was what they had to work with.  
When it was time to set out, the students were corralled into the anteroom
where they shuffled anxiously, flanked by Nymphadora and Mrs. Weasley, while
Remus stepped outside to be sure the coast was clear.
"Alright," he said, ducking back in. "The Ministry has a car waiting for us a
block up. Harry, under your cloak, please.” Remus felt a flash of anxiety
seeing him wink from sight but brushed it off. “No one is to talk to Harry or
acknowledge his presence, understood? Harry, the same goes for you to the
others, no talking,” he advised, having already lost track of the now invisible
boy. “Are we ready?" Remus called, hand on the doorknob. "Right. Let's go."
The parade was short but deliberately visible, the only catch being the
unexpectedly sharp wind that Remus feared would lift Harry’s cloak. But
bringing up the rear of the party, he saw no glimpse of the young man. Remus
opened the door for him under the pretence of depositing Pigwidgeon in the back
seat while the others fussed with stowing their luggage in the trunk. Only
Remus and Nymphadora actually accompanied them to the station, leaving Mrs.
Weasley waving on the sidewalk. The interior of the car was larger than it
appeared from the outside, but they were still a bit cramped, and so Remus took
the front passenger’s seat, glancing back anxiously the entire trip, even
though there was nothing to see.
When they reached the platform everyone said their goodbyes, and Remus realised
with a pang that, in the bustle of their departure, he’d failed to say farewell
to Harry. But no sooner than he thought it, Remus felt unseen fingers wrap
around his own and gave the slightest startled gasp.
"Goodbye, Remus," Harry’s voice whispered softly right into Remus' ear, causing
him to shiver. He dearly hoped the blush that burned in his cheeks wasn’t as
visible as it felt. "I'll see you soon." Remus swallowed hard, taking a moment
to compose himself before smiling at Hermione.
"Take care," he said warmly in her direction but speaking to Harry. And then
the boy was gone, and Remus felt achingly alone. The train whistle sounded and
Remus watched it pull away, saying a silent prayer that it arrive safely before
he turned to make his way back to the car, feeling certain the drive to
Hogwarts would feel absolutely interminable.   
Chapter End Notes
     :-S
     I'm starting to get the feeling y'all aren't digging this.
     Well. Too late, now. :p Onward and upward!
***** As Punishment for His Most Wicked Life *****
Chapter Notes
     Now we're getting somewhere.
                                    Severus
 
As he ran, Severus could still hear Bellatrix’ gleeful cackle as she had
informed the Dark Lord that the Mark had been cast and the Dementors deployed.
Severus had been careful not to look alarmed, simply curiously impressed as
Voldemort had given the mad bitch a fond, indulgent smile and then nodded for
Severus to run along to gather a report on the damage.
The Potions Master’s cool facade dissolved instantaneously upon Apparating to
the gates of Hogwarts, and he sprinted now, as fast as he could, for the
Headmaster’s office, grateful that the current absence of students allowed him
to use his preternatural speed.
Loraina was already there when Severus burst inside, not slowing until he’d
doubled over Dumbledore’s desk. “Have you heard?” he asked urgently. Obviously,
he hadn’t, or else they would not look so shocked by Severus’ arrival; but just
at that moment, a face appeared in the Headmaster’s floo, and they all turned
their horrified attention to it.
The conductor of the Express spoke frantically via his firebox, his voice and
image cutting in and out. Death Eaters had appeared on the tracks, he was able
to convey.  Chaos blared intermittently in the background as the connection
threatened to fail completely. They had somehow jammed his floo signal so he
could not call for help until just that moment. Albus’ face turned as ashen as
those of his vampiric companions. The Hogwarts Express was beset by Dementors,
and there were too few adults on board to repel the attack.
Before the link was lost, Albus demanded and received the train’s location,
then he moved quickly from behind his desk and took Severus and Loraina each by
the wrist and Disapparated. It had not been precise, and they were still
hundreds of feet from the nearest car, but they elected to cast and send their
Patronuses on ahead of them as they ran rather than Apparate closer.
The scene was unusually quiet. Only a few Dementors could be seen, flying out
of windows and from between carriages. They did not swarm and not in the
numbers the rescuers had expected. They didn’t stop to try to make sense of it.
Loraina, looking far more excited than was appropriate, abruptly Disapparated
to inside the train. Severus felt he should follow, she was much too swept away
in the hunt, but he spotted a burst of colour just beside the tracks and moved
in that direction instead. A lone student was being hovered over by one of the
lingering Dementors. Severus sprinted ahead of the Headmaster, reaching the boy
just as their Patronuses flushed the monster away.
He recognised the young man instantly and his heart nearly stopped in his
chest.
Had they arrived in time? Had Loraina’s spider scared the thing away, or was it
leaving because it was sated on Harry’s soul?        
The boy looked subdued and vacant as Severus, heart hammering, wrenched him
from the ground; but he also met Severus’ eye, which he would not have done if
he no longer possessed his soul. "What in bloody hell is wrong with you?!"
Severus demanded harshly. He was almost too overwhelmed with panic to process
the situation, but he nonetheless held Harry at arm's length and frantically
inspected him for injury. His aversion to the boy was strong, and the sensation
was disturbingly familiar, but Severus noted it and then ignored it. "Were you
just going to sit there, wand-in-hand, and let the accursed thing kiss you?" he
asked, taking Harry's face roughly in hand to examine him.
The boy did not respond, and it was worrying. But his breathing was full and
steady and his colour was slowly returning in the Dementor’s absence. He had
not been kissed. He was still whole. Gradually, Severus allowed himself to
relax, releasing in a huff a breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been
holding. But before he could succumb to the urge to allow his shaking knees to
fail him, Severus’ eyes were caught by Harry's.
The boy had been staring at him the entire time, he realised, and the
expression on his face struck Severus like a fist to the stomach. The man had
taught countless students, watched an endless parade of children pass through
his classroom and his House. Many of them were haunted by difficult home lives,
as he had been, and several were from Death Eater families and Severus knew for
a fact they had seen horrors. But Severus had rarely seen the kind of
desolation he recognised in Harry’s eyes save when he looked in his own mirror,
and he’d certainly never seen it in one so young.
"Severus," Dumbledore called from the darkness behind him, jolting the man to
his senses. Realising he still cupped Harry's chin in the palm of his hand,
Severus released him abruptly, but his hand still tingled where they had
touched and the sensation spread up his forearm...to his Mark. He gave Harry
one last, uncertain look before stepping aside for the Headmaster.
"He appears to be intact," Severus reported, still disconcerted, taking another
small step away from Harry. Dumbledore heaved a sigh of relief and placed a
heavy hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Excellent. Though it hardly surprises me," he smiled proudly. "Professor
Cobbleshot has just been informing me of the marvellous way in which you and
your friends have defended the others during the attack," he said. Severus
looked to Loraina. He’d have to speak to her later about what she found on the
train, but at the moment her attention was glued to Harry, and the intensity of
it made Severus slightly uncomfortable. "I can't tell you-"
"Ron," Harry interrupted him in a dull voice, his eyes trailing away from the
Headmaster's.
Dumbledore's smile disappeared and he and Severus shared a dreading glance.
They waited patiently for the young man to elaborate, though Severus felt his
stomach sink. They all knew what they were about to hear.
"Ron," he repeated shakily. "He...They..." Harry's wand slipped from his
fingers and fell dully to the ground, and Harry himself teetered as though he
might follow. Severus rushed forward and caught him easily beneath the
shoulders, but it was clear Harry wouldn't be able to support himself. Severus
groaned in rueful sympathy of the young man’s loss. No wonder he’d seen such
despondence in him. But comfort was not the man’s strong suit, so he simply
held Harry upright. Albus stared at the boy for a moment, and Severus could see
the man’s heart breaking for an instant before he snapped into action.
"Severus, come with me," Albus said already turning toward the train himself.
"Rainey, see to Harry. Get him back on the train," he instructed firmly.
Severus handed Harry hastily over to Loraina in order to follow, a bit
surprised at how quickly the old man could still move. But he did so with
apprehension considering the situation, considering the link. But Harry seemed
almost catatonic. It should be safe.
Severus swept into the carriage behind the Headmaster to find the corridor
packed with milling students. He stopped just inside the door to urge them to
disperse, but Albus made a beeline for the compartment they all seemed to be
staring at, from which weeping could be heard.  
“This way. Go on,” Severus directed gently, pointing children to other parts of
the train. “Someone will be around shortly to speak with you all, but right now
we need to clear this carriage.”
They filed out, sullen and surprisingly obedient. Most were too saddened to
even look at the man, but a first-year boy with impossibly large, tear-filled
eyes spontaneously hugged him around his middle as he passed. Severus scowled
and stood with his arms suspended at his sides, confused. No doubt he’d learn
soon enough from the other students that the Potions Master was not the cuddle
bear the small boy mistook him for. For now, though, Severus simply grimaced
and patted him awkwardly on the head before peeling him off and ushering him
along.
The rest of the gathering looked to disperse without further direction, and so
Severus reluctantly stepped inside the compartment into which the Headmaster
had disappeared. The scene was disturbing in the extreme, and Severus hadn’t
even particularly liked the boy. He could only imagine how crushing it must
have been to Harry moments ago. Albus knelt on the floor. He cradled Weasley’s
unseeing shell in one arm and used his other to comfort Granger as she clung to
the front of his robes. She cried softly but steadily, but Severus could tell
she’d recently been far more distraught.
Short of Harry himself being kissed, which they had only very narrowly avoided,
this was the absolute worst thing that could have happened. No doubt the Dark
Lord would be pleased, Severus thought disgustedly. He bent to lift Weasley
from Albus’ arms so he could devote his attention to the girl, but Granger
reached out to cling to the redhead’s jumper, preventing Severus from bearing
him away.
“It’s alright, Hermione,” Albus soothed, gently prying her fingers from the
boy’s shirt. “We’ll take care of him now. You’ve done so well to watch over him
until we arrived.”
“It was my fault,” she whispered between sobs.
“No, no,” Albus told her, wrapping his now-free arm around her and patting her
gently on the back. “You did not send the Dementors, my dear girl. We may have
lost Ron, but you fought very bravely. You saved countless other lives.”
“But Ron…”
“Is beyond our reach now, Dear.”
Albus continued to console her, speaking softly in her ear as Severus rose with
the boy and backed silently from the compartment. He carried him outside,
checking to make sure Harry was no longer there before stepping to the ground.
It was eerily quiet. For a moment, Severus simply stood there with the gangly
ginger draped across his arms, not looking at him but up at the sky where the
faintest wisp of green still lingered. He closed his eyes and let the breeze
lift his hair, wishing it were a gale, wishing something, anything, could rinse
away this shame from him: that he could be associated with such monsters; that
he bore on his skin, forever, the symbol of terror that had so recently hung on
this horizon.
He told himself he was doing all he could to remedy his mistakes, that this is
why he did what he did and would continue to do what he does. But the weight of
the body in his arms was proof that he had not yet done enough, and at that
moment he truly felt he would never redeem himself and that Albus was right to
impose on him as he did. Perhaps the man was even far too lenient.
Severus, full of resentment for his arsehole of a Muggle father, bitter to
sickness at the transgressions of his classmates, had been so eager to prove
himself to the bigger bully, thinking he would finally find himself in a
position of power over those who had tormented him. He had been the one to
deliver the prophecy to the Dark Lord that had fueled that madman’s obsession
and robbed Harry of his parents. And now that same obsession had taken the
young man’s best friend. Severuswas responsible for the continued threat to
Harry’s life, and so it was up to him to ensure the young man weathered the
onslaught until he was old enough and strong enough to end it once and for all.
Perhaps, if he could manage that…
Severus would not dare to hope for forgiveness. He did not deserve it, least of
all from Harry Potter, and perhaps not even from himself. Severus took a deep
breath and Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts to carry Ron Weasley’s still
breathing remains solemnly to the Castle. Each slow step renewed his resolve to
protect the Boy Who Lived, and to prepare himself to deal with the latest
consequences of the worst decision of his life.  
 
***** Has Sorrow Made Thee Dote Already *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                     Remus
 
Remus was doing one last mental check to be sure he hadn’t forgotten to pack
any of his or Harry’s important things when he heard someone calling his name,
though he knew for a fact he was the only one in the house. It could only be
the floo. He jogged to the sitting room but was brought up short by Minerva’s
face floating in the hearth. Remus could tell by her expression that something
was terribly wrong.   
Cold dread gripped his insides, and he moved closer with reluctant steps. “What
is it?” he asked anxiously before she could speak. “What’s happened?”
“Oh, Remus,” she began, her expression pinched with sorrow.
No. He’d just seen the boy hours ago. It couldn’t be. “It’s not Harry,” he
said, shaking his head as if denying it could make it not true. “Tell me it
isn’t Harry,” Remus begged, falling to his knees on the rug to speak to her
more easily.
Still overcome, Minerva shook her head. “No,” she finally managed. “It’s
Weasley,” she told him apologetically, as if knowing that answer was almost as
devastating.  
Remus felt faint and sat heavily on the floor. He was ashamed to feel such
relief. But it wasn’t as if it were unsullied. Remus closed his eyes, hung his
head. For a moment they were both silent as they attempted to collect
themselves. “What happened, Minerva?” he asked quietly before clamping a hand
over his mouth to hold in his grief.
“Dementors,” she explained, as if she still couldn’t accept that such a thing
could happen. “On the Hogwarts Express. Miraculously, he was the only casualty,
but there were injuries. The children haven’t yet arrived, but when they do it
will be chaos here. Albus is informing Arthur and Molly as we speak,
but...they’ll need someone, Remus,” she said, fixing him with an imploring
look. “And neither Albus nor I can leave at the moment. Could you, perhaps, go
and collect them and escort them here?” The request was urgent and could not be
denied, but she asked as if she hated to impose. “We’ll arrange to fetch yours
and Potter’s things later. I’m sure the House Elves can manage it.”
“Yes, of course,” Remus agreed immediately, though the thought made him sick to
his stomach. Minerva nodded her thanks. “But...Harry?” he asked before she
could take her leave. “How is he? Does he know?”
“Oh yes,” she said, nodding sadly. “Potter knows. He’s not taking it well
according to Albus, and I hear Granger is even worse off. They’ll be arriving
on the train with the others and Albus will be speaking with him first thing.
I’m certain he’ll fill you in, as well, when you get here,” she said, clearly
trying to wrap things up. But then she was overcome with distress once again,
reflecting on the situation. “That poor boy,” she said pityingly, referring to
Harry. “He just cannot catch a break, can he? He’llneed you, too, Remus.”
“Of course, Minerva. I’m on my way,” Remus told her, picking himself up from
the floor. He wasn’t ready to face yet another set of grieving parents, but he
really had no choice. She winked from sight, and Remus tried not to think of
Harry and how much it killed Remus not to be able to be with him now. He hoped
the boy would be alright until he arrived. But to do that, Remus had first to
leave.
He took a moment to compose himself before stepping out the front door and
Apparating to the Burrow. Remus knocked but then quietly let himself in when
there was no answer. Like Grimmauld Place, the house was Secret Kept and so
rarely locked. He easily found the Weasleys in their living room, clinging to
one another as if it were the only thing keeping them both upright. Their
attention was glued to the hearth.
“Ah. There’s Remus now, I see,” Albus said from its depths. He looked harried
and heartbroken but his voice and manner were steady as always in spite of it.
“Remus, if you would be so kind as to help Arthur and Molly alert the other
Weasley children, I’d be most appreciative.”
“Of course,” Remus nodded, giving the couple a sympathetic look and laying a
hand supportively on each of their shoulders.
“I am truly sorry. We’ll speak further when you arrive,” Albus promised. They
nodded tearfully, and then the Headmaster was gone, and Remus was on his own.  
The news clearly hadn’t yet sunk in for either of them. They looked shocked and
confused. Remus decided he should perhaps try to keep things moving, attempt to
get them to the school before they fell apart, which Remus knew was only a
matter of time. He’d never seen a closer brood than the Weasley clan.
“Bill and Charlie. How do we reach them?” he asked softly, stroking Molly’s
back comfortingly. Arthur seemed not to have heard him at all, but Molly shook
her head as if she wasn’t sure, or else could not focus on Remus’ question.
“Fred and George?” he asked instead. “Are they at the shop?” Finally, Molly
nodded, and Remus cautiously left them to toss a bit of powder in the floo to
call up the twins.
As Arthur murmured comfortingly to Molly, who had begun to weep quietly, Remus
delivered the sad news to George and asked him to please contact his brothers.
He explained that he would be taking their parents to speak with Albus; that as
far as he understood, Ginny was to arrive shortly on the train and they should
all meet them there. George thanked him and hurried away, seemingly not wanting
to break down in front of the man.
It was then that Molly began to wail. Remus had heard it before, as she had
faced the boggart at Grimmauld Place. He knew it would soon become worse,
though, because it was no longer an illusion, and when that realisation set in
she would rage as well as despair. He just hoped he managed to get her to the
school before that happened. “T’will be alright,” Arthur told her, patting her
as she clung to him, but Remus could tell the man was in no state to properly
deal with her distress. He couldn’t seem to focus on it and simply kept
repeating the same comments over and over. Remus knew that feeling; that lost,
not-quite-there daze that one feels when hearing news so awful one’s mind
cannot grasp it entirely.
The night Albus had told Remus that Sirius had murdered Peter and also,
apparently, betrayed James and Lily, Remus had shut down. It was so completely
unfathomable, his mind had rebelled, turning off almost entirely as if in self-
preservation. He still could not properly piece together the days following in
his memory. It was as if he’d simply lost an entire week of his life. To that
day, he was still mortified that he could not recall James’ and Lily’s funeral;
only that it had happened and that he had been there but had not been capable
of speaking at the event. They had deserved for Remus, as the last of them
still standing, to pay tribute to their memory. But to his everlasting shame,
Remus simply had not been able.  
Remus came to Arthur’s rescue now, though, urging Molly to take a seat on the
sofa with him. Without a word, she turned and transferred her grip to the
lapels of Remus’ cardigan, though she also allowed him to lower them to the
cushions. Thankfully, Fred arrived within minutes, no doubt leaving just as
soon as he’d manage to settle himself. He’d obviously been crying but was
putting on a brave enough face. He strode forward and hugged his father
fiercely before noticing his mother going to pieces on the couch. He nodded to
Remus to leave it to him and the werewolf respectfully withdrew to look after
the young man’s mute father.
It took some time and a bit of doing, but sons were located and spoken to, and
eventually, Fred and Remus walked the dazed couple out of their house and
wrapped an arm around each of them to Apparate them to Hogwarts. The train had
come and had emptied. Remus tried to navigate them as best he could down quiet
corridors with no rushing faculty or weeping school children, but it was not a
simple task.
And then they waited outside Albus' office for both the rest of the family and
for Albus to finish speaking with Harry. As hectic as the ordeal had been so
far, it did not truly erupt until the Weasley’s second eldest son appeared. It
was not until then that Molly allowed herself to well and truly fall apart, as
if knowing Arthur was not strong enough to bear both their griefs and the only
real comfort she could find was in the arms of her remaining children. With the
arrival of each additional son, she seemed to unravel a bit further: tearfully
ordering George to Ginny’s side in the hospital wing, screamingly disowning a
horrified Percy and then dissolving into complete hysterics until Bill’s
presence finally soothed her.
It was heart-wrenching and exhausting, and fond as he was of the family, all
Remus really wanted was to find his ward. Once Bill arrived, Remus finally had
the opportunity to catch sight of Harry and Albus waiting with respectful
silence to be noticed.
Remus might have thought his empathy spent at this point, but it was instantly
replenished on seeing the young man. Harry looked to be barely standing, and
the blankness of his expression was unsettling. With one last glance at the
distraught family to reassure himself he was no longer needed, Remus strode
over to them.
The look he bestowed on Harry as he approached was one of deepest sympathy and
concern. Remus well knew what the young man was feeling at this moment. He
opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't seem to find the proper words.
He knew there were no proper words, really. So he only wet his lips, drawing
back the unspoken sentiment in favour of a warm embrace. But Harry wrenched
away from Remus, almost violently, and the man didn't try to conceal the hurt
on his face as Harry shied again when he reached out to him a second time for a
milder contact. Harry turned his head sheepishly but was unrelenting in his
determination that the man would not touch him. Remus was gutted, but this
moment was not about him.
Still, it was hard to accept. Despite his resolution to put his feelings for
the young man aside, it seemed the damage had already been done, and Remus’
already aching heart broke further.  
"Remus, would you?" Albus asked tactfully. "I really must," he elaborated,
gesturing toward the gathering down the hall. Remus, though still distracted by
the exchange with Harry, pulled his questioning gaze from Harry's face long
enough to nod vaguely at the Headmaster.
"Yes, of course," he murmured. Albus released Harry and, when satisfied the
youth could stand on his own, strode swiftly over to the Weasleys. Remus and
the boy were left alone. There was so much he’d like to say to Harry, but doing
so just then would have been selfish. They had time. Remus hoped they had time.
And once Harry had had a chance to grieve, they could start again. Remus prayed
to every god he knew that they could start again. "Well," Remus said softly,
cautiously, still shaken by Harry's rejection. "Let's get you to the hospital
wing, shall we?"
"No," Harry said plainly, not looking at him. “I’m not hurt,” he said, his
voice colourless and flat, “just tired.”
"I'll see you to your dormitory then," Remus offered understandingly. Harry
simply shook his head. Remus was patient but at a loss. "Where would you go
then, Harry?"
The young man winced but did not answer. The question seemed to upset him and
he looked suddenly desperate and despairing. His eyes followed the Weasleys’
advancement as Albus led them up the hallway and, the closer they came, the
nearer to panic Harry seemed to become; and Remus was undone, not knowing what
to do for him, wanting to unravel on his behalf but unable, wanting to comfort
him but not allowed to touch him.
Before the situation became critical, however, Severus stepped from the shadows
beside them. His sudden appearance seemed to break the building tension. He
regarded Harry silently for a moment, and Remus eyed him apprehensively. The
last thing they needed was a tactless comment from this man. But he ended up
surprising them both.
"Follow me," was all Severus said in a low, mild tone before turning to glide
down the corridor. Harry turned to follow him without question, automatically,
as if he had no will of his own; and Remus moved to remain close, not
understanding what was happening and not entirely trusting the vampire. Harry
looked as if he might fall over at any moment, and so Remus held out a hand to
hover near Harry's back, just in case he might need to catch him. But the young
man did not falter. He followed the Potions Master doggedly. The two of them
were silent as Severus entered the dungeons, and so Remus held his own tongue,
but part of him wanted to demand where Severus thought he was leading them.
Finally, Severus halted before a depression in the corridor wall, identical to
several they had passed already and cast an uneasy glance at Harry as though
loath to reveal too much to him. But Harry’s eyes were unfocused and half-
lidded, making Remus increasingly anxious. Severus regarded him a few moments
more before delivering what Remus assumed was a password in a rushed,
unintelligible whisper. As though the stones had been mist stirred aside by a
breath of wind, a door appeared in the depression. Severus tapped it once with
his wand, and it fell open without a sound. He strode inside as though it was
simply understood the other two should follow.
Harry was slightly hesitant to step over the threshold, and Remus was seconds
away from assuring him he did not have to when the boy took a stuttering step
inside and looked around him with vague interest. It was the first time that
evening that some of his old self seemed to stir, and Remus was silently but
powerfully thankful. After a moment, the young man stepped aside to let Remus
through the door as well. He walked past Harry and moved to the centre of the
room. He’d never been in Severus’ private quarters before, but that was clearly
what these were. He regarded Severus with a gentle question in his eyes, not
wanting to hash things out in front of Harry but needing some idea of what was
going on. The Potions Master ignored him and spoke to Harry instead.
"This way," he prompted curtly, opening one of the doors leading from the room.
Though his blank expression never changed, Harry's eyes drifted to a door other
than the one Severus indicated, and he studied it with obvious curiosity. It
was cracked open, and Remus could smell the strong odour of brewing potions
leaking from within. Severus followed Harry's gaze and swiftly strode over to
shut it with a snap, casting Harry a sharp look.
"Thisway," he repeated, as he moved back to Harry's door and pushed it open
further. His tone had almost been threatening, which caused Remus to bristle.
If the man so much as thought of being abusive, Remus would not hesitate to
snatch Harry up and carry him out of this place, no matter how loathsome the
young man found his touch.
"Is that your bedroom, then?" Harry asked, unfazed, waving a finger at the
other room.
"And just howmany bedrooms do you think I have here in ‘Snape Manor'?" Severus
clipped with a roll of his eyes. Harry appeared confused, as was Remus. Severus
waved his wand impatiently and a lamp ignited in the room he was assigning the
young man, revealing a bed and nightstand.
Though he’d seemed to have been trying to ignore Remus’ presence, Harry turned
to him now as if asking for permission to do as Severus said. Remus still
wasn’t convinced this --whatever it was-- was a good idea. But Harry had very
clearly reached the end of his strength, and so Remus nodded, urging Harry
forward.
"But where will you sleep?" Harry asked the Potions Master, looking down at the
small bed.
"You ask as though you care, Mr. Potter," Severus replied wryly. Then he
slipped from the sitting room and through the door Harry had not been allowed
to ask questions about, returning momentarily bearing a small phial which he
pushed into the palm of Harry's hand. "Drink this."
Before Harry could even inquire what it was, Severus had withdrawn again. Harry
turned a lost, uncertain look to Remus, and the man tried to appear reassuring,
but Severus abruptly shut the door between them with an echoing clank. To say
Remus was less than pleased was a vast understatement. Before he could voice
his vehement objections, Severus swept past him again, motioning for Remus to
follow him.
Remus was irritated by the man’s dismissive manner. He stood fuming for a
moment before cursing under his breath and setting off after him.
The door Severus had disappeared through was safeguarded from within with a
number of heavy locks. Remus eyed them uneasily as he passed, finding a spiral
staircase at his feet. He tried to reign in his frustration, but he was
emotionally fatigued, and each step he descended only seemed to stoke Remus’
aggravation further. Before he’d fully cleared the last one, he found he
couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.
“Severus,” he said curtly, causing the man to finally pause and turn to him.
The exasperation on the man’s face did nothing to endear him to Remus. “Why are
we here?” he demanded quietly.
Severus did not answer right away. He simply looked at the werewolf as if he
might be slightly dense. “He wants solitude,” Severus said plainly.
“What? You’ve spoken to him?”
Severus sighed, giving Remus a withering look, and it was all Remus could do to
contain himself. “I didn’t have to,” Severus replied. “Not everyone wants to be
stroked and coddled when they are in pain,” he said snidely. “Some of us need
quiet and seclusion.”
“And what? You’ve just decidedthat Harry is ‘some of us’?” Remus asked, growing
properly angry.
“Did you not see him?” Severus demanded, returning Remus’ anger and then some.
“He did not want to go to the infirmary, neither did he want to go to his dorm
room, and he almost had a bloody panic attack watching that bawling herd of
gingers stomping his way. He wants to be alone,” the vampire veritably shouted.
 
Remus raked his hands over his face to resist the urge to punch the irritable
git. He might very well be right, but gods, did he have to be such an
intolerable arsehole about it? Remus took a steadying breath, and then another.
“What did you give him?” he asked when he thought he could manage a civil tone.
“Dreamless Sleep,” Severus shrugged as if that should be obvious.
“And so, that’s it?” Remus asked with an exasperated scowl. “He’s just going to
sleep in your bedfor a while?”
“Clearly,” Severus scowled back as if there was nothing at all wrong with such
a thing. And really, Remus thought, suddenly abashed, with anyone other than
Remus, there probably wasn’t.
“And where will you sleep?” Remus asked, much less hostile than a moment ago.
Severus gestured to the corner where a cot stood. Its blankets were dishevelled
as if it had been recently used.
“I almost never rest upstairs anymore,” Severus informed him. “Too many things
here require my close attention. Namely, a certain Wolfsbane potion,” he said
pointedly.
That served to finally subdue the werewolf. He’d been so focused on getting
answers from Severus, he hadn’t really taken in their surroundings. Looking
around him now he noticed they stood in the man’s private laboratory.
Remus knew he was a drain on the man’s time and resources, and he appreciated,
more than Severus could possibly know, that he brewed Remus’ potion despite
their strained history. Remus was simply out of sorts because of Harry’s
reaction to him earlier, he reflected. He wasn’t sure how much further the man
was being inconvenienced by Harry’s presence, but Severus obviously had the
young man’s best interest in mind. Remus decided to make peace with the
arrangement.
“You’ll alert me,” he asked anxiously, “when he’s ready to…”
“Be stroked?” Severus sneered. Remus completely failed to prevent the blush
that lit his cheeks.
“Something like that,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“Of course,” Severus shrugged disdainfully. “Though, I find myself out of floo
powder,” he murmured, as if to himself, looking away as he pondered the matter.
Just bloody brilliant. “How am I to get out of here then?” Remus sighed
impatiently. He was beyond exhausted and he could not tolerate this man for
much longer; not without dooming the civility of their acquaintance forever.
Severus considered for a moment and then rolled his eyes.
“I’ll draw you a map,” he said, plainly put out but nonetheless sweeping over
to his desk and taking up a quill. The man seemed to sweep everywhere, Remus
noted irritably. Everything he did seemed unnecessarily dramatic, and Remus
found it almost wearying. After a moment, Severus had sketched and carefully
torn out a small map of the dungeons, or at least the route Remus was to take
to escape them. He offered it to Remus, but the man did not accept it. It was
little more than chicken scratch and Remus raised an eyebrow at Severus.
“Which way is up?” he asked, unable to make any sense of the thing. Severus
grumbled and snatched the thing back, adding a ‘top’ and ‘bottom’, as well as a
hasty and sarcastic compass and several arrows before offering it to Remus
again with a smirk. Holy Hell, the man was infuriating. Remus plucked it from
Severus’ fingers and turned to storm out.
“Thank you,” he said tersely over his shoulder as he mounted the stairs.
“My pleasure,” Severus tossed sneeringly at his retreating back. The comment
made Remus pause, but he powered through the impulse to return and knock the
piss out the man, continuing up the stairs and out the door into the dungeons
to further lessen the temptation.
Holy Hell.
Remus needed a drink.
      
  
Chapter End Notes
     (This chapter is getting a major overhaul as soon as I finish the
     fic.)
***** Yet Every Mother Breeds Not Sons Alike *****
                                    Severus
 
Why does he insist on being a pain in the arse? Severus wondered irritably,
plucking the empty potion phial from the tray from beside an untouched bowl of
broth. He spelled the food to keep it palatably warm should the boy awake and
find himself inclined to finally drink it, but he was not hopeful that would
come to pass. It had been three days and, each time Severus had checked on him,
only the Dreamless Sleep had been consumed.
Harry had to know that if he did not start eating soon, they would have to
force him. He was meant to take the broth first, damn it, and then go back to
sleep if he wished. Severus could not bring himself to withhold the potion,
however. Regardless of Severus’ personal feelings regarding the Weasleys and
their infuriating progeny, they had been good to Harry, despite the glamour,
and Ron had been a true friend. Losing him could not have been easy for a boy
so beset by other troubles. And as Severus was to understand it, the Muggles
Harry lived with were less than nurturing. Though, that wasn’t entirely their
fault.
It was a shame the chastity spell had been necessary. And that it had, of equal
necessity, been so strong. But at least it had been effective. Severus could
practically taste Harry’s purity, the scent of it was so strong in the room. It
overpowered the evidence of Harry’s dire need of a wash; but even if he hadn’t
been able to smell it, Severus thought he could see it. Harry’s expression,
even in sleep, was troubled. But it was such an innocent distress, as if the
muscles of his face had clearly not yet learned to mould it into the figures of
desire.
Severus scowled. He didn’t like thinking sexually about his students, least of
all this one, though he sometimes couldn’t help it. The vampiric reaction to
virgin blood was so sodding inconvenient at times. And now here he was, along
with most of his possessions, marinating in the stink. He’d be smelling the boy
for weeks after he’d gone.
Severus ignored the way his mouth watered and reached down to brush the
impossible mess of hair from Harry’s scar, careful not to actually touch it,
and wondered on how he had managed to retain his virginity, despite the spell.
Teenage sex had so little to do with anything it should; but still, the more
attractive ones never held out this long. And much as Severus hated to admit
it, even to himself, especially to himself, the young man really was
exceptional. How could any spell mask the objective aesthetic appeal of his
features? Especially one not refreshed in fifteen years.
Severus was not certain why it so irritated him that the boy was handsome, but
it did. Perhaps it was that it reminded Severus of his own lack of
attractiveness. Though, more likely, it was that Harry reminded Severus of the
boy’s father. There was a reason the bastard had been arrogant. It was a fact
that was often overshadowed by the proximity of Black’s dashing good looks, but
James had been undeniably handsome. And Harry had inherited all of it, Severus
noted sourly. Even worse, the influence of Lily’s features had perfected it in
him. Harry’s beauty was more delicate than his father’s. Lily’s fineness had
corrected the man’s proportions in their son, had sculpted his nose more
gracefully, slendered James’ strong jaw, added fullness to the boy’s lips and
heightened his cheekbones. And though he could not see it at the moment, one
could not forget the effect of his mother’s bright, green eyes peering from
beneath his father’s jet black hair.   
Severus’ lip curled and he straightened irritably. The boy was disgustingly
attractive. Thank the gods he hadn’t realised it yet, else Severus had no doubt
he’d be even more intolerable than James had been.
Severus sneered down at him as he reached into his robe pocket and fished out a
new phial of Dreamless Sleep to set on the tray beside the neglected broth.
He’d have to make more of the potion soon. As if he didn’t already have enough
to do.
As Severus stepped from the boy’s room, Lupin’s visage appeared in the hearth.
Severus groaned inwardly. The mangy mutt had been driving him up the wall. “I
believe I told you last time you called that I would inform youwhen there was
something to report,” he told him waspishly as he moved toward the lab.
“Severus, don’t walk away,” Lupin replied wearily. He was getting harder to
ruffle, Severus reflected. Pity. Severus stopped and turned to the fireplace
impatiently. “What are we going to do about Harry’s lessons?”
“So now you want me to plan yours, as well?”
“Albus is becoming more anxious about the possibility of the Romanians becoming
involved,” Lupin went on as if Severus had not commented. “I’m meant to
instruct Harry on how to identify vampires, but there are obvious drawbacks.”
It was a matter they’d been wrestling with for a while now, how to prepare the
boy without alarming him and endangering Severus and Loraina. Severus sighed.
      
"I don't know that we shouldn't just tell the boy and have done with it," he
grumbled. "He's too bloody nosy to remain oblivious for much longer. If nothing
else, thanks to you and that little stunt you pulled with them in class,
Granger will no doubt put two and two together soon enough and spell it out for
him.” Really, Severus had done nothing worse to Lupin that year than he had
done to Severus. He hadn’t actually intended for the man to be fired, though he
hadn’t been riddled with guilt, either. “There's no knowing what he might do
when that happens, without someone there to administer the proper threats."
“Severus,” Lupin replied, seemingly reaching for his reserve of patience, “you
know it was merely part of the curriculum at the time. It’s not as if I
purposefully attempted to out you,” he pointed out accusingly. “And if you take
a threatening tone with Harry, he’ll only be compelled to dig deeper. You know
how like James he is. Besides, he’s an intelligent boy. And a human being,
Severus. He can be reasoned with.”
Severus really thought some of those assertions were debatable. "Oh, alright,”
he huffed. “The proper warnings. Though I do think it might be wise to put a
bit of fear into him. He obviously doesn't appreciate the simple concept of
consequence, or how great they would be in this situation."
“He weighs consequence against necessity, as any of us do,” Lupin argued.
“Perhaps if we were more open with him about his situation he could make
better-informed decisions.”
"Treating him like an adult does not automatically make him one." Severus
sneered, "Merlin knows, you lot should have figured this out by now."
“Young or not, Severus, Albus believes, especially after the events at the
Ministry, that we should take Harry more into our confidence. But he is worried
about overwhelming the boy. He is already processing so much.”    
"Yes. Of course, I know the Headmaster's stance on the issue, and as in several
others, I do not quite agree."
“We cannot simply ignore the matter,” Lupin said, becoming frustrated. “We
cannot have him outing you or Rainey, but we cannot leave him totally
unprepared.”
"Well, it is your responsibility to prepare the boy in these matters, Lupin,"
Severus conceded, somewhat resigned. "And you’re right, it is a lesson he will
need to learn. I've persuaded Loraina here, but-"
“Do you think she has ties to the Coven?” Lupin interrupted. Like most of the
other staff, the werewolf did not seem to trust Loraina. Severus might have
been aggravated, but they weren’t exactly wrong to distrust her, they simply
did so for the wrong reasons.
"No,” he assured him, “but there are other ‘free agents’. And the Dark Lord has
commissioned me personally to seek them out and sway them to his cause,"
Severus explained bitterly. "I cannot fail at it forever,” he said helplessly.
“Either I will have to go about the errand earnestly to avoid suspicion, or the
Dark Lord will find another to do it in my stead. And I think you might
understand why I'd rather that not happen. As it is, I've claimed my duties
here are too demanding for me to travel abroad, and the Dark Lord certainly
doesn't want to compromise my position in relation to the Headmaster." Severus'
tone became dark and dreading. "But he will succeed in this, Lupin, with my
help or no.” They had to know this. Though, they seemed to be pretending that,
if Severus refused, the venture would fail. The Dark Lord, however, did not
place as much faith in him as they did. “He's already made progress with the
werewolves, as I'm sure you may be aware. The half races are resentful toward
wizardkind, ripe for this conversion, and the Dark Lord is all too conscious of
this. Surely youunderstand that,” he said. He knew Lupin had struggled for
years. And he was far more fortunate than most of his kind. Lupin looked as if
he wanted to deny it, but couldn’t quite. Since Dogtown, the werewolf community
had been a powder keg just waiting for a spark. “I understand it perfectly
myself, and were my personal circumstances otherwise-"
“Are you insinuating you might be persuaded to a change of heart?” Lupin asked
incredulously. The suspicion in his eyes made Severus consider hexing the piss
out him, but he wouldn’t want to harm the fireplace.
"Of course not," Severus spat in response. After all I’ve done for the Order,
Severus fumed. "You know where my loyalties lie. And you know ruddy well why.
Don't be ridiculous."
The werewolf was instantly contrite, not that it helped mollify the vampire.
“I’m sorry, Severus,” he said sincerely. “I’m just out of sorts, and I’m
worried about Harry. I just don’t know how to broach the subject with him
without leaving you and Rainey vulnerable.”
"Well, I have no suggestions on how else to proceed, except just as we have
been,” Severus sighed. “He must be taught. Though mark my words, that boy will
be the death of me, if not us all.”
“Severus, he’s done as well as can be expected. And better than most might
have. You might try having a little faith in him.”
"Spare me," Severus sneered, but it felt insincere. He was almost certain at
this point that his aversion to the boy had little, if anything, to actually do
with him, and he was starting to suspect there was more to him than Severus had
given him credit for. Not that he was about to admit that to Lupin. "You are as
stubborn as your flea-bitten former compatriots."
The comment instantly riled Lupin. Severus had apparently hit on one of the
man’s triggers. He smirked to himself. He’d have to keep it in mind. “Whether
you like it or not, James Potter’s son is prophesied to save us all,” Lupin
spat. “We can prepare him, or we can resign ourselves to the coming darkness.”
So melodramatic.
“Oh, so be it," Severus clipped sardonically, rolling his eyes. "Potter is
brilliant and discerning and will be our bloody saviour. Now, if you will
excuse me, I have to go slave over our fearless knight-in-bloody-armour's fresh
batch of bottled coma.” And with that, Severus turned his back on the man and
stomped down the stairs to the lab. “We’re all going to die,” he muttered to
himself, and then started setting up the apparatus to brew more Dreamless
Sleep.
***** I Blush to Think Upon This Ignomy *****
Shortly thereafter, the broth began disappearing. Not completely but enough.
And not long after that, Severus started finding the potion untouched. He was
relieved. He really hadn’t wanted to force-feed the young man. He began
requesting ‘regular’ food for Harry, and after a couple of real meals, Severus
stopped providing the Dreamless Sleep. Harry was far more restless without it,
of course, and Severus would sometimes become alarmed and rush to the door
hearing him cry out in his sleep; but Harry never seemed to require Severus’
intervention, so he left the young man to deal with his demons on his own. If
he didn’t know how already, the time had certainly come to develop the skill.
But after a couple of days of adequate food intake and natural sleep, Harry
still had not emerged. Severus wasn’t sure if Harry’d just been so dehydrated
the need to piss hadn’t overwhelmed him yet or if he was somehow disposing of
it, but he decided it was time to give the young man a not-so-subtle hint that
it was time for him to bloody get up and get the hell out of Severus’ rooms.
His presence was becoming unnerving for a number of reasons. Severus found
himself thinking of the boy far too often. Even if he hadn’t recognised it
before, the origin of his adverse reaction to Harry became more than clear
during his stay. Severus’ Mark reacted to his proximity and, whenever the young
man was unduly emotional, Severus’ forearm would tingle. He’d been walking
around for days, unconsciously scratching at it. Besides, whenever it happened,
Severus found himself worrying about the boy, and that irritated him even more
than his raw skin. Harry Potter had plenty of other people to fret over him.
Severus had other things to worry about. And yet, no matter what he was doing,
even when his Mark was dormant, several times a day, Severus’ thoughts drifted
to his bedroom and the young man languishing there. He couldn’t even properly
intimidate his first-year class for the distraction. If the brats proved
unmanageable later, Severus was blaming Harry for it.     
Severus set a change of clothes beside the note he left on Harry’s tray to
punctuate the suggestion. Then he withdrew quietly and sat down at his desk to
grade the year’s first round of essays. He had no idea why he assigned so many
of the damned things. He hated reading them. It always put him in a terrible
mood and his marks certainly reflected it.
Severus had just reloaded his quill with red ink when he heard Harry stirring
in the other room, and he paused, quickly deciding he did not want to speak to
the boy. He was afraid Harry might try to thank him for allowing him to stay,
and the man didn’t know what he’d say to it. Then he was afraid he might
notthank him, and Severus would be tempted to throttle him. The Potions Master
decided the safest course was to retreat to his lab, but he'd barely managed to
cross its threshold when Harry’s door swung open. Severus turned to pull the
laboratory door to a close behind him, and he did so just in time to see Harry
stride from the bedroom...
Completely bloody starkers.
The shock of it made Severus fumble the knob, and instead of pulling the door
closed, he simply made it swing in. There was still a generous gap. Severus was
torn between wanting to slam it shut and not wanting to draw Harry’s attention.
The sane thing to do would be to close the door. If the boy refused to be
decent, Severus would have to be so for the both of them. He reached for the
handle, having every intention of grasping it and pulling the thing to but, for
some reason, he simply stood peering, unseen, through the crack.
It was Potter’s audacity, he decided, that froze him in place. He was trembling
because he was angry the young man had the nerve to prance about naked through
his sitting room. Yes. Anger. That’s why his cheeks were warm. Severus should
watch him, he thought with a scowl, just in case Harry might try to take
liberties with any of his things.
And he was soon proven right in his distrust, as the young man sauntered over,
with his clothes tucked under his arm, to poke about Severus’ desk. He had no
right to be so relaxed as he invaded the man’s privacy, smiling as he read
Severus’ remarks.No right when Severus was currently so tense.
Why was he tense? He couldn’t think clearly. Perhaps it was because now the
young man had moved on, turning to Severus’ bookshelf. Those books were rare,
damn it! And Harry fondled them with no regard for the delicacy of the
bindings. Then he bent over to read the titles, and the Potions Master was
overcome by…
Damn it! He was simply overcome. It didn’t matter why. He’d had enough. Severus
snatched at the knob and eased the door closed as quickly and quietly as he
could. But his blasted hands were shaking and the latch made the softest clink
as it caught.
But at least the door was finally, completely closed. Severus sank back against
the wall of the stairwell trying to calm himself. He consciously slowed his
breathing, stroked his hands down his face as if to wipe away the blush in his
cheeks, sweeping them down his torso on the way to banish the throbbing in
his....
Oh, gods.
Severus shuddered. He was mortified. He willed the stone walls to swallow him.
It had to be due to days of chronic immersion in the scent of virgin blood.
Surely nothing else could explain it. The Dark was close. He hadn’t wanked in a
while. It was fine. Normal. He’d take care of it later.
Severus had just convinced himself everything would be alright, and that the
young man would soon be leaving and so none of this would be an issue anyway
when he heard the knob at his elbow jiggle. He slowly turned a horrified gaze
to the thing and then watched as it inexplicably turned. Severus panicked. He
reached up to throw the locks, but before he managed it, the door slowly began
to open, preventing him. The little shit was trying to break into his lab.
Severus had a sudden vision of the door swinging open and the two of them
coming face to face, one in his birthday suit and the other sporting a, no
doubt, very obvious erection which could not be easily explained, and Severus
was convinced he was about to have an aneurysm. The only reason it hadn’t
already come to pass was that the door tended to stick. Severus wasted no time
wrenching the door shut and immediately turning every lock and bolt. Taking no
chances, he dropped the crossbar as well. He hadn’t used it since he’d
installed it, but it made a very satisfying thunk as it fell closed which
echoed through the stairwell. Severus could hear Harry scramble back from the
door. And then a moment later he heard the sound of the upstairs bathroom door
slamming shut.
Severus’ heart was pounding, but thankfully his unmitigated terror had caused
his other problem to fade. He waited until he heard the toilet flush and the
bathwater begin to run before he ventured to unbar the door and peek cautiously
through it. Confident the young man was occupied, Severus rushed to the hearth
and tossed in some floo powder from the new jar on the mantle to call up
Lupin’s quarters, hoping to gods the man was in.
“Lupin,” he hissed quietly. “Lupin!”
The man had a toothbrush sticking from his mouth when he wandered into his
sitting room to answer his hearth. “Severus?” he asked, alarmed by the
vampire’s impatient scowl. “What is it? Is something wrong?”    
“It lives,” Severus informed him in a fierce whisper. “You need to come collect
him. Now.”
Lupin nodded readily but was unsettled by Severus’ manner and refusal to raise
his voice. “Has something happened?” he asked anxiously.
“Now,” Severus reiterated, and then he pulled his head from the floo and
practically ran down the stairs to his lab, waving his wand behind him to throw
the locks again, resolving to never, ever, think of this incident again.
Ever.  
***** No Noise, But Silence *****
                                     Remus
 
Remus met Severus walking out of his door just as Remus was about to knock.
“He’s still in the bloodybath,” was all the man said before sweeping past Remus
and into the shadows of the dungeons. Remus watched him until he disappeared,
puzzled at his more-irritable-than-usual attitude. There was just no accounting
for the man, though, and Remus shrugged it off to step into Severus’ quarters
to collect his ward.
It was quiet within. The bedroom door was ajar and Remus cautiously peeked
inside, even though Severus had just told him Harry was still in the bath. The
room was so small and bare. And in need of a good airing. Remus stepped back
into the sitting room and noted the lack of furniture there as well. He knew
Severus spent most of his time in the lab, but still, how could anyone bear
such a spartan lifestyle? Remus requireda certain amount of comfort. No matter
where he went or how often he moved, no matter how disappointing his
surroundings, a soft place to sit, a few sketches on the walls, and a stack of
books here or there instantly turned any space into home. The austerity of
Severus’ rooms reminded Remus depressingly of a monastery, one where one
devotes oneself to potions and bitterness instead of prayer and reflection.
Having nowhere to sit, Remus rocked on his heels and wondered what might be
taking so long. He didn’t want to think too much about the fact that Harry was
in the bath. It was too tempting to his imagination. But there was nothing in
the room to distract or occupy him. He approached the door to the bathroom and
listened, just to get some indication of how much longer he might have to wait,
but there was absolutely no sound. No splash. No shuffle of feet as the young
man got dressed. Nothing.
“Harry?” he called, perplexed. He waited, but there was no reply, so he
knocked. Still nothing. He knocked harder. When he still received no reply,
Remus became anxious. Even if his head had been under water, say to rinse his
hair, Remus would have heard some movement; the slosh of water, something. How
long had he been in there already? “Harry,” he called more loudly, knocking
again.
Remus’ heart began to thump in his chest. Had Harry slipped and fallen and hit
his head? Surely Severus would have heard such a thing.
But...what if it wasn’t an accident? Severus had given Remus no indication of
Harry’s state of mind other than that Harry had been voluntarily unconscious
for days now. What if he had simply decided to make the condition permanent?
"Harry,” Remus shouted, properly frightened now, pounding on the door. The
silence stretched on the other side and Remus couldn’t banish the mental image
of Harry floating face down in the water, or laying back in the tub with his
wrists pouring red down its sides. “Harry! Harry, answer me,” he demanded,
attacking the knob but finding it would not budge. “Are you alright? Harry!
Harry, let me in!" he called frantically.
He couldn’t do it. Remus couldn’t lose another loved one. There was so much he
hadn’t yet shared with the young man, so much Harry had not yet experienced and
enjoyed. The thought that he might end his life prematurely was more than Remus
could bear. He had to know whether Harry was alright and he had to know it now.
He stepped back from the door to get a running start and applied his shoulder
to it with force, but it was much sturdier than it looked. Remus stepped back
further and braced himself.   
But before he could knock the door from its hinges, Harry’s voice sounded from
inside and Remus’ relief coupled with his aborted run at the door almost sent
him to the floor.
"I'm here! Remus, I'm alright," Harry called. Remus released a ragged, relieved
sigh and rested gratefully against the door, as his legs did not want to hold
him. But once he had taken a moment to say a small prayer of thanks for the
young man’s safety, Remus became aggravated. Not only was the boy okay, but he
had the nerve to be testy about Remus breaking in his door.
He returned Harry’s irritation with interest. "Harry, what on Earth-"
"I dozed off," Harry explained before Remus could set in. "I was sleeping."
"Sleeping?” Did he use that excuse for everything? “Harry, I've been pounding
on this door for ages," Remus huffed.
“I'm sorry?" Harry called back uncertainly.
Remus gave a weary sigh and swallowed his aggravation. Perhaps it had been a
side effect of using the Dreamless Sleep for so long. It didn’t matter, though,
if Harry was really okay. "That's dangerous, you know,” he pointed out, still
feeling the young man deserved to be chastised for nearly giving him a heart
attack. "You might have-"
"Give me five more minutes," Harry cut him off. Remus heard evidence of hurried
movement in water and then the tap turning on. Apparently, Harry hadn’t even
really started. Remus sighed again and wandered back to the centre of the
sitting room where he waited, perusing the contents of Severus’ bookshelf.
After a few minutes, he heard the bathroom door open behind him but took an
extra moment to prepare himself before turning to face the young man.
He was grateful he had. Harry came out of the bathroom wet and bare-chested.
And he didn’t think he was imagining the glint in Harry’s eye that indicated
the provocation was intentional. He wasn't sure why he was being tested, but
Remus had been ready for the challenge and simply gave the young man a politely
apologetic look.
"I'm sorry for earlier," Remus began with gentle sincerity. "When you didn't
answer, I was afraid…" He certainly didn’t want to give him any ideas, though,
so Remus wet his lips, and took a breath, choosing his words carefully. "How
are you?" he asked softly instead. Harry’s closed expression didn't change as
he regarded Remus for a beat longer, as though giving the man a chance to add
to the question somehow, before finally looking away. Harry swallowed and shook
his head faintly.
"Severus told us you were up and about again," Remus explained "If you feel up
to it, there's still time to join some of the others for breakfast. It's not
quite over,” he offered. Surely Harry was ready to be away from this dark,
dusty cellar and to interact with people that were not hostile to his very
existence. “If you'd like, that is."
Harry stared silently at Remus for a long while, and the two seemed to search
each other's countenance for some sort of answer, the only difference being
that Remus wasn’t sure of Harry’s question.
"I'll have to at some point, won't I?" Harry eventually asked in a dull voice.
"I suppose I should just get on with it."
Remus nodded thoughtfully, though neither moved. Harry cast his gaze to the
floor, as though searching for his suddenly elusive determination there.
Without bothering to find a room, he put his arms through his sleeves and
yanked them to his elbows before lifting his arms to pull his shirt over his
head. He had obvious difficulty, as he was not yet fully dry, and Remus
couldn’t help but take the opportunity, while he couldn’t be seen, to drink in
the sight of Harry’s muscles moving beneath his skin.
But that wasn’t the truth. Of course, he could help it. He should. He chose not
to, and when Harry finally managed to wrestle the thing over his dishevelled
cranium, he only just glimpsed Remus' stare, hungrily chasing the last of
Harry's bare flesh as it disappeared beneath his t-shirt. Remus knew he’d been
caught. Harry stared at him almost smugly, and when their eyes met, Remus’
cheeks coloured. There was no use denying the look or what it meant. He could
not take it back. And though Remus felt an apology might be in order for the
rudeness of his actions, he was becoming less and less ashamed of his
motivations for them.
Remus was, essentially, gay. He’d been with and cared for women. But his
preference, as far back as he could remember, had been for the male form. And
Harry was a rather exceptional example of it; and old enough to be considered
so. Remus really felt that as long as he did not act on it, he shouldn’t be
faulted for the attraction. Of course, ogling his ward wasacting on it in a
way, and Remus adopted a manner now through which he tried to convey that he
would face whatever question or condemnation that came from the young man.
But Harry didn't confront him. His scowl dissolved and he looked in turns
confused and self-conscious, but he ultimately seemed to settle on...flattered?
Or was that simply Remus projecting his hopes? Either way, Remus’ stomach
fluttered optimistically. The moment turned slightly awkward, and Harry looked
away before bending to pull on his shoes. "Okay then," he said, straightening
again. With no other conversation, Remus led the way out of the dungeons.
Unlike their initial journey through these passages, Harry did not shy from
Remus’ company. He walked at Remus’ side and seemed to gravitate toward the man
as they travelled. Remus almost could not concentrate on navigating the route
for trying and failing to prevent his eyes from being drawn to the young man,
curiously attempting to work out this sudden change in him. Harry would
frequently catch him at it, but would simply blush. And several times Remus
would look over at him only to find Harry’s eyes already turned his way. It was
heady and almost flirtatious, and Remus had to remind himself often that it was
not allowed to be, despite that it was on Harry’s part as much as his own.
With no major mishaps, they emerged from the dungeons. It was like stepping
into the real world out of a dream. Now, though, was the time to set daydreams
aside. The dangers they faced did not give them the luxury of entertaining
them. "Understand, Harry," he began hesitantly, to Harry’s very obvious
chagrin. "We don't want to rush you. However, Dumbledore and I think it best if
you began your studies again straight away." Harry didn't respond so Remus
offered a stumbling elaboration. "Not the more strenuous subjects, mind you.
Transfiguration and Occlumency can wait a bit. Well, actually you really should
consider continuing Occlumency as soon as possible,” he pointed out, though he
hated to do so. “But the others lessons, such as Hagrid's and my
own...especially my own," Remus said, pausing to will away his slight blush,
“should be continued immediately."
"Yeah. Alright, " Harry mumbled finally, eyes fixed on the path before him.
Remus hated that he felt he was adding to the young man’s burdens. He hated
that Harry had to bear any at all and that Remus could not shoulder them for
him. He sighed reached to comfort the young man, but then he remembered Harry’s
reaction the last time he’d tried to touch him. He seemed different now, but
Remus did not want to injure the progress they’d made.
"It's only that, the threat hasn't passed, Harry," Remus said now,
apologetically. "If anything it's grown. We want to be prepared for whatever we
might encounter."
Harry did not reply. He seemed to be lost in dark and troubled thoughts. It was
almost as if he were no longer aware of his surroundings or Remus’ presence.
The desolation that had blessedly been absent during their walk had returned.
Now Remus did lay his hand on Harry’s shoulder; gently, timidly; and Harry
brought his own to meet it. It was unexpected, but not as much as when Harry
proceeded to work his fingers beneath the older man's. Remus hardly dared to
breathe. They stopped walking. Slowly, Harry turned his gaze to meet Remus',
and his eyes were gently imploring. Remus swallowed the sudden lump in his
throat. Harry looked so lost, and Remus’ first and almost overwhelming impulse
was to wrap his arms around him, and he ached that he could not. He ached that
he couldn’t take Harry’s hurt from him, that he had no answers, only affection.
Harry seemed about to speak when the moment was abruptly shattered by a student
turning quickly out of a nearby doorway and almost running them over. Remus
realised suddenly where they were and how they must look and became flustered.
He gently but quickly untangled his fingers from Harry's and stepped aside to
let the boy pass, watching him anxiously until he turned a nearby corner to
make sure he hadn’t been recognised. The boy seemed too young to remember
Remus’ tenure, but he’d been advised to stay out of sight as much as was
possible.   
"Dumbledore thinks it best if I kept a very low profile while I'm here," Remus
explained to Harry’s questioning expression, "considering the circumstances
surrounding my resignation before. You understand." Harry swallowed and slowly
nodded, but Remus was now uncomfortable and slightly paranoid. If he were
recognised, he may have to leave Hogwarts. And that meant having to leave
Harry. "I'll be in my old quarters, should you need me for anything," Remus
offered hurriedly, already backing away. He wanted badly to say more, to do
more, but he could not think of what. "Good luck today, Harry," he said as
sincerely as he could, but then he turned to go, cursing his condition and the
limitations it placed on him. He hated the feeling that he was abandoning the
young man, but he was unable to do more for him at the moment; not if he wanted
to be there for him in the days to come.
***** Root of Thine Annoy *****
                                    Severus
                                        
The coin in Severus’ breast pocket began to warm and vibrate, and Severus
cursed. Surely it was too early in the day for there to be a crisis. He’d just
stepped into his classroom to prepare for the day, for Merlin’s sake. Loraina
was probably simply bored. But he hadn’t given her the bloody coin to entertain
her. Grumbling, he fished it out of his pocket.
Great Hall. Now, the edge read. Severus pressed the centre of his coin and
whispered to it, “What bloody for?” He waited, watching as the words morphed
into her reply: Emergency. Potter.
Al-fucking-ready? Severus’ stomach did a small, grudging, uncomfortable
somersault, but he did his best to ignore it. “Have Duty Professor Handle,” he
barked at his coin. He hated the limitation on the length of his replies. He
hated abbreviated language. Language was, in his opinion, their most
inexhaustible source of both offense and defense. It was his most trusted and
preferred weapon, and he liked to show it the respect of utilising it properly.
“Am Duty Witch. Alone. Come now,” Severus read aloud. “Fuck!” he shouted to the
empty classroom, tossing down his lesson plan and striding quickly for the
door. “Why the bloody fuck are you the only one on duty?” he bitched into his
coin as he ran. He knew the text would force itself smaller and smaller to fit
onto her coin and would quickly become illegible, but he didn’t care. “You’ve
been taking Substisanguinus for less than a month! You can’t even walk past the
fucking windows yet without getting a sunburn!”
It didn’t matter whether Loraina could read it, he was too busy running to read
her reply anyway. His Mark had ignited, but not in the way that meant the Dark
Lord was summoning him. Harry was in the midst of some emotional turmoil. It
was the strongest fit he’d felt yet, and they could nothave Harry repeat his
performance in Dumbledore’s office, or all hell would break loose.
Despite the fact that so many of the student body had been plucked from
Hogwarts by their parents after the attack, there were still far too many
students roaming the halls for him to use his true speed. It wasn’t too
terribly far though, and Severus rounded through the doors of the Great Hall
seemingly just in time. Harry had drawn his wand, and there was indeed
something very concerning in his eyes as he glared at the great lump of
Hufflepuff looming threateningly over him. Severus recognised the boy. Patrick
was a soft-headed dolt who was abysmal at Potions. Thank godshe’d failed to
test into Severus’ N.E.W.T. class.
"You-Know-Who is after Harry Potter. As long as you're around we're all in
danger! And if you won't go willingly," Patrick said, reaching for his wand.
Harry smiled dangerously and Severus’ arm was on fire. "Then I guess someone
had better make you."
It was all Severus could do not to pull out his own wand and curse the hulking
twit. But Harry simply laughed. A manic titter that reminded Severus all too
keenly of the woman watching from the shadows by the staff table. Severus
quickly strode forward and swept between the two boys, coming face-to-face with
the larger one.
"What's all this, then?" he asked lazily as if he didn't really care to know.
But the look in Severus’ eye very clearly communicated the lumbering bully
would be best served sitting his arse down before Severus took the matter out
of his hands. The shocked and timid expression on Patrick’s face seemed to
indicate he’d heard the Potions Master’s silent threat loud and clear, but
Severus continued to glare at him until the boy shuffled sheepishly back to his
table. Not that he was off the hook. Pomona would be hearing about this very
soon.
Disaster had been averted. Severus’ Mark began to quiet somewhat, but Harry
needed to be removed from here. Now. Severus composed himself before turning to
look down his nose at him. Though, he was disconcerted to note he didn't have
to look far. Harry was almost eye level with the Potions Master. Children grew
like damned weeds, Severus thought irritably.
"Causing trouble yet again, Potter?" Severus said with a withering sigh. He’d
be damned if he gave the young man any reason to believe he’d actually been
concerned.
"Me?" Harry shouted disbelievingly. Severus’ Mark stirred again, causing him to
scowl, but it was fleeting. Harry was so incredulous that for a moment he had
trouble forming words. "B-but it was him who was throwing the eggs!"
So that was what had happened. Merlin’s sake. Were they in primary school?
Granted, if someone had thrown food at Severus, he’d have hexed them into
oblivion first and then asked questions later. Perhaps the boy had more self-
control than Severus gave him credit for. He still couldn’t allow cheek,
though, especially in front of everyone in the Great Hall.
"I would watch my tone if I were you, Mr. Potter," Severus warned, "unless
you'd like to find yourself in even more trouble than you are presently in. As
I'm sure you are well aware, duelling is strictly prohibited in the Great Hall.
Now, kindly put away your wand and follow me."
Harry, however, made no move to do so. The young man was so angry he looked
near to tears. "What? Would you like to stay and finish your breakfast? I'd
have thought you'd had your fill of eggs," Severus said with a sneer. Without
waiting for further response, Severus turned and made for the doors.
Thankfully, Harry followed.
As Severus led the reluctant young man to his Head of House, he had to wonder
who’s brilliant idea it was to send Harry off to breakfast unaccompanied. Out-
of-bed did not equate to all-hunky-dory. For fuck’s sake. Did no one but
Severus have any sense at all? Surely he wasn’t the only one who could read the
perilous imbalance in the young man’s expression.
Thank Hermes Severus had thought to pocket a couple of the coins the Umbitch
had confiscated from the rebel alliance the year before. There’s no telling
what Loraina would have done to neutralise the situation if Severus had not
shown up. He didn’t know what egregious lapse in judgement resulted in her
presence in the Great Hall alone this morning, but he meant to ensure it did
not happen again. She shouldn’t have even been put on duty in the first place.
Severus was so busy fuming, he nearly passed Minerva’s office, and he hadn’t
yet even addressed Harry. He stopped abruptly and turned to him. "What,
exactly, did you think you were doing?" Severus demanded with an exasperated
shake of his head.
Harry toed the ground sullenly for a moment before muttering, rather lamely,
"He started it."
Severus felt he might be physically ill. Was that really the best response he
could come up with for nearly sending a boy to the hospital wing? "Be that as
it may," he replied wearily, "there was little need for you to finish it. Must
you rise to every goad? Is it really so difficult to just do nothing? Grow up,
Harry," Severus said. The young man suddenly met his eye with a shocked
expression Severus didn’t quite understand. He ignored it and continued. "I
think you are well aware that your... abilities are more advanced than many of
your classmates,” Severus said. It wouldn’t do to swell his head too much, but
Harry needed to understand that most of his classmates were not as experienced
in serious, practical duelling as he was. “It is unseemly to pick a fight with
those weaker than yourself."
Harry looked a bit sheepish and discontent, but not defiant. "He was throwing
food at me,” he objected helplessly. “What did you expect me to do? Get up and
walk off?"
The young man had a point. Not that Severus was going to concede it. He smirked
and rapped smartly on the door beside them and Harry flinched. "Actually,"
Severus began in answer to his question, "that is exactly what I expect. And
apparently that was what Professor Cobbleshot expected as well, or else I would
imagine she would have been busy separating the two of you rather than
bothering to report the incident to me. Fortunately, I am somewhat more
familiar with your behaviour than she is and was able to prevent what I am sure
would have been a spectacular display of testosterone and stupidity. I shall
advise our new Professor not to give you so much credit in future, especially
should it relate to matters of common sense."
Harry reflected on this statement, seemed about to pose what would have surely
been a very ill-advised question, but the door beside them opened before he had
the opportunity to voice it.
"Minerva," Severus greeted her, though he was still looking at Harry, for some
reason extremely curious about what he’d been about to say. He wasn’t sure why,
as it would doubtless have been something smartassed and infuriating. "It seems
that Mr. Potter has finally deigned to grace us with his presence. I'll leave
him in your hands." Someone should have brought him here in the first place, he
thought wearily. It was not his problem anymore, though. He nodded to her,
giving Harry one last curious glance before turning to go.
"What? That's it, then?" Harry asked, halting Severus’ step.
"Were you looking forward to detention?" Severus inquired over his shoulder.
"No."
"No, what?" Severus sighed.
"No, Sir," Harry added quickly, surprising Severus with his complete lack of
impudence.
"Very well, then," Severus said, laying the matter to rest. He continued on his
way, resolving to forget the young man for at least the rest of the day and
concentrate on the thousand and one things he needed to do; for both his
masters. But he continued to brood despite the resolution.
Harry was clearly too volatile. And Severus suspected that whatever had
triggered his initial aversion for the boy, whatever it was that made his Mark
burn when Harry raged, was also contributing to Harry’s aggression. Severus
knew what it was to be consumed by anger and hatred and bitterness. But the
darkness that ate at the young man wasn’t even entirely his own, and Severus
had to find a way to help him neutralise its influence on him. For all their
sakes.
The question gnawed at Severus all day during class, making him far too
lenient, leading him to ignore several small displays of ineptitude in his
students as his concern distracted him. Helping Harry block the fiend from his
thoughts would do little to negate the poison ever present in the young man.
He’d have to learn ground himself in himself, but after carrying around a seed
of evil for fifteen years, did the boy even really know who he was? Severus was
so bothered by the problem he even forgot to be annoyed while he burned the
clothes the young man left behind, soiling his largest cauldron.
Finally accepting it would not leave him alone, Severus picked himself up off
his cot and pulled back on his robes. It was late, but Albus would surely be
awake.
Severus needed to have a word with the Headmaster.
***** Some Never-Heard-of Torturing Pain *****
                                     Remus
 
He should have been sleeping, but he was not. He could not, though the words
swam on the page he was attempting to read and his eyes ached dryly. He rubbed
them firmly with his fingertips, but it only seemed to make matters worse. His
lesson for Harry had been planned sufficiently for some time, but the hours
stretched on with no sign of sleepiness and he was revisiting it just to fill
the time.
Otherwise, he’d simply be thinking about the young man himself, and that was
dangerous. Earlier in bed, as he tried to force himself into slumber, he’d
found himself idly fondling himself remembering Harry’s supple, freshly-
scrubbed skin beaded with water, thinking on what it must taste like, until
he’d abruptly realized what he was doing and forced himself to get up entirely
to walk off his arousal.
But so much of his life revolved around the young man. Even when he wasn’t
thinking of him sexually, Remus found he was always still thinking of him.
Besides contemplating what the young man would need to know to prepare him
against coming dangers and generally worrying about his well-being, Harry also
reminded Remus all too keenly of those he had loved so dearly, whom he still
missed every day no matter how long ago they’d been lost. Every time Remus
thought of those loved ones, he recalled all the things Harry had done or said
that evoked them. They lived on in Harry, and every time they interacted, Remus
recognised a dozen small mannerisms in him Remus had been familiar with since
long before the boy himself had been born. He was every inch as stubborn as
Sirius had been. He was solike his father, too; but not quite. He was bold and
loyal and fearless, though sadly he lacked much of that man’s carefree nature,
which could hardly be helped. But Harry had the best of Lily, as well. He was
modest and fierce and protective. Harry was all of them, and they would have
been so proud of him.
And so disappointed in Remus now.
He sighed and sat back on the sofa, looking to the mantle and the photo he’d
placed there of Sirius and himself, smiling fondly at each other and clasping
arms. That man’s touch was getting harder and harder for Remus to recall, even
though he’d last known it mere months ago. Sirius’ love had been ardent and
steadfast, but also a bit desperate. It had bolstered Remus in many ways, but
it had also wearied him. Still, it had been nice, after so many years without,
to crave the touch of another human being and actually be able, be allowed, to
reach out and satisfy that craving. It had been gratifying to be craved and
touched, as well.
Was it his loneliness that allowed him to feel for the young man the way he
did? Remus’ mind still rebelled against the notion. No matter how staggering
the effect of the glamour suddenly being lifted, could that really justify his
lingering and persistent attraction? What in bloody hell was wrong with him?
Guardians were not supposed to lust for their wards. Grown men were not meant
to thirst for their best friends’ children. It was wrong in so many ways. Remus
knew he was meant to take up Sirius’ mantle as Sirius had taken up James’;
though it was hard, yet, for Remus to temper his reaction to the young man.
Harry was not making it easy for him, either. He’d wrung confessions from the
man already, spoken and otherwise.
None of that was important though, really, he reflected. Remus’ discomfort was
negligible compared to his need to protect and foster the young man. Barring
Harry making a pass at him (which was so absurd Remus chuckled to himself for
even considering it) Remus knew his sense of responsibility would always
overpower his baser impulses in the end. He’d been tested on that account
already and risen to the challenge. He hated thinking he’d made Harry
uncomfortable before, but he strongly suspected it was the subject of
homosexuality in general, and not Remus’ specifically, that had caused Harry’s
conflicted behaviour. It wasn’t something straight young men tended to devote
much thought to except to reflect with disgust on the mechanics of it. But
Harry seemed to be coming slowly to accept Remus and his inclinations. And
really, if his lycanthropy was forgivable, how could anything else short of
rape and murder be otherwise? Harry was an intelligent and open-minded youth.
They’d weather this adjustment period and come out alright in the end, Remus
was sure of it.
Having eased his conscience and arousal, Remus turned his thoughts again to bed
when a knock sounded at his door. Remus scowled and glanced at the clock on his
mantle. Anyone who needed to contact him would surely have simply shown up in
his floo. The knock had been timid, as well. Surely it wasn’t…
Despite his recent, convoluted contemplation and reassurance that he was above
such thinking, Remus immediately found himself both thrilled at and
apprehensive of the possibility that had occurred to him. He rose from the sofa
and peeked through his door out into the darkened corridor, but he saw no one.
Saw no one, but he smelled…
"Harry?" he asked uncertainly.
Harry’s head, and only his head, suddenly became visible a few feet away, and
Remus’ heart nearly jumped from his chest before he realised Harry was wearing
his cloak and had only pulled away a portion of it. "Hullo, Professor," he
greeted Remus with a bashful smile.
Remus quickly recovered from the shock of having his ward materialise from thin
air in front of him, though he still wrestled with the young man’s presence. "I
thought we'd had this conversation already," he said as lightly as he could,
forcing a smile. "I'm just Remus now, remember? But why are you out of bed at
this hour?" Remus asked with sudden concern. "Is something the matter?"
"I can't sleep," Harry told him haltingly. Remus thought he could tell there
was more to the young man’s visit, but he decided to take the statement at face
value and nodded his sad understanding. It was more than regret that pinched
his expression, however. Even if no one but the two of them knew of Remus’
confliction, inviting Harry into his private quarters at such a late hour was
highly inappropriate, and he couldn’t stop himself from subtly glancing up and
down the corridor to ensure no one was witnessing the event.  
One look at Harry’s troubled expression, however, instantly made up Remus’ mind
for him. Harry was in need, and Remus’ duty was to the well-being of his ward,
everything else be damned. "Come in, Harry," he offered, despite his
misgivings. "I'll make us some tea."
Hesitantly, Harry stepped inside and waited while Remus rushed to clear away
the things he'd been studying to make room for the young man and their eventual
refreshments. He seemed to be feeling awkward. Though, Remus was unsure if it
was because he’d never actually visited before or if Remus’ attentions earlier
still made him uncomfortable.
"Come on in, Harry," Remus said more warmly, trying to put him at ease. He
suspected his own discomfort was having an effect on the young man and forced
himself to relax. He beckoned him further inside with a smile, as Harry was
still hovering near the door as though he might bolt. "I'll have this in hand
soon enough." Remus deposited the former mess in a slightly less disorderly
pile atop a rickety side table. "Make yourself comfortable. If you can," he
invited with a slightly embarrassed laugh, gesturing to the motley assortment
of furnishings scattered about the room. "I'll just be a moment with the tea."
Still wearing his cloak, Harry shuffled further inside and gave Remus an
uncertain but encouraging smile, and Remus left him to find a seat while he
rushed to arrange the promised tea. He glanced over at the boy as he worked,
watching him perch uneasily on the couch before nervously rising and inspecting
some of Remus’ things. The man hadn’t really decorated, but as always he’d set
up a few sketches, just make the place more homey, and he was gratified to see
Harry admiring them. Remus had no serious aspirations as an artist, but the
exercise did feed his soul. He always took a sketch pad and a nub of charcoal
with him for nature walks, jotting down his impressions of the various
creatures he met. The Wild ran in his own veins and he felt a certain kinship
with them, liked to recognise the savage intelligence and personality in each,
as if to convince himself that, even when hewas a beast, he was not necessarily
a monster. He rarely shared his work with anyone, but he was exceptionally
pleased when others enjoyed it. That Harry seemed to was especially rewarding.
Despite his preoccupation, Remus managed to locate his tea tray and two clean
teacups, and when he’d arranged all the necessary pieces and made his way back
to the sofa with them, he found Harry holding the picture from the mantlepiece.
With his cloak on, it looked to be hovering in thin air before the young man’s
face as he studied it with obvious perplexity. Remus sighed. Harry might not
ever truly understand Remus’ relationship with his godfather, but hopefully, in
time, it might not strike him as so terribly strange and unnatural. Remus,
however, was not feeling particularly inclined to have a conversation about it
at the moment.     
"Care to take a seat, Harry?" he asked brightly, startling the young man. For a
terrifying moment, it looked as if he would fumble and drop the picture, and it
seemed to dance in place before Harry apparently got it back in hand and
returned it to the safety of its stand. Embarrassed, Harry hurried to sit on
the sofa. Remus glanced at the photo, feeling guilty, as if the man watched the
two of them and judged Remus’ intentions; but he ignored his misgivings and his
urge to turn the photo face down and slipped the tray onto the coffee table
instead.
"So," he said as he poured. "Trouble sleeping." It wasn't a question, but
hopefully it was recognisable as an invitation. Harry nodded as invisible hands
accepted the steaming cup Remus passed to him.
"Actually, I think maybe I've just had my fill of it for a while," he said a
little grudgingly.
Remus nodded understandingly, pouring his own tea, but was distracted. He
wanted the young man to feel at ease, and if being mostly invisible made him
so, Remus wanted to allow it, but he found he simply could not concentrate on
conversation for the oddity of floating faces and teacups.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, returning the teapot to its tray. "But would you
mind removing your cloak, Harry? It's a little disconcerting watching a
disembodied head sipping tea," he explained with a soft chuckle.
Harry shrugged the cloak off with an apologetic smile. He seemed to have simply
forgotten he wore the thing, and that made Remus feel better about his request
that he remove it. "I'm glad I didn't wake you," Harry stammered into his tea,
which he had taken up again in his now visible hands.
"It would have been quite alright if you had," Remus assured him, settling onto
the other end of the sofa. The thing suddenly seemed entirely too small, and it
occurred to him that it was considered a ‘loveseat’ though he banished the
thought the instant it intruded. "Though, there's little danger of it, to be
honest," he went on to mask his vexation.
"You aren't sleeping?" Harry asked innocently. Remus gave a small laugh and
shook his head. He ruefully contemplated his tea. It certainly wouldn’t help
his sleeplessness, but it might soothe some of his resentment for it. "You
might ask Snape to make you something," Harry suggested helpfully.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Remus said, dismissing the idea immediately. He
could just imagine the acid look he’d get if he were ever to work up the
courage to ask.
"Why not?"
"Because it's my problem, and it isn't his responsibility," Remus replied with
a polite smile. "Professor Snape does quiteenough for me already." Harry seemed
to consider this with some distress. “I can always ask Poppy for something if
necessary. But don't fret about me, Harry," he said, lightly patting the hand
that lay between them on the cushion and then immediately wondering at his own
audacity. "I'm fine," he lied with a smile.
Harry nodded but seemed distracted. Remus had wanted to let Harry open up to
him when he was ready, but he’d heard about the incident at breakfast and knew
the young man was wrestling with so much. He decided to give him a nudge. "How
was your day?" Remus asked. He tried to keep his tone light and conversational,
but suspected his attempt at nonchalance was rather betrayed by the concerned
attention in his eyes. Harry looked away disconsolately.
"It was...It was alright," Harry finally managed to murmur, failing to convince
either of them. "McGonagall's given me my schedule. And all the homework I've
missed," he added with a wince. "But I haven't looked at any of it yet. I
didn't quite have the stomach for a week's worth of History of Magic."
Remus felt for him but was perplexed. "A week? I'm sorry, Harry. Did she not
explain?" Harry looked at him blankly. "You've only missed one day of classes,"
Remus said brightly, hoping to make Harry feel better about his suspected
workload. "They had to be postponed, naturally," he explained, somewhat more
sombrely. "Come Monday there were still quite a few students in the infirmary.
Nothing too serious," he assured him. "But most were quite unable to attend
classes. Actually, for a moment we thought Hogwarts might have to close its
doors. After word of the attack went out, parents began arriving in droves to
remove their children. And after the investigation, the Ministry seemed to be
of much the same mind as the parents. Dumbledore only convinced them to allow
us to remain open on the condition that additional wards be placed on the
grounds. That occupied the staff for a couple of days. And then day before
yesterday there was the matter of...the memorial."
Remus' eyes cut to Harry to gauge his reaction, but Harry gave none at all,
which Remus found more concerning than if he’d broken down. Remus set his cup
on the table and turned to him, posture saturated with apology. "I'm sorry you
missed it, Harry," Remus said with aching sincerity. "We'd debated on waking
you, but Professor Snape had said it was ill-advised to forcibly counter the
effects of the Draught." Remus was still rather aggravated by the decision. He
would never want to endanger Harry’s health, but Remus knew from personal
experience how painful it was to miss such things. He rather felt it was ill-
advised to have allowed Harry to take the potion for so long, especially as
Severus should have anticipated the event and could have weaned the young man
beforehand. Harry broke off his study of the stones beneath his feet to blink
at Remus, seeming to struggle with something. It was a long moment before he
voiced the question he contemplated.
"How are...How're the Weasleys?" he asked softly.
Remus hesitated to answer, involuntarily remembering the chaos in the hallway
outside Albus’ office and the unabated anguish the group had exhibited during
the memorial. Remus could still hear Molly’s wails, perhaps would never escape
them entirely, they were so soul-haunting. "They're dealing as best they can,"
he informed him solemnly when he was once again able. "Arthur's taken a leave
of absence. Bill and Charlie are staying over to help Molly. And of course, he
didn't mean what she said to Percy,” he assured him. “That's all sorted and
he's there as well. Poor Ginny,” he added sadly. “She'd had a knock to the head
on the train and has only just woken up a few days ago. She didn't take the
news very well."
Remus paused. That scene had been harrowing, as well. Ron had been so
protective of his little sister; more so than any of them. And she had turned
to him the most often when matters arose, as they sometimes did, that required
a brother. She was still unwell from her ordeal but had to be informed of her
sibling’s passing almost as soon as she awoke in order for her to attend the
memorial. The memory made Remus ache, but he noticed Harry was watching him
carefully and remembered he had intended to comfort his ward. Though he did not
exhibit any behaviour indicative of needing it, surely Harry was secretly
distraught. How could he fail to be? He was probably simply too overwhelmed to
express it. "The Weasleys are a resilient lot," he assured Harry more
confidently than he felt. "They'll come out alright. They have each other."
Harry gave a quiet, ironic laugh. Remus scowled, concerned, as he couldn’t work
out its origin. Harry seemed suddenly bitter. Perhaps he felt alone. Perhaps he
envied the support the Weasleys found in each other. But Harry didn’t need to
be bitter. Harry was not alone, would never be alone. Remus shifted closer to
the young man and draped his hand softly over Harry’s to convey he had a friend
in Remus. More, if he wanted. He had a bastion. "But how are you, Harry?" Remus
asked softly. In answer, Harry turned his hand under Remus' and wrapped his
fingers tentatively but insistently around the other man's. Like that morning,
the gesture stole Remus’ breath, but he quickly pulled himself together, adding
a second hand to the first.  
Seemingly encouraged, Harry finally answered, "I'm...better," in a whisper to
the stone floor. "I just feel so...I don't know," he stumbled, clearly
struggling to define his experience. Remus waited patiently for him to find the
right words.  "I feel like I don't know who I am anymore," he confessed, still
in a whisper, as if to himself. "Everyone treats me like I'm some sort of
leper. Like it's dangerous to just be around me. And the professors look at me
like they're afraid of me or something. Or like I'm off my head. It's like they
don't know what I'm going to do next. And you know?" he said with a desperate
little laugh, the words tumbling out of him. "I'm starting to think they're
right. All of them. I don't know what I'm going to do next. I don't know how to
control..." He stopped and shook his head as if to dislodge some of the panic
that came with the confession.
"I don't know how I did that to Dumbledore's office. What if I do it again,
Remus?” he asked desperately, giving Remus a reaching look. But before the man
could answer, Harry looked away and rushed to continue, as if the words refused
to wait. “And what if it's worse than before? I just get so angry," he almost
growled, running his free hand across his face. "There was this boy at
breakfast. Remus, I wanted to hurthim," he confessed helplessly, looking at his
guardian as if pleading for him to somehow go back in time and take the vile
impulse away from him. "What if I had? What if..." Harry’s voice faded away to
silent anguish.
Remus was grateful Harry felt comfortable enough to speak to him so freely,
though he was almost overwhelmed by Harry’s turmoil. Remus searched for the
words that might comfort the young man, but he did not find them fast enough as
Harry posed another question.
"Remus, how did you...? I mean, I know it was different with you and Sirius
than it was with me and Ron," he said quickly, blushing. "But did it help you
at all? You know, to find Kreacher?"
The sudden shift of subject, and to one so uncomfortable for the man, surprised
Remus. He gently but quickly disentangled his hands from Harry's. His
conscience would not allow him to hold the young man with the same hands that
had committed the atrocity he now remembered with vivid shame. He hadn’t been
aware Harry knew about the incident, though of course it was not a secret, and
Remus felt certain it was still muttered about throughout the Order. Harry must
not be allowed to follow Remus’ example in this. Remus took a moment to arrange
his thoughts on the matter.
"What I did, Harry," Remus began, looking away with a disconsolate shake of his
head. "It was a terrible thing to have killed Kreacher. Being a house elf
didn't make him any less-"
"Do you regret it then?" Harry interrupted, almost incredulously. Remus did not
trust himself to answer that question honestly. Because, though he knew all the
reasons why he should, he could not bring himself to regret it entirely; and
this, not so much as the act itself, is what filled him with shame. "If you
feel bad about it, why hang his head in Sirius' room?" Harry challenged.
Remus looked at Harry, trying to decide if he would believe what he was about
to tell him. "He asked me to," Remus explained finally. Harry seemed
predictably shocked. Remus sighed, prepared himself to recount what he’d never
wanted to even recall again. "I hadn't set out to kill Kreacher, Harry," he
explained carefully, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands
between them. "I'd only meant to retrieve him. His betrayal aside, he had been
privy to some very sensitive secrets of the Order. It would have been
catastrophic if he'd been allowed to reach Malfoy Manor with an altered
allegiance. But...I'd neglected to mind the date,” he confessed, his eyes
falling closed in self-condemnation of his carelessness. “Which was
unforgivable. I came to myself just before he..."
Remus paused, wrestling with the memory. Werewolf attacks are grisly affairs,
and the pitiful creature whose blood he woke to find staining his hands and
face still haunted Remus’ nightmares. Remus felt Harry’s hand rest on his
shoulder supportively, but it did not stay there.
Instead, it swept down Remus’ back, eliciting an irrepressible shiver that
travelled quickly and directly to Remus’ groin. He knew it was meant to
comfort, but it did quite the opposite. The lingering pressure on his back
seared, but Remus did not want to betray his weakness, could not move to end
the contact without giving himself away. And so he drew on whatever reserve of
self-control left to him, took a deep breath, and calmly continued his
narrative.
"It was clear he would not survive," he went on, his voice nonetheless proving
fickle. "So I asked him if he had a final request. Apparently, it had been his
lifelong ambition," Remus informed Harry, rapidly collecting himself, "to join
his predecessors on the walls of Black Manor. He considered it an honour. But
as we'd already begun removing the others and giving them a proper burial,
well, it seemed like a difficult case to argue that Kreacher should be the
exception. So I hung him in the one room I had some control over. Molly wasn't
happy. But Dumbledore is aware of the circumstances. Kreacher won't be
disturbed in my absence,” he finished quietly.
Harry stared at Remus for a long while as he digested the tale. "Why haven't
you told anyone else?" he asked softly. The compassion in his voice was
wounding. Remus didn’t feel he deserved it after what he’d done.
He returned Harry’s gaze as steadily as he could. "It was no one else's
business," Remus replied plainly. The situation didn’t change with
justifications. Kreacher was dead by Remus’ hand and would reside forever on
the wall of Remus’ room in Grimmauld Place in reparation. It was not necessary
that anyone know the details beyond those who knew already. Explaining it would
have seemed like Remus was seeking to shirk his blame in the affair, which he
refused to do.
Harry seemed conflicted, and as he reflected on what Remus had said, the man
took that opportunity to gently remove the hand that was torturing him and trap
it gently between his own again. It was still intimate, but far more innocent.
Though, he could not quite resist the urge to stroke the back of Harry's hand
with his thumb.
"Remus, do...do you think I'm dangerous?" he asked distractedly. Remus sighed
and shook his head, gathering his thoughts.
"Harry, it's perfectly human to feel the impulse toward violence when something
precious is taken from you," he confided. "But it is even more human to rise
above it. What I did, I did while less than human. Don't feel bad for having
the impulse, Harry. Reassure yourself that you did not act on it." Harry did
not reply, and Remus began to feel he was failing miserably in his attempt to
comfort the young man. "Don't let it worry you so much, Harry," Remus urged,
pulling him from his thoughts. He looked back up at Remus, and Remus tried to
convey his confidence in the young man with his gaze as much as with his words.
"I know who you are even if you don't. You're your father's son. You are strong
enough to make it through this. But if ever you aren't convinced, if ever you
are just tired of the struggle, I'll always be here for you," he promised, with
every ounce of sincerity he could muster.
Finally, Remus seemed to have said the right thing. Harry seemed overcome by
the sentiment and merely nodded. "Will we be starting our lessons together
again soon?" he asked impulsively.
"As soon as you'd like," Remus responded quietly with a smile. Harry returned
it and stared at him so steadily, Remus was a little intoxicated by the
intensity of it, was hypnotized by the bright green irises that danced
surprisingly close to his own. "Of course," Remus said softly, trying to shake
off the spell, "you were meant to meet with Hagrid first thing tomorrow, but
he's away unexpectedly. You and I could meet instead, if you'd like," he
offered, almost wincing at the blatant hopefulness in his voice.
"Of course!" Harry agreed, so enthusiastically it earned a grateful,
affectionate chuckle from Remus. The man felt slightly self-conscious, but
could not quite tame his fond grin. "But where's Hagrid gone?" Harry asked,
suddenly anxious. He had reason to be, but he wasn’t to know it yet.
Remus smiled in an apologetic way that meant he wasn't at liberty. "You'll be
able to meet with Hagrid again soon enough,” he assured him. “But for now, I
think perhaps you should try to get some sleep.” Remus’ stamina was flagging
and they were entirely too close. He’d not anticipated having the opportunity
or permission to touch the young man in the way they were presently doing, and
it merely whetted an appetite Remus was forbidden from feeding. “I need you to
actually retain what I'll be teaching you tomorrow," he explained almost
playfully, patting Harry's hand before finally releasing it. Even though they
no longer touched, Remus’ hand still buzzed warmly, his flesh having memorized
the feel of the young man’s beneath it.
Harry nodded his acceptance, and Remus stood and waited as Harry retrieved his
cloak so he might shepherd him to the door; but Harry hesitated, shuffling
awkwardly.
"Remus, would it be okay if…? I mean, could I...?" Harry didn't seem to be able
to voice his request. But he leaned unconsciously toward the man, glancing
shyly to the floor as he twisted the cloak in his hands. Remus intuited Harry's
need, stepping forward to wrap his ward in a firm embrace. Harry relaxed into
it with a sigh, almost spending the last of Remus’ self-control. He lay his
cheek on the top of Harry’s head as it rested against Remus' chest, careful not
to let them touch anywhere lower, careful not to let his hands wander. It
lasted too long and not long enough, and with silent grief, Remus released him
and stepped back.
Reluctantly, they wished each other a goodnight, and then Harry donned his
cloak and disappeared through Remus’ door. The man closed it gently but firmly
behind him, his hand grasping the knob with white knuckles long after Harry had
gone. Remus' heart seemed to go with him; had to have, as Remus felt the
cavernous ache in his chest where it used to reside. He rested his forehead
against the wooden panel, near to tears. Despite his confidence in his
willpower before Harry’s arrival that night, Remus now understood quite clearly
that this battle with his nature would be far, far more difficult than he had
ever imagined.
***** Fond Woman, Let Me Go *****
                                    Severus
 
Harry had failed to test into Severus’ N.E.W.T. level class, and as such the
Potions Master did not see the young man except at meals when he was on duty.
The previous year, that fact had rather delighted him. Now, however, it made
him anxious. Not that Severus wantedto see Harry. He simply had no other way to
gauge the young man’s mental state, in which he had a vested interest. His Mark
had been quiet, though, and that was some consolation.
Severus’ fourth period was reserved for planning and grading, but he arranged
the papers on his podium in neat, well-organized stacks and set them aside.
Instead of his usual routine, he stood and palmed Loraina’s daily dose of
Substisanguinus. He could give her a week’s worth at a time as he brewed it,
but he wasn’t certain yet that he trusted her to take it daily if he did not
deliver it personally andwatch her drink it. Besides, she seemed to enjoy his
short visits, and if he neglected her for too long she would search him out and
force him into a situation he could not as easily excuse himself from. Turning
up during or between classes allowed for a quick escape.
He wasn’t sure why he avoided her, really. They got on surprisingly well, and
she hadn’t said or done anything seriously suggestive yet. She flirted, but
then she flirted with everyone. It was worrisome, actually, considering she
likely did not put much effort into kerbing the habit even when interacting
with students.
But her company was difficult for him to bear regardless; because Severus had
missed her. Almost every day for a decade and a half, he’d thought of her in
some way. But her presence did not ease his loneliness for her, because the
woman who now taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in a dungeon classroom not
far from his own was not the woman Severus remembered with fondness, and
interacting with her only served to reinforce that fact. He would have to learn
to make friends with this new version of her eventually, and he was confident
he would, but he seemed to still be subtly mourning who she had been.
Severus would not admit to himself that he chose this moment in particular for
his delivery. He pretended it was merely coincidence that lead him to approach
her doorway while she was teaching her Sixth Year class. But curiously, she
wasn’t. Despite that the period was only half finished, he saw her students
streaming down the hall, and he scowled. Early dismissal was not unheard of,
but this was ridiculous. Most of the students looked unsettled in some way or
another, and it unsettled Severus to see it. He had not yet asked, but he could
only imagine what her lesson plan looked like.  
Unsurprisingly, Harry was escaping with the rest, shuffling down the corridor
with his head bowed in earnest conversation with Granger, who looked livid.
Severus pretended not to notice them, but his peripheral was generously
employed. The young man looked well enough; less angry and unnerved than his
classmates, actually. He stared at the Potions Master as they approached, and
his attention was intent enough to be uncomfortable. Severus thought he might
be trying to catch his eye, but they hadn’t spoken since….
Severus had not come to strike up a conversation with the young man. He was
whole. Severus was satisfied. He passed them without comment and proceeded to
visit his ‘ex-girlfriend’. He shuddered. He hated the term. ‘Former lover’ was
equally chaffing. Neither carried the appropriate connotation for what they
were. Severus wasn’t certain a word even existed for it.
Loraina seemed to be waiting for him at the door of her classroom. “All the
little hairs on the back of my neck started tingling, and I just knew you were
coming to see me,” she sang. “No other vampire makes me shiver quite the way
you do,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes. Severus rolled his
eyes and offered her her medicine. She plucked it from his fingers, unbothered
by his lack of response, and held it aloft to examine it. He knew she enjoyed
its colour and he intentionally placed her doses in octagonal phials that
refracted the light. Watching her delight in it, Severus couldn’t suppress a
small smile.
“So. Stimulating lesson today?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning lazily
against her doorframe. “I see it’s ended already, and most of your students
seem dazed.”
“First day,” she grinned, winking at him. “Important to make an impression.”
“I have no doubt you’d have done that regardless of the contents of your
presentation,” he said with grudging fondness. She laughed at him, and he was
slightly heartbroken hearing how ragged it was. It was not what he remembered,
but it was impossible to tell if it had ever been so musical or if his memory
had idealised it in her absence.
“Our Little Harry is quite impressive, isn’t he?” she said, eyes dancing. He
wondered, anxiously, what might have happened in class to make her think so.
She spoke almost obsessively about the young man. Severus had yet to convince
her she placed far too much stock in his competency.  
“Not particularly that I’ve found,” he muttered with a shrug. She waved him off
as a fool and uncorked her potion, tossing it down her throat and handing back
the empty vial to his waiting hand before responding.
“You’re just prejudiced,” she said dismissively. “But he’s far prettier than
James,” she noted. Severus was annoyed on realising he’d actually thought the
same, mostly because he disliked that he’d wasted energy contemplating Harry’s
appearance in any terms, much less those. “But he’s also itchy,” she conceded,
surprising him. “Don’t think I don’t feel it,” she smirked, punctuating the
comment by scratching at her left forearm. “But he’s marvellous potential,
don’t you think?” she mused. “He might not be clever enough for your potions,
but he has the instincts of a warrior.”
Severus scowled at her appraisal. Loraina’d just met him. She didn’t know the
young man. Combativeness was not indicative of bloodlust. Conditioned reflex
was not the same as instinct. Harry did not come by his aptitude naturally.
Severus suspected it wearied him, in fact.
And this thinking wearied Severus. Why was he arguing the boy’s frailty to
himself? As long as the little shit kept himself alive, and calm in Loraina’s
presence, Severus really shouldn’t care. Why should he worry about her
eagerness to see Harry fulfil a role he had no choice but to play? Why should
it bother him that she projected yet another expectation on him? Why was he
asking himself so many bloodyquestions?
“Ah. So, you don’t agree, I take it,” she said, her tongue peeking cheekily
through her teeth as she goaded him. She mimicked his posture, resting against
the opposite side of the doorway. “Or is something else annoying you?” she
hypothesised, giving him a cartoonishly scrutinising look. “You say so much but
never what you’re reallythinking. Are you bothered by my thinking he’s pretty?”
she teased coyly. “You realise you’ve no right to be jealous.”
Severus sighed. “In the unlikely event that he decides to undertake the highly
ill-advised endeavour of wooing you, I mightconsider being jealous,” he drawled
with a small, playful smirk. She rolled her eyes.
“I wasn’t talking about him wooing me,” she said. “I’ve half a mind to seduce
the boy. You’ve had years to make up your mind about it, my love. Don’t blame
me if you miss out on him.”
Severus abruptly straightened, glaring at her. It was not a joking matter, for
a multitude of reasons. She giggled and danced backwards as if he might attack,
though he gave no indication he might do so beyond his petulant expression. “I
really don’t know why I talk to you,” he muttered, turning his back on her in a
huff. She cackled behind him as he swept away down the corridor.  
“Oh, Sev. You know you love me,” she called after him.
Damned infuriating woman, he fumed. Quite unfortunately, she was probably
right.   
  
***** Successful in the Battles That He Fights *****
                                     Remus
 
All was right with Remus’ world.
Well, perhaps it was not ideal, but he was hopeful if not untroubled. Harry had
been visiting nightly just after curfew for tea and conversation, and Remus had
stopped fretting over the ethics of it. It did them both good. Harry was
allowed to decompress in a safe place and Remus got to practice pretending he
was not incurably smitten. Harry’s comments on his day served to remind Remus
how young he was, too, which was a help. Harry might have to occasionally
wrestle with bigger questions his peers never had to confront, and it might
have aged him beyond his years, but on good days, Harry was just a teenager
with teenage problems like homework and lunch fare, the weight of class
materials and the discomfort of desk chairs.
Also, though it concerned Remus a little, there seemed to be a budding romance
between Harry and Hermione. He’d been shocked but had not commented when he
first noticed them walking around the castle arm in arm. Though, how could he
criticise it when it seemed to put them both at ease? It seemed a bit soon, but
Remus knew all too well that tragedy sometimes acted as a catalyst in these
matters, even when objectively it seemed it should put a damper on them. High
emotions can be misinterpreted, especially by those with such limited life
experience, and Remus suspected it was the warmth and stability, the support
they found in one another in this painful time, that they really craved. He
simply hoped they would take things slowly until their feelings and motivations
sorted themselves out.
It seemed to add yet another layer of unavailability to the young man, as well,
though. It wasn’t as if Remus didn’t have enough reasons already why the two of
them could never be, but somehow it helped. Remus was becoming more and more
acclimated to his constant longing. He’d had similar unattainable crushes in
the past. In fact, his sexual orientation coupled with his lycanthropy often
meant most of his attractions were unrequited. He’d weather this one, too. And
the duller his desire became, the more easily he could simply enjoy Harry’s
company.
And so Remus was settling in at Hogwarts nicely, finally. And to fill his time
when not instructing his ward, Albus frequently sent him on small errands for
the Order. In fact, the man had just winked from Remus’ floo with his latest
request when Remus heard a strong knock at his door. He answered it
apprehensively. It was so early in the day, but the only one who ever visited
that way was…
Harry’s face suddenly popped into visibility in front of him and Remus started.
“You've really got to stop doing that," he chided with a light-hearted smile
Harry didn't return. The young man seemed annoyed and didn’t even offer a
greeting as he stepped inside Remus’ quarters uninvited, tossing a 'sorry' over
his shoulder as he passed the threshold.
Remus just watched him, a little taken aback by the discourtesy, but not really
bothered. It wasn’t as if he’d have denied the young man entrance. "By all
means, come in," Remus deadpanned jokingly. "Have a seat. Make yourself at
home."
"Sorry," Harry repeated, sincerely this time. He tossed his cloak over the arm
of the sofa before plopping down on a cushion with a sigh. "And yes,” he
winced. “I'm skipping class. Please, just scold me about it later, okay?"
Remus' brow puckered thoughtfully. He could tell the young man had come to
talk, and he gently closed the door and then leaned against the frame with his
arms folded, waiting patiently.
"Hermione and I had a fight," Harry blurted after only a moment of internal
fuming. "Or, I don't know if it was really a 'fight'. We just got on each
other's nerves. Or...something," he huffed, scrubbing his hands through his
hair in a frustrated gesture and then letting them fall to his lap. He looked
confused and slightly overwhelmed, but mostly simply annoyed.
"Ah," Remus nodded. The First Fight. It hadn’t taken long, but then they were
young. And both strong-willed and vocal. Teenage relationships seemed to move
at a speed incomprehensible to Remus, but then he realised the young reckoned
time differently. He walked over to perch on the cushion beside Harry and
patted him consolingly on the knee. "It happens, you know,” he reassured. “You
have a tiff, you get over it,” he shrugged. “It's normal. Everyone does it
eventually."
"We've just never really fought, y'know? We've disagreed. She's scolded. But
this felt different. It's...not what we do," Harry said, somewhat confused by
his present circumstance.
"Every relationship goes through changes. It's usually a good thing, though it
may not seem so at the time. Want to tell me what happened?"
Harry picked sulkily at a loose thread on his cuff. "Nothing really,” he
admitted grudgingly. “It's just, I think she's trying to make friends with
Malfoy."
Harry was clearly sour about the development, but Remus couldn’t help but be
pleased. He’d heard from Albus that Narcissa was attempting to distance her son
from the follies of his father, and the Headmaster had faith in the boy. The
worst influences in his life were now absent, and they had an excellent chance
at Draco’s rehabilitation. Few things could be more helpful in that process
than associating with Harry and Hermione, perhaps the two people at Hogwarts
most antithetical to his previous indoctrination.
"Would that really be such a terrible thing?" he asked the young man. Harry
looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.
"You do know who Draco Malfoy is?"
Remus pretended to think about it. "I'm familiar, yes," he nodded.
"Hermione thinks he's changed," Harry complained. "As if he just woke up one
morning and decided not to be a complete bloody prat anymore."
"And you don't think that's possible."
Harry gave him a withering look. "That doesn't really happen," he said as if
having to break some essential life-lesson to the older man. Remus was careful
not to smile.
"Doesn't it, though?" Remus gently challenged, shifting so that they sat side-
by-side. He leaned over confidentially. "Have you never had a revelation that
changed the way you viewed the world? Changed how you behaved toward others?”
Remus had had many of his own moments of enlightenment, though he understood
they weren’t often comfortable. Discovering Severus Snape was spying for the
Order was one of the most recent. He couldn’t claim to like the man, but he at
least respected him far more now. Though not, he reflected, as much as he
should, perhaps. The man really was taking exceptional risks, and those risks
ensured the safety of Remus’ godson. He’d have to take care to treat Severus
more kindly. “Remember, Harry, you don't know all of Draco's story. And you're
unlikely to if you never give him a chance. Passing judgement is the easiest
thing in the world. It takes courage to believe in someone, especially if
they've given you reason not to in the past.” Remus paused, but Harry didn’t
respond. "I'm not saying you should pass your trust out indiscriminately. But
think of the times you've been misjudged,” Remus urged. Surely the young man
could understand that, especially considering the breakfast incident the
previous week. Remus himself was well familiar with the sting of prejudice. “If
you let him, Draco just may surprise you."
It was something Remus still had to remind himself: that Slytherin did not
equate inherent evil, even if the traits most often found in that House most
easily fostered the susceptibility to it. Harry, however, seemed to be having
none of it. But if Remus and Severus could come to an understanding despite
theirsordid history, Harry could surely do the same with Draco. Remus could
tell it was a hard sell, though, by the stubborn set of Harry's bottom lip.
"Listen, believe what you will about Draco. But patch things up with Hermione,
will you?" he said, nudging Harry's shoulder with his own, coaxing a small
smile from him. Remus couldn’t force tolerance on the young man, but perhaps,
if Harry allowed Hermione to lead by example, he’d come around to the idea
eventually. "And the sooner the better. They say you should never go to bed
angry with someone you love. Whatever this quarrel is about, it isn't important
enough to let it come between you, surely."
Harry nodded resignedly. Remus smiled at him, knowing that was all the progress
he’d manage at the moment, and patted Harry once on the knee as if all was
settled. “Now, I've got an errand to run for Dumbledore,” he said, rising to
his feet and walking to the door. “Should I expect you for tea?" he asked
hopefully, throwing a scarf over his cardigan. Harry nodded enthusiastically
but then slumped sulkily.
"Does this mean I have to go to Charms now?" he winced. Remus chuckled at his
playfully pouting expression.
"We'll let it slide. This time," he added with feigned seriousness. "I'll tell
Professor Flitwick you were ill."
"I do have a headache," Harry said rather too brightly, earning him a lopsided
smile from Remus. The boy was incorrigible. "McGonagall bounced Quaffles off my
head for an hour," Harry explained with a shrug.
Remus could picture it perfectly and could not contain his sudden mirth.
Harry’s answering smile showed he took no offence at Remus’ laughing at his
misfortune. "I'm sure I have something for your head,” Remus said, striding
over to pull a phial of medicine from his desk drawer. “You should head back to
Gryffindor and lie down, though."
Harry groaned. "Can't I just lie down here?" he asked hopefully, indicating the
sofa.
Remus' smile faded. He really felt he was tempting fate enough as it was by
allowing the young man to visit in the evenings. Allowing him to nap on his
couch, even when Remus was not in, might be crossing one line too many. Then he
thought about coming back home to find the young man still sleeping and having
the opportunity to stare at him freely without discovery or judgement...and
also about all the inappropriate impulses the exercise might inspire. It was
suddenly very important to Remus that such a thing not be allowed to happen.
"And how are you supposed to make up with Hermione from my sofa?” he asked,
forcing a smile. “Go on now, Harry," he said, pressing a phial of headache cure
into Harry's palm. "I'm leaving anyway. You can tell me how it went this
evening."
Harry was demonstratively reluctant, but he pulled himself up and stuffed his
cloak into the pocket of his jumper. "Thanks, Remus," he said, giving him a
quick hug. The gesture seemed more teasing and uncomfortable each time he
allowed it, but Remus craved it and Harry drew strength from it, and so Remus
pretended he was not bothered.
"Anytime, Harry," he said warmly, patting him on the shoulder as he urged him
out the door. "Like I told you before, I'm always here for you."
***** Patient Yourself *****
                                    Severus
 
He had made a habit of taking Loraina’s potion to her during or just after
fourth period, no longer bothering to make excuses to himself about why he did
so. Even if he hadn’t made this his regular delivery time, he would have chosen
it today, regardless. Severus had witnessed Granger and the boy having a
falling out at lunch the day before and was concerned the event would tip
Harry’s emotional balance toward instability. He had warned Albus they were
both too wounded to heal one another. It seemed wrong to him to expect them to
do so. How could either care for their self when they were forced to worry
about the other?
Severus lingered in his doorway, waiting for class to let out, as Loraina’s
students had to pass near it to exit the dungeons. He’d expected a mass
dismissal, and he was puzzled to see them trickle out one at a time. Finally,
he stopped one of the girls to ask what was going on. For a moment, she seemed
too overcome to speak.
“Demonstration,” she muttered dazedly when she regained the ability, “Animus
Secretum.” Then she wandered off and down the hall. Severus scowled after her.
The words meant nothing to him, but he had an uneasy feeling he would not like
their meaning.
The slow parade continued and then, for the longest while, there was no one,
and Severus feared he’d missed the young man somehow. He was just about to give
up on them and go get to the bottom of this Animus Secretum business when his
Mark gave a mysterious jolt, accompanied by a muffled bang from the direction
of Loraina’s classroom. For a moment, Severus was paralysed with confusion and
dread. Try as he might, he could not think of any explanation for the
phenomena. When Harry had demolished Albus’ office, the disturbance in his Dark
Mark had been pronounced and enduring. He forced his limbs into animation,
moving quickly down the hall, baffled and fearing the worst.
But before he reached his destination, Harry and Hermione appeared strolling
down the corridor looking unharmed and very much on friendly terms. Severus
stopped short and stepped out of sight, attempting to calm himself. He wasn’t
sure what he had expected to be wrong, especially here in the Castle, but his
Mark was quiet and Harry was apparently fine. Feeling a bit foolish for
panicking, he quickly composed himself and continued down the hall with
Loraina’s potion, forcing himself to do so leisurely so as not to betray the
tenacious pounding of his heart. Again, Harry was inordinately interested in
the Potions Master’s presence, but as before, Severus seemingly ignored him.
When Severus met Loraina at her door, prepared to demand explanations, he found
her covered in dust with bits of what appeared to be gravel in her hair. He
slowed, eying her up and down, trying to work out the reason for it. “What in
Hermes’ name?” he began with a scowl, but she interrupted him giddily.
“The boy is a marvel!” she squealed quietly when he was in earshot, clapping
her hands like an excited toddler. Severus’ scowl deepened but was more
insincere for it. He was finding it hard to stay truly annoyed with her. He
had probably overreacted anyway, he reasoned. He had no idea why he was so
excitable recently. With an exasperated sigh, he handed her her medicine. She
held it up to watch it sparkle as usual but only for a moment before uncorking
it and tossing it back, wiping her mouth with the back of her chalky hand.
“What is Animus Secretum?” Severus demanded with mock sternness, holding his
hand out for his phial.
She gave him a sly smile as she passed the empty thing back to him. “It’s a
secret, obviously,” she teased. But Severus was not in such a playful mood.
“Loraina, what did you have the boy do?” he persisted.
“I simply had him reach inside himself and unleash the power within him.”
Severus stared at her for a moment, hoping he’d misunderstood. Simply? She’d
simply had him intentionally dig around inside himself where a piece of the
Dark Bloody Lord resided? Actually, on further reflection, he might have under-
reacted. “Reach inside of himself?” he sputtered. “Loraina,” Severus started
angrily, pausing to reign in his temper. “Do you even knowwhat is inside of
him?” he hissed.
“I do now,” she shrugged cockily, refusing to repent. Severus had to suppress
the urge to lay hands on her.
Damned infuriatingwoman! Swanning into Severus’ precariously balanced world and
playing games with the fucking ‘Chosen One’ as if she had some concept of what
he was or what that meant. She’d been in the goddamned woods for too long and
she was going to get them killed. Severus was dangerously close to a tirade
their relationship might not recover from when he heard Granger’s voice carry
loudly down the corridor.    
“Harry!”
Severus’ anger turned to fear with alarming speed and he almost instantly
forgot about Loraina. He left her smirking in the doorway to turn and stride
quickly toward the cry, resolving not to panic until he knew he had reason.
Though, there was no telling what Loraina’s experiment might have triggered.
When he rounded the corner, however, all Severus found was Draco Malfoy, seated
on the floor with blood running down his chin. He was being tended to by
Granger, of all people, as Harry loomed over him with his fist clenched and his
knuckles bloody. Severus heaved a sigh of relief, then one of annoyance. It was
fairly obvious what had happened.
“Harry Potter!” Severus reprimanded, sweeping over to the scene. Harry started
guiltily and stepped away from the blond boy, but Severus moved past Harry to
kneel and assess Draco’s injury. The scent of blood nearly toppled him. He felt
his fangs extend and pursed his lips to prevent their discovery, throwing Harry
a resentful glare.
“Detention,” he proclaimed tersely as he inspected Draco's broken nose. He set
the bone with a spell that caused Draco to yelp, then cleared away the blood
with a scouring spell, but it still poured fresh from both nostrils. “Until
further notice,” he added with an irritated growl, helping the bleeding boy to
his feet. “Come, Draco, we may as well get you to the infirmary,” he muttered,
mad enough to spit thinking of the long walk there with the wafting scent of
spilled blood inundating his senses. At least the boy wasn’t a fucking virgin.
“I'll take him, Professor,” Granger offered, pulling a handkerchief from her
bag and holding it delicately to Draco's nose. Oh, thank gods. Harry appeared
even more shocked than Severus felt. The man noticed she deliberately did not
look at Harry as she and Draco turned to shuffle away. Perhaps she and Harry
hadn’t quite made up from their tiff after all.
As he had feared it might, Severus’ Mark tingled, but it was mild. He watched
Harry seething as he followed their progression down the hall, and it troubled
him.
The young man simply could not continue this way. His aggression was eating
away at him. Severus had little doubt Draco had done something well deserving
of violence, but that didn’t mean Harry had any right to actually beat the
spoiled little shit. He must learn to control himself, and not just outwardly.
He had to learn to quiet, and not simply contain, his anger. Severus knew he
would have to be the one to help him in it, as no one else seemed nearly bloody
worried enough about it, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. Even
considering the endeavour seemed hypocritical.  
“Harry,” he said finally, quietly, barely managing to distract Harry from his
turmoil. When the young man pulled himself back to the present, he seemed
instantly chagrined and Severus’ Mark fell silent. “I expect you in my offices
this evening. At dinnertime. Do you understand?” Severus said calmly.
“Yes, Sir,” Harry replied resignedly. Severus regarded him for a moment longer
and then nodded curtly and strode away. He was less than satisfied, despite
that he’d experienced no cheek from the young man. He’d almost rather he had.
It would have been more in keeping with Harry’s character. The boy had changed,
and the development was not welcome.
Severus brooded on the problem all through next period, and when the last of
his students filed from the room, he quickly retired to his lab. Casting about
for dirty dishes, he soon became annoyed at his own fastidious housekeeping. He
needed to clean something. He often did, hence the lack, but there was nothing
here that required it. He returned to the classroom and examined the offerings
there, finding several inadequately scoured cauldrons and carrying them to the
sink, rolling back his sleeves.
The work quickly centred him. He did not think about Harry or Draco or Loraina.
He thought of nothing but the efficient removal of residue from the bottom of
the cauldron he worked. Severus allowed calm to settle over him. He always
thought more clearly afterwards, but the act itself was rewarding as well. He
was reaching for a third pot when he abruptly stopped and looked closely at
what he was doing, what he always did when he was overwhelmed, and the answer
to his problem seemed suddenly so simple. He’d intended to have Harry do this
same thing for his detention, anyway, knowing the young man would foolishly
find the exercise distasteful. But what if he could be shown it could be
something more?
Severus left the cauldrons where they were so Harry would have plenty to scour
himself and returned to his office to pace while he waited for the young man to
arrive. He thought he knew what Harry needed, but he didn’t know how to go
about giving it to him. Harry was not cerebral. Not that he was wholly
unintelligent, he simply was a doer, was resistant to concepts he couldn’t
connect with through action. Severus resolved he would not explain the
activity, else Harry might overthink it, which was exactly what they were
hoping to avoid. He’d see if the young man hit on it on his own, as Severus had
long ago.  
Severus answered Harry's knock promptly, and he found the boy’s manner as he
stood waiting for admittance was docile and hangdog. Severus knew the young man
didn’t regret his actions, and he wasn’t sure he understood the sheepishness of
Harry’s expression. He’d worry about it later. Severus turned toward the
Potions classroom. That Harry was meant to follow went without saying, and he
did, head hung and feet shuffling with every step.
“Cauldrons,” was all Severus said before seating himself at his desk. He pulled
a stack of essays over and began grading, completely ignoring Harry's presence
in order to give him the space he needed to settle into the work.
He was aware that Harry stood and glared at him for just a moment before
rolling up his sleeves, but he pretended not to have, or else he’d have to
reprimand him for his disrespect and that would not serve to calm him. The
process of cleaning did not help at all, anyway, though. It was not long before
Severus heard the frenzied scrape of steel wool on metal. He looked up as Harry
attacked his third cauldron with a fervour that bordered on violence. Severus
set down his quill and watched him.
The young man wasn’t even really looking at what he was doing. He stared
unfocused at the wall in front of him, his expression reacting to some internal
dialogue; sometimes smirking, sometimes grimacing. Harry tossed the cauldron
aside and snatched up another, and Severus rose warily to his feet.
This continued for a while. The young man plowed through a few more pots,
becoming more and more agitated with each until eventually, Severus’ Mark began
to tingle. Harry reached for another cauldron, but Severus stopped him.
“Enough,” he said softly. He wasn’t sure if the young man would hear him
through his self-induced frenzy; but it seemed he did, as Severus’ Mark quieted
and Harry’s hands stilled. His face was flushed, but Severus was certain the
blood he smelled was not simply what was warming the surface of the young man’s
cheeks. He came beside him and took hold of Harry’s wrist to examine his hand.
The young man’s fingertips were raw and his nails ruined. Severus investigated
each lesion, twisting Harry's wrist to do so, while Harry fixed his gaze
stubbornly on the far wall. As Severus considered the treatment necessary for
the young man’s wounds, Harry’s stomach growled loudly, and Harry ignored it,
ignored everything, including his wrist still grasped by the Potions Master’s
fingers. Severus finished his rough examination but didn't relinquish Harry's
hand.
The experiment had been an abysmal failure. So far. Harry had plenty of
detentions ahead of him, but if he repeated this performance, Severus would
have to try another tact. He studied the young man closely. Teenagers were
renowned for their angst, but there seemed more to Harry’s directionless anger.
And it was to be expected, considering. Severus wondered, had he not been the
constant object of the Dark Lord’s ire for his entire life, would he even be
here now, serving detention? Would he have been studious and rule-abiding like
Granger...like Severus himself had been? Or would he, perhaps, have been more
like his father: arrogant because of his looks, casually cruel because he was
charming enough to be forgiven by those who would punish him? It was a
depressing thought, but perhaps the boy was better for all his challenges. It
was true Harry was in detention because he had struck another student, but
though Severus did not know the reasons behind it, he suspected it was in
retaliation of some sort. Harry was not the bully his father had been.
In fact, Harry was not a bad person, Severus suddenly realised. He routinely
stood up for those weaker and less fortunate. He risked himself (often
foolishly, granted) to help others, to right perceived wrongs, though he rarely
paused long enough to ensure his assumptions were accurate. In truth, his worst
sin seemed to be his impulsiveness.
Severus’ reaction to the piece of darkness left behind by the Dark Lord when he
had attempted to kill the boy was something Severus was only recently coming to
understand. And he realised he’d spent much of the past several years looking
for flaws in the boy in order to rationalise an aversion he couldn’t otherwise
explain.
Until now.
Harry met Severus’ analytic stare, but he could not hold the Potions Master’s
eye. In fact, Severus feared for a moment he may begin to cry, and he gently
released the young man, unexpectedly troubled to think he might be the cause of
it. Harry held his injured hands to his chest and stared blankly at the sink,
and Severus felt he had failed the boy somehow.
“Tell me, Harry. Did tonight's activities seem like punishment to you?” he
asked gently.
Harry gritted his teeth. “Yes, Sir.”
Severus sighed. Their relationship was so strained, Harry likely would not have
accepted any comfort from the man, even if Severus had had any idea how to
express it. Albus seemed to think it was a simple matter of them deciding to
get along, but Severus couldn’t magically disappear years of mutual hostility.
He went to the cabinet to retrieve some healing salve which he pressed into
Harry's palm so the boy would not have to employ his damaged fingers.
“Same time tomorrow, Potter,” he told him quietly. Harry nodded without
replying or making eye contact and left.
After he’d gone, Severus sat back down at his desk, but he ignored his work. He
feared Loraina had been right. He wasprejudiced against the boy. It wasn’t as
if he hadn’t already been aware that he harboured some amount of distaste for
the young man simply by virtue of who sired him, but he’d genuinely thought
that the lion’s share of his disdain was justified. Seeing Harry as he did now,
he was no longer so sure, and he suspected that he had inadvertently and
unnecessarily added to the young man’s already significant burdens. Severus had
always tried to keep him safe, he thought defensively. Always. But he’d never
been gracious, and he’d very rarely, if ever, been kind.
He’s still infuriating, Severus thought peevishly. And defiant and completely
unmanageable. But Severus thought he might tryto treat him more evenly. Though,
he made no promises. Not even to himself.   
Harry arrived at Severus' offices again the next night at the prescribed hour.
Again, Severus lead him with no prelude into the classroom. Harry turned
automatically to the sink, but Severus stopped him.
“Hands,” he demanded, holding out one of his own to receive them. Harry offered
one for inspection. Severus examined his fingers closely. They were almost
completely healed, but they still seemed too raw for the work the young man
would be doing, at least for him to do it with focus. He retrieved more salve
from the cabinet and personally worked it carefully into various cracks on and
between the young man’s fingers which Harry had apparently missed the night
before. If they weren’t sealed, the cleaning potion would sting. When he was
finished, after examining Harry's fingers once more and deeming them
satisfactory, he simply said, “Cauldrons,” and went to his desk.
Harry was more careful this time and also much slower. Too slow. Several times
he seemed to forget what he was doing, drifting off into thought and simply
standing there, wool still in his hand; and each time, upon noticing, Severus
would simply say: “Harry.” It was enough to wake him back to his task and the
boy would resume his chore. The pile of clean cauldrons, however, was much
smaller than the night before.
Severus supposed it was progress. His Mark hadn’t stirred, but the young man
had swung to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum. He was not getting
lost in anger and frustration, but he was still getting lost, was still was not
mindful of what he was doing. “So. Did this feel like punishment, Harry?”
Severus asked him again.
“Yes, Professor,” Harry said mechanically, still not looking at him as he did
so.
Severus stared at him quietly for a moment. He had been careful since even
before their previous detention to speak calmly to the young man. Though
apparently, the automatic assumption on Harry’s part was that Severus was
somehow being sadistic, regardless. Severus scowled, pulling out his wand and
summoning a plate with two pieces of dry toast. The young man made no move to
take it from him, so he thrust it into Harry's hands so that he had no choice
but to accept it or else let it fall to the floor.
He winced at himself. This calm patience business would take some getting used
to. They both had work to do.
“Tomorrow.”
***** For These Slips Have Made Him Noted Long *****
                                     Remus
 
“There you are,” Remus said warmly, standing aside to allow Harry entry. “I
missed you last night.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” the young man replied weakly. He seemed despondent,
and Remus watched worriedly as he shuffled inside. Harry didn't even make it to
the couch. He stopped drifting halfway there and stood dejectedly in the middle
of the room. Concerned, Remus came beside him and draped a hand on his
shoulder, drawing Harry's attention. The young man’s expression was aching.
“Harry, what's happened?” Remus asked softly, eyes reflecting Harry's sadness.
He knew the young man had been serving detention with Severus, and he’d
suspected it had led to Harry’s absence the night before. If he thought for a
moment the man had been abusive, Remus would certainly be paying him a visit to
‘discuss’ things. But as nasty as Severus could be, Harry rarely let his
professor bother him to this degree. He took Harry gently by both shoulders to
look down on him, trying to work out the nature of his turmoil. Without
answering, Harry ducked his head to let the crown rest in the centre of Remus'
chest. The gesture was surprisingly touching and upsetting. Harry seemed so
vulnerable. Remus responded by wrapping his arms protectively around him and
drawing him closer. Harry sighed wearily and allowed himself, arms hanging at
his sides, to be held.
“Everything's all wrong, Remus,” he mumbled plaintively into the man’s shirt.
Remus stroked Harry's hair before drawing back to see tears standing in Harry's
eyes. The sight tugged at Remus’ heart and threatened to draw tears from him as
well.
This was not Severus’ doing, but whatever had happened, it obviously called for
tea. “Come and sit down,” he insisted, pushing Harry lightly in the direction
of the sofa before he bustled over to retrieve the tray which now sat ready and
waiting for them by this time every evening. He wrapped Harry's hand around a
steaming cup of it before carefully sitting beside him, waiting for Harry to
decide he was ready to speak.
It didn’t take him long. “Remus, what do you do when someone you care about,”
he began hesitantly to the contents of his teacup, “when you don't feel the
same way about each other?”
Remus’ heart sank. He had feared their romance was rushed and ill-advised.
After all, Ron and Hermione had been a couple, after a fashion. Phineas had
reported their mostly innocent but curious and ardent attention to one another
over the summer. Even if they hadn’t gotten past the kissing stage, they were
still amorous. Remus suspected Harry and Hermione had simply been hurt and
grasping and had misunderstood their needs, though trust Hermione to work it
out so quickly. Remus scowled lightly in sympathy, slipping his hand over
Harry's wrist.
“Is this about Hermione?” he asked. Harry glanced over and just nodded. Remus
sighed, hating that one of the young man’s first romantic attachments had to
come to this and so soon after his loss. “You know, Harry, she probably just
needs more time,” Remus began carefully. “And perhaps you should take it
slowly, as well. I know this is a confusing time. Grief can be mistaken for any
number of different emotions,” he explained, feeling a smidge hypocritical.
“Perhaps what you're feeling isn't what you think it is.”
Harry turned a puzzled look to his guardian. “No. It's...it's the other way
around,” he explained quietly.
“Oh!” Remus exclaimed softly. “Oh, I see.” Though he didn't immediately, and he
needed a moment to process it. The two really were an excellent match. More so
than Ron and Hermione, if they were honest. Hermione was lovely, both as a
person and prettier with each passing day. That Harry was interested but
Hermione was still in mourning had seemed the most logical explanation. What,
then, might be implied by the reverse?
Remus noticed his fingers tightening on Harry’s wrist as he pondered, and he
removed them, suddenly self-conscious of the touch and his lingering desire for
it.
“I hate that I hurt her feelings,” Harry went on. Remus was still distracted,
reflecting on the situation, but forced himself to drag his attention back to
his ward. “But I don't know what to do that won't make things worse. And I need
her, too,” Harry said, clearly hurting himself. “Just not in the same way.”
Remus considered him for a moment before replying. How well he knew what
Hermione must be feeling. “It's a hard situation,” Remus sighed softly. He took
a deep breath and shook his head, unable to look at Harry as he spoke. “There's
not really a solution. Time makes things easier. Or well,” he shrugged sadly,
studying the rug beneath his feet, “she'll eventually learn how to deal with
it. It may never go away but you figure out how to get on with things, anyway.”
But Remus wasn’t certain he was being sincere. No matter how many times he
found himself in this situation, he never seemed to really deal with it. Or at
least, it didn’t feel as if he did, not successfully. Each moment was always a
conscious struggle not to ruin what little he was allowed.  
He was struggling even as they spoke, feeling himself slipping into the
quicksand of his longing when he felt Harry reach over and place his hand over
the ones Remus clasped together between his knees and squeeze the knot of
fingers firmly. Remus looked up, startled by the touch, thrown off balance by
the thoughts it had interrupted, and locked eyes with Harry.
“Thank you, Remus. For always being here for me. And I'm here for you, too,” he
told him, his voice surprisingly fickle. “Just so you know.” For a moment,
Remus got lost in Harry’s green eyes, in their compassion and openness. He
berated himself for allowing himself to entertain his pain when Harry had come
to have his own assuaged. But bless the young man for being kind enough to set
his aside to comfort Remus; even if doing so inadvertently sharpened what the
young man sought to soothe.
Remus swallowed hard, and the hands beneath Harry's trembled slightly. He
cleared his throat. “Thank you, Harry,” he rasped, truly grateful. He was a
wonder, and if the man had any doubt about the sincerity of his feelings for
him, Harry was gently but relentlessly removing them. He reminded himself of
their situation and was almost swallowed whole by his despair, but he forced a
smile anyway. “But don't you worry about me,” Remus told him. “Now, what do you
say we drink this before it gets cold?” He quickly patted Harry's hand and then
pulled his away with effort, occupying both of his own with a cup of tea to
resist the urge to touch the boy.
“So just leave it then?” Harry asked. Remus was still preoccupied and didn’t
immediately understand his question. “The thing with Hermione,” he clarified.
“It'll work out alright, won't it?”
“I can't imagine it not,” Remus assured him. “A friendship as strong as yours
can surely weather a little thing like this.”
A little thing like this.Remus dearly hoped Hermione was a stronger and more
resilient person than he was.
***** I Promise You; Were't Not for Shame *****
Curfew came and went and there was no sign of Harry. Though he was disappointed
about not getting to visit with the young man, Remus considered it a good sign.
They’d had a number of polite teas filled with only brief and pleasant
chatting, but Harry most often came to Remus to be comforted. Hopefully his
absence meant he was not in need of it.
Still, Remus could not say he wasn’t relieved when he finally heard Harry’s
resolute knock at his door, and he rose cheerfully to answer it.
“I was starting to think you wouldn't be coming tonight,” Remus remarked with a
smile to Harry’s disembodied head peeking from atop his invisibility cloak. He
was becoming inured to the sight. The boy’s intense expression, however, was
another matter. It made Remus shiver, but he brushed it off. It was getting
easier to do so despite the previous night’s lapse in resolve. No doubt Harry
would explain his mood momentarily, anyway.
“Come in, the tea's ready,” he said warmly, going in ahead to pour it. But when
Remus turned back to him to verify how the boy would take it (sometimes Harry
wanted milk and sometimes he did not) he found Harry had not followed him to
the sofa as usual. Remus straightened slowly, wondering if he should be
concerned, but Harry didn’t seem distressed. Off, somehow, but not upset.
Harry leaned against the door, and there was something new in his features;
something Remus was familiar enough with but not on this face. He concluded his
imagination was simply overactive, and he ignored the suspected sense that it
was not only his own heart that hammered. “Harry?” he said uncertainly. “Are
you alright?” he asked, drawn back to the boy but almost afraid to approach him
at the same time. “What-?”
And that’s when, without a word from the young man, Harry pushed off from the
door and his cloak fell from his shoulders making the rest of him suddenly
visible. He wore only his school robe which hung open to show nothing beneath
but boxer shorts. He wasn’t even wearing shoes.
Remus froze, alarm and confusion chasing each other across his face. He wracked
his brain, trying to come up with an explanation beyond the obvious. Because it
couldn’t be that. It was wishful thinking. It was fantasy. Remus was a man,
after all. And old enough to be Harry’s father, besides. That look in his eyes,
that seemed a reflection of Remus’ inner desire, could not be for the werewolf.
Something must be wrong, something Remus couldn’t immediately fathom.
Asking, though, was difficult. Remus swallowed hard. Then again. “Harry, I
don't understand,” he said shakily, wetting his lips. “Has something happened?
Are you...okay?” But though his words sought to comfort, his self-control
crumbled, and he could no longer prevent his gaze from becoming keen and
drifting to the wide swath of exposed flesh showing from beneath Harry’s gaping
robe like an offering. The subtle but perfect and undeniable definition of
Harry’s chest and stomach lay bare, as well as the spattering of scars that
told the tale of a life harder than most. The unambiguous swell in his pants
was outlined by the cling of thin fabric. The curve of the muscles of each of
his inner thighs, strengthened by the practice of grasping a broomstick between
them, peeked tantalisingly from behind the black fabric.
Remus felt faint. Instead of rushing forward to console him, as he should if he
suspected distress, Remus took a small step back. One of his hands was half-
raised at his side as it could not decide whether it wanted to reach for Harry
or else shield Remus from him somehow. If this was some further test, as before
in Severus’ quarters, it was a cruel one. Remus’ improper interest had already
been established, but hopefully so had his commitment to ignoring it.
Harry’s expression did not waver. Though it made no logical sense, Remus was
coming slowly to accept that this was not a test. It was a challenge. An
invitation.
A request.
But was it really illogical? Remus revisited every interaction he’d had with
the young man since he’d come out of mourning: Harry’s stepping out of Severus’
washroom without a shirt, his almost flirtatious glances as they traversed the
dungeons, his frequent touch, his regular presence in Remus’ quarters after
curfew, and his refusal of Hermione. Perhaps this was not as sudden as it
seemed. Perhaps Remus had refused to see it. He had been too busy discouraging
his own impulses to recognise and discourage Harry’s.
Though Remus abruptly recognised his miscalculation, the realisation that his
feelings were, in fact, requited caused Remus’ heart to veritably explode with
grateful elation. But in the very next instant, all the reasons they could not
be allowed, regardless of mutuality, snuffed the blaze and paralysed him.
As Remus helplessly wrestled with this cascade of revelations, Harry fixed the
man with an intent look and stalked unsteadily forward until he was scant
inches away from Remus’ outstretched hand as if daring it to do what it so
obviously craved. But Remus could not  --would not-- accept the gift being
offered to him. Though, he could not lower his hand, either, and Harry
impatiently took hold of Remus by the wrist and gently forced his palm flat
against the bare skin of Harry's chest.
The contact was electric, sending a jolt the length of his body. Remus' inhale
was a hiss. This should not happen. It mustnot happen. And yet it was, and he
was far too weak to prevent it. Willingly or not, he’d fantasised about just
this: drinking in the texture of the young man’s skin, memorising its curves
and contours, feeling it warm beneath his touch. But the fantasy was forbidden,
was as disgraceful as it was delicious. Remus stood stock-still, glaring at the
appendage as if it did not belong to him and was no longer under his control.
Then carefully, Harry released Remus' wrist. But though it was freed, it could
not escape. It was as if they two were magnetised and the effort necessary to
remove it was greater than that needed to allow it to remain.
Remus' eyes closed momentarily, and he resolved to taste this sample and be
done with it, to appreciate the sensation and seek no more. But his hand seemed
to move independently of Remus’ intention, and he watched with both gratitude
and horror as it slid up toward Harry's neck. How his lips longed to taste the
young man just here. Harry threw his head back to accommodate it with an
encouraging sigh, and the gentle sound further shattered Remus’ self-control.
Harry was so pliant and willing. Remus ran a reverent thumb down the side of
Harry's jaw, imagining it was his tongue that traced it instead. His eyelids
fluttered in anticipation as he watched his hand sliding over to Harry's
shoulder, parting his robe further to reveal more of Harry that it might visit.
He’d gone so far already, was so intoxicated by the touch, that the reasons for
stopping were becoming more and more distant. There was only this, only skin on
skin and nothing seemed to matter except that it continue. He ran his hand,
splay-fingered, down over Harry's chest, feeling the answering pulse of the
young man’s heart tap beneath his palm before his thumb carefully and
intentionally grazed Harry's hardening nipple as it passed. Harry gasped,
pressing himself into the touch, and Remus could not deny that he loved the
young man’s responsiveness. Oh, what Remus could make him do if he dared. He
could have the young man writhing, sighing, crying out. If given the
opportunity, he could make the boy weep with pleasure.
Remus was still lost in imagining doing just that when Harry came at him. He
wasn’t certain why it surprised him, why he thought the encounter would end
with just a stroke of his hand when Harry had obviously come here tonight with
a purpose. The young man grasped him by the back of the neck and pulled Remus’
lips to his own. Remus resisted. He used the hand resting against the young
man’s flesh to push him away. But the effort was half-hearted, too trembling
and weak to be effective.
And so Harry kissed him. He was awkward and inexperienced but decisive. That
alone, Harry’s clearly unseasoned kiss, should have been enough to snap Remus
out of it, to make him stop this madness. But Harry’s insistence spoke to
Remus’ yearning, and the two bypassed Remus’ better judgement and seemed to
join hands, pulling Remus reluctantly into damnation.
The man’s resistance wavered and then dissolved completely, and he surrendered.
So many lines had already been crossed, what did it matter now if he opened his
mouth to Harry, pushing past Harry's lips with a ravenous tongue as he brought
a hand up to cradle the back of Harry's head? So much had already been
explored, what further harm was there in his other hand skating knowledgeably
over the parts of young man's torso yet unvisited?
Harry responded enthusiastically, kissing Remus back with just as much fervour
though considerably less skill. Remus could taste his inexperience, but oh, how
quickly the young man learned. And how could this feel so right? So effortless?
So divine despite Harry’s slight fumbles? And then Remus remembered, with
sudden and aching clarity, whythis gorgeous young man was not familiar with
this activity.
He was not allowed to do this. With anyone, and not just with Remus because of
who they were. Harry was protected by archaic magic whose effectiveness
absolutely requiredthat the boy be unpracticed, untouched. And yet here was
Remus, the very man charged with his safety and well-being, threatening those
safeguards.
Harry moaned into Remus' mouth and the sound woke the man properly to what was
happening. His eyes flew open and all at once he realised, with horror, what he
was doing, and the impact it could have, and how far reaching the consequences
could be. It went far, far beyond propriety, and Remus wrenched himself away
with a gasp. The same hand that had sought to conquer the young man moments ago
now held him at arm's length.
Harry seemed disoriented by Remus’ sudden absence. He whimpered and reached for
Remus, but the man quickly distanced himself. He took several stumbling steps
back, his eyes squeezed shut against the pained and confused expression on
Harry’s face, his hand still outstretched to discourage him from approaching.
“What? What is it?” Harry asked, breathless words slurred through kiss-plumped
lips. “Didn't you like it?” The hurt and desperation in his voice wounded.
“Remus? Isn't this what you want?” he asked, taking a small step forward
despite the warding hand and slipping his robe off entirely to pool at his
feet. The sight was almost physically jarring. There were few things, if any,
that Remus had ever wanted more, and Harry’s posture of offering was torturous.
Remus looked back up at Harry as if coming out of a daze. His lust-clouded eyes
cleared as he ran them the length of his now almost completely naked ward.
Gods. Harry was a child. True, he was on the cusp of manhood and held many of
its charms. But he was far too young to truly understand what he was doing.
Offering himself to a sexually experienced adult was in no way the same as
exploring physically with his peers. He had no way of knowing that, though. But
Remus understood it only too well, and he shuddered to think on what he’d
almost done, on the sin he’d almost committed. He hid his face in his hands,
muffling the vocalised stream of denial that poured from him.
“Remus, it's okay,” Harry insisted, reaching out to the man. “I'm of age. I’m
sixteen. I can consent,” he said, lip trembling. “I want this too,” Harry
pleaded, his voice cracking under the pressure of his need.
With every word, Harry made the horror of it even worse. Sixteen. Good gods,
Sixteen. “What have I done?” Remus whispered. He looked at Harry again,
standing in nothing but his boxer shorts which did nothing to conceal Harry's
desire. Remus had done that. He had intentionally placed hands on and aroused
the boy. He felt ill. He diverted his eyes, determined not to look at Harry
again until he had covered the boy's nakedness. But he could find nothing
besides the discarded robe at Harry’s feet, which would have required Remus to
kneel too close to…
The mental image Remus had then of diving to his knees and taking Harry into
his mouth was almost violently involuntary. Remus recoiled from it, ripping off
his own cardigan and draping it over Harry's shoulders. He overlapped the front
across Harry's chest and forced the boy to hold it there. But having covered
him, he jerked his hands away and hastily stepped back again to collapse
against the arm of the sofa.
“Remus,” Harry said in a small voice, clutching the knitting closed under his
chin. He was trembling and near to tears from frustration and embarrassment.
“Please. Don't do this.”
“I have no intention,” Remus said, angry with himself for having come so close.
He swallowed his shame and self-loathing and looked up at Harry apologetically.
“Harry, this is wrong,” he said, willing the young man to understand. “So much
about this is wrong. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-”
“Don't be!” Harry pleaded, trying to approach him.
“Don't come any closer, Harry!” Remus gasped. His want was still too strong. He
shook his head. “You could not possibly think this would...th-that I...” Remus
groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. He was a little heartbroken that
Harry must consider him that kind of man. He was wretched realising that he had
almost been. “Harry, I think you should leave now,” he said, so disappointed in
every aspect of this situation. He pointed at the door, but his eyes fell
closed. He could not bear to see the hurt of rejection on the young man’s face.
Without another word, Harry snatched up his invisibility cloak where he'd
abandoned it, threw it on, and bolted clumsily through the door, slamming it
behind him. Once he was gone, Remus sank to his knees. For a moment, his
anguish was too overwhelming to voice, but after the initial, crushing wave
ebbed, he began to sob. This was his fault. His pain and Harry’s both were his
fault. If he hadn’t been so weak and foolish, Harry would never have known of
Remus’ attraction. He would never have considered it and been tempted to return
it. His curiosity would never have been piqued.
But how was Remus to know the boy was gay? Had Harryeven realised it before
Remus had brought the matter to the fore by confessing his relationship with
Sirius? Surely this was why Harry was still so pure. Despite the spell, there
should have been other close encounters. Remus remembered himself as a boy. He
recalled the confusion and frustration, the loneliness and the lack of
opportunity. He remembered watching James and Sirius entertain a series of
romantic dalliances and them trying to foist several very pretty, very
interested prospects on Remus, though he refused them all without understanding
exactly why for the longest time.
Remus also realised that his own first encounters had been with a man far too
old for him, as well. It was sadly true for so many young men of their
inclination. The absence of potential lovers among his peers had opened Remus
to candidates most would not have considered. He had recognised his feelings
for James at that point. And despite his whisky-fueled confession, Sirius was
Sirius, ladies' man extraordinaire. Remus had not allowed himself to accept
that the boy had been sincere in his interest at the time. And even if it were
true, he hadn’t wanted to hurt him, fearing he could not return Sirius’
affection when his heart was held firmly by their friend. He had not wanted to
risk irreparably queering one of his only close friendships.  
And so it had been to another that Remus had first given himself, a friend of
his father's whose secret but knowledgeable stare had flattered the young man.
He had not been meant to be a lover, simply someone with confident experience
who could initiate Remus into this confusing realm with which James and Sirius
were so familiar. Remus did not --could not-- know at the time that there was a
vast difference in the circumstances. He did not understand then that their
separation in years was not the only factor that deviated, and what he
experienced was not equal to what his friends experienced with others their own
age.   
For a long while, Remus blamed himself for the shame he had always felt
afterwards. After all, he had indicated an openness to the man’s advances. He
had not turned him away when he first crept into Remus’ room while the boy’s
father was not at home. He allowed the encounters even when he did not wish
them and after a time occasionally sought them out. He naively told himself it
was just sex. He would not understand until much later that sex was rarely ever
just sex. He was confused by the feelings their activities evoked in him. Even
when he hadn’t really participated, if he had truly disliked what was being
done to him, would he still have climaxed? Could he really claim unwillingness
when his body responded so enthusiastically under the man’s insistent and
practised hand? If he thought himself so used, why had it still hurt when the
man had abandoned him in disgust after discovering Remus’ condition?
Years would pass before Remus came to understand that he had been a victim,
that the relationship had been predatory. Remus had been too young to know
better, but his abuser had not been. He had manipulated Remus, had
intentionally taken advantage of his youth and inexperience.
And Remus refusedto be that man. He refused to exploit Harry’s innocence, to
allow the young man’s advances and then carry them further than Harry could yet
know he wanted and then lay the blame at Harry’s feet for initiating it.
Consent meant nothing if Harry could not appreciate what it was he was
consenting to. Remus was the worldly one. It was his responsibility to walk
away.
And he must literally walk away. He could not simply refuse the boy and pretend
none of this had happened. His feelings for him were too strong, and Harry’s
could not be encouraged, even accidentally. Remus had to leave Hogwarts. And he
had to do it immediately.
Remus picked himself from the floor and strode out of his door the instant he
made up his mind to go. He felt naked without his cardigan, was as self-
conscious as if he were actually undressed when he considered where his woollen
armour really was and why. It was a disaster, but it was one Remus intended to
remedy now as well as he could. He spoke the password to Albus’ office so that
the statue moved aside before he arrived at it, allowing him to pass it without
breaking stride. He climbed the stairs instead of riding them, feeling that if
he hesitated he would baulk and be unable to voice the necessary confession.
Remus even left the door swinging open behind him as he stumbled toward Albus'
desk to profess, with no prelude, in a rush to the shocked Headmaster, “Albus.
I cannot do this any longer.”
The man’s surprise quickly transitioned to suspicion. “Cannot do what,
exactly?” Albus asked tersely, eyes narrowed. Though, by Remus' dishevelled
state and reluctance to meet his eye, Albus seemed to guess at the answer.
Remus did not respond immediately. He hung his head, sitting heavily on the arm
of the nearest chair, his cheeks still wet from earlier. For all his hurried
resolve, these words were so hard to speak aloud to a man for whom he held such
respect, who had placed such confidence in Remus by naming him the guardian of
the prophesied saviour of the Wizarding World. He felt so much shame in having
to disabuse the Headmaster of his high regard.
“My feelings for Harry have become...inappropriate, and our time together too
intimate,” Remus confessed softly to the floor.
Albus was quiet for a time, and Remus felt his critical gaze like a spotlight
illuminating his guilt. “I see,” he said, pulling in a deep, disquieted breath.
“Have you...?”
“No,” Remus said, shaking his head. “No!” he insisted, his horror on
understanding the unspoken portion of the man’s question allowing him to meet
Albus’ eye for the first time since bursting into his office. “No,” he repeated
more calmly, more sheepishly, “but I...” He swallowed and wet his lips
nervously. “I no longer trust myself to behave professionally,” he admitted,
eyes drifting away again, unable to bear the condemnation they found in the
Headmaster's own.
“Have you made advances?” The Headmaster's voice was low and hard. They had
gone to such lengths to ensure Harry’s innocence, and if Albus suspected Remus
was to blame…
“Albus, I swear,” he started, shaking his head emphatically. Surely his breach
in self-control could not be considered a solicitation. Not a conscious one, at
least.
“So it was him?” Albus asked, not nearly as sceptical as Remus might have been
in the Headmaster’s place. Remus didn't answer, only squeezed his eyes shut,
trying but failing to exorcise the memory of what had just happened. He would
never forget the look on Harry’s face as he had approached him, nor the
determination in his grip as he took Remus by the wrist to force his touch. He
didn’t particularly want to forget, he simply felt he should and that coveting
the memory made him despicable.  
Albus nodded solemnly. “We knew there would be complications when the spell
broke,” he sighed. “I'm almost surprised some issue did not arise before now.”
Remus raised a cautious but hopeful look to the man. He had expected to have to
beg for his understanding. “Though I confess I never suspected this particular
scenario,” Albus went on uneasily. “Of course, these impulses are only natural
for a boy his age,” he reasoned, trying perhaps to comfort himself and not
necessarily Remus. “And you are only human, after all, Remus. However, I admit
to finding myself deeply disappointed by this turn of events.”
Albus seemed to be attempting sympathy, but Remus could tell he would not
escape this without a certain measure of condemnation. “I'm returning to
Grimmauld Place,” Remus said, thoroughly defeated. Perhaps the Headmaster could
tell punishment was unnecessary, as Remus was already punishing himself. “I'll
leave tonight. I'm not sure there was much else of real value I could have
taught him anyway.”
“Very well,” Albus acceded sadly.
Remus stood but hesitated to go. He wanted to both proclaim his innocence and
confess his guilt. He wanted to convey the complexity of the situation. He
hated leaving the matter with Albus’ respect for him so obviously damaged. But
there really was nothing to say besides, “I am sorry, Albus.”
“As am I,” the man replied quietly. Remus turned and trudged gravely toward the
still open doorway when Albus spoke again. “Harry. If you would be so kind as
to remain behind, I'd like to have a word with you.” Remus froze.
No.
No, the young man could not be here! He could not have been allowed to witness
Remus’ admission and his disgrace. Shattered, Remus watched Harry pull his
invisibility cloak from his face, and despite the contrition he found there,
Remus was suddenly angered. The boy had no right to see this, nor had he had
any to force its necessity. Deeply hurt, Remus turned away from the young man’s
imploring expression and fled down the stair.
“Harry,” Albus warned sternly. “Harry James Potter, come back here!”
Remus knew the boy followed but didn’t have the strength left in him to stop
and speak with him. He could not discuss what had happened. He was too wretched
to explain himself.
Though he should. Harry would not understand Remus’ shame and might mistake it
for some flaw in himself that lead Remus to reject him. He did not want the
young man to feel the same humiliation Remus had felt when the man who had
taken his virginity turned him from his bed for being an abomination. But Remus
was spent, and he wasn’t certain Harry would accept his explanation anyway.
Harry managed to catch Remus by the arm before he reached the foot of the
stair, however, and turned him to face him whether he could bear it or not.
“Remus, you can't go,” he said plaintively, tears spilling down his cheeks.
“Harry, I will not have this conversation with you,” he barked. But he checked
himself. Harry was clearly hurting as much as he was. Remus could not look at
him, so his eyes anxiously searched the stone walls around them instead, as if
his dignity might be found there. “Maybe...if I was a better man,” he began
helplessly.
“You're the best man I know,” Harry interrupted, his voice small and broken.
The darling, naive child. “It's too late, Harry,” Remus said sadly, fighting
back his own tears as he gently removed Harry's hand from his arm. “The damage
has been done.”
“What damage?” Harry demanded. “I'm old enough to decide. Have decided. And you
aren't my professor.”
“No. I'm your guardian,” Remus sneered bitterly, hating himself.
“Bollocks. Who cares?” Harry spat. As if it were so simple. As if they could
just disregard the context, ignore that Remus was meant to be his protector and
not his violator. Even though Harry did not know about the magic protecting
him, the situation was still clearly inappropriate. “Look, I'm sorry,” he
rushed to continue when Remus began to turn away. “Remus? I'm sorry. I was
wrong,” he said, the grasping desperation in his voice cutting Remus like a
knife to the heart. “Please.” Each pleading word wounded them both further. “I
just...I want…” he stammered as if knowing nothing he could say would sway the
man. “Just stay,”he wept quietly.
“I'm sorry, Harry,” Remus whispered with more aching and regret than the three
fragile words should have been capable of carrying. Turning his back on the
young man then was the single hardest thing Remus had ever done in his life.
The effort required made him physically ill. The boy was in pain, and it was
intolerable. Every cell in Remus’ body screamed at him to turn back, to take
Harry in his arms and comfort him. But somehow Remus managed to resist, to keep
moving forward...away.
“But you said you'd always be here!” Harry shouted tearfully at Remus'
retreating back; a challenge, a reproach, an entreaty. Remus paused, his eyes
falling closed as he accepted just how miserably he’d failed the young man. He
had promised that, had meant it, but it was a promise he could no longer keep.
For Harry’s sake, Remus must make himself a liar, a breaker of oaths. “You
can't make a promise like that and just run away,” the young man spat
accusingly. “You coward!”
No other words could have hurt Remus more. The man glanced over his shoulder,
forcing himself to look at Harry, to take in the every detail of the young
man’s suffering no matter how painful it was to behold. Remus did not deserve
to be spared it. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing he said could
possibly be adequate. Nothing could repair what he had broken. And so in the
end, Remus simply shook his head regretfully and continued on, sending Harry a
silent apology like a prayer, and returned to his rooms to remove himself from
the young man’s life. Possibly forever.
***** Here Lurks No Treason, Here No Envy Swells *****
                                    Severus
 
The Potions Master spent most of his Saturday in the lab, bottling various
potions and starting the processes over again, but he retired to his office
that evening to wait for Harry to arrive for detention. Though all of his
grading was caught up, some of his N.E.W.T. students appreciated being kept
abreast of their standing, and Severus passed the time figuring averages to
hand out on Monday. The work didn’t require any particular concentration, and
Severus found his mind wandering, as it tended to do annoyingly often lately,
back to the Boy Who Lived.
The young man’s most recent detention had been promising. Harry had set a
moderate pace and finished his chore before the time allotted for his
punishment had expired. Pleased, Severus had let him go rather than find him
more cauldrons. It had been encouraging, but Severus noted he still was not
working in the way he was intended. His focus had still been inward, his
thoughts had simply been calmer. If his work remained balanced, however,
Severus would consider broaching the subject of focus and intention. And then
if all went well, his detentions could be reduced and relabeled to twice-weekly
Occlumency. Not any time too soon, however. He hadbroken Draco’s nose, after
all.
Severus sighed. Draco was another matter entirely. Albus was convinced the boy
could be rehabilitated. Severus wanted to believe it was true, but he was not
so certain. And as the boy’s Head of House, he knew him better.  
That particular duty had become blessedly less complicated recently, as
Severus’ most worrisome students were now attending another school. Not that he
didn’t still worry about them, but they were beyond his reach, as really they
had always been if he were honest. He was required to censor himself less, at
least. Draco alone was held over from the lot of Death Eater children. It
served to make him less bold in his prejudices, but it did not cure him of
them. That brand of misbehaviour simply required a certain amount of immediate
cultural support, and the remaining members of Slytherin were more wholesome
and fair-minded. As much as Severus hoped it would have a tempering influence,
Draco was his father’s son. He also did not command the fear and show of
respect he once did among his peers, and he was having years of previous
bullying returned. Rather than learning empathy from his situation, Severus
suspected it was merely making Draco more subtle and spiteful. Severus was
trying to look out for the boy, but children always had a way of doing such
things when and where they would not likely be caught, and he was only one man.
At least Draco was too wrapped up in his own affairs to interfere with Harry’s.
The door to Severus’ office opened with no preceding knock and so could not be
Potter reporting for his detention, though he was due any minute. Loraina
looked more mischievous than usual as she pushed his door closed behind her
with a nudge of her backside. Severus threw her a disgruntled look, realised
he’d stopped working entirely in his reflection, and took up his quill again to
appear busy in the hopes she would grow bored and wander off before Harry
arrived. He still didn’t like the two of them to interact if it could be
avoided. The young man was making progress, but Loraina was not yet safe with
him.
She didn’t look inclined to leave, however, despite his exaggerated display of
distraction; and her Cheshire grin was fitting, as she proceeded to saunter
over to his desk and, like a great, spoiled cat, perch on the edge. He ignored
her, but she was undeterred by his continued scribbling, and Severus barely
saved his quill from being snapped as she lay down across his papers,
preventing him from working and forcing his attention. He scowled at her, but
she simply stretched her arms over her head and smiled up at him.
“Comfortable?” he sighed as he lay his quill to the side, lips pursed and
eyebrow raised. She stuck her tongue between her teeth, seemingly delighted at
his apparent annoyance. She knew as well as he did that he was trying to resist
the urge to reach out and scratch behind her ear.
“Surprisingly,” she purred with an adjusting squirm. He shook his head at her
and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, not nearly as cross as he
should be on hearing his grade book crackle beneath her. She clearly
disapproved of his withdrawal but shrugged it off. “Sev,” she whined. “I’m-”
“Do not tell me,” he interrupted, “that you are bored.”
“Not even if it’s true?” she pouted.
“Well, that’s hardly my fault or responsibility,” he countered with a lazy
shrug. “Do you not have anything to grade? Do you even assign your students
coursework?”
She scoffed. “If I assigned essays, I’d have to read them,” she sniffed.
“You are a professor. It iswhat we do,” he pointed out calmly. “What does your
class consist of?  Besides apparently traumatising your students?”
“I could ask you the same,” she returned with a curl of her lip.  
“Touche,” he acknowledged with a small nod. Her tongue reappeared between her
smiling teeth and Severus smirked down at her, but his fondness was poorly
concealed.
“I prefer more practical, in-class sorts of assignments,” she told him.
“Like Animus Secretum?”
“Like Animus Secretum,” she confirmed.
“You never did explain that, by the way,” he prompted.
She sighed and sat up, ignoring the crumpled parchment she’d recently made a
bed of. Her legs dangled over the edge of his deck and she swung them like a
precocious schoolgirl. “It’s something I learned in Romania,” she shrugged.
“And you feel it’s appropriate to teach to school children?” he challenged
mildly. Severus knew how harrowing her existence had been there, and that
survival often meant the abandonment of more delicate scruples. It made him sad
to know she’d had to live that way, but it also worried him that she was
teaching the methods she’d learned there to her students. He had a feeling her
sense of ethics was shaky at best.
“Everyone who canshould learn a bit of wandless magic.”
Severus unfolded his arms and sat forward. “You taught your students wandless
magic?” he asked, tempted to be impressed. “In a week?”
She gave him a wily smile. “Little Harry taught them to conjure a Patronus,”
she pointed out, feigning insult, “but you don’t think I could manage to teach
them a little wandless spell?” Severus looked at her sceptically until she
finally conceded. “Of course they used their wands, Severus. I’m not a miracle
worker,” she tutted. “But Animus Secretum is a marvellous first step.”
“Yes, but what is it?” he pressed.
“A way to connect with and materialise their inner power. One has to be
acquainted with it in order to make friends enough that it comes when called,
whether you have a wand or not. A healthy exercise, even if they never manage
it. Self-knowledge is essential to reaching one’s potential. Honestly, though,
I just wanted a peek inside of Harry. His potential is the only one which
really matters. And Severus, he has marvellous potential,” she said
breathlessly.
“Loraina, do you not realise how dangerous it is to ask the boy to look
inward?” he scowled critically. She was tough and experienced, and she was
smart, but he wasn’t certain he trusted her judgement in this. They weren’t in
the forest. This battlefield was different. And the most important skirmishes
were being waged within the mind of the boy in question. Did she know him well
enough to care what impact her meddling might have? Did she see him as anything
but a weapon? There was more at stake than winning this war.
“I was careful. Stayed out of sight. I remember what you told me,” she assured
him. “And you’re preparing him, aren’t you? Giving him the tools he needs to
protect himself?”
“I’m trying to,” he sighed, sitting back and absently worrying his lip with his
fingers. He had already been concerned they weren’t making enough progress, and
now Loraina may be forcing them to press even harder. “I’m expecting him,
actually. He should be here by now,” he fretted.
“He’s been scarce today. Apparently, he’s still sulking about last night,” she
informed him in an off-handed way, turning to toy with his inkwell. Severus
gave her a puzzled look. Harry had been so calm yesterday. What had happened
that he should be sulking now? He waited for the woman to explain, but Loraina
was not paying any attention to Severus’ expectant expression. She sniffed his
ink, pulled a face, and returned it to its stand. “Did you know he had an
invisibility cloak?” she asked randomly, as if impressed by the fact. Severus
grumbled.
“Only too well,” he muttered, wondering how the fact was pertinent.
“Even invisible, he’s easy enough to scent, though,” she shrugged. “He does
have a distinctive aroma, doesn’t he?” she said, nose scrunched but smiling as
if remembering the smell. “Wonderfully complex. So innocently sweet yet spiced
with such poignant pain. But you’d know all about it,” she said as if envious.
“Does his perfume still linger on your bedsheets?” She waggled her eyebrows at
him but he ignored her, feeling very uncomfortably that he was missing
something important.
“How did you know he had an invisibility cloak?” he asked warily.
“I follow him around at night when I’m bored,” she admitted. “Which is every
night, honestly.”
“What do you mean?” he scowled. “Where is he at night if not in Gryffindor
Tower?”
“Oh, all over, really,” she shrugged.
“He just wanders about?” he asked, becoming increasingly alarmed.
“Well, he does have a regular destination,” she explained with a sly grin, “or
rather, he did. But sometimes he takes the scenic route back to bed.”
Regular destinations after curfew were rarely a good thing, and her amusement
at this one did not bode well. “Where does he go?” Severus asked uneasily.
“To play with his pet werewolf, of course,” she said matter-of-factly.
“He goes to Lupin’s private quarters?” Severus demanded, his unease turning to
suspicious anger. “After curfew? Every night?”
“Practically.”
Severus’ scowl deepened. “What in bloody hell for?” he snarled.
“He usually smells of tea after,” she told him, unconcerned. Then she narrowed
her eyes teasingly. “But why this affront, my love? One might think you were
jealous.”  
Severus sputtered. “Just because I’ve been made aware of highly inappropriate
behaviour in one of my students does not mean I am jealous,” he argued with a
confusing amount of vehemence. “Why Albus allows him that bloody cloak is
beyond me. He’s proved several times over he’s not responsible enough to use it
properly.”
“Well, he seems to have realised that, as he’s taken it away,” she explained,
fiddling with more of the items on his desk.
Severus was shocked. “Taken it away? How do you know this?”
“I watched it. I suppose it’s to do with all the commotion last night. Which is
why I’m bored,” she explained. “Or I suspect I will be from now on. I’ll need
something else to fill my time if Little Harry starts sitting home now that the
wolf’s gone.”
“What? Gone?” Severus blurted, almost rising to his feet. He’d just bottled the
mongrel’s Wolfbane. What did she mean he was gone? “Loraina,” he said tersely,
“stop playing games and tell me what the hell happened.”  
She paused just long enough to tempt another outburst from him but smiled
before he could lose his patience completely and began her tale. “Well, I can’t
claim to understand it entirely,” she shrugged. “Harry crept off for tea later
than usual last night. And then after just a few minutes he comes running back
out of Lupin’s rooms, exceptionally upset. Collapsed right in the hallway,
bawling all invisibly. Smelleda bit different after, too,” she said, giving
Severus a meaningful look. “Not very, but subtly. Then before you know it, Fido
goes tearing off to the Headmaster. Harry chased after, of course. Not that the
wolf was aware, I don’t think. They weren’t there long,” she continued, leaning
back on the desktop and resting on her elbows. “And then there were weeping and
loud accusations before the werewolf slunk back to his quarters with his tail
between his legs. Dumbledore walked Harry to Gryffindor after that. Took his
cloak at the Portrait Hole. I must say, the boy was a bit...lightly dressed for
the weather,” she said with a quirk of her brow. “Perhaps that was why Lupin
lent him that ratty sweater of his.”
She seemed relaxed but watched him closely after, waiting for his response.
Severus could not immediately give one. He did not understand why she insisted
on being coy about it, as if she didn’t know perfectly well what the chain of
events implied. Severus could only scowl for the longest time. It’s depth,
however, increased with reflection.
How long had this been going on? Should Severus have noticed a change in the
perfume of the boy’s blood? Of course, the mongrel was a poof, but Severus
hadn’t suspected him a paedophile. Severus might not like the bastard, but he
at least thought more of him than that. It still didn’t make sense, though.
Lupin practically worshipped the boy, knew how important his virginity was to
his safety. What’s more, he knew how the spell worked. Allsexual contact was
off limits, not just intercourse. Severus would have to smell the boy himself,
but if Loraina’s insinuations were correct, there hadbeen some sort of contact.
The bloody pervert!Severus saw red, bolted to his feet.
“Going somewhere, my love?” Loraina asked innocently. He threw her a dirty
look. She was mentally and morally unsound, and he tired of her games. He swept
from behind his desk and out his door.
“Why wasn’t I told?” Severus demanded of the Headmaster immediately on letting
himself inside the man’s office without knocking. Albus stood behind his desk
and was startled by Severus’ sudden arrival, but he did not seem particularly
surprised to see him and did not ask what Severus was referring to or how he
knew. “How bad is the damage?” Severus added, making his way closer.
“It isn’t good,” Albus replied, taking a heavy seat. He seemed soul-weary and
disappointed. A  silvery cloak lay in a pile on top of his desk.
“Did you know he was sneaking off to Lupin’s quarters at night?” Severus asked
archly, giving the offending article of clothing a disgusted, sideways glance.
The man did not reply, but the way he sighed and looked away from the fuming
Potions Master hinted that he had. “And you didn’t think some ill might come of
late-night trysts with aknown deviant?” Severus spat, scowling critically.
The Headmaster’s gaze snapped back to his guest and there was a warning in it.
“Severus. You will never express that sentiment in my presence again. Is that
understood?”
“You’re offended by my sentiment when Lupin endangered the future of Mankind?”
Severus shouted, veritably frothing at the mouth. The Headmaster returned his
glare.
“I don’t know how much you think you know, Severus, but I would have expected
you, of all people, to take more care that your understanding was complete
before throwing condemnations,” he said, his voice rising steadily. “It is an
upsetting situation, but the outcome could have been much direr if not for the
moral fortitude of the man you’ve apparently come here to slander.”
“Moral fortitude?” Severus sneered incredulously. “What morality is there in
molesting children?”   
“Severus,” Albus thundered in warning, rising to his feet. It silenced the
Potions Master, but it did not cow him. They both took a moment to rein in
their tempers. “Though he is far too young to engage in such activities with a
man of Remus’ age, Harry is no longer a child,” Albus continued more calmly.
“Which is precisely why the spell no longer protects him. And Remus did not
molest him,” he added peevishly.
“And so what exactly transpired that you had to escort a nothing-but-cardigan-
clad teenager back to his dorm room last night?” Severus challenged. “Did you
search his godfather’sbedroom for the rest of the boy’s clothing before you
showed the criminal off the grounds?”
“Severus, sit down,” Albus demanded, all patience with the man spent, “and
listen, for Merlin’s Sake. It was not Remus’ doing,” he explained, suddenly
uncomfortable. “It was Harry’s.”
Severus blinked at the man, not really absorbing what was being said; but the
surprise did send him plopping almost involuntarily into the chair next to him.
Albus sighed wearily and took his own seat again.
“My understanding of the matter is that he arrived at Remus’ quarters in
lessthan a cardigan but, despite Harry’s determined insistence, was
successfully turned away. I shall know the details shortly,” he added, pulling
a vial from his pocket and setting it on his desk. It was small and contained
the liquid shimmer of a memory. Severus’ anger cooled considerably on seeing
it. If Lupin was willing to allow the Headmaster to view it, it could not be
particularly damning.
“Remus was absolutely devastated by what occurred,” he advised Severus. “He
volunteered to return to Grimmauld Place, I did not drive him off. I actually
fear Harry may be worse without him, despite what happened.” Albus read
Severus’ confusion and elaborated. “Harry had been dispirited and restless, and
rather than have him spend his nights wandering about the castle, growing more
isolated and despondent, Remus had been occupying Harry’s sleepless hours with
tea and sympathy. The development of romantic feelings in the young man was
completely unexpected. Though, Remus is in a complicated and painful place
himself since Sirius’ passing and admits to developing his own unacceptable
attachments, which is why he has removed himself. It is…messy,” the Headmaster
conceded. “But it is not the worst thing that might have happened.”
They brooded silently for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Severus
was still angry, though he wasn’t certain why. It seemed an unexpected but
acceptable explanation, and Severus no longer felt like castrating the bastard.
Indeed, how many could honestly claim to have the willpower to resist the
earnest advances of a half-naked and exceedingly attractive young person? It
wasn’t Lupin he was annoyed with now. That Harry was being allowed to mire
himself in self-pity over the rejection, however, was not acceptable.
It was just what they needed, he thought sardonically: More turmoil in the boy.
As if Occlumency wasn’t difficult enough with what he’d had already. Black
falling through the veil, his cousin’s accident and the loss of his pet owl,
Weasley being kissed, Granger and the boy not speaking, and now this. At this
rate, the young man would never master the skills needed, would never repel the
Dark Lord from his mind, would continue to stumble through his days in
increasing pain and belligerence.
Well, not if Severus could help it. He rose abruptly to his feet.
“Severus,” Albus called after him wearily, “where are you going?”
“To clean up this bloodymess,” Severus hissed over his shoulder. “Per fucking
usual,” he muttered to himself, slamming the Headmaster’s door behind him.
***** A Charm to Calm These Fits *****
Severus was clearly on the warpath as he strode stormily toward Gryffindor
Tower, and students scrambled from his path and scattered in his wake. Neville
Longbottom loitered in the corridor outside the Portrait Hole and, on catching
sight of the Potions Master at the end of the hall, moving swiftly in his
direction, the boy seemed to panic and begin looking for a place to hide.
“Longbottom!” Severus snapped before he could escape. “Where is Potter?”
“In bed,” the boy stammered, backing away. “He’s been there all day.”
“Get him up!” Severus commanded. Longbottom nodded quickly and turned to
scramble ahead of the professor. Severus followed him behind the Portrait
without breaking stride. The boy was much quicker than one might imagine, and
he was whispering hurriedly to a closed set of bed hangings when Severus caught
up with him in one of the topmost dorm rooms.        
Clearly, he was having no luck rousing his roommate, so Severus moved him aside
and yanked Harry’s curtains open himself. The young man scrambled upright in
bed, plainly having been recently asleep. He also had obviously been very
strenuously crying at some point immediately before. Harry's mouth worked,
striving to voice his indignation, but no words would come out. Severus glared,
taking in the state of him. It seemed he had not left his bed since Albus
escorted him here the night before. He was still practically naked save for
what was apparently Lupin’s cardigan, which he was attempting to use to cover
as much of himself as the mousy-brown knit garment would allow.
“Longbottom. Out,” he commanded, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. The other
boy’s frantic footsteps could be heard receding down the stairs. “Did you
assume, because you were feeling sulky today, that it was somehow okay for you
to skip your detention this evening, Mr. Potter?” he asked coolly when they
were alone. Comprehension dawned slowly on the young man’s face, but then Harry
pouted outright. It seemed he’d simply forgotten, but it was no excuse. “Have
you so thoroughly steeped in your self-pity that it has yet to drain from your
ears? Or has it turned what little brains you have to maudlin soup? My meaning
was that you should get the hell out of bed,” Severus growled. He strode to
Harry's trunk and grabbed the first things his hands fell on, throwing them at
the young man. “And for gods' sake, put on some bloody clothes, Potter.” Then
he returned to where Harry was huddled and unceremoniously stripped the
cardigan from his back. He sneered at Harry's resulting cry of anguish but was
not completely heartless, and he tossed the thing back onto the mattress once
Harry was free of it.
The young man squirmed self-consciously as if acutely aware of his nakedness,
and Severus wondered for a moment why he was being so shy --as if there was
anything exposed that Severus hadn’t already seen before-- until he remembered
that Harry’s exhibitionism had been accidental and Severus’ voyeurism not yet
known. Severus’ cheeks coloured but he instantly suppressed the memory and
glared demandingly at Harry, refusing to be affected like last time. Why in
Hell wasn’t he getting dressed? As much as he clearly was bothered by being
naked in front of the man, Harry was simply staring at the items Severus had
provided him as if pained.
The Potions Master hadn’t even really looked at what he’d pulled out, and doing
so now, he suddenly understood Harry’s hesitancy. They weren’t attending a
fashion show, however. “Clothes, Potter. Now,” Severus ordered. Harry didn't
argue. Though, as he reluctantly climbed into his clothes, he almost began
crying again, making Severus uncomfortable.
Severus wasn’t about to give into pity, nevertheless. He suspected that many of
their problems could be avoided if they’d just stop handling the boy so
delicately. Harry required callouses, not cuddles. “Shoes,” Severus demanded
once he was dressed. Harry stuffed his feet into his trainers without socks
and, before his second foot was even properly in, Severus gave him a small
shove in the direction of the door. “Dungeons.”
He directed the young man on ahead of him, nudging him when he seemed to slow
before he realised the reason for it. Severus’ arrival had apparently inspired
a crowd to form in the Common Room. He hadn’t meant to publically humiliate the
boy, simply to get him up and out the door without the chance for argument.
Rather than allow himself to feel bad about it, Severus simply let his
threatening guilt fuel his annoyance.
He led Harry out of the Tower and down the corridors so quickly the young man
had to jog to keep up. In truth, he was trying to pull ahead so he would not
have to see the humiliation on Harry’s face and be tempted to apologise, but
the young man stubbornly kept pace at his side, growing angrier the harder he
had to work to do so.
“That wasn't necessary, you know,” Harry spat sniffily at him after a while.
“I'd forgotten is all! Why do you always have to be so-”
“So what, Harry?” Severus clipped, turning sharply into his offices and
shutting the door once Harry had followed him through. Harry pulled a face as
if it was taking an enormous amount of willpower not to tell the man exactly
what he was thinking. But a purge of the young man’s thoughts might actually be
a good idea. They’d had at each other at Grimmauld Place, and the resulting
calm had vastly improved Harry’s performance. If he wanted to curse at the
Potions Master, he should get it out of his system so he wouldn’t stew,
distracting him from their exercise. “Go on. Tell me how I am,” Severus
challenged calmly. Harry merely ground his teeth and stared at the floor, and
Severus heaved a sigh. “Harry, what have you been doing here these past three
days?”
“Serving detention, Sir,” Harry answered tightly. The boy was simply saying
whatever he thought Severus wanted to hear.
“No,” he scowled. “What have you been doing?”
Harry shifted his weight wearily and blasted out a sigh, rubbing his scowling
forehead. He seemed at a loss and completely fed up with not only Severus but
being awake in general. “Scrubbing cauldrons!” he said.
Now it was Severus' turn to be exasperated. “Yes, but while you scrubbed
cauldrons, What. Were. You. Doing?”
Harry stammered, staring at Severus in confusion. He started to speak then
thought better of it and snapped his mouth closed again. Severus could see the
answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he’d second guessed himself. Harry
shrugged and shook his head. “I was thinking?” he offered finally.
“Exactly, Potter,” Severus replied stiffly. “Which means you were doing it
incorrectly.” Severus turned his back on Harry and strode to the hearth,
tossing a handful of floo powder into it. “Severus Snape’s private quarters,”
he intoned, looking expectantly at Harry who just stood there, lost. “Sometime
today, Potter,” Severus said, gesturing tersely toward the floo. Harry shook
off his confusion and scrambled forward and through the floo. Severus stepped
from his hearth just behind him and noticed Harry staring, wistful and
dejected, through Severus’ open bedroom door; and despite himself, Severus felt
a pang of sympathy.
He’d been where the boy was now. For vastly different reasons, granted, but he
well knew the impulse to sleep through one’s troubles, to forget they existed
and consign oneself to oblivion. Sometimes consciousness seemed too heavy a
weight to bear. Severus knew what it was to be weary of waking.
Harry seemed bashful on realising he'd been caught staring at his recent,
temporary sanctuary, and Severus softened his scowl. “This way, Harry,” he
said, with much less irritation than a moment before, and stepped toward the
lab.
Severus hadn’t really thought through his decision to bring the boy here. He’d
just been possessed of the need to dosomething, and now he was a little
reluctant to invite an outsider into his own sanctuary. Harry was in need of
it, though. Not that he’d likely appreciate the comfort it provided, but the
destination had been instinctual. Besides, Severus would need its calming
effect himself if he was to effectively communicate with the young man. He
walked over to the laboratory door and waved his wand, resulting in a series of
clicks and rattles on the other side.
Severus was a little surprised, and bit gratified, to find Harry seemed to
understand the import of his being allowed into this space. He descended the
stair with Harry following hesitantly. Severus waved his wand again when they
cleared the stair, and a series of torches along the walls flared to life,
reflecting satisfyingly off a multitude of glittering surfaces.
Harry seemed almost awed, and Severus was unexpectedly moved by the way the
young man was suddenly captivated by all the many intricate details of the
room. He allowed Harry to explore within reason; to wander through the space,
turning as he went to try and take it all in. He seemed a bit overwhelmed and
turned to consider Severus with a curious expression.
“If you're quite done sightseeing, we arehere for a purpose, Harry,” Severus
said dryly, though was secretly pleased.
Harry seemed to ignore the comment. “What's that?” he asked impulsively,
bending with unusually keen interest to examine the Hellebore distillation
system. He seemed almost delighted following the syrup’s progression through
it.
“That is not why we are here,” Severus replied. Perhaps he’d take the time to
satisfy the boy’s curiosity some other night. Right now, however, Severus had a
lesson to impart. Harry sighed and pulled his attention away from the purple
product dripping from the contraption and into a flask on the table with
obvious reluctance. For a moment Severus was concerned he’d ask to taste it, he
looked at it so longingly. “You are too easily distracted,” Severus pointed
out. “That, however, is one of the reasons we are here. Sink, Harry,” he
directed calmly, gesturing to it.
Harry was demonstratively disappointed on realising he would still be expected
to scrub things.  He trudged over and waited as Severus extricated a large tub
of dirty, residue-caked equipment from beneath one of his workbenches and set
it next to the sink. Harry reached resignedly for the cleaning tools; but this
time, Severus pushed back his sleeves and joined him, taking up a sponge of his
own. Since Harry held the bottle-brush, Severus handed him something
appropriate to clean with it. Then he selected a dirty item as well, working
side-by-side with Harry for a while without speaking.
As always, the work was soothing. Severus ignored Harry’s curious, sidelong
glances. He meticulously de-gunked one beaker and then another as Harry
watched, distractedly swiping at his own to little real effect.
“Do you know why I like potions, Harry?” Severus asked quietly. Harry had been
so focused on puzzling at the man he seemed startled when he spoke and almost
dropped the vial he was cleaning. Severus' did not let the commotion touch him,
never looked up from his task. “They require attention,” he explained to the
boy calmly. “Some require even constant attention. So much so that one does not
have the luxury of extraneous thoughts. Can you imagine why this appeals to
me?”
Harry did not respond, but he seemed to consider what Severus had just said,
continuing to scrub as he did so, not noticing that his vial was already clean.
“You see, this is exactly your problem,” Severus said with a sigh, taking it
carefully from the young man’s hand and replacing it with another dirty one. He
finally stopped his own cleaning and turned to Harry. The boy appeared
apprehensive, but also surprisingly open. Severus was not certain how much
sense what he was about to say would make to the young man, but he figured all
he could do was try, and if it did not penetrate he’d change tact.  
“There are essentially two kinds of meditation, Harry. Directive and non-
directive. There is the kind where one focuses inwardly and the kind where one
focuses outwardly,” he explained. Harry looked at him as if he were an alien,
but Severus ignored it and pressed on. “What you seem to have been doing, even
accidentally, is the wrong kind. You've focused your physical self on an action
or object allowing your mind to wander. But this is dangerous,” he warned
gently. “While your attention is elsewhere, you're inadvertently making room
for the Dark Lord.” Severus went back to scrubbing as if to demonstrate its
calming effect. “What we want to cultivate is the opposite. It is a Zen concept
called mindfulness in which you do one thing, focusing all your attention on
it.” He paused to let the boy consider the idea. “Harry, what question have I
asked you each night before releasing you?”
“Uh...You asked me if it felt like punishment,” he stammered, processing still,
but Severus could tell he was coming around.
“And each night you answered that, yes, it had felt like punishment. But what I
was trying to offer you, Harry, was an opportunity. Sometimes, the nature of a
thing is dependent on how we perceive it.”
Harry stared at Severus sceptically, vial and brush forgotten. “Don't look at
me like that,” Severus sighed, still not looking at Harry, his scowl and some
of his irritation returning despite his exercise. “I thought Gryffindors were
supposed to be open-minded.” Severus set aside his now-clean flask and turned
to him again. “Try this, Harry,” he said seriously, “Trust me."
He gave Harry a long, pensive look. He knew it was a big request. Severus could
not undo their past, but he needed to find a way to make Harry understand that,
despite it, he was here to help the young man; that he understood Harry’s
struggle and could show him how to fight this particular battle. "You let your
emotions rule you,” he observed. “You let circumstance rob you. You live solely
in the past and the future. And while that is sometimes necessary,” he
conceded, “while the past often deserves the respect of acknowledgement and the
future requires forethought and preparation; if you can learn to be here, in
the present moment, you might not only quiet your demons but also protect
yourself from unwanted intrusion. When you are completely present within
yourself, there is no room for the Dark Lord to enter.”
Severus watched as comprehension lit the young man’s features. “Occlumency,”
Harry said wonderingly. “This...this hasn't been detention. This has been
Occlumency.” That wasn’t entirely true, but was close enough to it. Severus
gave him a wry smile and withdrew to his desk to work on calculations for a
variation on the Substisanguinus formula, leaving Harry to see to the rest of
the tub by himself.
He watched Harry work from the corner of his eye, however. The young man
struggled at first, predictably. Though it was a simple concept, it was not an
easy process. But Harry seemed to be applying himself to it in earnest. In
fact, despite the difficult start, when it finally clicked he lapsed into it so
quickly that Severus rather felt bad that he’d suspected Harry incapable of it.
Severus wasn’t certain if recent events had made the boy more receptive, but he
suspected he’d simply underestimated him. Before he knew it, Harry had cleaned
the entire contents of the tub, stepping back to regard the results with
satisfaction.
“So, Harry,” Severus said, head still bent to his work. “Did this feel like
punishment?”
“No, Professor,” he replied with no hesitation, as if the response surprised
him. Severus lay down his quill and regarded him. The young man standing at
Severus’ sink was not the same one who had trudged reluctantly to it an hour
before. Harry was relaxed andcentredd, visibly more in possession of himself.
Severus was inordinately pleased by the sight. If he was anything like the
Potions Master, the effect would not last particularly long, but it was always
a comfort to know a reprieve was possible, however fleeting.  
“Good,” Severus replied simply, rising from his desk. Then he escorted a far
more docile Harry to the hearth and, from there, sent him directly back to
Gryffindor Tower.
Somehow, he was almost sad to see the boy go. Severus had never entertained
visitors in his rooms before. This was his haven, was where he sought solitude.
He’d noted, however, as he had worked on his formulas, the young man’s presence
hadn’t really intruded on that sense. And strangely, now that he had gone, the
place seemed empty, though it never had before. Severus often felt alone, but
never lonely. Not for quite some time, at least. Severus disliked the feeling,
disliked that the boy had provoked it. But he realized that the feeling wasn’t
new, he’d simply stopped noticing it.  
Severus was a bit disoriented as he made his way back down the stairs. He sat
at his desk and resumed his study, but his work made no progress. He found
himself glancing, far too often, to the sink; confused to notice he almost
missed seeing Harry standing at it.
   
***** Rather Comfort His Distressed Plight *****
Severus was confused.
“Animus Secretum,” he repeated, flourishing his wand. A puff of black smoke, as
if the end of his wand was expelling chimney soot, materialised but almost
instantly dissipated. Frustrated, Severus stalked down the hall to Loraina’s
office. He entered without knocking, as she was wont to do. She glanced up at
him and took up her quill, as he had done to her the day before.
“Why does this not work for me?” he asked peevishly.
“Why does what not work for you, my love?” she sighed disinterestedly without
looking up from her parchment. She was doing an excellent impression of the man
she was speaking to, and Severus narrowed his eyes at her, knowing she was
getting back at him for all the times he’d attempted to brush her off since
she’d arrived.
“This mystery spell you’re teaching my students,” he replied, undeterred. “I’ve
tried it and I can’t get it to work. Why not?”
“You’re anal retentive,” she shrugged, still not looking at him.
“I am not-” he began, but he realised it was a lie even before it cleared his
lips, and his scowl deepened. “What does that have to do with anything?” he
groused. She finally looked up at him, her amusement getting the better of her.
“You’re closed off, Severus,” she said rising from her seat and stepping to the
front of her desk. “If you want the spell to work, you’ll need to...open
yourself.” She gave him an indecent look. “I could help with that, if you’d
like,” she offered, vaguely gesturing to her desktop. The motion of her hand
sent the items on it scooting back as if making room but not enough. It was a
combination of insinuation and showing off her (rather limited) skills without
a wand. Severus raised an eyebrow to communicate he was not overly impressed.  
“Just explain the thing, will you?” he said with a withering sigh.  
She eventually took pity on him and wiped the guile from her expression.
“You’ve had to put up too many walls,” she explained plainly, crossing her arms
and resting back against her desk. “Understandable, of course, considering what
you do. And because of that, perhaps this is not the spell for you. I have no
doubt you’d prove as masterful in this as in everything else you do,” she said
with no hint of sarcasm, “but the spell won’t work unless you dismantle some of
those defenses, and until the fiend is dead, I would not have you weaken
yourself, my love,” she said, sincere concern in her eyes.
Severus puffed out another sigh but nodded his acceptance and walked over to
rest beside her on the desk. “I was merely curious about what you were teaching
Harry. If it’s dangerous to me, don’t you suppose it’s dangerous to him, as
well?” he worried. “After all, I’m trying to foster the same defences in him.”
She shook her head. “He’s different,” she said, grimacing as if she were
struggling to find the words to describe why she thought so. “Your defences
come naturally,” she reasoned aloud, “but the boy wears his heart on his
sleeve, and neither of us is going to manage to overcome that. What I’m
teaching him plays to his strengths. And when the time comes, he’ll need that.
He’ll need to unleash his power without thought or restraint. He’ll need to
access it fully. And since the Dark Lord resides within him, in a way, it isn’t
a matter of slamming doors, is it?”
Severus was not so sure but did not argue. “He’s good at this, then? This thing
you’re having him do?”
“A natural,” she smiled as if his potential thrilled her. “And he doesn’t need
your subtlety,” she pointed out. “You’re closing out the Dark Lord while trying
to make it appear you are not. You are submitting yourself for examination.
Harry has the luxury of unambiguously attempting to expel the bastard. And he’s
powerful enough to do it, I believe. But that’s just the internal battle. He’ll
have to meet him face-to-face eventually. And there is a good chance that when
it happens he’ll not have a wand.”
“You worry he’ll be helpless if he’s disarmed.”
“Oh, he can never be disarmed. That’s the beauty of it.”
Severus’ brow creased with confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked, unnerved by
the width of her answering grin.
“When you told me what he’d done to the Headmaster’s office, it occurred to me
the boy does wandless magic already, which is why we’re learning this spell in
the first place. Harry is capable of so much more than the parlour tricks most
do. The boy commands real power, even without a wand. And that means he has
something else that acts as a conduit for his magic, something even the most
powerful of us do not possess.”
Severus had never considered it before but thought it rather marvellous that
Loraina had, and no doubt she could tell by his expression that he was
impressed. She acknowledged his understanding with a nod and her eyes danced
with conspiratorial delight. “The scar’s the thing, Severus,” she whispered. “I
think,” she added as a disclaimer. “We won’t know for certain until I can work
with him alone, though.”
It was an obvious prompt, and Severus considered her for a moment. He was still
uncomfortable at the thought, in light of the possible consequences. Though
there was no denying that she was mad as a hatter, that didn’t mean she was
daft. He’d underestimated Harry. Perhaps he was underestimating Loraina, as
well. “And you’re sureyou know what you’re doing?” he asked anxiously, as if
for final confirmation before granting her the permission she sought. He
expected excitement, giddy anticipation of his allowance, but she gave him a
sober, scrutinising look instead.
“You have feelings for the boy, don’t you?”
Severus huffed. Just because everyone else seemed to want to bed the young man
didn’t mean he was depraved, as well. Her incessant insinuation was becoming
wearisome, and its timing was disappointing. Severus had better things to do
with his time, and she clearly didn’t take this matter seriously enough. He
threw her an exasperated sneer and started to rise but she halted him.
“No, no. I know I tease, love,” she placated, “but I’m not talking about
snogging. It’s an honest question. He’s more than a student to you, isn’t he?
More, even, than the Chosen One.” Her expression was considerate, though he
still wasn’t certain he trusted her seriousness. He gave her a wary look and
settled back onto the desk but didn’t answer straight away.
Was he supposed to admit such a thing to her? He hadn’t even admitted it to
himself. But he knew it was true. Somewhere along the way, without his quite
noticing, Harry had taken up residence in Severus’ thoughts; and not just the
constant concern of keeping him alive but the young man himself. “Should I not
worry?” Severus asked, almost defensively. “He’s just a boy,” he fretted.
“Now, you know that isn’t really true,” she chided gently. Severus scowled at
her.
“Which part, exactly?” he challenged.
“He’s not just a boy,” she said with a shake of her head. “He’s never been
‘just a boy’, Severus, any more than you were. He may be grappling with
hormones at the moment; none of us can help that, least of all him. Physically,
he’s not fully mature. But you can see in his eyes that he hasn’t been a boy
for quite some time,” she said quietly.
Severus returned her steady stare, and the man shivered. He didn’t like to
agree but could not help but do so. He knew exactly what she was talking about.
Perhaps he hadn’t allowed himself to see it until that night outside the
Hogwarts Express, but there was no doubt the young man had left childish
concerns behind him. He’d sampled them. Severus had watched him. Severus had
been watching Harry since he was eleven years old, and he’d seen him attempt to
embrace youth. But Life refused to let him, and Harry had already consigned
himself that it always would. Perhaps he mourned it, but he no longer aspired
to it, and it was a depressing realisation.
“He’s treatedas a boy, though,” she went on with the same melancholy in her
voice that Severus was feeling, “and I think it confuses him; confuses his
actions, as if he’s torn between how he is and how he thinks he’s expected to
be. The others, they think they don’t, but they treat him like a child. They
shield him in the wrong ways. We have to do better by him, you and I,” she said
as if the two of them were making a pact; as if it was up to them to save
Harry’s soul. Severus was surprised by her determination.
“You don’t just see him as a weapon of revenge?” he asked, slightly sceptical
still.
“I see him as many things,” she shrugged. “That included. It wouldn’t serve any
of us to lose sight of what he’s intended to do. But he isn’t only that. And we
understand him, don’t we? We’re teaching him how to take care of himself in the
ways only we know how. That bunch of Gryffindors waste their time buffing the
rose-tinted glasses they’ve fashioned for him. We’ll help him see things more
clearly.”
Severus was torn. He’d known Harry for years. Loraina had only just met him but
seemed to have far more insight. And not just into Harry but Severus, as well.
Perhaps it was becauseshe was an outsider. Perhaps it gave her the necessary
perspective. Severus had simply been too close for too long.
“Albus and the rest of them,” he told her, almost as if he were at confession,
“they want to throw him in with the other children, to make him pretend that
he’s one of them, that he’s normal . But we all know he’s not. Harry included.
The problem is, they think he wantsto be. They think he’s interested in fitting
in and being liked and all that other rubbish, because that’s what children his
age are meant to want. But I suspect he simply wants some peace, and he’s not
likely to find it with his peers. He wants to quiet the noise in his head, and
I’m trying to give him that,” Severus admitted softly. “He’s actually far more
adept at grounding himself than I expected him to be, and more receptive to my
teaching. He made some very impressive progress just last night.”
“Does that mean I can work with him, then?” she asked, finally betraying the
excitement he’d expected earlier. Severus narrowed his eyes at her, trying to
banish the suspicion that he’d been artfully manipulated somehow.
“You must be careful,” he stressed hesitantly. “I don’t think his power is
inherent. I think a goodly portion has either been left behind by, or else is
syphoned somehow from, the Dark Lord. He will know when the boy accesses it,”
he warned, anxious. “But I also believe he’s too proud to admit it to his
followers. He’ll want to understand it first, or else he’ll seem vulnerable;
and at this stage, appearances are everything. He knows how shaky his footing
is and will not admit any weaknesses. At least, that’s what I suspect,” he
conceded, hoping he wasn’t misreading the situation. The Dark Lord was usually
clever and calculated, but he could be surprisingly impulsive and arbitrary at
times. Severus suspected he was simply mad; genius but barking. “I should be
able to pretend ignorance on the matter, at least for a while; and in the
meantime perhaps we can make enough progress with Harry that it won’t matter
either way.”
“So that’s a yes,” she confirmed, grinning already.
“A tentative one,” he told her. She clapped her hands with a quiet squeal, and
Severus had misgivings. “But give me a few more days with the boy,” he added
quickly. “He’s not quite where I’d like him to be yet.” Her excitement was not
dampened in the least by the condition. “Now, I’ve got to go. I’ve been given
Breakfast duty,” he sighed, rising to his feet. “As if vampires are morning
people. I swear Albus does it on purpose simply to be an arse.”  
Severus left her to celebrate her small victory, still not convinced he was
making the right decision. He couldn’t keep the two apart forever, though. He’d
just have to make sure Harry could handle the ordeal.
The young man in question was sitting at the Gryffindor table alone when
Severus arrived in the Great Hall. He seemed surprised when Severus approached
him, but not unpleasantly so.
“Professor,” Harry greeted politely.
“Potter,” Severus returned, equally civil but eyeing Lupin's cardigan. By the
state of it, the young man appeared to be trying to live in it, and it seemed
an unhealthy thing to allow. Though, Severus knew he had no right to take it
from him. And since the werewolf was absent, if it brought Harry comfort, what
harm was it really doing? Despite the Potions Master’s clear disapproval, Harry
seemed unashamed. He looked as if he were daring the man to comment, but that
would be a battle for another time. “I merely wanted to inform you that you no
longer need to forgo dinner before reporting to my office,” Severus told him
instead.
“We're still doing that, then?” Harry asked, almost to himself. Severus raised
an eyebrow and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Did you assume that one small step had made you a master?” he asked
incredulously. “Oh, of course, you did. I must have forgotten to whom I was
speaking,” Severus muttered, the task ahead of him suddenly daunting. “There is
also the small matter of Mister Malfoy's nose having been broken,” he pointed
out. “I realise you spend an inordinate amount of your time breaking things,
Mister Potter; but that one, at least, I was witness to, and intend to see you
punished for,” he added sternly.
“I thought you said it wasn't detention?” Harry said. It was more curious than
argumentative. Severus had expected far more fuming. The young man usually was
contrary with Severus out of habit, at the very least.  
“I had said that it is up to you whether you perceive it as punishment, but
yes, it is still detention, Harry, and I expect your presence after dinner for
the foreseeable future. Are we clear?” he said firmly.
Harry actually shrugged. “Yeah alright. After dinner,” he said as if they'd
just made plans to meet at the pub. Though it seemed a positive development,
Severus was discomfited by Harry's casual lack of attitude. He couldn’t quite
tell if it was sincere or if Harry was somehow being stealthily cheeky. “Very
well,” he said finally, still vaguely suspicious, before turning to wander on
to the Staff table with a slightly bewildered scowl.
Severus watched the boy closely --and the rest of the Hall, as well, to see if
any of the students were planning to harass him-- but with the exception of
several flirtatious looks from many silly little girls, all of which Harry
ignored completely, breakfast passed without incident. Despite the young man’s
seeming calm that morning, however, Harry turned up at his office for detention
much earlier than expected. Severus thought he could tell he was eager to take
refuge in the work.
He led Harry to the lab, and the young man was unquestionably pleased to
return. His curiosity had not abated but seemed to have mellowed. He watched
quietly but with interest as Severus dismantled the apparatus for Lupin’s
Wolfbane. (The mongrel had better not change his mind at the last minute
because the setup was intricate and assembling it again would be a pain in the
arse.) Harry held the tub as Severus sedately deconstructed the thing, using
the process as a substitute for his usual mindfulness exercise as Harry would
be the one cleaning the pieces.
“So you're done with this experiment, then?” Harry asked finally, taking pieces
of it from him and depositing them carefully in his bucket. Severus could tell
he’d been itching to ask questions since they stepped foot in the room and had
to suppress an approving smile.
“This was not an experiment, Harry,” he answered calmly but distractedly, as he
was still focused on his task. It was good that the young man was engaged,
however, and Severus wanted to encourage more dialogue between them. “It
happened to be something I perfected some time ago, thank you. But seeing as
how we will no longer be requiring Wolfsbane, I can now make additional space
for another project which has proven to be more troublesome than anticipated.”
The production of extra Substisanguinus was turning out to be more complicated
than expected, and Severus had decided to devote the area to the advanced
preparation of those few elements of it with longer shelf lives.
However, Severus was so focused on what he was doing, he failed to consider how
the young man would respond to the information he’d just so casually provided.
“You won't make Wolfsbane for him anymore?” Harry asked, aghast. “What? Why?
Why would you do that?” Harry’s breathing was becoming short. It concerned the
man, but he remained calm, did not want to exacerbate things by reacting too
strongly. “Is it just because he's gone back to Grimmauld Place?” Harry
demanded accusingly.
“Of course you assume I've refused,” Severus grumbled softly with a sigh,
carrying on with his work. “But you have it wrong, Harry. I am perfectly
willing to carry on making the potion. Lupin, it seems, has refused to accept
it,” he explained delicately. “Apparently there's something for which he feels
he needs to atone.” He watched Harry carefully from the corner of his eye. He
didn’t want to fuel the young man’s threatening anxiety, but he thought this
could be a teachable moment. “Foolishness if you ask me,” he muttered
nonchalantly, hoping to defuse Harry’s panic. “But there's no accounting for
Gryffindors. Wolfsbane is a wonderfully complex potion that requires a deft
hand, and with the exception of the Ministry embargo making Glumbumble Treacle
difficult to come by these days, I quite enjoyed the practice.”
Harry looked near to tears, not even noticing when the man finished his task
and turned to regard him. The contents of his tub clinked faintly as Harry
began to tremble. Severus lay a hand on his shoulder, startling Harry into
looking up at him. He took care that the expression the young man met was not
unkind.
"Sink, Harry,” he said quietly. Harry nodded eagerly and turned to it, seeming
almost grateful for the work. He didn't quite manage to focus as well as he had
the night before, but the exercise appeared to help. It was satisfying to
Severus, knowing that he was giving the young man such a valuable tool. It
might not solve all of Harry’s problems, but it should help him, in some small
way, to deal with whatever arose. Though Severus would have liked to have been
at the sink himself, he was not disappointed by the young man’s presence.
Severus quietly led him upstairs afterwards and released him back to Gryffindor
Tower, unable to deny that he almost looked forward to the following evening.
***** Why Makest Thou it So Strange? *****
The next week passed far more agreeably than Severus could ever have possibly
predicted. He’d expected Harry to become increasingly resentful of his
continued punishment, but quite the opposite actually occurred. They’d never
not been at odds before, and it was strange at first. Then it simply became
comfortable, and he and Harry fell almost effortlessly into a routine.
There were no warm greetings at the door but, every evening, once they had
descended into the lab, Harry had new questions for him, and Severus couldn’t
resist indulging the boy’s honest curiosity. At first, their miniature potions
lessons were given and wrapped up before Harry started his exercise, as he
should have silence for it to be most effective. But after a few days of this,
Severus found himself getting carried away in his one-sided discussions of his
work, and at some point Harry would simply begin scrubbing calmly at the sink
while Severus waxed philosophical. He could do so smoothly as he went about his
own tasks, bottling finished product or adjusting settings on his equipment.
The young man couldn’t possibly absorb all Severus was telling him or even
understand much of it; but Harry seemed to enjoy listening regardless, and, to
his surprise, Severus found he enjoyed speaking, as well.
Severus so rarely had the opportunityto speak, at least not at length and not
about anything that he truly took pleasure in. He found it unusually satisfying
to muse aloud on all the delightful intricacies of whichever potion Harry had
quizzed him about that evening. It had been some time since Severus had given
any thought to his love affair with potions; and it was as if, in telling them
to Harry, he was reminding himself of the reasons for it. Through Harry,
Severus was rediscovering a passion that had become somewhat stale in recent
years due to repetition and the tedium of attempting to convey the subtle and
inherent beauty of potion-making to an unappreciative young audience.
Harry could not really appreciate the details Severus provided, either, but he
clearly appreciated Severus’ mastery of them, and Severus appreciated the young
man’s silent acknowledgement of it. Each night their sessions stretched longer
and longer, as neither seemed in any rush to draw them to a close. And in the
hours in between, Severus eventually admitted to himself that he looked forward
to the young man’s company.
But though he admitted it, he was still divided on how he felt about it.
Severus wondered how differently things might have gone in past years if they’d
struck this balance earlier. He found it a pity that old rivalries and
misunderstood magical influence had prevented it until now. He was not meant to
be Harry’s friend, but he could still be his mentor.
The young man clearly needed one. To Severus’ supreme annoyance, Harry still
wore Lupin’s threadbare cardigan, pushing back its sleeves to go about
forgetting the pain that caused it to pass into Harry’s possession in the first
place. If the young man was ever to truly move past the event, he would need to
relinquish it. Severus secretly hoped it would have an unfortunate encounter
with some caustic potions residue, and he had to actively fight the urge to
make such a thing ‘accidentally’ occur.  
Still, despite that constant reminder and the distraction the Potions Master
provided, Harry reached a point in his practice that Severus finally,
reluctantly, gave Loraina permission to meet alone with the boy. When he told
her, she squealed in delight and immediately departed with no mention of what
she planned for them to do or when she planned for them to do it; and so
Severus was surprised (and not a little disappointed) to answer the knock at
his office door one evening and find Loraina there instead of Harry.
She never knocked. It annoyed him that she had for some reason, as if she’d
known he’d think it was Harry and had simply wanted to get under his skin. She
looked smug and content. Severus thought it best not to ask why, or to ask
about the bits of wood and debris clinging to her hair, though no doubt she was
waiting for him to comment on them.
“Well, don’t look so happy to see me,” she teased as she stepped inside without
waiting to be invited.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked tightly, glancing at the clock. “It
isn’t that I’m not always delighted by your company, my love, but I’m expecting
Harry for detention soon.” The hint was not subtle, neither was it meant to be.
“No, you’re not,” she said dismissively, hoisting herself up to sit atop his
desk with no respect for the items that covered it, annoying him further.
“Because he isn’t coming.”  
Severus scowled at her. “Why not?” he asked apprehensively.  
“I’ve just put him to bed, is why,” she said dreamily, swinging her dangling
legs. Severus’ scowl deepened. He didn’t like what she’d said or the way she’d
said it, though he wasn’t sure why it so irritated him beyond the fact that
she’d dismissed his student from detention without consulting him first. She
couldn’t possibly have meant she’d actually entered Gryffindor Tower and tucked
him in.
“Why?” he demanded. “Did something happen? And if so, why was I not informed?”
“Oh, something happened alright,” she muttered distractedly with a lift of her
eyebrows and a mischievous smile. Severus’ scowl intensified to a point it
threatened lasting damage to his features. Loraina didn’t pay it much mind, she
simply began humming to herself as she picked twigs and bits of leaf from her
hair and let them fall unheeded all over Severus’ desk and floor. Severus gave
both her and the litter a look so incendiary it was a miracle they didn’t
spontaneously combust through accidental magic. “Our Little Harry just
displayed some remarkabletalent,” she sighed happily. “I swear, my nethers are
still quivering.”
Severus, who had been standing with his hand still on the knob of his open
door, hoping it would encourage her to pass back through it, now slammed the
thing shut. “Loraina, is your innuendo intentional?” he said, rather
dangerously. “Because it is not appreciated. Why can you never speak plainly?”
She grinned at him, unaffected by his temper except to be amused by it.
“Because there’s no fun in it. Were you this jealous of me when we were
together? It’s rather cute,” she said, poking the tip of her tongue between her
teeth after. Severus felt his hackles rise, but he refused to play into her
hands. They’d had this discussion already many times over. He refused to waste
any more time denying his non-existent attraction to his male, teenaged pupil.
And he wasn’t going to remind her, yet again, that the boy’s virginity was
practically sacred and not to be joked about. The insinuation was infuriating
but addressing it only encouraged her.
“Loraina, where is the boy and why?” he said carefully. She sighed
disappointedly at his self-control.
“I told you, I put him to bed. Don’t know if he’ll stay there,” she shrugged.
“He has been a good boy of late, though. Just venturing out for midnight snacks
in the kitchens now and then.”
“Why the hell is he in bed at seven o’clock?” Severus practically shouted,
reaching the end of his patience. She tutted at him.
“Were you always this humourless?” she said, eyeing him with clear distaste. “I
can’t imagine my falling in love with a boy so stuffy.” He glared at her until
she relented. “You told me I could practice with the boy and so I have,” she
said, exasperated. “He’s spent. Wandless magic takes an enormous amount of
energy. And, Severus,” she said, taking a moment to catch her breath which
seemed to have been stolen by the memory of that afternoon’s events, “you would
not imagine the amount of energy he discharged. Icertainly didn’t, or I’d have
had more on hand than chocolate for after. He worried me for a moment,” she
admitted. “Woke up surprisingly quickly after, though,” she added brightly.
“I’d only made it halfway to the infirmary with him. Decided to simply take him
to Gryffindor Tower instead, as it was closer. He is truly marvellous,” she
finished with a sigh, as if she hadn’t just advised Severus that she’d led
Harry Potter to black out in the forest and then had to rush him toward medical
care. Severus’ mouth had fallen open. He took in the leaves in her hair and the
dirt on her knees.
“You took him to the woods? Alone? To practice wandless magic you knew would be
taxing?” he asked, dumbfounded. It seemed unforgivably irresponsible.
“Well, I couldn’t risk him damaging the castle or drawing attention,” she
shrugged.  “You wouldn’t believe what he did to my cupboard the other day. It’s
not something we can do often, though I am anxious to see it again. It was
breathtaking.”
Severus was too angry to even shout. He walked stiffly back to his desk and
took a heavy seat. “Next time, I willbe present, is that understood?” he said
in a tone that allowed no argument.
“Very well,” she said sulkily. “Though try not to be so grumpy, my love. I know
you worry, but surely you know you can trust me. You know how important the boy
is to me. I would never risk allowing him to come to any actual harm.”
Severus’ mood melted somewhat under her persistent and somewhat theatrical pout
and he puffed out a sigh. “I know,” he admitted grudgingly. He simply disliked
the idea of Harry being in any kind of danger. It was something he’d have to
learn to get over. The boy would be in perpetual danger until the Dark Lord was
vanquished, and the accomplishment of that feat would place him in immediate
peril. The thought made Severus anxious, but he could not banish it. Someday,
no matter how careful they were, Harry would have to face almost certain death.
They were saving him to risk him at the right time. It made the man feel
slightly ill.
“I forgive you,” she said, her mood lifting again. Severus woke from his
thoughts and he raised an eyebrow at her, not remembering having apologised for
anything. “Listen, my love, why don’t you and I go hunt? Hmm? I miss it. When
was the last time you had real, warm, fresh blood? It won’t cause the medicine
to work any less effectively. Might take your mind off of things,” she
proposed. “Nothing for stress like getting lost in the hunt.”
Severus shifted uncomfortably. He had not tasted live prey in years. He had
never particularly enjoyed it. There was the swoon, of course. But the entire
concept disagreed with him, especially since he had an alternative. The hunt
provided some thrill, but that was simply instinct taking hold, cancelling out
reasoned thought. Severus could do that just as well with meditation. He didn’t
need to take life to calm his nerves. He shook his head and her hopeful
expression failed.
“Well, I’m going alone, then,” she said, sliding from his desk and taking the
several papers resting beneath her arse with her, sending them spilling to the
floor. She made no move to clean up the mess, and he knew it was because she
was irritated with his refusal of her invitation. “You’ll have your pet back
tomorrow evening,” she tossed over her shoulder as she passed through the door,
leaving it swinging open behind her. Severus stared after her for a while,
allowing his temper to cool. Then he sighed and rose to close his door. He
picked up his things and reorganised them before retiring to his cot in the lab
where he mulled.
Harry had to be taught, and Severus was not qualified to teach him everything
he’d need to learn. Still, Severus didn’t like any part of this situation. He
never had, really, but before it had just exasperated him. Now, he was
troubled. Now, it was not just Severus’ worry that the young man might find
himself in a situation where he would be unable to fulfil his designated role,
it was distress at the thought of Harry in any kind of jeopardy, physical or
otherwise. It was the thought that he might do his duty and survive but come
out the other side of it as good as dead. Loraina claimed to want to help them
avoid that fate, but Severus was still distrustful. Not of her motivations,
simply of her methods. He felt as if he was the only one who truly understood
the boy and everyone else was causing him harm, however unintentional. But
Severus had other responsibilities. He couldn’t follow him about all the time
as Loraina did. So how was Severus to protect Harry from the good intentions of
others when he saw the young man so seldomly?
Severus then realised, rather bashfully, that he was less upset by Loraina’s
carelessness than he was by the fact that it had deprived Severus of Harry’s
attendance that night. He’d bristled when she’d referred to Harry as Severus’
pet, but was he treating him as one? It was true that having him around had
been unexpectedly pleasant, but Severus’ newly rediscovered loneliness was not
Harry’s responsibility, and Severus would have to eventually release the young
man from nightly detentions.
It was ridiculous, really, that he felt so shaken by the prospect. He was
annoyed at himself that he would actually miss their ritual. He should be
relieved to think he’d be rid of the boy soon. But he wasn’t. In fact, the
anticipation made him anxious. Breaking Draco’s nose merited at least a month
of detention, though. Surely Severus could make peace with things in the next
couple of weeks.
Or perhaps continuing their meetings that long would only make it harder to
relinquish them.
Severus sighed. He felt foolish, mourning already the loss of a couple of hours
in the laboratory each night with a boy whose company he’d only recently forced
himself to learn to tolerate. He wasn’t Severus’ peer, neither was he his
friend. They didn’t share anything besides a vaguely overlapping interest in
potions. They didn’t connect on some fundamental level, did they? Harry was a
student and Severus’ charge, and there was nothing really intimate about their
interactions. It was nothing to turn maudlin over, for Merlin’s Sake.
Still, Harry’s scent now permeated the place. Severus found it was more a
comfort now than the annoyance it had seemed before, less a temptation and more
a gentle reminder of his frequent presence. And though half a dozen projects
bubbled and hissed on the tables around him, the room seemed uncomfortably
quiet; and the hours that passed before Severus finally cajoled sleep to
overtake him seemed egregiously empty.     
***** O, What a Sympathy of Woe is This *****
Severus’ sleep was fitful. He drifted in and out of it, plagued by a sense of
foreboding. When he did sleep, his dreams were strange, though he did not carry
the details into waking. There was only a sense of reaching and desperation.
Urgency and futility. Severus grasped for something just beyond his reach,
something he must but could not have. His last dream was so charged it jolted
him awake. But instead of the low, grey stones of his ceiling, Severus’ eyes
snapped open to see a pale face hovering only inches above his own, and he
gasped.    
“Hello, my love.”
“Loraina!” Severus sputtered, struggling to scramble upright and away from her
but too disoriented to manage it at first. “What in the name of Hermes
Trismegistus are you doing here?!” he spat angrily. He wondered just how long
she’d been there. Walking into his office unannounced was one thing, but this
crossed a line Severus could not allow.
She seemed unconcerned beyond her impatience with his groggy but disapproving
glare, and she took a seat on his cot in the space recently vacated by his
feet, speaking rapidly to him before he was even properly awake. “Well, I just
came back from the hunt,” she explained, leaning in confidentially despite that
they were the only two present. “Didn’t even have to leave the grounds,
actually. Badger got caught on this side of the wards. But that’s neither here
nor there,” she added, waving a hand as if to shoo off her own irrelevance.
“Thing is, I just made it back to the Castle and smelled something intriguing
in the corridor I thought you’d like to know about. You’re always chastising me
for teasing you with information, so I came straight here to fetch you.”
Severus was coming around, but sleep still stubbornly clung to him, and what
she’d said was penetrating the fog only slowly. “Why? Is it serious? What do
you mean you smelled something?” he scowled, scrubbing his hands over his face
to rid him of the last of his cobwebs.
“Come with me,” she said urgently, rising smoothly from the cot and striding
toward the stairwell. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Severus. You don’t need your
robes,” she tutted when she glanced back to see that he followed. “You aren’t
naked. Just come on before it dissipates!”
Grumbling, Severus tossed the garment aside and rushed to follow, feeling
undressed in just his shirtsleeves. When they reached the sitting room, she
didn’t move toward the floo. Instead, she slipped quickly through his front
door and the two of them sprinted through the dungeons at preternatural speed.
Severus was more than awake now. He felt his senses sharpen in a way they
hadn’t in years. It felt like a hunt. No doubt she’d led him this way in order
to trigger the sense, but he was so out of practice using his vampiric powers
that the flood of sensory information he was receiving served only to muddle
him.
“Here. You smell it?” she hissed as soon as they emerged from the dungeons.
Severus didn’t, though he tried. They stalked the corridor, sniffing, but
besides being overwhelming, none of the scents were especially new, and Severus
was becoming frustrated.  
“Loraina, why don’t you just tell me-”
“This way!” she said, setting off like a bloodhound with Severus following
behind like an untrained puppy. The scent she followed, however, grew more
distinct as they travelled, and he took up the thread himself, soon almost
outpacing her. Severus felt his heart sink steadily as they chased it to a wall
hanging not far from Lupin’s old quarters, where they slowed, considering the
thing with trepidation. There was no murky funk of wolf-fur here, though what
Severus smelled was just as familiar and stomach churning.  
“No,” he whispered to himself, reaching almost reluctantly to draw the curtain
aside and step into the small hidden space behind it. His senses were still
heightened and woven between layers of lust, old and new, was the distinct
scent he’d mused over in his laboratory earlier that evening. “No,” he
repeated, increasingly horrified.
“Yes,” she said, stepping in behind him and examining the alcove with a small,
amused smile. “Little Harry is coming out of his shell and cashing in those
good looks of his, finally.” She seemed almost approving, and Severus wanted to
shake her. Did she not understand what a disaster this was?   
“I have to speak to the Headmaster,” he muttered, staring at the small, semi-
circular couch and trying very hard not to imagine what had recently happened
there. Mostly, he simply needed to leave the place. He was inundated by scents
and confused by the emotions they inspired. It had been so long since he’d
smelled any of them personally that they seemed almost alien. And beneath a
mild and unwelcome arousal was a baffling sense of betrayal.  
“Cosy place, this,” Loraina commented, much more at ease. “Just dripping with
sex. Breathe that in, my love,” she purred, doing so herself. Her pupils were
so large they pushed the pale blue of her irises to an almost invisible border
around them. Severus had no doubt his looked much the same. She turned them to
Severus and her every gesture was predatory.
“Loraina,” Severus objected, taking a small, unsteady step back from her only
to collide with the cushioned sofa.
“It’s done, my love. He won’t be injuring things further tonight. There’s no
rush,” she said softly, somehow closer without seeming to have moved. “This
place is just perfect for a tumble.” Severus shook his head, unable to answer,
and she pouted. “Why won’t you play with me, Severus?” she said almost
whingingly. “A bit of a snog doesn’t mean we’re engaged,” she reasoned, running
a hand lightly down his shirtsleeve, which gleamed an uncustomary white in the
shadowed recess.  
Severus took her carefully by the wrist and gently removed her touch from his
arm. “Loraina, I can’t,” he said, but with difficulty. It was not lost on him
that the last time he’d known the scents they steeped in was with her. And
though he’d succeeded in keeping them at bay all term, he was overwhelmed now
with sudden memories of his one-time need for her; and his grief when he’d had
to relinquish it.  
“Why not?” she argued gently. She didn’t reach to touch him again, but she did
not surrender any space.
“We aren’t…” he began feebly, pulling his gaze reluctantly from the curve of
her breast beneath her blouse and banishing the tingle in his palm as it
remembered the feel of it. He had to remind himself to breathe.   
“I know we aren’t, love,” she whispered cajolingly. “It’s just fun. Casual,”
she shrugged, slinking closer. But he shook his head at her sadly. He hadn’t
been a sexual being in a long time, and the prospect seemed more intimidating
than exciting. Besides, he could not afford this. She was a tempting poison,
like the syrup of hellebore that Harry had looked so longingly at in the lab
that first night. He dared not even taste it lest he succumb completely and to
his unquestionable ruin. When she realised he would not be swayed, her
seduction faltered and she considered him with a mournful fondness. “Of
course,” she whispered with a sad smile. “You don’t go in for casual, do you?
You have always been all or nothing. And you want nothing of me.” She stopped
trying to block his escape and dropped to a seat on the couch with a sigh.
Seeing her slumped dejectedly on the couch, Severus’ arousal abruptly died and
the scents around him turned suddenly to stink. He’d known, the instant Albus
had told him that he was bringing her to Hogwarts, that this moment was
inevitable. It seemed cruel, forcing them to grieve once more for what had been
and could never be again. For all her flirting, they both knew she didn’t go in
for casual, either. Especially not when it came to Severus. She simply was
hoping to take what she could get, and Severus had nothing to offer her. “I’m
sorry,” he said softly, taking a tentative step toward the curtain.
“Are you?” It had been spoken softly, but there was no mistaking the bitterness
in her voice. She did not expect a response. She looked away from him as if to
ask what was taking him so long to leave.
Severus only just resisted the urge to reach for her before he practically
stumbled from the alcove. The curtain smothered the intoxicating reek from
within and the air of the corridor seemed comparatively crisp and sweet.
Severus’ head cleared and the import of the situation returned to him. He
glanced back at the alcove only briefly before turning toward the Headmaster’s
office and setting off as quickly as his wounded heart would allow.  
He roused Albus more easily and respectfully than Loraina had done to him
before. The man admitted the grave Potions Master to his rooms without
question, gesturing to a chair which Severus refused, preferring to pace.
“Albus, we have a problem,” he advised apologetically. “Taking away his cloak
did not stop him from roaming, and his new destination is more dangerous than
the last.”
The Headmaster sighed and took the seat he’d offered Severus. “What have you
seen?” he asked as if dreading the answer.
“Seen? Nothing,” Severus said. “Smelled?” he amended with a meaningful lift of
his eyebrows.
Albus was clearly less than pleased and beyond weary. “Perhaps we should set a
watch on the Tower,” he proposed, more to himself than to his guest. Severus
stopped pacing and stared at him.
“Perhaps we should simply tellthe boy,” he said. They’d had this conversation
just that Summer before Harry had arrived at Grimmauld Place; and at the time,
Severus had argued against telling the young man about the chastity spell that
had been cast on him, thinking he may rebel in disastrous fashion. Severus had
been overruled then, but the events in Surrey had postponed the revelation and
forced them to reevaluate.   
Albus shook his head immediately at the suggestion. “You told me yourself he’s
unstable,” he pointed out. “Do you imagine this information will steady him? Or
rather send him spiralling even further beyond our reach? I fear the incident
with Remus has already tipped the balance too far out of our favour.”
“I’ve been working with him,” Severus countered. “He’s always been
unpredictable, but that does not mean we can avoid telling him these things
forever. Besides, he’s made fine progress in grounding himself. Perhaps if we
can monitor him closely enough afterwards…” He trailed off as the depth of
their difficulty dawned on him. Harry had taken to Severus’ exercises with
vigour, but that very enthusiasm betrayed the volatility of his emotional state
and so his susceptibility to the Dark Lord’s intrusion.  
“Is he still wearing Remus’ sweater?” Albus asked significantly. The two stared
at each other in tense silence for a prolonged moment before Severus puffed out
a sigh. It would not be pretty, but they would handle the fallout, regardless.
They had no choice.
“He’s sensitive at the moment, granted,” Severus argued, becoming more agitated
at the complexity of the situation but also more determined to overcome it,
“but I don’t see how this information would be that unsettling. So he can’t
snog his boyfriend behind a curtain in the East corridor anymore! What exactly
is there to be upset about?” he grumbled, pacing again.
“The impact of the glamour we cast is far further reaching than that, Severus.”
“How much further?” Severus demanded as if he doubted it was truly relevant.
Albus, however, was suddenly solemn; enough so that Severus’ pacing slowed to
an apprehensive halt. “We didn’t really know until Remus went to Surrey to
collect Harry’s things,” the Headmaster confessed. Severus was confused and
took a cautious seat in the chair across from the man. Albus looked guilt-
ridden, and it did not bode well. “Harry was not well treated by his relatives,
Severus,” he began reluctantly. “In fact, he was blatantly mistreated. I’m not
sure we’ll ever know the extent of it, but it was most likely a result of the
strength of the spell we cast before we left him in their care. These are
people who had never been exposed to any sort of magical influence,” he
explained. “We are more sensitive to magical effects in some ways, better able
to recognize the presence of it, but in others we are inured. I know we all
felt the potency of the chastity spell at the time it was cast, but we did not
appreciate its effects on Muggles. The spell made Harry repellant to them, and
his family was never able to bond with him; or so I suspect. Harry is free of
them now, but I am concerned about the impact the truth will have on him, once
he realizes our responsibility in the unpleasantness of his life before
Hogwarts. It will hardly foster trust.”
Severus remembered hearing that Harry’s life with his adoptive family was less
than rosy but hadn’t given it much thought at the time. He did so now, and his
stomach soured. He could not help but recall his own childhood. Though, surely
the young man had not faced anything approaching Severus’ experience. “Many
children are raised by those who do not love them, Albus,” he contended. “If he
can be made to understand it was for his own safety,” he began, but a look from
Albus withered the rest of his argument on his tongue. It had been half-
hearted, anyway. “If he continues on this path,” Severus warned instead, “one
of the last remaining safeguards we placed will fail and Harry will be more
vulnerable than ever to the Dark Lord.”
“Let me consider the matter,” Albus hedged. “It isn’t as if he’s going to lose
his virginity tomorrow. This is all new to him,” he shrugged. Severus was left
at a loss by the man’s nonchalance toward the matter. As hawkishly as he’d
guarded Harry’s purity all this time, he now seemed more concerned with staying
in the young man’s good graces than with ensuring Harry’s armour remained in
place.  
“It was far more than a kiss, Albus,” Severus advised. The Headmaster shifted
uncomfortably but did not respond. If telling the boy the truth was not an
option, there had to be something else they could do. “I’ll just seal up the
niche they use,” Severus proposed. He looked forward to it, in fact. Forget
magic. He may close it with brick and mortar.
“Then they would merely find somewhere else, Severus. You know this,” Albus
replied wearily. “I learned long ago we will never prevent adolescents from
being adolescents. Besides, it’s part of growing up. Better they do what they
do where we know where they are.”
“Well, he still attends detention,” Severus pointed out, more perturbed than
comforted to realise he now knew where Harry was ‘growing up’. “I’ll simply
keep him occupied for as long as possible tomorrow night,” he grumbled.
Anything to keep Harry out of that blasted alcove. The thought of him there
made Severus angrier each time he thought of it.    
“I’m in agreement that we mustprevent him from risking the magic in place, but,
Severus, we cannot punish him for his impulses.”
“I’m not,” Severus said as if offended by the insinuation. “I’m punishing him
for breaking Draco’s nose. He hasn’t been made to properly rue it, yet.”
Though, Severus would see to it he did.   
Albus did not fight him further on the matter. “Very well,” he acceded. “I know
Rainey keeps an eye on him. Have her continue to do so,” he said, rising to his
feet to indicate their meeting was over.
Severus left the old man to his remaining rest and returned to his quarters. He
did not know where Loraina was but thought it best to give her her space. He
could always speak with her later. But Severus knew he would sleep no more that
night. He paced the lab, instead, replaying his conversation with the
Headmaster in his mind and growing increasingly agitated by what he’d learned
until he finally stomped back up the stair and snatched up his floo powder.
       
Lupin was not difficult to rouse at Grimmauld Place. Though he obviously hadn't
been sleeping, he seemed less than happy about being dragged out of bed. His
eyes were bloodshot and shadowed by dark circles beneath. His sandy waves were
dishevelled by more than failed slumber. He looked like Hell, frankly. Severus
wondered if it was due more to the situation with Harry or with the imminent
Full moon. “Severus?” he asked apprehensively. “It’s 2 o’clock in the morning,”
he pointed out, as if to say Harry had better be dying or else he would be
severely put out by the summons.  
Severus wished the hearth was connected for more than just communication. He
didn’t like having this conversation this way and would have preferred to step
into the sitting room with the werewolf; which had to be a first. “Albus says
the Muggles mistreated the boy,” he finally began almost accusingly. “Did you
know about this?”
Lupin’s scowl eased and he looked hangdog and exhausted. “Not at the time, no,”
he confessed softly. “Well. We rather recently found out they were unpleasant
and prejudiced against our kind, and we made it known at the beginning of last
Summer, in no uncertain terms, that they were to continue their abuse at their
own peril. But we had no idea it was as severe as it was or that it had gone on
for so long.”
“Well when, exactly,were you made aware?” Severus asked scathingly.
Remus took no affront at Severus’ tone, but he did become instantly more
morose. “When I went to Surrey on his birthday. Harry’s uncle was burning his
trunk when we arrived, ranting about how he should never have let the boy out
of the cupboard.” Lupin sighed and took a seat on the couch before the hearth.
“Apparently, they’d had him living in a cupboard under the stairs,” he said as
if the memory of the discovery made him ache. “For years, Severus. There was a
lock on the outside. I saw it with my own eyes,” he said, looking close to
tears. “And it wasn’t that they didn’t have the room. Until Harry was twelve,
the extra bedroom upstairs was used to store his cousin’s additional
belongings, as he had so many they would not all fit in his own bedroom,” he
sneered, disgusted. “And Harry had nothing. They didn’t even buy him clothes,”
he told Severus, his expression seeming to ask how such monsters could even
exist. “They forced him to wear the hand-me-downs of a boy almost twice his
size and much better fed. He was treated no better than a house elf at Malfoy
Manor,” he finished, laying his head in his hands.
Severus found he could not respond for quite some time while he attempted to
process this. He’d never suspected. Harry had given them no reason to. They
both seemed to take a moment to reflect on the fact that their shining young
hero of the Quidditch pitch, who was so often spied joking with his classmates
at the Gryffindor table during meals or happily gallivanting through Hogsmeade,
had spent most of his life in baggy rags, locked in a cupboard, and treated as
an abomination.
“And then he was later blithely informed that the fate of the world rested on
his shoulders,” Severus muttered ruefully. Albus was right. Telling the boy of
the circumstances surrounding his upbringing could prove disastrous. “If I were
him, I might have been inclined to let the world burn.”
“Me, as well,” Lupin agreed. “That’s why he’s better than we are,” he added
quietly. Severus met the man’s sad stare and felt he really must concede the
fact. His own childhood had ruined him, made him too distrustful of others to
form any significant friendships at school; had inspired a deep bitterness that
showed in his every interaction and fueled the taunting he’d experienced from
others. Even when the occasional classmate had reached out or tried to befriend
him, Severus had rejected them, questioning their motives. Loraina had been the
sole exception, and that was simply because she had refused to be denied. It
seemed a miracle Harry’s spirit had survived well enough to allow for the
openness he exhibited. The most cynical parts of Severus muttered that this
made the boy a fool, given his prior experience of the world; as if Harry never
learned from the past. But no one could deny he was better for it, seemingly
unwise or not. Otherwise, Severus would never have bridged their divide as well
as he’d been able thus far. By all accounts, the young man had very little
reason to trust him, and the fact that he now appeared to was almost
disquieting. Severus could only hope Harry’s forgiving nature would not extend
to those who truly wished him harm.      
Severus couldn’t stop contemplating the Dursleys’ actions, comparing and
contrasting the young man’s experiences at home with the ever unfolding events
at school, and thinking of how the burden of one must have chased Harry into
the other. His relatives’ household had been meant to be a sanctuary for Harry
against the pressures of being the chosen one, but it had been anything but.
"Tell me where the bastards live,” Severus growled, suddenly angry. “I'm going
to go murder them."
“Severus,” Lupin sighed, “they’ve just lost their son.”
“Serves them bloody right!” Severus spat.
“Severus,” Lupin admonished with a disapproving scowl.
“They’ve no business with children, theirs or otherwise,” Severus insisted.
“The glamour-”
“Is no excuse!”
“You’ve never treated him much better,” Lupin pointed out quietly. Severus’
temper was instantaneously doused by guilt. He was sharply reminded of his own
harsh treatment of the young man in the past and felt mildly ill to think he
could be lumped in with such arseholes in Harry’s understanding. Of course, it
was this, as much as what Harry’s relatives had done, that fueled Severus’ ire
for them, he realised. He didn’t like the recognition. His new obsession with
Harry’s well-being made his own culpability unbearable. His anger flared back
to life with a vengeance and Severus glared at Lupin. The man simply returned
it with mild but unyielding accusation. But Severus had nothing to say in his
own defence, and so he abruptly withdrew from the hearth and stormed back to
his lab. He was too heartsore to pace, though, and he threw himself back down
on his cot where he brooded.
For the first time in his life, Severus carefully considered Harry as 'The
Chosen One'. Not as the spoiled, celebrity spawn of his arch-nemesis who made
Severus’ life as a double agent perpetually difficult, but as the boy who had
been labeled, without his knowledge or consent, as the saviour of the world and
then smothered in magics to preserve him for the moment he would risk his life
for all of them. Severus considered the sacrifices Harry had made already and
those he would be asked to make in future. And for what? The young man owed
them nothing.
Because of them (or perhaps more accurately, because of Severus) he grew up
unloved and tormented. Even in his own interminable hell under the threat of
his father’s frequent wrath, Severus had had his mother. Their moments together
had been stolen and rushed, had been too short and too uneasy, but Severus
had indeed known love. He had been shown kindness, however seldom.
Had Harry? Or had he languished in his cupboard as a child, truly believing he
was the affront to nature his family considered him to be? Severus knew what it
was to be hated for having magical blood. The elder Snape had attempted to beat
it out of him for years; and when he found he couldn’t, he’d beaten Severus’
mother for burdening him with a freak of a son. And Severus had been powerless
to protect either of them, though it had never stopped him trying. Severus was
well acquainted with locked doors, as well. He had spent many hours behind his
own as a boy. His locks, however, had always been thrown to keep his father
out, not to keep Severus in. Had Harry felt the same sense of sanctuary behind
his door or had it simply been a prison?
Harry’s constant defiance was cast in clearer perspective suddenly. Severus
recognised it now. It was not the pouting objections of a pampered boy. It was
the ingrained, reflexive defence of one accustomed to chronic battle with
authority and his surroundings. Severus had never before considered the two of
them kindred spirits in any way. The young man was handsome and relatively
popular. He had means and friends, was athletic rather than cerebral. He was
actively social. But there was a reason the others misunderstood his needs.
There was a reason Severus alone was so adept at intuiting them. No one else
they knew had come from what they two had come from. And Severus almost could
not bear this sudden sympathy.
Of course Harry had become attached to Lupin. Of course he even grasped at the
paltry comfort Severus himself offered. He had to be absolutely starved for it,
especially after Granger’s estrangement. It was simply a shame that the
addition of pubescent hormones had ruined his relationship with the werewolf.
Severus wasn’t sure he could show Harry anything approaching the same level of
affection. Neither did he feel inclined to try. And so Harry was seeking it
elsewhere, Severus thought darkly. In shadowed cubbies with random boys.
Gods. Why did he have to be gay? The rules were all different. Severus knew
only too well the kind of ridicule such a thing would open him to, founded or
not. It would only result in more stress, more secrets.
More abuse. All for a moment of intimacy, one which Harry deserved.
And one which they would eventually have to tell him was not allowed.
Still, though it was deserved, the thought of Harry in the alcove made Severus’
blood boil. He was inordinately bothered by it. Despite himself, he could not
stop picturing Harry there, wrapped in some other boy’s arms; and Severus felt
his fangs extend, he was so murderous at the idea. There was too much at stake!
Severus had spent miserable decades actively working against the monster they
were told only Harry could defeat.
His situation was heartbreaking, and the injustice was maddening, but Harry
could notbe allowed to visit the alcove again. Even if Severus had to see to it
personally.
 
   
***** I Am Surprised with an Uncouth Fear *****
Loraina was nowhere to be found the next day. Being a Sunday, he couldn’t even
corner her in her classroom. He understood her scarcity. He only hoped her
obsession with Harry persisted without Severus having to ask it to on the
Headmaster’s behalf. It was inconvenient, but it was the least of his
annoyances.
Severus didn’t care for the tenderness that had woken in him the night before.
It was uncomfortable and unfamiliar. He much preferred the vexation he felt
when considering the possibility that years of planning and preparation might
be wasted for a quickie in the East Corridor; something the boy would, no
doubt, ultimately regret anyway. Severus spent the entire day nursing this
irritation until, by the time Harry arrived for detention, he was properly
cross.
He answered Harry’s knock so quickly the young man’s hand was still raised when
Severus jerked open the door. He could smell the new contrast in Harry’s blood
instantly. As discouraging as that was in context, the worst part was the fact
that the nuance made Severus’ mouth water. Harry stood rigid and uncomfortable
as the Potions Master leaned in to analyse it further.  
“What?” Harry asked annoyedly, but Severus only snorted to expel the scent from
his nostrils and stepped aside to allow him entrance. Harry gave him a
disgruntled sideways glance as he passed but didn't comment.
Severus followed Harry to the lab filled with fresh conflict. With few
exceptions, virgins were a boring bunch; they tended to be unadulterated in
more ways than one and so smelled sickly sweet. But Harry’s life force was
complex. His sixteen years had already been as eventful as some people’s whole
lives and this had always salted the syrup of his blood. Now it possessed yet
another dimension. Bloody hell, Severus had only justbecome accustomed to the
siren call of it, and now it simply sang louder! Not only that, but Severus
would have to be locked in close quarters with it for the next few hours. It
was a test of endurance he did not look forward to.
Severus set Harry's tub of washing down by the sink with a thump. Though it was
already twice as full as usual, since he'd missed the previous day's detention,
it didn’t seem like nearly enough to keep the young man occupied until his
lover gave up on him and wandered off; so Severus flooed to his classroom and
collected the most grime-filled cauldrons he could find.
When he saw them, Harry ran a hand over his face and groaned. “Have I done
something to piss you off?”
Severus would have enjoyed nothing more than to enumerate Harry’s many sins
but, since he could not, he simply reflected the young man’s peevishness back
at him. “I don't know, Harry. Would you like to tell me just what you've been
doing lately? I'm sure I can find something to disapprove of.” Then he swept
past the young man and stationed himself at his work table to bottle the new
batch of Substisanguinus. Tonight, more than most, he needed to work.
Harry scowled at him for a long moment, and Severus almost hoped he’d comment.
A tongue-lashing was building that begged an excuse to escape. But in the end,
Harry simply turned to his tub, snatching up his tools and attacking a cauldron
with them.
It was rubbish as meditation went, and Severus was tempted to scold him, but it
was more than adequate as both punishment and delay. Severus elected to ignore
the blatant disregard of purpose and went about funnelling doses into phials.
Though the exercise should have been soothing, he found he begrudged the
medicine for the first time in ages. What his body really craved (and craved
urgently) was scrubbing cauldrons across the room from him; and faced with that
temptation, his precious potion seemed a grossly inadequate substitute. Perhaps
if Loraina invited him to hunt again later, he’d take her up on her offer.
Harry’s proximity was awakening a long-dormant appetite. Severus focused on his
task, falling finally into a precarious rhythm, trying not to reflect on how
like blood the concoction looked, even though the air was almost thick enough
with Harry’s scent to drink.    
“So which potion is that, then?”
Severus’ hand faltered, but he managed not to spill. Though it had lacked any
animosity, questions were usually consigned to the beginning of detention, and
Severus was disconcerted by the unexpected interruption of his already tenuous
concentration. “None of your business,” he replied curtly, not bothering to
look away from his work to indicate Harry shouldn’t either.
“It's the one you make for Cobbleshot, isn't it?”
It wasn’t a question. Severus snapped a narrowed gaze at the young man. Harry’s
expression was guileless as he brushed out a flask, but they both knew the
comment wasn’t innocent. “What's it called?” he persisted mildly. As if he
hadn’t already worked it out. The pretence chafed Severus’ already worn nerves.
“What part of none of your bloody business didn't you understand, Potter?”
Severus replied acidly. The cat was out of the bag, so there was no sense in
trying to hide the concoction, but he had no intention of discussing the
matter, either. He held the phial he worked on to the light to measure the dose
before stoppering it. Severus filled two more phials in short order, and Harry,
though he still swiped distractedly at the beaker in his hand, watched Severus’
every move.
“You aren't working properly, by the way,” the man scolded.
Instead of taking the hint and resuming his chore, though, Harry stopped
working altogether. His sigh was so disproportionately weary for someone of his
age, the sound of it stilled Severus’ hand and he felt his irritation soften
around the edges.
It wasn’t Harry’s doing, after all. Not directly. The young man wasn’t to know,
yet, what he’d done to elicit it. Harry was simply stumbling through the
obstacle course that was his life, doing the best he could, grasping happiness
where he could find it. Of course, the thought of Harry grasping things in the
alcove kept Severus from softening completely. Harry’s dejection was transient,
though. After a moment, he took up his tools again. His pace was measured, and
Severus assumed he was finally working as intended. In fact, the Potions Master
felt a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing he’d given Harry that gift, in
thinking Harry understood its value.  
“Hermione and I had another fight today,” Harry said then, just as if Severus
had asked.
Severus huffed. So much for appreciating gifts. Disgruntled, Severus turned
back to his own work without answer, but Harry continued despite the snub. “It
just really sucks, because we'd only made up last night. And it really felt
like we were okay again, y'know? But then we were at each other's throats again
this morning.”
“Mr. Potter,” Severus sighed, laying aside his tools. Would he really have to
explain that counselling was not his forte? Merlin’s sake, that’s what the
bloody meditation was for. He hesitated in saying so, though. Severus couldn’t
possibly be Harry’s desired confidant, and if the young man was desperate
enough for discourse that he would seek it from his Potions Master, Severus
really saw no other option but to entertain him. “Again?” he answered
uncomfortably. “I wasn't aware you'd been quarrelling,” he added, taking up his
ladle once more. Severus was clearly not adept at casual conversation, but
Harry needed no other encouragement.
“Oh yeah,” Harry said with a wry grin as he chose a new flask to clean. “Ever
since I caught her about to snog Draco Malfoy, we haven't gotten on well at
all.”
The comment had been delivered so nonchalantly, but Severus’ heart stuttered in
his chest, and he spilled some of the potion he was funnelling into his phial
as his eyes cut to Harry. “Say that again,” he demanded. Surely he hadn’t heard
what he thought he’d just heard.
“Draco and Hermione,” Harry confirmed, and Severus’ stuttering heart began a
slow but nauseating descent into the pit of his stomach. “They're dating. Or
something. Haven't you seen them in the Great Hall?”
Draco and Hermione. They’re dating.
The words seemed to hang in the air, like physical things that lowered at him,
and Severus found he couldn’t immediately make rational sense of them. “No. I
haven't been on duty for some time,” Severus answered distractedly. “I've had
other obligations.”
Though he knew. Even if his mind wanted so desperately to reject its import,
Severus knew what this news meant. Try as he might, he could think of no
innocent motivation for this turn of events. Draco might have been toeing the
line recently, but a few weeks as the Slytherin House underdog could not
possibly cure him of his prejudices. And his prejudice against the Granger girl
was practically fathomless. Severus wracked his brain. He’d neglected Draco
lately due to his preoccupation with Harry. Had he really not seen those two
together? Had he missed some other blatant warning?
“Hey. You okay?” Harry asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
Severus woke from his thoughts and stared at the young man as time gradually
began moving at a regular pace again, as the urgency of the situation stirred
Severus’ blood. “How long?” he demanded, startling Harry with his sudden
intensity.
“Officially?” Harry said, resting his hip against the sink and crossing his
arms while he considered, as if immune to the pressing nature of the inquiry.
“Little over a week? But apparently, they'd been working up to it since term
started,” he added, distaste thick in his voice.
Since term started. That was important. Severus didn’t know what it meant
except that it could be nothing good. He wiped his hands hurriedly on a towel
and tossed it to the floor, sweeping around the table and past Harry, heading
for the door. Severus’ memory of the attack on the Hogwarts Express was dim,
considering he’d left it in Albus’ Pensieve. He’d have to go retrieve it.
“I must speak with the Headmaster,” he advised, waiting at the foot of the
stairs for Harry to follow so he could floo him to Gryffindor. But the young
man simply stood at the sink, looking puzzled. “What are you doing?” Severus
demanded impatiently. “Detention is over. Get out.”
Harry seemed surprised. “What about-?” he said, gesturing to the tub of dirty
glass.
“Leave it,” Severus said through clenched teeth, starting up the stairs with
Harry rushing to follow. “Go somewhere. Anywhere. Just get out.” But as soon as
he'd said it, he paused and suddenly turned back to the young man.
What in hell was he saying? Fuck. It was even earlier in the evening than he
usually dismissed him. Severus had been meant to occupy him. But he had to go,
and he couldn’t very well lock Harry in the lab until he came back.
“No,” he amended. “Go to your Dormitory. Stay there.” Then, before he could
argue, Severus veritably shoved Harry through the hearth before tossing in a
second handful of powder for himself.
***** To Prove Thou Hast a True-Divining Heart *****
Flooing directly to the Headmaster’s office uninvited was rude, but the
situation was urgent. Severus announced his arrival as he stepped from the
hearth, but when no reply was forthcoming, he turned immediately to the cabinet
containing the Headmaster’s Pensieve and threw open the doors. A shimmering
memory swam like oil on the Pensieve’s surface. Severus fished it from the
basin with the tip of his wand and, with no hesitation whatsoever, lowered its
tail into his temple. But instead of the sudden sharpening of his recollection
of the attack on the Hogwarts Express, Severus was unexpectedly yanked out of
time and place and self.
The burdens he carried changed shape and texture, as did his clothing and
surroundings. There was the scent of tea, and it did not invoke the taste of
watered chalk. His tongue anticipated sweetness. And his heart: it was full to
bursting but at war with itself. There was so much hope! Sadness and
resignation but also hope and gratitude; and Severus was still enough himself
to be overwhelmed by the alienness of these emotions.  
Then he was just Remus.
The knock on his door makes him feel instantly both relieved and anxious. It
has been a struggle, especially lately, to keep his interactions with the young
man sufficiently personal but also strictly appropriate. Sometimes the line is
blurred, and the only difference between what is expected and what is
disallowed is the secret subtext of his heart. It keeps him up at night. It
tortures even his dreams: this unutterable desire, this simultaneous longing
for and aversion to the young man’s touch. But it is a cross he is willing to
bear, a tightrope he enthusiastically walks, in order to keep his ward whole in
this time of sundering and loss.     
“I was starting to think you wouldn't be coming tonight,” Remus remarks with a
smile when he opens the door. Harry’s disembodied head peeks from atop his
invisibility cloak. Remus is becoming inured to the sight. The boy’s intense
expression, however, is another matter. Remus finds he cannot analyse it
without prejudice. He knows what he wishes it to mean, but also that it cannot
possibly mean such a thing. It makes Remus shiver, but he brushes it off and
gestures the young man into the room.
“Come in, the tea's ready,” he says warmly, bending to pour. But when Remus
turns back to him to verify how the youth will take it, he finds Harry has not
followed him to the sofa as usual. Something is not right. Remus straightens
slowly, and his first impulse is concern. He cannot be with the young man every
waking moment, no matter how he’d like to be, and each hour they are apart is
an opportunity for the unexpected to dismantle the progress the two of them
make here each night. Harry doesn’t seem distressed, though. He is charged
somehow but not upset.
Remus waits patiently for Harry to decide to either enter or take his leave, to
explain this strange mood or else come and sit down and let Remus comfort him
with his presence, at least. Harry does not leave the door, however. His body
language is impossible to read, as all but his head is invisible. But his
expression ignites Remus’ overeager imagination, and the man struggles to
ignore the suspected sense that it is not only his own heart that hammers.
“Harry?” he says uncertainly. He doesn’t know what else to do but to wrap the
youth in an embrace to soothe him, but a suspicion beyond his own dishonourable
motivations stays him. “Are you alright? What-?”
Before he can finish the question, Harry’s cloak falls from his shoulders. It
seems to do so in slow motion. The shock he feels on seeing Harry’s bare chest
showing from between the lapels of his school robes bleeds into a confused
numbness as the fabric continues to fall, exposing inch after inch of naked
skin. Harry’s expression is no longer ambiguous. If Remus hadn’t been so busy
denying his own desire, it might never have been.
But still, he fights the revelation. “Harry, I don't understand,” he says
shakily, wetting his lips. “Has something happened? Are you okay?” Despite
himself, his eyes fall to the feast laid out before him. Horror and hunger
battle in him as the young man approaches, even though Remus wards him off with
an outstretched hand.
He’d thought he was tortured before, but it is nothing compared to this. His
wish is being granted, but Remus is unable to accept it. Magic aside, despite
the surety in his expression --the challenge in it-- Harry cannot know what he
is suggesting. He cannot understand what it means to offer himself in this way.
Still, when he takes hold of Remus’ wrist, the man does not have the strength
of will to prevent it. When Harry presses Remus’ hand to the bare flesh over
the young man’s heart and releases it, Remus doesn’t even have the strength to
let it fall away.
With monumental effort, Severus wrenched the memory from his temple. It made
him reel, and he caught the Pensieve’s pedestal to support himself just as his
knees began to give way. He’d realised immediately that the memory was not his
and had managed not to release it completely into his mind. But despite that --
despite that he had not watched it to its end-- it was still there. All of it.
Harry’s hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss; the
sweetness of his mouth; the heat of his skin; it was all there and would not be
banished. Severus’ answering desire, which was somehow both his own and not at
the same time, pulsed uncomfortably between his legs.  
He was disoriented, but it went far beyond the sudden shift in scenery, beyond
the confusion of being another person for a time. Severus was disconcerted, not
by all the ways in which Lupin’s thoughts and feelings and reactions had been
alien, but rather by all the ways they were not. In fact, the familiarity was
staggering. Severus realised, with a suddenness that was almost violent, that
he’d felt the same desire for Harry himself before. He had felt the same
impulses toward him, even the same affection. He’d simply never accepted their
true nature. He’d never conceived that he could feel such things for such a
person.
Severus felt he might be sick. He pushed himself back from the pedestal,
returning the memory to the basin with a shaking hand, and looked up to find
Albus standing quietly before him. Severus flushed with shame and embarrassment
before he realised that the old man could not read his mind. He could not know
the revelation Severus had just weathered or understand how shattering it had
been. Regardless, Severus had invaded the man’s private quarters and helped
himself to his private belongings. It had not been his intention to trespass to
this degree, but that did not negate his crime.
Albus did not seem angry with him, however. His expression was open if a little
sad.
“Why?” Severus finally managed to ask. “Why did you not stop it?” he whispered.
His voice was shaky and his tone almost condemning, as if this catastrophe was
the Headmaster’s fault. Though really, even if he had intervened, the damage
would already have been done.
Albus shrugged. “You seemed so convinced of Remus’ guilt. This is not the way I
would have chosen to assuage your suspicions, but it has served that purpose
nonetheless.”
Severus stared at the Headmaster without seeing him. Lupin’s guilt. Yes, he had
been critical of the werewolf; ironic when considering that all along Severus
had committed the same sins. He merely had not been honest with himself about
them, which seemed to make Severus’ transgressions even worse. Gods. Reflecting
on it, he realised his offence had not been at the immorality of Lupin’s
suspected actions. Not entirely.
He had been...jealous.
“It was an accident,” Severus felt suddenly compelled to confess. “I thought it
was mine, the memory I’d left of the attack,” he stammered.
“I suspected as much,” Albus nodded. “Though, I have that one here,” he said,
pulling a vial from his robe pocket. “I removed it in order to view Remus’.”
Severus stared at the glass tube in the Headmaster’s hand and slowly recalled
why he had sought its contents. But as urgent as that matter had seemed when
he’d arrived, he was having difficulty banishing the echoes of what had just
happened.  
“I didn’t even know this was possible,” he admitted, shuffling dazedly over to
the nearest chair and sinking into it. “What is the purpose of the Pensieve if
one can insert a memory directly?”
“Do you really have to ask?” Albus said with mild amusement, eyeing the state
of him as he settled in behind his desk. “So few are aware that memories can be
shared, even through the Pensieve. The art has been forgotten, and perhaps that
is fortunate. Quite beside the invasive intimacy of appropriating another’s
thoughts and feelings, doing so too often is damaging to the viewer. You still
haven’t recovered from your brief time as Remus Lupin, even though you held the
memory in your mind for a matter of mere seconds. Imagine repeating the
experience often or for extended periods of time. Practitioners would often go
mad, would lose their sense of self, become shells that merely waited to be
filled with another’s consciousness.  For those of us who require it, however,
the Pensieve makes the practice safe and is simply more practical. For one, it
allows us to move about the memory, catching details the memory’s originator
may have missed. And viewing a stream of images is a far lesser violation of
privacy than momentarily becoming another person.”
Severus nodded his understanding but had no response. He was dumbstruck by the
experience, which seemed to assault him in waves. Between brief moments of
lucidity, he almost felt as if he were indeed still Remus Lupin. It was not
something one shook off easily. The man was obnoxiously emotional. He invited
feeling where Severus had always abstained, whenever possible. And his
necessary rejection of Harry’s advances, and the hurt that that had caused the
young man, had devastated Lupin. The man’s heartbreak was so resounding,
Severus thought he might feel the shadow of it for the rest of his life.
He disliked it immensely. He disliked feeling anything but absolute bitterness
where that mangy group of Gryffindors was concerned; and so Severus avoided
succumbing to empathy for the mongrel by focusing, instead, on Harry.
Severus hadn’t understood how wounded Harry had been by the encounter with his
guardian. He’d never bothered to seriously consider that the incident might
have been about more than teenage hormones, that his attachment to that blasted
cardigan was anything other than youthful sentimentality. It shouldn’t have
surprised him, though. The young man craved connection and was compassionate to
a fault. The truth remained that there had been so much more than lust in his
eyes when he had looked at his mentor. And Lupin had returned that extra
something in spades.
Not that lust hadn’t been involved. It had been palpable on both their parts.
Severus felt he should be more disturbed by his own previous physical reactions
toward the young man, but the lingering residue of Lupin’s made them easier to
accept. Before, Severus would have rejected the idea. Vehemently. He generally
avoided thinking of homosexuality at all, and he certainly had never seriously
entertained the possibility that he could possess similar urges. But living
Lupin’s memory and having the advantage of that man’s long-time self-knowledge
made it feel almost as though Severus had accepted that part of himself years
ago.  
Harder to accept was the object of those feelings. It wasn’t as if Severus had
never been attracted to a student before. Anyone who claimed they never saw
flowering young adults in a sexual manner was lying. But somehow this was
different. This would not be solved by a flask of blood and a few furious
wanks. Of course, the very idea was ludicrous. Besides their relationship and
age difference, besides the impossibility of the Chosen One ever developing any
measure of attraction to his greasy old Potions Master, Severus could never
allow an encounter for all the same reasons Lupin had turned the young man away
himself.
Why was he even thinking about these things? What the hell difference did it
make, anyway? It wasn’t as if he wanted anything more than…
No. He didn’t even really want that. His body just responded in ways which were
inconvenient. He wantednothing from the young man beyond that he remain safe
and whole and fulfil his destiny. Which was why Severus was there in the first
place.
“We need to revisit the memory I left with you, Albus,” Severus told him, his
sense of urgency returning. It was infectious, and the Headmaster sat forward
in his seat. “Harry has told me Draco is pursuing the Granger girl,” he relayed
ominously.
Albus was visibly disquieted. Without prompting, he rose from his chair and
plucked an empty vial from a group of them on a shelf by the Pensieve, using it
to store Remus’ memory in order to replace it with Severus’. “What do we expect
to see?” he asked as the man moved to join him.
Severus was mildly surprised by Albus’ instantaneous acceptance and response.
“What? You aren’t going to lecture me on Draco’s secret goodness and my
paranoia?” he asked snarkily. “Not caution me against jumping to conclusions?”
“Severus,” Albus admonished impatiently.
Severus grumbled inwardly considering all the previous warnings he’d expressed
which had been dismissed or made light of, but he was gratified as well. For
once he was being taken seriously and without question. It was about time
someone learned to listen to him. It wasn’t a matter to gloat over, however.
Hermione may be in danger, and then ultimately Harry.
“I don't know what he means by it, but this behaviour is not natural,” he said
to Albus’ anxious scowl. "Draco may be working alone, but I think it unlikely.
Otherwise, his actions would have been more petty and shortsighted. Narcissa
has successfully kept Draco from his father since the divorce, at least until
seeing him off at the train station; and he could have received no
communication here without us being aware. Well, no traditional communication.
And the only window he would have had to establish a link with his father would
have been during the delay caused by the attack on the Hogwarts Express.”
“You think Lucius was there?”
Severus nodded. “I’ve suspected for some time that Lucius has had support from
within the Dark Lord’s inner circle. Otherwise, he would not have managed to
remain fugitive for so long. Most likely is Bellatrix. It is entirely possible
that the attack was a diversion to allow Draco’s father access to him. Which
may be one of the reasons she requested I not be involved. She worries that her
sister has turned her back on what she believes to be the winning side. As
loyal as Bella is to the Dark Lord, Narcissa is dear to her, as is Draco. To
her mind, the only reason her sister disavowed the Death Eaters was because of
her husband’s disgrace and that if Lucius were to be reinstated to the Dark
Lord’s good graces, her sister would take him back and thus be safe when Lord
Voldemort triumphs. I have not, however, been able to persuade the Dark Lord of
my suspicions. The politics of his court are perilous.”
Albus nodded and withdrew his wand, holding it poised over the basin. “Are you
ready?”
Severus quickly drew his own and, together, they touched them to the basin’s
surface.
It was strange seeing his own memory as an outsider. But there he was at the
moment he had Apparated to the site of the attack, Loraina and the Headmaster
materialising beside him. He didn’t have long to reflect on the oddity of it,
though. After having cast his leather-winged Patronus, his remembered self
sprinted with vampiric speed toward the train, and the memory raked the two men
along with him at the edge of the memory’s range. Hopefully, what they sought
would be contained within it. They jogged to catch up, reaching Harry and the
other Severus just as the man, virtually apoplectic, pulled the youth to his
feet.
The real Severus slowed at the sight. It was difficult to walk past it without
reflecting on it anew. That interaction was the reason he’d left this memory
with the Headmaster in the first place. He wondered if the man had viewed it,
if he had seen in the young man’s expression what Severus had seen then, and if
it had moved him as it had the Potions Master. An echo of that despair had been
present in Harry’s expression as Remus had turned his back on him at the foot
of Albus’ stairs as if the rejection had been simply another kind of death.
Severus wished he had known at the time. He would have tried harder to muster
some kindness toward the young man in the days after. He could not dwell on it,
though. Depending on what they found here, the young man was in danger of
having to weather yet another loss.
Severus didn’t believe Draco was far enough down the road to damnation to
actually harm Hermione, but he knew his father had passed that marker some time
ago. For all their sakes, Severus genuinely hoped they would find no sign of
the man here, that he was not actually involved. But in his heart, Severus knew
better.
He forced himself to look away from the tableau just as Albus called for his
attention.
“There,” he said, pointing to a copse of trees near the train on the far side.
Lucius could clearly be seen slipping furtively beneath their shadows, and
Severus’ heart sank. “The carriage he must have been visiting is regretfully
beyond our reach,” Albus lamented, “but you were right, Severus. He was indeed
here, and there can be little doubt as to why.”
“He must be found before they can carry out whatever they’ve been scheming,”
Severus replied wearily. He did not feel vindicated in having his suspicions
confirmed. The implications were too disheartening.
Albus returned to where Severus was standing, glancing back to see himself
shove Harry into Loraina’s arms. That had not been well thought through, on
reflection, but matters had been urgent at the time. The poor boy seemed so
dazed as he was forced to confront the conundrum that was Cobbleshot. Severus
watched it with a heavy heart. He knew what heartache awaited that already
troubled teen. He feared what more might be coming. It was too much to ask
anyone to face, much less one so young. If he could, Severus would willingly be
his surrogate. He was accustomed to loss and loneliness already. But as Albus
had said before, that was not their fate.
The Headmaster read his regret. “Come, Severus. We have much to do,” he said
kindly, placing a hand on Severus’ shoulder to both comfort him and pull him
out of the memory. Severus’ lethargy did not leave him on finding himself back
in Dumbledore’s office, though, and it was Albus who took the lead in their
preparations, rushing to his desk. He returned with Harry’s confiscated cloak.
It took a moment for Severus to shake off his melancholy and realise the man
was offering it to him.
“Take this. I know you are rather talented in secrecy without it, but you must
keep an eye on the dear boy while I am away, and I do not want to burden him
with worry should you accidentally be spied. Not until we are sure there is
cause.”
“While you are away?” Severus asked, waking finally as Albus returned to his
desk to scribble something on parchment. “Where are you going?” he scowled.
“Deliver this to Minerva, let her know she will be looking after things for a
short time,” he said, handing Severus the note he’d just written. “I’m going to
visit with Narcissa.”
“She does not know where he is,” Severus said, shaking his head. “The Dark Lord
had her thoroughly interrogated and Malfoy Manor has been closely watched.”
“I’m confident I can slip in unnoticed,” Albus said, unconcerned, once again at
his desk to fill his pockets with Rumdoodles. Severus shook off the absurdity
of the Headmaster’s concern over an adequate supply of candy while travelling
and clarified.
“My meaning was that if she had had any contact with Lucius, we’d have known
before now.”
“I’m not going to question her,” the Headmaster explained. “No, I need a
personal effect of Lucius’. I’ve been working on adapting a locator spell.
We’ve lost Harry enough times that I thought it might be well useful. But I
need an object that belonged to the person being sought for the spell to work.”
 
“That’s possible?” Severus asked sceptically.
“We shall see. I’ve yet to test it, but now is as good a time as any,” he said
brightly, stepping before the Potions Master one last time on his way out. “Do
not despair yet, my friend. We move quickly, but there is every reason to
believe we have uncovered the plot in time. See to Harry. I’ll be back with
news when I can.”
He waited for Severus’ reluctant nod before Apparating from the spot. The
Potions Master stared at the suddenly empty space for a long moment as he
processed everything. Then he looked down to the items he held, the tasks he’d
been assigned, and he mustered his resolve. There would be time later to
contemplate Harry’s happiness, or lack thereof. More important, now, was seeing
to his physical safety. Severus donned the cloak and stowed the Headmaster’s
note in his pocket, moving toward the rotating stair with purposeful strides.
***** To Some Secret Hole *****
“There you are,” Severus remarked on encountering Loraina en route to Minerva’s
quarters, “I’ve been looking for you.”
She passed him as if unable to see or hear him, even though his head, at the
very least, was clearly visible. “Damn it, Loraina,” he huffed, turning to
chase her down. He didn’t have the energy to tip-toe around her tantrum. “The
Headmaster asked me to speak to you on his behalf.”
“I’m heading that direction,” she shrugged, not slowing. “I’ll go see him
later.”
“He isn’t there. Loraina,” he barked, stepping in her way to force her to come
to a stop. “The matter is serious.” She sighed and rolled her eyes but waited
for him to say his piece. Severus reached for patience he didn’t possess and
continued. “We need to keep an especially close watch on Harry,” he explained.
“We can’t have him roaming the halls as usual.”
“Shame that. As I’ve just seen him leave his dormitory,” she drawled, stepping
around the man, to Severus’ extreme vexation. Damn it. He’d not been vague when
he’d ordered the young man to stay put.
“What do you mean he’s left? Why didn’t you follow him?” he demanded to her
retreating back.
“I wasn’t aware it was part of the job description,” she snapped back. “Though
I’m fairly certain he was headed in the direction of the love nest we found
last night.” She paused finally, but only to turn back and hiss, “If you hurry,
I’m sure you can make it there in time to take a turn with him yourself.” Then
she continued on her way, barely breaking stride.   
Severus watched her go, his cheeks flaming for a myriad of reasons. He
sputtered at the insinuation, but he could no longer claim he wanted no such
thing. For the love of Hermes, had it always been so obvious to others? Did she
really believe it of him? She’d been taunting him that way for weeks.
But more importantly, he realised: Harry was in the alcove. Severus immediately
abandoned all effort at further conversation and pulled the cloak he wore over
his head, practically sprinting to the scene of the suspected crime.
It was a disaster. Not only was Harry almost certainly doing things to further
erode his magical protection, he was doing them with someone other than
Severus. Of course, Severus would never. But that was entirely beside the
point. Though it had been vicarious, Severus had justheld the young man, could
practically still taste him on his lips. Regardless of how irrational it was,
the sense of betrayal Severus felt imagining him with another was impossible
for him to shake.
It was not helped by what greeted him when he turned the corner. One did not
need preternatural hearing to catch the muffled curse that carried from the
curtained recess as he approached it. In another context, it might have been
worrisome, indicating injury or anger, but that didn’t make it any less
alarming. Severus was forced to hear it uttered a second time before he reached
its source. He pulled back the tapestry (mildly surprised he hadn’t yanked it
from its moorings) to find Harry pinned against the wall with his eyes
scrunched shut, grimacing as a blond head buried itself in the young man’s
crotch. It was gorgeously hideous; erotic and, unlike Severus’ reaction to it,
completely unambiguous. Severus was flooded with a number of dangerous emotions
borne of a number of different inspirations. The only thing he knew for certain
was that this must be stopped at all costs.
His first impulse was to rip the offending yellow thing away from Harry, but he
had no doubt he’d have caused the other boy real injury before he managed to
convince his fingers to release him. He reached, instead, for Harry, grasping
him by the back of the neck to yank him from the alcove and into the hall. Even
that was far more violent than intended, and he was surprised to find himself
pinning the youth to the far wall.
Harry did not respond, though, to Severus’ demanding glare. He was clearly
lost, shocked by the assault but unable, Severus realised, to see what accosted
him. The man tugged the cloak from his head with the hand not struggling not to
throttle the teenager and resumed his dirty look. “What in hell do you think
you are doing?” he snarled. It was difficult to remember, amidst the whirlwind
of his emotions, why he was meant to object to what he’d seen and what it was
safe and logical to shout at the young man. He stripped the rest of the cloak
while he reached for what to say next. He settled on, “I thought I told you to
stay in your fucking room!”    
Harry did not respond other than to stare at the man, and Severus had a sinking
sense of Deja Vu. It was unthinkable enough to shock Severus out of his rage,
but he had the benefit of Lupin’s hindsight, and so the young man’s expression
was hard to misread. Not that it was especially personal. Severus reflected on
what he’d just interrupted and how difficult it was for anyone to shake that
state in so short a time; he also looked down and realised he pressed Harry in
place against the wall with a disgustingly intimate proportion of his body. He
swept back, suddenly embarrassed by his lapse in control, and Harry fell to the
floor.
Severus had to get a hold on himself. He’d erred too much already, and Albus
hadn’t even been away half an hour. He’d wasted the cloak as a resource,
betrayed their knowledge of the alcove, assaulted the young man he was meant to
protect; all in a jealous rage over a minor with whom he had never actually
been personally involved. It was not one of Severus’ finer moments.  
He watched the disconcerted young man stagger back to his feet, and Severus was
tipped off balance once again. Apparently, Harry had been too caught off guard
by the flurry of events to realise he’d not been given the opportunity to put
himself away. Flustered, Severus commanded him to do just that. Gods, he was
still practically hard. Severus refused to admit to himself that the sight
affected him in any way other than to offend his prudish sensibilities.
Harry blushed crimson as he quickly turned away to obey. “It's a little late
for modesty, Harry,” Severus pointed out witheringly before striding back over
to the wall-hanging and drawing it back. He felt exposed in the open corridor.
If anyone were to wander up to the scene, their mutual embarrassment might
finish them both. They needed privacy while he tried to figure out how to sort
this ungodly mess. “In here,” he directed.
Harry baulked at the command, and it took Severus half a moment to realise why.
For fuck’s sake, just what did the boy think Severus wanted him there for? And
damn it. Why was he putting ideas into Severus’ head! He lowered a glower at
the reluctant teenager. “We need to talk,” he hissed. “Now.”
Thankfully, the young man didn’t argue. Harry shuffled, red-faced, back into
the nook and took a seat, unable to look at Severus as he passed; and Severus
followed hesitantly, despite that he was the one who ordered them there.
The scent of arousal hung heavy in the air, making Harry’s proximity torturous
in the stifling confines of the alcove. He was only very slightly less virginal
than earlier that evening, and Severus was almost overwhelmed by more than one
appetite, the newest being unfamiliar enough to be nearly unmanageable. Harry
stared resolutely at the floor as Severus paced the ridiculously short space in
order to calm his still-confounding arousal. He had not yet come to terms with
the absurdity of the situation when Harry asked, “Is that mine?” as he stared
pointedly at the cloak held in a death-grip in Severus’ fist.
Oh, of all the things to be worried over at a time like this. “Not at the
moment,” Severus said belligerently, still pacing.
“Where'd youget it?” Harry persisted with a scowl. “I gave it to Dumbledore.”
“Who gave it to me,” Severus snapped, “to keep an eye on youwhile he's away.”
“What? Wait. You were spying on me?” Harry asked incredulously.
Severus had never really had an opportunity, though he’d had every intention,
and would clearly have been justified. “Obviously you needa bloody keeper!” he
groused. But Harry’s recent embarrassment was a thing of the past and he
confronted the assertion angrily.
“What for?!” he sputtered. “For Merlin's sake! To make sure I don't get a
bloody blow job along with half the rest of this school?”
“Exactly!” Severus hissed, finally stopping his pacing to glare at the young
man. The mention of blowjobs reawakened the image in his memory of the Harry
being serviced by some golden-haired, no doubt grossly attractive youth, and
his blood boiled anew. Somehow, Severus had completely forgotten about the
little reprobate.
Harry shot to his feet, incensed. “Listen, I don't know that it's anyone's
goddamn business if I get laid,” he shouted, his posture defiant, almost
challenging. “It's not like I was hurting anyone!”
Severus thought of all the harm such a thing could actually do, how much time
and energy and talent would be wasted, and he had the urge to strike the young
man. He actually lunged, though regained his self-control at the last moment.
Harry hadn't even flinched.
Severus reminded himself that the boy was clueless to all of that and that it
was partly his fault Harry remained so. Despite Albus’ wishes, the disclosure
could no longer be delayed, it seemed. And Severus was not pleased to be the
one to have to deliver it.  
“Sit down,” Severus ordered. When Harry made no move to do so, he added, “NOW!”
Harry didn't so much sit as the ferocity in Severus' voice and expression
turned his knees to putty and he collapsed. Severus took a calming breath.
Shouting at Harry would accomplish nothing productive.
But the information he was about to impart was complicated, and there was no
possible way it would be well received. He didn’t even know where to start.
“Youare not half this school, Harry,” he explained with forced calm. “Certain
safeguards have been put in place, certain spells that are only truly effective
while the subject maintains their...innocence.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the
sudden compulsion toward delicacy, except that he realised he hadn’t spoken
aloud about sexual matters for an embarrassingly long time. And he sure as hell
had never expected to speak about them with Harry Bloody Potter.
Harry looked at Severus sceptically. “What are you saying?” he asked, almost as
if trying to work out if the man was having him on. “I can't have sex because
it will break a few spells?”
Clearly, he was not conveying the scope of the situation. “Not just a few,
Harry,” Severus said wearily, taking a heavy seat as far from the young man as
he could manage. “And they aren't mere spells. They are so much more.”
Severus looked at Harry’s scowling incredulity, and his jealousy and
frustration cooled to be replaced by a reluctant compassion. He finally simply
saw Harry for what he was: a teenaged boy who was doing what came naturally;
who was actually doing it far later than many of his peers because of what
Severus had helped do to the poor boy when he was just an infant. It was time
he tried to explain Harry’s situation properly and with respect, and to hope
the young man was able to appreciate the necessity of what they’d tried to do.
“Harry, what recent generations seem to have forgotten is that sex is not just
sex,” he went on, uncomfortably. “Not for a Wizard. It is a rite of passage. It
affects a person on a fundamental magical level. As such, there is some magic
that works best on virgins, particularly protective magic. Alternatively, there
is magic that only comes into its full potency when virginity is lost. But
virginity isn't a switch that one flips,” he stressed in response to Harry’s
impatient expression. “It can be eroded. Intercourse is simply the point of no
return. It rarely matters these days,” he conceded, “so people forget. Magic
changes. It evolves. But the basis of all magic goes back to a time when purity
was paramount and evil was absolute. The world was not always so grey.”
Harry seemed to digest this, still disgruntled but coming around.
“When you were born,” Severus continued, hoping to take advantage of the young
man’s increasing openness, “or rather, when it was realised what your destiny
could be, several steps were taken. Old Magic was used, Harry. Potent,
primitive magic like the kind that saved your life the night your parents
died.” In fact, it had been just that accidental magic that had given Albus the
idea to use the arcane spells in the first place. “While it can be as simple as
a Mother's love, it's rarely that easy. But it was necessary,” he said, seeing
resignation seep into Harry’s expression. Severus sighed. “You didn't think we
dropped you off with a bunch of Muggles with nothing more to protect you than a
baby blanket, did you?”
Harry, however, was far from assuaged. Instead of the anger he expected,
Severus could veritably see the weight of the young man’s destiny settle firmly
onto his shoulders, slumping his posture. Again, Severus spied the defeat and
the finely-matured despondency he’d first recognised at the start of term; and
quite contrary to character, he felt the impulse to embrace the young man. He
supposed, irritably, that too much of Lupin must still linger in his system.
“Why didn't someone just tell me all this before?” Harry asked, weary to his
soul.
Severus shifted uncomfortably. “It was considered. But it only recently became
a possi-”
Severus bit off the rest of that thought. He wasn’t certain yet that it was
wise to give Harry the whole truth. What they’d broached already was weighty
enough as it was, and he didn’t want to completely crush the young man. Perhaps
he should wait for a later conversation to break the full injustice of the
situation to him. “Only recently became an issue,” he amended quickly. “And
partly we were afraid that if we told you you couldn't, you'd do it for spite,”
he added in a mutter.
“You all really thought I'd go and…” He couldn’t seem to put the act into
words. “Just to spit in your eye?” Harry sputtered. Severus winced at Harry’s
obvious offence. Which was more than justified. That last comment really hadn’t
been necessary. Severus wrote it off as habit and tried to cut the
condescension.
“Alright, Ithought that,” he admitted peevishly. “But when it became an
imperative, you were already dealing with so much that the Headmaster wasn't
sure how you'd handle another revelation. And another prohibition.”
“When it became an imperative?” Harry demanded, becoming increasingly annoyed.
“Just when did you all figure out when that was?” he asked flippantly. “No one
was following me on my dates with Cho. Or were you, and I simply didn't
notice?” he sneered.
Severus’s sardonics seemed to be rubbing off on the boy, he thought darkly. But
it was a fair question and despite his earlier hope, it was clear the matter
could not go undiscussed.
“There is something else, perhaps, you should know,” Severus admitted with much
hesitance. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as if warding off an
intolerable headache but motioned for Severus to continue. “Considering the
importance of your purity, another spell was cast.”
“Of course, it was,” Harry muttered.
Severus scowled. He knew this news was unpleasant all around, but he really
thought Harry might try to see their perspective. “It was not simply to ensure
the protections. It was a protection in itself. Little was known about your
relatives or their possible... predilections,” he pointed out defensively. “It
may, however, have had some unintended consequences,” he confessed.
Harry stared at him disgustedly before muttering, “Just get on with it, Snape.”
Severus hated that. He hated the way Harry said his surname like a curse. The
young man’s undisguised insolence was starting to chafe, and Severus’ scowl was
instantly reinforced. “What is it?” Harry snapped, ruffling Severus further.
Severus' tone turned decidedly less sympathetic. “It wasa kind of magical
chastity belt,” he explained flatly. “It was intended to deflect all sexual
interest.”
Harry seemed confused. Angry, as well, but mostly confused. “But I've had loads
of interest,” he argued, “just this term. Hell, just this week I've gotten
about ten heart-doodled propositions. And I don't think they were alltongue-in-
cheek. Not to mention-”
“You turned sixteen,” Severus said, abruptly cutting him off, unable to bear
hearing the details of Harry's romantic life. “The spell broke automatically
when you reached the lawful age of consent as determined by the Ministry of
Magic.”
Harry blinked at him, and Severus watched as some significant comprehension
washed over him. Harry looked back up at the Potions Master, disconcerted and
overwhelmed.
“While I would not suggest you pursue a career in modelling,” Severus drawled
in grudging response, “you are not an unattractive young man, Harry.” Voicing
it had been difficult, mostly because it reminded Severus, uncomfortably, of
just how long he’d been contemplating that fact; and how it affected him now.
“It's simply that, before your sixteenth birthday, no one was allowed to notice
it. And to those who knew you and wereso inclined,”he said somewhat
sarcastically, as if he wasn’t suddenly one of them, “the contrast was somewhat
striking, I believe.”
“But Cho,” Harry said, still struggling with the epiphany. “And Ginny?”
Severus snorted. “When Ginny Weasley first met you, she was ten and you were a
celebrity,” he sneered. “Then you became her personal hero a year later. That
isn't attraction, Harry,” he said witheringly. “It's idol worship. And Miss
Chang, I believe, was simply a confused young girl, reassigning her feelings
for her lost boyfriend to the last person to see him alive, the only other
person who seemed to be as affected by his loss as she was.” Severus sighed
theatrically. “Thus is the nature of the romances of young people, Harry.
Hormones and confusion,” he said with a shake of his head.
Harry sat quietly for a while, processing this new information, when something
seemed to dawn on him. “You said it was a protection. From my relatives. You
said it had unintended consequences,” Harry prompted accusingly.
Well, hell. He’d finally worked it out. Somehow, Severus had hoped he wouldn’t.
But there was no sense in pussyfooting around the matter. Severus would simply
have to brace for the aftermath.
“As we would not have access to you again for some time, and since the effects
can gradually weaken over time, the spell initially had to be considerably
strong,” he explained. “At the time it was cast, it made you rather distasteful
in general, to be honest.” Harry's brow furrowed, and he glared at Severus who
shifted uncomfortably under the weight of it. “And it may have had a stronger
effect on those unaccustomed to the influence of magic as a matter of course.”
Harry’s anger didn’t take long to build before bursting forth. “Are you telling
me my entire shitty childhood --all the rejection and disgust and ill-treatment
I lived through at the hands of the Dursleys: being locked in cupboards and
starved and beaten and bullied-- was because I was wearing some hyper-potent
invisible chastity belt?!” Harry demanded. “Some bloody fucking protection,” he
spat, disgusted.
Severus was so shocked by the content of the outburst he completely failed to
notice Harry’s foul language. Of course, he’d known Harry had been locked in a
cupboard, however much he’d like to forget it. But he hadn’t been aware the boy
had been physically abused or deprived of food. Though, really, it wasn’t much
of a stretch from solitary confinement. If a man could lock a child in a
cupboard, he could do almost anything.
“It is one possibility,” Severus replied with a scowl of his own. “But perhaps
better than the possibility of being molested by your uncle,” he snapped. “Or
worse.” But his anger wasn’t really directed at Harry.
If Severus ever met Harry’s family...he’d be sent to Azkaban, it was as simple
as that. He was almost surprised the abuse hadn’t included that element,
despite the spell. Bullies like that didn’t commit those kinds of crimes out of
sexual inclination. Severus should know. It was an assertion of power and
control, meant purely to hurt and humiliate.
“I can't believe nobody has told me until now,” Harry said, shaking his head
reproachfully. “And that it was youof all people!”
Severus, still distracted by the violence he felt toward the Dursley’s, was
more bothered than usual to recognise the young man’s obvious distaste for him.
Here he was, contemplating murder on the young man’s behalf, and Harry could
hardly seem to bear the sight of him.
“Harry,” he began, his tone part irritation, part apology, and double parts
exasperation. But Harry cut him off, so frustrated he looked as if he might
cry.
“You all treat me like I'm still a child! Even you,” he sneered, “with all your
talk of my ‘right to choose’.”
Severus narrowed his eyes at the young man. He clearly remembered saying those
words, but he could have sworn it was done in confidence. Surely Albus hadn’t
relayed their private conversation. “When did you-?” But the thought was cut
short by the sound of someone approaching in the corridor.
Severus cursed under his breath and peeked out of the wall-hanging. Of all the
bloody times to be interrupted. Who in hell was even out at this hour?
“It's only Filch,” he reported, seeing the caretaker’s lantern swinging as he
hobbled his way past them, grumbling under his breath about 'ruddy wards' and
'bloody troublemakers'. The remarks troubled Severus, so much so that it even
drove the present matter out of his mind. He knew for a fact that no one had
been down this way for some time, and there was very little in the direction
the man was travelling save Severus’ own classroom and the dungeons. It was not
even the entrance to them Slytherin House typically used. If something had
disturbed the wards, it had not come from within the Castle.
“We'll finish this later, Harry. Stay here for now,” he instructed him
distractedly, slipping out of the alcove, his heart tripping in his chest.
Severus pulled on his well-practiced mask, the one he wore frequently when
interacting with the enemy. He had no idea what he might be heading into, but
instinct told him it was nothing good.
“You're out quite late, Mr. Filch,” Severus said mildly by way of greeting,
startling the man who hadn't noticed him approach from behind. The caretaker
swung his lantern around to see Severus properly.
“Yessir, Professor Snape. It's the ruddy wards,” he explained. “Someone's been
tamperin’ with 'em again. Bloody kids,” he grumbled under his breath. “I've
just come to investigate. But you'd have thought I'd 'ave seen the buggers
trying to escape by now. It's just up here.” He motioned with his lantern.
Severus, however, didn’t need a lantern to see there was nothing whatsoever in
the darkened corridor. “Show me,” he demanded, increasingly unsettled.
“Aright. Like I said, it's just this way,” Filch shrugged, shuffling off in
that direction. Severus followed, but the man’s progress was painfully slow. He
was just contemplating leaving Filch behind to go investigate independently
when he saw a pale blue glow ignite ahead, seeming to hover in mid-air. Severus
glanced back to the wall hanging with a curse, guessing immediately what it
must be.
He’d left the ruddy cloak behind.
Damned impertinent Gryffindor! Why could he never simply do as he was told?   
***** Away, I Say! *****
Harry’s wand clattered to the floor, still illuminated, and rolled away from
him. Severus panicked that he’d lose the invisible young man, but the next
moment, the resounding metallic twang of the wards being struck echoed down the
corridor. In fact, it sounded over and over, as though Harry were trying to
beat his way out of them. The cacophony was soon joined by a roar of anguish.
The sound of it tugged Severus by the heart toward its source.
But he was stopped short, both by the scent of virgin blood and the sight of
what triggered its spillage.   
The floor seemed to fall out from under Severus. He’d heard no whisper of this
plan in Voldemort’s court. It was such a shame. Hagrid had been a good man, had
always treated Severus with respect. And he had adored Harry, and the affection
had been mutual. Harry shouldn’t have been the one to find him. Wouldn’t have
been, if only he could follow simple instructions. But that could not be
changed now.
“Ghost!” Filch cried, eyes bulging. He'd run the rest of the way and now stood
somewhere behind Harry with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath
as the chaos of sound continued to buffet them. “We got ourselves another
bloomin' poltergeist! Just what I need-”
“Do stop being an idiot, Mr. Filch!” Severus growled over the noise. “And go
find the Deputy Headmistress. Now!” Severus thundered when the man did not
immediately move. Filch scrambled to comply, jogging back the way they had just
come.
Harry had stopped bellowing and now sobbed, though the sound was almost lost in
the unending sheet-metal ring of the offended wards, which he still fought.
Severus was overwhelmed. His heightened senses were raw from the clamorous
assault on them, his soul was already ragged from everything that had come
immediately before, and the smear of Harry’s blood on the invisible wards hung
like desire made manifest, teasing his fangs from their sheathes. But he had to
push all that aside. Harry was in pain.
Severus dropped to his knees beside him, struggling to subdue the young man. He
realised would not manage it without seeing him, and he succeeded in finding
purchase on Harry’s cloak to strip it from him.
“Harry! Stop this nonsense!” Severus hissed urgently in his ear, as kindly as a
hiss could be made, as he reached around him in order to pin his arms to
prevent him from hurting himself further.
“It's my fault,” Harry keened, still crying, still fighting.
“Not everything can be about you, Harry,” Severus barked quietly. He needed
Harry to believe it. While it was true he had a hand in most missteps, the
circumstances and resulting tragedy were rarely truly his fault. Too much
misfortune visited the boy, he could not accept responsibility for all of it.
No one could bear such a burden. “You're just being a narcissist. Now desist
with this pointless- ”
“Snape! Look at his coat,” Harry sobbed, abruptly giving up his struggles and
slumping where he knelt.
Apprehensively, Severus released the now docile though still devastated young
man and stood to peer through the archway. His blood froze.
He hadn’t seen the note before. He’d been too distracted by the recognition of
who it was attached to. Severus tried very hard not to be angry, but he didn't
quite manage it. This was exactly why people kept dying. “What does it mean?”
Severus asked, a hint of steel in his voice. “What haven't you told us?”
Harry looked sick with guilt. Severus hated seeing it, but this wasn’t the time
to pet it away. He needed Harry to confess what he knew. He needed to know what
needed to be done, what had happened and what Albus may be walking into.
“Voldemort. He...” Harry began. Severus waited as patiently as he could for the
young man’s panic to subside enough for him to speak, but he wanted to shake
the boy. “That night in Dumbledore's office, after I passed out, I couldn't
keep him out,” Harry admitted in a rush. “He told me if I didn't stop
fighting...” Harry squeezed his eyes shut, clearly wrestling with the memory.
Severus imagined he must have done so since it occurred. The energy released in
destroying Albus’ office would have left him dangerously spent and completely
vulnerable, and Severus had no doubt whatsoever that the Dark Lord had taken
full advantage of Harry’s helplessness. There was no telling what visions he
visited on the boy. And no knowing what secrets he mined. Severus supposed if
anything too sensitive had been gleaned, he would not be here now to wonder on
it. But the fact that he’d been blindsided by Hagrid’s death did not bode well.
“Voldemort said he'd let my loved ones live, even me, if I just let him...”
Harry couldn’t say any more for a moment, but he didn’t need to. Severus
understood. He looked out at Hagrid's still form then back at Harry with
genuine pity.
“But I couldn't!” Harry cried, almost apologetically. “I couldn't just agree to
do nothing! To not try to stop him! And so,” he confessed shakily, “he said
he'd kill you all one by one. Until...until I was just like him,” Harry
finished in an agonised whisper. Then he gave over to weeping again, silent but
unceasing. Severus simply watched him cry for a moment, seized by a
debilitating sympathy.
This poor boy. Severus was no longer angry about the omission. Knowing this
would not have saved Hagrid. Harry had done well. The offer had to have been
seductive, especially after the attack. And he’d carried the weight of the
choice by himself all this time.
Harry had to stop this. He had to stop believing he was alone in these things.
They were there to support him. He needed to let them help hold what he could
not bear on his own.
Hesitantly, Severus knelt beside Harry, but he did not know what to do. His
mother had always held Severus when he cried, but Severus was not Harry’s
mother. Would it be uncomfortable for him if Severus embraced him? He lifted a
hand to lay it on Harry's shoulder but hesitated. It had recently been made
clear that the young man disliked him. Surely his touch would not be welcome
now.
“Harry,” he began uncertainly, when he was interrupted by a familiar and
extremely ill-timed voice. Severus’ eyes fell closed with dread.
“What's all this then, My Little Harry?”
Severus swept to his feet, begging Loraina with his eyes to move on and let him
handle this situation. What the hell was she even doing here? Did she have a
death wish? The boy was clearly emotional. How did they know he wasn’t showing
everything he saw to the Dark Lord?
But he could tell by her expression that she had no intention of leaving. She
was aggravated at him. Most likely she’d been called by the screaming scent of
Harry’s uniquely enticing blood. But if she also smelled an opportunity here to
twist a knife, she’d take it.
“Loraina,” Severus informed her stiffly, trying to draw her eye from the boy so
his expression could say more than what he was about to speak. “Unfortunately,
it appears one of our colleagues has been discovered just outside the Castle
wards.”
She paid Severus almost no mind at all. Her eyes were dilated and she stared at
Harry as if he were a banquet. Not that he feared she’d try to sample him. The
bloodlust simply made her even more unpredictable than usual. Clearly, it was
overriding her judgement if she was disregarding the danger her presence meant
to both of them. Severus was having a hard enough time fighting it himself. He
had to get her away from here as soon as possible.
“It was her,” Harry said suddenly. “I know what she is,” he gasped. “I've seen
her leave the grounds. I've seen her come back into the Castle just here!”
Severus winced. The situation was spiralling out of hand. He turned to the
young man, needing to be delicate but also wanting to shout at him to shut his
fucking mouth before he said out loud what Severus knew he was thinking.
“Harry,” Severus said carefully, “you are mistaken.” He was trying not to sound
harsh, but there was still a warning in his tone. Loraina simply watched the
exchange as if with mild interest. But Severus knew better. He could see the
suspicion building in her. He could tell she was practically willing Harry to
say the words so she could throttle him for his insolence.
“She's from the Romanian Coven. That's why she has that weird accent,” Harry
went on. Severus glared at him, brow furrowed, willing him to be quiet. He
could see in his expression that the young man understood but was beyond
caring. “She’s killed Hagrid, Snape,” he insisted stubbornly as if in response
to the silent request. “Just look at him!”
“Harry!” Severus barked, finally losing some of his composure. “You've had a
shock and are not thinking clearly. You mustn't-”
“She's in league with Voldemort, don't you get that?” Harry shouted, tearing at
his hair.
Loraina needed no further provocation. She snarled at Harry, fangs bared, and
the young man panicked and cast about for his lost wand. What in hell had he
expected to happen?Why did he never think through his actions? Harry dove for
his wand in the same instant Loraina made a lunge for him, but Severus
interceded, throwing himself between the two and restraining the woman. She
wasn’t really fighting him. She could likely have easily flung Severus aside.
She wanted to be held back as much as she wanted to murder the young man.
Severus had felt the exact same impulse himself before.
“The boy's a fool, Cobs! Leave him,” he hissed. “He doesn't know what he's
saying.”
Loraina stopped struggling but did not tear her hateful gaze from Harry. “If I
didn't need you, boy,” she spat, “I'd rip your throat out right here and watch
you bleed to death, slung over the body of your fallen friend.”
Severus flinched. It was unnecessarily harsh. She was too hardened, perhaps, to
understand it was more than a barb, was more sadistic than mere intimidation.
She was throwing fuel on the fire Severus had been trying to douse. This was
just the thoughtless cruelty that had caused him to turn his back on her in the
first place. It wasn’t even calculated or purposeful. It was carelessly
inhumane.
Harry stumbled to his feet away from her and struck the wards at his back,
raising his wand, but Severus couldn’t pay him much mind as he could still feel
the violent impulse in the twitch in Loraina’s muscles as he held her still.
“Loraina, listen to me,” Severus said firmly, shaking her, trying to force her
to meet his eye. She did so reluctantly, and Severus searched for the soul he
knew once resided behind that icy blue glare. “Go back to your quarters and
wait. Let me handle this,” he said more calmly, trying to sooth her. She looked
at Severus then, finally seeing him through her rage, and her lingering
affection for him infected her caustic expression. She relaxed, and he released
her experimentally, his arms still raised in case he needed to restrain her
again but with his palms held out in a plea for peace. “I will deal with the
boy,” he assured her. “Just go. I'll talk to you after I've taken care of
things.”
Loraina threw a scathing look at Harry but then did as she was told, and
Severus watched her until she was out of sight to assure himself she wouldn't
decide to turn back. Then he turned to Harry.
Their wretched expressions mirrored one another. Severus was exhausted already,
but he knew Harry’s grief had only been interrupted, not banished. He opened
his mouth to speak when they both heard commotion further down the hall. Argus
had found Minerva and they were coming this way.
Shit.
“Harry, don't say a word,” Severus warned, his eyes never leaving the
approaching pair, still at the far end of the hall.
“But McGonagall-”
“Silencio!” Severus said with a quick flick of his wand. It was rude, but
Severus had panicked. Harry was enraged to find he couldn't speak. He released
a barrage of soundless curses, but Severus ignored them and quickly retrieved
the invisibility cloak, tossing it over the young man. Harry tried to rip it
off but Severus took him roughly by the arms.
“For once, just trustme, Harry!” he begged quietly. Minerva’s affection for
Hagrid far outweighed her trust of Loraina, who had done little to endear
herself to any of the faculty since she’d arrived. Minerva was shrewd, but he
couldn’t know how much weight Harry’s accusations would carry in the wake of
this discovery. She would be heartbroken, and blame is a simple, if temporary,
balm for loss. He didn’t fear Minerva’s reaction so much as Loraina’s response
to it.
Harry glared at him but reluctantly pulled the cloak back over his head. “Wait
for me in my office,” Severus instructed, “I'll be there shortly.” Though he
could not see him, he felt the young man move out of his grasp and away.
Severus hastily cast a scouring spell on the bloody wards to wipe them clean
and prayed to all the gods that Harry would do as he was told for once. Then he
straightened his robes and strode down the hall to meet Filch and McGonagall.
“Severus?” Minerva asked apprehensively, seeing the pained apology in his
expression as he approached. “Argus tells me we’ve a poltergeist,” she said as
if she knew it was not the case and was waiting with dread anticipation to be
told differently.
Severus shook his head sadly and opened his hands to her in a silent invitation
for her to take them. She did so, her heart clearly already breaking. The
gesture was uncharacteristically tender of him and so she knew the news must be
truly awful.
“I’m so sorry, Minerva. It’s Hagrid.”
She released a piercing cry of grief before she managed to bring a hand to her
mouth to stifle it. Filch seemed shocked. He’d suspected ghosts, not corpses.
“The Headmaster has had to leave on an important errand. I was meant to give
this to you,” Severus told her, pulling the note from the inside pocket of his
robes. Minerva unrolled the parchment and scanned its contents, her expression
crumpling even further as she read.
“I’m to keep an eye out for Hagrid,” she explained feebly. “He was late in
reporting back from his mission and Albus was expecting him any moment. Oh
dear,” she said faintly, taking a moment to compose herself. It didn’t take
long. She knew she was in charge now and there were things that needed urgently
to be done. “Miss Granger,” she went on, re-reading the note, sounding more and
more professional and collected with each passing breath. “Albus says she may
be in danger?”
Severus glanced uneasily to Filch. Minerva read the sensitivity of the matter
in the Potions Master’s expression and turned to the caretaker.
“Mr. Filch. Go and rouse the others,” she said with smooth command. “Tell them
what has happened. Our wards have been breached and our friend has been
murdered. Our students are in danger. Have Filius arrange a search of the
grounds, then come back here so that we may care for Hagrid.”
Argus nodded firmly and set off with a determined expression. When he was out
of earshot, Minerva turned to Severus for him to elaborate.
“We think Draco may be communicating with his father somehow. No doubt it has
something to do with what happened tonight. Albus left for Malfoy Manor in
hopes of finding something that would allow us to locate Lucius before it is
too late. Whatever they are planning, Hagrid is not the end of it.”
“And Hermione is involved? What about Harry?”
“Albus had charged me with looking after Harry,” Severus explained quickly as
if laying claim. “But he fears they may be trying to get to Harry through
Hermione. She needs to be kept safe. I suppose someone will need to tell her
what’s happened, regardless,” he added sadly. Minerva nodded.
“And Potter? Perhaps I should tell them both at the same time,” she said
uneasily, as if thinking Severus was perhaps not the best choice for the
assignment.
“He knows,” Severus whispered, his eyes falling to a close remembering the
young man’s cries. “He was Argus’ poltergeist,” he explained. The two shared a
pitiful glance. “He’s in my office at the moment. I need to see to him,” he
told her anxiously.
Minerva gave him a curious look but shook her head to banish whatever question
she’d refrained from asking. “Of course, Severus. Albus charged you with the
boy. Go on. We’ll contact you if we need you.”
Severus nodded and quickly took his leave. He moved swiftly, but dread
stiffened his joints. He knew the others would likely be better at comforting
the young man, but he had to assuage Harry’s suspicions about Loraina first. It
felt selfish, however necessary, and Severus was plagued with guilt.        
He slipped quietly into his office to find Harry still invisible. He could hear
the young man pace restlessly, though. Severus’ eyes fell to the floor where
Harry’s steps kicked up the edge of his cloak, betraying flashes of his feet.
One of his trainers was undone and Severus had a peculiar urge to drop to one
knee and tie it. The young man was a mess. He needed looking after. Severus
reminded himself yet again that he was not Harry’s mother. But that didn’t mean
he couldn’t still care for him in other appropriate ways. Severus reached out
as Harry turned once more to pace and caught his cloak so that it slipped off
the young man and into Severus’ hand as Harry walked past him. Harry didn't
even break stride, he just tossed an aggressive glare up at Severus as he
turned and paced back the other way. He suspected Harry was holding on to his
anger in order to stave off his grief, as usual, but he was still stung by the
venom in the young man's look.
“Come with me, Harry,” Severus said solemnly. He flooed them to his quarters,
knowing the charm on Harry’s voice would break when they stepped from the
hearth. Severus had placed several of his own wards on his private rooms, the
dissolution of enchantments being one of them. Harry did not use his newly
regained voice immediately, though. He waited until Severus unlocked the door
with a wave of his wand so he could stomp into their Potions lab ahead of
Severus, whirling to face him when he reached the sink. Severus stood silently
to accept the young man's well-deserved tirade.
“And why can't I talk to Professor McGonagall?” Harry demanded.
Severus did not answer him right away. His grave gaze drifted from Harry's
face. “You've ruined your hands again,” he observed softly. The scent was not
as overwhelming as it had been before, and his fangs had disappeared, but it
was still distracting. Though surprisingly, it was due more to the distress of
knowing the young man was damaged than to the bloodlust. Harry looked down at
his split and bleeding fingers as if only just realising he was injured.
Severus retrieved some freshly brewed healing salve from the cauldron nearby.
Then, as he had done to his damaged nails before, Severus carefully applied the
medicine to Harry's knuckles, gently working it into the burst skin as he tried
to sort through what he wanted to say to the youth. He worked slowly, not
because he couldn’t gather his thoughts, but because he realised, self-
consciously, it was giving him an excuse to touch the young man; one he
shouldn’t want but did. One, he thought with a pang, he might never have again.
 
“The situation is precarious,” Severus explained through the lump in his
throat. “The staff distrust Loraina. I couldn't have you making accusations
until the Headmaster returns to keep the peace.” Severus finished his
ministrations and walked away from Harry without meeting his eye under the
pretence of cleaning his own hands, trying to will away his bizarre sense of
grief.
“Snape,” Harry implored, drawing Severus’ cautious attention. He’d uttered his
name far more gently this time, and Severus withdrew slightly from his
approach, confused by the inquiry in his eyes. It reminded him of the way Harry
had looked at Lupin at the foot of Albus’ stairs. There was a kind of need in
them that had not been directed at Severus for quite some time. Harry stopped
before he reached the man, but Severus almost wished he hadn’t.
Harry’s hands opened and closed at his sides as if he longed to cling to
something. “I can't,” Harry gasped softly, his tears returning, tugging
annoyingly at Severus’ heart. “I can't lose anyone else. It could be Hermione
next, or Remus, or...” He abruptly stopped his list and gave Severus a
surprised but considering look. But Severus did not dare to hope his name might
have been next on his lips. “We have to stop him!” Harry cried instead.
“And just what do you think we've been attempting to do all these years?”
Severus said, exasperated, though he eyed Harry with concern. Harry hugged his
arms around his chest and bent at the waist, pulling his breath into his lungs
with increasing difficulty. “You are having an anxiety attack. You need a
sedative,” Severus diagnosed with a worried scowl as he brushed past him to
retrieve one.
“I can't sleep,” Harry hiccupped, properly hyperventilating now. “He has an
accomplice inside the Castle and the Headmaster is away!”
“And just what in hell are you meant to do about it?” Severus snapped, whirling
on him. For Merlin’s sake! The boy seemed to think he was the only one capable
of addressing a crisis. He seemed to care so little for his own damned safety.
Well, by gods, Severus cared! And Harry’s eternal willingness to throw himself
into danger’s path was going to give the man grey fucking hairs. “Drink this
bloody potion, Harry, before you fall over," he muttered, thrusting a phial at
him which Harry stubbornly declined to accept, to Severus’ increasing
frustration. "The Headmaster is investigating an important matter,” Severus
explained shortly, though the news produced no change in Harry’s demeanour.
“And Loraina is not an accomplice,” he added irritably. “We don't yet know
anything about what happened to Hagrid.”
“She's a vampire,” Harry said darkly, his suspicious anger seeming to override
his anxiety. He walked quickly over to the fresh batch of Substisanguinus
Severus had bottled earlier that evening and snatched up a phial, shaking it at
the Potions Master accusingly. “She’s a vampire, and you bloody well knew it!
She's working with the enemy.”
Harry’s obstinance was seriously provoking Severus’ temper. He was so bloody
full of assumption. He had no idea what they two had sacrificed, what they had
suffered at the Dark Lord’s hands. He could not comprehend the disrespect that
he’d shown Loraina earlier that evening, that he continued to show with his
repeated accusations. His understanding of the matter was infantile, and he
seemed to have no interest at all in controlling his righteous indignation long
enough to consider that possibility.
“Harry, you're speaking of things about which you know absolutely nothing! You
cannot accuse people without proof,” Severus said in stern warning.
“Proof?” Harry shouted incredulously. “She's just threatened to rip out my
throat!”
“And I can sympathise!” Severus shouted back, having finally reached the end of
his patience. “I've wanted to murder you a thousand times since the day we met.
It's a natural reaction!”
Harry was beside himself with what he perceived as Severus’ inability to see
the simple ‘truth’ Harry was trying to convey. “Why is it no one ever listens
to me?!” Harry said, taking the phial in his hand and throwing it forcefully
against the wall in frustration.
Severus watched his precious and laboriously-brewed antidote sail through the
air and shatter against the stones in a starburst of crimson and glass, and he
went white with rage. His tenderness toward the young man was all but
forgotten. He seized Harry by the front of his shirt and slammed him back into
the wall, surprising the anger out of him.
“I am not the Headmaster, and you will not break my things with impunity,”
Severus said, his voice a spitting hiss. Grieving or not, there was no excusing
the young man’s actions.
Severus saw Harry's close stare glaze over. He had no idea what he’d just done,
didn’t seem interested in taking responsibility for it, didn’t even seem
interested in listening. But Severus would not be ignored. He wouldget through
to him. His immaturity and lack of understanding were placing them all in
danger, Harry first and foremost. Not relinquishing his shirt-front, Severus
drew back just far enough to slap Harry across the face. It had not been meant
to hurt, only to waken him.
“Snap out of it, Harry! This is a fucking war,” he snarled, voice low and
menacing. “What did you think happens to people in a war? They die. Many of
them. The only thing you should concern yourself with is how not to become one
of them!” he whispered savagely through clenched teeth.
Severus expected whining and equivocation, but to the man's complete surprise,
Harry snarled himself in response and took hold of Severus’ robe front, turning
him with a yank to reverse their position. Severus was so shocked to find
himself pinned against the wall instead, so taken aback by the young man’s
fierce expression, he did not have time to react to Harry’s face suddenly
moving toward his.
What in hell was happening?
Severus supposed it was meant to be a kiss, but it was so incomprehensible he
could do little more than bunch his fists in Harry’s shirt. He was too busy
working out why he was being kissed to expel him. Whatever it was was violent,
more an assault than affection, and Severus felt the inside of his lip tear on
his teeth. Though the blood was his own, his fangs began to stir.
“Harry don’t,” he tried to say, but the young man did not relent, taking the
opportunity to slip his tongue into Severus’ mouth. Dangerous as it was, it was
so hard to stop. Severus seemed to have just done this with Harry, to have been
disappointed that the encounter had not lasted longer. But this was not
vicarious. Severus was not slave to Lupin’s actions. He could decide his own.
He could anchor his fingers in Harry’s thick black hair if he wanted. He could
wrap his arm around Harry’s shoulders and bend him back beneath him, could take
his plump bottom lip in his teeth.
He did none of these things, though. Harry’s aggression was delicious but
careless, and his tongue raked across Severus’ fang, grazing it just enough to
make the taste of his perfect blood explode in Severus’ mouth. The man’s self-
control virtually evaporated, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not
to sink his teeth into the hungry muscle that battled with his own. He knocked
the young man away from him. It had been reflexive and far too forceful,
but any alternative would have been perilous. Harry did not simply stagger back
from him. Severus found he had sent the young man flying across the room.
Harry coughed, sputtered, all the air having been knocked from his lungs. The
two glared at each other as Harry struggled to breathe again, as Severus clung
to the wall behind him as he struggled not to descend on Harry's sprawled form
and open his veins.
“Get out,” Severus managed to warn through clenched teeth as Harry fought his
way to his feet. The man could still taste him. It overpowered all his senses
and disrupted his thoughts. It had been so long since Severus had tasted actual
blood. It had been even longer since he’d tasted human blood. And he had never
in his life tasted blood as delicious and irresistible as Harry’s. Every cell
in his body screamed for him to catch the boy and drink his fill. Harry was
angry, hurt, and Severus still could not fathom what had possessed the young
man to do what he’d done. But Severus could not question or elaborate, he could
not apologise or placate or discuss what had happened or why. He could do
nothing more than hold himself back from killing the young man.
Harry threw him a vicious look, but he didn’t argue. Neither, however, did he
leave right away. He stomped over to retrieve the invisibility cloak from where
Severus had tossed it across his desk. Damn it. Severus did not want him to
take it, but he was in no state to prevent it. He had no choice but to silently
watch as Harry stalked back up the stairs with the thing without a backwards
glance.
Severus smelled his exit, the absence of his perfume as he flooed away, and
finally allowed himself to relax. Though, his heart still raced and his chest
still heaved. The bloodlust had never been so intense before, not since the
Madness had released him over a decade ago. Severus ached. There was so much
that needed to be done, so many matters to attend to. Harry must be followed,
watched to be sure he didn’t do anything stupid.
But first, Severus felt he must address the throb between his legs,
immediately, else he might die.
***** By Uproar Sever'd, Like a Flight of Fowl *****
Severus had always before liked the purposefulness of buttons. He was aware his
wardrobe reflected this to the point of near fetish. The deliberate intention
required to dress himself each morning centred him. But he cursed the blasted
things now. Aloud. Miraculously, none were lost as Severus tore open the front
of his trousers, but it had been a near miss.
He would have preferred this exercise to be more perfunctory, but Harry’s scent
clung to his robes. His blood still sang on Severus’ tongue. When he closed his
eyes, Harry’s green ones still flashed angrily at him like an afterimage burned
into his vision. The young man’s intensity, and how it would surely translate
in sinful contexts, set Severus’ body and imagination aflame, and his arousal
was too urgent for him to feel guilty for it. Still, he’d never done this
before while thinking of another man.
He found it excited him, though, imagining it was not himself he took in hand.
Harry was, admittedly, larger than he was, but not intimidatingly so. It was
surprisingly easy to pretend Severus was reaching around the young man’s
slender body and grasping him firmly, making his head swim as Severus’ was
doing now. It seemed natural to run his hand under his shirt and across the
flat planes of his own chest, ignoring the prominence of his ribs, and imagine
it was Harry he pressed hungrily to him as he pulled the youth, with short,
rugged strokes, closer and closer to climax.
It was too luxurious to be allowed to finish so soon, however. Severus drew it
out. He slowed his hand and leaned forward, supporting himself on the
worktable, and pictured himself bending the young man over. He shuddered. He
imagined himself sliding his cock between Harry’s firm arse cheeks, and he
moaned.
But when he imagined pressing himself against the young man’s tight ring of
muscle, his arousal faltered. He rushed to banish the memory, ancient now, of
the potential pain of such an entry. He knew there was a way to go about it
that was pleasant and consensual and not at all scarring, but he couldn’t focus
on it for sharp, disjointed flashbacks of tearing flesh and screaming, bruised
arms and mud-caked nails, blood and tears.
A sob escaped him, but he wasn’t willing to give his trauma dominion. He
attempted to rescue his erection by imagining running his hands across Harry’s
supple young skin and through the chaos of his hair. He pictured taking his
face gently between his hands and kissing him tenderly, then not so tenderly.
But the orgasm, which only a moment before had promised to be shattering and
spectacular, was gone beyond retrieval. Severus was so frustrated he felt he
could actually weep. He dropped to a seat on his cot, the remains of his failed
endeavour still hanging from his pants, his precious buttons threatened for
nothing, and laid his head in his hands.
He’d thought he’d left the experience behind him long ago, but perhaps he’d
simply stopped engaging in activities that triggered its recollection. Loraina
had eventually stopped requesting he attempt such things with her, but the pain
was still so fresh then. He’d had a lifetime since --Harry’s whole lifetime, he
reflected with a turn of his stomach-- to move past the event. Surely it
couldn’t keep him captive forever.
Regardless, it shackled him now. In fact, his bonds had never seemed so
inescapable. No matter how much time had passed, he felt just as if he were
fifteen again, shivering and naked beneath the bleachers of the Quidditch
pitch, paralysed save for the burning throb around the alien object that
impaled him. 
He had wanted to die. But really, when hadn't he? Severus clearly remembered
that, as he lay with his face in the nail-scored dirt turned muddy by his
tears, he had reflected on every miserable second of his childhood and tried in
vain to recall a time when he hadn’t wished he could just give up. When he
hadn’t prayed to gods he didn’t but wanted to believe in to grant his easy wish
to simply not wake in the morning. At the time, that desire had been made
piercingly more urgent, though. Having to hear the monsters who had just
destroyed him tormenting the girl he loved as he lay helpless had hurt him so
deeply he had been numb with pain. Severus realised then he had never really
wanted to die, he simply had desperately wanted to stop living, if that is what
living had to be. Continuing to exist had never seemed such an insurmountable
burden as it had in that moment. 
Despite the walls he’d erected and the armoured shell he’d developed, despite
the barriers he'd forged and reinforced around the incident in his mind in the
years that followed, that feeling was as immediate and crystalline in his
memory as if it had happened yesterday. And he realised that this same gasping,
paralytic hopelessness he was feeling again with such clarity was what he had
seen in Harry’s expression that night outside the Hogwarts Express. It was
exactly this he had recognised beneath the young man’s breathless panic
tonight. 
Surelythis was the reason he felt so connected to the boy, why he was so
protective of him and so easily frustrated by Harry's stubborn, self-imposed
isolation. Severus knew intimately what Harry was going through. He suspected
he understood it much better than any of the others had the capacity even to
imagine it. That empathy was what made Severus want to reach into Harry’s
engulfing pain and take hold of his hand, which he imagined was clawing
desperately for the surface. Severus, perhaps alone, understood that there was
no surface. There was no up or down, no way to escape drowning in that
encapsulating despair except for someone outside of it to reach in to pull one
through it.
Severus had felt in the man's memory that Lupin had known the young man was
struggling and had been overwhelmed by the desire to help him. But Severus knew
the werewolf could not. He didn’t know how. He didn’t really know what Harry
was feeling and so he couldn't know what he needed. Inexplicably, he contained
too much optimism. Despite the hardships he’d endured, Lupin possessed too much
hope. Severus doubted he’d stood on the same cliff edge he and Harry had. He
may have drawn close and contemplated the view, but he surely hadn’t stood with
his toes gripping the ledge and begged the Universe for a reason, any reason at
all, not to jump.
The leap tempted Severus now more than it had in years. Perhaps the only thing
saving him from taking it was knowing that Harry stood there with him, that
Severus himself was responsible for his presence there, and that it was his
responsibility to pull the young man to safety.
His resolve was sluggish, though. The chains that bound him were heavy. He
might have taken considerably longer to manage to throw them off if he hadn’t
suddenly heard his name being shrieked through the fireplace upstairs.
It was unmistakably Loraina, and she was uncharacteristically frantic. Severus
stood and stuffed himself back into his clothes, still working on his buttons
as he quickly scaled his stairs, but when he reached the sitting room, Loraina
was not there. The connection still existed and her sitting room was clearly
visible, but she was not in it. Severus’ stomach was in knots as he bent to
kneel in the hearth.
“Loraina?” he called.
“I thought you said you'd take care of the boy!” she hissed accusingly, her
sudden materialisation in front of him giving him a nasty start.
“What are you talking about?” Severus asked apprehensively. His already
tripping heart thumped even harder.  
“He's gone, Severus! He's in the Forest!” she cried, pacing back and forth.
“Severus, they will have him! Hewill have him. We must do something. The boy's
my only chance!”
Her words made no sense to him. They terrified him, but he denied his panic a
place in his thoughts and considered the plausibility of what she was saying.
She clearly believed it, but Severus wasn’t so sure. She hadn’t said that
Harry’d been taken, that they had him. She was saying they willhave him, as if
he’d gone out alone and was in danger of capture. It sounded exactly like
something the young man would do, but Severus knew Harry had no way of passing
the wards alone. There was a very real danger in Hogwarts that night, but the
school was vast, and it would do Harry no good to tear off in the wrong
direction. He should never have allowed the boy to leave his presence, but he'd
had little choice at the time. 
“Loraina, my love, slow down,” Severus urged. “How do you know this? Who told
you? Where's the Deputy Headmistress?”
“It doesn't matter, Sev!” she screeched. “There's no time. We have to go after
him. Now. Before they get their hands on him.” Even as she said it, she turned
to go and do just that.
“Cobs. Loraina!” Severus called frantically, seeing her make up her mind. He
had to stop her. There was no proof the Castle had been breached, but they knew
for a fact that the grounds and Forest had been compromised. If any of the Dark
Lord’s operatives lingered, and she was seen, they were both as good as dead.
“Oh, blast it to hell,” he muttered as she moved away, forgetting him entirely.
“For fuck's sake, Loraina, will you stop and listen to me!” But she was already
through her door, slamming it behind her.
Severus stumbled back from his hearth overwhelmed by panic and indecision.
Should he step through the hearth and follow her? Or should he floo to
Minerva's quarters in search of her first? Something was terribly wrong. At
best, someone --most likely Draco-- was manipulating Loraina, but to what end
beyond her death and Severus’ downfall? Obviously, Lucius knew. If he’d spied
Loraina, he had to know Severus was unfaithful to the Dark Lord. But would it
end with the two of them? Or did they have more ambitious plans?
His need to find Harry was suddenly all-consuming, and Severus felt certain he
was not in the Forest. But Loraina was forcing Severus’ hand. He was the only
one who could track or catch up to her. Besides the blood-chilling fear of what
they would do to her, her discovery would endanger Severus, which concerned him
mostly because it indirectly endangered Harry. Severus was the only buffer they
had between the young man and the Dark Lord’s designs, however ineffectual he’d
been in that lately.
Severus called up both the Headmaster’s office and Minerva’s quarters, but
predictably the Deputy Headmistress was not to be found. He did not have time
to locate her. He did not even have time to leave information on where he was
going. Severus cursed loudly and at length as he burst from the floo in his
office and tore through his door to make for the Forest. Loraina should have
more sense than this! But the fear that her vicarious vengeance might be
stripped from her was perhaps the only thing that might override her usual
caution. The Malfoys had played their hand well. He had no choice but to
follow her and hope the others looked after the boy...and hope someone else
intuited how to mend him afterwards, as there was every possibility Severus
would not be coming back.
Gods damn it! Why did Severus have to grant his stingy affection to individuals
with such an impulsive disregard for their own self-preservation? If he
survived the night, between Loraina and Harry, Severus might die prematurely
anyway from stress alone.  
 
***** Villain, What Hast Thou Done? *****
As Severus approached the Forest, an intense flash of light flared silently
from deep in the trees ahead of him. Bright as it was, it was gone so quickly
he doubted it would have been marked by anyone not already looking in that
direction. If it was a spell, he couldn’t identify it. Severus slowed and
approached the edge of the Forest with trepidation. Harry’s invisibility cloak
would have been invaluable just now, and he cursed himself for having allowed
the young man to make off with it.
Caution was needed, but it was difficult to practice, as Severus caught a
familiar scent as soon as he stepped beneath the trees. There was no mistaking
it, but he determined not to despair until he knew he had reason. Something
about it was wrong. Besides, how would Harry have even gotten past the wards?
It was true he was obnoxiously resourceful. But surely, surelythe boy had
enough sense not to dive into the trees after Hagrid’s killers?
But they weren’t just Hagrid’s killers. They’d taken Weasley from him, as well.
And his godfather. Of course he’d plunge headlong right into their hands. He
might do so more cautiously than last time, but there was no question that he’d
go. He was unfailingly predictable in his well-intentioned bad judgement.
Severus took a deep breath to stave off the panic building inside him, but he
still saw Harry in his mind’s eye, bound and helpless, bloody but defiant,
completely naive of what awaited him; and Severus’ step faltered. He clung to a
nearby tree to steady himself and realised he was shaking. It was no good. He’d
be no help to the young man if he let himself go to pieces. If Harry really was
in the Forest, Severus would have to rescue him. If Loraina had been
discovered, as well, his cover was blown regardless. The best he could hope for
was to try to get them all out alive. And to do that, he had to get a hold on
himself.
Severus made himself present. He concentrated on the quality of the air, on the
sensation of the wind as it buffeted him. He focused on the feel of the ground
beneath his feet made uneven by years of shed leaves. His heart slowed to a
steady, reliable rhythm, and his vampiric senses, anticipating a hunt, engaged
to take the process even further. Like mindfulness in overdrive, Severus was
effortlessly aware of every shift of scent on the breeze. His sense of touch
was hyper-sensitive, adjusting for the terrain instantly so that his footfall
was silent. He could feel his pupils dilate, allowing him to see every edge
with razor-sharp precision. Hearts glowed throughout the trees like embers in
ash. Nothing was hidden. He would have been more comfortable without the full
moon overhead painting every surface in bright silver, but still, Severus knew
he was a force to be reckoned with. Who needed an invisibility cloak? He was a
fucking vampire.
Severus stalked through the trees with renewed confidence, following Harry’s
scent; and now his heightened sense of smell allowed him to understand what was
wrong with it. It was not the perfume rubbed deep into the fabric of Severus’
robes by the young man’s angry hands that night. It was too sweet. It was
yesterday’s Harry. And it was strong. It bloomed from the side of this tree and
then jumped to the next. Unless Harry staggered through the Forest, rubbing his
chest against every trunk, it seemed far too deliberate. Not that that wasn’t
possible. He had no idea what events might have led to the boy being here, if
indeed he was. If Harry was hurt, he might have clung to them all for support
as he made his way forward. Severus disliked the thought of Harry being
injured. The path was straight, though, and the young man wouldn’t have known
where he was going, he would have cast about. Severus suspected Loraina had
been lured here under false pretences, and she would have followed the trail
with blind focus. It had all the earmarks of a trap. Strange that that would
ease Severus’ mind, but it meant there was a possibility the young man was safe
after all.
His former lover would be another matter. Severus picked up his pace. Sure
enough, he eventually caught the scent of garlic. It overpowered his sense of
smell and would mask Lucius’ and Draco’s scent unless they were close enough to
be a danger, which was no doubt intentional. The wind was high as well, kicking
up fallen leaves and making the ones still clinging to their branches hiss and
sigh. It made all other sounds difficult to differentiate. However, his
eyesight was still keen, and he willed it even stronger. He felt his pupils
open to their limit, like a cat’s when catching sight of a mouse, to let in as
much information as possible. They wouldn't be able to sneak up on him easily;
especially not in the clearing he neared, even though the moon flooded the dew
covered grass like a sparkling pool of liquid silver. Their hearts, if not
their scent, would herald their approach.
Severus hesitated to step into the open space, however. He drew just close
enough to examine the stage the Malfoys had set. Through the last row of trees,
Severus finally caught sight of Loraina, and his heart leapt to his throat. She
was bound to a large tree directly across the clearing, necklaced with garlands
of garlic. Despite the wind, the scent turned Severus' stomach even from that
distance, and he knew she must be sick to weakness. Over her head, tangled in
the limbs of the tree to which she was bound, were the tattered remains of the
cardigan Harry had worn daily for weeks. Until tonight. He’d not been wearing
it when Severus pulled him from the alcove, and he hadn’t worn it since, which
is why its bouquet hadn’t been refreshed.
So that was their trick. Despite his worry for Loraina, Severus was flooded
with relief. Harry was not actually here. They had their prize, with Severus
being a potential bonus. Even if he didn’t follow in capture, his credibility
with the Dark Lord was ruined. Lucius would still be able to return to the
Death Eaters, to Voldemort’s open arms, like the prodigal son.
The wise thing to do would be to leave now and inform the Deputy Headmistress.
They were obviously using Loraina as bait. But Severus felt a bit of Harry’s
foolhardy determination awaken in him. He wasn’t willing to abandon her to the
horrors the Dark Lord would visit on her, not unless he had no other choice.
Severus inched closer to the clearing in order to better examine his options.
By the time he saw the rune spell on the ground in front of him, glistening in
the same silver as the moonlit grass, it was too late. The instant his boot
touched it, a flash exploded like a silent grenade of pure light. Though it
dissipated almost instantaneously, it had been painfully bright to his hyper-
sensitive eyesight. It blinded him utterly, was so intense it confused all the
rest of his senses. He stumbled forward into the clearing, groping for
something to cling to in order to orient himself, when he heard the disarming
spell being uttered from somewhere behind him and felt his wand leap from his
hand.  
Severus fell to his knees, sightless and wandless. He didn't even attempt to
escape. He knew he was finished. He should have turned back, but it was too
late now, regardless. The only consolation he had was that Harry was not a part
of this debacle.
A fucking rune. Severus had been defeated by a flash of fucking light, of all
things. Runes spells were far too advanced for Draco to have set. Not that
there had been any doubt before, but Lucius confirmed his presence by bending
close to Severus’ ear to gloat.
“Now, isn’t this touching?” He sounded almost sincere with his refined,
pureblood lilt. “When I spied the bloody white witch in your company after
I visited Draco on the train, I wasn’t sure if you held the same fondness for
her that you did when we were all one, big Dark family. Clearly, you do. How
precious. You know, I would have been content delivering just the Heretic, but
to have snagged the Traitor, as well... Yes, I expect Our Lord will be very
forgiving. Well. Of one of us.”
Severus had never hated him more. Lucius had always disgusted him, dressing his
base prejudice in high-minded, puritanical ideology, but now Severus’ revulsion
tipped over to proper loathing. Lucius Malfoy, the arsehole whose craven self-
interest had cost the lives of Aurors and Death Eaters alike just weeks ago,
had out-crafted the double agent...through sentiment. Severus’ eyesight
recovered enough for him to give Lucius his most caustic glare. The villain
looked far too filthy to be so fucking smug. Even in rags, he was insufferably
aristocratic.      
“Oh my. He doesn’t look pleased at all. Draco, why don’t you reunite our two
lovebirds while I finish making the preparations,” he drawled. “You don’t mind
sharing a cage, do you?” he asked in a confidential whisper, as if he truly
cared about Severus’ comfort or expected him to answer. Despite his current
helplessness, Severus very almost launched himself at the bastard.
Lucius disappeared into the trees as the young man he’d addressed stepped into
view, smirking in self-satisfaction as he pointed his wand at his kneeling Head
of House. “You heard my father,” Draco said, digging Severus sharply with his
toe, seemingly giddy to find himself in such a position of power over him. “On
your feet. There’s someone who’s dyingto see you,” he sneered.
Severus pulled himself from the ground reluctantly. He tried to convey his
disappointment in the boy through his sick expression, but if Draco had ever
cared about the man’s approval, it didn’t show. It was such a shame. Narcissa
had tried so hard to save her son from his father. She may have a weakness for
status and wealth, but Severus suspected Narcissa had not bargained for her
family’s entanglement with Lord Voldemort when she agreed to marry the Malfoy
heir. She was far too fond of Andromeda to subscribe to Lucius’ level of
fanaticism. Draco was clearly talented, as well, to have achieved so much alone
at Hogwarts, even if it was largely orchestrated by his father. He could have
been a valuable soldier for the Order. Now he was wasted to the Dark Lord’s
service. Severus suspected he’d take his Mark as soon as they returned to the
fiend's court. It wasn’t entirely too late, however. As the young man marched
him across the clearing, Severus felt he had to at least attempt to reason with
him.
“Draco, are you certain you’ve thought this through?” he asked sadly.
“You aren’t talking your way out of this, Severus,” Draco spat. It was
intentionally disrespectful. Severus wondered where his venom came from. He
couldn’t possibly truly understand his situation. Severus found he couldn’t
focus on the problem, however. The shifting wind blasted the scent of garlic at
him and he winced, scowling in the direction it had come from to find Loraina
had noticed their approach.
She looked dolefully up at him through her sickness and hung limply in her
bonds, too weak to rely on her legs. The apology in her expression made her
look even more pitiable. Severus couldn’t find it in him to be angry with her.
He’d been playing a dangerous game for a long while. It was only a matter of
time that he found himself in this situation. At least they wouldn’t be meeting
their fate alone.     
“I always was a bit rash, wasn’t I, love?” she muttered with a feeble, self-
deprecating smile. “You’d have thought I’d learned my lesson the last time,
though.”
Severus gave her a forgiving look and made to reach for her, but Draco stabbed
him sharply in the ribs with the tip of his wand. “No funny stuff,” he warned.
He’d slipped a rope of garlic round his own neck and held out another clearly
intended for Severus.
“Go on, Professor,” Draco addressed him sneeringly. “Put it on.”
Severus eyed the thing with dread. His stomach already roiled and the infection
in his blood recoiled from the substance, making his whole body itch. He knew
he had no choice in the matter, though. It took an immense force of will to
extend his hand and accept the string of garlic, and an even stronger will to
place it over his head. “Draco,” he said, weakly, “you don’t have to do this.
You don’t have to take the same path your father took. There’s still time for
you.”
“Shut your filthy, traitorous mouth!” Draco spat in response, blunting Severus’
sympathy for him. “My father’s ‘path’ was just fine until the prison break.
I’ll bet you were the reason the Ministry showed up in the first place.
You’rethe reason Father fell out with the Dark Lord.”
Severus was not so sick or beaten yet that he could allow Draco’s insulting
tone to go unanswered. “Your father ‘fell out’ with the Dark Lord because once
he managed to obtain a wand after the dementors let him out of his cell,
instead of helping the others, he ran away,” Severus hissed back. “His
cowardice is not my doing,” he sneered. Their situation was already hopeless.
He saw no reason to kerb his tongue now. The worst Draco could do to him would
be child’s play compared to what the Dark Lord held in store. And maybe, just
maybe he could disabuse Draco of the delusion of Lucius’ exceptionalism.
“My father is not a coward,” Draco insisted, his jaw clenched, knuckles white
around his wand. Severus shied from it slightly but his hard, critical glare
did not falter. “You’re the coward. You’re afraid of the greatness the Dark
Lord envisions, playing both sides until you’re sure which one will come out
ahead. Well, let me save you some suspense,” he spat. “Once Potter is out of
the way, which should be in fairly short order, the Dark Lord will rise
victorious, and Father and I will be at his Right Hand.”
Severus scoffed. If they thought removing the Potions Master from the equation
was going to open a direct path to the Boy Who Lived, they were even more
deluded than he thought. As soon as Albus realised what had happened, he’d lock
Harry away once and for all; so far from their grasp they’d not see him again
until the day he emerged to throw down their precious Lord. In fact, as
miserable as that would be for the young man, at least Harry would finally be
safe. It should have been done long before now. Maybe Severus’ capture would
turn out to be the best thing for Harry in the end. Perhaps his sacrifice would
be worthy, could help pay the debt he owed the young man.  
Severus was just contemplating actually spelling this all out for the younger
Malfoy when Loraina’s head snapped up and she cried out as if being tortured.
It only took Severus a moment to realise what had upset her. The wind had
changed, carrying on it the sharp scent of Harry’s very current personal
perfume.
No.  
Loraina’s eyes sought out Severus’, and they shared a look of misery and
defeat. Then Severus’s eyes drifted shut and he wilted under the weight of his
despair. If it would not have given their captors so much satisfaction, he
might have fallen to his knees and wept. Severus felt as if all the air had
been sucked out of the world. Harry was here. It didn’t matter why or how. He
was here and Severus could not protect him, and the man had never felt more a
failure.   
“Ah,” Draco said with an oily smile, understanding their anguish, as obviously,
this had been part of his plan all along. “Now we can finallyget on with
things. Father?”
There was a brief struggle in the trees behind Draco before Lucius emerged from
them with Harry firmly in his grasp, the point of his wand digging into the
underside of the young man’s jaw.
“Well done, Draco,” Lucius drawled, clearly impressed as he marched Harry into
the clearing.
“Told you he’d show if we waited long enough,” Draco said, clearly chuffed.
“Why go to the trouble of dragging him out, kicking and screaming, when he’ll
just come running to us?”
“The Dark Lord will be mostpleased,” Lucius intoned. “You’ve done exceedingly
well, my son. I never doubted you had it in you.”
As Draco preened, Harry cast a panicked, apologetic gaze in Severus’ direction.
But Severus could not give him the reassurance he seemed to seek. The only
thing Severus was able to convey was his unutterable sadness. “Harry,” he
murmured quietly. “What have you done?”
“What he’s done is delivered the Malfoy family back into the good graces of our
benevolent Lord,” Lucius sneered at Severus. Then he smiled down at Harry. “And
we are most grateful to you for that, Mister Potter. How very selfless of you.”
Harry looked away, unable to hold Severus’ gaze. The man wished he would,
though. Much as he hated seeing Harry at Lucius’ mercy, Severus wanted to
memorise the sight of him while he was still whole. He knew the Dark Lord would
force him to watch as he made the young man otherwise.
Damn it! Why did they not all have cyanide capsules?
But no. They weren’t dead yet. The odds were against them, but there was a
chance they could find a way out of this. Severus had to believe it. The
alternative was too unbearable to entertain.
Loraina began to struggle against her bonds, snarling like a wild animal --
something that seemed to amuse the Malfoys to no end-- but everyone knew it was
fruitless, and she soon sagged again in surrender. “You were my one chance at
finally killing the fiend, Harry,” she lamented. “But you aren’t ready, and now
all is lost.”
“Quite right,” Lucius began, but she cut him off, still addressing Harry.
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t still spit in his face,” she said, giving Harry
a smile that concerned Severus. “Do you remember the secret I shared with you,
Little One?”
What was she doing? This was no time to play games. Fortunately, Harry seemed
to have no idea what she was talking about.
“Surprised you can still talk,” Draco said, bemused by her audacity. “Shut it,
though, will you?”
She dismissed Draco with a sneer, keeping her wild eyes focused on Harry. “Our
little secret, Harry. I think it’s time we shared it.”
Severus suddenly understood what she as referring to. “Loraina,” he warned.
“This is not wise. You’re too weak.”
“I suggestyou all silence yourselves, before something unfortunate happens to
our dear Mister Potter here,” Lucius said tersely, digging his wand deeper into
Harry’s neck and causing him to wince. Severus didn’t know when he’d have the
chance, but he resolved he wouldmurder the bastard. “And we wouldn’t want that,
now would we?”
“Ha!” Loraina smirked wearily. “You aren't going to kill any of us, Lucius.
Least of all him. The Dark Lord would have your skin. Probably literally.”
“You know, Rainey. I don't believe I mentioned killing,” Lucius said, distaste
thick in his voice. He tightened his grip on Harry and withdrew his wand from
Harry’s throat to turn it on Loraina. Severus bristled at the threat to her,
but she simply chuckled darkly.
“You think I'm unfamiliar with torture? Pain and I are old friends. Unlike the
two of us, Lucy,” she sneered. “You don't frighten me.” She looked to Harry
again. “Our secret, Little Harry. Why don't you tell it to Draco?” she said
with a twinkle in her eye.
Harry gasped, and she smiled seeing the light of comprehension in his eyes.
Severus followed their silent exchange with increasing alarm. He narrowed his
eyes at the young man. “Harry,” Severus said firmly. “Don’t.” The last time
he’d cast the spell, it had rendered him unconscious. Harry needed to be able
to run, if the opportunity arose.   
“Don’t do what?” Draco said, growing uneasy after the mention of his name. He
shifted his wand from Severus to Loraina and back again.
“It isn't as if it matters at this point, my love,” Loraina shrugged casually
to Severus. “We might as well enjoy ourselves while we can.”
“Loraina-”
“And it might make youfeel better, Harry, to unburden your soul.” She cackled,
making Severus want to pull out his hair. “We can tell him together!” she
gasped as if the idea had just occurred to her and appealed to her greatly.
Harry steeled himself and nodded. Severus was beside himself. He had to stop
them.
“No, Harry, wait!” he cried. But Loraina had already cast, slicing through her
bonds. The spell struck Draco, but she was so weak it did little more than
scratch him deeply, shredding his shirt. Still, he cried out in shock, throwing
both his hands over his bleeding ribs, dropping his wand in the process and, as
a result, his cover on Severus.
Now loose, Loraina ignored the injured boy and sprinted on unsteady legs for
Lucius who was already drawing back to cast a spell of his own, almost
forgetting Harry entirely. Severus saw his chance. He was ill, but he was
determined. With Harry free and Loraina providing a distraction, Severus might
be able to save Harry after all. If only he could reach him. Nothing in his
life had ever seemed more important. Severus ran toward Harry, but the garlic
around his neck made him feel as if he were sprinting through gelatin. It
wasn’t going to work. Severus pushed himself as hard as he could, but he saw
Loraina fall from the corner of his eye. He could not let that grief touch him.
He looked to Harry, saw the resolve in his eye, and then a fraction of a second
later he saw the young man’s panicked desperation as a second spell left
Lucius’ wand.
Then suddenly, Severus saw nothing at all.
***** He That Wounded Him Hath Hurt Me More Than Had He Killed Me Dead *****
Rennervate!
Severus was confused. The surface beneath him was hard and cold. Was he on the
ground? Why was he on the ground?
Rennervate!
His slow crawl back to consciousness was strange for a Rennervate. The spell
usually yanked one more violently into lucidity.
Crucio!
Fuck. Severus was at least alert enough to recognise what came after that word
and to dread. He prepared himself, but the pain never came. Severus was
relieved but puzzled.  
“Crucio! Crucio! RENNERVATE! Wake up and scream, damn you!”
Severus came to himself all at once. His eyes flew open, but his vision swam,
upsetting his stomach, so he closed them again.
He couldn’t see, but he remembered. He remembered Malfoys and runes. Garlic and
moonlight. He remembered spells and blood and...and Harry. His thoughts were
murky. He sensed no garlic nearby, but its scent and its poison lingered on his
robes and in his system. Severus struggled to raise himself up, but his limbs
were weak and he only made it as far as his elbows before his arms gave way and
he found himself flat of his back again.
He had to get up, though. Lucius had them, and it was not Severus he was
casting on. Where was Harry?
Severus managed to stumble woozily to his feet. While his mind was rapidly
waking, the residual garlic sickness made his body unwieldy. He detected motion
nearby and turned to it. The blurred image of Harry laying on the floor some
feet away moved in and out of focus. It wasn’t Harry that moved, though. Lucius
paced back and forth beside him. His frenetic movements contributed to Severus’
nausea, but they didn’t make him reel as much as what happened next.
“Crucio!” the elder Malfoy shouted. Severus watched in horror as Harry’s body
became rigid, his back bowing, lifting him partially from the ground. But then
he fell limp again when the spell released him. He had never opened his eyes,
never uttered a sound. Severus’ adrenaline helped to flush the poison from his
system and gave him better control of his limbs. He launched himself at Lucius
only to collide painfully with what he found were metal bars. He reached
through them in Harry’s direction, but he was much too far away to reach him.
He wanted to call out his name, but no sound escaped his lips.
“Rennervate!” Lucius howled. He hadn’t even cast that time, he only bent over
Harry and shouted the word at the top of his lungs before kicking Harry sharply
in the side. Severus was incensed but powerless. When Harry failed to react,
Lucius cast Cruciatus again, causing Harry’s otherwise lifeless body to writhe
and twitch. The sight robbed Severus of breath.
Was the young man dead?  
Oh, gods. Please. Please, don’t be dead. Severus shook his head to clear his
vision and tried to see if Harry’s heart still glowed, but there was too much
light in the room. If he did live, Lucius would surely kill him if he did not
cease using the Unforgivable. Severus could see it on the man’s lips as he drew
back to cast again. He had to do something.
“Lucius!” His voice was thick and sluggish, had not wanted to cooperate, but
Severus forced its compliance. It was less word than noise, but it served its
purpose. Lucius turned his attention away from the stubbornly motionless
teenager at his feet and whirled on Severus.
Lucius’ eyes were wild and ringed with red, and his fists were clenched so
tightly his knuckles seemed about to burst from the strain. Severus could
almost swear he frothed at the mouth. There was no sign left of the well-heeled
aristocrat. He was a filthy, sore-ridden junky, lousy with Mut, there was no
doubt of it. But this was more. He looked insane and not just high, decidedly
dangerous. Still, if not for the bars separating them, Severus would have
charged the bastard, wand or no. His hands could kill a man just as well as any
spell. Severus chose to ignore the fact that his cage was the only thing
keeping him upright. He’d rend the arsehole limb from limb, if only he could
reach him. His whole body trembled with the desire to do so. Severus blasted
his murderous intent at Lucius with each panted breath, baring his fangs at him
with a low growl in case there was some question.  
Lucius was unconcerned. “He won’t scream,” he told Severus in a surprisingly
reasonable voice, pointing down at Harry for emphasis. His voice was still
refined and it was jarringly incongruous to his appearance. “I only want to
hear him scream, but he won’t wake up,” he complained. “He’s killed my only
son,” he went on, his voice rising, “he at least could have the decency to wake
up and SCREAM!” He finished in a bellow before turning back to Harry and
hitting him with a succession of spells. Severus was beside himself. He yanked
on his bars. If he was well, he might have managed to wrench the rusty rods
from their anchors, but at the moment he was still too weak.  
“NO! Stop,” he choked out past the bile that rose in the back of his throat.
“Lucius, stop!” he gasped, but it was lost in the pop and hiss of exploding
curses. “Please,” he added in a quiet sob, sliding down the bars to his knees.
“Please,” he whispered to himself, setting his forehead against the metal that
imprisoned him. He wasn't aware he had been weeping until he closed his eyes in
anguish and felt fresh tears stream down already established tracks on his
cheeks.
Lucius did stop, but only because he seemed to have winded himself. The man
stumbled back from Harry and collapsed into a nearby chair, laying his head in
his hands as he attempted to catch his breath. It gave Severus his first
opportunity since waking to concentrate on anything besides the drowning
frustration of his impotence. He fell to a seat on the stone floor and leaned
his back against his cage, trying to wrangle his own breathing into a normal
rhythm. If he didn’t stop hyperventilating, he’d soon pass out.
What was it Lucius had said? That Draco was dead?
So, Harry managed to cast his spell, after all. Fuck. The fool. Besides
inciting Lucius' vengeance, Harry would hate himself for the rest of his life
for having killed the poor, misguided boy...provided they survived the night.
For all his spitfire, Harry was far too sensitive for murder. Which was one of
the reasons his fate made Severus so bitter. They expected Harry to kill
Voldemort, for fuck’s sake. Even if they managed to deliver the young man to
the task intact, Severus worried the act would kill him, whether he survived or
not.  
Was that why he was unconscious? It was no surprise that he’d killed Draco if
the cast was powerful enough to leave him so spent for so long. Lucius’
inability to rouse him, and the fact that he still seemed to be breathing, led
Severus to believe Harry’s protective spells were still in place, but their
effects were not infinite. There was no telling how long Lucius had been trying
to wake him, or how long he’d held him under Cruciatus. Harry would wake
eventually. Severus just dearly hoped that didn’t happen until Lucius tired and
left. In fact, if Severus could not find them a way out of this predicament, it
might be best if the young man never woke at all. No protective magic would be
able to save him once Lucius finally handed them over to the Dark Lord.
Whatever damage Lucius managed to inflict in the meantime would seem tame in
comparison. 
Severus glanced about him with dread at the various medieval-looking devices
arranged around the room. He recognised where they were, and the knowledge did
not inspire optimism. He’d hoped never to return to this place, and he
certainly had never expected to find himself on this side of the cage door.
Severus doubted that this torture chamber had been employed since the first
Wizarding War, but it had been used often at that time. The Dark Lord had made
extensive use of the Malfoys’ sprawling dungeon complex when he was in power,
though only a portion of it. It was vast, older than the Manor House. It
riddled the ground beneath the estate and spilled past its borders in certain
places. Some parts extended down, as well, and they were in one of the deepest,
most remote of the dungeons. Lord Voldemort had favoured it, because even if
one of his captives managed to escape, they’d never, ever find their way out of
the stone warren alive.
Severus shuddered. He, at least, was familiar with the passages. Perhaps even
more familiar than Lucius. This was where the Dark Lord had locked him after
Loraina’s rebellion while he deliberated whether to trust Severus again. And he
had taken his bloody time about it, too.
Severus wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d spent in this abominable place,
scouring the corridors of rats. His body had felt the setting of a sun he could
not see, but Severus lost count of the days. It was long enough that he very
nearly lost himself. He had almost ceased to be Severus, had almost become
thirst incarnate, a mindless revenant beyond recall. After a while, the Dark
Lord began loosing prisoners there to die at Severus’ hand. He was never sure
if it’d been intended as a kindness or a punishment. Most likely it was simply
a game, something the Dark Lord found amusing. Severus had always suspected the
fiend had watched somehow. He was far enough gone at the time that he had no
clear idea how many men and women he’d murdered in the tunnels. It might have
been five or fifteen, he had no way to reckon it. He still saw them sometimes
in his nightmares. It was one of the reasons why he slept so seldomly, and also
why he had sworn off hunting, even of animals, choosing to rely solely on
Substisanguinus. His one consolation was knowing they would all have died
anyway. Severus was merely Voldemort’s chosen instrument of execution for a
time.
Some tearful murmuring caught Severus’ attention and he looked over to find
that Lucius was no longer sitting. He stooped over a table at the far end of
the chamber Severus had not noticed before. Lucius stroked a cropped cascade
of red-stained, white blond hair.
Draco.
But the boy was not alone there. A house elf tended him, her hands glowing gold
with the spell she cast over the young man’s motionless body. Her expression
was tender when she looked at the face of her charge, but she threw frequent
fearful glances up at her master.  
“Is it working?” Lucius asked her quietly. He did not look at her. He stared
down at his son, spilling unmarked tears onto Draco’s cheeks.
The house elf was hesitant to answer, and Severus could see her tremble. “He is
broken bad, Master,” she answered timidly. “Mipsy is trying.”
“If he dies, I’ll kill you,” Lucius said plainly. It held no venom, was not
personal, was simply a statement of fact. This seemed to have been already
understood by Mipsy. She nodded and concentrated even harder on her task.
Draco wasn’t dead after all, only grievously wounded. Severus was flooded with
relief. Not only was he alive, he was yet unMarked. There was still hope for
him. There was still hope for all of them if Severus could think of a way to
manage it. He searched the rest of the cages in the chamber, but he did not see
Loraina. Though, surely she was close. Lucius would have wanted to deliver them
all alive, and soon, else the Dark Lord would consider it a theft. Which meant
Lucius couldn’t hurt them too badly either, or he would face the Dark Lord’s
wrath. Lord Voldemort would not want to be deprived of any of their screams.
At least, this was undoubtedly the original plan. Lucius seemed to be
contemplating other options. How much was his life really worth to him if his
son died? He turned back to Harry with murder in his eyes. Apparently, he’d
caught a second wind. Severus had to do something. He had to buy Harry a longer
reprieve, and the only way he knew to do it was to keep Lucius talking. With
any luck, at the very least, he’d decide Severus was a preferable target for
his spells. Better that the Potions Master bore the brunt of Lucius' violent
grief.
“Lucius, you can’t,” he said, suddenly calm. The man transferred his
bloodthirsty focus to Severus.
“Oh, but I think I can,” he responded smoothly. “Who’s going to stop me? You?”
Severus sighed wearily. “If you kill him, the Dark Lord will kill you. If Draco
manages to survive, he’ll kill him, as well. In fact, he’d likely keep you
alive just long enough to make you watch it. You know this.” Severus was
careful to avoid any indication that he was concerned for Harry himself,
otherwise Lucius would harm him for spite.  
“And if Draco dies?” Lucius demanded. “Not as if I have much to lose then,
wouldn’t you agree? No one knows you’re here. By the time Dumbledore lets on to
anyone outside your little rebellion that his precious saviour isn’t coming
back, I could be halfway round the world.”      
“Lucius, your son yet lives,” Severus reasoned. “You have to take him to St.
Mungo’s.”
“And hand myself over to the Aurors?” Lucius growled as if he thought Severus
was mad.
“Which is worth more to you?” Severus scowled. “Draco’s life or your freedom?”
Lucius winced, but he still clutched his wand too tightly for Severus’ liking.
“If you don’t get him care, he willdie, and it will have been your fault, not
Potter’s.”  
Lucius glared at him and Severus held his bloodshot gaze unflinchingly. Then
Lucius let out a roar of frustration, tearing at his matted hair. “It was
almost perfect!” he shrieked, stomping over to Severus’ cage. Severus didn't
react except to raise a bemused look up at him. “Weeks of planning! Weeks of
scrounging around in that godforsaken forest owling coded letters to that
crackpot to publish!” The man blasted spittle and rage with every word. “All of
it wasted, just because your fucking whore decided to be clever. I've always
hated the both of you," he said. "Filthy, unnatural creatures. The Dark Lord
should have put you down the minute you came limping back from Romania. What
good is pure blood if it's diseased? I swear to you, if she survives the
garlic, I’ll skin her alive in front of you. The boy alone will be more
than enough to earn my forgiveness, and the Dark Lord is too good for her,” he
finished in a dark hiss. Inwardly Severus seethed, but he did not respond.
Lucius scowled at him as if he had, though, and suddenly blasted the lock to
Severus’ cage with a spell so powerful it exploded in shards that stung
Severus’ face before he could duck for cover. “Get up,” Lucius commanded
roughly.
Severus kept an apprehensive eye on Lucius’ wand as he complied. He moved
slowly to avoid provoking the man, as the tip of his wand trembled as if a
curse fought to be freed from it and its owner was only barely holding it back.
He did not raise his hands, though. He wasn’t going to give Lucius the
satisfaction of seeing his fear. If Harry’s life did not also hang in the
balance, he might not have obeyed at all. Severus glanced down at the young man
as Lucius marched him past him and toward the door.
“Don’t worry,” the man told him, “he’s coming with us.” With his wand still
trained on Severus, Lucius reached down blindly to grasp a fistful of Harry’s
jumper and drag him with them through the exit. He shouldn’t have been strong
enough. Harry was practically as tall as Severus and more robust. But with the
amount of Mut running through his system, Lucius might have been able to hoist
them both.
Lucius directed him down the corridor, and Severus couldn’t help wondering
whether each cell they passed held Loraina or not. Her absence unsettled him.
He couldn't rescue what he could not find. “Where is Cobs?” he asked finally,
unable to hold back the question any longer.
“Somewhere else,” Lucius barked, casting a Dissendium at the nearest door that
was so strong it bounced off the inner wall with a bang and drifted almost back
to a close. “Get in.”
Severus hesitated. Lucius was clearly in no mood to be trifled with. Severus
would not be talking himself out of the command. But if he lost sight of Harry,
he might never see him again. If he allowed himself to be locked away, he could
do nothing to save him. Allowing Lucius to kill him now wouldn’t help the young
man either, but it seemed a risk he was going to have to take. The torchlight
from the torture chamber was distant and dim. It was dark enough in the
corridor that Severus could finally see the radiance of Harry’s heart pulsing
vitality in glowing filaments throughout the young man’s body. Severus held the
advantage of sight, but garlic sickness still weighted his limbs. His odds were
not good.
But before he could decide a course of action, before Lucius could lose his
patience at Severus’ dithering, a small, frightened voice carried down the
stone passage from the room they’d left behind. “Master Lucius! Come quick!
Master Draco, he is not breathing!”
Severus literally watched the blood drain from Lucius’ face. Its light faded,
leaving his features dimmed and muted in the darkness. He no longer waited for
Severus to obey. “Everte Statum!” Severus was thrown backwards into the cell,
landing hard and sliding to the far wall. As he struggled to pick himself up,
Lucius tossed Harry carelessly into the cell with him before yanking the door
shut and, presumably, sprinting back toward his dying son.
***** Blazoning Our Injustice *****
                                     Remus
 
His transition to lucidity was achingly slow. Remus had been taking Wolfsbane
long enough to take that part of it for granted, to forget that the struggle
back to himself was just as painful, in its own way, as the physical
transformation. He felt bruised mentally as well as physically. But he’d
deserved a swift punch to the jaw after what he’d allowed to happen, at the
very least. And since all of his friends were too civilised to deliver it, he’d
had to blacken himself in the only way he knew how.
It had been years since he’d felt this raw of spirit, though, and Remus
realised he’d miscalculated when he’d sentenced himself to this punishment. It
had not been intended to be so debilitating. His descent into mindlessness
stirred the dregs and resurfacing brought with it memories of countless other
mornings like this one. Mornings when he struggled to shake off the wolf, when
the dawn light illuminated fledgeling scars. Waking with them again after so
long an absence, Remus was reminded sharply of a time before the comforts of
Wolfsbane. And he was reminded, as well, that his monthly trial was once only
made tolerable by the kindnesses of his small community of fellow unfortunates
before that community had been decimated.
Remus rolled to his back, still bleeding, and languished in nostalgia. He
hadn’t thought about Dogtown for a long while, despite the fact that it served
as his sanctuary for years after Voldemort fell. The suppression hadn’t been
intentional, he didn’t think. Most all of Remus’ memories were painful in some
way, or at the very least bittersweet. He had never been one to run from the
pain of his past. He simply hadn’t had reason to remember the place or the
people he loved there for quite some time. It had been so unique that nothing
reminded him of it. His life had been too comfortable since. Though, the fresh
lacerations on his skin seemed to chastise him now for his forgetfulness.
Remus had refused to move back home after graduating Hogwarts. He hadn’t wanted
to be a burden to his father. A small part of him honestly believed he might
kill the man, as he had killed his mother. Obviously, Remus hadn’t done so in a
literal sense, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel responsible. And he wasn’t
the only one to think so. Remus knew his father loved him, but he also knew his
father considered his son’s lycanthropy the real cause of his wife’s death. His
mother had given birth to Remus late in life, and the strain of his care and
the sympathetic pain she felt for her son during his transformations took its
toll. After she fell ill, Lyall Lupin once remarked bitterly to his son that,
though Remus was the one bleeding the morning after, his mother was the one
most wounded. She bore the weight of years of memories of the monster who came
monthly to assault her only son, who did so while she sat outside the door
powerless to prevent it or provide comfort, while Remus simply woke to the
aftermath.
Remus understood that his father did not blame him personally. The truth was
that his father blamed himself. The senior Lupin had been the one to anger
Greyback and inspire his revenge in the form of Remus’ infection. He felt he
had cursed his son and ultimately killed his wife. Like the scars on Remus’
arms were haunting souvenirs of the savagery that shamed him, Remus’ presence
was his father’s constant reminder of his own guilt and remorse. Remus was his
father’s scar, but he was also the one that could be removed. After his mother
died, his father’s disposition had been so fragile that Remus decided he
presented a real danger to him. The man had done his duty in seeing his son to
adulthood, and Remus felt he should be absolved of further responsibility. 
Remus would never have wanted to impose himself on his friends, but he knew he
wouldn't have to. As he suspected they would, James and Sirius would hear none
of this ‘striking out on one’s own’ nonsense. They knew as well as Remus did
how hard such a thing was for a werewolf. Besides, they were both obscenely
well off. James had just inherited his parent’s estate after losing them to the
same Dragon Pox outbreak that felled Remus’ mother. And Sirius’ uncle had left
him a sizeable amount of gold a few years before; more than enough for a modest
but comfortable life, even with a lycanthropic house guest in the mix. They had
promised Remus that they would care for him, that he would want for nothing
while they lived, and Remus had dared to look forward to his future. But then
James had been killed, and Sirius was sent to Azkaban for his role in it, which
was a kind of death. He was certainly dead to Remus. Overnight, it seemed, the
young werewolf had been left with almost nothing. The vision he’d allowed
himself of a humble but full life had been extinguished before it’d had an
opportunity to properly begin. He’d had no choice then but to gather his few
belongings and drag them and himself to the rundown warren of hovels dubbed as
Dogtown, where those of his kind were expected to banish themselves when all
other options were spent.
Remus had heard whispers of its existence since he was first infected, but he'd
never thought he'd actually end up living there. It was almost a fairy story, a
place where naughty young pups were sent if they disobeyed or didn't eat their
vegetables. Dogtown was very real, though. It was a destitute and largely
unregulated corner of the Wizarding community, which the Ministry and the world
at large ignored almost completely except when its denizens attempted to leave
it. Remus had never shied from hard work. He knew how to be content with
little. He was no stranger to prejudice. He held no great expectations from
life. Still, shuffling through the gate in the perimeter walls for the first
time, Remus had instantly felt intimidated and naive. He hadn’t properly
realised until that moment what it meant for someone with his affliction to
face the world without the support of family or friends.
Dogtown was like nothing he’d ever imagined. The place seemed to exist
independently of the outside world completely. He was readily admitted, and
with a smile, but with that exception it had almost felt like his first day of
prison. The first order of business had been his assignment to an Alpha, and
under that Alpha's roof he was given a bed and introduced to his housemates.
His welcome had not been hostile, but it was not warm, either. He felt sorely
out of place. It was apparent that he'd enjoyed a much higher standard of
living than his new companions, and it was not clear yet to what degree that
earned their resentment. They seemed almost to enjoy educating Remus on the
depths to which he'd fallen, and his orientation was grim and full of warnings
and admonitions.
Within its walls, he was told, Dogtown's laws were its own. As was its crime.
The Ministry didn’t care if they killed each other provided they did it
privately and unnoticed by the Muggles. And they did kill each other, he was to
find, for reasons that often seemed petty to Remus before he came to better
understand both the place in which they lived and the creatures that they were.
Though he'd been infected nearly fifteen years prior, Remus quickly realised he
knew surprisingly little about being a werewolf. He knew their textbook
classification and characteristics. He knew their weaknesses. He was familiar
with the precise triggers and the duration of a transformation. But all his
knowledge seemed academic compared to the realities of living among his own
kind. Remus had never been one to embrace his condition. He had vague, pleasant
memories of roughhousing with Padfoot and Prongs in the woods surrounding the
Shack, but once he woke up in the infirmary on the morning after the Full, once
he was human again, he did his solid best to forget, as far as possible, that
he ever was otherwise.
His new friends, however, found no shame in what they were. Their attitude of
self-acceptance would eventually help Remus make peace with his own nature.
Some of them took that acceptance farther than others, though. There were
differing opinions on the wisdom of intentionally summoning the wolf outside
the Full. Most, if they even possessed the strength of will to induce a change,
did not have confidence in their ability to truly return. They warned Remus
that each time it was dared, a werewolf would bring back a bit more of the
beast with him, until nothing remained of the man. They told him stories of
feral humans, wolves in all but form, who had to be 'handled'. Several
residents didn't seem to mind flirting with that risk from time to time,
though, especially when competing for position. 
It was explained to him that it wasn’t exactly natural for such creatures as
they were to live so densely in one place. They were far too large to really be
a pack. In ‘the wild’ competing Alphas were meant to splinter off and form
their own groups when tensions reached a breaking point, but none of them had
anywhere else to go. Since they were all trapped together, they'd had to invent
a new system. They became several smaller packs that comprised a larger one, a
hierarchy within a hierarchy, like tiny clans that functioned together as a
small nation. It was sometimes messy, but they made it work. It had the
distinct essence of a mafia. Alphas would be crowned and toppled, it wasn’t
possible to turn off the instinct. But too much infighting for dominance put
them at risk of discovery by the Muggles or retaliation by the Ministry. There
was a way to go about things, and those who were too reckless were dealt with.
Still, the transfer of power among those so inclined often was determined with
fur and fang.
It terrified Remus, especially since he knew there was more than one position
to be vied for within a pack, and he was at the very bottom of the pecking
order. He’d always left the bravado to James and Sirius at school. He’d thought
he was simply above such behaviour, but he recognised now that their boldness
had shielded him, perhaps intentionally. They weren’t there any longer to
deflect unwanted attention, though, and Remus would have to learn to stand on
his own. He decided quickly that he meant to, too. His strength was quieter
than others’, but he had never been a coward. He knew in his heart he was no
Omega. He did not intend to stay one for long.
Those battles were not to be fought for some time, however. His most immediate
concern, in the beginning, was the next full moon. How on earth, he asked, did
dozens of werewolves all transform on the same night without chaos and
bloodshed? It turned out that the only thing the Ministry provided with any
hint of generosity was means of containment: reinforced doors and special locks
spelled to open and close as the full moon rose and set, both in their homes
and on the main gate. The Ministry’s concern apparently ended there. Besides
being left to police themselves, Dogtown’s overwhelming medical needs were
its own affair as well, so long as they kept their infection from spreading
beyond their walls. The residents could not afford modern care or manufactured
potions. Their healers resembled a Muggle’s idea of medieval wise women. They
tended medicinal herb gardens and treated ailments as much with superstition as
with magic or medical science. Each house (that is to say, each pack) had a Den
Mother, and this was who typically saw to it that her charges did not die of
infection due to the Ministry’s apathy.
They weren’t entirely ignored, though, Remus learned, to his chagrin. There
were occasional Ministry raids which were unannounced and otherwise completely
unconstitutional. But then the laws of the Wizarding World did not apply to
them beyond those designed to bring them to heel. It was rarely clear what they
were searching for besides unregistered newcomers, but they would cut open
sacks of provisions. They would empty drawers and rip the stuffing from
mattresses. It was as if they thought the wolves might be hiding stowaways in
twenty-pound bags of beans or flour. Though it was never discussed, everyone
knew what the real purpose of the raids was, and Remus had had to develop a
deep patience in order to be able to stand and watch without comment as
enforcement officers soiled and ruined what little he and his friends owned.
‘You are powerless’, that is what their smirks would say. ‘We can do whatever
we want. Remember your place.’ In time, Remus also began to strongly suspect
the Ministry introduced some sterilising agent into their water, as pups were
rare enough to seem almost miraculous when they were conceived. Though, there
were precious few of them willing to bring a child into such a life, anyway.
Remus had always been one to make the best of things, however, and to see the
good in those around him. It was true that Dogtown was squalid and ramshackle.
It was dangerous and intimidating, at least at first glance. But, for all its
faults and miseries, once he worked out how to navigate it, Remus found it to
be a haven, as well. He opened his mind and his heart to Dogtown, and it soon
embraced him. Unlike the outside world where they faced abuse and
ostracization, there they had the freedom of being themselves openly, with
total acceptance and understanding from those around them. The men and women
Remus lived among became much more than neighbours. They were more than packs
that comprised a tribe. They were families that made up a community, and life
was not unpleasant so long as one had no larger aspirations. They found joy in
companionship, learned to find happiness in simplicity. They all carried the
same burden, after all. Rags were not embarrassing when everyone wore them, and
skill in mending and creation from scraps became a point of pride. You would
not be jeered for the patches on your coat in Dogtown, but would likely be
complimented on the precision of your stitching. His brothers and sisters were
charitable because they knew the sting of deprivation. In between posturing and
skirmishes for position, kindness abounded. For the most part, his people knew
their place in the world and found ways to make peace with their lot.
For the most part.
Charles Blackfur had been different. His family lived on the other side of
Dogtown, but Remus was familiar with him. He’d interacted with him during a
number of monthly community meetings and, though they sometimes butted heads,
Remus admired the man's integrity. Like Remus, he had reached his position
without ruthlessness or unnecessary violence, and Remus liked to think they set
an example for other aspiring Alphas.
Despite his comparable moderation, Charles almost ignited a civil war. He did
nothing so very terrible, really. He was simply discontent, and he had the
audacity to voice it. The problem was, it was not allowed. Their microcosm
functioned well, but it was a delicate thing, predicted on silent obedience to
the powers that be. He upset that balance by daring to raise aloud the
questions that they all thought but never spoke. Why must they live in such
squalor? Why, if they were barred employment in almost any line of work that
might provide an adequate living, did the Ministry not better provide for their
needs? If they were not to be given Wolfsbane, why were they not given better
medical resources after the Full? 
The High Alpha was a good man, but he was old and stuck in his ways. He
resented this upset to their established order. He had fought long and hard to
negotiate what little assistance they received. Diplomacy with the Ministry was
not easy. He was convinced the government would as soon poison the lot of them
as allocate a single knut more than it did already. The heads of other families
objected as well, fearing that, if they dared complain, the raids would come
more often and be more severe, and they had little enough as it was. Charles
persevered, though, convincing enough other Alphas --Remus being one of them-
- that they were committing a disservice to their families by allowing them to
live in such conditions, that it would be better to risk retaliation in an
effort to improve their lot than to continue to meekly accept injustice. They
had to stand up for themselves, there was no one else to fight for them.
Finally, with only a reluctant blessing from the High Alpha, he took their
grievances to London.
But Charles, for all his good intentions and determination, was not a
politician. The rousing speeches and dominant demeanour that played well to the
wolven instincts of his kindred were not suited to the quieter and more nuanced
arena of official governance. He was far too honest. His passion was considered
aggression. They saw him as dangerous, more terrorist than activist, as if
wanting a better life for himself and those he loved was a revolutionary
threat. Remus was one of those with him when he pled their case in a special
hearing before Magical Parliament, but it was obvious before he even began that
they would get nowhere. The hate and disgust displayed by most of their
audience were almost a physical force that made Remus want to fold his ears and
slink away. He wasn't entirely convinced they'd even be allowed to leave the
building unmolested.
Charles was undeterred, though. When he got no concession from the Ministry, he
took their case to the people, instead. The interview the Prophet published was
not unbiased and read like Ministry propaganda. Still, the swell of support it
triggered among non-werewolves surprised everyone, even Charles and his
followers. And it made the Ministry nervous. The wolves were naive enough to
think that was a good sign. They could almost feel the tide of public opinion
turning. A tentative optimism infected their ranks, and Remus had been proud to
be an ancillary participant in what was shaping up to be an historic civil
rights movement. It almost felt like being in the Order again, with that same
sense of fighting the good fight, of serving the righteous good.
Before they gained enough momentum to force any real change, however,
everything came crashing down. Aurors descended in the dead of night to drag
Charles away. He was charged with attacking a young Muggle girl during the
Full, resulting in her death. It was obviously a framing. The case against the
werewolf was flimsy at best. But they’d had no money to retain the services of
a barrister, and no time to arrange it. While they still struggled to shake off
their confusion and panic long enough to build some sort of defence, legal
processes were expedited. Normal procedures were waived. The entire awesome
mechanism of the state had moved in synchrony to disadvantage them at every
turn. To their horror, ‘justice’ was swiftly served, and Charles was executed
almost immediately and with much fanfare. And there had been nothing any of
them could have done to prevent it
The message was clear. The powers that be would tolerate no challenge to the
status quo.
They had discussed protesting, but they were too heartsore. It was not how
Charles would have wanted it. Violence would have been unavoidable and
devastating to their cause. None of them wanted to have to mourn any more of
their brothers. There were too few of them already. Bitter as it was, the
Ministry had won this battle. Devastated, the rest of the lycanthropes
dutifully and silently fell back into line, returning to Dogtown with nothing
to show for their grand experiment besides a renewed resentment and Charles
Blackfur’s ashes.
Tragically, that wasn't to be the end of it. As they licked their wounds,
trouble brewed outside their walls. Many in the Wizarding community felt it
wasn’t enough that the Ministry had seemingly cut the head from the snake. They
had been reminded of what atrocities Blackfur and his ilk were capable of, had
been reconvinced they had reason for their prejudice. A frightening number
thought to take justice into their own hands, nevermind that the crimes they
sought to avenge had not yet and would never have been committed except in
their own imaginations. They decided that driving Remus’ kind to the fringes,
forcing them to live in a kind of quarantine in slums in the peripheral, was
not enough. They came, a literal mob with literal torches, to burn those slums
to the ground. It was Blackfur's execution a hundred fold. Overnight, Remus’
whole world, and almost everyone in it he cared for, had been lost.
Again.
So this morning, Remus wrestled with much more than the sting on his skin and
the fog in his brain. He was no stranger to the wounds he bore. But now there
would be no commissary with his fellows in the aftermath. There would be no
comfort food prepared in advance and served with an encouraging smile by the
resident Den Mother after she patched them all up with herbs and spit and
homemade bandages. For the first time in too long, Remus remembered to grieve
for the family he’d lost to the Riots of Dogtown. For the first time in a long
while, he properly missed their presence.
After a good cry, Remus finally pulled himself from the floor and shuffled over
to retrieve his wand from the wardrobe where he’d stored it until ‘after’ and
went about his old routine of repairing his furnishings before turning his
magic on himself. He was relieved that there was not much blood this time.
There were no wounds that required more than a skin-seal and a scour. If there
had been, there was no one convenient to stitch him up. With term started and
Albus at Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place had been quiet. The Order had had no
business to conduct since he’d exiled himself from the Castle, and Remus had
been alone.
He’d assumed he was that morning, as well, and he was so preoccupied with his
self-imposed misery that he did not immediately recognise that something
stirred in the house beneath him. Remus listened at the door, puzzled, as he
struggled stiffly into his clothes. Perhaps some well-meaning soul had come to
see how he’d fared? Once dressed, Remus reached to undo the lock over the door
that could only be worked by human hands, designed to keep him safely inside
during the Full, and crept down the steps to see who was there.
“Poppy?” he said, confused on seeing the healer in the sitting room. She was
aware of the Order, as she was sometimes called to provide discreet care to its
members, but she was not a proper member herself. Perhaps Albus had sent her,
knowing Remus was facing the Full unmedicated for the first time in a long
while.
“Remus,” she greeted him breathlessly as she rose from the sofa, giving him an
anxious once over but not approaching to do a proper examination. “Do you need
any assistance?” When he shook his head, she stowed her wand and nodded,
seeming relieved. “Excellent. You should come quickly.”
“What’s happened?” Remus asked, becoming increasingly apprehensive. This was
nothing to do with him and the full moon. Poppy simply shook her head, clearly
distressed, and reached out to pat his arm comfortingly.
“I’ll leave that to Albus,” she said quietly. “We’re ready now, Hokey.”
A house elf Remus had not previously noticed stepped from behind the nurse’s
voluminous skirt. He wore a pillowcase embroidered with the Hogwarts crest. He
was Apparating them there, Remus understood suddenly, because whatever matter
brought Pomfrey to fetch him was too urgent for traditional transportation.
“Poppy? What’s happened?” he repeated anxiously as the house elf took his hand
and then hers. The regret in her eyes met the fear in his, but she did not
respond before Hokey yanked them, with a pop, out of London and into Albus’
study.
***** His Fits, His Frenzy, and His Bitterness *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                    Severus
 
The vampire knew their prison to be sound, but that didn’t stop him from
testing it. The pop of Lucius disapparating echoed down the corridor almost
immediately after they’d been locked in, and Severus flew to the door when he
heard it. The wood was ancient but solid and sturdy. Even if he hadn’t been so
weak, he’d never have budged it. There was a generous gap at the corner, but it
was simply a portal for rats. There was no other exit. They were deep
underground. He frantically searched for one, anyway, testing every seam he
could reach. The mortar had partially flaked away from around several stones,
but the walls were more than one stone thick. Besides, he’d wear his fingers to
nothing by picking at it long before he managed to loosen a single one. The
only real weakness in their cell was from above where rainwater had found a way
through the upper floors and widened it slowly through the years. Hastening the
process would only result in a cave in. Still, being crushed to death by a
fallen ceiling might be preferable to what they faced.
Having assured himself there was no escape, all urgency left him. If they could
have gotten out, they would have needed to cover as much ground as possible
before their captor noticed their flight. The minutes no longer mattered,
though. They were trapped there until Lucius returned, whenever that might be.
Severus turned his anxious attention to Harry instead.
He was no healer, but he had stocked the infirmary stores for years. Potions
required a certain understanding of their practical application, and Severus
liked to think he had a basic grasp of things. The young man’s soft glow was
encouraging. Severus didn’t have to take his wrist to tell that Harry’s pulse
was steady, not strong but not weak or faltering. He was simply exhausted. The
ordeal had left him pale, but not pale enough to indicate significant blood
loss. Severus doubted Harry was bleeding internally. Though, a cursory check of
the most likely bones revealed damaged ribs. Harry’s breathing seemed
unhindered, however. Severus heard no wetness in it. Fondling them gingerly,
Severus determined they were not broken. Bruised, certainly. A vicious stain,
several inches in diameter and warm to the touch, blossomed across the young
man’s side. Possibly his ribs were cracked, but nothing worrisome seemed to be
wrong with him.
Harry was alive. Somehow, Harry was whole. Severus collapsed to a seat on the
stone floor beside him in relief. He’d feared so much worse.  
There was nothing to do then but wait: for the young man to wake or for Lucius
to return. Severus disliked their lack of options, but perhaps it was a
blessing of sorts. Their danger was not immediate. He could allow himself to
breathe for a moment. And he needed to. He was shaken.
Severus had been in perilous situations before. Each moment spent in the Dark
Lord’s presence held the potential to be his last. Facing death was nothing to
him, and he hadn’t thought anything else could possibly be as nerve wracking.
But that was before the Potions Master had allowed himself to care for another
person more than himself.
Being forced to watch Lucius torture Harry had been one of the most difficult
things he’d ever endured. If the young man had been awake, Severus wasn’t sure
he could have weathered the episode with his sanity intact. Watching him
shuddering on the floor in induced spasms had been hard enough. If it had been
accompanied by Harry’s anguished screams, Severus suspected he’d have come
unravelled completely. He trembled to think what he might have done, might have
agreed to, for the promise that it might stop.
Severus looked down at the boy and marvelled that he could feel so strongly for
a person whose presence, until fairly recently, had literally made his skin
crawl. The revelation that the reaction had little to do with the young man
himself had been both enlightening and shackling. Severus reached over with a
still trembling hand to lower Harry’s jumper back over his torso from where it
had become bunched under his arm as Severus had studied his ribs. He did so
slowly, as if not to wake him, but really Severus was simply absorbing details
before they were hidden away. He’d not taken the opportunity to appreciate them
while he was examining the young man for injury. It occurred to him he could
now. Nothing stopped him from pushing the fabric back instead of pulling it
down. Harry wouldn’t be waking soon. Severus could drink in as much of him as
he wanted without consequence.
...Severus could dowhatever he wanted...
The man shuddered and his stomach instantly soured. He pulled the garment
quickly but gently into place. It had been an ugly, despicable thought. But
though it left him feeling unclean, his mouth still watered, which only made
him feel even more wretched.
After taking a moment to tamp back his shame, Severus contented himself with
studying Harry’s fully-clothed form. It still felt wrong somehow, but it was
hard to resist. The cell was small and held no details besides the pattern of
the uninterrupted stones that comprised it. There was only one other thing in
the room beside Severus, and that something pulsed in radiant technicolour,
made all the more vivid by their flat, lifeless, grey surroundings.    
Even battered and unwell, the young man really was gorgeous. But, for the life
of him, Severus couldn’t be sure if the boy really was that attractive or if
Severus’ affection for him made him so. He shyly dared to brush the hair back
from Harry’s face with reverent fingertips. He straightened his cracked glasses
on his nose with a small smile. Could anyone really be considered so handsome
in such funny frames? But it wasn’t important in the least how attractive Harry
might be to others, he realised. After all, Severus still found Loraina
beautiful. Though he knew it to be objectively untrue, it made her no less so
in his eyes. They would both forever be paragons to Severus. Exceptional. He
doubted he would ever feel similarly toward any other man. If none had ever
interested him before, why should any in future? No. There would always only be
Harry, and Severus almost preferred the rest of the world not see what he saw
in the young man.   
It was a foolish thing to ponder, though, he thought sinkingly, because it
didn’t matter. Regardless of what Severus felt for him or why, Harry would
never return the sentiment. It had been a long while since such thoughts had
wounded him. There was a multitude of reasons why the two of them could never
be, but they weren’t what stung. Even if all other obstacles were somehow
cleared, Harry would never choose him. Severus did not possess Lupin’s
deceptively considerate expression or his weathered good looks. He did not have
Harry’s schoolboy lover’s youth or golden hair and skin. Severus raised a hand
self-consciously to his face, tracing a finger down his ‘abnormally large
nose’. He had rarely so hated its shape. Severus traced Harry’s graceful
bridge, as well, for comparison, and grew even more despondent. He let his
fingertip continue its consideration, lightly stroking the silky swell of
Harry’s lips, and he tried to recall their flavour, but he tasted only bile. He
knew he’d never sample them again.   
Severus retreated to the opposite wall to unabashedly sulk. He tucked his hands
against his sides as if the young man had been caustic to the touch, knowing
the phantom sensation of the supple warmth of Harry’s skin would forever be
burned into his own. It was a hateful thing, this longing. There he was, locked
alone in a dark room with the object of his unlikely desire. It was an
attachment he’d never wanted, and now he resented it and this false
opportunity. Of all the things Severus had endured, this was perhaps the most
embittering. Fate mocked him. It had always, but now it abandoned all subtlety.
Curse the boy! This was all Harry’s fault, Severus thought sourly. He was so
easily led, so bloody predictable. Really, how could Severus possibly be so
smitten with someone so dense? It defied all logic. He had never been one to be
taken in by looks alone. He suspected it must be the blood. Surely he wouldn’t
find the young man’s presence so intoxicating if his blood wasn’t so perfect,
if he wasn’t still a virgin...
Severus gasped as that fact slowly defeated his heartfelt denial of it. He’d
been so distracted by his insecurities he’d failed to appreciate what it truly
meant to be locked alone with the young man for an indeterminate length of
time. It was almost as if Severus had forgotten, until just that moment, what
he was and how Harry’s blood called to him. Suddenly, its song was almost
deafening, and Severus pressed himself more firmly against the wall behind him,
away from the shining temptation spread out on the floor in front of him. He’d
taken his Substisanguinus, but its effects were short lived. It was only a
matter of time before his thirst became unshackled to do battle with his
willpower.   
His earlier sense of relief evaporated. They were doomed. There simply was not
enough time for matters to work out in their favour. If Lucius retrieved them
before Severus’ appetite became unbearable, they would die at the Dark Lord’s
hands. If he didn’t, Harry would die at Severus’. No one knew where they might
be or who captured them. How long before those at Hogwarts even noticed their
absence? Or thought to look outside the grounds? Not soon enough. Perhaps
Lucius had risked capture and taken Draco to St. Mungo’s. But that wasn’t
encouraging, either. Whether Draco survived or not, Lucius would die before he
confessed their exact location. Even if they knew to start searching the
dungeons immediately, it would take them days to find the cell that held them.
With the water pooling in the corner, that mightn’t be such a dismal thought,
if not for the thirst Severus harboured which the pool could not quench.
Severus gave a wry laugh that was dangerously close to a sob of despair. It was
too much. To think he’d been downcast at the thought that he was being taunted
with Harry’s vulnerability, that his covetousness would go unsatisfied. But
this was so much worse than sexual frustration and hurt feelings over his lack
of appeal to the handsome youth. Thiswas true torture, knowing the one person
whom Severus had come to care for above all others would die by his hand like a
sacrifice to some dark and twisted god. Eventually. Only after Severus had had
ample opportunity to contemplate the horror of it. It was as if Karma was
calling in his debts, and all of Severus’ sins had caught up with him at once.
He wouldn’t do it. Severus determined he’d die before he harmed Harry in any
way. If it came to it, he’d use his fangs to open his own veins and empty
himself. He had no other tools at his disposal to accomplish the deed. And so
it simply became a matter of waiting. His very last staring contest with Death
had commenced. He settled in for the ordeal with acceptance but not grace. His
decision was not motivated by nobility. Frankly, he was disgusted by this
outcome. Bitter and sickened, but lazily so. In a few days time, whether it was
by Voldemort’s hand or his own, he would no longer exist on this earth; and all
he’d strived to accomplish in this life will have come to nothing at all.
 
Chapter End Notes
     FYI: I found some old fanart and added it to the end of the last
     chapter of PMC. Feel free to go check it out.
***** A Solemn Hunting is in Hand *****
                                     Remus
                                        
Draco and Lucius set trap in Forest. Snape and Cobbleshot in danger. Can’t find
                              anyone. Gone after.
                                    Hurry.
                                    ~Harry
Remus wasn’t aware of dropping the note and didn’t immediately understand why
he was being helped to a chair. Trap. Danger. Gone after. Though he no longer
held the parchment, he still saw the words. They seemed to be tattooed on his
retinas.
When they had arrived, the first thing Remus spied was his own cardigan laid
out on Albus’ desk. It was shredded and barely recognisable. He hadn’t
understood what it meant, but the dread it inspired crescendoed when, with only
a solemn expression, the Headmaster handed him Harry’s letter.  
“...which is why we must go immediately to Malfoy Manor and...Remus? I
understand it is a shock, but I need you to be present now,” Dumbledore told
him, kind but firm. “For Harry’s sake.”
For Harry’s sake.
He was alive, as far as they knew. Hagrid was lost to them, but they had only
found Harry’s sweater...Remus’ sweater which Harry had been wearing. That
mental image broke the werewolf. He was surprised the young man hadn’t burned
the thing after Remus’ betrayal. But he hadn’t. He’d kept it and had worn it,
and now it was the only piece of him they had.
“I’m sorry, Albus,” Remus stammered faintly as the room around him
rematerialized. Was that his heart? It was so hard to hear over its pounding.
“I’m listening. Go on.”
Albus cast a worried glance to Poppy but quickly moved on. “Lucius is being
interrogated by Kingsley as we speak, but I’m told not to expect much from that
quarter,” Albus muttered ruefully. “Narcissa is at St. Mungo’s at Draco’s
bedside and cannot assist. She is not uncooperative, exactly, but she is not
especially sympathetic, either, as Lucius tells us that their son’s condition
is Harry’s doing. She has given me the keys to the Manor with permission to
search but little else.”  
“Then what are we waiting for?” Remus asked, rising too quickly. His head was
still swimming. But he had to move. The need to find his ward was overwhelming.
The last words they spoke to one another could notbe the last words they ever
spoke. Remus could not even conceive of it. He would bring Harry home if it was
the last thing he ever did.
Remus turned toward the door but Albus caught him by the arm. Remus started to
object, but suddenly they were apparating, and Remus found himself standing on
the manicured gravel path before the main gates of Malfoy Manor. All around
them, other Order members were materialising, anxiety and determination showing
in their expressions in equal measure.  
“The locator spell I devised succeeded in leading us to the clearing where we
found your cardigan, but Lucius had gone before we arrived, and the wards on
the estate prevent the spell’s usage on the grounds, unfortunately,” Albus
said.
Remus was unfamiliar with the spell Albus was referring to. “So how do we know
he’s even here?”
“The spell also lead us to a secret entrance at the property’s boundary, where
you and I are going now. He was here recently, else the spell would not have
picked up his passage. Where Lucius took them from there, we do not know. The
grounds are ancient and extensive. There’s no knowing what secrets they hold.
Severus would have been able to provide much insight into the matter, but he is
not available for consultation. Though, let us hope he is at Harry’s side. The
young man could hardly hope for a more formidable champion. In his absence,
well, we have to start somewhere and brace ourselves for whatever we may find
on the way. The secret entrance is the only lead we have at the moment.”
It seemed to Remus that Severus was the one who led the young man into danger
in the first place, however inadvertently. But Remus was too worried for
Harry’s safety to bristle at Albus’ talk of vampiric bodyguards. He nodded his
understanding. He was ready. He was willing to tear the estate apart stone by
stone if he had to, though he had a feeling a more efficient method would be
imperative.
“Nymphadora,” Albus called. The Auror was close at hand and was at his side
immediately. “I’m going to let you and the others through the gates. Arrange
search parties. Communicate any discoveries by flare. Remus and I will
concentrate on the West side of the estate. Make plans to cover the rest. I’d
like you and a couple of the others to search the Manor House. All of you, be
on your guard. The property will undoubtedly be hostile to interlopers.”
Tonks nodded, looking as eager and as terrified as Remus, and did as she was
bid, immediately ordering the others into action. As soon as they were through
the wrought iron barrier, Albus reached again for Remus’ arm and apparated them
to a hole in the deep perimeter hedge. The gates they’d just left were nowhere
in sight. “The spell led us here,” Dumbledore said, considering the yawning
darkness before them. The early morning light was obscured by murky clouds, and
the meagre illumination extended only a few inches into the opening. “I’ve
already disarmed the perimeter wards here. Regrettably, the spells permeating
the grounds are less easily placated,” the Headmaster explained, not waiting
for Remus to answer before plunging into the passage. The werewolf followed
close at his heels, his pains from the night before all but forgotten.
It was not a straight tunnel through the shrub, which was only about ten feet
wide but dense enough to be impenetrable. The passage turned and wound its way
under branches and around trunks along the length of the hedge. The air was
close. As was the Full. Remus’ faculties were still sharper than usual. He
didn’t believe he was just being wishful in thinking he smelled Harry here.
Remus opened his senses, taking in the heavy scents around him. Woven around
and between the pungency of bark and the musk of dark, waxy leaves was a
multitude of human smells: Blood and panicked sweat, the funk of unwashed hair
and the acrid bite of spilled Mut. The spicy spike of a potions cupboard and
the musty notes of robes marinated in dungeon air accompanied the cold notes of
vampiric infection. And there, below it all, were remnants of a cologne
reminiscent of suede and Harry’s even more alluring personal perfume.
Dumbledore pulled away slightly as Remus followed it to a piece of torn fabric
clinging to a low, grasping branch. With both hope and sorrow, Remus plucked it
off and brought it to his nose. It was undoubtedly Harry’s. Remus jogged
forward to show it to the Headmaster, who simply nodded solemnly and fought on
through the foliage.
“Albus. What spell did you use to find this passage? How does it work?”
“One of my own devising,” Albus answered distractedly, “and one that, perhaps,
was not quite ready for employment. It is woefully limited. It balks at the
flimsiest of wards. With more time, perhaps I could have developed something
stronger, but I never imagined I’d be needing it so soon.”
“But how did it lead you here?” Remus asked, sniffing the fabric he held, an
idea forming in his mind. Albus answered, though a bit impatiently.
“It creates a visible trail, like luminous smoke, leading the caster to the
sought after person. I’d written a similar spell for objects, but found it
consistently unsuccessful. It may seem counterintuitive, but it is actually
easier to locate a person than it is an inanimate thing. A wizard’s living
magical signature is far stronger than the residual essence of an object.
Still, it might have taken far longer to locate Harry’s possible whereabouts if
not for the note he’d left. After finding nothing in the forest, I came to the
gates of Malfoy Manor and cast again, quickly finding this passage. Ah. Here we
are,” Albus concluded, emerging from the labyrinth and into the open air of the
estate’s grounds.
Remus was slightly disheartened to realise Harry’s scent was much harder to
discern with the stirring of the breeze. It wouldn’t matter for long, however.
“So the spell sniffed them out?” Remus summarised, attempting to get his
bearings.  The Manor house lay discouragingly far to their right. He had no
idea how large the estate actually was, but he guessed it to be dauntingly so.
To a man used to such limited property, it really seemed gratuitous.
“Essentially,” Albus answered, surveying the grounds. “But it is of no use
here, as I’ve said. We must work out some other way to search. Though, there
seems little here to indicate a possible destination.” There were no paths and
no nearby structures, only the Manor house on the right and, equally far away
on the left, what Remus supposed was a cemetery. He thought he could discern
winged statues guarding boxy structures. Directly before them were acres of
woods, and there was no telling what was hidden in their depths. Remus was not
nearly so disappointed as his companion, however.
“What if we didn’t need the spell?” he said, his resolve cementing itself.
There was too much ground to cover and too few of them to search it
systematically. “What if we could sniff them out another way?” he asked,
worrying the fabric in his fingers and bringing it to his nose.
Albus’ eyes abruptly ceased scanning their surroundings and cut sharply to
Remus. He regarded him for a long moment before answering, his voice harder
than usual. “You think that wise?” It had the same disapproving tone Remus had
heard when he’d confessed to the man several days before in his office, and it
shook Remus’ confidence. He dearly hoped the damage to their relationship
wasn’t permanent.
“I’ve done it before,” Remus argued gently, though the doubt the Headmaster had
inspired was evident in his voice.
“The moon has barely set, its influence is still strong,” Albus contended
brusquely.
“I wouldn’t go all the way,” Remus promised, prepared to beg if necessary.
“Besides, what choice do we have, Albus?” he added in a frantic whisper.
He understood the Headmaster’s concern. The moon was a mistress who dealt only
in extremes, and partial transformations were difficult to maintain. If he took
it too far, he’d be unable to hold it in check. But he’d be doing it with the
Headmaster’s blessing or no. His only anxiety was that Albus knew spells to
revert him. Nothing could overpower the influence of direct moonlight, but now
that she’d set, a wizard with sufficient power and knowledge could pluck the
man from the beast like a mother taking a tot by the ear.
The Headmaster considered the question for so long, Remus was tempted to take
his chances and bolt, transforming as he went. It would make the process more
difficult to control. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but…
“You’re certain you can contain it?” Albus asked, softening. Perhaps he’d taken
in the sheer magnitude of the grounds and calculated their odds. Perhaps he’d
taken in the determination in Remus’ expression and accepted he’d not sway him.
Mostly likely, it was a bit of both.      
“Of course I am,” Remus answered immediately, relieved. “And you’re my
safeguard besides.”
“I doubt I can keep up,” Albus fretted. “Alright. But if you find something,
you muststop and wait for me, is that understood?” he added, clearly disliking
their plan.
Remus nodded, already reaching for the beast. He hadn’t done such a thing since
he’d challenged Blodman Ironpelt for Alpha. That seemed like a lifetime ago,
though he’d practised the skill a handful of times before then. As always, it
felt simultaneously unnatural and innate. Though excruciating, the pain was
familiar. It seemed to cajole him to loosen his grip, to let it have its head
and carry them at a gallop toward total transformation. But Remus’ will was
strong enough to ignore its wiles.
He felt his fingers lengthen and curl. His claws itched to break the skin, but
he refused to let them. He felt his neck thicken and his jaw lengthen, but he
stopped his maw’s advance before he changed so far as to cost him the power of
speech.
It was enough. It was all he needed.
His vision was suddenly sharp. But more importantly, the world exploded with
scents, and he now had the biological equipment necessary to untangle them. His
head turned sharply to the left before his mind had the opportunity to tell it
to. Albus was all but forgotten. With the cloth bearing Harry’s fragrance still
grasped in his now monstrous hand, Remus gave himself over to the instinct to
hunt.  
Following the trail Lucius had left was almost effortless. It did not require
conscious thought, and so Remus turned his mind to other things in order to
tether him to his humanity.
He turned his mind to Harry.
If he found him alive, Remus would let nothing come between them ever again.
His qualms remained persistent, but to hell with them. If Harry still wanted a
relationship, Remus resolved to give it. He would allow nothing that would
endanger the protections surrounding the young man until after Voldemort had
been dispatched. But if Harry wanted companionship, it was his. If he wanted
affection, physical or otherwise, Remus would oblige. He would have kisses and
embraces. And love. Endless and unconditional. So what if the others did not
understand? Albus’ respect, though cherished, paled in importance to Harry’s
happiness, and his well-being would never be in jeopardy. Remus would do
absolutely whatever was necessary to support the young man, even if it meant
alienating all the rest of the world. It was a condition Remus was accustomed
to, after all. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
“Just let him be alive,” Remus whispered in tearful prayer as he pelted toward
the cemetery. “I’ll give him everything I am. Just let him be okay.”

***** There Serve Your Lusts, Shadow'd from Heaven's Eye *****
                                    Severus
 
“How long have we been here, Severus?”
The Potions Master winced at the sound of his name. It fell from the young
man’s lips with too much ease, with too much melody. Their earlier conversation
and the confessions it produced had been disarming, and Harry had been behaving
increasingly informally toward him since. It was bittersweet. Severus would
have preferred to remain simply bitter, but the little monster had had the
nerve to be sensitive and insightful. Resenting Harry would have made this
whole ordeal easier. Instead, they’d reached a deeper understanding and
exchanged apologies long overdue. Their rapport deepened, and Severus was
instilled with a deep sense of melancholy that it would have to end just as it
was beginning.
None of this helped Severus’ battle with his instincts. The Thirst was doing
strange things to his mind. They both refused to sleep, not wanting to waste
the minutes that might turn out to be their last. He was exhausted and kept
finding himself drifting off into waking fantasies in which Harry was familiar
and inviting, flirtatious even; not at all put off by Severus’ attributes,
physical or otherwise. In these daydreams, Severus would see himself opening
his arms to the young man and gathering him tightly against his own need-
ravaged body. He heard himself muttering sweet nothings against Harry’s skin as
if to season it before sinking his fangs there. Severus would wake from these
fantasies with a silent gasp, his eyes flying open to find their subject on the
other side of the cell still, unmoved and unsullied. And Severus’ thirst would
rage anew, urging him to close the distance and make their finale a reality. It
was driving Severus to madness. He’d had to stand, finally, to banish them; to
pace the meagre length of their cell to keep himself present. But Harry’s bold
new intimacy kept confusing him and making him think the visions were chasing
him around their tiny prison.
“How long?” Harry persisted, voice devoid of propriety. “I can’t tell, but I
suspect you know.”
“Don’t call me by my first name,” Severus replied testily. It was inconvenient
that he craved the sound of his name in Harry’s voice as badly as he craved the
young man’s blood.
“And can you give me a reason why I shouldn’t?” Harry asked impudently.
“Harry, are you trying to shorten your suffering by inducing me to kill you out
of irritation?” Severus groused. “Because if so, you are doing exceedingly
well.”
The little shit actually grinned.
“Do you know?” he asked, his smile fading to a stubborn scowl. “How long?”
Of course, he was really asking a very different question. Not ‘How long have
we been here?’ but ‘How long do I have left?’ Severus didn’t know how to go
about explaining to him that his anxiety was unwarranted. Torturous as their
predicament was, though, Severus was not yet ready to die. Besides, he felt he
should hold off the deed as long as possible so as not to add unnecessarily to
Harry’s inevitable trauma. The light coming through the gap beneath the door
from the distant torchlight of the torture chamber seemed enough for Harry to
track Severus’ movements in a vague way, but at least Harry would not be able
to see what Severus would do. Still, he did not cherish the thought of leaving
the young man alone here with only a corpse for company. And if they took too
long in retrieving him...
“Three days, at least,” Severus finally murmured, scrubbing his hands over his
face. “You were unconscious for quite a while.”
“So, I’m looking like a chicken leg with glasses right about now, I suppose,”
Harry mumbled with a chuckle. Severus stopped pacing and stared at him in
bewilderment. “You know, Looney Tunes?” he went on. “Two blokes get stuck on a
deserted island, and then they get so hungry they begin imagining each other as
roasted chickens or hams or something.” Harry giggled.
“Well, that certainly didn’t take long,” Severus muttered under his breath,
pacing again.
“What didn’t?” Harry asked indifferently as he lay his head back against the
wall.
“You. Going completely mad. I thought you’d last at least another day or so.”
“I’m not mad,” Harry assured him. “Just hungry and bored.”
“Will you please stop talking about food?” Severus grumbled.
“Fine,” Harry said brightly. “What would you rather talk about?”
“I wouldn’t.”
Harry watched Severus’ progress back and forth across the cell with a lazy,
lopsided smile. “You’re annoyed,” he intuited.
“Your powers of perception never cease to amaze,” Severus answered snidely.
“It’s because I’m a virgin.”
“Do you have anything else obvious to add!?” Severus snarled. For the love of
Hermes, why did he have to say it out loud? The fact was hard enough to ignore
as it was. The air was saturated to capacity with the heady perfume of his
blood. Each breath of it Severus drew into his lungs further eroded his self-
control, pushing him closer and closer to his own end.
“Well, I see one possible solution,” Harry said musingly. Severus suddenly
stopped pacing and turned to the young man who waggled his eyebrows as if in
clarification.
It wasn’t as if it hadn’t occurred to Severus. And not just as idle erotic
fantasy, but as a serious consideration. Was the protection surrounding Harry
worth more than his own life? What if he destroyed the boy’s armour and still
had to tear himself open in the end? The scars Harry would bear from the act
would be in vain, as would all Severus’ efforts to end the Dark Lord, should
Harry fall due to Severus’ selfish indiscretion.
But then, what if the others didn’t come in time? What if they were both fated
to die? Could Severus really be faulted for possessing the desire to live? Even
if just one more day?
For fuck’s sake. What in hell was he thinking? Harry didn’t even properly
understand what he was suggesting. Lupin had been right that the boy was naive
of the implications. He would regret the experience and hate Severus forever
after, even if forever turned out to be just a couple of more dark, lonely
days. Severus could stand to die a few hours earlier. He could certainly accept
that he would do so without getting laid one last time.
“No,” Severus said finally. “It would buy us a day, maybe. Two at most.”
“Those sound like better odds than I’ve got now,” Harry pointed out. “Seems to
me, before the day is out, you’ll have to either fuck me or kill me,” he said
casually as if they weren’t discussing intercourse and murder.
Gods! Both options were as tempting as they were repulsive. Severus’ appetites
were eating him alive. He huffed and abruptly took a seat opposite of Harry,
laying his head in his hands. Perhaps he should do the deed now and put himself
out of his misery.
“Well, I know which I’d prefer,” Harry offered.
Severus lifted a weary look to his tormenter. “I'd prefer to do neither,” he
grumbled insincerely. The lie was bitter on his tongue, but better spoken than
the truth. “Has it ever occurred to you I might not be particularly
interested?” he asked waspishly, annoyed beyond tolerance by Harry’s reckless
and oblivious banter. “Or are you so certain of your appeal you think it will
override my natural inclinations?” The young man scowled but refrained from
answering back. “Besides, the Headmaster will have my heart on a stake as it
is,” Severus went on, miserably. If he ever saw the man again, that is.
Harry cocked his head thoughtfully.“Will the protective magic prevent you from
ripping my throat out when you can't resist the temptation any longer?”
Perhaps, Severus thought. And it might well induce me to tear out my own within
the hour.
“It hasn’t come to that yet,” Severus said now, though tensely. He had to get a
hold on himself. Harry’s blasé attitude might well be deceptive. He couldn’t
let the young man fall into despair so soon. Especially knowing how susceptible
Harry was to it. Especially knowing he wouldn’t be around afterwards to pull
the young man out of it again. “And it may never. They may still find us
before…”
Before what? Who was he kidding? They were deep in the bowels of a massive,
likely booby trapped, multi-tiered subterranean maze. No one was coming. He
couldn’t even force the lie from his lips. “Besides, I’m not about to let you
throw away your bloody virginity on your greasy old Potions Master!” he
sputtered instead.
“Well, whether it’s bloody or not would be entirely up to you, Severus,” Harry
purred, inducing a shiver that travelled the vampire’s entire body.
Bloody Fucking Hell.
“Don’t. Call me. By my first name.”
Severus was on the brink. But Harry couldn’t actually want to be with him. He
just didn’t fancy being eaten. If he knew it wasn’t a concern, he might stop
plaguing Severus. But then he might also try to talk the man out of things, and
Severus’ willpower might not weather the test, to both their ruin.
“I think it’s going to be a little awkward shouting out ‘professor’ in the
throes of passion,” Harry sighed with a roll of his eyes.
“THERE WILL BE NO RUDDY THROES, HARRY!”
Severus' shout echoed throughout the cell, sobering Harry considerably. He
stared at Severus, and the hurt in his expression made Severus feel like the
worst kind of villain. How he hated seeing pain in the young man, regardless of
the circumstances. “You’d really rather kill me?” he asked, his voice small and
wounded. “Do you find me that repulsive?” Severus swallowed uncomfortably. If
Harry only knew. The Potions Master began to wring his hands to stop them
ripping out his hair in frustration.
Harry scowled at him across the darkness. “And what if,” he ventured
hesitantly, “what if my suggesting this doesn’t have all that much to do with
saving my life?”
Severus stopped his wringing and stared at the young man, certain he’d
misheard. Harry’s expression was open and vulnerable. Severus scowled at him
suspiciously, but before he could work out the depth of his sincerity, Harry
began groping his way through the dark toward him on his hands and knees.
“What are you doing?” Severus asked in panic. “Stay where you are.”
Harry ignored the command, and Severus was powerless to stop him. He didn’t
trust himself to touch him, even to push him away. What was this? Did he have a
deathwish? Or had hunger and darkness robbed him of all sense? Regardless,
Severus had to struggle to remain immobile as Harry knelt before him and
brought his hands to Severus’ face.
“What exactly are you doing?” Severus asked. It was meant to be withering but
he could hardly breathe. Harry was so near, and his touch was intoxicating.
“I’m seeing you,” Harry replied plainly, tracing his fingertips over Severus’
countenance. The man’s astonishment momentarily subdued his bloodlust.
How could a boy so dangerously predictable surprise Severus so consistently?
Despite his thirst, Severus was fascinated, as lost in the exercise as Harry
was. This close, Harry’s luminance was almost blinding, and the look on the
young man’s face was exquisite: in turns curious and considerate and delighted.
Delighted. Over the tactile observation of Severus’ features. It defied all
logic, and yet there was the young man’s small smile as he traced the arch of
Severus’ eyebrow. Harry stroked his index finger down the contour of Severus’
nose, just as the man himself had done only hours before, and he actually
sighed contentedly.
What manner of creature was this who found satisfaction in something Severus
had been taught was universally considered loathsome?
Harry was thorough, and despite his amazement, Severus found the act soothing.
But when Harry caressed his way to Severus' mouth, running his finger across
the man’s thin lips and fondling the swell of his fangs beneath, Severus’
thirst stirred, and the urge to snap at the questing digit was too great.
Severus quickly snatched Harry’s fingers in his own and drew them a short ways
from his skin, holding him still. Though, he did not expel Harry bodily from
him. His proximity was too agreeable, and for the moment, Severus was pacified
enough to not be a danger.
“You know, you don’t have a bad face,” Harry said softly. They were both short
of breath. Severus gave him a fondly incredulous look which the young man could
not see.
“I suppose it’s complemented by the lighting here,” Severus replied in a wry
whisper.
“Oh, come on,” Harry gently argued, reclaiming his hand and placing it on the
wall beside Severus' head to help with his precarious balance. He wasn’t
exactly in Severus' lap, but he was dangerously close to it. The Potions Master
couldn’t decide which part of that bothered him. “You’re...handsome. In your
own way.”
Severus laughed softly. “Harry, I am not now, nor have I ever been, considered
handsome. Even by the most desperate and depraved of undesirables.”
Harry’s expression soured, and to Severus’ dismay, he sat back on his feet.
“You’re right,” he said.
Severus was more hurt by the comment than he might have expected. The spell now
broken, Severus’ discontent welcomed him back to planet Earth. “Well,” he
answered, bemused, “don’t bother with polite hesitation.”
“You aren’t handsome,” Harry repeated. “But you are attractive...in an intense,
exclusively ‘Snape’ sort of way,” he said thoughtfully.
Severus was again caught off guard. Loraina had often told him something
similar, but he’d always dismissed it. He shook his head wonderingly at the
boy, half convinced that this was not actually happening, that he had lapsed
back into deceptive daydreams. He should be moving, he thought. He needed to
clear his head. But even after rising carefully to his feet and moving away
from the young man, he still buzzed from the compliment.
“You, Harry, are simply oversexed,” he argued. Surely the young man was merely
suffering from some combination of hormones and hunger. “It has caused you to
see attraction where it does not exist.”
He felt Harry rise behind him. In fact, he was intensely aware that Harry
drifted closer, and the distance between them chaffed the more it shrank. “I’m
not so sure about that,” Harry said, his voice dusky. This was not the playful
purr of before. This was not hollow flirtation. Harry’s voice was coloured by
honest arousal, and Severus’ flowered in response. He had to get away from the
boy, but in their confines escape equated to approximately three agitated
steps. Severus would have to diffuse the situation somehow.
“I've seen your idea of seduction already,” he said disdainfully, turning back
to face Harry. “It's juvenile.”
“But effective?”
When he got no response, Harry sighed in defeat and leaned dejectedly against
the wall. “You really can't consider that seduction, you know,” Harry
dismissed, crossing his arms. Gratefully, the smoke had left his voice. “I only
kissed you because...well, because I was angry with you, strange as that
sounds.”
Oh, for the love of hell. Just when they’d seemed to have skirted danger, he
simply had to remind Severus of that blasted kiss. Such a lovely moment, ruined
for nothing. And now they were back where they started. “Not as strange as
you'd think,” Severus muttered, starting his pacing again. “But that was not
what I was referring to,” he added without thinking, distracted by the
remembrance of warring lips and the taste of perfect blood.
“Well, I didn't have to seduce Eric,” Harry said with a reminiscent smile that
inspired sudden violence in Severus.
Eric.
Severus sneered in disgust. Harry must have been referring to that delinquent
from the alcove. Severus seethed at the mention of his name, especially with
the memory of Harry’s kiss so fresh on his mind. It wasn’t hard to place the
boy, suddenly. Eric Conners, seventh year Hufflepuff. Severus always had pegged
him as a poof. He was in Severus’ N.E.W.T. class. Well, he was at the moment.
If Severus managed to make it out of this tomb alive, he might not be for much
longer. “It was the other way around, really,” Harry went on thoughtfully as
Severus continued his measure of the cell, thinking criminal thoughts about the
golden-haired aspiring Healer.
“Wait,” Harry said slowly as something occurred to him. “Wait...you don't mean
Eric.”
“Stop saying his bloody name,” Severus spat.
Harry scowled. “You mean...”
Gods damn it! Severus hadn’t intended to confess that transgression. Why was
Harry only dense when it was inconvenient? “The Mutt?” Severus snapped before
Harry could voice the conclusion himself. “Yes, Harry. I meant Lupin.”
“Wait. You've seen it?” Harry straightened and dropped his arms. “Does that
mean that you...?”
“Used Legilimency?” Severus sighed witheringly. “No, Harry. I do not have
enough interest in yours or Lupin's sexual practices to waste my talent and
energy in thieving a peek at them,” he said. But Harry was not placated.
“So how? Tell me,” he demanded. Severus recommenced wringing his hands as he
paced. Harry had a right to the truth. That didn’t mean Severus enjoyed
admitting to it.
“I had deposited a memory in the Pensieve for the Headmaster to review,”
Severus explained uncomfortably. “But when I went to retrieve it I...I
accidentally claimed the wrong one.”
Harry stared at Severus as if trying and failing to stave off the implications
of what he’d been told. “What? Dumbledore's seen it?” he sputtered. “Why?”
“I would imagine to exonerate Lupin of any wrongdoing.”
“Wrongdoing?” Harry objected indignantly. “But, it's not like I'm technically
underage. I mean legally-”
“Oh, you are so naïve, Harry,” Severus huffed. “Besides, I’ve explained to you
the importance of your purity. Albus has guarded it closely, and if he’d
suspected Lupin of imperilling it, he would have skinned the wolf alive.”
That shut Harry up. But not for good. After a long, extremely uncomfortable
silence, during which Severus continued to pace and turn, Harry couldn’t help
himself any longer. “So what does that mean? You took his memory. You saw it?”
“I didn't see it, Harry,” Severus told him. “I lived it.” Harry looked lost,
and Severus blasted out a sigh. “When one uses the Pensieve it is like watching
the memory as an outsider. You know this.”
“But when you put someone else's memory in your own head...” Harry prompted
impatiently.
“Yes, Harry!” Severus hissed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You
experience it as if the memory were your own! As if everything that was done or
said was through you; your own body, your own thoughts, your own sensations.
You get it now. Can we please stop discussing it!”
But it was too late. Suddenly, every detail of the stolen memory erupted in his
mind’s eye. Merlin’s Beard! As if Severus didn’t have enough to contend with
with his thirst and his jealousy and his dread of death, now he had to battle
an all too sharp arousal.
“So when you take it back out, do you stop?” Harry asked as if trying to wrap
his head around the matter. “Do you stop feeling those things?”
Severus huffed irritably. “In a way, Harry. I'd really rather not-”
“What do you mean, in a way?”
“I mean that it abates!” Severus snapped. “It's disorienting. The memory
becomes one of your own, but without the context.” He was exhausted by Harry's
questioning and sighed, slumping against the wall.
Why couldn’t he just let the matter rest? Severus was dangerously overwhelmed.
So many things warred within him. Severus wanted simultaneously to kiss the
scowling young man and to backhand him. He wanted to apologise and to condemn.
He wanted to both ravage and protect him. He wanted to thank him for his
foolish but seemingly sincere interest and also to punish him for his
infidelity. He wanted to sully him and drain him and hold him fast against
danger, and all of it --the satisfaction of all his conflicting desires-- stood
glaring at him an arm’s length away. His whole body ached to reach out and
claim it; and nowhere so sharply as in his pants, especially now recalling the
revelation of Harry’s bare skin beneath Lupin’s hand, and remembering the feel
of Harry’s lips smeared forcefully against Severus’ own with the man’s
favourite brand of aggression.
“So, earlier in the dungeon, you weren't strictly angry with me,” Harry said,
working it out aloud. “You were-”
“Oh, I was most definitely angry,” Severus spat, cutting him off. He knew where
Harry was going, and he willed him to stop. If he didn’t, Severus wouldn’t be
able to either.
“But not just,” Harry prodded, unable to keep the smile from his face. Then he
gasped with some sudden revelation. “And when you pulled me from the alcove!”
That was the final straw. The memory of Eric Conners’ tacky yellow mane swaying
back and forth before Harry’s open trouser front came unbidden, and with the
same possessive rage Severus had felt then, he sprang at the young man.
Suddenly Harry was in Severus’ grasp and the man simply could not persuade his
body to release him. That unruly black hair made for such a convenient grip,
allowing him to wrench the boy’s head back so Severus could draw Harry's neck
to his face where he could drink in his scent as Severus’ other arm pressed him
like a vise against the Potions Master's long, thin, rigid body. Harry was
forced to cling to him, as his feet no longer quite reached the floor, and the
sensation was addictive. Harry gasped but did not struggle. Which was a pity,
because if he had it might have woken Severus to the horror of what he was
doing.
“What do you want me to say, Harry?” Severus asked helplessly as his whole body
trembled with the effort of denying the teeth positioned over Harry's throat
permission to sink into it. “That my response wasn't just frustration at your
weakening of the protections? That I was jealous? Of course I was jealous,” he
told him in a fierce, low rush. Gods, it felt glorious to confess it finally.
“I had had in my head, just moments before finding you, the memory of a randy
Werewolf who thinks the sun and moon rise and set out of your arse. I had just
known, not only the desire for it, but the actual feel of your skin beneath my
hand, of your tongue in my mouth. And then suddenly there you were with someone
else,” he said, the glow of his catharsis darkening. “With some boy,” he spat
angrily against Harry's neck. “The little bastard was lucky I was so pissed at
you or else he would not have escaped unscathed. This,” Severus hissed,
tightening his grip in Harry's hair and roughly tugging his body even tighter
to his own. “This is mine,” Severus growled, “and how dare some pubescent
aspiring Casanova dare to lay hands on it.”
But Harry was not that boy, and Severus could not allow his rage at Conners’
trespass to be directed at the young man trapped in his arms. He found could
not let him go yet, though. Their entire ordeal and Severus’ long battle with
his thirst, along with every thought and yen and revelation Severus had
experienced in the last few weeks, had finally come to a head, and Severus’
willpower was all but spent. He didn’t mean to hurt Harry, though, and he
realised he must be. Calming himself by degrees, Severus loosened his grip,
cradling Harry though giving him no room for escape. His lips, however, were
unable to leave Harry's throat.
“People misunderstand a vampire's craving for virgin blood, Harry,” Severus
explained in a whisper against his skin, causing Harry to loose a series of
trembling gasps that made Severus’ mouth water and his head swim with lust.
“It's less a hunger and more of an arousal. It's almost...sexual,” he breathed,
kissing Harry's neck caressingly. He wasn’t able to help himself. And what did
it matter now? Harry shuddered in Severus' arms, holding him more tightly.
“Even without that goddamned memory, I can fucking smell you, Harry,” he
moaned. “And you're perfect. Your blood: It's the right age, new but
experienced. Pure, but not too pure. Darkness and light in perfect proportion,
just enough to give it complexity,” he intoned, running the flat of his tongue
over the fluttering pulse in Harry's neck. The young man whimpered. It could
easily have been mistaken for fear if it hadn't been for the unambiguous
twitching of Harry's erection, which Severus held pinned between them. Severus’
answered, pressed firmly against Harry's thigh, and the man no longer cared.
What did it matter if he was a lecherous old monster? Harry was obviously
willing. Besides, Severus was damned so many times over he’d long since lost
count. And so what if Harry had a cock instead of tits? Severus’ clearly didn’t
mind. Being blessedly godless, it wasn’t as if he had any theological
objections to the union of two men. He didn’t have qualms, only old scars, and
his unadulterated need was making those fade to near invisibility.
“So, do I want to fuck you, Harry?” he asked softly, finally moving away from
Harry's veins and trailing soft, lazy kisses down Harry's jawline. “Of course I
do. Do I want to tear out your throat and drain you? More than anything,” he
moaned. “But after all the trouble I've been put through to keep you alive,
practically against your will...I suppose we can easily divine which I'll
actually do.” His ghostly kisses had reached the corner of Harry's mouth, where
he paused.
They were going to die. There was no sense in deceiving themselves. Severus let
that knowledge settle over him like a shroud. Absolutely nothing mattered at
this point. What became of the world was immaterial. There was nothing more
they two could do to save it. They were absolved. At least, he reasoned, they
could save each other. What better way to die than in the arms of a lover?
“Mind the teeth,” Severus warned quietly, his eyes falling closed with
acceptance, and then he smothered Harry's mouth with his own. Severus' iron
grip relaxed and, with no hesitation, Harry twisted in the man’s arms, snaking
his around Severus' neck and kissing him as if his life depended on it.
It was nothing short of miraculous. The chill air around them ignited. Severus
was on fire. As yielding as the young man had been in his fantasies, Severus
had never imagined he might be so enthusiastic. Compared to their last, the
kiss was less angry and more voracious. Severus’ hands were no less hungry.
After so many hours of being denied the feast, they seemed to try to consume it
all at once. But there was too much of Harry, and no matter how he squeezed and
pawed at him, Severus couldn’t get enough. He felt the fabric of the young
man’s shirt strain and finally rip, feeling certain be must be bruising the boy
but unable to control himself. He peeled Harry’s shirt from him completely. It
was hindering his exploration anyway.
Severus swept one palm firmly up Harry’s spine to clutch at the nape of the
boy’s neck, while the other sought the small of his back. Though their kiss was
never sundered, Harry wasn’t idle either. He pawed at Severus’ robes, pushing
them aside to attack the endless buttons down the man’s front. After fumbling
with them for an interminable moment, Harry whimpered his frustration into
Severus' mouth; and the man reluctantly relinquished Harry’s bare flesh to take
over the task himself, going about it with practised efficiency that was
hindered somewhat by Harry’s attempt to strip Severus before he was finished.
As the last of the buttons came free, Harry heaved the heavy layers of fabric
from Severus' shoulders. And then they met, flesh to flesh, sweating despite
the chill in the air, and it was delicious. Harry wasted no time in moving on
to Severus' trousers.
“Harry,” he mumbled against the young man’s lips, as Harry refused to surrender
Severus'. Harry ignored him. He seemed intent on stripping the man as quickly
as possible. But this was not something to be rushed. No matter how starved and
aching he was, Severus intended to go about this the right way. He refused to
become Harry’s bitterest regret. Severus brought his hands to Harry’s shoulders
and forcibly separated them.
“What?” Harry demanded impatiently. His hands rose blindly to Severus' chest
before the man could respond, locating a nipple so the young man could bend and
attach himself to it. Severus' hand tangled itself tightly in Harry’s hair and
he moaned. Gods, it was fantastic. The young man was clearly not well
practised, but he was fervent enough to compensate, and Severus had always
preferred this activity to be a bit unpolished besides.
“I believe there is a process to this,” Severus panted, “but I’ve never
personally-” Severus’ vision erupted in stars and his knees threatened to fail
him. “Oh, my. Do that again,” Severus commanded him.
Harry obeyed, catching Severus' nipple in his teeth once more. For the moment,
the vampire completely lost track of what he’d been trying to say. But his
concentration was sharpened when Harry --never pausing his attentions-- located
one of Severus' still wandering hands and clasped it by the wrist. Harry
wrapped the man’s fingers around something small and slender and hard, and
Severus brought it to his face, struggling to focus on it.
A phial of headache potion? Why was he holding a phial of headache potion?
Delayed, but then all at once, the significance struck him. He reviewed its
manufacture mentally and realised eel’s eye lent the concoction a slimy,
viscous consistency, and trace amounts of dittany provided mild but instant
localised anaesthetic and healing properties. Perhaps the boy understood the
implications of this act better than Severus had thought.
Then Severus reflected on how Harry might have known of the potion’s usefulness
in this situation, and why he might conveniently happen to possess some. The
hand in Harry’s hair used it to peel the boy from Severus' chest and draw him
back to the man’s lips.
“Clothes,” he snarled angrily into the hollow of Harry’s collarbone. “Off.
Now.”
Severus stepped away from him completely as Harry scrambled to comply,
stripping his own remaining clothing with vampiric speed. Otherwise unoccupied,
Severus watched the fantastic bunch of Harry’s sleek muscles under his taut
skin as he struggled out of his clothing. He was trying to shed his clothes too
quickly and the haste hindered the process, to Severus’ benefit. As soon as
Harry’s last foot cleared his stubborn trouser leg, Severus caught him in his
arms again from behind. He ran his hands over Harry’s torso covetously as Harry
sighed under his touch.
How dare he have planned to give so much to some random boy so soon. He was
impetuous. Impulsive. Severus would have to teach the young man a lesson in
patience.
He ran his palm unhurriedly down the flat plane of Harry’s stomach, hovering
teasingly over Harry’s twitching cock, and let him squirm. “I’ve never been
with a man before,” Severus confessed in a sultry purr in Harry’s ear. “But I
must say, you’re rather stunning.”
Harry let his head fall back onto Severus' shoulder with a ragged, grateful
sigh as the man finally, slowly, took Harry in hand. Severus had no experience
whatsoever with this art. But Harry seemed just as pleased with the man’s
efforts as Severus had been with Harry’s unseasoned treatment before. They were
both on unfamiliar ground. Unfamiliar did not equate to unnatural, however. In
fact, the exercise was almost instinctive and, to his surprise, Severus found
it almost as enjoyable as Harry seemed to. The way the young man begged with
the motion of his hips was no different than a woman might. And the
satisfaction of eliciting a partner’s pleasure transcended gender.
“Pull my hair again,” Harry panted, to Severus’ delight. He grunted
approvingly, snatching up a handful of black strands and pulling Harry’s head
roughly back to smother him with another kiss. Loraina had been fond of this
kind of aggression as well, but Severus had often worried she was too delicate
to withstand the severity she so vehemently requested. Somehow, that worry did
not extend to the solid, strapping young man currently in his arms, and Severus
thrilled at the possibilities.
“On your knees,” he commanded Harry coolly, as he had Loraina on many
occasions. The young man didn’t hesitate for a moment, dropping to the stone
floor of their cell and bending forward to rest on his elbows. His obedience
seemed almost out of character, which is what made it all the more gratifying.
The sight of the very male genitalia dangling from between his spread legs was
only slightly jarring and easily accepted when the arse the young man lifted in
unquestionable offering was so bloody fucking perfect. Severus moaned
approvingly and reached to caress it.
Ah, youth. The texture and resilience of Harry’s skin was delicious enough to
be near enslaving. For a while, Severus found he could do nothing but
appreciate its virtue.
“You should know,” Harry said tremulously as Severus continued to knead, “if
you don’t already...Eric and I never made it this far.”
The hand on Harry’s arse clenched involuntarily and he gasped. “Never speak
that name in my presence again,” Severus said in a low hiss. Harry nodded
quickly and Severus forced his hand to relax.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, much more mildly, caressing once again.
Severus turned his attention to the vial he held, smirking as he pulled the
stopper. It had no doubt been earmarked for Conners. That added yet another
layer of satisfaction as Severus slathered it on his own cock, leaving only
enough to coat the fingers of his right hand.
He had known, however, that he would not make it through this without
eventually confronting his demons. And the time for it seemed to be now, as he
worked to ensure the same were not born in Harry. The substance on his finger
was cool as he shyly brushed it across Harry’s pucker. Severus swallowed his
discomfort, denied his memories space in his thoughts. This was not the same
situation. This would not hurt the young man. Severus was not doing this out of
malice. It would be fine. It would be pleasurable. Severus couldn’t quite
understand how, but Harry already pressed back against his touch as if asking
for more. Severus responded by massaging firm circles around Harry’s opening.
“O-oh gods, ” Harry shuddered, his head dangling between his shoulders. He
hadn’t been exceptionally vocal so far, and it was wonderfully erotic. Severus’
misgivings were further eroded by every small moan that escaped the young man.
Matters were becoming urgent. He rested a hand on Harry’s hip and leaned over
him to speak softly, “Are you ready?”
But Harry made no response, and all Severus’ insecurities came crashing back
down around him. What if Harry hadn’t been voicing pleasure, but discomfort? He
abruptly stilled his hand, horrified.
“No. Don’t stop!” Harry pleaded, allaying Severus’ worry. “I’m fine. I’m...I’m
ready.”
Severus needed a moment to refocus himself. Then slowly, he curled his finger,
pressing more firmly until Harry began to stretch to admit it. Harry stiffened,
though, and Severus could go no further without force. “You must relax, Harry,”
Severus whispered, his voice drawn with desire. The young man struggled with
the command for only a moment. Severus heard him draw a long breath and release
it slowly, felt him relax with the next exhale.
“That’s better,” Severus encouraged, stroking Harry’s back. Severus bit his lip
as one of his knuckles breached the taut ring of muscle, then the other, and
soon Severus' entire finger was enveloped. Holy gods. It was so tight. Severus
had never felt anything like it. It was silken and blazingly hot. Severus could
imagine how it would feel clutching his cock and his hand shook with
anticipation. “All right?” Severus asked him huskily. Harry nodded, and the
finger withdrew, returned, working itself carefully in and out. Each controlled
plunge met less resistance than the last. Harry pressed back into Severus' hand
and worked his hips, wanting more. Severus obliged, adding a second finger, and
Harry moaned as it slid home, stretching him further.
“I believe there’s meant to be…” Severus said, speaking mostly to himself as he
turned his hand, twisting his fingers inside Harry and causing him to mutter
encouragement. Severus curled his fingers experimentally, and before long they
found the textured patch he’d been searching for.
Harry’s strangled cry rang throughout their cell and Severus felt a rush of
pride. His erection, which had flagged while concentrating on the delicacy of
his earlier efforts, blazed back into life. There was nothing more gratifying
than hearing a lover cry out in response to one’s work. A stream of incoherent
and suspectedly involuntary noises spilled from Harry’s mouth as Severus
brushed the magic spot on every second or third thrust. The sounds threatened
to inundate the man completely with lust.
“Snape,” Harry whined.
“No,” Severus snarled, never slowing his assault on the boy. “Call me Severus.”
“Severus!” Harry gasped. The man very nearly came then and there. He hadn’t
been sexually active in a while and felt himself more apt to prematurity than
usual. He’d be damned if he wasted this opportunity, though. With effort, he
wrestled his arousal back into submission. “I want.…” Harry went on, but he
paused, as if too embarrassed to voice his request. It was so endearingly
innocent. Severus smirked, even as he continued to work him, resolved to wring
the words from Harry eventually. “Can we? Please.”
Fuck.
Begging was Severus’ weakness. He could not deny such an ardent request. He
carefully withdrew his fingers and checked again that he was still properly
lubricated. He was shaking with anticipation. The moment of truth had arrived.
For both their sakes, Severus refused to rush it. He admired the result of his
efforts so far. What was once a tight bud of blushing flesh that had seemed
almost impenetrable was now an opening, still small but elastic and quivering.
He reached out a single fingertip to admire it before positioning himself
closer and resting his aching cock there instead.
Severus summoned a breath what was suddenly painfully elusive. “Are you ready?”
he asked, his voice strained. He was more than ready himself. Harry took a
moment to prepare himself, and Severus awaited his word anxiously.
The young man shook his head.
“No,” he said. Severus could not quite catch the sob of disappointment that
leapt from his throat. He could have wept.
Harry rose and turned to face him. “Not this way,” he said. “Sit down.” Harry
pressed on Severus' shoulders, urging him to the floor. The man was pliable in
his heartbreak. But then Harry straddled him. “I want to be able to kiss you,”
Harry explained. “I like kissing you.” He blushed as he said it. Severus
growled his approval of this new plan as he reached for Harry’s neck, bringing
the boy to his lips.
Oh yes. This was much, much better: Harry’s tongue in Severus' mouth, his cock
brushing the man’s bare stomach. It seemed a strange thing to enjoy, but enjoy
it Severus did. He had a fleeting and confusing urge to bend and take Harry in
his mouth. Such a thing had never occurred to him before, but he veritably
craved it the more he considered it. Perhaps it could be done later. Other
things currently held urgent priority.
As they kissed, Harry reached behind him, taking Severus' slick length in hand.
He’d not yet touched it and the sensation was new and fantastic. He did not pay
it undue attention, though. Instead, he guided it back to his opening. Harry’s
lips stilled but did not leave Severus' as he pressed back.
“Careful,” Severus said in a tense whisper. He didn’t want Harry to be careful.
He wanted them to come together with violent abandon, but he knew it could not
happen. “You mustn’t tear,” he warned. “If I smell blood…”
Harry seemed to understand. He paused but did not stop, easing himself down
over Severus' cock slowly. As stretched as he was, it still seemed impossibly
tight. And for perhaps the first time in his life, Severus was glad he was not
currently in control. Harry kept his breathing steady, relaxing his muscles
gradually as he sank lower. Severus clutched at Harry’s thighs, not breathing
at all. The urge to thrust his hips, and the effort required to quiet it, left
no concentration to spare for less important things such as respiration. Their
lips drifted apart as Harry’s head fell back as he sank the last inch, seating
himself firmly in Severus' lap.
Severus released the breath he'd been holding in a sated sigh. It was the
epitome of perfection. Severus had never felt more whole in his life. He was no
longer restive. He felt he could have sat with Harry like that for the rest of
their lives. There were no words in any of the tongues of man sufficient to
express what he was feeling. And it was pity Harry could not see the look of
open worship he cast up at the young man.
But then Harry tipped his head back down to face him, and his expression was
just as beatific. He was gorgeous. The innocence had left his expression to be
replaced with thoughtful knowledge. Though the young man might not realise it,
they gazed at one another with the same wonder and gratitude and affection.
Of course, it could not last. Gradually, the seductive perfume that had
radiated from the young man as long as Severus had known him diminished. It
hung heavy in the air still, but it was no longer being refreshed. Harry’s
blood still murmured to him, but it was not the siren song of before. Harry had
passed the threshold. He was no longer a virgin. Whether or not they continued,
the worst of the danger was gone. Severus very nearly did weep.
“It is done, Harry,” Severus told him in a grieved whisper. “We could stop...if
that is what you wanted.” Speaking the words aloud gutted him. But Harry had a
right to know the truth. Whatever had gone through the young man’s mind before
that had led them to this moment, the reality of the act was clearer to him
now. Now that he was no longer in such danger, if he decided he did not want to
follow through, he deserved the opportunity to say so.
“Do you?” Harry asked helplessly. “Do you want to stop?” There was pain in his
voice. Disappointment. This really hadn’t just been an attempt to lengthen his
life. Harry wanted this. For some incomprehensible reason, he wanted it with
Severus. And the man was so grateful he ached.
All question of willingness resolved, Severus took matters into own hands,
securing the young man in place with one arm and shielding the back of Harry’s
head with the other as he laid him down on the stone floor, keeping himself
buried deep inside of him the whole while. “I really don’t know why I asked.
I’m not sure I could stop now if you wanted me to, Harry,” he admitted, pulling
back his hips. Harry gasped as Severus carefully returned. It was divine. He
repeated the action and felt Harry unconsciously rake his nails across Severus’
flesh. It would be no good if the young man brought blood. Not that Severus
disliked the concept, but the scent of even his own blood could still be
perilous. Severus ran his hands down Harry’s arms and captured both his wrists
in his hands. Harry was yielding, his breath seeming to hitch as Severus drew
them up to either side of Harry’s head. The erection straining against Severus’
stomach twitched as the man pressed Harry’s wrists firmly to the floor to
restrain him.
Gods. Harry was perfect.
Severus worked out the proper leverage for this new position before slowly
thrusting again, and Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head. The feeling of
Harry’s body gripping him as he sank into him was a revelation. Severus
carefully thrust once more and Harry moaned, from the centre of his being, like
breathing out his soul. And Severus was no longer simply a man. He became
something possessed, an avatar of lust.
“Tell me you want it, Harry,” Severus gently commanded in his ear, thrusting
again. Harry gasped. Writhed. Struggled to draw breath.
“Yes! Please, Severus,” he whined, wrapping his legs around the man’s hips. The
sound of his name on Harry’s lips, spilled with such entreaty, was sweeter than
blood.
“Tell me.” Thrust. “Tell me what you want, Harry,” he begged, hands still
pinning Harry’s wrists, his lips falling to the boy’s throat. Harry’s skin was
on fire.
“I-I want you…”
“Yes?” Severus prompted, thrusting again; slightly harder, slightly deeper.
“I want you to fuck me,” Harry panted directly into Severus’ ear, threatening
the integrity of the man’s limbs. “Please, Severus,” he keened softly. “Please
fuck me.”
Severus hadn’t expected those words. He expected Harry to ask him to ‘make love
to’ him, or ‘have sex with’ him. But Harry had requested very specifically for
Severus to fuck him, and the man couldn’t hold back any longer. He pulled back
further than he had yet and slammed back into the young man. Harry was
overwrought, undone. He tugged at Severus’ grip in an effort to reach for him,
but Severus would not relinquish his wrists as he drove into him again, harder
this time. Deeper still.
“Is that what you wanted, Harry?” But Harry couldn’t answer for moaning,
because Severus was fucking him faster now. All Harry could seem to do was mewl
and gasp, driving Severus to the very brink. The man wouldn’t hold out much
longer. Severus' teeth found their way to Harry’s shoulder, wanting so badly to
puncture it. Severus groaned in resistance. “Come for me, Harry,” he pleaded,
drilling the boy properly now. Gods. The young man clearly enjoyed this. Why
wouldn’t he come?
“Touch me!” Harry finally managed to gasp. Severus only just staved off climax.
He crossed Harry’s wrists over his head to grip them with a single hand so he
could drop his other to Harry’s weeping prick.
It didn’t take long then. Severus managed two, maybe three strokes before Harry
was crying out, spilling over Severus' fingers. The man moaned as the sticky
warm stuff coated his hand. He trembled, thrust once more and then buried
himself deep within Harry, spilling his own seed there.
Severus didn’t think he’d ever had an orgasm more shattering. He rolled off of
Harry to lay on his back, spent, one arm cast carelessly over the boy’s
stomach, just to still touch him as Harry continued to shiver. Neither of them
could seem to catch their breath.
“Are you alright?” Severus fretted when he could manage. As his lust settled
and faded, he realised, belatedly, that he might have handled the young man
more roughly than intended. “Did I hurt you?”
Harry simply laughed, breathless, as he rolled closer in order to drape himself
over the man. “No,” he panted, smiling. “Not in a bad way."
Severus brought his arm around Harry, pressing the young man to him. The
satisfaction was evident in Harry’s expression, and though Severus had worked
hard to earn it, he still found it almost miraculous. “No,” he agreed, stroking
Harry’s arm, amazed that he was now allowed to do so. “Not in a bad way at
all.”
 
***** And Tumble Me into Some Loathsome Pit *****
                                     Remus
 
Three days had passed since the Full, and Remus’ hope had started to sour into
a resigned grief. Albus had insisted he revert back after having found the
entrance to this dungeon and to wait to enter until the others arrived. He’d
been livid, was convinced that if he just held the transformation a little
while longer, he could sniff Harry out in no time.
“Have you forgotten what happened to Kreacher?” Albus had argued sharply. “Do
you want to wake to find your godson’s blood on your hands, as well?”
Remus hadn’t had it in him to argue that the consequences of a Full could not
be compared to a voluntary transformation. He knew the Headmaster was right.
What if, as the trail grew warmer, he slipped further into the wolf than
intended and forgot the purpose of the search, was lost to the instinct to
simply hunt? Remus would never have been able to live with himself.
It hadn’t mattered in the end. They encountered so many obstacles, Remus
wouldn’t have been able to hold the transformation long enough anyway. The
warren was more massive than anything Remus could have imagined. And it was old
and neglected. Tests and deterrents of varying age and potency were scattered
throughout, and they had obviously bested several who had come before them. The
sheer amount of human remains they found was chilling. Over the last hundreds
of years, almost as many enemies of the Malfoy family had met their end here,
either by murder or the result of their own mischief, and it seemed most had
been left to simply rot where they fell. Perhaps it was meant to be a warning
to any other trespassers. Remus, for one, needed no further convincing that the
Malfoy dungeons were a very dangerous place to explore. Not that that
discouraged him in the slightest.
Still, they should have had the numbers to search fairly efficiently, despite
the lingering enchantments, if the stones themselves had not seemed intent on
driving them away. Most places, they were slick and miserable, and the going
was treacherous even with no magical help in being so. Rainwater had
exacerbated every weakness in the construction of the labyrinth and had brought
down the ceiling in many spots. There were cave-ins, old and new, and the
impassable remnants of traps long ago sprung. The moisture encouraged
infestations of all kinds. Uncrossable pools of stagnant water gave rise to
bundimun colonies that rained acid spit on them as they passed. And where there
are bundimun, there are flesh-eating slugs, feeding on the moldy pests and
appropriating their acid to produce their own caustic secretions. Nests of what
appeared to be dwarf Acromantulas had also established themselves in some
tunnels, and the rescuers would fight their way through web and fang and
blistering damp down one winding passage for ages only to find their hours
wasted in dead ends of tumbled rock. Remus had just found himself at another
and was dangerously close to breaking down when the messenger orb reached them.
“We’ve found someone!” one of the search party reported. “Come quick!”
Remus’ threatening tears of frustration were transformed into those of cautious
gratitude just as they were granted permission to fall. He did not confer with
the Order members at his side, and they could not hope to keep up with him as
he chased the orb back to its source.
“Gor! Reeks of garlic, it does,” Remus heard a man emerging from a darkened
cell complain as he dragged someone by under the arms into the corridor. “‘Ere!
Remus!” greeted Sturgis, relieved. “Give us a hand, would you?” he requested as
he stumbled under the weight in his arms. He was mud-smeared and exhausted --
they all were-- but the dancing torchlight highlighted the worst of it, making
them look dirtier and more sunken-eyed than they were.
Remus could tell, however, before he had even reached the man, that whoever
they were liberating was not the quarry Remus sought. Though dirty enough to be
mistaken as brunette, the hair dragging the ground beneath their unconscious
prize was still long enough not to belong to Harry and light enough to not
belong to Severus. Disappointment nearly brought Remus to his knees, and he had
to force himself the last few steps before crouching beside an unconscious
Professor Cobbleshot.
They laid her down for Remus to examine her. She was pale. She was always pale,
but this was the cold bleach of corpses. Even her hair (what wasn’t coated in
sludge) seemed more white than its usual piss yellow. The odor of garlic almost
outstripped the nose-singeing scent of her infection. He could not detect the
rise and fall of her chest, though the flicker of torchlight made the exercise
tricky. He checked her pulse.
“She’s alive but fading,” he reported. She had no wounds that he could
ascertain, but the strength of the poisonous gas she’d been steeped in had
almost proved fatal. It might still. He wasn’t certain if the others had been
aware of her vampirism before, though surely they were now. He didn’t bother
explaining. “Albus can help her,” he said, straightening. “You must get her to
him immediately.”
Sturgis nodded readily, but he was weary, and Remus could tell the prospect of
carrying the woman all the way outside was daunting. “Can you get her feet?”
Sturgis asked. “Barney got a nasty cut to his hand,” he explained, nodding to
his companion who displayed a palm wrapped in a blood-stained makeshift bandage
of plaid fabric torn from his own shirt.
“I can still carry the torch,” the injured man offered.
Remus was barely listening. He was staring down the dark expanse beyond the
open cell door.
“Have you checked all of these?” he asked raising his torch, seeing several
other prison doors thrown wide.
“Aye. We were drawn by the smell, even through the wood, but when we found this
one here we checked the rest quick as quick to see if the young Potter might be
close.”
Remus imagined the two leaving the poor woman to stew in the garlic-drenched
cell as they went to look in the others before pulling her out. Not that Remus
could say he wouldn’t have done the same. Though, no doubt, they were not
guilty of the same brand of single-minded obsession as Remus. Order members
were typically a tolerant bunch by default, but some prejudices are hard to
shake, and he suspected a garlic-sick vampire was not highly prioritised in
their empathy.
It didn’t matter now. Remus was about to commit a similar crime. The others
would have to manage her as best they could. He had a feeling that if Loraina
was here, the others couldn’t be too far away. At least, this seemed the most
likely direction to search.
“Here, where are you off to?” Sturgis protested as Remus stepped over the
senseless woman at his feet.
“Glinda will be by soon. She wasn’t far behind me,” he replied, already
striding away. “I’m going on ahead.”
“Not alone you aren’t,” said Barney, adamantly. “Dumbledore was clear that no
one-”
“I know damned well what he said,” Remus snapped before he could quell his
misdirected frustration. He was beyond exhausted. He’d caught only a few hours
of sleep here or there when their way was hindered and there was nothing to do
but wait until the blockage could be cleared or a new way could be puzzled out.
“Tell Albus I’m going to go find my godson,” he growled determinedly. “And if
he doesn’t like it, he can punish me as he sees fit once I’ve done so.”
And then, with no further argument, Remus stalked off into the dark.
For the longest while, there was nothing. No wards or guardians, surprisingly
few patches of bundimun, and only a handful of skeletons. The tunnel was better
maintained than any he’d been down so far. This was the way. He was sure of it.
So sure that he barely slowed at the sound of shuffling and moaning further
ahead of him. Whatever it was, he would dispatch it.
What?
He heard the question like a sigh, thought he was imagining the voice.
“What is it, Severus?”
Remus’ heart missed a beat, but his feet continued to carry him forward. He saw
something then, a dark mass that might have been a hunched figure. His eyes
were tired, but they recognised the distance double glint of his torch on
round-framed glasses.
“Harry, is that you?”
The question was louder than expected. He hadn’t been aware of speaking it
aloud. It echoed off the stones as if the walls were gasping. It was almost too
wonderful to be true. But it was true. Harry was alive, and he was standing in
the corridor in front of Remus, half shielded by a wraith that resembled
Severus Snape.
“I've found them!” Remus called into his wand as he jogged forward, sending a
messenger orb shooting back down the passageway behind him.
“Remus?” Harry sobbed. He staggered from Severus' grasp and down the passageway
to meet the man as he rushed towards them.
Remus swept Harry up in a tight embrace, wondering fleetingly if he was really
holding his ward. The young man felt less substantial than the last time Remus
had had his arms around him. He was lighter, frailer, weaker; like a baby bird.
“Oh gods,” Remus whispered, tears of relief and apology streaming down his
cheeks. “Oh, Harry,” Remus wept into the young man's hair, kissing the crown of
his head. “I thought I'd lost you. I thought…” he confessed tremulously, but he
could not voice exactly what it was he had thought. It was too terrible and had
come too close to speak out loud just yet. “I am never letting you go again,”
he vowed in a vehement whisper, clutching the young man possessively.
Harry burrowed his face in Remus' chest, his arms circling him to return the
embrace in feeble but sincere gratitude. And Remus breathed in Harry’s
presence. The dank grease of his unwashed hair was the sweetest perfume Remus
had ever scented. Remus knew he smelled of the same grime and sweat and poison
air himself, even if he didn’t share the hint of piss, or the twangy smear of
saliva from an unbrushed mouth on his…
Remus stiffened.
He sniffed Harry’s neck. He bristled. The wolf stirred, and he did not
transform, but his senses sharpened. And suddenly he detected other scents.
Fledgling bruises and recent arousal and the thick, lingering stink of the
product of its satisfaction. He smelled the funk of rut that is almost
exclusive to the copulation of two men, and Remus had to work very hard not to
allow the sudden murderous impulse of his fingers to accidentally harden his
embrace. Harry was not to blame for the violence that had obviously been
visited upon him, and Remus must be gentle, especially now.
Whatever had transpired had done so recently. And Lucius had been in their
custody for days.
“Severus,” he growled, glaring up at the man without lifting his face. “What
have you done? ” he demanded.
Remus always knew the man was a devil. Severus had almost swayed him, almost
convinced him with his service to the Order that he was not the villain Remus
had always supposed him to be. But bad blood will out, and what blood is more
venomous than a vampire’s? He moved Harry gently to the side to stalk over to
the other man. He couldn’t kill him. That might be for others. But he would
deliver some justice for his godson then and there.
“I believe, Lupin, that I kept him alive,” Severus said, his chin rising
defiantly just as Remus' fist connected with it, dropping the man to the floor.
The impact was satisfying. Another would be more so, but Harry cried out behind
him before he could deliver it.
“Remus!” Harry gasped, stumbling over to try and restrain him. Remus had been
shocked by the distress in his voice, was confused as Harry shoved him weakly
to the side, tripping over himself to reach Severus and help the man unsteadily
to his feet to lean back against the wall.
Remus watched, his confusion giving way to a mild horror, as Harry lifted his
hand to Severus’ face to tenderly finger the angry red stain Remus had left
there. There was pain in the young man’s expression as if he were trying to
take Severus’ for himself, as if the damage had been inflicted on them both.
Severus snatched Harry’s fingers from his face, but gently.
“Leave it, Potter,” he said quietly as he turned his face away. He
looked...ashamed. He had anticipated Remus’ reaction and accepted it
unflinchingly. Remus thought he could tell that Severus felt he had deserved
the blow. Harry, however, clearly did not agree.
The implications left Remus winded. Harry did not consider himself abused.
Harry sympathised with his defiler, his fellow prisoner, and it only just
occurred to Remus that perhaps he should have, as well. Remus understood better
than most the nature of a vampire’s curse, and Severus had never before seemed
inclined to perversion. Well, not of that sort, at any rate.
Of course it had been consensual, he thought. An unfortunate consequence of
close quarters and lack of sustenance. A bid for survival. Likely it was even
Harry’s idea. And of course, Severus would feel guilty. Remus was suddenly
ashamed of himself for striking the man. It couldn’t have been pleasant for
either of them, must have been disagreeable but resigned and-
Remus couldn’t concentrate on that train of thought any longer, because Harry
had stumbled back from the man, and the expression on his face obliterated the
narrative Remus had been trying to spin in his mind. Severus would not meet
Harry’s eye, and Harry was wounded by it. He was incredulous of the man’s
apparent shame. He was offended by Severus’ reluctance to be touched...as if it
were more than just a touch, as if it was something craved; as if it was
something won by right that was now being refused and the denial hurt Harry’s
feelings, hurt him deeply enough to rob him of breath, and he was reeling.
Harry looked to Remus then, lost, as if asking the man for help in making sense
of his predicament. And all at once Remus understood. Remus recognised that
imploring look on the young man’s face. But it didn’t belong to him any longer.
It belonged to the man with a red stain on his chin, who seemed pained by it
and let his eyes slide shut with regret that he could not meet it.
Remus’ heart splintered in his chest. He had surrendered! He had been prepared
to throw away anything and everything for Harry. He had given up on nobility
and societal restraint and granted himself permission for them both to succumb
to what they had started that night in his quarters at Hogwarts. He had finally
buckled to Harry’s will.
But Harry’s will had clearly changed, and the blow sent Remus staggering. He
had to lift a hand to the wall beside him to steady himself lest he fall to his
knees in anguish. If he fell, he wasn’t certain he could ever get back up.
Harry, however, did fall to his knees; heavily, as if the toll of their ordeal
had caught up with him. Remus’ own pain was eclipsed by Harry’s, and he was
flushed with worry. But Severus, too, moved to assist the young man, his face
evincing the same alarmed concern as Remus’ before he drew up short, seeming to
remember he had no right to touch Harry, as if that was the price of his
previous trespass and the punishment was self-imposed and burdensome.
Remus knew the feeling well. So Harry’s fondness was requited, then, he thought
sourly. Remus still didn’t understand it, but he had no choice but to accept
it. He refrained from touching the young man without permission, as well.
Despite the tenacity of Harry’s embrace before, perhaps it was no longer
welcome. Something seemed to have changed since.
They all remained where they were, awkwardly looking to one another. No one
seemed quite to know what was allowed. No one knew what to make of this tangle
of hurt or how to extricate themselves from it.
“Let's get out of this fucking hole,” Harry muttered bitterly, finally pulling
himself to his feet unaided. The foul language was jarring in its unfamiliarity
but easily forgivable. “I'm ready to see the sky.”
Remus nodded and led the way, helping Harry walk in end after all, as Harry
would not have made it otherwise and Severus trailed far enough behind them to
avoid the temptation of doing the chore himself. The trek to the surface was
somehow both brief and interminable. Remus was grateful for the opportunity to
hold Harry in his arms, however chastely. But his grief in knowing what he’d
lost made the contact bittersweet.
He’d been a fool. He had walked away. And in his absence, somehow, Harry had
decided that another --that Severus Snape of all fucking people-- was worthy of
the affection that Remus had forsaken. It was no use being upset with Severus.
Remus knew how reluctantly the man even tolerated other people, Harry in
particular. He was not to be faulted for loving the one that Remus loved. No
doubt the affliction had not been voluntary. And how could he be upset with
Harry? Remus had abandoned him.
No. Remus had no one to blame but himself. And he did. With every shuffling
step, each aching breath, he blamed himself for it all. If he had been there,
none of this would have happened. Harry would not have been lost, neither in
his affection nor physically in this stinking hell hole. Severus would no doubt
have died if Harry hadn’t chased after him, as would have Cobbleshot, though
Remus was abashed that he would have found that almost acceptable if Harry
could have been spared this trauma.
The clean night air that met them when they emerged was not fresh to Remus. The
entire world tasted of ash and bitterness, but Harry seemed to appreciate the
breeze and the moon and the openness of the surface. It was Albus who caught
sight of them first. The rest of the Order stood back respectfully for the
Headmaster to meet them, though they seemed ready to rush to their aid if
needed. Albus took the arm Harry didn't have slung over Remus' shoulder and
helped carry the young man to a low-lying gravestone. It took him slightly
longer than it had Remus, but Albus also noticed the unmistakable scent of
possible criminality and shattered protection spells. He caught Remus’ eye for
confirmation of his suspicions before turning a dangerous glare in Severus’
direction.
Severus didn't heed it. Instead, he rushed past them to attend to the still
figure lying on the soft grass of a new grave, a tombstone at her head as if
the plot were her own. Rainey looked only slightly less dead than she had in
the dungeons, and Severus bent over her, checking her pulse before allowing
himself to breathe again. Remus was almost angered by the tenderness with which
Severus stroked the matted blond hair from her face. Harry was watching, after
all.
He knew Severus had loved Rainey for much longer, however. Though Remus had
never been able to quite work out this latest incarnation of it.
Albus didn't even pause to speak to him or Harry before turning to apparently
confront Severus, but Harry's hand went to the sleeve of the Headmaster's robe,
clutching it in weak but determined fingers.
“Leave him,” Harry warned. Albus turned a questioning look back down on the
young man, and Harry's eyes echoed the quiet threat in his voice. “All of you.
Do you understand me? Leave Severus the hell alone.” Remus’ heart broke hearing
the ease with which Harry called Severus by his given name, though it only
broke a little. It was already shattered into such tiny pieces, there was
scarcely more damage that could conceivably be done.
The Headmaster seemed momentarily shocked but recovered himself quickly. “Of
course, Harry. No one is threatening Professor Snape,” he said, clearly unsure
what to make of Harry’s informal reference to the man. Harry sneered, casting
an accusatory glance up at Remus that caused the man’s cheeks to colour. “The
circumstances are simply...disappointing in their way,” Albus went on,
defeated. “But of no consequence, if you are unharmed.”
Remus knelt beside Harry and searched his expression. Something had returned to
it, a bit of the silent request Remus had seen once before, but this time
carefully restrained.
“Harry, did he-?” Remus began gently. He was going to ask if Severus really had
hurt him, but the cold fire in Harry's expression caused Remus to change tact.
Whatever his feelings about what occurred, Harry clearly would hear no ill
spoken of the man. “Are you unhurt?”
“I'm tired, Remus. And I'm hungry,” Harry sighed wearily and without animosity.
“And yes, I am hurt,” he said, glancing over to where Severus still stooped
next to Rainey. His voice was small and as fragile as cracked glass, and it
made Remus ache. “But that was the Malfoys' doing, not Severus'. Can we please
just go home now?” he finished in a pleading whisper.
“Of course, Harry,” Albus said kindly, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder. He
looked to Remus, who nodded, and without another word, they apparated to
Grimmauld Place.
***** O Monstrous! What Reproachful Words are These? *****
                                    Severus
 
After they were rescued, Severus spent three days in Lord Ruthven Hospital with
Loraina. Though he’d consumed an entire week’s supply of Substisanguinus the
moment he stepped foot back in the castle, the physician attending her took one
look at Severus and insisted he be admitted to the facility, as well. Severus
could hardly argue. He was still so shrunken and haggard that he no longer
passed as human. They allowed him to share Loraina's room as they fed him
actual blood intravenously until he ceased to resemble a walking corpse.
Though he knew she would not be waking for some time, keeping vigil at
Loraina’s bedside was a welcome occupation. He wasn’t particularly worried
about her. They’d assured him she was going to live, and that was what
mattered. Interacting with her was difficult at best, and if he never managed
it again, he would not be overly bothered. But he liked knowing that she lived.
In fact, he realised it was simply the uncertainty of it that had kept her
emblazoned on his mind the whole while they had been apart before. However, he
was in no hurry to return home. He did not want to reflect on what had happened
in those long days in darkness. He wasn’t ready to face their aftermath.
He’d been confronted with it already, but only briefly. Albus had spoken with
him in the hospital wing at Hogwarts while transport was being arranged to
Ruthven’s when Severus was still dazed enough by the sudden and surreal
normality of his surroundings to not truly be touched by the gravity of his
situation. Recounting their ordeal to the Headmaster then had felt like
explaining a strange dream immediately after waking, while only one foot rested
firmly over the threshold of consciousness and the other still trailed in
hypnagogic quicksand. The more he told the man, the more it seemed to him that
what he was describing could not conceivably have actually occurred.
Predictably, Albus had been less than pleased, but he was not nearly as severe
as might have been expected. Though, Severus realised he didn’t give a
leprechaun's left bollock what the Headmaster thought so long as he allowed
Severus to escape thinking on things himself, ostensibly by letting him escort
Loraina to the specialised facility that would save her life.
His hospital stay was a respite, but one that ended all too soon. After only a
few days, the healers declared him fit to be released, provided he rested as
much and as often as possible until he regained his strength. It was strange to
consider he’d spent just as long in the hospital as he had in the dungeon when
the former experience passed in the blink of an eye and the latter had seemed
to drag on for years. He returned to Hogwarts reluctantly, fully expecting to
be treated as even more of a pariah than he had been before. But the staff was
respectful. Considerate even. And Severus suspected Albus had not shared the
most shocking details of what had transpired, likely more out of consideration
for Harry than for the Potions Master.
Or perhaps they were being kind to him because they knew the hammer was about
to fall, he reflected, lying on his cot in the lab amid half a dozen neglected
and ruined potions. Albus was away attending to the mess left in Lucius’ wake,
but he would be back soon enough. And after all, how many teachers could say
they were allowed to keep their post after admitting to sexually violating one
of their students?
It couldn’thappen, he thought, shaken by the possibility. He mustn’t be let go.
If they fired him, he could never afford to brew his Substisanguinus on his
own. He had no savings. When he’d signed on at Hogwarts, he’d agreed to a
significant pay cut to help cover the costs of his medication, many of the
ingredients of which could only be legally obtained via the school. If he was
not allowed to remain there, he would be consigned to a penniless existence on
the fringes of society, feeding off rats and stray dogs like the transient
revenants who haunted the filthiest corners of Knockturn Alley.
Or worse, without his proximity to Albus and the Order, the Dark Lord might
decide Severus was no longer useful and far too familiar with his secrets. A
liability to be managed. Severus wouldn’t last a month.
But the Order needed him, he consoled himself. Albus may loathe that necessity,
but he wouldn’t toss Severus away. He couldn’t afford to.
No. Things would go on as they always had, he was certain. Or they would be
expected to, at least. So that simply left the problem of Potter.
Of Harry. And what a problem it was.
He couldn’t avoid thinking on it forever. The young man would eventually
return, as he always did after a narrowly averted catastrophe, to play at being
a normal boy who didn’t hold the fate of the world in his hands. And Severus
would have to interact with him. The anticipation robbed him of sleep. Once he
finally allowed it admittance, it plagued his every waking thought.
Severus hesitated to use the word love. But what else could it possibly be? The
memory of the physical activities they had engaged in warmed his blood, but he
knew that what he felt was so much more than carnal. He’d been prepared to die
for the young man. He clearly remembered the peace he’d felt in making the
decision. After Harry had revealed his mad scheme to blast through their cell
door with a spell that would surely burn through the last of his strength the
way a fire consumes oxygen, Severus’ bitterness had left him. He’d known what
he had to do.
“We're dying, Severus,” Harry had reasoned. “Either we get out this door, or
we're done. You said yourself we only bought ourselves a day at most. But you
haven't had so much as a bloody rat in two. I don't think we're going to last
that long. Or I won't. And while I can certainly think of worse ways to die, I
don't want you to have to-”
Harry hadn’t been able to finish the thought, but Severus had understood him
and had collapsed against the wall of their cell, knowing his time had come. If
he did not do the deed, and then, Harry would persist in trying to save him.
The dear, foolish boy; never as selfish as Severus had imagined him to be,
simply oblivious and short sighted. He had been willing to risk his life to
spare Severus the pain of killing him. But Severus had known he would not have
to bear the guilt of taking Harry’s life, because he was about to take his own.
 
“I'm sorry for what I am, Harry,” Severus had said, his wrist already rising to
his lips where his fangs prepared to open it. There would be time enough to say
goodbye after the wound was inflicted when it would be too late to change
course and he could bare his soul to the boy with no regrets.
“You didn't choose to become what you are,” Harry’d said angrily, causing
Severus’ teeth to still against his skin. “Voldemort stole both our futures.
But I’ll be damned if I don’t choose my own fate.”
The resolute edge to Harry’s voice had been unmistakeable. Severus had heard it
before. And he’d known suddenly, depressingly, that his death would be no
deterrent, after all. Harry was going to attempt the thing, regardless.
Moreover, how could Severus presume to deny the young man such a thing? So much
of Harry’s life had been beyond his control. Didn’t he deserve the right to
dictate his own death, as Severus was about to do?
And if, by some miracle, Harry survived the spell, what then? He could not hope
to navigate the paths alone. He was all but blind, his glasses laced through
with cracks. He was dangerously weak. He had no wand. Without a guide, he would
only wander away from the one place they might eventually manage to find him
and into some long forgotten oubliette, where his bones would rest until the
name Harry Potter had passed out of all living memory. Severus’ wrist had
fallen from his lips then in defeat.
He’d helped the young man to dress, instead, fastening his own robes over Harry
in lieu of the shirt Severus had ruined. “You don't have to do this,” he’d told
him as he took him in his arms after Harry had reached to him in a moment of
uncertainty.
“You know I do,” Harry had replied, his voice trembling despite his
determination. “But, Severus. I wanted to say I'm sorry: for all these years,
for my disrespect. I didn't know. I thought...”
Severus hadn't been able to bear hearing it. Not in that moment, and not when
he knew he was every bit as much to blame for their adversarial past as Harry
was. He’d hushed him, pulling the young man closer and gently brushing his
chaotic hair away from his face.
“We've both been idiots, Harry,” Severus had said softly. The young man gave a
quiet laugh at that, dropping his forehead against Severus’ chest which had
been aching fit to burst at the thought that this might be the last time he saw
that bashful grin lit with vitality.
“Thank you, Severus,” he'd spoken quietly after a moment, pulling away as he
did, his green eyes shining up at the man with peace and surety. “For
everything.”
Severus had been stricken as Harry moved away, taking the best parts of Severus
with him. He'd felt he should not have let him go without saying all the things
he’d intended to before, had he opened his veins. Severus had wanted to confess
the depth of his feelings for the stubborn, courageous young man. He’d wanted
to express his gratitude for Harry’s passion and vulnerability which had
reawakened Severus’ stony old heart. He’d wanted to cry out that the risk was
too great and that he simply could not go on living if he were forced to watch
the young man die.
But all of that would have been selfish, especially as it would have changed
nothing in the end. And so Severus had let his heart break in silence,
convinced he was about to witness the last moments of the Boy Who Lived and
feeling it his duty to do so.  
The spell had been fantastic, easily the greatest feat of wandless magic
Severus had ever seen. It knocked him from his feet and sent shrapnel raining
down on top of them. And after his vision had recovered from the blinding flash
of Harry’s essence bursting against the cell door, he’d seen that, despite all
odds, Harry continued to glow. It had been faint and fragile, but his heart was
still ignited in his chest.
Severus had to get him to the outside world before that flame sputtered and
died. He’d immediately taken up a sharp-edged fragment of stone loosed by the
blast, prepared to use it to hack his way through the splintered wood, even if
it took every last ounce of his strength. But when he’d reached it, he’d found
the door already swinging free. Harry had succeeded in liberating them all on
his own, the force of his secret self having punched a hole cleanly through the
locking mechanism on their cell. Severus decided to save his wonder for later,
had rushed then on unsteady legs to the torture chamber where magical torches
still burned, hoping against hope that he might find their wands, or a healing
elixir which Death Eaters frequently kept on hand to prolong a captive’s
suffering, or some morsel of sustenance for the young man, at the very least.
But he’d found nothing in the horrid room at all but rusting instruments of
pain and the broken and diminutive body of a house elf. There hadn't even been
anything Severus might hobble together into a makeshift device to help bear
Harry through the dungeon.
So be it. If Severus had to carry him to safety, slung over one shoulder, he’d
damned well do so.
And he had, slowly but diligently, up one stairway and then another. He had
wound his way drunkenly through tunnels that had partially collapsed since he’d
last walked them, been ready to lay the young man aside to do barehanded combat
with any guardian that might stand between him and Harry’s salvation; until
he’d finally stumbled and fallen, more exhausted than he’d realized, spilling
Harry to the floor where the young man miraculously woke.
The sound of his voice then had been the sweetest music Severus had ever heard
in his life. But did any of that constitute love?
Severus had thought so at the time. In the small dark of their cell with no
tomorrow in sight, it had been a simple thing to accept, to embrace. Most
people liked to use such situations to sidestep responsibility. They liked to
say they ‘weren’t themselves’ or ‘the circumstances were extenuating’, as if
they had become otherinstead of their truest selves; as if they hadn’t actually
been stripped bare and forced to grapple with the lies they told themselves
when pretending was easier. Severus knew better. He would claim no lapse in
faculty, not even to himself.
But would Harry use that excuse, he wondered. Would he disavow the Potions
Master? Would he claim it had simply been hunger that had led him to lose hold
of his reason? That it had been the prospect of death that caused him to allow
the man to desecrate him? Would he deny that he had ever looked down on the
cranky old vampire with sincere and tender adoration?
And who would ever believe him if he claimed otherwise?
Of course he would use the circumstances to wash his hands of the man. As,
perhaps, he should. Severus needed to accept the truth. It had happened, but it
was not real. Not in the ways that mattered. It had been in the moment, maybe.
It would remain so for the Potions Master forever. But he alone would remember
its beauty; the brilliant, unlikely sacredness that had been born in such filth
and darkness.
The trouble was, Severus wasn’t entirely certain how to go on. Doubtless, he’d
make a good show of it. He was an excellent spy, after all. But he’d be an
empty mask. How does one convince oneself that an occurrence of such magnitude
simply does not matter, that life goes on, when all Severus could feel now was
the gaping hollow the event left behind?
He could start by seeing the young man, he supposed. If he could be subjected
to the disgust and shame and regret he’d see on Harry’s face and survive the
ordeal, he could surely weather whatever came after. In fact, it might make
things easier. He could stop fooling himself, then, with absurd daydreams of
what might be, if only...if only a million obstacles could be swept aside, and
Harry’s feelings had been genuine, and Severus could permit himself to allow
them.
If only.
No one had apprised him of Harry’s condition the whole while he’d been back.
They all seemed to be giving Severus his space, or else using that as an excuse
to avoid him. His classes were still being covered by the substitute they had
arranged to keep things running while Severus had been starving to death
underground. And so he did not alert anyone of his departure or his
destination. He didn't know who he’d encounter at Grimmauld Place. He was
leaving Lupin behind at Hogwarts, he knew. Severus had not spoken to the man
since he’d been assaulted by him, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about it
or him. But whoever was there, it didn’t matter. Severus needed to do this.
He stepped through the front door of Order headquarters without knocking, as
always, and glanced to the upper floors as if he knew instinctively where Harry
rested and he might magically be able to see him through the solid walls that
separated them. It was Albus who met him, stepping into the hall and into his
path as if he had been waiting for the man. Severus nodded an uncertain
greeting which the Headmaster returned, every bit as skilled as Severus was at
masking his thoughts.
“Come and speak with me, Severus,” he said quietly. He did not wait for a
response. He simply turned and moved unhurriedly toward the kitchen where he
waved Severus to a seat at the table. It was bizarrely pedestrian considering
the circumstances. The Potions Master thought he might have been offered
refreshments if he’d been able to partake. For once, Albus did not seem
inclined to tease him over it. He took a seat opposite of Severus and steepled
his fingers on the table before him. “Why are you here?” he asked after a
thoughtful silence. It was a softly spoken question and a seemingly genuine
one. The Headmaster studied him with gentle scrutiny as he waited for an
answer.
Severus took longer to respond than he should have. He’d been feeling so lost
these last few days, and though Severus knew better, something about the
Headmaster always seemed so kindly and worthy of confidence. Severus half
suspected Albus employed a glamour. He felt certain his innermost thoughts were
not safe to share, however, and he quickly quashed the urge to speak honestly.
“To see how the boy is recovering, of course,” said Severus, matching the
mildness of Albus’ tone.
“He’s been attended by healers,” Albus assured him. “Poppy has been visiting
daily.” He returned Severus’ unperturbed look as if asking what other excuses
the Potions Master would like to try.
Severus hadn’t really prepared any. “I might be able to brew him something
tailored if need be,” he offered, affecting a generousness they both knew he
did not generally possess.
“Are you certain there isn’t more to it?”
The challenge was gentle but bald-faced. Was Albus bluffing? Or was Severus’
languishing just that obvious? And for whose sake did he ask? Severus narrowed
his eyes at the man. “What are you implying, Albus?”
The Headmaster sighed, looking suddenly but regretfully resigned. This is it,
Severus thought, his heart sinking. I’m to get the axe, after all. He tried to
prepare himself, to buttress his dignity and accept the sentence with grace.
But his imminent impoverishment and demise leered at him over Albus’ slumped
shoulder.
“I may be an old man, Severus, but I was not always,” he began, unfailingly
roundabout. “I know we have discussed what happened, and being the spy that you
are, you betrayed nothing at the time. But Harry is not so skilled as you,” he
informed him. Severus’ heart skipped a beat. What were they talking about?
His confusion must have been evident. “I have been Headmaster to adolescent
witches and wizards for many, many years now, old friend. I know the look of
the lovelorn,” Albus confided. Comprehension began to dawn on the vampire, and
he struggled to muzzle a cautious and heretofore doomed hope. “Whatever passed
between the two of you in that dungeon was clearly not merely perfunctory. And
knowing you as I do, I also know that it could not have possibly been otherwise
if the feelings involved were not somewhat mutual.”
Albus watched him expectantly, but Severus wasn’t certain how he was meant to
respond to the pronouncement. It seemed subtly reproving, but Severus did not
have the capacity for shame as he was filled suddenly to bursting with
gratitude. He looked away from the Headmaster’s inscrutable gaze, too overcome
for a moment to feign the appropriate indignation.
“We were facing death, Albus,” he said carefully when he was finally able.
“Would you rather I had been cruel?” he asked, turning the Headmaster’s
condemnation back on him. “I was trying to keep him alive. What was done was
not optional at the time. Would you have had me scar him to preserve
propriety?”
“I have accepted that what happened was unavoidable,” Albus replied with
equanimity. “But I suspect strongly that necessity was not the only impetus.”
Severus filled is lungs to voice his exception but the Headmaster waved for
peace. “I don’t mean to judge, Severus,” he said sincerely, heading him off.
“In fact, I’m grateful it was more than cursory, for both your sakes. But
you’ve emerged from the dungeon now,” he concluded with a pointed but
sympathetic look. The one Severus returned was far less charitable.
“Meaning?”  
“Think of all you’ve sacrificed for his sake already, Severus,” Albus said,
almost pityingly, as if he found the man’s predicament genuinely tragic. “And
that was when you disliked the young man. Can you not make another for him
now?” Severus did not respond, simply stared at the man coolly. “If you truly
care for him, you will turn him away. If you dare to take this further, I
cannot condone it.”
The warning had been gentle but unyielding. Severus no longer had to feign his
offence. “You cannot believe I everthought to encourage-”
“You must do more,” Albus interrupted firmly. “You willdiscourage his
attention, Severus,” he went on, his compassion beginning to run thin. “By
whatever means necessary. Have I made myself understood?”
Severus’ only answer was to rise to his feet, his salty stare bordering on
hostility, before sweeping from the room and away from Grimmauld Place.  
 
***** I Am Possess'd of That is Mine *****
Severus didn’t know what to do with himself. Potter was back. So far, Severus
had avoided seeing him by refusing to leave his quarters, but that was not a
feasible long-term plan. He’d have to resume classes on Monday. He’d be
assigned duty in the Great Hall eventually. No matter. Evasion was working fine
for the moment.
Severus spent the day fastidiously cleaning all the equipment in the lab and
restarting all the potions that had been left to ruin while he was gone. He
needed the work, needed it in a way he hadn’t in years.
He was slightly nauseous dumping the remains of his Substisanguinus down the
sink. There was so much waste, and his stores would run out long before the new
batch was ready. He’d have to hunt in the forest in the meantime, but there
were worse things. Once that was well on its way, he gathered ingredients for
Skin-Seal ointment. It was a quick brew, and the infirmary stores had been
depleted almost completely after the incident on the Hogwarts Express. He
whipped up a batch and left it to cool in its cauldron.
As he worked, his wards alerted him that there were knocks at his office door.
He didn’t knowthat it was Potter, but just to be safe, he ignored them all.
Severus would have to see him again, but not yet. He imagined what he’d say
when the time came, all the nastiness that would be necessary to drive the
young man away. Severus was good at nastiness. Historically, he was good at
directing it at Potter.
Before he delivered it, though, what would he see in the boy’s eyes? Albus had
said he looked lovelorn, but who knew if the old coot knew what he was talking
about? Now that he could see him, would Harry still look on Severus as tenderly
as he had in the dungeon? Or would he take in Severus’ features, well-lit and
with rested eyes, and be disgusted that he’d ever let such a creature touch
him?
Severus imagined Potter’s shamed expression as he processed all they had done
together, and he transmuted the sour twist of pain in his stomach that resulted
into a leathery armour for his heart. It would need to be hardened if he was to
do as Albus had told him, anyway. Lovelorn or not, Severus had to separate
himself from his feelings for the boy. And when he felt well fortified, he
ceased thinking of Potter altogether and turned his attention to the
construction of the equipment for Wolfsbane, which Albus had determined Lupin
would be taking whether he liked it or not.
He had just screwed the last bit of tubing into place when he heard a knock at
the door of his chambers. Loraina was the only one who ever came that way. No
one else was familiar enough with the dungeons. Severus ignored it. He
wondered, irritably, why she didn’t just walk in as she usually did; until he
remembered that Loraina was not there at all. She was unconscious in a hospital
bed somewhere near Perth. Severus set his tools aside, puzzled.
His confusion turned to annoyance as he climbed the stairs out of the lab. The
request for admittance continued, became more insistent, a bang rather than a
knock. He jerked his door open with a scowl.
Harry Potter stood on his doorstep. Severus had not prepared himself for this
encounter, and the boy’s presence rattled him. The young man looked casually
determined, and his piercing green eyes bore into Severus’. Not blindly in the
direction that they supposed Severus’ to be, as they had in the dungeon, but
straight into them, and Severus feared that gaze would prove more perceptive
than any Legilimens. The ambiguity of darkness had made him comfortable before.
Now Severus felt naked, and he disliked it.
It was almost as if they hadn’t really seen each other until this moment. As if
they were two different people than they’d been in the dungeon. As if that
ordeal hadn’t really counted somehow. Or else had counted more but had occurred
on some other plane of existence. Severus was nonplused. How had Potter even
come to be here? How the hell did he know the way? And beyond that...
“How did you get my password?” Severus demanded, still scowling.
The young man was clearly expecting something else by way of greeting, and he
reflected Severus' annoyance back at him. “Guess,” he responded irritably.
Severus snorted fondly before he could catch himself. The cheeky little shit.
He supposed he’d certainly given the young man reason enough to curse him.
“Well, thank you for reminding me it's time to change it, in any case. Now,
what the hell do you want?”
To Severus’ frustration, the boy ignored the question and pushed past him to
enter the man's quarters, turning angrily on him when he reached the centre of
the sitting room. If Severus hadn’t been so thrown off kilter by his sudden
appearance, he might have tried to prevent it. If he’d had some warning of his
arrival, he might have actually succeeded in convincing himself he didn’t want
the young man there.
Nevertheless, Potter had to leave. Severus had to drive him away, and more than
that. Severus had to make him never want to return. Knowing what would be
necessary to accomplish it made the vampire’s stomach curdle, but he could
manage it, he thought. If he could deceive the Dark Lord, surely he could
deceive an angsty teenager. He curled his lip as he shut the door.
“Your manners have certainly deteriorated since the last time I saw you,” he
sneered. “Not that you had many then, but you at least beggedprettily.” It was
at once intimate and crass. A flash of pain in Potter’s expression told Severus
he had hit the note he’d been aiming for. It also made him feel dirty, but he’d
deal with that later. “I blame the werewolf, of course. No doubt he spoiled you
during your holiday. Tell me, did you have a little bell by your bed to summon
him when you needed your nose wiped?”
A barb like that might have reduced others to tears, made them see the error in
their coming and start them searching for an escape. Severus knew, however,
that this one’s stubbornness would not be so easily broken.
“Why haven't I seen you since we were rescued?” Potter demanded quietly, anger
tinting the hurt at the edges of his voice. “Why haven't you spoken to me since
I got back?”
The truth wanted so desperately to be spoken. Severus felt it like a moth
beating against a windowpane, chasing the light. He’d gone, seeking the young
man’s bedside, and had been warned away, he wanted to profess. And if Severus
hadn’t seen the wisdom of it, he might have argued, fought his way to the boy
at all costs. But he knew Albus was right. Potter was too young, too new and
possessed of too much potential to waste his time and affection on Severus, a
man too mature for him both in terms of years and of trauma. Potter might seem
an old soul, but even so, he wasn’t nearly so world-weary yet that Severus
would make a suitable companion. The vampire would only be a shackle to
everything the young man should endeavour to avoid.
Severus feigned exasperation, affected misunderstanding. “If you have come here
seeking an apology for what happened, Mister Potter-”
"Stop it, Severus,” he whispered fiercely, close to tears. “Just...stop.”
Severus was consternated. He should reprimand the boy for addressing him by his
given name. But it fell from his lips so sweetly, even in anger, that Severus
could not bring himself to object. He sighed as if he resented Potter’s
emotional display and attempted to escape the boy in the potions lab. “You know
how the floo functions, obviously. Feel free to show yourself out,” he called
over his shoulder.
The sound of Potter’s footsteps on the stair behind him both panicked and
endeared him. He wasn’t strong enough for this confrontation yet.  He hadn’t
had enough time to cordon off his feelings. He was so unused to having them at
all.
Harry rushed past him when they cleared the stairs to turn and force the man to
face him. His expression was fierce and demanding.  
“Why are you here, Mister Potter?” Severus huffed anxiously. He wasn’t certain
he could win this clash of wills. This was not his forte. The Dark Lord was
formidable but cold. Severus could always match his malevolence with apathy.
The assault he was facing now was unfamiliar. Severus didn’t know how to speak
this language of overwhelming emotion, an intensity that burned hot instead of
icy. It melted his composure.  
“What is wrong with you?” Harry spat, properly angry at this point. “What's
with this 'Mister Potter' tripe? Have I done something to make you act this
way?”
“What do you mean?” Severus asked with a sigh. He was tired already. The
vulnerability he heard in the young man’s voice tugged at his heart, and he
could not meet those imploring green eyes. Why couldn’t Harry just go? “Am I
meant to behave differently toward you now after our ordeal? I expect no such
thing from you, Mister Potter. Now, if you would kindly return the favour,” he
said, gesturing toward the exit.
“Yes, you are meant to respond differently, damn it!” Potter declared angrily,
ignoring the prompt. “After what we did,” the young man began, but he broke
off, momentarily unable to speak for his indignation. He took a deep breath to
compose himself and tried again. “How can you treat me this way? After
everything that happened, after everything we said to each other there?” Harry
asked, not bothering to try and hide his hurt any longer.
After what we did. Severus was suddenly on fire remembering. There had been so
many firsts for both of them. And yet it had seemed as natural as breathing. As
it would seem natural to reach out now and soothe the frustration that bunched
Harry’s fists and knit his brow. Severus’ desire to do so was so overwhelming
it made his skin crawl to resist it. He attempted to disguise his desperation
behind a half-hearted scoff.
“I'm not about to hold you to anything whispered in a prison cell while facing
certain death. Nor would I appreciate you doing as such to me," he said flatly.
"The disaster the Malfoys orchestrated has been narrowly averted, no thanks to
your recklessness. And the protections have been destroyed. So,
congratulations. You are now free to fuck whomever you wish, Mister Potter,” he
said, sick at the thought of another even touching the young man, much less-
"Stop calling me that!”
“Is it not your name?” Severus shouted, reaching the end of his tether. He
glowered at the young man, angry already over trespasses to his person that had
not yet occurred.
“Severus-”
“You will address me as Professor Snape,” the man commanded, his voice shaking.
“We have discussed this before at length.” If they did not reinstate at least
this much formality, Severus would never be able to withstand the craving to
hear his name moaned in encouragement in-
“Oh, fuck you,” the boy sneered in response, derailing Severus’ train of
thought, and Severus felt his self-control collapsing. In all his adult life,
he’d never encountered this level of familiarity and disrespect. Severus’
threats no longer cowed. Potter seemed to believe himself immune to Severus’
wrath. But by the gods, the boy would accept the impossibility of them
maintaining a relationship, even if Severus had to scar him to manage it. If he
persisted, Severus knew he would buckle, and that could not happen. He had to
remind the boy why the Potions Master was feared by his peers.
Potter’s offence faltered when Severus suddenly stalked over to him,
aggressively invading his personal space to stoop over the boy. The young man
staggered back, startled by Severus’ vicious expression, and slightly disturbed
the glass construction that sat on the table at his back.
Severus pressed forward until his face was only inches from Potter’s, and his
eyes narrowed. “What did you think would happen, Mister Potter?” he asked in an
icy hiss. “Did you really assume we would crawl out of that dungeon and live
Happily Ever After? Just because I shoved my cock up your arse to keep from
eating you alive?” he spat, his voice rising. “This is not some fairy tale, and
I am not Prince FuckingCharming!”
“But you aren't some villain, either! So stop pretending to be!” the boy cried,
still resisting this version of Severus he didn’t want to believe really
existed. Severus’ proximity and aggression seemed to have unnerved him, though,
causing his voice to falter as he clung to the table behind him for support.
“We aren't enemies anymore,” Potter argued. He set his jaw defiantly. “You get
me, Severus,” he insisted, “in a way no one else does. You seem to understand
exactly what I need, and not just what I want or what's needed of me. And that
isn’t the result of some accidental memory or virgin bloodlust," he challenged,
his surety growing by the moment. "I think you know as well as I do that this
isn’t something as sudden or superficial as you're making it out to be.”
Severus couldn’t respond, could barely maintain his harsh stare as he watched
the boy’s composure rapidly crumbling in the face of the Potions Master’s
continued hostility. He looked so lost and confused. Severus hated himself for
it but told himself that the ends justified the means. “Severus,” Potter
pleaded, his breath coming in hiccups now. “Please.”
Something inside Severus gently folded. Begging was his weakness, and this plea
was so heartfelt and hopeful. Harry lay a hand on one of Severus's rigidly
crossed arms, the gentle touch reminding the man of the several they'd shared
already. Severus glared at the hand, snarling and jerking himself from Harry's
grasp to keep himself from laying his own tenderly over it.
Severus was undone. He could not endure this back and forth any longer. This
had to end. Now. Formality would not be enough. Vicious words and hurt feelings
would not be enough. Severus had to make Harry hate him. He needed to think
Severus was capable of the very worst in a human being. Severus had to do the
worst thing he could conceive of. Or at least, he had to make Harry believehe
could do it. Albus had said at all costs, after all. And then, when Harry cried
out for Severus to stop, Severus could send him away knowing he would never
ever come back.
Without a word, he took Harry by the collar and yanked him to the side before
raking the newly constructed Wolfsbane apparatus from the tabletop into the
floor. Harry was startled by the violence, but Severus wasn’t done with it. He
turned Harry roughly and bent him over the cleared workspace, pinning him there
with a single hand pressed between the boy's shoulder blades. He could feel
Harry tremble beneath his palm. Once the young man overcame his shock, he
struggled, clawing at the tabletop, but he was no match for Severus’ vampiric
strength.
Severus saw in his mind’s eye a boy almost Harry’s age in the same position,
clawing desperately at the dirt in just this way. He knew the frenzied panic
Harry was feeling. He knew it would ruin him to Severus forever. Which was
necessary, no matter how it twisted Severus’ insides.
Severus couldn’t pause to think about what he was doing or he’d falter. He’d
come this far, he had to drive the lesson home. Harry went still when the spell
unfastened his trousers. Severus knew the dreaded realisation Harry’d just had
of what was happening. Without pausing to digest it, Severus plunged his
fingers into the cauldron of healing salve still sitting on the table by
Harry’s head and tried not to be sick at the gasp elicited when he immediately
smeared the cool substance in the cleft of the young man’s arse cheeks.
It seemed Severus was no longer himself as he pressed his stiffness against
Harry; not hard enough to penetrate, only hard enough to hurt. Severus had gone
cold. He could not do this as himself. He willed himself to become something
like what he wanted Harry to believe he was, despite that his teenaged self was
screaming at him to stop this madness, for the love of the gods.
“Tell me you want it, Harry,” Severus snarled mockingly through clenched teeth,
his still-slick fingers finding purchase in Harry's hair. “Tell me you want
this!” he bellowed, tears standing in his eyes.
Severus held himself still as he awaited Harry’s tearful plea for mercy. It
needed to come soon. It was a miracle Severus had managed an erection at all
and it would not hold for much longer; and then the illusion would be ruined
and all this distress would be for nothing. The boy was shaking. Any moment now
he’d weep for Severus to please stop. He'd cry out that, no, he did not want
this. Any moment now...
“Yes,” he heard Harry whisper through gritted teeth, his chest heaving.
Severus’ own chest froze. Harry’s hands went to the edge of the table above his
head, clutching it. His knuckles were white with the strength of his grip as he
seemed to be preparing himself. And Severus was dumbfounded, completely at a
loss. “Yes!” Harry keened, and there was no mistaking it this time. “I want
you, damn it! I want the good and the bad. I want...” He trembled, took a deep
breath, seemed to steel himself. “I want you even if it hurts,” he finished
quietly, as though to himself. And then he set his forehead on the surface of
the table and waited.
Severus stared at the young man in disbelief. He looked at himself, looked at
what he was doing, and was horrified.
What had he done? Even this was a crime. What the hell was he trying to save
the boy from that was any worse than this? He’d succeeded in convincing Harry
that he was capable of atrocity by committing it. And Severus wasn’t sure what
was more painful, that Harry believed such a thing of him or that the young man
accepted and forgave it.
Severus staggered back. “Get up, Harry,” he begged, voice trembling. How could
he even consider allowing such a thing to happen without a fight? Harry Potter,
the boy who fought everything tooth and nail, necessary or not, would let
Severus rape him to prove his commitment? It was touching but abhorrent. He
shuddered to think what might have happened if the young man had given his
heart to someone less scrupulous.
Scrupulous? Severus was disgusted with himself. He could never again claim any
moral high ground.  “Get up!” Severus cried, distressed that the young man had
not yet moved. He tasted bile in the back of his throat and staggered to the
sink. If his stomach had not been empty, as indeed it had been for several
years now, he would never have managed not to vomit. Even so, it took almost
all his willpower not to heave his vacant guts into the basin.  
Severus sensed Harry had risen to his feet and was staring at him from the
other side of Severus’ trembling curtain of black hair. “Get out,” the man said
quietly, his voice strained, before clamping his lips shut again to hold back
his sickness.
“Fuck you,” Harry replied plainly, a barely repressed rage in his voice. He
leaned closer, but Severus still could not face him. Though, Harry was entitled
to it. Severus deserved every evil thing Harry could throw at him now. “You
tell me, Severus,” Harry said instead in an angry whisper. “Tell me what
youwant.”
Severus scoffed in disbelief. Why was Harry not berating him? Why wasn’t he
screaming about what a vile man Severus was?
“Since when has it ever mattered what I wanted?” Severus muttered bitterly. It
never seemed as if Severus’ will was ever included in any equation, and any
time he’d had a chance of asserting it, he’d fucked things up. Want to get back
at the bullies who tormented you in school? Well, why not take the Dark Mark?
That will show them. Severus sneered at his utter and seemingly perpetual
stupidity.
“What do you want, Severus?” Harry persisted, his voice losing its hard edge
and gently coaxing the man to answer. It hurt Severus’ heart because he knew he
was not deserving of Harry’s grace. He was not deserving of the young man in
any capacity.
“Harry,” he stammered, his voice brittle. “I'm not...You're not meant for-”
“I didn't ask you what you think you deserve!" Harry interrupted, frustrated by
the man’s refusal to voice what they both knew he felt. "I asked what you
wanted,” he finished more quietly.
Finally, Severus lifted his face to Harry, willing him to see the wretchedness
there, the apology. The young man’s expression showed no condemnation for what
had just happened, only stubborn but patient tenderness. And Severus simply
couldn't fathom it.
Did he dare to answer Harry honestly?
He swallowed thickly and took a shuddering breath. “What I want,” he whispered
hesitantly, speaking his heart with all the competence and steadiness of a
newborn colt learning to walk, “is a young man.” He turned to Harry, his arms
rising as if of their own accord to embrace him, though he knew he had no right
to do so and stopped them with effort. “One who is foolish. And brave. And
beautiful,” he admitted. He was as close to tears as he had been in years. He
looked at Harry as if he'd never seen him before, wanting to take in every
curve of his face just in case this ended as he expected it to end.
Harry’s stubborn expression softened almost imperceptibly. “You had better be
referring to me, Severus,” he said, with only a hint of play. “Or else I'll
have to go ask Eric what he's doing this evening.” Severus knew he was playing
into Harry’s hand, but he couldn’t help himself. His expression hardened and
his jaw clenched. “Say it, Severus,” Harry whispered as if knowing already that
he’d won. He seemed suddenly very close and his breathing was shallow but his
voice was smooth. It made Severus’ head swim. He seized one of Severus’
hovering hands before the man could think to prevent it and placed it firmly on
the small of his back, holding it there. “Say 'This is mine.'”
Severus' brow furrowed uncertainly, but his gaze fell to Harry's lips. It was
true he was holding the young man, whether he wanted to be or not. But did
possession impart ownership?
“Mine,” Severus repeated softly, considering the taste of truth on his tongue.
He wasn’t yet convinced, but the pressure of his hand at Harry's back increased
and Harry let his own fall away.
“That's right,” Harry said firmly as if reasoning with a small child. “Now,
Severus...take what is yours.” His eyes held challenge, obstinance, invitation.
Seduction.
Harry saw Severus as he was. Worse than he was, perhaps, and still he was
surrendering himself to Severus’ keep. He really would belong to the man, if
only Severus would be bold enough to claim him. After a long moment's
hesitation, Severus did as he was told. His timidity fell away and he snatched
Harry to him, pressing the lengths of their bodies together.
He wouldclaim this young man. Because he wanted him. Because Harry deserved
him, a lover that would place Harry’s well-being above all others, even his
own. Severus would be his keeper and his stalwart champion, and expectations be
damned. Albus could go hang himself. Severus understood the man’s concerns and
had concluded he did not share them. For who else would love this boy as he was
meant to be loved? Who his own age could understand his burden or his needs and
meet them and more?
No. Harry belonged with Severus. ToSeverus.
Given permission, his hands roamed: up to Harry's shoulder and down to his arse
and back and between. And Harry didn't simply yield. He returned the man's
possessive passion, snaking his arms inside Severus' robes to claw at his back,
to grip his arse cheek through stiff black linen, driving the man to
distraction.  
“Mine,” Severus whispered again, thrilling at the rightness of it. His hand
came to Harry’s face, sliding off Harry’s glasses and tenderly brushing away
the last traces of the young man's tears. He would spend the rest of whatever
time they had left to them making amends for their provocation. Then he leaned
down and kissed him, far more sweetly than anything that had ever passed
between them before, and when he drew back, he licked his lips, still able to
taste Harry there. He opened his eyes slowly, almost surprised to find Harry
still standing before him, despite that he still cupped the young man's face in
his palm. Harry raised his own hand to Severus', pressing it to his cheek, and
he leaned forward with his lips parted, his eyes heavily lidded.
“Take me, Severus,” he whispered.
The man hesitated for only a heartbeat. In a swirl of limbs and linen, Severus
swept Harry away from the sink and backed him against the wall. He slid his
hands down Harry's arms to claim his wrists, but instead of pinning them as
before, Severus gently drew Harry's hands up and pressed their palms together,
twining his fingers in Harry's own.
Their kiss was slow; deep but achingly tender, as if some things simply could
not be expressed in any other way and the two had so much to tell one another.
But it wasn't long before its sweetness evolved, grew into a heated passion
that was almost a living thing. It breathed fire, out from Harry's mouth and
into Severus' and back again. Their palms parted to find new territory to
conquer.
Severus was content to simply taste him, every surface of Harry's mouth. Of all
they’d done before, this had been Severus’ favourite. It seemed so much more
intimate than intercourse. Any two people could fuck, but kisses like these
were rare and worth a hundred impersonal orgasms.
Harry seemed to want more, however. He reached for Severus’ open trousers,
causing the man to gasp against Harry's tongue. He shoved Severus' pants out of
the way so he could run the flat of his palm carefully up the length of
Severus' erection. The man could not prevent his fingers from biting into
Harry’s waist. It had been so long since he’d been touched in this way.
“Harry,” Severus groaned, his forehead falling to rest on the young man’s
shoulder. He spilled his name as Harry had spilled Severus’ name before,
realising it was the first time he’d allowed himself to do so. And it had been
effortless, as was this surrender to Harry’s novice but effective finesse.
Harry buried his face in Severus' neck and applied it with more fervour,
seemingly intent on wringing the man’s climax from him as quickly as possible,
but Severus' hand fell to his, stilling him.
Severus wanted more. He craved the wholeness he’d known in the dungeon when
they two had finally met. Severus could not feel he truly owned the young man
until he knew it again and saw it echoed in Harry’s eyes as well.
“No,” he panted. “In you. Harry...please,” he whispered.
Harry moaned at the request, took Severus' hand and pressed it against his
answering hardness. And once again Severus was overcome by the newness of it,
and also his surprising need for it. The need to possess this cock that was not
his own, to be its source of pleasure, the reason it throbbed hard against his
grasp.
“Why are you asking, Severus? Take,” Harry whispered emphatically through
clenched teeth. “I belong to you now. We belong to each other.”
Yes. Severus belonged to the young man. And as his willing slave Severus did as
he was bade with an approving growl, grasping Harry's thighs and hoisting the
young man as Harry eagerly wrapped his legs around Severus' hips, wrapped his
arms around the man's neck, and allowed himself to be carried to the
conveniently cleared table to be laid down on it.
“Beautiful,” Severus muttered to himself, shoving Harry's shirt up to reveal
his stomach and chest before lowering his lips to them. How had he ever
refrained from doing so before in the dungeon when Harry lay unconscious before
him? “Beautiful,” he mumbled against Harry's skin as the young man writhed,
sinking his hands into Severus' hair. He did not seek to direct Severus, seemed
simply to want to anchor himself in the sensation, and Severus loved the hunger
in his grip.
“Gods, Harry,” Severus gasped, tugging frantically at the young man's still
open trousers. He stripped them, shoes and all, and tossed them to the
treacherously glass-strewn floor before stepping back to take in all of Harry.
 
The young man was sprawled unselfconsciously as if he fed off the lust of
Severus’ gaze. Had there ever been a time when Severus failed to recognise the
beauty of the male form? It seemed a lifetime ago that he refused to even
consider it. But then, who could look upon this Adonis and not be moved to
carnal passion by the perfection found in every line and curve, every swell and
hollow?
“Take off your robes,” Harry said with calm authority, startling Severus out of
his reverent appreciation. “And your shirt. Take them off.”
Though his erection already hung from his open pants, Severus hesitated. His
eyes cut to Harry's. He had not been naked in front of another person in a
very, very long time. Not where the other person could see him, at any rate.
The young man raised himself to his elbows, his brow furrowed.
“Severus? Let me see you.” It wasn't a request. Severus looked again at Harry’s
robust and youthful form, but this time to mentally contrast it with his own.
He had none of Harry’s fullness, no muscles exquisitely defined by practising
Quidditch. Severus was wiry and thin, pale in an unhealthy way from too many
hours underground. His was skin papery by comparison. What if Harry found him
wanting? Surely all he knew of other men was what he’d seen in the locker room
or the dorms, and Severus knew he could not compete with even the most lacking
youth. Would he submit himself for examination only to watch as disappointment
darkened Harry’s bright gaze? Would he see the young man’s arousal deflate
despite Harry’s best intentions?
“Severus.”   
Harry was becoming impatient, and Severus couldn’t blame him. The young man was
himself stripped and displayed, and it was only fair that Severus returned his
openness. He met Harry's eyes again and locked them there as his hands went
woodenly to his buttons, peeling them open one by one with reluctance. Severus
shrugged off his clothing with stoic resignation and stood bare-chested, his
trousers open and hanging precariously from his hips as he waited for Harry’s
unspoken criticism.
To Severus’ surprise, Harry leaned forward and reached for him with eagerness.
He pulled Severus snugly between his thighs, grinning as he ran his hands
hungrily over the man’s pale flesh. Severus looked down on him in bafflement,
then acceptance, and then, ultimately, desire. It was best not to question it.
He grasped Harry's hips to drag him to the edge of the table, grinding their
lengths together in the process and causing them both to gasp.
It was Harry who reached over and dipped his hand in the cauldron this time in
order to slick Severus' cock for him, lifting his knees and guiding Severus
where he wanted him. As he did so, Severus' hand found its way to Harry's hair
and tugged his head to the side. It was not rough or painful, only firm, and at
just enough of an angle to communicate control. Harry moaned his acquiescence
even before Severus buried his face in Harry’s neck to coax it.
Gods. He was perfect.
There was no two-finger ritual this time. There was only careful control. The
healing salve took care of any tears as they occurred. It took every ounce of
willpower Severus had not to take him more roughly. Perhaps at some later date,
when they were more accustomed to this act and Severus could be confident he
was not damaging him, he might teach Harry how just the right amount of pain
could sweeten the pleasure. Until then he proceeded cautiously.  
But Harry hung boneless in the man's arms long before he had finished sliding
home, and Severus didn't hesitate this time to start pumping the young man. It
was there, the completion he sought, and it shone from Harry’s expression, too,
as they looked into each other’s eyes. Later, Severus would take his time. They
would discover together just how long ecstasy could be prolonged. But this was
an initiation, the sealing of an unspoken compact, and too powerful to be
sustained for long. He answered Harry moan for moan as he drove them both
quickly toward climax, and the clench of Harry's orgasm wrung Severus' from him
so that they came almost simultaneously.
They clung to each other after, but the perspiration that covered them almost
defeated their grips. Their slack and swollen lips first found then lapped
faintly at one another. Their breath came in ragged gasps. They smelled
fantastically of sweat and sex and blood, though Severus knew the ointment that
had eased their union prevented any bleeding.
It wasn’t blood, but Severus had smelled this before. He’d almost thought he’d
imagined it then, simply because he was starving. But here it was again, and on
a hunch, Severus reached between them. His fingers slid through the mess that
wet both their stomachs before Severus brought them to his lips. His tongue
darted out to taste the substance and he moaned, his eyes fluttering
momentarily closed.
“Almost as sweet as blood,” he rasped. He supposed it stood to reason. Vampires
did not truly feed off blood. They fed off the life force carried on it. And in
that respect, cum was miraculously similar. Severus didn’t bother being
disgusted by his craving. He poured Harry's flaccid body back onto the table,
slipping out of him as he bent to lap the remainder of the stuff from the young
man's skin. “My gods, Harry,” he exclaimed in a shredded gasp. “I could
practically live off your expulsions.”
He climbed the younger man, clambering onto the table to hover over him and
share his newfound bounty. Harry whimpered weakly into the kiss, which was rich
and thick and absolutely transcendent. Severus pulled back to look at him for a
long moment that felt suspended in time. “I could drown in you, Harry,” he
whispered, amazed.
“I feel like I've already drowned in you,” Harry said through a tired smile,
reaching up to stroke the damp hair from Severus' face. He was exhausted and
fading quickly.
“I suppose it's true after all, then,” Severus said with a small smile which he
moved quickly to hide in Harry's neck as the younger man drifted off. “You were
the death of me. La Petite Mort. And I'll happily die a thousand little deaths
in you still to come, Harry. If you'll let me.”
“Promise?” Harry mumbled happily, just as he slipped into sex-sated slumber.
Severus shifted to lay beside him on the table so as not to disturb him and
watched him doze for the longest time in humbled awe. Harry’s shirt was still
bunched absurdly under his arms, but this time, Severus did not lower it. He
reached out and ran his fingers carefully over Harry’s bare skin, and even
though the young man was apparently asleep, it was not a trespass now. This
flesh belonged to Severus.
For the time being.
He knew there would come a time when the young man outgrew him. If they managed
to survive this war, Harry would have to start thinking of building a life, and
he could not do that with the Potions Master. Severus was bound to his
position, both within the school and in society. He was content with his lot,
but Harry needn’t be.
But if they didn’t survive this war, which seemed all the more likely to
Severus, Harry deserved to have known a lover. He deserved the worship Severus
would bestow. Severus would support and adore him. He would shield and ground
him. And until the time came, the young man would know love. It was the only
and perhaps the greatest gift Severus could really give him.
But he couldn’t think of death now. Living was too glorious. He smirked to
think of how pissed Albus would be when he found out. But what could the man
do, really? Harry would continue to do whatever in the hell he wanted, as he
had always done. And Severus would be kept close for his ties to the Dark Lord,
whether Albus liked it or not. It might be interesting to see the Headmaster
challenge Harry on the matter. If Severus could not withstand the young man’s
stubbornness, even Albus Dumbledore would be helpless in the face of it. And
Severus wasn’t afraid of battle. He’d known so little happiness, he refused to
be ashamed of embracing this one. Let the others mutter. If Harry willed it, it
would work out. And when he didn’t, Severus would let him go with grace and
gratitude.
 
***** Revenge Now Goes *****
                                   Remus: Now
 
Remus was blissfully shattered.
It had been one of his fondest fantasies for some time now, but he had never
allowed himself to seriously entertain the notion that he might end up in bed
with Severus Snape. The situation still seemed surreal, but proof of the event
--in the form of scratches and bruises and the complaints of overworked
muscles-- would be evident well into tomorrow, he had no doubt. It had been
more raw and intense than any sexual encounter he’d ever experienced, and
everything about it was addictive. If Remus had had any questions before about
Harry’s near obsession with the vampire, they had now been answered.
The best part of the experience by far, though, was this: his fingers cradled
loosely but unambiguously in Severus’. Remus’ arms craved the man, but that
would come later. Severus’ fingers stirred occasionally as if he contemplated
holding Remus’ tighter but kept deciding against it. Remus knew not to try to
force it. He suspected Severus was struggling with the night’s confirmation
that Harry was not a sole exception, after all. That Severus could and did
desire other men.
It was true that Harry was slight and yielding enough to give off an impression
of femininity. But whatever his inclination toward the fairer sex, Severus had
proved that he clearly was not aroused by their physicality in any way that was
exclusive. There had definitely come a point when Severus’ passion was not just
a remnant of his interaction with their mutual lover. Remus had sensed the
distinct moment when Severus’ enthusiasm became inspired by, and devoted to,
him alone, and it had been one of the most satisfying of Remus’ life.
Still, he wondered if Severus ever missed women. Even Remus sometimes craved
the female form. Despite werewolves’ generally more evolved sense of tolerance
and acceptance, prejudices still existed, and being gay in Dogtown had been too
dangerous to admit. Remus had had to lie, even to himself sometimes, that he
was otherwise. ‘Deviant’ sexuality was a threat to convention, to the social
structures their community relied on for survival. He had often been pressured
to Mate, and he’d slept with his share of women, hoping in vain he’d find one
who suited him well enough to take as a permanent partner, to complete the
picture they’d wanted him to paint. And who knows, he thought? He might fall in
love. A meeting of hearts was not always dependent on a satisfactory meeting of
flesh.
In the end, he’d never found the connection he sought. There were excellent
women he could see himself settling for, but he couldn’t bring himself to do
that to any of them. Remus didn’t want to deceive a woman and abuse her love
for the sake of appearances, least of all the ones he’d have been most likely
to consider wedding. So he merely took them to bed. And he couldn’t say he
hadn’t enjoyed it. But like a decadent dessert, he found their sweetness could
not be consumed regularly for long. They were best enjoyed only on occasion.
That didn’t mean his hands didn’t sometimes still hunger for the delicacy of a
woman. He could only imagine how the appetite must gnaw when one preferred such
fare.
Remus squeezed Severus’ fingers a bit more tightly in sympathy, though
explaining the action would have been unbearably awkward. It seemed to make the
man self-conscious anyway, and though he did not release Remus’ hand, he did
reach with his other to cover himself with what remained of the bedclothes. It
was a pity, but Remus had already memorised what was hidden away. Remus felt no
inclination towards shyness himself and remained spread comfortably naked
exactly as Severus had left him earlier.
“Are you alright, Severus?” he asked softly, breaking the silence for the first
time since Harry had left them.
Severus started slightly at the sound of Remus’ voice and his cheeks coloured.
“I’ve been worse,” he admitted.
Remus smiled, but it was fleeting. “You don’t feel manipulated?”
Severus smirked. Remus was warmed by how that expression could be so endearing
in this context and so infuriating in others. The man shrugged. “It depends in
what sense you’re implying.”
Remus propped himself up on his elbow, careful not to disturb the delicate
position of their barely touching hands. It was heartening that the man allowed
it even though their lust was spent. But now Remus was subdued enough to feel
misgivings about the way the arrangement of extremities had come about.
“You have to know how happy this had made Harry. And me,” Remus added softly.
Both their cheeks glowed in response this time, and though Remus suspected he
was a fool for questioning his fortune and daring to threaten its future, he
felt there were things that needed to be said now rather than later. “But if
that is the only reason you allowed it, I don’t think either of us would ask
you to repeat it,” he whispered, disappointed before the man had even had an
opportunity to respond. “I wouldn’t, for what it’s worth.”
Idyllic as it seemed on the surface, Remus didn’t want this as a compromise. If
it was not genuine, it was not worthwhile. The men had been growing closer in
recent days, enough so that Remus no longer desired Severus in a casual way.
The man was not just an intriguing challenge now. He wasn’t a conquest. He
wasn’t a novel fantasy to spice up Remus’ routine of self-satisfaction. Not
anymore.
The two of them connected with each other in a way they simply couldn’t with
Harry, a purely mature and adult way Remus had forgotten he enjoyed and hadn’t
realised he missed. It was a particular intimacy that had nothing to do with
anything physical and that could only be shared with a counterpart who had
borne the same whips and scorns of a commensurate length of time. Harry had
tasted some of their same troubles. He’d mined comparable depths of pain and
loss, and that earned him their understanding and respect. But it also evoked
their protectiveness. He was new enough that there was still a hope that, with
the proper handling, he might not emerge from those trials quite as jaded as
his companions. Remus and Severus did not feel compelled to shield each other
from the horrors of the world. They commiserated in their mutual experience of
them, and it was refreshing. The years had lent their trauma a mellowed
complexity and a sophistication in dealing with it which their young lover
could not yet appreciate or comprehend.
Remus hadn’t peeled his eyes from the man since Harry had left them alone
together, but Severus pulled his eyes from the ceiling for the first time now
to return Remus’ gaze. His expression was uncertain but not harsh, and after a
hesitant moment, he drew Remus’ hand fully into his own and held it properly.
“No,” he whispered, his cheek blazing crimson. “That wasn’t the only reason.”
Remus’ heart felt it might burst. It was far from a declaration of love, but it
was exactly the validation he’d wanted. They considered each other for a long
while, and when Severus’ grasp showed no signs of weakening, Remus summoned his
courage and drew closer to him. He had no expectation of Severus meeting him
halfway. He didn’t require him to. The man allowed Remus to close the distance
himself, to press his lips to Severus’ in grateful acknowledgement of the
vampire’s no doubt difficult concession, and that was more than enough. Remus
rolled to his back at Severus’ side, still hand in hand, and allowed himself to
be at peace.
“Do you suppose he’s taken the bath for himself?” Severus mused aloud after a
mutually contented silence. They both knew exactly why Harry’d disappeared so
promptly and for so long, but thinking he could entice them into the tub alone
together was a bit ambitious. And exactly the sort of thing the young man might
attempt. Remus grinned to himself and strained his hearing to see if he could
detect the sounds of sloshing water.
And he did, but it did not invoke the impression of someone bathing. The sound
was unbroken and too loud. In fact, it didn’t seem to be coming from the
bathroom at all. Remus scowled. He and Severus seemed to notice this oddity at
the same time and they shared a puzzled look.
Remus released Severus and sat up to listen more closely. “Harry?” he called.
They looked to each other as they waited for a reply. When it did not come,
both men crawled apprehensively from the bed. Severus wasted little time
slipping into his trousers, putting his arms through his shirt while Remus
merely tugged on Harry’s dressing gown. His lack of inhibition allowed him to
reach the door before Severus, and Remus stepped out onto the landing and into
an inch of standing water.
It was flowing steadily from beneath the bathroom door and pouring from the
landing to the floors below, explaining the strange sounds. Severus was at his
side almost instantly, taking in the same unsettling details, but Remus
couldn’t speak to the man. Panic gripped him, and he rushed to throw open the
bathroom door, fearing the worst.
He fully expected to find Harry bleeding on the floor where he’d slipped and
injured himself. All the strength and agility in the world was sometimes no
match for slick footing and hard tile. But they found nothing inside but an
overflowing tub. Steam rose from its surface and hung thick in the room but not
enough to possibly obscure the young man. He simply wasn’t there. Baffled but
relieved, Remus sloshed over to close the gushing tap.
Severus, however, was not as comforted by the absence of a broken and bloody
Harry in the bathroom. As Remus slipped back into Harry’s room to retrieve his
wand and try to limit the damage to the house, Severus trotted down the stair,
calling Harry’s name. Remus cast the floodwater a resentful look but chased
close after him.
“Something’s wrong,” said Severus.
It was indeed curious and irresponsible, but that was Harry in a nutshell.
“He’s probably just gotten distracted with something downstairs and forgotten
he started the bath,” Remus reasoned, trying to calm the other man.
“No. No, he isn’t here. He would have answered,” Severus fretted as they
descended. “I never heard the door. Why would he go to Hogwarts?”
Remus shook his head. Severus’ distress was contagious and not helped at all by
the increasingly potent scent of something burning downstairs. They doubled
their pace, clearing the last step almost simultaneously to stride toward the
kitchen. Severus stopped dead at the threshold, though, as if the sight of a
kettle having boiled dry was the epitome of horror. Remus rushed past him to
kill the flame on the stove as the patter of water dripping from the upper
floors continued behind them, louder now that it did not have to compete with
the quiet roar of the burner. He never knew such gentle sounds could be so
ominous.
“Okay. Let’s not panic,” Remus said, even as the act of drawing breath became
more and more challenging. Severus never heard him. Remus looked up to find the
doorway empty. By the time Remus caught up with him, Severus was already
stepping through the floo. He let the man go and rushed upstairs only long
enough to yank his trousers on under his dressing gown. He ignored the water
still ruining the carpets and woodwork on his way back to the sitting room.
Remus heard no voices as he stepped through Severus’ hearth. No doubt, if the
man had found Harry here, Remus would have been met by the sounds of Severus’
bombastic disapproval. The silence did not bode well. Remus hurried down the
steps to Severus’ lab to find him there alone and oddly subdued. Severus’ hands
were flat on the table in front of him and his head was hung between slumped
shoulders. With his heart in his throat, Remus approached him cautiously.
“Severus?”
He did not answer for so long that Remus raised a hand to comfort him, to
comfort himself. But before it could descend, Severus finally spoke. So quietly
Remus almost could not catch it, the man simply whispered, “He’s gone.”
***** All Mad with Misery *****
                                 Severus: Now
“How do you know?” Remus asked softly from behind him.
Severus straightened and turned to him with an abject expression on his face
and a flask in each hand. In one sloshed the liquid shimmer of memories. In the
other, the thick ruby glint of blood. Remus took them from him as if he
couldn’t believe they were real until he touched them.
“His potion is gone, as well,” the vampire murmured, turning away and raking
his fingers through the pile of chamomile scattered on the tabletop. He’d taken
every drop, but it would not last him long. They hadn’t even determined how
often he should take it. They didn’t know what the effects were if, any. All
they really knew was that it had not killed him...yet.
Severus’ sickening panic had been shocked into silence when he had reached the
bottom of the stair and seen the bottled offerings, but it had not dissipated.
It waited, building behind a dam of confusion. The night had been so full of
anxiety already, and Severus was exhausted. He’d worked tirelessly to produce
the now pilfered potion. And the testing of it had almost spent his last
reserves of stamina. Just hours ago, he had had to prepare himself for the
possibility that the elixir he had concocted might be toxic, that he might
watch Harry ingest it and then stand helpless witness as it spoiled the young
man’s internal organs, that hewould be the reason his Dearest Love died.
Of course, that had not come to pass, but the uncertainty of it --the
anticipation-- had cost him dearly. After, he’d only managed a few hours of
sleep before they had woken him, concerned by Harry’s prolonged absence in the
Forest, and his soul-gnawing anxiety had been rekindled, had reached a fever
pitch as Severus had scoured the Forbidden Forest for his wayward lover. Even
Harry’s prompt appearance had not completely placated it. It was too early
after their experiment to become complacent.
And the night had not been remotely done with him then, either.
What had happened afterwards had so completely rocked his perception of the
world and himself that Severus had not had time to regain his footing in this
sudden new reality. He had just done something he never in his wildest
imaginings thought he could be compelled to do. That he realised he enjoyed it,
that he accepted he was open to its occurring again in future, left him
reeling.
And now Harry was gone. After pledging his undying love, after working through
the pain of confessing his willingness to toss Remus’ love on the scrapheap to
keep Severus at his side, Harry had left him.
But why?
Severus was not unaccustomed to unexpected happenings. But this was too much.
Any one of the night’s events would have proved challenging to contend with,
but all of them together overwhelmed him completely. He knew it was only a
matter of time before it caught up to him, and he wasn’t even certain whether
or not he wanted Remus around to see it when it did.
He still didn’t understand what he felt for the man. He’d spent so many years
hating him. And in the course of a few weeks, he found himself not. And then he
found himself confiding in him.
And then he found himself shagging him.
Severus wasn’t wholly convinced he even liked the werewolf. Not that that had
much to do with anything. Remus was off-putting but in an almost agreeable way,
which Severus couldn’t quite wrap his head around.
The man simply saidthings, anything to anyone at any time it occurred to him he
should. It wasn’t that he had no filter. That was Harry’s shortcoming, not
Remus’. He was merely bold. If he perceived a thing as true and right, he spoke
it. Even if it was possibly to his detriment, truth flowed unhindered from his
lips. To a man like Severus, so used to dealing with deception, who habitually
said nothing unless absolutely necessary, Remus was nearly incomprehensible. In
fact, the man communicated almost compulsively. And to the Potions Master’s
horror, something about his lack of inhibition inspired Severus to respond in
kind. Remus was disgustingly easy to talk to. And in his doing so, so much of
Remus and Harry’s relationship had been put into perspective for Severus, both
by what the man had told him and by Severus’ gradual acclimation to Remus’
manner.
No, he wasn’t certain he liked the Gryffindor, but he most assuredly did not
dislike him. And despite Severus’ resistance to the phenomena, he found Remus’
presence to be comfortable and reassuring. It was all exasperatingly pleasant.
And now they had become something more to one another. Or at the very least
something other. Severus wouldn’t call them lovers, but they were partners of
some sort. Consorts? Allies? Cohorts? Whatever they were, they were in this
together, and alone now. And the potential answers to the questions that would
quite possibly drive their every ambition for the foreseeable future were held
in the glass container the other man still held with a lost and dreading look.
The memories in the flask danced, and Severus lay a hand on Remus’ wrist to
stop its shaking. Unlike Severus, he’d been trying too hard to explain away
this turn of events and make it into something innocent and misunderstood, and
now that the truth was settling in, so was his pain. But Severus had known.
Somehow, though he could not explain it, when Harry had not answered their call
the first time, Severus had simply known Harry was gone. He suspected it was
because he’d been anticipating the event for almost two years now. Ever since
the war had ended, once the inquiries were concluded and Severus was officially
pardoned and he and Harry had returned to Hogwarts to settle into the rest of
their lives, Severus had been preparing for the day the dream would crumble. He
knew in his heart he did not deserve the happy ending he seemed to have
received. He knew that Harry did not deserve for Severus to be his ending,
either. The man wanted better for him, though he could not quite bring himself
to cut the cord himself. The young man had earned the right to so much more
than what Severus could offer, and it seemed to Severus it was only a matter of
waiting for Harry to realise that.
“We have to view these, Severus. Now,” Remus stammered shakily. “Whatever
happened was urgent enough that Harry left the bath running and the kettle
burning. I have a feeling time is of the essence.”
Severus nodded as he reclaimed the flask of Harry’s blood from him and set it
back on the workbench, but he was unhurried in his actions. He knew they must
do exactly as Remus had said, but Severus so dreaded what they would see, and
he doubted a few extra moments would really matter in the scope of things.
“Minerva keeps the Pensieve in her office. We should be able to access it
without waking her,” he told the man quietly.
As anxious as he was to get to it, Remus hesitated, giving Severus a concerned
and scrutinising look. He placed a hand carefully on Severus’ shoulder, but the
Potions Master politely shrugged it off. He could not be touched now. He felt
blistered, as if he was so full of emotion he might burst under the slightest
pressure. Without another word he turned and climbed the stair. Remus followed
a few steps behind, respecting Severus’ need for space.
They flooed into the Headmistress’ office as quietly as they could. Rude as it
was, they could not rouse her yet. Whatever Harry’s memories contained, it was
undoubtedly personal. They needed to view them before determining if they could
be shared. Severus was uncomfortable even allowing Remus to see them. But
Severus could not do alone whatever it was that needed to be done, and Remus
was as much a part of this as Severus was. Far more so than any of the others.
He’d bled for the young man. He’d earned his place here when he’d accrued his
new scars on the Full.
Severus carefully removed the Pensieve from its cabinet before taking the flask
from Remus and emptying the contents into it. There were so many. Severus had
never viewed more than one at a time. Being all from the same person, would
they order themselves? Did it matter what sequence they viewed them in?
Remus already had his wand out and held it over the basin, looking restlessly
to Severus to do the same. Severus reached for his own only to realise he was
not wearing his robes. He had been so frantic he had not even buttoned his
shirt. He couldn’t recall a time when he had ever gone about so unkempt, even
in his own quarters, even before he shared them. For some reason, this small
shock threatened to unravel him completely and he began to tremble. He felt
like a fraud. He’d told Harry he would follow him anywhere, that he would face
anything to keep him safe. But how was he supposed to save the young man when
he could not even keep up with his own wand?
“Severus.”
He looked up sheepishly, expecting pique, but he found only kindness in Remus’
expression. The patient steadiness of the other man’s gaze was like a lifeline.
Severus held it as if his life indeed depended on it. Gradually, his tremor
quieted and his heart slowed again. Without a word, Remus offered his hand.
Severus took it lightly but hesitantly. Remus would not have it. He pulled
Severus properly into his grasp and held him there gently and with warmth,
trapping Severus’ reluctant eye with an unfailingly indulgent one until,
finally, Severus nodded. Then Remus touched his wand to the surface of the
basin, pulling them both into Harry’s past.
***** Cursed be that Heart that Forced Us to this Shift! *****
                                     Remus
 
Severus dropped Remus’ hand as soon as they materialised in Harry’s memory, but
Remus wasn’t given an opportunity to reflect on his disappointment because
Harry abruptly burst from Severus’ office door into the corridor where they
stood. He was highly distraught, choking on the words he repeated over and
over, which were almost incoherent from his lack of breath. “So sorry,
Severus!” he gasped as he stumbled past them and out onto the grounds. “I’m so
sorry.”
Remus thought he had prepared himself for shock, but the immediate intensity of
Harry’s distress rattled him. He looked helplessly to the man Harry was
apologising to. Severus seemed to recognise when they were, and the remembrance
instantly wounded him. Remus had rarely seen the man so demonstratively
emotional. His face crumpled on seeing the young man and he reached after him
as if to comfort him. But of course, nothing could change the past. Without
even a glance to Remus, Severus followed Harry, and Remus followed Severus.
Drunken on anguish, his progress was clumsy, but once his sobs finally seemed
to work out an efficient escape from his lips, Harry found his feet and began
running properly in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Severus streaked
along at his heels, but Remus found himself struggling to keep up. He would not
have been able to keep pace on the best of days, but he was still rather
disappointed in his performance. He wrote it off to the stress of the evening.
It didn’t particularly matter, the memory swept him along at its boundary
anyway.
Remus was rather worse for wear when the scene finally settled. He stumbled
breathlessly up next to Severus, whose eyes were glued to Harry where he’d
collapsed finally to finish weeping on the forest floor. To Remus' surprise,
Rainey was there as well. She crouched a few feet from the young man, oblivious
to the handful of leaves he tossed in her direction as if to drive her away.
Severus scowled, seemingly troubled by her presence. Neither man spoke as they
watched the scene unfold.
“Are you done yet?” she asked when Harry’s tears eventually slowed, earning
Remus’ irritation. Rainey was abrasive at the best of times, but her social
ineptitude was particularly galling now. 
"Fuck you," Harry muttered in response.
“It’s such a pity that you hate me," she sighed with a shrug. "I’m so very fond
of you.”
“What do you want?” Remus could tell Harry was still raw from his recent crying
fit. He sounded wearied and exasperated by her stubborn company.
“To help you,” Rainey told him plainly. Harry smirked, giving her a distrustful
look. Remus and Severus shared an uneasy glance and crept forward to better
hear the conversation.
"Why? How could you possibly help me?” Harry asked. He was hostile still but
exhausted, and Rainey seemed to eye him like wounded prey. 
“I spent over a decade eeking out a living in the wilds of Eastern Europe. Do
you think Animus Secretum was the only thing I learned?" she chided softly,
giving him a sly, scolding look. "I can help you with what you want.”
“What in hell makes you think you know what I want?”
“Well, perhaps not with what you want but with what you intend to do, at any
rate," Rainey conceded. "You can’t leave yet, though, Lovely."
Remus was taken aback. Had Harry really planned to leave? Remus had assumed it
was simply Severus’ insecurities that planted that suspicion in his mind. Had
everyone recognised Harry’s intention but him?
Cobs rose to her feet and reached down a hand to help Harry to his, but the
young man ignored it. "You aren’t ready,” she went on. “You’re too new. But you
have potential. Let’s explore it, you and me. To fight the monsters who’ve done
this, you must become a proper monster yourself.”
“No,” Remus whispered, horrified. They had hoped to guide Harry on a higher
path, away from his monstrous instincts. He turned a pained look to Severus.
The man was fixated on Harry and Rainey’s interaction, but his scowl spoke of
deep disapproval.
“And you know how to make me this monster?” Harry asked cynically, cocking his
head to look at her properly. Remus shook his head, willing the scene not to
take the turn he suspected it must have done.
Rainey’s bland expression cracked into a slow grin. “I have some ideas.”
Harry stared at the woman for a long while, contemplating the stubborn,
unmoving hand. Finally, he reached up and accepted it, and Remus’ eyes fell
closed with sickening disappointment. It was so sharp it literally turned his
stomach. He suddenly understood the state of the young man when he had flooed
home those days before, his clothing in tatters or absent completely, replaced
by blood. He knew Rainey had been allowing Harry to fall further into the hunt
than was healthy. What he hadn’t known was that it wasn’t accidental.
Apparently, it hadn’t been a matter of Harry still learning to control his new
powers. She had fostered his descent. She’d encouraged his excess. What Remus
couldn’t yet understand was why.
The sound of fleshy impact woke Remus to the scene again. He looked up,
startled, to find Harry holding his jaw and scowling at the woman. “Did that
make you angry?” she asked him almost cheerfully, shaking out her fist.
“For fuck’s sake!” Harry sputtered. “Of course it made me bloody ang-”
“Good,” she interrupted, spinning to knock his legs from under him. Remus
flinched as Harry landed hard. “And now?” she asked mildly as she straightened.
“Goddamn it, Loraina!” Harry spat, red-faced, and started to rise. But Rainey
reached out a toe and sent him back to the forest floor. It was difficult to
watch her toying with him. Remus had long suspected she was not half as mad as
she seemed at first glance, but this episode was making him reconsider. Harry
had been volatile long before he’d been infected, and now that impulsive temper
had potentially dangerous consequences. It was as if she was asking to be hurt.
“Angrier?” she chirped.
Harry sprang to his feet so quickly Remus almost could not follow it. His lips
peeled back and his hands curled to claws, a concerning rumble coming from deep
in his throat. “What game are you playing at, Cobs?” he growled.
“My favourite kind,” she answered, almost giddy. “Werewolf-baiting.”
Remus felt the blood drain from his face.
No.
No, she couldn’t be doing was Remus thought she was doing. Surelyshe wasn’t.
Remus nodded his unseen approval as Harry took deep breaths to calm himself.
But he knew the young man was explosively reactive, and Rainey was effortlessly
infuriating. If she was intent on drawing his anger, she’d be successful.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, slapping him smartly across his uninjured
cheek, and Remus winced. Predictably, Harry’s restraint finally snapped and he
lunged at her, pinning her to a nearby tree with his fingers around her throat.
A growl bubbled from his throat, but she simply laughed at him. “Not long now,
Lovely,” she said in a strangled purr. She escaped him with a solid blow to his
chest that sent Harry staggering, and the young man howled in anger.
“No, no. Go back,” Remus pleaded. He was beside himself, his hands in his hair
as though pulling it out might prevent what was happening. He could see the
change working in Harry already. His skin seethed almost imperceptibly as his
fur sought escape. Harry couldn’t have recognised the danger he was in before
this moment. He was too inexperienced. But it seemed to dawn on him now. He
cast his tormenter a panicked look, and she swiftly came closer, crouching to
catch his eye.
“We can’t practice putting you back until we manage to bring you out,” she
said, her giddiness now turned almost manic. “The Full is a long way off. If we
are to do this exercise, we should do it now. The sooner the better. Closer to
the Full, we may not can bring you back so easily. But all the children are
gone home. You are settled. Dawn isn’t for hours, and the Dark was only days
ago. Do you really want to leave?” she demanded sternly when he whimpered his
reluctance, scratching at his arm. “Or do you only want an excuse to weep in
the dirt?” she sneered. “An excuse to have your boyfriend pace and your lover
to pet you later?”
Remus was livid. This was so unbelievably irresponsible! If they hadn’t been in
Harry’s memory, he would have strangled the vile woman.
Sod it. He wouldn’t have the satisfaction of her response, but he strode toward
her anyways.
Severus caught him by the arm. Remus was so incensed, he had almost forgotten
he was there. “I know,” Severus said apologetically, as if he felt responsible,
as if he could have somehow prevented this. Whereas Remus was enraged to the
point of violence, Severus seemed wretchedly sad and seeing it cooled some of
the werewolf’s temper. Though Remus’ expression softened, Severus still held
his arm, not in restraint but as if for support. Remus only just resisted the
urge to lay his own hand on top of the vampire’s. He was afraid if he drew too
much attention to the contact, Severus might end it, and Remus felt he needed
the man’s touch as much as, if not more than, Severus did. 
“Well?” Rainey demanded of a desperate Harry. “Are you going to go home now and
toy with other people’s hearts like a little girl playing dollies?” she
taunted. “Or are you going to grow up and follow through? Are you going to be a
man and stand up for yourself, or are you going to let some invisible stranger
get away with ruining all of our lives?”
Remus wasn’t certain why she was so invested in what had happened to Harry.
She’d only just been made aware of it. Of course, Remus could tell she’d been
disturbed by Severus’ state after the Dark. The man had been so injured and
exhausted, Remus had felt he had no choice but to summon her and explain the
situation. It had been a hard decision, but he had felt it the right one.
Severus would not allow Remus to help him. He’d simply handed Harry over once
they unlocked the door and retreated wearily down the steps, requesting only
clothes and privacy. The man was so damned stoic, he would have languished
alone in the lab until he could have summoned the strength to drag himself
outside. Remus saw no reason for him to suffer. Rainey was rarely far away, and
she knew far better than Remus what Severus might require. It seemed a natural
solution, and he hadn’t questioned the move until now.
As she shouted at him, Harry’s resolve seemed to cement and his timidity melted
away. His expression hardened, and Remus watched with sickening dread as Harry
surrendered to the wolf. Rainey’s chest heaved as she watched the pain of the
change curl Harry’s body in on itself, though Remus couldn't tell if it was
from fright or excitement. She stepped slowly back from him as he flailed, her
gaze intense and impossible to decipher. Impressively, Harry managed to keep
his feet, and he emerged from the transformation to glare at her with
unmistakable and instinctual enmity. Slowly and cautiously, Rainey began to
circle the tense, panting creature Harry had become. Her nose was scrunched as
if scenting something foul, but her eyes shone with excitement as they caught
their first glimpse of this unique creature.
Was she satisfied, Remus wondered angrily. Was he what she had expected?
Remus had been terrified of the bloodwolf, himself. When Harry transformed on
the Full, Remus had momentarily entertained the notion that that night might be
his last. It occurred to him that he was the only one who had ever seen Harry
in this form, and he turned to Severus to see his reaction. The man did not
seem to share his former lover’s morbid fascination with Harry’s bizarre new
form. He studied it with anguished sympathy, and Remus forgot himself and
squeezed the hand clutching his arm, giving his companion a consoling look. He
understood Severus’ pity. What Harry was was so obviously unnatural. Remus
recalled Harry’s horror on seeing himself on the Full, and he ached for him
afresh.
His shape might not have been beautiful to behold but, by gods, what potential
it held. His long legs increased his speed and the strength and distance of his
spring. His arms were practically human, allowing far more articulation than a
wolf’s corresponding limbs, gifting him far greater reach and more precision in
his destruction. His maw was shorter but heavily muscled, more likely to sever
than to clamp, and his fangs were small daggers. As the weapon he’d been
designed to be, he was fearsome. As their burdened lover, he was heartbreaking.
Harry followed Rainey’s progress as she circled him, but when his neck could
twist no further and she moved to his peripheral, Remus saw the wolf take rein.
He’d become well familiar on the Full with the shifting of the young man’s
consciousness. Harry launched himself in Rainey’s direction, and even though
she clearly anticipated it, she only narrowly evaded his attack. Remus felt a
smug satisfaction on seeing her realise that she had underestimated Harry, and
he suffered no compassion for her as Harry brought blood more than once in the
ensuing scuffle. She was no real match for Harry. None of them were. But she
held her own much better than expected, and it was obvious she was used to this
type of battle. 
It was evident, as well, that she was trying to avoid harming Harry, but he was
formidable enough that she had no choice if she was going to survive the
encounter. She managed to throw him off and as he prepared to charge her again,
her hand flew to a phial tucked into her waistband. Remus could smell the
Aconite from where he stood, and he grimaced, knowing the burns the young man
was about to receive. She charitably avoided his face, intentionally aiming for
his arms. The shower of solution brought Harry up short with a yelp.
It had succeeded in ending his relentless attack, but Harry was not yet
himself. “Do what Dear Severus taught you,” she coached in an even, soothing
tone, despite that she was trembling and near breathless. “Don’t slip away on
me again, Lovely. It’s been marvellous fun, but now it’s time for you to come
back to us, yes?”
Harry snarled, then whimpered again, clearly struggling to remember who he was.
Rainey relaxed her guard and held her palms up to him. “Harry Potter,” she said
very deliberately. “Focus. Do you feel that pain? Hold on to it. Follow it back
to yourself. That’s it, Harry,” she praised him as he started to revert.
“That’s right. Oh, that’s right, My Beauty!” she beamed.
Harry did not manage to keep his feet this time, and Rainey dropped to his side
to pull his head into her lap as the last of his bones snapped and reformed. It
made Remus’ skin crawl to see her pet him. As if she cared about his well-
being, as if she wasn’t the cause of his current pain. “You always carry an
Aconite solution?” Harry croaked, his eyes scrunched shut against a wave of
cramps.
She barked out a laugh, “Doesn’t everyone?” Then she ran her hands across him
in a way that had nothing to do with comfort, and Remus felt he might be ill.
In fact, his nausea seemed to have been growing steadily since the memory
began. “I wonder what your blood tastes like,” she mused aloud, taking
advantage of his helplessness by running a fingertip down the pulsing vein in
his neck. “Does the Wolf make it bitter, I wonder? Does it change flavour with
the phase of the moon? Oh, let me taste you, Harry,” she practically moaned,
her hand sweeping down across his chest now through the rents in his clothing
which had burst at the seams during his transformation. “I’ll let you taste
me,” she offered, her tone dripping with insinuation. “I’d let you taste me
wherever you liked. Have you ever tasted a woman, Harry?” she asked, her head
cocked and dipping slowly toward him. Remus felt Severus stiffen beside him.
“We’re sweeter than men. Smoother,” she said, pouting her lips in a mimed kiss,
and Severus’ fingers bit almost painfully into Remus’ forearm. “We could taste
each other. The boys never have to know.”
Remus could have sworn he heard Severus growl. But to both their relief, Harry
clumsily extricated himself from her. She made no move to stop him, only cocked
a wily half-smile as he scrambled a short distance away and laboriously propped
himself against a nearby tree. “You’re completely mad,” he panted, spent from
the effort of escape.
“Ha! Not completely, or they’d never have let me near the children,” she
smirked, draping her arm over one knee, looking keen still and unapologetic.
“But I don’t deny it. Some of us, Lovely, the First Dark never releases
entirely,” she conceded with a shrug. “This, however,” she said, looking him up
and down. “This is not madness. This is simply enthusiasm. You do inspire it,
you know. You’re quite the specimen.”
“We can’t continue this,” Harry said with a shake of his head, apparently
choosing not to acknowledge her lewdness. “They’ll know. I cannot hide this,
Cobs.”
“Nonsense,” she answered, waving off the comment as she rose to her feet.
“Werewolves heal remarkably quickly, a process you can expedite further by
drinking blood. Fresh vitality heals a vampire almost as quickly as the wolf’s
metabolism, and when you combine the two, well...you might not be
indestructible, Lovely,” she said, sauntering closer to him, “but you are
remarkably resilient.” She crouched down next to him, and her expression turned
far soberer than Remus was accustomed to seeing it. “If you can handle the
pain, there isn’t much else for you to fear, Harry.” The two of them locked
eyes, and Remus had a feeling they all knew what was crossing the young man’s
mind.
Harry could indeed endure pain. Remus sometimes worried that he craved it in an
unhealthy way which wasn’t confined to the bedroom. It was almost as if Harry
felt that he deserved it, that he had failed their fallen friends and escaped
without due punishment, and so he relished any chance he encountered to punish
himself.
“Wait here,” she told him, darting off into the forest. Harry rested against
his tree while she was gone, plainly overwhelmed and processing all of the
night’s events. His turmoil played on his face as his thoughts raced. He was so
lost in them, he didn’t hear Rainey return and was startled when she dropped a
struggling weasel into his lap. He was too surprised to prevent its escape, and
Rainey strode swiftly to recapture the thing with a shake of her head.
“We’ve clearly got a long road ahead, despite your wondrous potential,” she
tsked as Harry curled his lip at the poor, writhing creature in her grasp.
“Don’t turn up your nose, Lovely. This is your life now,” she chided, tossing
it back to him. He managed to keep hold of it this time but held it away from
him. “Close enough, isn’t it?” she asked. Harry gave her an annoyed look.
“Here, might this make it easier?” she said, waving her wand. The colour in the
small animal’s fur slowly faded, leaving it white as snow. Remus turned a
questioning look to Severus who was obviously far less puzzled than Remus was.
His eyes were narrowed consideringly and he slowly nodded.
“Like I said, close enough. Weasel, ferret. Essentially the same,” she
shrugged. Harry shook his head at her in disgust. “Come now,” she cajoled,
dropping to a crouch. “It will make you feel better. And it might also make you
feel better if you know what I mean. Who do you really think might have
engineered this? Hm? Who could hold such a deep and abiding grudge against The
Boy Who Lived?”
Harry stared at her with a hard expression. “You know something Severus does
not?” he asked her flatly. She shook her head and shrugged.
“Only conjecture,” she admitted. “Just eat the damned weasel, Harry. Otherwise,
you’ll never be able to explain away the state of you, and dawn is coming fast.
Unless you’d like to dig yourself a hole? But good luck with that, weak as you
are. I’m not doing it for you.” Then she rose and walked away, without another
word, in the direction of Hogwarts. Remus cast a dirty look after her, as did
Harry. The young man stared long at the shadows into which she had disappeared,
and then he sighed and considered the small animal in his hands before bringing
it finally to his fangs.
***** For He Understands You are in Arms *****
Chapter Notes
     So I just re-read this for the first time since posting and I am
     horrified by it. Rest assured, I will be revisiting it soon. (In my
     defence, I wasn't well. Well...I'm still not, but my head is clearer
     now.)
                                  Remus: Then
Remus had just taken the first sip of his freshly brewed tea when he heard the
floo. Harry hadn’t left Remus all that long ago, and the man wondered what had
pulled him away from their precious Potions Master so soon.
To his surprise, it was Severus that appeared instead, looking frazzled and
tearstained as he bypassed the kitchen and looked anxiously up the stairwell.
Remus set his cup aside in alarm. “Severus?”
The vampire turned to him, clearly confused, and aborted his trip upstairs,
approaching the kitchen with apprehension. “Where’s Harry?” he scowled, as if
accusing Remus of hiding him under his cardigan. Remus returned his wary
confusion.
“He went to find you in the lab.”
This answer did not please Severus. “He did find me,” he said, wringing his
hands. “We fought. Worse than ever before,” he confessed, distraught. “I
thought he’d come here to…” Severus seemed angered by his blush. “I should look
for him,” he said, turning to go.
Remus couldn't bear to let him rush off in such a condition. The man’s eyes
were red and puffy. He looked lost, desperate, and it unsettled
Remus. “Severus, you should sit,” Remus countered, pulling out a chair at the
kitchen table. 
“No. No, he’s in no state to be alone,” Severus argued, looking as if he wanted
to pace but couldn’t decide the direction. The man hadn’t slept properly in
days. None of them could for worrying about Harry. They had taken turns
hovering outside his door while the Madness continued to cling to him, but
there was nothing to be done but wait. Despite that he was still recovering
from the Dark himself, Severus had been unable to be still. Remus knew he’d
been in the lab at all hours for days on end. He was a wreck, but he hadn’t
betrayed it outwardly until now, just when Remus would have thought they could
all finally relax.
“Severus,”he said, forcing the man’s scattered attention. “Let him blow off
some steam and he’ll come home more levelheaded,” he reasoned, gesturing again
to the chair. "I don’t know what you fought about, but-"
“It so happens we fought about youand what he’d been up to before he came to
find me,” Severus interrupted waspishly. He glared at Remus, but it was tired
and half-hearted. 
Remus was shocked, though he wasn’t sure why. He should have known what they
had done would not be well received by the Potions Master, especially
considering their recent exchange. He’d petitioned the man for peace in this
very room just earlier that night, and here he was, provoking him yet again
with selfish indiscretion. Harry’s attention had a way of disabling Remus’
common sense. It wasn’t an excuse, though, and Remus was demonstratively
remorseful. He prepared himself for a well-deserved rebuke. Severus had every
right to call the man on his hypocrisy. But he didn’t bother. In fact, his
anger seemed to leave him.
“It really doesn’t matter at this point,” he sighed defeatedly, taking a seat.
It was not the one Remus had been attempting to direct him to, but it was
heartening all the same. “The Dark is too close. I should have had more self-
control.”
“Severus, you are exhausted. In every sense," Remus said kindly. The man was
far too hard on himself. "You cannot be faulted for being human." The comment
had no noticeable effect. Remus had had no practice in comforting the Potions
Master, though not for lack of desire, only of opportunity. He changed tack.
"Harry will be fine. The worst is over. He’ll come back soon and you can make
amends. We've smothered him, is all.”
Severus shook his head. “His blood may seem settled, but it isn't as simple as
that,” he fretted, refusing to be placated. “This soon after the change, he
could relapse. There is no telling what he might do. He could harm himself.”
Remus’ first instinct was vehement denial. Then he realised this man had a very
different relationship with Harry than he did. As open as the young man was
with Remus, there were undoubtedly things Harry shared with Severus alone, and
vice versa. Remus’ envy stirred, but he felt certain that someday Harry would
be just as intimate with him, as well. And Severus, too, with luck and
persistence. The fact remained that Severus might have more cause to worry than
Remus knew. Not that he intended to let the man dwell in it. Besides, the Harry
Remus was acquainted with would never. Would he? 
“He won't,” Remus said as confidently as he could manage, attempting to
reassure them both.
“How the bloody hell would you know!” snarled Severus. The outburst seemed to
weary him, though. “You don't know what it's like when the Blood mutters mayhem
and aggression through your veins,” he sneered. “When it begs you to cut
yourself just so that it sees somethingbleed.”
“You're right, Severus,” Remus replied. It came out much more bitterly than he
would have liked. “How could I possibly fathom being slave to a painful magical
malady that drives one to self-harm?” Severus seemed to only just realise to
whom he was speaking, and his eyes went sheepishly to the scars streaking
Remus’ cheek before he could stop himself and pull them away. He refrained from
answering. Remus sighed, “Severus, he's young-”
“That's why I worry,” Severus interrupted, still not looking at him.
“He's strong.”
“He's fragile,” Severus argued, becoming upset again.
“He's fine,” Remus insisted gently. “I would know if he wasn't. He didn't come
through the floo, so we know he's gone to the Forest. There's really nowhere
else he could go. Perhaps he just wants to be alone.”
“You don’t understand,” Severus insisted, rising to his feet again, more from
panic than anger. “None of you have ever truly understood just how inclined he
is to…” Whatever he was inclined to seemed to cause the man pain and he
grimaced. “You don’t know how easily seduced he is by the idea of death,
Lupin,” he explained helplessly. “He’s been courting it since long before this
curse befell him. One can not live for so long under its constant shadow
without at least making friends with the idea of it. He is so easily thrown
into the contemplation of it,” he told the werewolf despairingly. “He is both
stronger and weaker than any of you know, than any of you couldknow.”
Remus was not immune to the man’s distress or his point, and he ached to touch
Severus in some way to comfort them both. But Harry had never struck him as
suicidal, and he tried to reject the insinuation. Severus was too frantic for
the concern to be unfounded, though. He seemed to have carried the burden of
this understanding for some time, and it obviously wearied him. Remus wasn’t
sure what to say to the man. He was too busy wrestling with the possibility
that Harry might be a danger to himself. With a sigh, Severus sank back into
his seat with no need of convincing.
“You’ve never seen him truly surrender,” Severus said softly, his gaze drifting
off to the shadows of the kitchen. He seemed almost to be speaking to himself.
Remus wondered if, in his exhaustion and his worry, he had forgotten that it
was his archrival he was bearing his heart to. Or perhaps it was because it was
Remus that he shared these things; the only other person his Dearest Love was
intimate with, whether he liked it or not; the only other person in a position
to understand or with need to. “He’s never been able to show that side of him
to anyone else. You don’t understand how much he needs or craves it. I don’t
think he understands it himself, not well enough to convey it to another. And
without someone to take that burden from him…” Severus’ face fell to his hand.
“I don’t know how I ever thought he could do without me.”  
Remus was shaken. He couldn’t claim to completely understand what Severus was
talking about, but it touched him deeply. “Severus…”
“No one else could ever understand him the way I do,” the man went on, “no one
could ever give him what he needs in the same way. It is a responsibility I
accepted and I have failed him,” Severus said firmly with a condemning shake of
his head. “It was different before this, though,” he said, looking at Remus
finally as if begging his forgiveness. “The war was finally fading from his
thoughts, finally relinquishing him. He seemed to be doing so much better and I
thought…” He shook his head, at a loss.
“Severus. He is okay,” Remus repeated. It wasn’t just hollow words. He believed
it, despite that he took to heart all Severus had just told him. Severus simply
loved the young man too dearly. Was too spent from weeks of worry that were
still too close for him to believe it was no longer needed.
“But how can you know?”
Remus took a seat across from him, and without thinking, he reached out a hand
to the man, though he managed to stop himself before touching him. “Our lives
are bound to one another,” he explained quietly but confidently. “If his life
force dwindled, it would feel as if a part of me were dying. Trust me, Severus,
I’d know.” The man seemed surprised by this information and Remus smiled softly
at the irony, reclaiming his hand to take up his teacup. “You know, Severus. It
seems that, for a former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and a Potions
Master specialising in magical affliction, we know embarrassingly little about
each other's conditions.”
Severus reflected on this quietly for a moment. “The bond is really that
strong?”
“It is,” Remus confirmed with a nod of his head before polishing off his tea
and rising to pour another.
“He's right,” Severus sighed, lacing his fingers on the tabletop in front of
him as if trying to twist them off. “I need to simply accept the situation for
what it is. I had no right to be upset with him before.”
“No, Severus, he isn't,” Remus said apologetically. “Neither of us was, and I'm
sorry. I simply didn't think. I keep behaving stupidly,” he muttered, shaking
his head at himself. “He is young and impulsive. I should have better
judgement. I should help himto have better judgement. You have every right to
everything you are feeling. If I were you,” he added, reluctantly but
sincerely, “I'd have done me violence long before now. It would have been
justified.”
“It isn't as if the thought hadn't crossed my mind,” Severus admitted, but the
dirty look that accompanied the comment lacked venom. “But you are important to
Harry,” he murmured grudgingly. “It would estrange him.”
Remus gave him a weak, wry smile. “Well, I suppose I should be grateful for
anything that acts as a buffer for your hatred of me,” he said, feeling just a
touch sorry for himself.
Remus' sudden gloom seemed to finally subdue the Potions Master. Severus
shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don't quite hate you,” he conceded. “I
just strongly dislike you,” he clarified with a lift of his eyebrow. “I hate
the circumstances.”
“We're a mess, the three of us,” Remus acknowledged, leaning back against the
counter with a sigh.
“Harry cannot be faulted for his actions since the attack,” Severus dismissed.
Remus smiled to himself. He remembered a time when the young man could do no
right in Severus' eyes. Now the man practically twisted himself into knots to
justify Harry's bad behaviour. “You don't know the Madness, Remus, how it
drives one, how it skews your perception,” he went on. The werewolf shot him a
startled look that went unseen. It was the first time the man had ever
addressed him by his first name, but Severus didn’t seem to notice his lapse.
“In some ways, the Settling is an illusion. He will never be the same. There
will always be the danger he will sometimes momentarily succumb to it. Loraina
never really ever emerged,” he added sadly, picking absently at some scar on
the tabletop.
“You seem to have done well,” Remus pointed out quietly.
Severus glanced up at him and scoffed. “You really did not know me at all
before my infection, did you?” He shook his head. “I should have had more
patience with Harry. I admit to not understanding entirely this...bond you
share. But combined with the volatility of his blood, he has to be overwhelmed.
And he's still so young, so inexperienced.”
Remus regarded the vampire for a moment. He was still anxious, but not frantic,
and Remus felt bad that he was almost grateful that his and Harry's falling out
had led the man here. “In many ways, Harry is still a child,” he agreed
quietly. “He never really was and yet he may always be. His life has simply
been too complicated.  And I fear neither of us helped simplify it,” he
admitted ruefully. 
“Do me a favour,” Severus said after a thoughtful silence, surprising Remus who
waited with embarrassing eagerness to oblige. “Drink some bloody Firewhisky for
me,” he requested with a twist of his lips. “I rarely miss it as much as I do
at this moment.”
Remus smiled at the behest and moved immediately to burrow under the sink to
find the bottle he’d hidden from himself. He glanced thoughfully at the man as
he straightened with it in hand. Severus was being very open with him, and
Remus wondered if he dared return the favour while the opportunity presented
itself. “To be completely honest, Severus,” he began hesitantly as he pulled
down a tumbler from the cupboard, “until Harry's incident, I'd started to
properly hate you.”
“Started?” Severus snorted with a lift of his eyebrow. “And here Harry is under
the impression that you hold some vast affection for me.”
“Oh, I do, Severus,” Remus confirmed with a fond look. “Far more than you know.
During the war, however, I confess myself rather eaten up with jealousy,” he
explained, taking a seat and wresting the stopper from his bottle and pouring
himself the drink Severus had ordered. 
Severus regarded him with reluctant sympathy. “Were you aware,” he told him, as
if in an offering of understanding, “that after you left Hogwarts, he
essentially lived in that damned ugly cardigan of yours?” Remus met his eye and
the men shared a mutually endeared look. He had been aware, but the reminder
warmed him. Harry was surprisingly and preciously sentimental. “It would not
surprise me if he bathed in it,” Severus said with a small smile. “I found it
touching,” he admitted quietly. “Disturbing. But moving.”
“Are youaware he still has that robe of yours we rescued him in?” Remus asked,
far less charmed by the gesture than Severus had been. Clearly, the man had not
known. “He never even washed it,” the werewolf sighed, finishing his drink and
pouring another before elaborating. “He doesn’t know I’m aware that he takes it
down and fondles it sometimes when the two of you have a falling out, as if
reminding himself how you used to be.”
Severus was rendered near breathless by this knowledge. Unmistakably moved.
“I confess I've wanted to burn it several times over the past couple of years,”
Remus said, to other man’s consternation. He sipped his drink and ignored
Severus’ bewildered scowl. “Whenever he'd come to stay and I'd see the light in
his eyes shining a bit dimmer each time, I'd take it from the top of his closet
and the spell would be just on the tip of my tongue. But I couldn't bring
myself to do that to him,” he said softly as if he still slightly regretted his
lack of courage. “He'd made his choice; for good or ill, right or wrong. I was
simply so frustrated,” said, puffing out a sigh. “And so confused. You'd loved
him so vehemently when we were all headed for an early grave,” Remus scowled,
vague accusation in his tone. Severus’ scowl melted and he looked away, not
quite shamefaced but receptive to what the other man was saying. “You fueled
him, kept him striving, kept his darkness at bay. And as intensely as I envied
the two of you for that passion, I silently thanked you every day for it.”
Severus raised a shocked look. “You saved his life, Severus,” Remus told him
plainly. “But for you, I don't think he'd have survived the war. Not intact.
Not in the ways that mattered,” he said, quietly polishing off his drink.
“But then you started slowly killing him,” he went on less forgivingly,
considering the bottle that sat temptingly at hand, as it had too often since
the war ended. “He was reluctant to speak of it, but I knew something was wrong
with the two of you,” he said, deciding on another drink, after all. “And each
time I saw him, I resented you a little more for taking him for granted. For
letting something so rare and precious wither. For gradually wearing away that
resilience that made him so remarkable.” Unlike all the times he’d rehearsed
this in his head before, drunk and angry and anguished after Harry’d left him
yet again to return to the man, Remus wasn’t actually trying to wound Severus
now. But intentional or not, the vampire was undoubtedly cut by Remus’ words.
“Of course, I didn't truly understand the situation," he said, once again
extending the olive branch. "And I suspected as much at the time, as well. But
I confess that hating you made it easier to justify to myself any liberties I
might have taken with Harry. And that I continued to use it as an excuse for my
transgressions long after I knew my understanding to be flawed.”
Because it hadbeen flawed, he reminded himself. Not that Remus felt it excused
the damage the man had inflicted, but Severus’ admissions at Harry’s sickbed
had cast his actions in a new light. Remus wouldn’t say he forgave the man for
his ill-judgement, but he at least found it impossible to hate him for it any
longer.
“I never intended to hurt him,” Severus insisted, seemingly sick with regret.
“I never thought he'd stay, Remus,” he explained feebly, as if he couldn’t
quite understand how it had come to pass. “I kept simply preparing myself for
the day it would all inevitably come crashing down. As it should have. As it
was meant to. I wasn't trying to wound him, I simply was trying not to
encourage him,” he said, sadly shaking his head. “But of all the darkness I've
faced in my life, the prospect of losing him was the most daunting,” he
confessed, eyes falling closed with remembered dread. “I couldn't bring myself
to do it properly. I tried so many times and my courage always failed me.”
“I understand, Severus,” Remus assured him, not happily but forgivingly. “And I
think it makes you a fool but not a villain. I didn't understand it at the
time, but I do now. And so does he, Severus,” he added encouragingly. “I don't
tell you these things to hurt you, I simply thought you should know how deeply
you hurt him. Because I have a feeling that the argument the two of you had
tonight is a symptom of that. It isn't something you simply let go of. It has
to let go of you. I know he's trying to move past it. He loves you so
desperately. Desperate being the key word.”
Severus seemed troubled but grateful for the insight. “How did it all come to
this?” Severus sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. “How does one cock up
so badly without even quite realising it at the time?”
“We've all been arseholes, Severus. We're all broken. But,” he added more
optimistically, setting aside his drink and picking back up his teacup,
“perhaps between the three of us we can find enough sturdy pieces left to build
something lasting. Unless something drastic happens-”
“Something else, you mean?” Severus interjected with a sardonic lift of his
eyebrow. Remus smiled. He wasn’t sure if the firewhisky was assisting his mood
or if he really was just that smitten with the droll bastard.
“Unless something elsedrastic happens,” Remus conceded, rising to pour himself
a cuppa from the pot cooling on the counter, “our circumstances stand to remain
unchanged for quite some time. I don't want to be your enemy, Severus. I know
we'll never be to each other what I hope,” he said, his mood dimming
momentarily, “but I would settle for being your friend. If you'd let me.”
“And if I won't?” Severus asked as if being argumentative merely out of habit.
Remus shrugged. “Then we’ll continue to make each other increasingly miserable
until we implode completely. And Harry gets left to tidy the rubble,” he said
flatly, sipping his cold tea.
“For Harry. You're fond of that line.” 
“Don't pretend you aren't, as well.”
Severus threw him a disgruntled looked but had nothing to counter with. “I
might consider it,” Severus muttered. “But as for the rest,” he added,
softening. “I can’t change the past, but perhaps I can make up for it.” Remus
nodded his agreement. “For a start, I can apologise for tonight,” Severus said
as if making up his mind and reaching for his resolve. 
“Absolutely not,” Remus replied firmly, puzzling the other man. He’d simply
wanted to enlighten Severus to the depth of the damage caused by his past
missteps so that he and Harry could knowledgeably work through it. He’d not
been trying to convince him they merited his being the young man’s doormat. “I
mean it, Severus, don’t you dare. I should have turned Harry down when he
propositioned me earlier. But I also should not have had to," he pointed out.
"It’s high time Harry learned prudence. What he is now is too dangerous for him
to continue to behave so carelessly.”  
Severus nodded uncertainly as if he saw the truth in Remus’ statement but was
unaccustomed to the concept. “You think I’ve coddled him,” he divined.
“I think we all have,” Remus clarified. “And how could anyone blame us? I, for
one, was sickeningly certain he would not live to see eighteen. But he has.
It’s high time he grew up,” he said, giving Severus a hopefully fortifying
look. “And it’s time we saw to it that he did.”
Remus was still waiting for Severus’ acknowledgement when they heard someone
floo into the sitting room. Though Remus had done his best to banish it,
Severus’ anxiety returned, almost as intense as it had been when he first
arrived. “Let him apologise to you, Severus,” Remus coached, giving him a stern
but reassuring nod. Severus didn’t seem wholly convinced of that plan of
action, but he reached for his suddenly elusive self-possession.
The sight of Harry, though, when he did appear in the doorway, almost stripped
the self-control from both of them. Severus gasped softly and made a move to
rise, but Remus laid a hand lightly on his shoulder in solidarity. He hadn’t
entirely expected the man to take his advice, especially considering Harry’s
alarming state, but Severus quietly collected himself and settled back into his
seat.
But they were both rattled. The young man was filthy, mud-caked and littered
with dead leaves. And his clothes were ripped to shreds. They reminded Remus of
something he couldn’t put his finger on but that instilled a deep unease. Harry
appeared unhurt, though. Remus wasn’t sure if Harry was genuinely not self-
aware or if he’d come home in such a state to manipulate Severus’ feelings, but
he disapproved either way. The young man gave Remus an appropriately sheepish
look, but then his attention turned to Severus. Remus realised he’d not removed
his hand from the man’s shoulder, but having noticed it, he left it there. He
knew how distracting the young man’s gaze could be. And Harry stared at Severus
so intently, so tenderly. Remus was not about to let the man cave to his
instinct, no matter how Remus wanted to scoop the young man up himself. They
couldn’t keep perpetuating this behaviour. They had to stand strong together.
They couldn’t make concessions until Harry did so first.
But they weren’t given the opportunity. Without a word, Harry gave them both a
disappointed look and turned to leave. Remus was shocked. He knew the young man
to be often though perhaps unintentionally selfish, but he really thought Harry
would make some effort to mend things. Could he not see the pain his lover was
in? Could he not be the first to apologise? “Harry,” he chided, about to call
the young man back, but Severus stopped him.
“No,” he told Remus softly. “Leave him.” The defeat in Severus’ voice almost
brought tears to Remus’ eyes. The man deserved better. And for perhaps the
first time in their lives, Remus was really and properly angry with Harry.
As the young man disappeared upstairs, Severus rose wearily to his feet. He
seemed diminished. His anxiety was gone. Harry was home and unharmed and there
was no more reason for him to worry, perhaps. But the man’s subdued demeanour
spoke of more than just the absence of agitation. “Severus,” Remus ventured
softly, apologetically, as if feeling someoneshould beg the man’s pardon, if
Harry couldn’t be brought to it. But Severus simply shook his head, not
bothering with a parting glance, and walked mournfully to the floo.
Remus couldn’t help but feel guilty. He still thought his advice was sound, but
he never imagined Harry would simply turn his back on them. On Severus.
Especially when the man was so obviously fragile. But Severus was right.
Scolding the young man would do no good. If they wanted him to act like an
adult, they had to treat him as one. Still, Remus couldn’t stop himself from
knocking on Harry’s door on his way to bed later. He was unsure if he was
relieved when it did not open, and all the things he wanted to say to the young
man stewed in his head, along with an indignation so strong it drove off sleep
for hours.   
 
***** That We May Know the Traitor and the Truth *****
                                 Severus: Now
The memory started to shift to another, but Severus needed a moment to process
the one they’d just seen. It wasn’t until they emerged from the Pensieve and
Severus was surprised to find Remus had followed that he realised he still
grasped the other man’s arm and had dragged him out with him. He released it
and stepped back, too disoriented by the change in scenery and the revelations
they’d witnessed to be embarrassed. He could see that Remus was just as lost as
he was, and it was a moment before they could find their voices.
“Do you realise how dangerous it is to call the wolf, Severus?” Remus asked. He
was pale and looked as if he were about to be ill. Severus could see his anger
with Loraina warring for priority with his worry for Harry. Severus nodded that
he understood, but Remus continued anyway, “If you call it too often,
eventually, it takes over. Your body reverts but your mind does not. I know
Rainey knows this. Why? Why would she encourage this?” He was shaking.
Severus had no answer. He was seething himself. Every time he closed his eyes
he saw Loraina running her hands over Harry, dipping as if she would kiss him.
He didn’t quite understand why it bothered him so much when watching Remus do
the same had had quite the opposite effect. But then, that had surprised him,
too.
He supposed that part of it was that they were both his. He’d had no claim on
Remus at the time and could not dictate his actions. But Loraina and Harry both
belonged to him and he’d not given the former permission to touch the latter.
Of course he knew, rationally, that they were both sovereign adults and he
owned neither, but that did nothing to quiet his jealousy and sense of
betrayal. Loraina knew how he would feel about the trespass. It felt very much
as if it had been done out of spite.
Or else to finish what had been started. She’d not been shy with her opinion of
his and Harry’s relationship when she’d found him in the lab after Harry had
walked out on him, thinking Severus unfaithful with the woman. He’d both
resented and appreciated her presence then. Resented that she’d seen him so
helpless and that he hadn’t been able to hide it at the time, but grateful
someone had been there to pet him as he wept. Because he had. Hard enough to
not care that someone else was there to see it. Hard enough that he actually
ached to be held. He’d wept as he hadn’t since he was a child, hiding from his
father after an argument. He’d forgotten how badly crying hurt, how dangerous
sobs could be when they appropriated one’s whole body. He felt just as bruised
as he had as a boy, his soul blackened instead of his eye.
Loraina had cradled him and spoken softly to him, just as she’d done when they
were both gripped by Madness, as Severus would do with Harry only weeks later.
“I’ve been telling you since the beginning that it wasn’t meant to last,” she’d
cooed. “It was never healthy for either of you. I know he was your most
precious pet and that it hurts to let him go. But an Auror is no kind of lover
for a vampire to keep. The World will look after him now. And I’ll look after
you as I always have, My Severus, My Love.”
Severus shivered. She’d been too bold. She’d gotten ahead of herself; forgotten
for a moment that she played the long game. Still, he hadn’t recognised it
until just now. How long had she whispered doubts in his ear? Could he even
remember a time when she hadn’t?
“Severus,” Remus said softly, waking him back to the present. “Are you ready?”
The man held out his hand once more.
The scene they dropped into was exceptionally similar to the one they’d just
left. They weren’t nearly so deep in the Forest, though. Hogwarts was still
visible through the trees Harry was strolling through when Loraina walked up to
join him.
“Do you live here?” Harry asked, eyes closed as if meditating. Instead of
answering his question, Loraina gave a short laugh.
“I hear there is still trouble in paradise,” she said. The comment stopped
Harry in his tracks and they both tarried as he glared at her. Loraina wasn’t
much bothered. “Better you’re here with me, anyway, Lovely,” she said, striding
forward with Harry (and Severus and Remus behind him) following hesitantly.
“You won’t be singing lullabies to our enemies,” she sneered. “It’s time
someone showed you how real vampires hunt.”
Severus scowled. He was so weary of talk of ‘real’ vampires. He didn’t want to
be one at all, much less an authentic one. He supposed she romanticised it out
of necessity. Where Loraina had been, one did not have the luxury of clinging
to humanity.
“Why are you always so critical of Severus?” Harry asked. His tone had been
mild, but Severus could tell by his expression that her disdain for Severus’
lifestyle chafed the young man.
She didn’t slow or turn to him as she answered. “Severus is formidable in his
own right when he wishes to be,” she admitted. “He held his own against you on
the Dark. That was no small feat. You are far stronger than any mere vampire,
Harry,” she said, pausing briefly to appraise him. “Or any werewolf, for that
matter. He should have allowed me to help then. But no doubt he did not want to
share the intimacy, even if it would have meant sharing the scars, as well. Not
that I blame him, really,” she said slyly, looking at Harry lingeringly from
the corner of her eye. Severus bristled, but it was typical of the woman. If he
took exception to everything he might, he’d exhaust himself. “Have you told
them yet?” she asked as if she was annoyed by Harry’s lack of reaction and was
searching for another button to push. “What it is you plan?”
When Harry didn’t answer, she stopped and turned to him, blocking his path.
“Then what else will you have when you go to do the bloody deed, hmm? We should
make ourselves more...familiar,” she said with a slow half-smile.
Endearingly, Harry seemed unfazed by the flirtation. Though, he did give her a
long, hard look as if trying to understand the motivation behind her
persistence. “What about your feelings for Severus?” he asked, judgment gently
creasing his brow.
Loraina’s expression soured but recovered almost instantly. “My feelings for
Severus?” she asked as if baffled by the insinuation. As skilled as she was in
manipulation, she was doing a rather poor job of it at the moment.
Harry smirked. He’d caught her lapse, too. “You were close before,” he pointed
out. “Have been ever since you came out of hiding. I can tell you care about
him still. You seem awfully fickle, pursuing him one day and then tossing him
aside the next, whenever and as often as it suits you.”
Severus couldn’t help but cringe. Self-awareness was not Harry’s strong suit.
But then, the young man was oblivious to most things. There was an innocence to
it that made it difficult to truly be angry at him for it. It tended to make
him honest by default, if sometimes maddeningly dense. He was quite
unintentionally hypocritical. A forgivable trait but a wearying one.  
“Fickle?” Loraina scoffed, bitterly amused. “Me? What hashe been telling you?”
she muttered with a shake of her head, turning and continuing on into the
trees.
“You ran off,” Harry pressed, jogging to keep up. “You left him behind.”
“I tried to kill the Dark Lord, Harry.” She might sound bored to others, but
Severus could tell she was piqued. “I tried to tear out his jugular with my
teeth. What choice do you suppose I had in leaving?” But then, like the
shifting of the breeze, her expression became sad. It was practically a
caricature of the emotion. Like Harry, there was something very childlike about
her. Her feelings were mercurial and sometimes so pure. If Severus hadn’t still
been aggravated with her from earlier, it might almost have been charming.
“Severus would not come with me,” she told Harry, her tone artificially
dismissive. “One can hardly blame him. But no. It was not me who stopped loving
him,” she explained, her voice flattened by sorrow. “It was him who stopped
loving me.”
The comment was unexpectedly piercing to be so soft-spoken. Harry could not see
it properly from where he stood, but the sudden pain in her expression knocked
Severus’ breath from his chest.
He wanted to object. The statement was false...But it wasn’t. It was a half-
truth, an oversimplification. Though, Severus realised that those
qualifications didn’t change the reality of the situation for her. The nuance
didn’t matter. The details were irrelevant. Her feelings were unrequited, and
that was the only truth of consequence.
“When the China Doll broke, he mourned its lost loveliness rather than trying
to piece it back together,” she went on, waking Severus reluctantly to her
continued condemnation. He didn’t want to hear it, but he knew he must. He’d
earned this pain. He forced himself to face the mild, well-matured cynicism in
her expression as she turned to Harry, knowing he was the cause of it. “He
preferred to grieve for us instead. Our love was cold long before we managed to
stumble our way back to the Dark Lord. Murdered and wept for, all for a
madman’s ambition. And not even a serious ambition, at that,” she sneered. “Did
you think I tried to kill the bastard simply because my diet and sleeping
habits changed?” she asked with a small, mirthless chuckle. “You might have
noticed, I don’t lament what I am, unlike your eternally tortured bedfellows.”
Severus must have looked as wretched as he felt because a hand settled on his
shoulder. He glanced gratefully to Remus but shrugged him away. The look in the
werewolf’s eyes was too heartfelt and forgiving. The man was a veritable
bottomless pit of empathy. But Severus wasn’t in the mood to be comforted. He
had no right to be.
He accepted that he could not force himself to love Loraina, but he also
acknowledged that he had not treated her well. After all she’d done for him,
after everything they’d experienced together, she had deserved better. She had
deserved an explanation and some sort of closure, even if that would likely
have been to beat Severus to a pulp in her heartache in order to burn the
bridge forever. And Severus had denied her that. He’d equivocated.
The truth was, he hadn’t been able to articulate his change of heart at the
time. The Madness had been too recent, the shift in her too sudden and
disconcerting. And then she’d poured her anguish over their schism into an
attack on the Dark Lord and made any further reconciliation impossible. She had
suddenly been gone and Severus had found himself in the Malfoys’ dungeon, and
they would not speak face to face again for almost fifteen years.    
Harry seemed troubled by the revelation, and Severus felt shame warm his
cheeks. He wondered what the young man thought of him after hearing it. For
some reason, he also wondered, fleetingly, what Remus thought of it. The man
had been respectfully silent, seeming to understand that these old hurts
between them ran deep.
Harry appeared to be showing Loraina that same consideration. She was still for
a long while, clearly lost in memories, and Harry waited quietly for her to
continue. “Severus was gentler, you understand,” she explained almost
anxiously. “Had always been, though most could never see it. Most never
bothered to look. When they turned us loose in the woods after the deed was
done, we had only ourselves to see us through the Madness. But it almost
defeated Severus. And I spent so much of myself in helping him fight, I did not
save enough of me to quite win my own battle. And apparently, whatever Severus
loved most about me was lost to it.”
The confession was compulsive and heartbreaking, and Severus did not brush
Remus away when he reached to comfort him again, not quite embracing him but
close enough. Severus had never really been one for physical displays, but the
night had been long and emotionally arduous, and he had a feeling this would
not be the last blow he weathered before they were done. “I admit I am broken,
Harry. We all are, really,” she said, unwittingly echoing the man at Severus’
side. “But you’re different,” she added after a quiet moment, giving Harry a
gently scrutinising look. “The Madness damaged but didn’t shatter you.”
She couldn’t truly be as puzzled as she appeared. Harry was whole because
Severus had sacrificed himself to ensure it. Just as she had once for Severus.
“Could be that you’re just too simple to shatter,” she concluded with a shrug,
her mask coming back up. She had been reminded, perhaps, why she was leading
him astray, and the time for soul-bearing had ended for the moment. “Oh, don’t
give me that look,” she said, her melancholy falling from her as she continued
walking as if she were leaving her pain on the forest floor behind her. “Lucky
for you to be so sturdy. Fewer intricacies, fewer things there are to snap.
Besides, there’s a beauty in simple things,” she said. Her banter seemed almost
forced, as if she’d disliked the weight of their conversation before and needed
to convince herself she was beyond heartaches so timeworn. “Only the beautiful
can get away with being damaged, Harry. And even then, only if the cracks are
superficial. Otherwise, you stop beingbeautiful. You know, it’s always been
funny to me how so many can laud the poem that extols the aesthetic of a
person’s jagged edges, but so few are willing to risk cutting themselves on the
actual pieces of another. People want to read about broken individuals, Harry,”
she confided with a smirk. “They don’t really want to know any.”
“That isn’t true,” Harry argued gently. “I fell in love with Severus. Becausehe
was broken.”
Severus smiled weakly at the comment. It warmed him, though it also bothered
him a bit. He’d long suspected it had been pity that had driven the young man
into his arms so long ago, and pity that kept him from leaving when he might
have.
“Like I said, you are simple,” she shrugged. “Oh, I’m only teasing. But look at
how long that lasted, Lovely. Only four years and you’re already running off
into the arms of someone more whole.”
Severus felt Remus shift uncomfortably beside him, but he did not withdraw.
Severus lay a hand on his arm to ensure he didn’t. They’d settled that matter
already. It didn’t serve any of them for the werewolf to continue beating
himself up over it.
“But don’t feel bad. It isn’t easy to love something so damaged,” she said
understandingly. “You were cut, and it bled you slowly. Your cracks widen
daily. Soon you’ll be the one doing the cutting. But then, you know that
already. That’s why you’re leaving. That’s why we chase your vengeance instead
of setting up house, despite how it will hurt him. It would never have worked
anyway, you know. Your bond with the wolf eats at Severus. Best to leave him to
figure out why you forged it and let him forge one of his own. They will be
good for one another,” she reasoned, nodding to herself. “It is as it should
be.”
The two men looked at one another, at the way their limbs were tangled, and
Remus blushed. But Severus couldn’t help but feel they were all playing into
her hands. He gently extricated himself from Remus, not trying to hurt his
feelings, simply feeling like a pawn and wanting to stand on his own. Besides,
this was not like him. This instant intimacy was confusing. It made him
uncomfortable that it was so comfortable. It made him feel vulnerable, and
Severus hated few things more.
“And you suppose you’re good for me?” Harry asked sceptically, distracting both
men from the suddenly awkward moment.
“Oh heavens, no!” Loraina said, tickled by the insinuation. “I’m going to get
you killed. But we both know that’s what you really want anyway, Lovely. Though
before it’s managed, we’ll send some of the bastards to Hell ahead of us. It
will be glorious.” 
“My gods, Severus,” Remus whispered, horrified. “She's marching him toward his
death like the bloody Piper, convincing him it’s what he wants. Why would she
sow such darkness in him?”
“She’s simply nurturing what she found,” Severus said sadly. He knew how little
encouragement the young man required to be thrown into such thoughts. It was a
worry that had consumed Severus during these days when Harry had refused to see
him. He’d wanted to respect Harry’s boundaries, but not being able to monitor
him had been torturous. If he could have done it in some clandestine way that
did not force them to interact, he might have violated the young man’s privacy
to protect him. Apparently, he should have done, and then they would not be
discovering all of this now after he’d gone. “Oh, Loraina,” he sighed.
“Don’t tell me you sympathise with her?” Remus asked scathingly. Severus
scowled at him.
“You cannot? And here I thought that was what you did best,” Severus sniped.
“I’m meant to accept and forgive yours and Harry’s fondness for a man who
antagonised me until the day he died, but understanding the intricate
motivations of this woman I’ve shared some of the most profound events of my
life with is simply beyond you?”
“Sirius never tried to get Harry killed,” Remus responded coolly. “Or else I’d
have ended the man myself.”
The two stared at one another, not quite angry but undoubtedly aggravated,
until Harry’s voice pulled their attention back to the memory still playing
around them. “Why are you doing this?” he asked Loraina suspiciously. “Why help
me? Why come with me? This was done to me, not to you. Your demon is dead.”
That he wasn’t blindly following her to his doom seemed to placate them both,
and they waited anxiously for her response.
She was quiet for a long while, a number of emotions clearly fighting for
supremacy within her. “That is why,” she said finally. Her expression was hard
but melancholy. “What else do you suppose sustained me? Let me carve out a life
in the wilderness at the edges of the Coven? Life here is easier, but you
extinguished my fire, Harry,” she sighed as if she mourned it. “Don’t get me
wrong, I thank you for it. But I lived only to see the fiend die, and now that
he has, I don’t see much point to me any longer.” 
What she left unsaid twisted Severus’ insides. Since Severus don’t want me, was
written clearly in the crease of her brow, in the frown tugging at the corner
of her mouth. The man wished he’d known she felt this way. He couldn’t have
forced himself to be for her what she wanted, but perhaps he could have helped
her find something else to cling to to keep herself afloat. But why, if she was
intent on drowning, she insisted on taking Harry with her, Severus didn’t quite
understand; except that perhaps she felt the young man truly was unhealthy for
Severus, and she was doing what she thought was in his best interest since the
Potions Master could never manage to do it himself. She had never understood
his and Harry’s relationship. She had always been incapable of grasping any
relationship that wasn’t theirs, and Severus wasn’t certain she even understood
that one. Their whole life, she’d required an antagonist, he’d simply fought
them at her side for a time, and on occasion, her as well. But unlike Loraina,
Severus was weary of battle.
“I don’t intend to simply fade away, though. After a lifetime thirsting for
revenge, I’d rather taste some worthy of my sacrifice before I go. I prefer to
go out fighting,” she said, mirroring Severus’ thoughts. “And yet again, you’ve
offered me my salvation, My Lovely,” she said more softly, turning to Harry
with a lascivious smile as if only just remembering her interest. As if that
interest was predicated on this opportunity he presented. “This is a fight
worth dying for,” she said, sidling closer. “This is a challenge worth
accepting. I happen to think they perfected you,” she said, giving the young
man a long, approving look. “But I’m more than familiar with the betrayal you
must feel. You were robbed of life hard-won and well-deserved. And for that,”
she said, her seduction hardening to something more sinister but equally
ardent, “we’ll make the bastards pay.”
“Do you think she believes that?” Remus asked quietly at Severus’ elbow,
sounding as if he were trying to be understanding, though was clearly still
struggling with it. “Do you think she genuinely believes she’s doing him a
favour?”
Severus sighed. “Who knows,” he replied, wringing his hands. “That’s not how
she works. She’s cunning, but she doesn’t think. Not about the why, only the
how. She might simply be saying what she thinks Harry will be receptive to. Or
she may actually feel it to be true. But Loraina is a creature of impulse. If
she does believe it, it’s because she’s rationalised her instinct to act. It
will have been the result of her compulsion and not the impetus for it. Loraina
might be dogged in her pursuit of a goal, but her decision to seek it is
instantaneous and rarely, if ever, inspired by rationality.” Remus gave Severus
a curious but sceptical look while he digested this. “She isn’t evil,” Severus
insisted, feeling strangely defensive of her. “She’s merely ruthless.
Unwavering. There’s a difference. One doesn't consider a cyclone to be evil, no
matter how much destruction it causes.”
“Are you trying to convince me she’s a force of nature?” Remus asked, more
snidely than was typically characteristic for him.
“Of course, she is,” Severus said so off-handedly and unequivocally that Remus’
scowl faded and he looked back over at the woman with a confused new interest.
“Now. Do you remember how to call the beast, Lovely? Or do I have to punch you
again?” she asked Harry. He didn’t answer immediately, and she seemed to grow
impatient with his lack of response, stepping toward him with her hand already
fisted at her side.
Harry threw a hand up to halt her. “No. I think I can do it. Just give me a
moment.” She nodded but didn’t relax, making herself ready for his
transformation. Her hand went to her belt and the Aconite solution tucked
there.
Remus grimaced, seemed to be dreading what would happen next. Watching Harry
transform was difficult for Severus, as well, but he could not appreciate what
was happening in the same way Remus could. He knew it was about more than just
the pain of it, and Severus felt for them both that they ever had to endure it,
much less that they must do so every month. Severus had had to survive the
Madness only once. It had lasted longer than sundown to sunup, granted, but
once it was finished, there had simply been the purgatory of existing on
borrowed life. If he’d had to experience a condensed version of the ordeal
every twenty-eight days, he might have gone mad a long time ago. Severus had
not properly reflected on it before, but Remus’ persistent optimism was rather
remarkable, considering, and he looked on the werewolf with a reluctant but
tenacious new respect.  
The bloodwolf before them closed his eyes in concentration but did not shift
form. “Remember our secret, Harry?” Loraina prompted, noticing his struggle.
“Invite it to come, just like Animus Secretum. Give it permission. Or why not
simply try the spell? What is your inner self now but the slavering thirst for
vengeance?” Harry cracked an eyelid as if he suspected her of mocking him, but
she was suggesting it in earnest. He closed his eyes again, seeming almost to
go into a trance.
The change came on suddenly and went much smoother than the last. In fact, it
almost seemed to have been harder on Remus than it had been on Harry. The young
man clearly had embraced it rather than fought it, and Severus thought he could
detect more control in him than before. There had been a frightening moment the
last time when Harry had seemed to vanish completely. Not just his form, but
the young man himself. But Severus could see his Dearest present in the
creature before them this time, and though it still stung to see him so
changed, the vampire was relieved.
Loraina could see him too, it seemed. She peered into his eyes for a long
moment, smiling when she recognised the man in the wolf. “Well done,” she
beamed, though she was still on guard. She stepped carefully to his side. “Are
you ready to hunt, then, Lovely?” she asked.
Which set Severus’ heart tripping. He hadn’t wanted Harry to experience the
thrill of the hunt so soon. It was seductive. It was addictive. It was
dangerous. And like Remus’ concerns about calling the wolf, Severus worried
that if Harry became too comfortable with the state, he would fall into it out
of habit whenever he perceived a minor threat. He was too young and
undisciplined to become a flawless killing machine at the drop of a hat without
eventually doing something he’d come to regret.  
Severus watched with mild panic as Harry fell forward onto his hands --his
paws-- and answered Loraina’s question with a low growl. She gave him a slow
grin before leaping forward into the forest. And Harry bounded after, fast on
her heels.
 
***** So I Might Have Your Company in Hell *****
                                     Remus
 
The werewolf cursed lightly under his breath. They were running again. There
was no way he could keep up with hunting vampires. Not unless he transformed.
And while he might not have been entirely opposed to the idea considering the
circumstances, there was no time for it. Almost as soon as it occurred to him,
the boundary of the memory caught up with him and sent him staggering. Each
time he seemed to find his footing, it pitched him forward again. Instead of
running, Remus was being dragged, doing his best to avoid the obstacles that
came hurtling toward him in the form of trees and underbrush. Limbs and leaves
caught him as they whooshed by, tearing his clothes and skin, giving him no
opportunity to extract himself from the Pensieve. He was wondering what
happened when one died in it, and if that were even possible, when Severus
seized him by the arm and swung him up onto his back. Remus was too relieved to
bother with surprise.
The man ran a little ways with him, but though Severus was strong enough, Remus
was too large to carry effectively. The vampire was top heavy and lumbering.
Abruptly, Remus found himself on the floor of Minerva’s office. Severus yanked
them there mid-stride, throwing them both into the cabinetry. The structure
shuddered, tinkled, and a few baubles fell from their perches, but nothing
seemed to break. All in all, it was far quieter and tamer than Remus might have
expected considering the chaos he’d just been pulled from. They lay where they
were for a while to recover.
“I'm sorry, Severus,” Remus panted, as winded from fright and adrenaline as
from exertion. He was bleeding and his clothes were torn, but the dirt and
litter from the Forest floor had not followed him to the outside world. He was
clean but battered.
Severus waved off his apology as he picked himself from the floor. “I’m sorry I
didn’t remember sooner how you struggled the last time,” he said, helping the
other man to his feet. “We should treat these,” he fretted, eyeing the cuts
dripping red down Remus’ cheek with a frown.
“I can do that myself,” Remus told him, handing Severus his wand. He could tell
the man had hated to leave before the memory was finished, but Remus could not
join him there again until the hunt was over. “Go back in. I’ll take care of
these. You can tell me what you found later.”
Severus nodded gratefully, disappearing into the Pensieve almost immediately.
It had been his idea and the matter was urgent, but Remus couldn't help but be
disappointed with how quickly and easily he’d been left alone. He really should
know to expect nothing less even now. Whatever was between the two men was
newborn, and nothing Remus could imagine could rival Severus’s obsession with
Harry. As he limped his way to the floo, he was reminded sharply of the war,
and Harry and Severus during it, and how often Remus had found himself alone
then to contemplate them.
Though perhaps not completely alone. She wasn’t exactly a constant companion,
but Rainey had commiserated with the werewolf on more than one occasion then
and since. Their respective chagrin at the situation seemed to dilute their
natural disinclination for one another. Remus had never considered them
friends, but they had been allies in more than just battle. Severus seemed to
think Remus didn’t understand the woman. But Remus felt he understood her only
too well.
Grimmauld Place was still dripping when he returned to it. The carpet on the
stairs squished as he climbed them. It was going to be hell repairing the
damage if it wasn’t cleaned up soon, but Remus couldn’t concentrate on such
mundanities at the moment.
The night before the war ended, Severus had rushed up these stairs and into
Harry’s arms with the same intent and single-minded expression he’d just worn
into the Pensieve, ignoring the troops who had spilled into the halls to hear
news of the coming battle. He had been overdue by days. They’d had no word at
all from him, and the whole household had languished restlessly in his absence,
wondering if the jig was finally up, wondering if their Potions Master had
departed for good, if their resistance was at a standstill.  
Of course, there had been at least three Order members who had been less
concerned about the war and more about the man, and the uncertainty of his
absence had driven them all to distraction. Truthfully, it was its effect on
Harry that had most bothered Remus at the time. He had been merely fascinated
with Severus. It was the Chosen One Remus was infatuated with, and it was
Severus that One adored. Remus could see the helplessness and panic creep up on
Harry as the days dragged on with no word, but the young man would accept no
comfort. More than once, after Harry had politely brushed away Remus’ concern
to brood alone in his bedroom, and Remus was left bruised by the rejection and
his impotence, the man had glanced over to find Hogwarts’ newest Defence
Against the Dark Arts professor watching from the shadows with a knowing smirk.
Remus had supposed that the smiles that curled her lip were just some
recognition of and dark amusement at his moral deviance until the night Severus
finally reappeared.
While they waited for the controversial lovers to reemerge, Remus had answered
a knock at his door to find Rainey there bearing two bottles and two glasses.
“You looked as if you could use this,” she explained, stepping inside without
waiting for an invitation. Remus started to object, but the unopened Firewhisky
she carried did look tempting. He swallowed his irritation at her bad manners
and closed the door behind her.
She handed him the whisky to pour himself before pulling the cork on the flask
of dark, thick red liquid she’d brought for her. She considered her glass,
shrugged, then tossed it in his wastepaper basket before drinking deeply
directly from the bottle. Remus sighed, making a note to remove it later as he
filled his own.
“Chafes doesn’t it?” Rainey said, watching him intently as he took a long draw
of spicy liquor.
“I’m used to it.”
“I wasn’t talking about the whisky,” she clarified, though neither had
misunderstood the other.
“As I said,” he replied after a brief stare, dropping heavily into the chair at
the writing desk. Despite his usual penchant for politesse, he didn’t offer her
a seat, which she noted with a smirk before turning to examine the drawings
hanging on his wall.
“You aren’t, you know. One never gets used to it,” she said plainly before
baring her fangs in imitation of the sketch of a snarling badger she was
studying. “One simply seeks to convince oneself they aren’t bothered, though
they always are. I suppose next you’re going to try to convince me you simply
never imagine what they’re doing behind that door. Never ponder which positions
they prefer, or if he touches him in the same way you would. That you never
wonder if he ever compares your kiss to his new lover’s.”
“He was never my lover,” Remus pointed out testily, throwing back the last of
his drink and pouring another.
“Oh, of course, he was. Just not in the physical sense.”
“He is my ward,” Remus sighed. “I was friends with his father.”
“Which makes you just a teensy bit the dirty old lecher, now doesn’t it?” she
teased, fondling a piece of quartz on his shelf but quickly losing interest.
“Here’s an intriguing fellow,” she observed before he could respond to the
comment, sauntering over to cock her head at Kreacher. By the time she came to
a stop, she was practically standing between Remus’ knees as he was sitting at
the desk the House Elf hung over, though if she noticed his discomfort at her
proximity, she gave no indication of caring. “Now, I know there’s an
interesting story behind this,” she prompted.  
“I’m not quite sure I’d describe it as interesting,” Remus muttered. He’d have
stood to give her room to examine the thing, but she was close enough that he
couldn’t leave his seat without toppling one of them, so he merely leaned back
away from her. She looked down at him, studying him just as keenly as the Elf a
moment before, her eyes sparkling with some twisted, dark delight.
“I know a wolf attack when I see one. I wouldn’t have pegged you as one to keep
trophies, though. I used to,” she shrugged, looking back up at Kreacher
approvingly. “Ears mostly. I had a charm that prevented them from reverting
after they were cut off. I liked the fur,” she explained absently, taking
another drink from her bottle.
Remus glared at her, imagining her garlanded with wolves' ears. It was
audacious in the extreme to explain to a werewolf how one used to decorate
themselves with the body parts of others of their kind. But then, unlike the
woman before him and the monsters she’d fought, Remus had never been feral. He
wasn’t even certain he resembled her former enemies enough to call them kin,
and so was unsure how much offence he could claim at their butchering. It was
disgusting on its face, but then, from what Remus understood, it had happened
very far away from what could reasonably be considered civilisation, so who was
he to judge her? He’d heard whispers of Rainey’s past, but it was one of those
things never discussed because then it would have to be considered and possibly
addressed, and they needed her skill in battle. He still wondered that Albus
allowed her to teach. But then, who better than a warrior to train soldiers?
Remus realised he’d ceased using his glass several swigs ago, and he was well
on his way to being drunk. Rainey hadn’t budged. It irked, but that annoyance
simply homogenised with the general sense of irritation he felt. He was
discontent, but more so with the situation than the woman who’d brought him the
medicine to soothe it. The scent of her infection stirred something wild in
him, though. Something almost aggressive. He’d become adept at ignoring such
things in the years he’d been interacting with both her and Severus. But she
was exceptionally close to him at the moment, and he wasn’t completely immune.
He imagined facing down her mad grin in some deep forest in another part of the
world, knowing that if he fell to her blades, it would be his own ear that
dangled from her belt.
His lip practically lifted in a snarl. There was a kind of thrill at the
thought. He’d seen the joy of combat in her several times as if she missed such
clashes. But Remus the Mild-Mannered Wizard was too far removed from that
instinct to feel it in the battles they’d waged against the Death Eaters thus
far. It was Remus the Werewolf that shivered now considering engaging an
ancient enemy. Her blood and his bones had far more history together than the
bodies that bore them.
Her hand hung at her side, not all that far from his face, and he wondered how
much wereblood it had spilled. Her fingers were so delicate. It seemed they
were shaped too lovely to be guilty of such ugly deeds. It was an intriguing
contrast, and he only just resisted the strange impulse to reach out and catch
her fingers with his to examine the fine contours of them. He couldn’t help
noticing other things conveniently at eye level were shaped rather exquisitely,
as well. How strange that the urges of the flesh could all feel so similar.
Sex, violence. How different were they really?
He’d been alone for far too long, he thought with a shake of his head. He must
be getting desperate, ogling a woman. A vampire. And thisone, at that. He
should stop drinking.
He took another draw from his bottle. “Why are you here, Rainey?” he asked
quietly but with a scowl.
“Why did you let me in?” she asked just as quietly, still not looking at him.
“I didn’t.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye with a sly smile, and it was
clear that she hadn’t been paying Kreacher any actual attention for some time.
“You and I are alike,” she whispered confidently. “I wasn’t sure how much
before, but it seems to me now to be more than I had supposed.” She turned and
looked down at him almost fondly. “Is it wrong to want to comfort the hurt we
see in others that we feel in ourselves?”
They stared at one another for a long while. It might have been the Firewhisky,
but Remus thought he detected a hint of challenge in her expression, though it
was so hard to tell these things with Rainey. He’d never before considered that
he shared any similarity to speak of with the wiry bloodsucking Witch, but he
understood her point. He’d seen her covetous expression as she watched Severus,
her well-weathered envy when she saw him and Harry together which Remus knew
mirrored his own. Remus gave in to the urge to reach up and touch her hand
then, a light and tentative gesture that she returned for a moment, toying with
the tips of his fingers with hers. But when Remus moved to make the contact
more substantial, she drew away with a graceful, unhurried step toward the bed.
Remus regarded her warily, unsure if he was meant to follow. She read his
question in the gentle frown of his brow, but after a long moment’s
consideration, she sighed.
“It isn’t as if it hasn’t occurred to me, and if I thought I could withstand
the stink of dog from between my thighs after, I might consider it more
seriously. Pity,” she shrugged, taking a seat on the mattress across from him
and resting her elbows on her knees to look him over. “You’re surprisingly
handsome for a mongrel.” She took a long drink from her bottle of blood.
Remus sneered and shook his head. He didn’t understand the purpose of the test
she’d just administered. He had no idea if he’d passed or failed. He took
another drink and decided he didn’t care. She wasn’t as handsome as she seemed
to consider him, and he wasn’t feeling lonesome enough to grumble. “So why
areyou here, then?”
“The Mudblood is tedious and that morphing bitch grates on my nerves,” she
muttered, falling back to lay on his bed, her almost empty bottle dangling
dangerously from her fingers over the side. “They’re both entirely too young to
be tolerable.”
“I’ll thank you not to use those terms in my presence,” he warned, but it was
more weary than stern. He realised she did so out habit now rather than
animosity. It didn’t excuse it, but then she did also bring him whisky. She
grunted an acknowledgement.
“I have a feeling we’ll be released from our torment soon, Lupin,” she said,
propping herself up on her elbows to give him a commiserating look. “Once
they’re through saying their goodbyes upstairs, we shall finally get to hear
what Severus has come to report. One way or another, I don’t think we’ll have
to watch them not be with us for much longer.”
“You don’t know that they’re saying goodbye,” Remus objected, upset by the
insinuation. They all lived daily with the possibility that they would not see
tomorrow. And Severus always flew to Harry when he arrived, though he didn’t
usually disappear with him.
“Yes, I do. And I think you do, too. What I think actually bothers you is how
much you hope yours will be the one left standing so you can help him weather
the loss after. And that part of you would rather you fell yourself to save you
seeing them together should they both survive. But there’s no way we allmake it
through this, Ducky. And there’s hope in that thought. Else, how would we all
make it through this, hm? Either through redemption or oblivion, one of us, at
least, will get what they want, I have no doubt. But if the truth offends you,
think what you will," she shrugged, flopping back down.
“I think,” he said with a shake of his head as he rose and walked on unsteady
legs over to the bed to look down at the witch, “that you are mad, Cobs.”
She gave a short cackle and cracked a slow Cheshire grin. “We’re all mad here.”
Remus realised he’d been standing in the hallway outside Harry’s bedroom lost
in the memory for some time. Long enough for the water still standing there to
have made his bare toes frigid. He needed to get back to Severus, but seeing
their clothes littering the floor was disconcerting. It didn’t seem possible
that this was still the same night they’d all left them there. It seemed years
had passed since the three of them lay tangled in these sheets.
Remus shivered. It had taken so long and so much for them to find themselves
there. And now Harry was gone. He hadn’t really allowed himself time to let
that knowledge sink in, but it did so now. Harry was gone. And they didn’t yet
know where he was or if they could get him back.
Remus’ hands shook as he reached for the jar of healing salve on Harry’s
nightstand. He was still bleeding steadily but not profusely. He rummaged
through the robe at his feet to retrieve Severus’ wand, scouring himself before
hastily slathering the balm on the worst of his scrapes. Then he pocketed the
wand and made his way back downstairs, back through the floo, anxious to see if
Severus had gained any more insight into whether they were all facing
redemption or oblivion.
 
 
   
***** Requite Thy Gentleness *****
                                    Severus
 
The vampire stumbled out of the Pensieve and practically into Remus’ arms. As
the werewolf helped steady him, Severus noticed how pale he still was, how his
face was sheened with a light sweat and not just with the ointment spread
hastily on his scrapes, though he should have had plenty of time to collect
himself from his fright before. Severus supposed it must be an effect of the
accumulation of the night’s shocks. He was almost spent himself.
“My gods, Severus. Are you alright?” Remus asked, looking him over. Severus
glanced down and realised he was almost as battered as his companion now. What
little clothing he wore was torn, though disconcertingly clean.
“I’m fine,” Severus told him distractedly, brushing off Remus’ concern as he
absently sought to close his shirt, though he couldn’t seem to find any
remaining buttons. It was an obvious lie. Even as he spoke it, Severus was
reliving what he’d just seen in flashes of pain both physical and otherwise.  
When he’d returned to the Pensieve, Severus was panicked to realise he couldn’t
see Harry and Loraina any longer. But he’d smelled them, and the vampire in him
had awakened almost instantly. Loraina was practically and purposefully
odourless except for the almost imperceptible high, metallic zing of her
infection. He identified and disregarded it, reaching for the unique bouquet
that was Harry, both friend and foe woven together in a confusing strand of
scent he chased then single-mindedly and sure-footedly through the trees. A sea
of hearts had twinkled before him, stationary except for the trail he followed
where countless creatures stirred in Harry and Loraina’s wake, disturbed by
their passage. He ignored them all, searching for the two larger hearts he knew
streaked ahead of him.  
But there had not been two. There had been three, and they moved almost as one
in a sharply changing track through the forest. Severus managed to draw close
enough to recognise the great stag only just as Harry leapt across its path and
arrested its flight in a flash of teeth and a spray of blood, and his grief at
the sight brought Severus to his knees with a cry of dismay. He tumbled to the
forest floor, tearing his skin and clothes, rolling to a stop beside the beast
just as Harry sprang back to the fallen prince to clamp his muzzle over the
pumping fount of his blood.
Severus was still shaken by the experience. He would never have thought Harry
would fell the majestic creature, especially in such a way. In as low a regard
as he held the young man’s father, Severus knew and respected the significance
of the stag to Harry. He had seen the pride the young man felt whenever its
likeness sprang, glowing, from his wand when he cast Expecto Patronum. And then
there Severus had been, watching as the radiance of the Patronus’ living
counterpart dimmed and shifted to fill the ravenous creature that was attached
to its neck.
Severus noticed Remus’ anxious expression as he waited patiently for Severus’
report. The vampire shook his head to banish the unwelcome memory. “Hermione
knew,” he informed Remus somberly.
“Knew?”
“Of Harry's plans to leave.”
Remus was shocked. “For how long?” he whispered, looking wounded by the young
woman’s omission. Severus understood his sense of betrayal but also Hermione’s
decision to keep the matter to herself. Besides, Remus was guilty of omissions
of his own.
“Why did you not tell me he came home drenched in blood?” Severus asked instead
of answering outright. The man would surely be able to place the night in
question.
Remus’ face fell. It had to have been a difficult memory for him. Severus had
had difficulty watching it: the man’s panic and confusion, Harry’s alarming
state and refusal to respond. Severus had been frustrated on Remus’ behalf, had
wanted to shake Harry and demand that he come to his senses. To Severus’
knowledge, Harry had never treated the other man so callously. Remus was so
unfailingly polite, even Severus struggled to be truly acerbic, and that was
before their recent mutual understanding, when Severus still told himself he
hated the man. But of course, the reasons for the young man’s behaviour toward
them both were becoming increasingly clear.
“I should have told you,” Remus apologised quietly. “But you were already
carrying so much, and I simply thought he was struggling to contain his new
powers,” he said with a helpless gesture. “I never imagined all of this.”
“Why would you?” Severus whispered forgivingly. “It’s no matter. I’d have
noticed it myself if I hadn’t been so busy sulking,” he sneered. Severus had
told himself he was respecting Harry’s boundaries. But he saw now the truth was
that his feelings had been hurt, and he’d practically hidden from the young
man, so that even if he’d wanted to make amends, Harry’d have had no
opportunity. Severus had merely made it easier for Harry to distance himself in
preparation for flight.
“Hermione surmised that Harry was planning to leave after she heard your
argument on the stair,” Severus explained, leaning back against Minerva’s
bookshelves with a sigh. He was so very weary. “She encouraged him to talk to
us, to let us assist, but he feared for our safety.” He shook his head. “This
is all my fault,” he said miserably.
Remus scowled and came to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Why would you
think such a thing?”
Severus gave Remus a sceptical look. Was it not obvious? “I ripped him from his
hospital bed. I went on and on at his bedside about his legacy as if it were
sacro-fucking-sanct,” he spat with self-reproach, “and now he’s gone off to
take the bastards on himself, so the Ministry cannot out him and tarnish his
precious reputation.” Severus smirked at himself, though he felt closer to
weeping. He could still hear Harry’s words to Hermione:
We can’t leave it to the Ministry. If we do, then it will come out what I am.
And as I’ve been told all my life, I am more than myself.
Severus was the one who’d reinforced that concept when he had prevailed on
Remus to pull the young man from St. Mungo’s. Though, he couldn’t have known at
the time that he would be contributing to this present debacle.
Everything we fought for will be tarnished, Hermione. History will be less
kind. That’s exactly what they wanted. To derail the narrative, to sully my
‘legend’. And while I couldn’t give less of a damn, I’m not giving them what
they want, Hermione. I am not letting them win.
It made Severus feel better somehow that Harry seemed to have given the matter
thought himself and was not swayed solely by Loraina’s machinations. If he was
not simply her puppet, there was the chance he’d eventually become
disillusioned and return to them. But they still did not fully understand the
situation they all found themselves in, had no idea where Harry might have
gone, or even that he was with Loraina. They had no choice at the moment but to
continue following Harry’s breadcrumbs.   
“Why did I not foresee this?” Severus winced, wilting further under the weight
of his own failure. “He was always so critical of himself that he did not end
the war sooner. As if there had even been that possibility. He considered every
casualty to be blood on his hands. Of course, he wouldn’t allow any of us to be
put in harm’s way this time.”
Whenever one of the Order had fallen, Harry teetered on a precipice,
threatening to descend into a spiral of guilt and anger. Severus was convinced
each time that the only reason he didn’t seek oblivion was that he knew he had
a task to perform first. He’d always seemed to simply be waiting for the day he
could be allowed to die. And Severus, never one for heart-to-hearts,
uncomfortable with pretty words and empty placations, had soothed the young man
in the only way he could think to, the only way he knew how.
He had taught Harry how to truly submit; how to lay everything he was,
including his struggles, at Severus’ feet; how to surrender control of all
things, even his free will, to Severus’ keeping. When Harry had been at his
worst, Severus would command him to empty himself of every thought and impulse
beyond obedience, to focus on nothing but Severus’ voice and his hands and the
sensations the man evoked with them. And then Severus would string the young
man taut and play him like an instrument until there was nothing left of him
but the music of his moans.
“He thinks he’s strong enough now to act alone,” Severus said, feeling the
panic rise in him, the dread. No matter how formidable Harry now was, he was
new. He was inexperienced. For all his might, he could so easily be undone by
his impatience, his imprudence. Loraina was little better. She was clever, but
they were both rash beings. And together they were dangerous, especially to
themselves.
Severus felt fingertips on his face and flinched, but he saw that Remus held
the jar of healing salve and was simply attempting to apply it to the cut
across Severus’ cheek. Or else, he was using that as an excuse, knowing Severus
would not welcome the blatant show of affection. The pretence suited the
Potions Master well enough, and he allowed Remus to doctor his scratches much
more slowly and meticulously than was strictly necessary.
“Severus,” Remus said softly, taking his time to warm the salve between his
fingertips before gently smoothing it over the man’s skin as he spoke. “I know
you’ve always felt it your duty to shield Harry from the worst in this world,”
he began carefully. “And I must say, I think you’ve done a remarkable job of
it, considering. But you expect too much of yourself,” he said with a small,
exasperated shake of his head. “You take on too much. You’re only human, Dear,”
he whispered, catching Severus’ shocked black eyes with his warm amber ones.
The endearment warmed Severus’ cheeks, but Remus’ expression seemed to state
that Severus could not protest the man’s fondness into non-existence. Severus
was dear to Remus, whether he liked it or not, and Remus was willing to risk
rejection to make sure Severus knew that what Remus was saying was heartfelt.
“We cannot keep him insulated forever,” Remus went on before Severus could
object, still gently stroking salve onto his face, though Severus didn’t think
he had any scratches left to treat. “And even if we could, we are under no
obligation. One can only sacrifice so much for another before one loses
oneself. And I know Harry isn’t so selfish that he would wish that for you. I
know I don’t,” he added quietly, blushing only a little. “You give him more
than he requires. More than he deserves, if we’re all honest. And while I
certainly understand the impulse, there has to come a point where you choose to
care for yourself, as well. He is an adult, and you are not responsible for the
decisions he makes.”
“Surely you aren’t saying we should just allow him to traipse to his death,”
Severus said with a critical scowl.
“I never said we shouldn’t follow,” Remus clarified with an adamant shake of
his head. “Especially as I suspect the decisions he’s made were based on
contrivance. All I’m saying,” he said, capping the jar of ointment and slipping
it into his pocket before looking Severus firmly in the eye, “is that you
cannot blame yourself for what has happened.”
Severus silently returned his persuasive stare. He wanted to dismiss the
insinuation. He wanted to scoff, to say thatof course he knows, rationally,
that he’s not actually to blame, and surely Remus credited him with more
intelligence than to suppose he'd spoken literally. He wanted to do those
things, but he could not. Because, no matter what his reason told him, he
didn’t feelit to be the truth. “I devised the damned formula they used to turn
him,” he argued instead, his voice small and anguished.
“But you did not feed it to him, Severus,” Remus maintained, chasing Severus’
line of sight as he tried to look away. “In fact, you’ve worked tirelessly
since to bring him relief he’s scarcely had time to want. Nothing that has
happened is your fault,” he reiterated. “You cannot single-handedly keep him
from all harm.”
Severus felt his eyes fill with tears and he hated it. He was too soul-weary to
keep his emotions in check, and Remus was so damned artful in coaxing them to
rebel. “But I want to,” he confessed in a whisper as a rogue tear dared to
escape. Remus smoothed it away with his thumb, looking as pained to see it as
Severus felt.   
“And do you know why?” he asked softly, still cupping Severus’ cheek.
Severus did scoff then. The situation was laughable. He was weeping in front of
Remus Lupin, being petted by him. “I suppose you’re going to tell me,” he said,
rolling his eyes.
Remus, however, was completely serious when he responded. “It’s because you
wish it for yourself. And as soon as you decide to allow me, I intend to do my
damnedest,” he said with a vehement sincerity that humbled the Potions Master
and instantly quieted his sardonics. “But you aren’t some magic crucible,
Severus,” Remus told him emphatically, bringing his other hand to the man’s
face as well to prevent him from averting his gaze. As if Severus could have
looked away from the man’s staunch expression anyway. As if he wasn’t
mesmerised by the utter and baffling depth of feeling he found there. “I know
you think you can take Harry’s pain into yourself and transmute it and so save
him from it, but that’s not the way it works. You have to share the burden,” he
pleaded. “You have to let some things go and let others simply exist. You
haveto stop punishing yourself.”
Severus was trembling, looking at the werewolf as if he were some alien
creature. What strange power did he hold that his words could so rattle the
vampire? How in gods’ name was he so adept at finding the chink in Severus’
armour and so thoroughly disarming him? But the pain he was trying to relieve
the Potions Master of was too dear. He’d held it too close for too long and he
resisted Remus’ attempt to separate it from him.  
“I jilted Loraina,” he argued, though he wasn’t even sure why anymore.
“Severus,” Remus began with a shake of his head, his hands falling to grasp
Severus by the shoulders as if he might actually shake him.
“I developed the serum,” Severus said before Remus could counter.  
“Severus, listen to me.”
“I did the brute’s bidding for years,” Severus went on compulsively, his
confessions tremulous, as if he was comprised of these sins and voicing them
emptied him, leaving him hollow and rickety.
“Damn it, Severus,” Remus growled, pressing his forehead to the other man's as
though seeing him implode and trying to hold him together.
“I killed James and Lily!” Severus gasped. Surely the man would abandon his
efforts now. Surely that crime was too personal to forgive and he would leave
Severus alone with his regret. Remus stiffened but did not let go, and so
Severus continued, illuminating for the poor misguided soul exactly why Severus
wasn’t worthy of the tenderness he’d seen in Remus’ eyes.
“I started this whole bloody business. I carried that prophecy to that bastard
to curry favour as if I thought he was somehow above murdering infants,” he
spat, scarcely aware of the angry tears on his cheeks. “I condemned Harry to
years of abuse at the hands of those Muggle monsters, to years of persecution,
to the mantle of saviour.” As determined as he was before that Severus look at
him, Remus’ eyes were now pinned firmly to the floor, and so Severus grasped
the man by the back of the neck, startling him into looking back up at him so
he could convey the gravity of what he was saying. “All of the darkness that is
in him, that has ever been in him, is the result of my foolishness. I owe it to
him to see that no more misfortune visits him. Ever.”
Remus’ expression was hard. Any moment now, Severus expected him to recognise
Severus’ culpability and to rail at him; to strike him, even. Or, at the very
least, to understand the folly of his affection and stumble away from Severus,
disgusted that he had ever tried to love the man.
Without a word, Remus embraced him instead. It was tenacious, almost desperate,
the way he clutched at Severus. And the vampire was so taken aback that he
allowed it. “You’ve paid your debts,” Remus whispered fiercely. “You are not
Fate's whipping boy, do you understand?”
Remus was still trying to save him. It defied all reason. Severus tried to push
him away. He was dangerously close to surrendering to the man’s ardent
forgiveness, to accepting what he was saying as truth. But Severus was shaking
so hard, the effort was weak and Remus refused to release him.
“This is not your fault, Severus.”
“No,” Severus objected tearfully. “Don’t you see? I deserve-”
“To be loved,” Remus interrupted almost angrily. “You deserve to be loved,
Severus. And you are, with no quid pro quo. For the sake of you, you are loved.
You don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to work to be worthy of it.” Remus’
grip did not relax, but he turned his head, laying his lips by Severus’ ear as
if trying to plant the truth as close to the man’s mind as possible. “You saved
the world, damn it. You saved the boy, and the boy worships you. He does not
blame you for his past. All you owe now, you owe to yourself. Severus,
Voldemort killed James and Lily. Voldemort banished Harry to those ghastly
Dursleys. He forced you to develop a serum you purposely allowed to fail at
danger to yourself. You stayed under his thumb in order to liberate us all.
This is not your fault.”
Severus still rejected it. Or at least he tried. But he stopped fighting Remus.
He stopped pretending that he didn’t find comfort in the man’s relentless
embrace, or that he wasn’t moved by his conviction in Severus’ worth. He
stopped resisting the suspicion that he requited a far more generous portion of
the man’s affection than he’d ever thought possible. And he accepted finally
that Remus was a good man --as Harry had always said-- deserving of the love
and respect that he showed others. It seemed a silly thing to refuse such
warmth, and practically criminal to deny its return, and so Severus simply
stopped.
His hands found purchase in the tattered robe Remus wore and he clung to him,
accepting Remus’ invitation to let go while Remus held on to ensure no pieces
of Severus were lost in his collapse. For perhaps the first time in his life,
Severus willingly surrendered himself to the keeping of another, even if only
for a moment. He buried his face in Remus’ neck to muffle his cries and felt
the man’s hand move to the back of his head to stroke Severus’ hair as he
sobbed, encouraging him to further abandon.
Severus had almost expected to feel as much resentment as relief. He’d wept in
Loraina’s lap when Harry left him, but nothing about that situation had been
voluntary, and even as it soothed it had chafed. This was different. Loraina
had taken advantage of his vulnerability. Remus simply offered him a safe place
to shatter.
“We willbring him home, Severus,” Remus whispered, still combing his fingers
through the man’s hair as his emotion finished spending itself. Severus took a
deep breath before releasing him and pulled back to nod, self-conscious about
the mess of tears on his face until he saw that Remus’ glistened with them,
also. He felt raw, naked but surprisingly unburdened, as if he’d been somehow
reborn. “I promise you,” Remus affirmed, smoothing the clingy strands of
Severus’ hair from his forehead to lay a kiss there. It would have been
unacceptably condescending from anyone else. But it wasn’t someone else. It was
Remus, and it was fitting.
 
 
 
***** Pass the Remainder of Our Hateful Days *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                 Severus: Then
Severus ignored the nurse finally and pushed his way past her to enter Harry’s
room. Let security come, damn it. He was beyond caring. He’d been arguing with
the staff for almost half an hour now. Kingsley had ordered that no one be
allowed in Harry’s room but specifically told the nurses that Severus was an
exception. After he’d left the vampire to watch over Harry so he could see to
official matters, however, the staff had turned on him. Once Harry had been
stabilised, they claimed ignorance of Kingsley’s instructions and insisted that
he had to have permission to enter from that mongrel adulterer for reasons he
still couldn’t properly fathom. He might have expected it. Every British-born
healer there who had started their career in the last two decades had been
through Severus’ classroom, and most did not leave it on friendly terms with
the Potions Master.
He knew he didn’t have much time. The nurse he’d been arguing with had given up
trying to shout him out of the room and had called for help. He rushed to
Harry’s bedside and grasped his hand. He didn’t know if the young man could
hear him but, should he be listening, Severus couldn’t bear the thought of
leaving him alone without letting him know that Severus wanted more than
anything to be at his side.
“Harry. Listen to me, My Love. I'll be back for you,” Severus vowed, but there
was no visible response. “Don't leave me,” he begged, lifting the young man’s
hand to his lips. Then he paused, urgency making way for apprehension, and
repeated the gesture. Harry’s skin was cool to the touch, which didn’t seem
right to the man, as Harry’s face was flushed.
Severus’ breath caught in his throat. These symptoms reminded Severus of
something. But no. It couldn’t be…
He smoothed Harry’s sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead. Despite the
perspiration, he was cool to the touch. Not just cool; icy. Dread gripped the
vampire. There was commotion in the hall behind him, but Severus ignored it,
lifting Harry’s eyelid.
“What’s the problem?” Severus heard a breathless Kingsley ask. He did not sound
pleased. “Why was security called? Where is the agent I sent to guard this
room?”
Harry’s pupils were dilated. And they seemed to grow even larger as Severus
observed them. Severus suddenly felt as if he couldn’t breathe.
“I’m sorry, Sir. No agents have arrived yet. There’s just this gentlemen. I’ve
told him visitors weren’t allowed, but-”
“I gave specific permission for this man to be allowed at Mr Potter’s side.”
The nurse sounded uncomfortable when she replied, but Severus was too busy
checking Harry’s pulse to focus on it. The monitors showed it to be quick, but
it was weak for all its fevered beating.
“I understand that, Sir,” the nurse said, polite but forcibly so. “Be that as
it may, hospital policy prevents us from admitting any non-familial visitors
until the patient’s closest living relative has been notified and provides
permission. Or in this case, his former guardian. And even then, visitation is
permitted only if the patient’s condition allows. We’ve only just stabilised Mr
Potter. We haven’t even had an opportunity to draw testing samples-”
“Alright,” said Kingsley, cutting off her spiel. “I understand. But call off
security, for Merlin’s sake. I’ll handle this.”
Severus panicked. They could not draw samples. They’d done well to treat
Harry’s symptoms, but they must never know their cause. He may be wrong. Gods,
he prayed he was wrong. But in case he wasn’t…
“Severus,” Kingsley said apologetically, laying a hand on his shoulder. Severus
straightened and spun to face him.
“Kingsley, roll up your sleeve!” Severus demanded under his breath, glancing to
the door. The nurse was too far away to hear, but she watched them with a
disgruntled expression. Luckily, someone down the hall seemed to be speaking to
her and she reluctantly stepped away. “Quick! Before the harpy returns.”
“Severus, what are you-?”
“I’ll explain later,” said Severus, digging in his pocket.
“You carry phials with you?”
“I’m a bloody Potions Master, of course, I fucking carry phials,” Severus
snarled, frantically searching nearby drawers. He located a syringe and turned
back to the man, brandishing it. “I need your blood.”
“This is no time for a snack, Sev-”
“Are you trying to be dense?” Severus hissed, waving his wand at the door to
nudge it shut. “They cannot test Harry’s blood. If the potion he ingested is
what I suspect it is, there can be no evidence. Just… trust me,” he begged. It
was not something he did often, and Kingsley seemed to comprehend the gravity
of the request because of it.
“This will never work,” he muttered, nonetheless yanking back his sleeve.
“It doesn’t hurt to try,” said Severus, carefully puncturing one of the man’s
veins and filling his syringe as quickly as he dared. He transferred his bounty
to the phial and capped it just as the door swung back open. Severus cursed.
He’d have liked to have taken a small amount of Harry’s as well to test himself
in his lab.
“I really do have to ask you both to leave now,” the nurse insisted tersely.
Kingsley discreetly lowered his sleeve as Severus diverted her attention from
it by swishing past him to offer her the phial of his blood.
“Since no one could seem to be arsed,” Severus sneered, practically shoving it
into her hand. She looked to see what she was suddenly holding, then turned a
gaping scowl back up at him, clearly appalled.
“Did you just draw this patient’s blood?” she demanded disbelievingly.
“Oh, re-hinge your jaw, Miss Bradley,” Severus sniped. “You know I’m perfectly
capable of safely collecting a blood sample. I seem to remember showing youhow
to extract blood from a bicorn for you end-of-term N.E.W.T. project.”
“We can’t use this,” she objected.
“And what? Are you going to draw a second sample so soon from a weak and
critical patient? Really, Miss Bradley,” he tutted. For a moment, Severus
thought she might slap him.
She took a curt step toward him. “That’s Ward Sister Bradley to you. This isn’t
your classroom, you arrogant, miserable old bastard,” she hissed quietly,
finally abandoning the careful professionalism she’d been struggling to
maintain. “You don’t call the shots here, I do. This is my floor. This is my
patient. Do you understand that, you utterarsehole?”
Severus returned her glare. A string of exceptionally scathing insults crossed
his mind, but by some miracle, he was able to keep them there. He gritted his
teeth, drawing on every last scrap of patience he had left. “Do you see how
much blood is in that phial?” he asked quietly but angrily. “If you take more
from him now, it could endanger him. He is weak. His pulse is too unstable.”
“Which is why we hadn’t drawn any yet,” she spat. “I should have you arrested
for jeopardising this young man’s life. And considering who it is, I’m certain
it wouldn’t be taken lightly.” Still, she looked back down at the phial,
debating.
Severus took a calming breath. “Please, Karen,” he said, much more kindly than
she’d likely ever heard him speak. She glanced back up at him, shocked and
distrustful. “I have risked my life for this young man more times than I can
count. And I’ve saved his more times over than anyone will ever know,” he told
her with grasping sincerity. He could see her softening. “I would never do
anything to harm him. Please. Just test the sample I’ve taken. And quickly.
Time is of the essence.”
His pleading tone worked the same magic on her it had on Kingsley. After
another agonising moment, she sighed and nodded. She was acquiescing, but she
was not happy about it. “You still have to leave now,” she told him, her tone
allowing for no further argument. Severus hadn’t intended to attempt one. He’s
gotten what he wanted. He nodded immediately, looking back to Kingsley to join
him as Karen tapped her foot impatiently. The three of them left Harry’s room
together, to Severus’ immense relief.
They met the Auror assigned to Harry’s room as they were emerging, and Kingsley
gave him a sound talking to. There had been some confusion with dispatch, the
man said, and he’d been sent to the wrong room. Kingsley told the man to call
in an additional agent to stand guard with him --and to make sure they had the
right bloody room number-- before stomping off, catching Severus by the arm as
he did so to lead him to the waiting room they were going to use as a kind of
base of operations until things settled.
Severus was too distracted with Harry’s prognosis to concern himself with
procedural hiccups, though. He knew his ruse would not hold for long. When they
found nothing, no hint of potion at all, in Kingsley’s blood, they would
eventually seek another sample. But hopefully, by that time, the serum would
have metabolised but the infections not yet begun to manifest. If he could get
Harry home quickly enough, they might yet manage to conceal his true condition.
“We need to remove him from here,” Severus whispered to Kingsley as they strode
down the crowded corridor.
“Have you lost your mind?” Kingsley hissed quietly, glancing about him as if
afraid someone might have overheard the vampire.
“No. Make it happen.”
“Severus, you saw the state of him,” he admonished. “Harry may not even survive
the night.” Hearing it spoken aloud hit Severus like a fist to the gut, and his
step faltered but only for a moment. He couldn’t afford to fall apart yet. “I’m
sorry, Severus,” Kingsley told him sincerely, his voice wavering. “It pains me,
too. But whatever you know or think you know, we have to consider Harry’s well-
being.”
Severus did stop then. He stood in the busy walkway and stared open-mouthed at
the man. “Do you imagine I’m not?” he asked incredulously. “Do you imagine I’ve
done anything but for years now?” Kingsley stared at him with equal parts
sympathy and resentment. Severus was putting him in a difficult spot. If he did
as he was asked and things went badly, heads would roll, and his first. But at
the same time, Harry was his friend, and he surely trusted Severus to do what
was best for him.
“It will be up to Remus,” Kingsley finally grunted with a grudging nod,
continuing on toward the waiting room.
“Why in hell is it up to him, again?” The idiotic rule still chafed.
“Protocol, Severus. It isn’t as if the two of you are married.”
“Tell your friends in the Ministry to make it legal for us to do so, and I’ll
buy a goddamned ring,” Severus barked.
“The fact remains that Remus is the closest thing to family Harry functionally
has. If it’s even possible to extract Harry, the decision will be his. And
you’d better be convincing.”
“Me?” Severus baulked. “Oh no,” he said, shaking his head. “No, you have to
talk to him. He hates me more than usual at the moment,” Severus muttered
acidly. The feeling was certainly mutual. He wondered how long ago Harry’s
sleep-overs at Grimmauld Place had ceased to be about the convenience of its
location. Just how many times had the bastard fucked Severus’ lover?
Kingsley groaned at the request. “What’s happened now?”
Severus declined to answer. “Tell him it’s not safe for him here,” he
suggested. “That may very well be true. You saw how easily I got into his room.
Who’s to say the bastards who did this won’t try to get to him here? He needs
to be somewhere more secure.”
“You have a point,” Kingsley conceded. “Are you ever going to tell me what this
is all about?” he muttered.
“Eventually.”
“Let’s just hope it’s not while I’m visiting you in Azkaban, eh? Ah, good.
Remus is already here,” he pointed out. Indeed, Severus could see the shabby
mutt through the small window of the waiting room door. He appeared just as
frantic and overwhelmed as Severus felt, though it did not endear him to the
vampire. Why in gods’ name did he perpetually look homeless? It wasn’t as if he
paid rent. Could he not afford a new goddamned cardigan? It looked as if he’d
been living in this one since the last one was destroyed.
“I can’t go in there,” Severus told Kingsley, refusing to go any further.
“Is it really that bad between you?”
“It is. Besides, you know your co-workers don’t exactly think highly of me.”
They weren’t too keen on Lupin, either. But at least he hadn’t been a Death
Eater.
“Alright. I’ll talk to him, Severus. But I can’t make any promises. Go wait at
Grimmauld Place and I’ll send word as soon as I know something.”
“Leave the hospital?” Severus asked, stricken. He was already further from
Harry than he could bear.
“What are you going to do here, Severus?” Kingsley asked, but not unkindly.
“After the stunt you pulled, they aren’t going to let you in to see him even if
Remus gives his consent. You should feel lucky they aren’t screaming for your
arrest. In fact, that might still come. Lay low at headquarters. You can
Apparate here quickly enough if need be.”
Severus felt as if he were drowning. Of course, what Kingsley was saying made
sense, but he was still half-tempted to bolt back to Harry’s room and magic the
door shut. If the young man had ingested what Severus suspected, his hours
might be numbered anyway. No one here would be able to help him. It would be
worth it to Severus to be sent away to Azkaban if it meant he could spend
Harry’s final moments by his side.
Kingsley seemed to see Severus’ desperation in his expression, might have been
guessing at the mad schemes he was concocting, and he lay a hand on the man’s
shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know, Severus. But I’m not about
to let you be locked away, not after all you’ve done. Harry wouldn’t wish it,
either. I’ll do all I can. But we need you secret-kept. Hewill need you free.”
Chapter End Notes
     Disclaimer: I have no idea how hospitals work. (If it wasn't
     obvious.)
***** Drag the Villain Hither by the Hair *****
                                  Remus: Now
The two men took a moment to collect themselves. Remus was very nearly as
overwhelmed as Severus. He knew he’d been given something exceptionally
precious. And perhaps it wouldn’t have occurred at all if not for the enormous
pressure they were under at the moment. But that is how diamonds were formed,
after all.
He would have liked to have held the man for longer, but he could tell Severus’
habitual need for self-control was reasserting itself, and they still had
memories to view, besides. There would be a time for closeness later. “Are you
ready to go back in?” Remus sniffed, pulling himself together. Severus was
still a bit dazed but otherwise remarkably composed. When he nodded resolutely,
Remus held out his hand again, pulling the wand from his pocket in readiness.
All the reluctance had disappeared from Severus’ grip when he accepted, and
Remus wasted no time throwing them back into the unfolding drama of Harry’s
memory.
“I just don’t understand how you can draw a crowd this size so quickly,”
Hermione said, bending to peek through a gap in the window shade of
Ollivander’s shop. Though there was a considerable amount of noise outside, the
place was deserted. Or rather, it had been evacuated in anticipation of their
arrival. “I mean...and don’t take this the wrong way, Harry...but you aren’t
all thatspecial.”
“It’s a good thing you’re around to remind me how mediocre I am, then. Severus
stopped telling me years ago.” Harry was milling around as if bored, his back
turned to them and his recently paired wand held tightly in his fist.

“Maybe he doesn’t find you mediocre anymore,” she proposed, still studying the
gathering outside.

“Well, I really think his opinion of me depends on which skills I’m practising
at a given moment.”
Remus couldn’t help but smile at Severus’ blush. The man caught him looking and
dropped Remus’ hand, which he’d still been holding, but his embarrassment only
lasted a moment. “He isn’t wrong, you know,” he shrugged. Remus grinned
outright.
“Alright. The Ministry agents are in place,” Hermione said, straightening as
Harry turned to face them. She seemed to only just recognize the state of him
and was mildly horrified. “You’ve made an absolute mess of your makeup,” she
tutted quietly, reaching into her purse to pull out a compact. 
She’d done a masterful job of concealing his condition, and Harry had left
Grimmauld Place that night looking very much like himself. His old self.
Perhaps only those closest to him would ever notice the difference. Though of
course, Remus had, and it had been bittersweet. He hadn’t realized he missed
Harry’s glasses until he’d seen them on his face again. Still, it had been a
shame to hide his new eyes behind so much glass, coloured and otherwise.
Remus glanced over at Severus to find him stricken. “That’s right,” he
exclaimed softly. “You weren’t there to see him off.” The man couldn’t seem to
pull his eyes from Harry. He shook his head but was incapable of answering, and
Remus grasped him reassuringly by the shoulder. “I know,” Remus whispered. “I
miss that version of him, too, sometimes.” 
Severus swallowed thickly. “I know he’s still him,” he admitted sheepishly.
“But it reminds me of all the small ways he’s not anymore.” Remus understood
what he meant, but he wasn’t sure how to respond, so he simply didn’t. 
“You look like a racoon in negative,” Hermione chided as she examined the
damage to his disguise where Harry had rubbed at his contacts. She didn’t move
to apply the makeup she held, though. Instead, she looked in the direction of
the still-present Ollivander.  

“He knows, Hermione,” Harry told her. Remus and Severus shared an uneasy
glance. The old man wasn’t one to spread gossip, and Merlin knows he was surely
privy to his share of secrets. Still, it made Remus uncomfortable how quickly
and easily theirs was betrayed.
“You’re sure?” Hermione whispered anxiously.

“Positive," Harry sighed. "Just do whatever it was you did before that made me
not look like a corpse and let’s get this over with.” Looking highly
uncomfortable, Hermione did as she was asked.
“Okay,” she coached as she dabbed fresh colour around his eyes. “Remember:
You’re recovering well. The investigation is ongoing. No comment on your Auror
position. Thank you for your concern,” she recited in sing-song. “Be mindful of
your fangs,” she added. “And don’t forget to blink.”
Harry listened to her instructions, turning increasingly sombre before taking
the compact from her hands, despite her objections, and wrapping her in an
unexpected hug. “Thank you, Hermione,” he whispered shakily.

“Whatever for?” she asked, finally relenting and returning the embrace.
“For being you. For treating me like me,” he replied quietly. It was a touching
moment, and Remus quite forgave Hermione for keeping secrets from them. She had
always done what she thought was best for Harry. It hadn’t always turned out to
be, but her intentions were always pure.  
“How else would I treat you?” she asked with a small laugh as they parted.

“Like a monster.”
Harry said it so plainly, it broke Remus’ heart. Perhaps he felt monstrosity
was inherent to what he was now, and all this messing about with Rainey in the
woods was simply him embracing his suspected nature. Though surely he didn’t
think the same of Remus and Severus. He knew they had always striven to rise
above their instincts, though each was turned with just as much violence and
spite.
Hermione shook her head at him. “A person’s actions make them a monster, Harry,
not their physical condition,” she said confidently. Harry didn’t seem wholly
convinced, but he didn’t argue. “Now, are you ready?” she asked, setting a hand
on the door handle. He nodded and, with a steadying breath and a practised
smile, they opened the door to an excited explosion of noise and flashing
lights. Severus and Remus followed them through the door before it could drift
to a close behind them and stepped to the side where they could view the entire
gathering, as well as Harry and Hermione. 
“It’s no wonder he bolted,” Severus muttered, shielding his eyes from the
incessant flicker of flashbulbs. Remus had to admit he found the relentless
commotion of the crowd unnerving. And Harry’s senses were newly and extremely
sensitive. He was clearly overwhelmed though trying valiantly to pretend he was
not. His artificial smile was still in place, but his eyes evinced the
breathless terror of a cornered animal.
“Yes, alright!” Hermione attempted to shout above the racket. “One at a time,
if you please,” she said, addressing the row of reporters at the front of the
throng. Their overlapping questions gradually staggered themselves, but not
enough to allow Harry time to answer. The frustrated young man held up his
hands to beg for quiet. Eventually, the questions stopped altogether, and
everyone waited with quills at the ready for what Harry was about to say.
“Listen. I appreciate your concern,” he loudly told the assembly in general,
“but I’m doing fine. Still recovering but doing well, thanks. No, I’ll not go
into what happened. I’m not well acquainted with the Ministry’s investigation,
though I can say there is one. No, I’m no longer an Auror. No, I have no idea
what I’ll be doing…”

Remus was confused by Harry’s sudden distraction, but when he turned to discuss
it with Severus, he found him just as preoccupied. The man grasped Remus’ arm
as if in warning. “Virgin blood,” Severus explained shortly, testing the air
and peering intently into the crowd. Harry wore a more subtle version of
Severus’ expression. “Something’s not right about it. It’s old,” Severus
scowled, sniffing. “It’s cold,” he added, confused. He released Remus to stalk
the periphery of the crowd.
“Harry. Do they have any leads on the possible identities of your attackers?”
Remus heard a reporter venture as he moved to follow his companion.
“No,” Harry began, still distracted. “Um...they…”
“There,” said Severus, pointing out a seedy-looking young man in the crowd. “In
his hand. Do you see that?”
“Is...is that a phial of blood?” Remus asked. Severus nodded, equally incensed.
“They tried to trigger him in front of the cameras,” he said through teeth
clenched in anger. “The absolute bastards. I could murder every last one of
them.”
“If Harry hasn’t already beaten you to it,” Remus pointed out with chagrin.
That certainly seemed to be Rainey’s plan, but Remus still couldn’t quite
imagine the young man capable. Severus seemed to be thinking much the same
thing.
“Harry’s never had the stomach for that kind of violence,” he scoffed. “He’s
used anger to his advantage before, but murder?” He shook his head. “He
instantly regretted attacking Draco. And it took Albus’ fall to inspire him to
cast the Killing Curse on the Dark Lord himself. Loraina, on the other hand…”
  
The vagrant they were observing suddenly seemed frightened. His eyes widened
and he began backing out of the crowd. Remus glanced back and realised Harry
was staring directly at the man.
“Severus. He’s spotted him.”
They divided their attention between the two young men. Harry watched with them
as the would-be saboteur capped the phial, dropping it behind him as he
hurriedly shuffled down the street. Severus seemed to be torn between the
impulse to follow and the desire to stay close to Harry. Where in the hell were
the Ministry agents, anyway? They did not have a vampire’s sense of smell, but
surely they were watching the crowd for suspicious activity.
It didn’t matter in the end. With a pop, they abruptly found themselves several
meters from where they once were. It was disorienting. From the shadowed
doorway of a shop one street over, they heard the sudden outcry from the crowd.
Harry had Apparated Hermione with him. She wrenched herself free from his grip
and stepped back, livid. “What on Earth! We’re meant to calm people, not start
more rumours,” she shouted fiercely but quietly. “Harry, what have you-?”

“Shut up, Hermione, and just listen,” he snapped, not even looking at her. His
eyes were glued to the nearby alley into which the strange man had just
disappeared. “It’s them,” he explained curtly. “One of them, anyway. I’m going
after him,” he said, peeling off his glasses and shoving them into Hermione’s
reluctant hand.  

“Harry, no,” she said firmly but was ignored. “Harry, just look at me for a
moment.” She was beside herself. Remus understood her frustration first-hand.
“The agents will be here soon. We’re not far from where we were. Surely they
heard us Apparate. Just tell them what you saw and let them-”

“No,” Harry barked. “We’ve talked about this, Hermione.”

“But what am I to tell the others?” she asked, at a loss and increasingly
undone by his stubbornness.

“Don’t care,” Harry said, fishing out his coloured contacts and tossing them to
the ground. His eyes were painted pitch beneath, and Remus could swear he could
see Harry’s fangs peek from between his lips when he spoke. And then he was
off. Remus barely had an opportunity to process his departure before he felt
Severus seize him around the waist with a single arm and heave him up onto his
hip. Remus scrambled to find a secure grip around the man’s shoulders as he
felt his feet leave the ground.
It was an awkward way to travel, but thankfully they didn't have to go far.
Harry slowed as he moved down the alley, darting from shadow to shadow. Severus
set Remus back on his feet, and the werewolf strode at his side in a straight
shot to the end of the lane. Stealth was not necessary for them, and Severus
seemed to have spotted their target through the dark. Remus didn’t have the
vampire’s night vision, but he smelled the stink of fear wafting down the
narrow stone corridor and followed it just as confidently. The vagrant had
tucked into a nook on the side of a building, throwing terrified glances back
the way they had come. Oblivious, he watched the mouth of the alley intently
even as Harry passed him and re-approached from behind.

Harry stood silently at the man’s shoulder until he slowly became aware of a
presence behind him and turned, almost reluctantly, to look into Harry’s face.
He opened his mouth to scream, and then they suddenly were Apparated to the
Shrieking Shack. Remus found it difficult to regain his bearings with the man’s
bellows echoing off the panelled walls.
After exhausting the first, the man gasped to scream again, tugging fruitlessly
at Harry’s unyielding grip on his wrist as Harry stood staring at him
impassively. He backhanded the man to silence him, and Remus winced at the
casual violence. He couldn't deny that he’d wanted to do the same since
spotting the bastard in the crowd, but there was no passion in Harry’s strike,
despite that he almost knocked the man unconscious. There was something
disturbing about his blank expression. It was not at all what Remus was
accustomed to where Harry was concerned. The young man was compulsively
expressive, even and especially when he perhaps should not be. This apparent
change in him chilled Remus to the bone. Severus, too, regarded his Dearest
somberly as if recognizing yet another small way in which Harry was no longer
himself.
The vagrant hung dazed and quiet in Harry’s grasp, and Harry had to shake him
quite a bit before he was once again responsive. Then Harry propped the man up
in a nearby chair, never loosening his grip around his wrist. He scrutinized
his prisoner closely now that he wasn’t flailing about. “What is your name?”
Harry asked in a low, dangerous voice.

“Ti-Timothy,” the man squeaked. He was visibly trembling.

“You know what I am, don’t you, Tim?” Harry said, punctuating the question with
a rumbling growl, his expression completely devoid of kindness. It had the
desired effect. A dark stain spread down the inner seam of Timothy’s trousers
and he nodded with a whimper. Harry looked down at the arm he clasped and
pushed back the dirty, sweat-stained fabric to reveal a badly executed Dark
Mark tattoo.
“The bungling fools,” Severus muttered in disgust, looking over Harry’s
shoulder at the thing. “As if pretending to be a Death Eater wasn’t moronic
enough, they haven’t even drawn it correctly,” he sneered. Harry looked equally
disgusted.  
“Then you know why you’re here?” he asked.
“I don’t know nothing!” Timothy averred. “Honest. I just do what they tell me.”

Harry squinted at him doubtfully. “Were you in the factory?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head adamantly. “I swear. I never was in no factory.
Honest!” he added, the shrillness of it making it no more believable. He was
trembling even harder now and whining softly. Harry remained calm despite
Timothy’s returning panic.

“Do you know who was in the factory?”

The man shook his head again. “Nobody does. Them that done it weren’t allowed
to talk about it. And word is they’re scared, ‘cause it didn’t go like
expected. Don’t know if...if they’re scared of you,” he said with a gulp. “Or
if they’re scared of the Boss.”

“The Boss?” Harry demanded, eyes narrowing to angry slits. “Who is it?” Remus
stepped closer, as eager to hear the answer as Harry was.
But Timothy merely grimaced, unable to speak. Harry had unconsciously tightened
his grip on his wrist. Remus could swear he could hear the man’s bones grinding
together under Harry’s fingers and he winced, but Harry noticed his lapse
quickly enough and loosened his grip again before repeating his question.
“Don’t know that either,” Timothy finally confessed in a small, frightened
voice. “There’s not many as do, and I don’t know which they are anyway.”
Severus huffed his frustration, seeming to be bothered less by Harry's new
ruthless turn than he was by its futility. “He’s a worthless goddamned lackey
like the rubbish they apprehended weeks ago,” he spat, pacing angrily behind
Harry. He exhausted the space available and turned back to return to where
Remus stood but was brought up short by something in the shadows behind the
man. The werewolf turned to find Rainey leaning against the busted door frame
with her arms crossed, an affectionate smile on her lips as she watched Harry
shake down his captive. Both men scowled at her. It was impossible to tell if
she was part of the memory or an unexpected observer until Severus stalked over
to her. He went to grasp her by the shoulders, but his hands went through her
as if she were made of smoke. With a sneer, they ignored her re-solidifying
image and turned their attention back to Harry.
The young man took a deep, calming breath and addressed Timothy again. “Okay.
Let’s try something else,” Harry said. The granite steadiness in his voice was
unnerving. He pulled out his new wand, and Timothy began to panic again at the
sight of it, twisting in Harry’s grasp.

“Don’t kill me,” he begged, breaking into tears. “Don’t Crucio me! Please. I
swear, I swear!”

“Shut up!” Harry barked. Remus thought he saw his skin seethe ever so subtly,
but Harry kept the wolf at bay. His patience was clearly wearing thin, though.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he assured the other young man, once again calm.
Timothy stopped struggling but gave Harry a distrustful look.

“Promise?” he asked, seemingly unaware of the snot making its way toward his
trembling lips.

“I promise I’ll do no more to you than your friends did to me,” Harry answered
coldly. That, however, did not serve to pacify Tim. “I’m looking for a man,”
Harry explained. “And rather than describe him, I’m just going to show him to
you. Then you can tell me who he is and where to find him, if you know.”
Remus and Severus shared a confused glance, which Timothy mirrored, though he
seemed to have sense enough to dread what was about to happen. His eyes widened
almost comically when Harry placed the tip of his wand to his own temple.
“‘Ere. What you gonna do with that, now?” he asked nervously, squirming as the
memory dangling from the tip of Harry’s wand drifted closer to him.
“I told you,” said Harry. “I’m showing you someone. And then you are going to
answer some questions.”
Severus grimaced with pained understanding. “Harry, what are you doing?” Though
it was not the act the man seemed to be questioning, it was the motive. Remus,
however, had no idea what was happening, and his uncertainty left him almost as
panicked and dreading as Timothy. 
The man tried to avoid the shimmering strand but buckled into stillness as
Harry increased the pressure around his injured wrist. Harry allowed the tail
of his memory to sink into Timothy’s temple and he went rigid, his eyes glazing
over. 
“What’s going on, Severus?” Remus asked anxiously. Harry had gone quiet,
waiting for Merlin knows what. “I’ve never heard of this.” Timothy began to
twitch in response to some unseen stimulus, and Harry carefully followed the
man’s jerky movements with his wand so that the memory would not slip out of
his temple. 
Severus didn’t answer straight away. He looked abashed. “He’s forcing this man
to live one of his memories,” Severus finally confessed. “I’ve warned him
against the practice, though I suppose this situation doesn’t strictly
qualify.” 
Remus was amazed. He’d used the Pensieve before, but it had never even occurred
to him that memories could be viewed in any other way. Severus was well versed
in mind magic, though, so of course he would be familiar with what was
happening. “He’s showing him his attack? I didn’t even know that was
possible.” 
“It’s dangerous,” Severus warned. “For the viewer. The memory becomes one of
your own. But it does not belong. It has to carve out room. It leaves you
damaged.”
Remus felt a presence at his shoulder. Rainey had been drawn from the shadows
to watch the process with fascination. Harry seemed bored. He didn’t bat an eye
when Timothy began screaming. They were the shrill, piercing screams of
agonizing pain, so unlike the terrified shouts of earlier.
It was then that Remus realized the man must be feeling the pain Harry had felt
when he’d been fed the potion, and he felt ill. He cast a distressed look to
Severus who appeared near to tears himself. Judging by the cries, it had to
have been truly excruciating. And Remus knew Harry had experienced this pain
for days. Harry had moaned and writhed in his sleep, but his throat had been so
damaged he couldn’t express the true extent of his suffering. Remus hated that
he’d had to go through such an ordeal, and he hated the bastards who had forced
it on him. Perhaps Harry’s cold cruelty wasn’t such a leap, after all. Remus
couldn’t imagine he’d be any more compassionate if the same had been done to
him.

Seemingly satisfied that he’d seen enough, Harry reclaimed the memory,
carefully slipping it back into his own head as Timothy quieted and slumped
senselessly in his chair. He seemed exhausted. Still grasping his wrist, Harry
crouched to bring his face level with the other man’s, drawing close enough for
his whisper to be heard. “You know now what I’ve lived through. Can you
imagine, then, what I’m capable of?” Timothy did not answer, seemed unable at
the moment, but his eyes held a terror born of understanding. “Now,” Harry said
quietly. “Do you know that man? The one with the potion. The one who shot my
partner.” He waited patiently for an answer, never easing his unblinking stare
as a single tear preceded Timothy’s barely perceptible nod. “That’s good, Tim,”
he said encouragingly. “We’re making progress. Do you know his name?” Again,
the man nodded.

“Willy,” the man croaked softly, his voice still ravaged from his screams.
“Willy Royal. They calls him Prince William. Or His Highness. They’re takin'
the piss, but he thinks it’s a sign of respect, 'cause he runs an ickle gang o’
pushers. Tosser,” he snorted. “Right poofter if you ask me.” Then he gasped and
gave Harry a frightened, apologetic look. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Harry smirked, and Remus wondered what the man had seen to give Harry away. The
young man didn’t seem to take offence. “Don’t worry about it, Tim. Where does
one find His Highness, Prince William?”

“Has some mates on Tooly,” Tim rasped. “But one finds him pretty regular on
Knockturn outside Moribund’s.”
“He’s known all this time,” Remus whispered. “No wonder he didn’t seem
impressed by Kingsley’s report. He knew they were at Moribund’s already.”
“And it’s also why he tried to get them to quash the Ministry investigation. He
didn’t want them getting there first,” Severus said with a shake of his head.
He hadn’t been present, but Remus had briefed on the meeting the next morning.
“But he never investigated it himself. He didn’t leave Grimmauld Place for days
after this. Hermione and I practically bled ourselves dry because he claimed he
didn’t feel like hunting.”
“He didn’t have to go,” Severus said, glaring at Rainey. She’d returned to
her threshold, a conniving look on her face. “He had an accomplice.”
Harry finally released Timothy’s bruised wrist and rose to his feet, apparently
done with him. “I don’t want to die,” the man whispered.

“I told you I wasn’t going to kill you,” Harry said, not kindly but sounding
more believable now that he’d gotten what he wanted and was feeling less
frustrated.

“They will,” Timothy whimpered, his face screwing up with proper tears now.

Harry sighed. “Let’s ask our friend about it, shall we?” he proposed.

“Our friend?” Timothy asked, confused.

Harry turned to Rainey. Remus wondered how long he’d known she was there.
Timothy didn’t seem to like the look of her, but then who did? She pushed away
from the doorframe and sauntered over. “Well done, Lovely,” she said with a
nod.

“Do we send him with a message and watch them scramble?” Harry asked, as
casually as if they were discussing takeaway. “Or do we take them by surprise?”

Cobs considered for a moment. “Surprise is always an advantage,” she shrugged.
Harry nodded his agreement. Then he lifted his wand, alarming everyone present.
“Harry!” Rainey cried, throwing up a hand to caution him, but Harry was already
sweeping his wand in Timothy’s direction. Remus watched it descend, and the pit
of his stomach seemed to drop with it.
“Obliviate,” Harry recited calmly. Timothy’s eyes clouded over and he went
still. Remus’ hand flew to his mouth. His relief was not relieving. He felt
certain that before the night was over, he would eventually lose the battle to
keep the contents of his stomach where they were. Rainey lowered her hand and
slowly nodded, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “You thought I was going to
kill him, didn't you?” he asked as if insulted.

Rainey stared at him a moment, then simply shrugged. “It occurred to me you
might.”

“I told him I wouldn’t.”

“And he and I are Slytherin,” she said. “We are well aware how little an
enemy’s word is worth.”

“But I’m Gryffindor,” Harry argued.

She smirked as if she wasn’t so sure anymore. “Perhaps. But all that means,
really, is when you break your word, you actually think it’s justified.”

Harry put away his wand. “They’ll still know,” he said ruefully. “He was likely
meant to report to someone by now.”

“It had to be done,” Rainey assured him. “They won’t know what he told us, at
any rate. They might suspect what you’re looking for, but they won’t be sure of
that, either. They'll likely think he was simply sloppy and was caught. Which
is what happened. It will be fine.”

“So," Harry asked with a wince as if dreading her answer, "where is everyone?”

“They were in the Headmistress’ office," she reported, drifting over to examine
their captive. She seemed vaguely amused by the state of him. She prodded him
gently but Timothy didn't respond in any way and she seemed disappointed. "But
they’ve gone home to Grimmauld," she said with a sigh as she turned back to
Harry, suddenly bored, "suspecting that’d be where you turn up.”

“How bad is it?”
Rainey chuckled. “Well, no one is especially pleased, but they haven’t filed a
Missing Persons just yet.” She gave Harry a wily, appraising look. “I was
surprised you’d told the Granger girl.”

“She didn’t leave me much choice,” Harry confessed. He sighed, pinching the
bridge of his nose. “I suppose she told everyone I’d gone arsehole hunting?” he
said miserably.

“No, actually,” Rainey told him as if she’d been pleasantly surprised by it.
“That’s how I knew what you might really be up to. You can tell she isn’t
comfortable with lying, but the others trust her more than I do and didn’t seem
to question her that you’d simply panicked and disappeared. But then they don’t
know about our little project, either," she added with a wink. "They likely
think you ran somewhere secluded to grieve over your condition.” She sneered.
“How refreshing to find them wrong.” She stepped closer, giving Harry a look
he’d have to wash off later. “I suspected you’d want privacy, whatever you were
doing. And I eventually found you here.”

“I suppose I’d better go deal with all of that, then,” Harry said resignedly.
He looked suddenly exhausted.
“I’ll take care of our friend here,” Rainey offered, casually picking him up
and tossing him over her shoulder. “You go calm Mother,” she smirked. “We’ll
talk later, Lovely.”
***** But Like a Drunkard Must I *****
                                  Remus: Then
 
Who do you think you are to command me?
The words echoed through Remus’ memory again and again.
Halt my step one more time, Remus, and I swear to all the gods…
Half a bottle of Firewhisky hadn’t managed to dislodge Harry’s fierce glare
from his mind’s eye. The command had been unintentional, and the venom in
Harry’s expression had been unexpected. The force of it had knocked all the air
from Remus’ chest. Even remembering it, he found it hard to breathe.
This wasn’t the first time the young man had wounded him lately, but it was the
deepest cut. They’d seemed to be doing so well. Where had Remus gone wrong?
What had he done? He kept trying to put his finger on it.
“This looks familiar.”
Remus raised a bleary-eyed look to the kitchen doorway and smirked. “It feels
familiar,” he told Rainey, chagrined.
“Boy troubles?” she asked, turning the closest chair and straddling it.
“You could say that.”
“What did he say?” She looked genuinely interested, for a change. “Where did he
say he’d been?”
“He didn’t,” Remus informed her, tipping back his bottle before remembering it
was empty. He gave it a dirty look and tossed it in the direction of the trash
bin, missing by quite a bit. He couldn’t be arsed to care when it rolled back
across the floor and hit the toe of his boot.
“Pity that.”
“Yes. Well, I assume Severus was able to wring something out of him,” he said
with a curl of his lip. “And hopefully some answers, as well.”
Rainey scowled. “Oh? Though, I was referring to the empty bottle. I’ll bring
you a fresh one, shall I?”
“I wouldn’t refuse it.”
“Perhaps after I’ve been up to see Harry,” she ventured.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Remus warned. “I suspect they’re both still
recovering. They’ve just had a rather...enthusiastic reconciliation,” he
sneered. It was an inadequate description, but how else could he phrase it?
Hermione had been half a moment from calling the paramedics. Remus had had to
catch her by the arm to stop her rushing upstairs.
“Trust me. You do not want to interrupt what’s going on behind that door,” he’d
told the young woman. She’d seemed appalled at Remus’ lack of concern until
she’d worked out what was actually happening.
“But it sounds as if he’s being murdered,” she’d argued, thoroughly
scandalised. “You don’t mean those are...good screams.”
“I do," Remus had sighed. "Harry has some...peculiar predilections in the
bedroom, with which Severus is extensively familiar.”
On cue, the noises overhead increased in volume and suggested violence, and
Hermione had blushed to the roots of her hair. “I think I’ll just wait for
Severus in his lab,” she had mumbled, scurrying off to collect an armful of
books from the library before disappearing through the floo. Remus could hardly
blame her. Her room was next door to Harry’s.
In his reverie, Remus had almost forgotten Rainey was still there and wasn’t
entirely pleased to find her so. She didn’t seem particularly enthused herself,
tossing disgruntled looks up the stairwell. “Give it up, Rainey. They’ll never
quit one another. Not for good. Harry practically tore out Severus' heart and
ate it in front of him," he scowled, angry over the slight all over again. "And
all Severus did was drift around the lab like a ghost for three days,
absolutely refusing to be comforted. Now where are they?" Remus muttered
drunkenly, laying his head in the nest of his arms on the table. “They’ll
literally be up each other’s arse until the day they die. I wouldn’t be
surprised if that’s how one of them goes, actually.” This voice was too loud in
the tiny echo chamber he’d created. He had no idea if the woman could even
understand him. “They’ll never be ours,” he said, sitting up again to be
plainly understood. “For a moment I thought I might manage the both of them.
But we might as well face it. Maybe it’s time we stopped holding our breath.”
She didn’t answer except to glare at him. He wasn’t especially surprised when
she stood in a huff and stormed from the room. He was surprised, however, to
wake from a short, whisky-induced nap to find an unopened bottle of brown
liquor on the table by his head. He smiled at it, thinking that maybe Rainey
wasn’t a complete bitch after all as he pulled the top and filled his tumbler
to the brim.  
***** 'Twill Vex Thy Soul to Hear What I Shall Speak *****
                                 Severus: Now
The night sky beyond the windows was softening into a range of greys. Dawn was
still a ways off, but it at this rate it would come before they were finished.
Minerva would be rising soon. Severus was rather surprised they hadn’t woken
her already.
It had been one of the longest nights of his life, and it wasn’t remotely over.
Still, the two men were once again at a loss for words. Severus paced, missing
his robes for the first time that night. Something about the way they billowed
was familiar and grounding. The flap of his open shirt and the breeze through
the rents in his slacks as he strode back and forth didn’t have quite the same
effect.
“Ten galleons says they’ve been to Moribund’s and left again already,” Severus
muttered. “I have no doubt Loraina’s been casing it since the night Harry got
his wand.”
“Are we not going to discuss the fact that he essentially tortured a man?”
Remus asked. He seemed far more pained by it than Severus was. It wasn’t that
it didn’t touch him at all, but as far as Severus was concerned, Harry was well
within his rights. ‘Timothy’ had tried to induce the young man to betray his
condition in front of the entire Wizarding world. And Severus had no doubt
whatsoever that if he had not been caught at a disadvantage, he would have
slipped a knife between Harry’s ribs without batting an eye.
“As Harry said, he did no more than had been done to him. A good deal less,
actually.”
“And what did Rainey do?”
Severus stopped his pacing and locked eyes with the man. Did he really need it
to be said out loud? “She’ll have killed him. But Harry couldn’t know that. He
doesn’t know her like we do,” he argued, trying to convince himself.
“And you aren’t bothered that your ex-girlfriend just committed murder?” Remus
scowled, shaking his head.
“As if you didn’t kill your share of Death Eaters,” Severus sneered.
“That was different, Severus. That was war.”
Severus rounded on him. “What the Hell do you consider this?” he hissed,
checking his volume at the last moment with a glance toward Minerva’s quarters.
“Just because this one is personal doesn’t make it anything less.”
Remus gave him a pursed-lipped stare. “I think we’ve just discovered another
essential difference between Gryffindors and Slytherins,” Remus muttered,
looking away as if in disgust.  
Oh, for the love of Hermes. The perpetual self-righteousness of Gryffindors was
fucking nauseating.  
“Do you not understand that these people are human refuse? That they flood the
streets with toxic substances that kill daily, and they don’t care because it’s
swimming through their veins, as well? This Bossdeals in the suffering of
others for profit. You want to know if I’m bothered that Loraina put some
brainwashed junkie out of his misery? Not especially,” he intoned. “These
people are sustained as much by malicious ideology as by Mut. They cannot be
rehabilitated. Hate festers in their stomachs even more hotly than the noxious
materials they so eagerly consume,” Severus spat, pacing again. “If Harry and
Loraina wiped out the lot of them, the world would be better for it.”
Remus looked as if he’d have liked to argue further but decided it wasn’t the
time for it. Which was good, because Severus didn’t have the heart to fight
with the man, especially about this. “Hermione should have told us where Harry
had gone,” Remus fretted instead. “I understand her keeping it to herself when
he told her his plans initially, but when he disappeared after a potentially
dangerous criminal…”
“She was merely protecting him,” Severus said, waving off Remus’ criticism. “If
that same criminal had turned up dead after, her disclosure might have been the
only thing linking him to Harry.”
Again, Remus did not argue, but he wasn’t placated. “In any case, there
couldn’t be much left,” he sighed, gesturing to the Pensieve. “Harry only went
out once more after this. Until tonight,” Remus added anxiously as if dreading
what they would discover about that evening.
Severus nodded. It was time they finished this so they could go to the young
man’s aid. Severus was far more worried about the damage to Harry’s soul than
he was about the risk to his person. Though he might not seem so, Severus was
just as concerned about Harry’s actions as Remus was. The young man was on a
dangerous road and, knowing Harry as he did, Severus feared his ensuing guilt
would prove far more perilous to him than the physical threat he faced.
This time, it was Severus who drew his wand. Remus’wand, he reminded himself.
He still hadn't returned it. It didn’t seem particularly important just at the
moment. He offered his hand to Remus, and the man took it firmly.
They were suddenly in the Forbidden Forest once again. Harry walked through it
calmly, and the silence when Loraina joined him seemed companionable now rather
than strained. Partnering in crime seemed to have had a bonding effect.
Severus could see the ghosts of the bruises he’d made the evening before this
on Harry’s neck and wrists. He’d worried at the time that he’d been too severe,
but Harry certainly hadn’t complained, and Severus couldn’t deny that seeing
the brands warmed his heart, especially since Harry had refused to allow
Severus to heal them. He couldn’t deny that he was also warmed by Remus’
refusal to relinquish his hand, despite their recent disagreement. Severus
pretended not to notice. Their silence was companionable, as well.
“Those must have been impressive to still be showing,” Loraina remarked. “I
suspect Severus, but the werewolf may be as savage, as well.” Harry did not
answer. He appeared to be brooding on something. “I thought you were going to
stop toying with them,” Loraina scolded.
“I’m not toying,” Harry objected weakly.

“But you are leaving,” Loraina pressed, clearly suspicious. Again, Harry
declined to answer, and it did not seem to bode well with her, though it
heartened the two men following them. “So you are toying,” she concluded as if
he’d confirmed his intention to go. “You should not encourage their affection
if you plan on forsaking it.”

“It really isn’t your business,” Harry muttered in the same tone Severus had
just thought those same words.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “If our roles were reversed, would you still
think so?”

Harry glanced at her uneasily. “Are you certain you aren’t just jealous?” he
asked finally.
“Of whom?” she chuckled. “And I’m not sure yet,” she added after a moment. “You
could show me what I have to be jealous of,” she proposed in a sultry purr. But
it was recognisably banter, and Harry cracked a smile.

“Back off, Loraina,” he warned lightheartedly. Severus disliked that Harry
seemed so unbothered by her flirtation. Nothing they had witnessed since had
managed to unseat the mental image Severus had of her spreading her hand over
Harry’s blood splattered and bare stomach after the hunt. He saw it nearly
every time he closed his eyes. Severus had been glad he’d been alone at the
time, as he’d very nearly come unglued.
“Tetchy brat,” Loraina tsked, smirking. “And after all I’ve done for you,” she
sighed.

“And what haveyou done lately?” Harry asked nonchalantly, though his eyes
betrayed a keenness to hear her answer.
“I’ve found our wayward prince,” she reported as if pleased with herself. “I
did some watching while you were off having fun,” she pouted, eyeing his
bruises.
“And Timothy?”
“Taken care of,” she shrugged. She volunteered no details, and Harry didn’t
appear to want any. Something else was on his mind though, and he chewed on his
question for quite a while before voicing it.
“Loraina, would you tell me about Severus?” Harry asked politely.
The man was both shocked and humbled to hear the request. And not a little
anxious. Severus glanced uneasily to Remus. There was no telling what answers
the woman might supply. But Remus merely squeezed his hand more tightly as if
to say it didn't matter, that he wouldn’t be scared off so easily.
“What about him? I’d have thought you were well acquainted by now.”

“You know he doesn’t talk about the past,” Harry said. “Not even our past,” he
added glumly, making Severus feel ever so subtly like rubbish. He’d always
deflected Harry’s questions, as so little had happened before they were
together that didn’t shame the man, and he’d worried that Harry was too young
to understand. And eventually, Harry had simply stopped asking. “Besides, I
want a different perspective,” Harry went on.
Loraina smiled in a way that was familiar to Severus and unnerving because of
it. “Tell you what, Lovely,” she said, stopping him so they could talk. Remus
and Severus drifted to a halt close beside them. “We’ll trade.”

Harry looked at her apprehensively. “Trade what?”

“Memories,” she said plainly.
Severus dropped Remus’ hand in his alarm. For the love of all the gods, Severus
willed, please don’t let her be referring to what I think she is referring.
Harry scoffed. “I’m not much of a storyteller,” he said. “And you’ve been
around for as long as Severus and I have really been together.”

“You miss my meaning,” said Loraina, her voice slick and unsettling. “That was
an interesting trick you used with Little Timmy. I wasn’t aware a memory could
be viewed without a Pensieve.”
Severus’ eyes fell closed. “Gods damn it, Loraina,” he muttered, gutted.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I found out by accident,” he explained.
“Severus’, not mine. But he says it’s dangerous,” he cautioned, “can make a
person go mad, which was why the Pensieve was created.”
“That’s it, Dearest. Stand your ground,” Severus whispered, drawing closer to
the pair as if Harry might hear him.
“I like a little danger,” Loraina shrugged. “Besides, I don’t have much sanity
left to preserve.”
“That doesn’t mean hedoesn’t, you batty damned wench,” Severus snarled quietly,
glaring at the woman.
“Don’t tell me your famous Gryffindor courage has failed you,” she taunted,
stepping closer to Harry. “Come on, Lovely. I’ll show you mine if you show me
yours,” she smiled, walking her fingers up the centre of Harry’s chest. He
brushed them away with an exasperated sigh just before Severus could loose a
string of curse words.   

“What do you want to see?” Harry asked cautiously.
Severus threw up his hands, striding back to Remus as if the man could somehow
stop this madness. “I fucking knew it,” he muttered. “He is so easily fucking
led. This is child’s play for her. He’s goddamned putty!” he fumed. Remus
simply gave him a helpless look and rubbed Severus’ back to try and calm him.
It was not as welcome as his efforts at comfort before, but so soon after them,
Severus felt it rude to stop him.
Loraina had obviously been considering Harry’s question long before he asked
it. “I want to see what happened in the Malfoys’ dungeon,” she said with no
shame whatsoever. Severus spun back to face them, officially beside himself.
The back rubbing increased but irritated far more than it soothed.
Harry scowled at her in disgust and turned to continue walking, making Severus
feel marginally better as they rushed to follow. Loraina danced along beside
him for a few steps with bouncing, side-ways strides, as tickled as Severus was
annoyed, but Harry refused to acknowledge her. Finally, when it was clear Harry
would not stop again, she turned to walk backwards so she could look him in the
face as she spoke.

“What? Did you think I wanted the two of you making Bubotuber extract?” she
grinned. “I’m curious. Severus hated the very idea of homosexuality. And I know
why,” she added meaningfully, causing Harry to stop walking after all. She
wasn’t smiling anymore. Severus realised he’d gone unusually still. He
practically wasn’t even breathing. He could tell the comment had sparked Remus’
interest, but the man refrained from asking what was obviously on his mind.
“Severus, you’re shaking,” he noted with concern. “Are you alright?”
Severus merely shook his head, listening with terrified anticipation for what
she would say next. He’d confessed it to Harry himself on the Dark, but he’d
been purposefully vague. He wasn’t sure he could bear him knowing the details.
“I want to know how you overrode that,” Loraina went on. “I want to know what
you did to make him-”

“Defy his nature?” Harry cut her off waspishly, causing Severus’ brow to
furrow. The comment had been surprisingly vehement, as if the young man had
wondered it himself before and had been bothered by the contemplation. It was
such a harsh way to put it. Did he really think that was what Severus did with
him? Did he think Severus considered it that himself?
Loraina looked slightly shocked. “Oh no,” she said dismissively. “No, Severus
fancied boys in school.”
Harry looked surprised, but not half as much as Severus who actually stumbled
back a step. Harry regarded her doubtfully. “Oh, he didn’t realise it, of
course,” she went on. “Or else he would not allow himself to acknowledge it
because of what happened.”
Severus’ cheeks burned. He could feel Remus watching him, but he was too busy
processing what Loraina had said to address it. He wanted to deny the
assertion. But as Remus had said before, whatever Severus was, he was not
fucking straight. It seemed everyone had recognised that fact before he had.
“What didhappen?” Harry ventured. Severus winced.
Of course, Harry would ask. Remus might be too polite, but Harry’s
inquisitiveness was almost involuntary. A part of Severus felt the young man
deserved to know. All of it. But it was far too painful for Severus to voice.
Besides, he was afraid of Harry’s knowing somehow. He worried the young man
would see him differently; that he would treat him differently.
Severus was afraid Harry would be disgusted.
Though he knew, rationally, that he had done nothing wrong, that he had
committed no sin and so should not be ashamed of what had happened, he felt
shame nonetheless. No matter how he reasoned with himself, he could not slough
it. It clung to him like a second skin. Loraina looked back up at Harry as if
she’d momentarily forgotten he was there, but she hesitated to answer his
question. “I don’t think that is my story to tell,” she said quietly, and
Severus felt he might faint with relief. Finally able, he took a shuddering
breath.
Harry might deserve to know, but Remus didn’t quite yet. If ever.
Though, Severus realised it wasn’t so much that he minded Remus knowing as it
was that he knew the man would force him to confront the trauma. And Severus
had spent far too many years buttressing himself against that pain. This wasn’t
like his sense of blame for Harry’s predicament. His quarantine of the memory
in question was quite simply a matter of survival. It seemed silly almost,
considering all the things he’d lived through since. But that incident had
always been the exception because, at the time, Severus hadn’t yet been the man
he was to become. He had not yet developed his armour. It had been precisely
that experience which had inspired him to don it to begin with. And without
that protection in place, the event had damaged him far more than he had ever
been able to acknowledge, even to himself.
“But my losing my virginity in captivity to your homophobic ex-boyfriend is
fair game?” Harry asked peevishly in counter to Loraina’s refusal, reminding
Severus he couldn’t relax completely just yet. Gods. He made it sound so
distasteful. That happened to be one memory that Severus cherished, despite of
the difficulty of the circumstances surrounding it. He’d assumed Harry did as
well, but now he wasn’t so sure.
Loraina’s grin returned. “Oh, but he’s very open about that now, isn’t he? He
didn’t seem to mind who heard him ravage you last night,” she pointed out,
setting Severus’ cheeks aflame.
“Could this memory get any worse?” he muttered to himself. At this point, the
only way it could be any more vexing is if they started commiserating with each
other over their disappointment in the size and performance of his fucking
cock. Of course, it had been Severus who had told Harry to cry out that night,
and at the time, he’d wanted the whole world to hear. But Severus viewed the
situation slightly differently now that he wasn’t inundated with lust and all
questionable decisions that high could induce. Remus was visibly uncomfortable
at the mention. But then, he’d done much the same thing the morning after the
Full, and so Severus wasn’t entirely inclined to feel remorseful.
“You were there?” Harry asked, shocked. Loraina chuckled at his discomfort.

“No, but I heard stories.”

“From whom?” Harry demanded.
“Lupin,” she shrugged. “When I went to get him more Firewhisky. He’d run out.
Too drunk to get his own.” Now it was the werewolf’s turn to blush. Severus
felt bad despite his resolution not to. He’d heard Harry shout at the man
before he came upstairs but had been soon distracted from it. Together with
what had distracted Severus, Remus could very understandably have been driven
to drink. “I wanted to talk to you, but was advised to wait,” Loraina
explained. “He said you and Severus had had a 'rather enthusiastic
reconciliation'. I wouldn’t mind that memory, too,” she added, “if you don’t
mind.”

Harry gaped at her. He was so affronted he couldn’t speak for a moment. “Of
course I mind, Loraina!” he finally sputtered.

Loraina, however, seemed finished with playful banter. She glared at him for a
pregnant moment before eventually lunging in his direction. Remus and Severus
both started toward them as if they could do something to stop the attack.
Harry was caught off guard, offering no resistance when she took him by the
shirtfront and pushed him back into the trunk of a nearby tree.
“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve known a friendly touch, you
little shit?” Loraina hissed. “And how much I’d prefer it was Severus’? Do you
know how long I’ve lamented that such a thing was impossible? It doesn’t cost
you anything. You don’t lose it. You don’t even have to touch me,” she spat,
releasing him. “I’d say we both win.”

Harry stared at her, shaken and reluctant. “It’s private,” he hedged.

“I certainly hope so,” she said, stepping back. “But so is what you ask. Come
now, Harry,” she said, her aggression dissolving into persuasion.“Haven’t you
ever wondered what it felt like to have tits?” she asked, running her hands
lightly over the contours of her own.  “Or a twat?” she added, slapping her
crotch. Harry sneered at her vulgarity, and Remus shook his head with a sigh.
Severus simply rolled his eyes. “I’ve certainly always wanted a cock,” Loraina
shrugged, causing Severus’ lips to twitch into an almost-smile despite himself.
“Let’s not be selfish, now.”

“What would you show me?” Harry asked, tempted.

“What do you want to see?”

Harry was quiet for a while, contemplating, and Severus did not even bother to
be anxious. He knew the young man had decided to go along with this insanity
even before Loraina had thrown him against a tree. As ever, Harry was curious.
Perhaps even more so about Loraina now than Severus. It was all too often his
personal siren song, luring him to ruin, and Loraina seemed well aware.
“I want to see how Severus was in school,” Harry said finally, “before-”

“Before your father spoiled him and turned him onto the road to damnation?” she
offered innocently. Severus smirked in amusement. Harry glared at her. “Don’t
shoot the messenger, Lovely. You said you wanted to see.”

“I think you know what I want,” Harry muttered, disgruntled but undaunted.
“Surprise me.” His smirk closely resembled Severus’. The man was almost proud
of the amount of contempt it conveyed. He supposed he must have rubbed off on
the young man over the years.

Loraina ignored Harry’s disdain and smiled triumphantly. “And I know you know
what I want, so pick some juicy ones, Lovely,” she said, dropping to a sitting
position where she was.
Severus was resigned but resentful knowing Harry was about to share with her,
in as much detail as humanly possible, something the both of them had refused
to describe to anyone for years. Albus had all but demanded to see Severus’
memory of the Malfoy dungeons and Severus had all but told him to go to Hell.
And now here Harry was, letting Loraina live his.
Harry sighed and glanced at the moss bed a few steps away but seemed to feel it
would be more trouble than it was worth to suggest moving. He stepped away from
the tree to sit cross-legged beside her. “This feels wrong,” he said anxiously.

“It is,” she confirmed. “Shall we begin? I’ll even let you go first. I think,”
she said, her eyes dancing with excitement, “I think I’ll show you the first
time I ever saw Severus.” She grinned remembering. But then her gaiety faltered
and she looked uncertain. It was an expression seldom seen on her; was rare
enough, in fact, that Severus was disquieted by it.

“What?” Harry asked to her lost expression.

“Nothing,” she said after a moment more, seeming confused by her own
sentimentality. “I simply hope you understand what a gift this is,” she told
him solemnly, warming Severus’ heart to her once again. His lingering affection
for the woman was maddening. Severus was so conflicted by this whole turn of
events. He begrudged Loraina’s spying on his and Harry’s intimacy, but at the
same time, he remembered hers almost as fondly as she did.
She placed the tip of her wand to her temple and withdrew a slender, obviously
prized, memory. “You should probably lie down.”
***** Shall She Live to Betray this Guilt of Ours? *****
                                     Remus
 
The Forbidden Forest vanished and they found themselves in the sunlit open air
of the outer grounds of Hogwarts. Though they were brighter, their surroundings
were less vivid than they had been, like an old photograph that had faded to
shades of sepia. Indeed, the memory was not a recent one. Remus recognized
several of the people he’d attended school with wandering the lawn looking no
older than he remembered them being when he was a student.
“Where’s Harry?” he wondered aloud. This was his memory, or else he couldn’t
have left it for them, but he was nowhere to be seen.
In answer, Severus pointed to a girl with piecey golden hair in a Slytherin
uniform, her arms full of books. “He’s Loraina,” he explained softly, unable to
pull his eyes off her. “He’s living her memory, not viewing it as we are. This
memory is now his, but he is not himself at the moment.”
Severus walked over to intercept Rainey and her friend as they strolled across
the yard. Remus thought the other girl’s name might have been Farrah, but he’d
never spoken to either of them when he was at school.
Remus followed the man but kept his distance. This trip into the Pensieve had
been particularly hard on Severus, rendering him in turns livid and terrified
and baffled. Remus’ gestures of support had done more harm to his mood than
good, however. He decided to simply let Severus be. The man usually had a habit
of suppressing his emotions, and letting them run their course, whatever they
were, was not the worst that could happen. Remus would help him deal with the
aftermath later.
At the moment, Severus appeared to be feeling a host of things, and all of them
quieter and more tender than Remus was accustomed to from the man. He stared at
the tiny blonde girl before him, taking in her every detail. This was the
version of her he had fallen in love with, Remus realised. A girl bright and
fresh and fair as a crisp but sunny winter’s day. She bore only a passing
resemblance to the women they’d just left behind in the Forest.
It was still there, however, especially in the mischievous twinkle in her eye
as she stopped suddenly and looked down toward the Lake. Remus followed her
line of sight to find a young Severus sitting beneath the same tree Remus had
led Harry and Hermione to for their picnic, the lone lesson he had provided the
young man during Remus’ brief return to Hogwarts four years ago. It seemed
almost ironic now that it had been about vampires.
Rainey's companion continued on for a few steps before noticing her wandering
focus, and she drew back to her apprehensively. “Go on ahead to the Common
Room,” Rainey told her, shoving her books atop the ones Farrah already carried,
much to the girl’s chagrin. “I’ll catch up in a bit.” Rainey had barely spared
a glance to her. All her attention was reserved for the black-haired boy by the
Lake’s edge.
Farrah huffed a sigh but did not argue. She merely rolled her eyes as she
trudged off. Remus got the impression this must be a common occurrence with the
two. Rainey paid her friend’s annoyance absolutely no mind. She crept her way
across the lawn toward Severus in a way that reminded Remus of a kitten
stalking a butterfly, playful but still predatory. The present Severus
followed, but his attention was now turned to the teenager under the tree, as
well. He drifted after the tip-toeing girl for only a moment before taking a
more direct route to himself with Remus close on his heels.
Severus was silent as they waited for her to make her way over, staring down at
his younger self almost apologetically. He looked so mournful, Remus almost did
not manage to resist the urge to reach out and stroke his back.
He hated seeing such hurt in the man. It made him want to wrap his arms around
Severus and whisper to him that he was safe, that he didn't have to be the
strong one, that Remus wouldn’t let anything harm him. But of course, he
couldn’t really promise that. The pain that plagued him was not the sort of
threat Remus could defend against. Severus’ greatest enemy was his past. But
Remus desperately wanted the man to understand that Remus would if he could,
that he may not be able to slay this foe, but he would provide whatever support
Severus required in order to do so himself.
Seeing Severus’ stoic suffering made Remus too frustrated, and so he turned his
focus to the young man seated on the grass in front of them instead. The past
that Severus rued was this boy’s future. Though in truth, he already looked
haunted, even without the carelines that punctuated his counterpart’s
perpetually consternated expression. The scowl he presently wore, with its
frown and the bunch of his brow, would eventually create them.   
Observing him now, Remus realized how little attention he’d paid to Severus
while they were in school, though he’d seen him frequently enough. James, in
particular, had seemed to enjoy tormenting the boy, and Sirius had been only
too eager to join in. Remus had almost always been present for those
encounters, but his early objections had fallen on deaf ears and so most of the
time he tried to simply ignore what was happening, occupying himself with
anything else at all to avoid seeing exactly how cruel his friends could be to
those they didn’t consider friends.
What they did to this young man was exactly the treatment Remus had expected to
receive from them after they discovered his secret. But miraculously, they had
embraced Remus instead, for which he would be forever grateful. Not only did he
have their true friendship, but it also shielded Remus from mistreatment he
might otherwise have experienced from others simply by virtue of him being a
shy, studious boy who was perpetually bandaged. Without their love and support,
Remus could easily have found himself in the same situation as the lonesome and
obviously beleaguered boy in front of him.
In fact, he reminded Remus sharply of himself, as if the two of them were
characters in a cautionary tale about the virtues of friendship and the effects
of its absence. Severus’ uniform was meticulously neat but somehow still
shabby, as though he had done his best to look well kempt despite that his
clothes had seen more seasons at Hogwarts than he had. It was an art Remus had
perfected during his tenure in Dogtown. The younger Severus seemed to feel the
need to compensate for the things he could not control, like the unhealthy
sallowness of his skin which he appeared to be trying his best to hide beneath
an almost shoulder-length curtain of black hair.
And his complexion wasn’t the only thing he was attempting to hide, Remus
observed. How had he never noticed the bruises that stained Severus’ pale
cheek? There was more than one and they were of varying age, as if they were
often renewed. And the circles beneath his eyes...The dark crescents were
almost a trademark of the man standing beside him, but Remus had supposed them
to be a symptom of his vampirism. Apparently, sleep was a stranger to him even
before his infection. Tired as he looked, though, the boy’s gaze was sharp as
it studied the leaf he held between his long, clever fingers, and his black
eyes were clear and intelligent.
His interest seemed so pure somehow. Rainey had said that Severus was the
gentler of them, and that most people never saw it as they never bothered to
look. But Remus was looking. He’d seen it long before now, but it showed so
much more clearly in the boy Severus was. Experience had hardened him, perhaps,
but it didn’t come naturally. It was a veneer. Beneath the shell, there was a
brilliant, sensitive young man with a secret but vast capacity for selflessness
and an eye for details often overlooked. Remus wondered why he examined the
thing he held. He wondered what he saw.
That question would have to wait until later, though. Rainey had arrived. The
elder Severus watched her approach with his hand pressed over his heart as if
to hold it in place as he watched the scene unfold, clearly remembering it
well.
Rainey stepped carefully from behind the trunk of the tree at young Severus’
back and crouched to study him, as fascinated by the boy as the boy was by the
mottled green leaf he scrutinized. The younger man’s focus was so intense that
he did not notice her voyeurism for some time, but when he did it startled him.
He tossed his leaf aside, either embarrassed to have been caught with it or
else feeling he couldn’t afford to concern himself with it now. Indeed, his
eyes instinctively darted to either side before returning to the girl as though
searching for additional threats and contemplating his options for escape. It
broke Remus’ heart to see such mature apprehension in a boy so young. It seemed
habitual, like he was all too familiar with persistent danger and how to best
to deal with it. And it made Remus slightly ill knowing it was his best friends
who were likely responsible for the lion’s share of that conditioned response.
 
Rainey took a seat on the grass beside Severus and hugged her knees. Remus had
no idea what about the boy had caught her attention or what she was trying to
accomplish, but her unrelenting stare was unnerving. Though, it was not
particularly threatening, and after an uncomfortable moment, the younger
Severus seemed to recognise this and his apprehension shifted to confusion, and
then eventually to curiosity.
His expression turned contemplative. It one Severus still adopted, and it made
the young man appear much older than he was. But there was a note of enthusiasm
and wonder in it that was often missing in his older self. This Severus was
newer, damaged but not yet broken. And this strangely bold, pretty young woman
seemed to intrigue him. He studied her as intently as she studied him, but his
look was not doting. He didn’t gaze in awe at her beauty, though Rainey was
undeniably lovely here. Hers was a fragile type of beauty, dependent on the
effect of the whole and too precariously balanced to weather the hard years
that were to come. Those had not yet visited the girl at their feet, however,
and she was still a vision. And the boy in front of her seemed immune to those
charms, though somehow still smitten.
Rainey appeared to recognize this and to be mildly confused by the quality of
his returning stare though still flattered. She blushed ever so gently. Then,
with a determined set to her brow, she rose to her hands and knees, crawling
swiftly in Severus’ direction.
The young man’s scowl deepened in alarm, and he realised too late that she had
no intention of stopping. He started to scuttle back away from her rapid
advance but was caught easily enough by her hand on his collar.
Remus gasped as Rainey pulled Severus, without a word of greeting or
explanation, to her lips and kissed him. Remus turned a surprised look to his
companion to find him shaking his head fondly at the girl, a sad smile on his
lips. The younger Severus, however, hadn’t seemed to yet work out how he felt
about this turn of events. He held his hands away from the girl, but she
persisted in her unexpected affection, and eventually he surrendered, returning
her kiss and letting his hands settle awkwardly on her shoulders.
Their kiss lasted long enough for Remus’ shock to subside, and once it did, he
almost laughed aloud. The whole scenario was preposterous but somehow sweet.
Bizarre in the more most innocent and endearing of ways. Severus noticed Remus’
almost reluctant amusement and nodded in understanding.
“She was always like that,” he explained, still smiling softly. “Arbitrary and
impulsive. It used to be thrilling. She was completely unpredictable, and every
day was an adventure. I was her complete opposite,” he said, shaking his head
as if their union still baffled him. “I was cautious and predictable and almost
pathologically methodical. I suppose we balanced each other,” he concluded
quietly. “We compensated for what the other lacked.”  
Remus glanced back down at the couple just as their kiss came to an end and
Rainey smiled in amusement at Severus’ gobsmacked expression. They still hadn’t
spoken a word to each other.
“Did you know each other well at the time?” Remus asked, trying to puzzle it
out what he was seeing. Severus shook his head.
“I wasn’t even sure of her name,” he confessed.
Remus grinned. It was rather delightful for all its oddity. Or perhaps because
of it. “What inspired her to walk over and kiss a complete stranger, I wonder.”
Severus’ smile faded and he shook his head again. “I suppose we’ll have to ask
Harry when we find him,” he said quietly, dousing Remus’ mirth and reminding
him of the trouble at hand just as the world around them shifted back to the
Forbidden Forest once again, his mood darkening along with their scenery.
This memory sharing was still difficult for Remus to wrap his head around. He’d
gathered from Timothy’s screams that doing so included sensory memory. But
Harry had lived Severus and Rainey's first kiss, complete with her thoughts and
feelings? What some people wouldn’t give for that opportunity. How dangerous
could it really be, and was the risk not perhaps sometimes worth it to truly
understand another?
Instead of Severus and Rainey, Harry and Rainey were now at their feet, and the
former sat up groggily, a confused expression on his face as he took in his
surroundings. It took quite a while for his eyes to clear, for him to remember
who he was. “I get why they say it can make you go mad,” Harry said faintly,
shaking the last of the cobwebs from his head. “Are you sure you want...?” But
the look on Rainey's face withered the rest of the question before it could
pass his lips. She was not leaving this exchange empty-handed.

“Are you saying you don’t want to see more?” she challenged.

Harry regarded Rainey for a quiet moment. “Lie down,” he told her softly.

She settled in with breathless anticipation. Harry closed his eyes, seeming to
see the memory clearly before plucking it from his mind. Despite the snarkish
way he’d described it earlier, he obviously cherished it. Harry carefully
lowered the strand deep into Rainey's temple.
She was not as outwardly reactive as Timothy had been, and Remus couldn’t help
but wonder what she was seeing. Harry had never uttered a word about the
experience. When they were trying to piece together those nights’ events in
their aftermath, Harry had described their encounter with the Malfoys in the
Forest in detail, as had Severus. But when it came to after, he would only say
that he had woken in a cell and that eventually he and Severus had escaped it.
Of course, they all knewwhat more had happened, but they’d been left to guess
why and how. Severus would only ever say that they saved each other’s life. As
time went on and the depth and nature of their relationship became apparent, it
was increasingly difficult to tell how literally he’d meant the statement.
Harry allowed the memory to play for quite some time. Remus had no idea just
how long it might be, how many of those missing nights it spanned. When he
finally lifted it from her mind, Rainey trembled. She looked up at Harry in
bewilderment before lifting a hand to her breast, patting herself up and down
to reacquaint herself with being her. She sat up shakily. Her eyes cleared much
more quickly than Harry’s had, but her scowl remained.
“So,” she said softly. “That is how you knew.”

“Knew?”

“This trick,” she clarified. “Severus did this with the werewolf. No wonder he
could see you in that way after.”
At first, Remus didn’t understand what she’d just said. He was certain he’d
never done this with Severus. He’d never even heard of it before tonight. Then
he recalled what Harry had told Rainey earlier. That he’d learned of it by
accident --Severus’, not Harry's-- and everything clicked.
He turned a demanding look to the other man, and Severus had the decency to
look deeply embarrassed. “I did not spy intentionally,” he insisted
apologetically, heading off Remus’ tirade. “The situation was urgent, but Albus
was not present. I had left a memory for him to review and I thought I was
reclaiming it.”
The confession left Remus reeling. He had only ever supplied the Headmaster
with a single memory. It was one of his most painful and it was without
question his most shameful.
And Severus hadn’t viewed it. He had lived it. He had heard Remus’ innermost
thoughts and experienced his every conflicted feeling. He understood just how
intently and for how long Remus had lusted after his best friend’s teenaged
son. Andhis father before him.
Holy Hell. Not only that, but Severus knew the true reason Remus had turned the
boy away in the end. He had glimpsed the loss of Remus’ own virginity and that
relationship’s awful ending, not to mention all the shame and degradation in
between that had convinced Remus that fulfilling his desire was wrong quite
beside the practicality of preserving the protection spell.
The werewolf tasted bile. According to Rainey, Remus’ memory was why Severus
was able to overcome whatever he had experienced in his youth. It had allowed
Severus to steal the young man’s affection away from Remus, just as Remus had
determined to return it.
Remus turned away from the man. He felt violated, as defiled as he’d ever been
after his father’s friend crept from his room. Remus bent at the waist and set
his hands on his knees, almost certain he would finally be sick. He didn’t hear
Severus approach, but he felt his hand settle gently on his back. “Remus, I
apologize,” he began sincerely. But Remus could not hear it now.
“Don’t touch me,” he gasped in between the heaving breaths he pulled into his
lungs in a desperate effort not to vomit. But his eyes filled with mournful
tears after the man withdrew. Severus had sought to comfort him, had touched
him voluntarily and unasked. But Remus couldn't accept his intimacy at the
moment, no matter how much he’d craved it or for how long.
“Was it what you wanted?” he heard Harry ask through the cloying pain in his
chest, and he became confused, almost offended by the insensitive question,
before realizing it had not been addressed to him. Remus swallowed back his
sickness and turned to scene once again, eager for distraction but aggressively
avoiding all notice of Severus’ presence.
Rainey shrugged, unusually subdued. “Yes, thank you. Though we may need more
practice. I’m certain I saw more than intended.”

“More?”

“He really was that concerned for me when you emerged?” she asked timidly,
hugging her legs to her chest. Harry’s eyes widened with comprehension. Remus
suspected he knew what she was referring to, as well. He’d been present when
Severus had rushed past them to fall to his knees at her side as she lay
unconscious on the grass in the cemetery. But Remus disliked remembering. It
had been only the second time he had ever glimpsed tenderness in the man, the
first having been an hour before in the dungeons when Severus had looked gently
on Harry after the young man helped him to his feet. Being reminded of why he
first began to fall for Severus so soon after learning of this betrayal by him
seemed to spoil the affection he’d so carefully cultivated for the man.  

“He cares for you,” Harry assured Rainey. Remus’ eyes fell closed with a
shudder. It almost felt as if Harry kept answering Remus’ thoughts and it was
difficult for the man to untangle his feelings from his understanding of what
was happening before him.
An idea evidently occurred to Harry. “Lie down again,” he urged her. “Just for
a moment.” As Rainey complied, the young man quickly plucked another memory. He
eased it gently into her mind. It was much shorter than the last, but
apparently she found it far more moving. She recovered from it swiftly enough,
but she did not sit up right away.
“Like the sea,” she said dreamily, but there was a profound sadness in her eyes
as they stared at the starry sky overhead. The phrase meant nothing to Remus.
Reluctantly, he glanced to Severus for understanding. The man watched Rainey
intently, seeming near tears, but Remus had no idea how much of his condition
could be attributed to her and the memory she’d seen and how much to the
situation between the two of them.
Remus sneered at himself. It had been a conceited thought, that Severus could
be so moved by guilt over his hand in Remus’ present anguish. Remus had been
forcing himself on the man for weeks, and Severus had been reluctant to
reciprocate at best. And who could blame him? Remus was a werewolf and Severus
a vampire. He a Gryffindor and Severus a Slytherin. Almost literally day and
night. Natural enemies. Quite possibly, any affection Remus had perceived was
simply the product of his own imagination. In fact, Remus had almost no proof
of the man’s feelings for him. As far as he knew, they might not exist at all.
Perhaps Severus would have been just as open with anyone who happened to share
this strange experience with him. Perhaps Remus was interchangeable.
Expendable. The thought gripped Remus’ heart like a frigid vise, chilling it
solid in order to crush it to pieces.   
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, “if it upset you.” And Remus felt as if the world
beneath him had vanished completely and he was in freefall.

“Oh no. Thank you, Harry,” she said sincerely, her eyes falling closed to
release a delicate tear. It wasn’t until he glimpsed it that Remus recognised
the tear tracks cooling on his own cheeks. “That was perfection. I gave you a
gift, and you gave one to me,” she said, looking up at Harry with genuine
gratitude.

Harry nodded, pleased. “I have to find something to take back to Severus,” he
sighed as they rose unsteadily to their feet. The experience seemed to have
undone them both and they shuffled a bit, looking slightly lost.
Gods, how Remus could empathize.

“Why does he not just come hunt for himself?” Rainey asked as if exasperated by
Severus’ reluctance to so do.

“Oh, he can’t leave the potion,” said Harry. “I’m meant to bring him something
for stamina. Apparently it’s sensitive.”
Rainey's brow furrowed. “Which potion?”

Harry blinked at her, seeming to only just realize that he’d not yet mentioned
it. “Mine,” he explained with a smile as though the fact still surprised him.
“It seems he and Hermione did some detective work after he left me last night,
and they may have unlocked a treatment for me.”

She did not share his enthusiasm. In fact, she looked inexplicably horrified.
“They’re fixing you?” she demanded angrily. Her sudden shift in mood was
disconcerting, especially with all else Remus was dealing with.
“Perhaps,” Harry said cautiously.

Rainey sneered in disgust and turned without a word to stalk off into the
forest. After a stunned moment, Harry moved to follow. Remus could not. He
could barely stand. But they were loud enough that he didn’t need to.
“Loraina? What? Why are you so upset?”

“If they fix you, you won’t leave,” she explained shrilly. “If you don’t leave,
they won’t die and neither will we. We’ll all just go on and on,” she spat.
“Endlessly, and nothing will be righted and nothing will change. We’ll just
steep in our injustices and grow older and more sour. Or I will. And I’m bitter
as it is.”
Harry caught her by the arm and forced her to face him, but her glare was so
caustic he seemed to instantly regret having done so. “Why do you want so badly
to die, Rainey?” he asked her achingly.
Rainey shook her head at him. “If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand if I
told you,” she sneered, jerking her arm from his grasp. With that, she
disappeared into the trees. And Severus and Remus soon found themselves in
Minerva’s office yet again, sullen and estranged.
 
***** Presents Well Worthy *****
                                    Severus
 
Remus would not look at him. Severus was surprised by how deeply that hurt. He
was unaccustomed to caring what other people thought of him. He was
unaccustomed to caring whether he’d hurt another’s feelings. Hell, he made a
sport of it half the time. But Harry was no longer the sole exception, and that
realisation was disconcerting. What he felt toward Remus had only realistically
changed in a matter of the last several hours. But those hours had felt like
days. Losing Remus’ affection and esteem only just as he was coming to accept
them was jarring. That he realised that those things mattered to him was even
more so. And the thing that had caused him to lose them was something Severus
hadn’t thought about in years. An accident.
Severus had not reflected on the memory he’d witnessed. He had only considered
it in relation to what it revealed to him about his own feelings. Severus had
not judged the man for his thoughts or actions. He’d understood. All of it. And
then he’d all but forgotten about Remus, too swept away by the startling
realisation that he, also, desired Harry in a way that was not appropriate.
Severus turned away from the other man, hugging the backs of his arms, unable
to bear seeing Remus not see him. He’d known in his heart that whatever had
been between them was too strange and pleasant to last. For the first time that
night, Severus felt as naked as he was. He missed his robes and the confidence
they gave him. He missed the way they chafed just enough to remind him they
were there. They made him feel invulnerable, imposing without him having to
expend energy to add to the effect. They were like a warning sign to others to
keep their distance. Would Remus have still been so familiar with Severus if
he’d been wearing them, he wondered. Or, like with a widow’s red hourglass,
would he have known to stay away?
A part of Severus wanted to beg the man’s understanding. But what if it did no
good? And then he would have betrayed his need for nothing.
No. It was not a need. Severus neededvery little. He needed Harry whole, and he
needed Substisanguinus, and that was the entirety of the list. Everything else
was desire, and Severus could rise above such things. He had for years. Remus
had only pursued him to please Harry, anyway. Severus hated that he hated the
man’s hurt despite that. He hated wanting to soothe it and not knowing how.
Though he did not watch it play to its end, the contents of Remus' memory
rested in Severus’ subconscious and he could summon the details if he so chose,
but he never had before. He did so now almost involuntarily. Like Severus,
Remus had a secret pain he’d never shared with another living soul. To have it
exposed involuntarily was a violation of the highest order. Though, Severus had
not sought the knowledge. He did not want it now. He would have gladly given it
up completely if it were possible, if it would heal the other man.
Should he say these things? Would it even matter to Remus? Or would they just
sound like excuses?
“Why are you the one who looks so fucking wounded?”
Severus raised a shocked and wretched look to the man. Remus so rarely cursed,
and it upset Severus to hear him do so. Remus was looking at him now, but it
was not the look Severus had wished for. It seemed to demand he surrender all
those things Severus had just determined to be futile.
“I’m sorry,” Severus offered for a start. It sounded so pitiful and inadequate.
“Are you?” For all the ferocity in his glare, Remus looked fragile. Weak and
pale. He hunched over, hugging his stomach as if Severus’ trespass made him
physically ill.
“Of course, I am,” Severus stammered. “It was an accident. I never intended-”
“Prove it,” Remus interrupted. Severus’ brow creased, unsure what the man
required of him. “Prove your remorse, Severus, if it truly exists. Make it up
to me.”
Severus shook his head, at a loss. “How?”
“Show me.”
“Show you what?” Severus asked apprehensively, his heart tripping in his chest.
Was he asking for some demonstration of affection like the ones Remus expressed
to Severus?
Though really, would that be so difficult or terrible? Difficult, yes.
Terrible, not in the least. But they all knew Severus struggled with such
things.
“Show me what Harry showed Loraina,” Remus said, scraping up what he could find
of his dignity and pouring it into his posture. “Show me what happened in the
Malfoys’ dungeon. Show me how you stole my lover from me,” he scowled.
Severus recoiled from his unblinking stare with a scowl of his own. Hislover?
Harry had chosen Severus. Remus had turned the boy away. Severus had bloody
seen it. Did the why even matter?
Of course, it did. It would have mattered to Harry. It might have made all the
difference if he’d known. They might very likely have also died if he’d chosen
differently. Still, Remus was justified in his thinking, no matter how
reluctant the Potions Master was to admit it. Severus was just so loath to give
the man what he asked.
“I fucking knew it,” Remus muttered, shaking his head at Severus’ baulking
expression.
Remus’ sneer hit Severus like a blow to the gut. It had been a test, and
Severus had failed. He was every bit as disappointed in himself as Remus seemed
to be in him. Was Severus just using the situation as a reason to feel sorry
for himself, or did he truly care about the other man? Was this one memory
worth more to him than Remus’ respect?
“You should lie down,” Severus whispered, almost as shocked as Remus was that
those words had exited his lips. The werewolf regarded him warily. “You said
you wanted to see,” said Severus, unable to entirely keep the resentment from
his voice.
Remus clearly hadn’t expected the man to actually agree. Much of the harshness
left his expression to be replaced by disbelief. With cautious anticipation, he
lowered himself to the floor of Minerva’s office. Weariness was evident in his
every movement but also determination. It would have been better to have had a
bed. And more importantly, privacy. The light outside the window was growing
brighter with each passing moment. But the matter seemed too urgent to carry to
Grimmauld Place, and they still had memories to view. Still, this was important
enough to put that task on hold.
As he approached the other man and knelt beside him, Severus realised this
wouldn’t be the hateful chore he’d expected it to be at first. To an extent, he
actually wanted Remus to see these things. He wanted him to understand; for his
own sake and sanity as much as for Severus’ benefit. It was not something
Severus had given much thought to before as he hadn’t had the capacity at the
time, but Severus could tell by the state of Remus when he had encountered them
in the underground passage that the man had been through equal amounts of hell
while they had been locked away. Of course he had been the one to find them.
Severus could easily imagine Remus dead on his feet and still fighting his way
unceasingly through the endless gauntlet of the dungeons, determined not to
rest until he’d found his ward. He deserved to know where that young man had
been and what he’d been through.
And even if he didn’t, Severus realised, the Potions Master simply wantedRemus
to know. He wanted him to truly understand that Severus’ feelings for Harry
were independent of the ones he’d internalised via Remus’ memory, contrary to
what Loraina had supposed. And so he decided he would show Remus everything:
every moment Severus had spent in the dungeon and not just what occurred after
Harry had woken. He would show him Lucius’ impotent attempt to torture the
young man and every thought and feeling Severus had had between then and the
instant they stepped into the open air.
Severus was much more adept at isolating specifics in his mind than Harry. He
knew how to snip exactly what he wanted from all that surrounded it. He took a
deep breath and conjured the images he sought. Then he raised Remus’ wand to
his temple and extracted the strand he’d composed. It was far longer than any
he’d seen shared so far. Remus closed his eyes as Severus gave it to him,
accepting it with a sigh.
What they’d witnessed in the Pensieve showed that time moved differently in
memories. What Loraina had glimpsed took far longer to actually occur than
Harry had held the memory in her mind. And even if Severus should remove this
one prematurely, his own experience proved that one did not have to watch a
memory to possess it. Still, he wanted Remus to actually see, and so he would
leave it as long as he dared.
The man was not still. Remus gasped and mumbled, sounding like one asleep,
attempting to banish a succubus. Though, Severus suspected Remus would be as
fond of this nightmare as Severus was once he woke. The light outside grew
brighter still, and Severus continued to hold the memory in place, but he was
so tired. He stretched out beside Remus and braced his elbow against the floor
to hold his shaking hand still.
When he finally removed the strand, he was near exhausted. The night had been
so long and the floor was comfortable. He slipped the memory back into his own
mind and lay beside Remus while the man recovered.
At first, Remus simply scowled at him, his expression resembling Severus’ far
more than one of his own. But then his gaze began to clear and Remus returned
to himself. His eyes softened once again, and that damned, bottomless empathy
flared to life behind them. As Severus watched, they filled with tears. He
wondered if something about the memory had provoked them or if the man was
simply overwhelmed by the experience of being someone else for a time.
“Severus,” he sobbed quietly, rolling to face the man. The Potions Master
wasn’t sure how to react. Remus shook his head, but his words wouldn't come. He
laid a hand on the vampire’s cheek, too overcome to speak. Severus’ brow
furrowed in answering distress and he patted the back of the hand on his face
awkwardly. He really wasn’t good at this comfort thing.
“You would have done it,” Remus finally managed to whisper. Severus shook his
head vaguely, not understanding. But before elaborating, Remus rose to his
elbow to hover over Severus, startling him. He practically rolled on top of the
man, and the sudden contact stole Severus’ breath. He was not used to being the
one pinned beneath. But Remus looked down at him with such feeling, Severus
couldn’t find it in him to object. “You would have killed yourself rather than
harm him,” Remus explained finally as if awed by it.
“Well, I-”
But the rest of his thought went unspoken because Remus suddenly silenced the
man by covering Severus’ mouth with his own. Severus couldn't find it in him to
object to this, either. Almost against his will, his eyes drifted shut and his
hand rose to lose itself in Remus’ sandy curls. There was gratitude in his
kiss, and what almost tasted like reverence; and though it lingered, it seemed
to Severus to end too soon.
The vampire wasn’t sure what to say after. He wasn’t entirely certain what he
thought. But Remus didn’t seem to expect him to say anything. He was still a
dazed from the memory. He studied Severus, but though his gaze was sweeping and
intense, his thoughts were clearly in the past. “The way you see, Severus,” he
said breathlessly, “it’s so beautiful. Harry is sobeautiful in the dark. But
the thirst,” he grimaced, his eyes falling to Severus’ mouth and the fangs
sleeping beneath his thin lips. “And I never knew,” he said, jumping from
subject to subject, thinking aloud as his mind worked to make sense of all it
had seen. “And you’d been locked in those dungeons before.” He shook his head,
seeming pained by the vampire’s captivity. “You had no choice, Severus,” Remus
insisted as if he had argued otherwise. Though Severus wasn’t even sure what
part of his past Remus was referring to. “And something else terrible happened
to you,” he mumbled, looking away as if trying to grasp it. “Something long
ago. Someone hurt you, but…” Remus couldn’t seem to put his finger on it.
Severus shivered and his cheeks flushed. He’d not considered that those
thoughts were included in what he’d shown the man. It had been so long since
the memory occurred, he had forgotten he’d had them. But he’d attempted to
banish that remembrance at the time, not dwell on it, and thankfully Remus
seemed unable to clearly understand. It was a testament to how far Severus had
come since that he could tolerate Remus’ weight on top of him. That he found it
comfortable, even.
Remus finally seemed to wake more fully and realise what he was doing, looking
down at the way he was pinning the man as if tempted to be embarrassed by his
unintentional forwardness. But that passed quickly and he decided to settle
more fully against Severus instead, reaching up to brush the long strands of
hair from the Potions Master’s face, causing Severus’ blush to deepen. “What
are you?” Remus asked softly.
“Besides a vampire?” Severus asked with a twitch of his eyebrow. Remus smiled.
“How are you even real?”
Severus scowled delicately in confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t seem to understand
what we’re talking about.”
Remus’ smile widened and he leaned down to kiss the tip of Severus’ nose, and
the Potions Master was flustered by how warm and tingly it made him feel. “You
are the most unpleasant, surliest, best, most amazing man I’ve ever met.”
Severus gave a soft, short laugh and cast Remus a baffled look. Clearly, the
experience had damaged his mind. “Thank you?”
“Thank you,” Remus whispered in return. Then he glanced up toward the window
and sighed, looking back down at Severus apologetically. Severus rather hated
to part, as well, but they both knew they must. “We should finish it.”
Severus nodded, but he wouldn’t let Remus move away just yet. He held him
there, raising his fingers shyly to Remus’ face and combing his shaggy hair
from his eyes just as Remus was wont to do. “I truly am sorry,” he told him.
And he was. Not just for his trespass, but that Remus had had to experience all
the things that trespass had shown. 
Remus gave him a thin smile, seeming touched by the physical gesture. “I
know.” 
Then Severus mustered his courage. Since it had occurred to him before, it had
dwelt on his mind that he might show Remus a token of his fondness; to prove to
them both it existed and was genuine. Hesitantly, he lifted his face toward the
man, stretching for his lips. It was a leap of faith. He could not reach him
the way Remus currently lay on top of him. He left it to the other man to
decide whether to meet him halfway, refusing to entertain the nagging concern
that he might choose not to and what Severus would do if he didn’t.
Remus didn’t seem to understand what Severus was attempting at first, but once
he did, he appeared shocked. He stared at him, wide-eyed, and Severus’ cheeks
flamed. What had he been thinking? He should never have ventured it. He started
to turn his face away in embarrassment, but Remus’ hand was suddenly on his
cheek, holding him still. Severus could feel Remus' heart beating through the
chest pressed against his own. The werewolf lowered himself toward the vampire
slowly, as though he was afraid he was misunderstanding the invitation. As soon
as he determined that he was not, however, he wasted no time in closing the
distance.
This kiss was much deeper than the last, slower but somehow more urgent.
Severus allowed himself to become lost in it, to decide that he enjoyed the
thinness of Remus’ lips and the way they cut the kiss from him, that he
actually liked the prickle of the stubble on Remus’ chin. Neither Harry nor
Severus could grow facial hair to save themselves, but Remus seemed to be in
constant battle with his. It was so undeniably masculine. As was the broad
bunch of the shoulders Severus wrapped his arm around now, and the muscular
sweep of Remus' back. He was so substantial. He filled Severus’ entire
awareness. Severus had noticed all of these things when they were together
before, though, at the time, he had supposed he was caught up in the moment.
But this was less about lust and more about desire, and the two were distinct.
It wasn’t that it didn’t cause him to stir in the same way, but Severus didn’t
need right now. He wantedto run his fingers over Remus’ sharp jaw, and his hand
around his strong neck, and his palms down his rugged chest.
Though, if they didn’t stop, it would soon turn to need after all, and they
didn’t have the time. Still, the conclusion was reluctant, and the way they
looked at each other after held the promise of later.
***** Do This, and Be a Charitable Murderer *****
                                    Severus
 
Remus crawled from on top of him and Severus rose stiffly to his feet before
bending to help Remus to his. The man was unsteady. But then, Severus had been
off kilter for quite a while after his encounter with Remus’ memory before.
They shuffled over to the Pensieve together and agreed without words to enter
it.
“That’s what he was wearing tonight,” said Remus when they landed in the
Forest, pointing out the button up that was currently laying on the floor of
Harry's bedroom.
“I should have gone with him when he asked,” Severus said ruefully. Looking
back, he recognized Harry’s reluctance to hunt alone. Severus had warned the
young man against trusting Loraina and Harry seemed to have taken it to heart,
avoiding the forest for days while Severus worked on his potion. Then when he
needed him most, Severus had thrown Harry to the wolves.
The predator in question wasted no time in materializing. “I’d almost thought
you’d forgotten about me, Lovely,” Loraina said when she fell into step beside
him. Something about her was off. She was too restive. Harry’s absence must
have unnerved her. She worried he’d changed his mind. No doubt she’d spent the
time alone devising a way to sway him, and there was no telling what she had
planned.  
“I’ve been busy,” Harry hedged.
“Busy avoiding me, you mean,” she said with a smirk. Harry struggled with a
response, but she shrugged and nudged his shoulder with hers. “It’s alright,
Lovely,” she said. “I understand. I have to be rationed. But you’ve been away
long enough now to miss me, I’m certain,” she said, her flirtation a touch too
desperate to be effective.
Harry sighed. “Loraina,” he began tactfully, but she cut him off.

“Tell me you’ve missed me and I’ll give you a present,” she said, her steps
bouncy and her expression frighteningly eager. Harry winced.    

“We should talk,” he said hesitantly. “I really don’t think-”

“No, not that kind of present. Though, that offer always stands,” she added
with a quirk of her eyebrows. “This present you’ll accept. Trust me. Go on.
Admit you’ve missed me,” she insisted stubbornly. “Fine, I’ll give it to you
anyway,” she muttered when he failed to respond, openly pouting. “And I’ve got
a memory lined up for you, too,” she said, brightening again. Her shifts were
whiplash. She had always been so childlike when she was excited about
something. But the dark turn in her interests made the effect more chilling
than charming. “It’s special,” she assured him.

Harry stopped walking and looked at her, shuffling awkwardly. The enthusiasm in
her expression was frail, unsuccessfully masking her insecurity. Severus could
practically see her willing him to play along. Harry stared at her for a
moment, looking wisely a bit frightened of the brittle hope in her eyes.
“A present?” he asked carefully, as one speaks to a toddler to avoid a tantrum.
Her smile was relieved, and not a little manic.

“Come see, Lovely,” she whispered before turning and setting off with no other
explanation. Harry sighed, hesitating only for a moment before following her at
a sprint.
Severus saw the look of panic in Remus’ eye, but Severus wasted no time in
scooping him off his feet. He swept an arm under the man’s knees, cradling his
shoulders in the other as Remus looped his arms around Severus’ neck. This is
how he should have carried the man before, but he’d shied from the intimacy of
it. That was no longer an obstacle. Remus was larger than Severus was, but
Severus’ arms were long. He fell behind the pair, but they were not running in
earnest, and Severus managed to keep up well enough that the memory’s boundary
did not trip him from behind.
Loraina seemed she would run forever, though, and Severus could not manage the
pace for much longer. He very nearly dropped Remus when she finally slowed to a
halt outside a clearing in an unfamiliar area of the forest. He staggered and
fell to his knees with him, and Remus climbed from his arms to kneel beside him
and stroke his back as Severus attempted to catch his breath.
Loraina was so excited when she turned to Harry that, for a moment, she
couldn’t seem to form words. It infected the young man and he glanced at the
clearing almost giddily. “The wards end not far from here,” she told him when
she had collected herself. “Only so much of the forest is in Hogwart’s keeping.
It’s vast. Once you pass the boundary, you can Apparate, did you know that?”
Severus was not as thrilled by this knowledge. He and Remus exchanged a worried
glance and the werewolf quickly helped him to his feet.
“I didn’t drag him very far in. Just enough that he couldn’t easily get away,”
Loraina went on, and Remus and Severus turned a startled look to the clearing
and the hut standing at its far edge. “I made this space my own a while ago.
The Centaurs steer clear. There’s a hag nearby, but she knows better than to
cross me.” Her manner shifted from giddiness to something that could only be
described as arousal. “What I’m saying, Lovely,” she said, sidling closer, “is
we have complete privacy here.”

“For what, exactly?” Harry asked uncomfortably, taking a step back.

“For whatever you want to do to him,” she whispered. Harry looked to the
clearing, stepping around her to drift closer to it. The two men went with him.
“Who?” Harry asked absently, even as his gaze turned steely. Severus was fairly
certain they all knew who waited for him within.
Loraina only grinned as she followed him. Harry wasn’t paying her any mind
anyway. He made for the treeless, moon-flushed space with gradually increasing
speed and determination, approaching the door to the hut as if in a daze to
push it slowly open on its rope hinges.
Severus and Remus slipped inside behind them before the door could swing to a
close. “It’s so dark,” Remus whispered. Severus glanced over to see him
squinting in the pitch and pulled the wand from his pocket without comment to
brighten the space for him. But the light at the tip of the Cypress wand
faltered and threatened to go out. Severus frowned at it, shaking it to make it
behave, but that only made the flickering worse.
“Here, let me,” said Remus. “It’s temperamental with others.” He gently took
the wand from Severus’ hand, and the instant it recognized its owner, the light
steadied and blossomed. They both turned their attention to what it
illuminated.
A man hung from ropes from the ceiling, his arms outstretched in a mockery of
crucifixion. He had clearly been here for a while, if his stench was any
indication, though the pulsing glow of his heart still seemed strong enough.
All of the color had drained from Harry’s face as he looked at the man, and
Severus saw recognition in his eyes. He had to assume this was His Highness,
Prince William. Severus felt his fangs unsheathe as he turned back to look into
the face of the man who had ripped Harry’s future from him, and he dearly hoped
Loraina had made the man’s stay as unpleasant as possible.
Harry’s fingers twitched at his sides and hate dripped from his expression.
Loraina strode up next to him, all playful girlishness gone. “Do you like my
gift, Harry?” she asked softly, snaking an arm around his waist. “I got him for
you before the Ministry could rob you of him. I know how important this is to
you. Just as well you kept your distance. The Mut’s only now run its course. He
should be clear-headed by now. Not so impervious to pain,” she intoned with
clear insinuation. “He’s stubborn, too. This will be fun,” she said, a smile in
her low, darkly anticipating voice.

Harry looked down at her with an expression that ignited Severus’ jealousy. He
very clearly approved of her gift. He did not actually give her the kiss she
seemed to stretch for, though Severus had been concerned for a moment.

Harry forced himself to look away from Loraina and back to his new plaything,
pulling away from her to circle him slowly. “You’ve fed from him?” Harry asked
curiously, observing several angry punctures on the man’s neck.  

“Oh, just a bit,” she shrugged. “I thought we would be disposing of him later
anyway, so why not? He’s only just starting to sweat. Pity he’ll never know the
Madness,” she sighed. “I’d have liked to have watched it destroy him.”

“Oh, he’ll know madness,” Harry told her quietly. Loraina shivered with
anticipation when she met his hard gaze, breaking into a slow, almost indecent
grin. Remus, however, was stricken.
“Severus,” he whispered, dread in his voice. “This can’t be happening.” The
man’s distress woke Severus from his own vengeful bloodlust and allowed him to
look on the scene objectively once again, and he shuddered. He understood
Remus’ heartbreak. But he also understood Harry’s glare and the pain it
promised the bound man. There was nothing they could do about it, regardless.
They watched as Harry pulled a stool from the corner and set it in front of the
man. Then, to their confusion, Harry started to shed his clothes, setting them
neatly to the side before seating himself on the stool with only his wand.
“Wake him,” Harry told Loraina. She smiled and lifted her wand, casting a
whispered Rennervate.
The captive stirred and then woke with a start, struggling weakly to find his
feet and take his weight off his wrists. His hands were purple. They would
never work properly again. Standing didn’t give him much slack, though, and he
was still so unsteady he ended up dangling anyway, his weight thrown forward as
he turned his attention to his surroundings instead of his balance.

It was dark in the hut, but the quarter moon outside seemed to provide enough
light for the man to at least determine he had company. His expression was
surprisingly sharp to be so exhausted, and his scowl was quick. He struggled to
focus on Harry’s face. He was angry and apprehensive, but he wasn’t afraid. No
doubt he’d already realized he wasn’t leaving the forest alive.
Harry whispered a Lumos, and Remus let his own wand extinguish. Harry’s was
held loosely in the hand Harry rested on his bare thigh as he sat cross legged
on a stool in front of his prisoner. The first thing illuminated was his
nakedness. His Highness glared at it before he lifted his bloodshot eyes to
Harry’s face. The man scoffed.

“I’d heard whispers that you were a deviant. With that dour as fuck Cocktail
Mixer,” he sneered, furrowing Severus' brow. “But I didn’t think it could be
true. ‘Specially not of that old fuck.” Severus peeled his lip back in a silent
snarl. “Guess I was wrong,” the man muttered, coughing and spitting on the dirt
floor. “Wot you gonna do, then? Stab me with your meat wand, you filthy
poofter? Lucky for me the thing’s so fuckin’ small.”
It was ridiculous bluster. Harry was far from poorly endowed. Just what in hell
did the bastard have hidden in his own pants by comparison that he could even
say such a thing with a straight face? Harry was unprovoked, however. He simply
stood and lay his wand on the stool to continue lighting the space as he
circled the villain. Though he didn’t seem to be doing anything but taking in
the sorry state of him, Remus’ hand found purchase on Severus’ forearm. The
vampire could feel him tremble.
When he made his way back to it, Harry bent to look the man in the face.
William’s eyes held low-burning anger. And challenge. Harry’s own expression
betrayed nothing.      

“Would you like me to show you why I’m naked?” Harry asked softly. William’s
lip curled in disgust.

“Not especially,” he drawled. “Reckon you’re just a fuckin’ pervert.”
Harry shrugged. “Just didn’t want to ruin my clothes, actually.”

“Wot ‘with my blood’?” William asked flippantly. Harry shook his head.

“I can spell out stains,” he explained calmly. “Harder to fix rags.”
Remus’ grip turned almost painful. “Don’t do it,” he pleaded. Severus gave him
a sympathetic look and pried the man’s fingers from his arm to slip it around
Remus’ waist, holding his grasping hand now in his own.
William looked at Harry apprehensively and the young man gave him a slow smile.
The man betrayed his first hint of fear at the sound of Harry’s snapping bones
and the audible rip of tearing muscles. Remus could not watch, and Severus held
him tighter. William yelped when Harry’s face, so close to his own, contorted;
turned his to avoid Harry’s lengthening muzzle. The transformation ended with
Harry’s leathery snout tapping William’s cheek with each pant, blasting hot
breath in the man’s face that lifted his greasy hair while William grimaced as
if already in pain.
Harry had managed the transformation without crying out once or losing his
footing. It had been a frightening performance, and Severus was finally as
unnerved as his companion. He understood Harry’s thirst for retribution, but
his unflinching metamorphosis spoke to a level of hatred Severus almost wept to
see in the young man. He knew he was about to witness Harry commit acts he
would never have previously thought him capable. This was not theater. This was
a vow to the man that his end would be just as unpleasant as he feared.
Harry growled quietly, causing the man to whimper as Harry opened his maw and
licked the trickling sweat from William’s face with a long, slow swipe of his
flat tongue. He licked his lips, seeming to like the taste, and then he roared
in the man’s ear. William’s cry was lost in the noise, which was neither
wolfish nor vampiric, simply inhuman. It was haunting, and even Severus was set
trembling at the sound of it. Despite clear effort to suppress them, William
released a trickle of tears, and Harry licked them away as William shuddered
before stepping back with a satisfied purr.
“Wot in merciful Hell are you?’’ the man stammered, finally daring to look up
at him. Harry pushed off his hands and rose to his full height, further
cowering the man, and he wheezed through his fangs in what Severus could swear
was laughter.

“And just what did you think you were feeding him that day?” Loraina asked,
stepping from the shadows to lovingly stroke Harry’s jet black fur. “You should
ask more questions before agreeing to meddle with legends.”  

William fought to collect himself. He was clearly well acquainted with Loraina,
and now he seemed to remember his hate and his defiance. He couldn’t completely
quiet his tremble, but his glower returned. “Well, get on with it then,” he
spat. “Reckon you’re about to do to me wot you done to Timmy. Fuck it. And fuck
you,” he hissed.

So she hadn’t just killed the man. She’d sent a message. Severus was not
surprised. She liked to let people know when they were marked. She delighted in
imagining their sanity unravelling, the way they must jump at snipes until she
finally came reaping.
Harry fell to all fours again, snuffling at William as he moved behind him. The
man’s bravado failed him when Harry rose and placed a paw on each of his
shoulders. He cried out in pain as Harry’s weight tightened the grip of the
bonds around the man’s already damaged wrists. William didn’t scream properly,
though, until Harry gently placed his jaws around his neck.

Severus winced, wanting to close his eyes to the violence to come but not
wanting to take them off Harry. Severus had never seen a wolf attack, had only
ever seen the evidence of one in the mangled trophy Remus had returned with
after Black had fallen through the veil. That had been certainly gruesome
enough. Perhaps that was why Remus was so bothered. He’d been in the same place
once as Harry was now, and Severus knew he had regretted it ever since. Harry
had told the Potions Master Remus even kept the souvenir in his bedroom as a
reminder of the savagery he was capable of but must never succumb to again.
Severus forced himself to watch Harry’s fall from grace. He had to know what he
would be helping the young man combat in the days to come when his hatred
cooled and his guilt set in. The bloodwolf tightened his jaws carefully,
letting them sink into the dirt-caked flesh beneath them until Severus smelled
the rich perfume of the man’s blood. But he didn’t bite further, and Severus
realized, with no small amount of relief, that he was feeding.
As with the stag before, the swoon carried Harry back to himself, and he
transformed with his mouth still locked to his meal. “Loraina, heal these,” he
panted as he fell away from the man, once again human and naked. She cast the
requested spell without comment. “No wonder you snacked,” Harry murmured, his
mouth still dripping crimson as he made his way back to her. If Severus had had
his druthers, Harry would never have known the ecstasy of feeding directly from
a human heart. It simply made the thirst that much more difficult to resist
when circumstances were not ideal.
“It is a rare delicacy if one does not fancy Azkaban,” Loraina agreed with a
smile, running a finger through the blood that stained his face before bringing
it to her lips and licking it clean. She shivered, then boldly rose to tiptoe
to lick the rest directly from the corner of Harry’s mouth. Severus was too
shaken by all the rest to be too upset by it. She was irrepressible. Less easy
to ignore was the way Harry’s hands found her waist to steady her as she
finished the job. The bloodlust was heavy on him, and the sight of his arousal
in response to her actions made Severus feel mildly ill but not necessarily
angry.
Surprisingly, she did not take advantage of his vulnerability. She placed her
hand gently on his cheek and drew back to allow Harry to slowly return to
himself. He looked down at her with an expression of confusion but also
gratitude. There was no doubt he’d have reciprocated if she’d decided to be
more daring. She simply smiled at him knowingly and stepped clear of him,
withdrawing again to the shadows to leave him to his sport.
“Not a complete faggot, then,” William muttered, eyeing Harry’s erection with
disgust.

The comment lacked bite, though. He looked surprised to still be alive, though
far from grateful. Harry, seemingly lost in thought as he looked after the
retreating woman, redirected his attention to William and sighed. He seemed to
have lost interest in their game, but the man still needed to be dealt with.
Harry found his clothes and worked his way back into them as he spoke. “Who
hired you to attack me?” he asked calmly, closing his trousers over his
lingering arousal.

“Fuck you,” William spat. His strength was almost spent, but his spite seemed
in abundant supply.

“You realize I’m going to torture you,” Harry said plainly, moving to his shirt
buttons.

“You think I’m afraid of pain? I was in the war, you little shit,” he sneered.
“Watched you cut down me best mate with some spell I’d never even seen before.
From your fuckin’ forehead. Fuckin’ freak,” he muttered, his voice thick with
loathing. “Besides, do you have any idea how long I’ve been takin’ bloody Mut?
Might not have any in me right now, but after a while it don’t matter. The
withdrawals hurt more than anything you could do to me. You couldn’t cause me
enough pain to make me tell you fuck all.”

Now dressed, Harry walked over to the stool and reclaimed his wand, taking a
seat. “I don’t need to make you feel pain. I just need to make you remember
it.”

William mimed gagging at Harry’s crypticism, and Harry sighed again. Talking to
the man was undeniably tedious. Harry’s wand went dim as he used it to cast a
different spell, and Remus lifted his once more. By the time it was lit,
William’s bonds had been cut, and he writhed on the dirt floor, trying to roll
to his back as he cradled his worthless hands to his chest. Harry walked over
and crouched at his side.

“I tested this on our friend Tim,” he explained conversationally. “He wasn’t as
tough as you, but somehow I think it will still be effective. You know,” he
said, the complete lack of concern in his voice more chilling than the hate
that had saturated it before. “I had thought about setting you loose in the
forest and letting you run for a while before I went wolf and hunted you down,”
he mused. “Maybe rip open your abdomen with the handy new claws you gave me,
eating you alive slowly while you screamed for death.” Remus cursed quietly
under his breath. William simply sneered, not half as frightened by the
suggestion is he was disturbed by it. He threw the young man a look of disgust
through the dark. Harry regarded the man, unaffected by his glare, as though
the idea still appealed to him.
“But that’s nothing to what you did to me, honestly,” Harry went on, sitting
finally and resting his arms on his knees, “as you are about to find out.
Besides, after I’m through, I don’t think you’ll be able to run,” he said,
considering the man beside him. “I’m afraid your mind just might turn to mush.
Of course, the humane thing to do then would be to put you out of your misery.
But I haven’t decided, yet, if I’ll feel merciful at that point. Depends on how
much you can tell me, I suppose.”

William answered by spitting in Harry’s face. The young man calmly wiped the
stuff from his eye, then turned unhurriedly to punch the man solidly in the
jaw, hard enough to dislodge one of his few remaining teeth. Remus and Severus
flinched at the casual violence, but William never made a peep. He simply took
a moment to recover and then fished for the tooth with his tongue to spit that
bloody thing at Harry, as well. Severus smirked. William was a tough bastard,
you had to give him that. Though it fell well short, the answering blow went to
the man’s stomach. This time William groaned and curled in on himself.

“That one got away from me,” Harry said, almost apologetically, shaking out his
hand. “I haven’t learned to gauge this new strength, to be honest,” he sighed.
“I would imagine you’ve got some internal bleeding now, though, so that’s good.
You should die whether I feel merciful or not. Eventually. That should cheer
you up a bit.”
Remus’ eyes drifted to a close and he hid his face in Severus’ shoulder.
Severus held him bracingly, coaxing him to lift his face and look him in the
eyes. The man was near tears. “It doesn’t mean we’ve lost him,” Severus
whispered, trying to be reassuring. Though it was difficult. Severus had been
present when Harry had cast the Killing Curse on the Dark Lord. Even then, with
all Harry had lost, it had been an act of passion, made possible only by Albus’
death. This was so far removed from that, from who Harry had been, that he
scarcely recognized the young man. “He’s still in there. We can bring him
back.” But Remus was too grief-stricken to respond, and so Severus simply
stroked his back, turning his attention back to Harry.
A memory dangled from the young man’s wand. Unlike Timothy, William's screams
were instantaneous. Harry appeared to have bypassed the prelude and started the
memory at the point the potion had taken effect. He was disturbingly
undisturbed by the unending chorus of the man’s agony.

Loraina, however, appeared to enjoy the sound. Severus had practically
forgotten she was present until she took a seat beside Harry with a contented
expression. Severus tried to hate her for what she’s led Harry to become, but
he knew she hadn’t done it to destroy him. She thought she was setting him
free. She’d given him what she would have wanted.
Harry had no attention for the man he tortured. Instead, he studied Loraina as
she serenely watched their captive’s face turn red and his veins bulge in his
neck from the force of his cries.
“You shouldn’t talk to Remus,” he told her, practically shouting to be heard
above their guest. Remus woke to the sound of his name and frowned at the young
man, but Severus wasn’t certain if it was because Harry was discussing him to
the woman or if it seemed an odd thing to so casually bring up at a time like
this. “Or at the very least, don’t give him whisky, for Merlin’s sake. I
actually think he might be developing a problem.”

Loraina smirked. “You are not Lord of my Manor, Lovely. You cannot rule me.”
“But I am lord of mine,” he pointed out, “and of Remus.” The comment made the
man’s scowl deepen, and he untangled himself from Severus to turn and give
Harry a properly disapproving look.
“I thought it was the other way around,” Loraina countered with a lift of her
eyebrow.

“Please,” Harry scoffed, aggravating Severus as well now.
“Because I like you, I’ll consider it. Or I may not,” Loraina sniffed with a
dismissive shrug.

Harry shook his head at her, unable to repress a smile. “Crazy bitch,” he
muttered fondly. She gave him a delighted, decidedly unhinged smile.

“Tetchy brat,” she returned. The scene was officially surreal. Two thirds of
all the lovers Severus had ever known were flirting with each other by trading
insults while a man was being tortured to death beside them. Harry winked at
her and then turned his attention back to the poor sod, gently lifting the
memory from the man’s mind but not yet returning it to his own. He waited
patiently for the man’s eyes to clear, for him to recover himself. It took a
long while, and he was unusually still when he finally regained the power of
speech.

“Merlin’s Dickbeard,” William rasped with a shudder. He looked up at Harry with
something almost like admiration. “How in hell did you survive that?”

Harry snorted. “It’s what I do,” he smirked. “Boy Who Lived, remember? But
enough about me. Have you decided you want to answer my questions?”

William’s defiance was a little harder to rally this time, but rally it he did.
“Fuck you,” he whispered shakily, his eyes falling closed, knowing what was
about to happen. Harry shrugged and lowered the memory back into the man’s
temple. His screams were weaker this time, but still unending.

“Remus and Severus are getting on really well,” Harry mentioned brightly to
Loraina, ignoring the noise. “I think it mostly has to do with how frazzled
Severus is, but I’m still impressed.” The two men glanced at each other, both
their cheeks warmed.
“You know, I had some doubts at first, but I think I like your werewolf,”
Loraina said, shifting closer to him to speak more easily over William’s
shouts. “He’s far more cunning than he lets on. That threadbare uniform of his
is misleading. He’s ruthless in his own way,” she reflected with a small smile,
causing Remus to shift uncomfortably as if her praise chafed. Severus couldn't
disagree, though. Remus was undoubtedly disarming, and very intentionally so.
And like Loraina, Severus did not find this disagreeable. “His Claiming you on
the Full? Wasn’t necessary,” she said with a dismissive shake of her head.
“Helpful perhaps. Unscrupulous, undoubtedly. And I suspect fun, as well. Very
Slytherin,” she summarized approvingly.
“Severus, I swear,” he began, but the Potions Master waved him off. Remus
didn’t have to defend himself. Severus already believed the man. Besides, he’d
decided he didn’t actually care one way or the other. It had proved to be
invaluable regardless of motivation, and the two of them might not have found
themselves where they were, otherwise. And Severus had finally accepted he
liked where that was.
“The world isn’t divided by Houses, Loraina,” Harry pointed out. “I suppose we
all have a bit of each of them in us.”  
She looked at him as if she thought him naive but didn’t comment. “I simply
mean he’s devious enough to appreciate Our Severus,” she explained. “And Our
Severus,” she sighed, “is a lion in snake’s clothing, we know that already. Not
that he isn’t excellent at playing the part.” 
Severus lifted an eyebrow in affront, which Remus seemed to find endearing. He
shrugged as if he concurred, and Severus glared at him.
“I’m almost surprised the two of them haven’t been to bed already,” she went
on. “Remus is determined, I could tell that much from talking to him. It was
one of the reasons I brought him more drink,” she chuckled as if she had
sympathized. This wasn’t news to Severus, but it still made him blush. “He
seemed at least as upset that you were with Severus as the other way around. He
didn’t say so, but I could tell. He was so angry with you for mistreating
Severus. And I know he thinks you hung the bloody moon, so he must be fond of
Severus in the extreme to see any fault in you.”
This was news. Remus looked sheepish, but Severus found himself touched. So few
people had ever spared a thought to the Potions Master’s well being. “He’s
nurturing,” Loraina reflected with a nod. “He’ll be good for Severus. Severus
has always needed to be cared for, he’s just never accepted it.”
Severus wasn’t entirely certain he agreed with her assessment of him. But the
two men were made unavoidably aware of each other, and they drifted back
together, both embarrassed but also somewhat gratified. Their fingers tangled
shyly. Remus seemed eager to prove her prediction correct, but Severus
pretended to be too riveted by the others’ conversation to pay him much heed.
The gaze he ignored fell hot on Severus’ face, warming his cheeks.
“But can they be together?” Harry asked. “Aren’t they toxic to one another?”
Severus couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to him before. They’d taken no
precautions. Though thankfully, it seemed the worry had been proven
unnecessary. Loraina shrugged.
“These aren’t mundane Muggle afflictions, Harry,” she explained, going into
detail about their transmission. Severus barely heard what she was saying.
Remus had released his hand to meander somewhere behind Severus, and the
anticipation of his imminent touch made it difficult to focus on the details of
their conversation, especially as he knew more about them than Loraina did. It
was simply noise, like the buzzing of an insect when one is trying to
concentrate on more engaging things.
“As for the boys being together,” he heard her say through the fuzz in his
brain, “the prejudice is deep and the instinctual aversion is strong. I don’t
think there have ever been a werewolf and a vampire in this situation where
they might interact physically in a non-hostile way,” she mused. Severus felt
Remus shift closer to him as if in answer, felt his nose nuzzle the back of
Severus’ neck. He didn’t reciprocate, but he did pull a ragged, contented sigh
as Loraina continued to hypothesize.
“At least, that is my opinion,” she shrugged. “I could be wrong. Severus is the
scientist. I kill werewolves, I’ve never been compelled to kiss one. Don’t look
so shocked,” she said, waving off Harry’s scandalized expression. Remus seemed
too distracted by the taste of Severus’ shoulder to take offence. “I’ve killed
my share of vampires, as well.”

Harry frowned. “What? For sport?” he asked uncomfortably.

Loraina shook her head and gave a small, joyless laugh. She so rarely spoke of
her time away, and Severus knew he wanted to listen to what she was about to
tell Harry, but it was exceedingly difficult to concentrate, as Remus had moved
to his other shoulder, picking his collar to the side with gentle fingers.
“In Romania, the skirmishes over territory between the Vampires and the
Lycanthropes is neverending. And I lived in the in between,” she told Harry.
“Rejected by the Coven but tolerated at their borders. No doubt because I
helped with disposing of or scaring away a good number of their rivals. I was a
nomadic ‘other’. No allegiances, no allies; only enemies.”
She lost herself in memories for a moment, which Severus found fortuitous.
Remus had wrapped his arms around him from behind and slipped both his hands
into the yawning front of Severus’ tattered shirt.
“Well, no official allies,” Loraina amended. “There were other outcasts from
both sides that shared that limbo. I only ever befriended the vampires, though.
If friends are what we could call ourselves. We learned from each other
sometimes, of necessity, and we fought each other rarely because we knew each
other’s secret weapons. I learned Animus Secretum, for example. I taught it to
others as I taught it to you, though not as easily,” she said, her eyes going
fondly to his still-fading scar.

“What else did you learn?” Harry prompted when she stopped sharing. Severus
rather wished they’d both stop talking for a moment, as Remus seemed to be
counting Severus’ ribs. Over and over.

“Few magical things,” she shrugged, hugging her knees. “Mostly practical ones,
like how to live in the forest. How to ambush. How to confuse my scent. How to
use knives,” she said, producing one from behind her back almost as if by
magic. “How to use them in close quarters and at a distance,” she continued,
twirling the point of the blade she held on her fingertip. “I enjoy knives.
They are so versatile. I would teach you, but your knives are at the ends of
your fingers and your skill is provided by instinct.”
“It sounds as if it was just as dangerous fleeing to Romania as staying here to
hide from Voldemort would have been,” Harry pointed out. “More dangerous even.”
Finally, Severus raised a hand to Remus’ to still them. He’d often thought what
Harry had just expressed, and he wanted to hear her answer. Remus peeked
questioningly around Severus’ shoulder, and the vampire gave him an apologetic
look, glancing to Harry and Loraina as in explanation. Remus nodded his
understanding and kissed Severus’ shoulder once more before releasing him
reluctantly and taking a place at his side once again. The werewolf did not
want any more to do with the scene, perhaps; had been attempting to distract
himself from pain the situation caused him. But Severus was keenly interested
in what Loraina was sharing at the moment.
“Perhaps,” she admitted, suddenly melancholy, returning her knife to it
invisible sheath. “But I couldn’t be here,” she said quietly. “Not for a long
while. Severus was here,” she explained, sadness softening her ashen features.
“It was easier to live there than to fight the temptation of his nearness.”

Severus almost wished he hadn’t stopped Remus. Her simple confession made him
ache. He reached for the werewolf, suddenly needing his support. Harry looked
just as bereft.
“Was there no one else, Loraina?” Harry asked pityingly. “Could there have been
no one else? People break up all the time. They move on. They find other
lovers.”
Severus sadly shook his head, knowing her answer. He’d never sought to replace
her, either. He’d thought, until he and Harry had finally woken to each other
in his sixth year, that it would have been a waste of time. That any love he
might have found would have been a sorry shadow of what he and Loraina had been
to one another.
“Of course. The prospects rounded the block,” Loraina smirked, rolling her
eyes. “I am not loveable, Harry. And I do not love easily. All you bleeding
hearts,” she muttered as if cursing. “You treat it so loosely. You declare it
so easily. I don’t know what it is you people label love, but it is not love as
I understand it.”
Remus stirred at his side and lifted the hand he held to his lips as if in
refutation. Severus finally pulled his eyes to him.
Was thislove, he wondered? Did it qualify? Remus seemed convinced enough. It
was confusing to the vampire. He respected the man. He was fond of him. He
found his touch stimulating and his presence comforting. His pain caused
Severus to ache in response, and the Potions Master hesitated to cause him
distress in any intentional way. He found himself wanting to touch him, in ways
physical and otherwise, in a manner that might please the werewolf. What more
was there to it, really?
“Severus is like me, though,” Loraina said somewhere behind him as he
contemplated the man. “When he says those words to you, he means them, and it
is precious.”
Remus gazed at him as if hoping it would come to pass, his eyes darkened and
his pupils widened, though whether by arousal or by the lack of illumination in
the hut, Severus couldn't tell. But it had taken Severus four years to utter
the phrase to Harry, and there had never been any question in his mind about
whether it was true for the two of them. There was no way he could bring
himself to let it fall from his lips so carelessly now. He did draw closer to
the werewolf, though, and slip his arms around his waist.
“You should appreciate it,” Loraina admonished Harry.

“I do,” he said defensively.

“And yet you lie with the Wolf.”
Remus’ cheeks coloured but Severus held him tighter. They all lay together, so
what did it matter now?

“It’s complicated,” Harry muttered.

“Is it? Or do you just like to use that as an excuse? You cheapen the rarity of
his affection by sharing yours with another.”
Severus turned his attention away from the man in his arms, too exasperated by
her scolding to ignore it any longer. He might have agreed with her once, but
it still wasn’t her place to chastise the young man.
Harry was just as aggravated. “You’ve been trying to get me to share it with
you, as well,” he pointed out accusingly.

“Oh. I’m not asking you to share,” she clarified. “I’m asking for all of you.
Leave the others to each other,” she said, leaning closer to him. “I’m not in
love with you, Harry, but I am exceedingly taken. We could be beautiful
together,” she sighed wistfully. “I could make you happy. Or well, I could at
least keep you from being lonely. Or bored,” she added with a quirky smile. “If
neither of us can have what we want, we can at least have each other.”
Severus had nearly had enough of her blatant attempts to steal his lover from
him. He pulled away from Remus to glare at the woman. There was no reason Harry
couldn’t have exactly what he wanted. Just because she was left out didn’t mean
it was beyond Harry’s reach as well.

Harry seemed to sympathise with her but not to agree, to Severus’ relief. He
avoided answering her hopeful expression by turning his attention back to their
prisoner. Severus had forgotten he was there, as had Harry it seemed. William’s
moans had almost spent themselves and were easily ignored with all else that
was happening. Severus felt strange and a bit soiled, having been contemplating
love and being petted while a man lay dying at their feet. Perhaps they were
all damned beyond redemption. But if so, it was this bastard’s fault they had
been so tested in the first place to be found lacking, and so Severus could not
spare much pity for him. Harry lifted the memory to speak to the man once more.

“Just answer my questions,” Harry sighed when he finally surfaced. William
trembled, no longer quite so hateful.

“What does it matter?” he croaked, his voice almost entirely shot. When he
coughed, it was flecked with blood. “They’ll see you coming. You ain’t getting
to them. Not without me,” he added as though he thought he might still manage
to find his way out of this situation alive.    

“We won’t be without you,” Loraina said mysteriously. Severus threw her a
curious look, wondering what she had up her sleeve.  

“Tell me why that is, and maybe we can talk,” Harry offered. But they both knew
Harry had no intentions of sparing him. This banter was simply delaying the
inevitable.

“Listen,” William said with a touch of desperation. “She’s as mad as you are
and twice as cunning. Maybe even as cruel.”

“She?” Harry asked, surprised. He and Loraina shared an intrigued look which
Remus and Severus mirrored. William sneered weakly, enjoying his momentary
advantage.

“Aye. She,” he confirmed, his speech laboured. “Would like to mount your
Mixer’s swizzle stick on her fuckin’ wall, she would.”
“Severus?” Remus asked. “Do you have any idea who he’s referring to?”
Severus shook his head, at a loss. “I trespassed against so many in the Dark
Lord’s service,” he sighed miserably. “It could be almost anyone.” Though, he
couldn’t recall directly offending a woman. Well, not to the extent that she’d
go to such lengths to cause him harm. The only woman who came to mind was
Loraina. Still, that they would attack Harry to hurt him both sickened and
infuriated Severus. The young man might not blame him, but Severus was finding
ever more reason to blame himself, despite how Remus had tried to convince him
otherwise. Severus couldn’t help wondering how much happier Harry’s life would
have been if Severus had simply never been born.
“This ain’t about you, mate,” William told Harry. “Never was. Well, was for me.
And her backer might feel differently. But for the Boss, it was all about
forcing him to watch you suffer.” He had to rest and catch his breath before
continuing, and Severus and Remus looked at each other, contemplating this new
information.
“Backer?” the werewolf mouthed. Severus shook his head, just as perplexed, and
turned back to the criminal, hanging on his every word.
“Personally, I thought it was daft to think that creepy old arsehole cared
about anyone enough to make the whole thing worth it. Least of all about you,”
William sneered. “One of my boys was at Hogwarts with you ‘fore he dropped out,
said you and the slimy git right detested each other. I didn’t care, really. I
just wanted to fuck you up,” he said carefully, glaring at Harry. Severus felt
his fangs peek again. He was torn between wanting to hear what the man had to
say and wishing he’d hurry up and fucking die already. “Didn’t give a shite
why. Looks like I managed it, too,” he smirked. “How long did you burn for, you
little prick?” he asked, giving Harry a smug look. Remus almost had to hold
Severus back from launching himself at the arsehole, despite that he knew it
would do no good. Though, the werewolf looked plenty murderous himself.
“Bleeding to death is too good for this bastard,” Remus muttered, surprising
the vampire. He’d come a long way from hiding his face in despair on Severus’
shoulder. In light of the circumstances, Harry’s actions seemed increasingly
justified. It was just a pity the man had driven him to them.
“You’re about to find out,” Harry answered him in a low, dark voice. Panic
ignited in William’s eyes as the memory drifted toward him once again. Maybe he
thought he’d incite Harry to kill him but, if so, he miscalculated. Severus,
for one, felt not a single shred of sympathy as the memory descended toward the
man once more. “Loraina, petrify him, I’m tired of hearing him scream,” Harry
commanded calmly.

“No, wait!” William gasped. But then suddenly he was frozen, petrified and
gripped by the pain he’d inflicted on Harry. The young man pulled the stool
over to prop his wand in place, freeing him to move about while letting the
memory play indefinitely.

Harry fell back onto the dirt floor then, seemingly exhausted, and Loraina
stretched out beside him and lay a hand on his chest. Harry ignored it, but it
still made Severus grumble the way she fondled the wrinkles of his shirt. It
was an absent gesture, though. She glanced anxiously to William and then back
to Harry, though she did not voice what bothered her.
“I think I know something that might refresh us,” she proposed instead. “I told
you I had a memory for you.”
Severus cringed. She was going to drive the young man to madness at this rate.
Remus, now understanding the danger firsthand, looked concerned as well.
Harry didn’t answer. He was lost in thought, idly playing with the fingers she
rested on his chest. Severus scowled at that. She was nothing if not
persistent. If Harry did not keep his guard up, she’d break him eventually.
Clearly, it had already begun.
“What did you do with Timothy?” Harry asked distractedly after a moment.
“I think you know what I did with Timothy.”

Harry furrowed his brow at her. “Why did you try to stop me when you thought I
was about to kill him, then?”

“I thought you weren’t ready,” she sighed. “I thought it would sit on your
conscience and make you question yourself. I thought it might turn you from our
path. Besides, you were tortured enough already, Lovely,” she explained simply.
"Better the deed fell to me."

“And now?” he asked.

She gave him a slippery smile. “Now I think you are ready for anything,” she
said breathily, catching his nipple through the fabric of his shirt with her
fingernail. Severus felt a growl bubble from him, but Harry sighed in
exasperation and removed his hand from hers, making the vampire feel marginally
better.

“You said you had a memory?” he asked as if trying to distract her.

She grinned and sat up. “Do you want it?” she asked, suddenly excited.

Harry eyed her distrustfully. “What is it?”

“You showed me the loss of your virginity. I had thought of returning the
favor, but that event was wholly unremarkable, to be quite honest. Then it
occurred to me you might like to see Severus lose his.”
All the blood drained from Severus’ face and he gasped. The night had been full
of shocks, but this one eclipsed them all.
***** Alas, the Tender Boy, in Passion Moved *****
                                     Remus
 
“You showed me the loss of your virginity. I had thought of returning the
favor, but that event was wholly unremarkable, to be quite honest. Then it
occurred to me you might like to see Severus lose his.”
The man beside him gasped. “No. No, she wouldn’t,” Severus muttered in horror.
All the blood had left his face. He was paler than Remus thought a person could
be. And he was shaking. Remus’ brow furrowed in confusion and concern. Of
course it was a personal moment, but this reaction went well beyond offence at
the violation of one’s privacy. Severus looked absolutely terrified, backing
toward the wall of the hut, shaking his head. Remus tried to comfort him, but
Severus did not acknowledge him at all. Remus might as well not have even
existed.  
Harry seemed to disapprove of the suggestion, but he was undoubtedly tempted,
and Rainey pressed her advantage. “Leave it to me, Lovely,” she purred with a
slow smile, lifting her wand. “This is one of my very favorites.”
Severus seemed stunned by the comment and grimaced at the women in disgust, but
when he saw the memory emerge from her temple, he panicked, rushing to grab
Remus’ sleeve and pull them from the Pensieve.
Remus resisted. “Severus! He left it for a reason,” he argued, trying to be
gentle as the man was obviously and exceptionally troubled, but nonetheless
attempting to carefully pry Severus’ trembling fingers from the fabric of his
damaged dressing gown.
Severus looked lost. He refused to relinquish Remus’ sleeve but no longer tried
to expel them from the memory. “No. It’s a mistake,” the man insisted shakily,
unable to tear his eyes from the memory that dangled from Rainey’s wand as she
waited for Harry to stretch out on the floor to receive it. “It...It’s an
accident that he included it. It couldn’tmatter,” he said. He seemed on the
verge of some breakdown and his rising hysteria was contagious. Remus could
feel himself shaking in sympathy. He couldn’t imagine what this memory could
possibly contain that could so harrow the man. Severus Snape did not shake
easily, especially when it did not involve Harry directly. This was a man who
lied to the face of the most dangerous Wizard in history for years without so
much as batting an eye.  
“Severus,” Remus said, trying to distract him from the scene in front of them.
When he was unsuccessful, Remus lifted a hand to gently turn the man’s face and
force him to meet his eye. The breathless pain he saw in Severus’ expression
cut Remus to the heart, and he battled his own sudden panic as he tenderly
stroked his thumb across Severus’ cheek to sooth it. “Whatever it is, it is
okay. It’s past and gone. And I’m here with you now, my dear,” he promised,
bringing his other hand to the vampire’s face so that he cradled it, even as
the scenery around them swirled and changed. “You’re safe.”
Severus shook his head, whether in denial of Remus’ assertion or of the
situation, the werewolf wasn’t certain. But by then they were already in
Rainey’s memory.
It was still nighttime, but now they stood just outside the Castle. A young
Rainey was leading an equally young Severus through the arches and out onto the
grounds. The boy’s older counterpart refused to even look at the smiling
couple, turning away, still clinging to Remus’ sleeve as if it were a lifeline.
Remus, however, was captivated despite his companion’s distress. He wrapped an
arm around the man and pulled him protectively closer but watched his younger
version with fascinated affection.
The two lovers seemed so carefree and so obviously smitten with each other. It
was endearing in the extreme, even though Remus was exceedingly put out by the
woman this girl would eventually become. Remus knew Severus was no stranger to
trauma even as a child. But he was still new enough here that it did not seem
irreparable yet. In fact, the young woman who smilingly crooked a finger to
summon him after her seemed to make his worries fall away from him. Remus had
never seen him so untroubled as he was when he looked at her. Whenever he
thought of Severus from their school days, Remus’ memory offered up images of a
furtive and distrustful loner like the one Rainey had encountered under the
tree by the lake, not this beaming puppy dog of a boy.
“Everyone else goes to the Astronomy Tower,” the young man pointed out,
flustered but in a smiling sort of way.
“Exactly. Everyonegoes to the Astronomy Tower. I want more privacy than that,”
Rainey said, towing him by the hand along behind her. And again, Remus was
struck by how different she was then, too. He had not been overly familiar with
her before. He had simply been aware of her reputation. Primarily that she had
one, though the assertion that she was loose with her charms was overheard most
often from boys who were frustrated by her rejection of their advances. Remus
was never one to put too much stock in gossip. But she was also the girl who
outed Karen Thomas their fourth year after finding her in a compromising
situation with a popular Hufflepuff girl. Remus recalled comforting Karen once
after most of the rest of the Tower began treating her as a pariah because of
it. She didn’t return to Hogwarts the next year, and that had made Remus sad.
   
The girl he watched now seemed too buoyant to be capable of such casual
cruelty. And surely Severus would not have been able to look at her so tenderly
if she were as monstrous as Remus had suspected then. “But...outside the
Castle?” he whispered anxiously to her.

“What? Don’t you like Quidditch?” she giggled, turning to skip backwards across
the grass, pulling him with two hands so she could watch his face as she teased
him. The sound of her mirth seemed to finally break through the disquiet of the
Severus in Remus’ arms, and he looked over wistfully as the couple passed the
two men.
“They’re moving out of sight,” Remus pointed out gently as the two threatened
to disappear over a nearby rise.
“I know where we’re going,” Severus answered quietly, looking at the spot where
they had finally vanished. He stepped away from Remus to eventually drift after
them, looking as if he were on his way to his own hanging.
By the time they caught up with the two under the darkened stands of the
Quidditch pitch, the young lovers are already naked and embracing atop a bed of
discarded robes. Remus blushed. He had been so distracted by Severus’ distress
before, he’d almost forgotten what Cobs had told Harry the memory contained.
But while he was suddenly embarrassed, Severus simply observed the scene with a
kind of forlorn nostalgia. He quickly scanned the shadows with a narrowed eye,
but when he failed to spot what he searched for, his gaze softened again. He
walked over to the youngsters, crouching to examine Rainey’s face as she rose
away from his younger self, drawing her knees up to straddle him.
After a moment’s deliberation, Remus joined him, though he stood a respectful
distance away. The girl’s expression seemed to be the only detail of interest
to Severus. He did not even glance at himself. He paid no notice to how their
bodies touched. He looked only at Rainey’s bright and loving gaze as she looked
down and whispered, “This is for you, Severus,” stroking his chest. “Don’t
worry about pleasing me. There is no way I could not enjoy this. I only want
you to concentrate on how you feel. Let me give you this gift, Severus,” she
pleaded. It was a beautiful moment, somehow made even moreso by the young man’s
inexperience.
No. It was her patience that was lovely, and the care she took in making sure
the experience was just right. Remus was no longer embarrassed and was simply
moved. The newness for boy, their tenderness toward each other. It transcended
erotic. Even as a spectator, it was practically spiritual, and Remus could
understand why Rainey would tell Harry this memory was one of her favorites.
What a rare, wonderful first it was. And how it made him want to continue what
he and Severus had begun earlier.
“I’m so sorry,” the boy whispered shakily when they were done. They were still
tangled and close and trembling.
She reached up to brush the sweat-soaked strands from his face. “Whatever for?”
she asked through a breathless grin.

“I should not have...inside of you,” he mumbled, blushing.

“Oh, I have all I need to take care of that, My Love. Feels better this way
besides,” she said, shrugging off his concern.

He gave her an odd look. “You love me?” he asked, gazing down at her with both
hope and skepticism. Remus’ heart skipped a beat and he looked to his
companion. So there was more than one first here. Both Severuses seemed to hold
their breath while the girl considered her answer.
“I do,” she said as if pleasantly surprised. “I love you, Severus,” she
repeated more confidently. Her smile was radiant. “Do you love me?” she asked
coquettishly.

The young man did not hesitate in his answer, and his older self whispered it
with him. “Of course, I love you,” they told the girl in unison. Remus was
almost brought to tears by the expression on Severus’ face --both of them-- but
the picturesque moment was disturbed when something stirred in the nearby
shadows.
“Severus,” Remus whispered in warning. Whatever the man had searched for
before, whatever it was he dreaded, seemed to have arrived.
Severus had been completely immersed in the memory, and he woke to his
surroundings with a start, looking to Remus as if he’d forgotten he was there.
Then he noticed Remus’ line of sight and his previous panic returned. He
glanced at the trio of boys coming their way with broomsticks slung across
their shoulders and then back to the two lovers with a wretched expression.  
“End it, Loraina,” he begged the girl beside him who was still smiling
beatifically at his younger self. “Please.” He closed his eyes. “Take it out of
him, dammit! Take us back. Don’t let Harry see this,” he shouted angrily,
beating the ground with his fist. Remus was gripped by a cold dread as he
watched Stanley Perkins stroll closer to the couple cuddling contentedly on the
ground, closer to the man going to pieces beside them. He felt he should go to
Severus’ aid, but his fear paralyzed him for a moment as he imagined what must
certainly have happened next to make the man so terrified of this particular
memory. One that had been so very sweet until this moment. Stanley had always
been an intolerable prick. Remus had not been overly upset when they’d found
him floating in the Lake during their Sixth Year. Now he regretted sparing the
boy any measure of compassion at all.  
“Well, what have we here?” smirked Perkins. Rainey’s eyes flew open and she
scrambled for her robes as Severus hovered helplessly at her side as if
overcome by the desire to assist her but knowing he was unable to alter
anything. He seemed to refuse to look at anything but the wand Rainey strained
to reach, but when Stanley’s boot descended on her wrist, Severus fell away,
momentarily shrinking from the sneering boy that towered over them before his
rage surpassed his fear and Severus launched himself at him with a growl.
Remus’ own fear finally released him and he sprang forward to restrain the man,
but he was far too slow. Severus struck out with clawed hands and bared fangs,
but he passed through the boy as if he were mist. Severus immediately turned.
Before he could continue the attempted assault, however, the memory shifted and
they were once again in Rainey’s hut. Remus caught Severus before he could
collapse to the ground, trembling with impotent fury, tears already streaming
down his cheeks. Remus tried to hold him fast, though he feared he was too weak
to be effective. Severus would not be quieted. It was then that Remus realized
something was still fueling the man’s anger. Remus turned and was slightly
horrified by what he saw.
Harry lay on the floor still, reeling from the removed memory, and Rainey was
taking full advantage of his disorientation. Her blouse was already open and
she pressed one of Harry’s hands to her breast while the other made short work
of the buttons of his shirt.
“Loraina!” Harry gasped, weakly pushing at her thigh as if he might brush it
off.

“I saw your reaction to our memory,” she said, glancing down at his crotch. “It
seems a shame to waste it, Lovely.” As she peeled back his shirt, Harry came to
himself enough to attempt to restrain her, and Severus relaxed slightly in
Remus’ arms. They watched Harry circle her wrists with his fingers, but he
seemed to be too weak, either of will or physical strength, to prevent her from
devouring his chest and stomach with her palms. He opened his mouth with an
angry scowl but all that escaped his lips was a moan; and Severus opened his
own mouth to hiss at the woman, his eyes still washed black and his fangs still
extended from his attempt to murder a long dead boy.
“Don’t fight it, Harry,” she whispered breathily, bringing her mouth close to
his. He turned his head away, his eyes squeezed shut. She chuckled at him. “Oh
Harry, why this resistance? You have to let the beast out in order to tame it.”
One of her hands, still tightly ringed with Harry’s own, traveled its way down
his stomach until she cupped him through his pants. “You know where this ends,
Harry. You know where our adventure takes us. Say your goodbyes. Let me fill
the void. Trust me. I can fill it and more.”
“Loraina, enough!” Harry barked, still wrestling with her, though it was
difficult to tell if he was gaining any ground.
“Thought you might like to get used to it, since it will be all you have after-
”

“What happened? ” Harry asked urgently, finally gaining proper control of her
wrists and holding her hands away from him. She stopped trying to force herself
on him and gave him an apprehensive look. “Someone stepped on my hand,” Harry
rushed to explain but shook his head in frustration and corrected himself. “I
mean, on yourhand. Someone you feared.”
Severus went rigid in his Remus’ arms, and the werewolf watched as his pupils
shrank, the angry blush in his cheeks fading to stark white. Rainey froze and
stared at Harry, then she jerked herself from his grasp and fell away,
scrambling backward until she upset the stool, sending Harry’s wand with its
tethered memory rolling to the floor. Severus, no longer wrathful, moved to
rush to her side, and Remus released him to allow it, confused by how quickly
his attitude toward the woman had shifted.
“You weren’t meant to see that,” Rainey said in a fierce whisper, drawing her
knees to her chest. She looked stricken and distracted, and Severus, kneeling
beside her, seemed to ache on her behalf. He reached out to comfort her, but
his hand passed through her, and so he simply sat back on his feet and hugged
himself, apologizing to her with his eyes.
Harry rolled to his knees and reached for her cautiously, as one might approach
a scared and wounded animal. Whatever offense he felt at her attempted assault
seemed to be overshadowed by his sympathy. “You were frightened,” he said
carefully, soothingly. “Loraina, why were you frightened? What happened next?”
he whispered, seeming already to know her answer and to fear it but unable to
stop himself from asking.

She looked at him as if she didn’t really see him, as if she were seeing,
instead, the experience she’d just ripped away from him. Slowly, she woke and
looked up at him timidly. “The Worst Thing,” she whispered, the way a child
whispers a terrible secret, and Severus’ anguished expression crumpled in on
itself.
Harry took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to take in their
surroundings. He looked to the dead man on the floor beside the woman, which
she seemed to take no note of, then he crawled over and reclaimed his wand and
his own memory, returning it where it belonged. He seated himself carefully
beside Rainey, who was still hugging her knees, her face hidden behind them so
only her wild eyes peeked over the tops.

“May I see it?” Harry asked softly. Severus’ eyes flew open at the request and
he grimaced at the young man, shaking his head. Rainey’s expression was
unreadable. After a long moment, she shuddered. “You don’t want to, Lovely,”
she assured him. “I wish I could scrub it from my memory. Why would you want it
in yours?” She shook her head. “Truthfully, if giving it to you took it from
me, I would. But it doesn’t work that way,” she said softly, as if with regret.

“Please?”

“Why are you so eager to see our pain? Our disgrace?” she hissed angrily,
scowling at him in accusation. Severus closed his eyes and bowed his head,
laying his hands on the ground beside her in lieu of touching her.
Harry tried to lay a hand on her arm but she shifted away from his touch. “I
only want to understand,” he whispered. “Both of you.” Rainey regarded him
distrustfully, but then she softened under his persistently sympathetic gaze.
She gave him a scrutinizing look.

“It was the end, you know,” she said quietly but hurriedly, as if the
confession was involuntary. “So soon after we truly began, that was the end.
The start of it. It planted in us the things that ultimately defeated us.”
Severus didn’t move except to tremble, but Remus spied a tear drip from the tip
of his nose onto the dirt floor. It broke his heart. The werewolf was shaking
himself. He felt faint. He needed to sit down. But there was nowhere for it. He
considered seating himself by Severus, but he wasn’t certain his contact would
be welcomed at the moment.
Besides, Remus was overwhelmed. He was slowly coming to understand that the
event in question had been supremely monumental to the both of them. That it
had seeded her madness and his bitterness, had affected everything in their
life that followed and set them on the course that led them to their fall,
allowed them to become capable of taking the Mark.
Rainey looked up and stared at Harry for a long while, her expression
completely blank. But she turned to him finally, neither of them paying any
mind to her still-bare chest which was no longer hidden by her knees, and lay a
hand on his cheek. “It is one thing to know such horrors occurred,” she said
softly. “But you won’t understand without living it, Lovely. You won’t
understand him. Or me. And if you don’t understand, perhaps you cannot
appreciate us and what needs to be done, or why.”
Severus looked up at her disbelievingly, as if he thought he might not have
heard her properly.  

“Then enlighten me,” Harry said softly. He looked terrified but determined.
Severus backed away from them to rise to his feet, as if to distance himself
from what was about to happen. Remus took a step in his direction but
vacillated, finding it difficult to split his attention between Severus and
Harry.
“You would inflict this wound on yourself willingly and intentionally?” she
asked the young man. Harry wavered, but only for a moment. He swallowed
nervously, then looked back up at her and nodded.
“No!” Severus cried, even as Rainey sighed, “Very well.” Harry stretched back
out on the floor and prepared himself as Severus fell apart. Remus finally
closed the distance but Severus would not be touched. Remus understood, and he
hovered, ready for when he was needed.
Severus backed away from the pair in horror until he hit the wall of the hut.
“How dare you?” he asked Rainey breathlessly. Then his incredulity shifted to
affront, then to frothing anger. “WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE RIGHT?” he
bellowed, red in the face. “You traitorous, conniving, covetous, mad bitch!” he
spat, stomping toward her once more. Remus intercepted him, as much to prevent
him from hurting himself as anything. It wasn’t as if the woman he charged
would come to any harm. And Severus finally seemed to remember the man was
there. He hadn’t spared a glance to Remus since they were returned to the hut.
Severus cast a horrified look to the memory that dangled from the tip of
Rainey’s wand then back at Remus. Without a word, he seized the werewolf by the
lapels of his robe and expelled them violently from the Pensieve.
It had been so sudden, Remus had had no opportunity to prevent it, and he found
himself unexpectedly sprawled on the floor of Minerva’s office. As he was still
struggling to regain his bearings, Severus scrambled to his feet and rushed to
the Pensieve, snatching up the empty flask that sat beside it. Frantic, he
attempted to scoop the memories from the basin with his hand, but they merely
poured through his fingers. He tried over and over, becoming increasingly
frustrated until Remus staggered to his feet and took hold of his arm.
“Severus, enough!”
“Give me my wand,” the man demanded, a dangerous glint in his eye. Remus had
forgotten he had them both since reclaiming his from Severus before. He shook
his head and stepped away. “Give me my fucking wand now, Remus,” he hissed,
reaching for Remus’ pocket where it was stowed.  
“Severus, I understand why you’re upset and I know you feel betrayed,” he
argued quietly so as not to wake their unwitting host while veritably wrestling
with the man still attempting to seize his wand. “But Harry is out there
somewhere. That traitorous, conniving, covetous, mad bitch --as you put it-
- has dragged him away from us to face ‘The Boss’ and whatever other lowlife
they meet in between.” Severus stopped struggling to pickpocket the man. Remus
knew reminding him of Harry would snap him back to the crisis at hand. The man
was still desperate, though. “If there’s even the slightest chance there’s
something of importance to see, Severus…”
Remus gave him an imploring look, and the man glared at Remus long and hard
before his expression finally deflated and he sank to his knees in defeat.
Remus knelt beside him and tried to embrace him, but Severus pushed him gently
away. He suddenly could not meet the werewolf’s eye.
“You’ll have to go alone,” he told him in a tiny, tremulous voice. “I can’t.
I’m not strong enough to…”
Remus understood. He took the man’s wand from his pocket and returned it to
him, and Severus took it absently, no longer concerned with having it. Remus
started to rise to his feet, but Severus snagged his tattered sleeve, halting
him. “When you see it, please…”
“Please what, Dear?” Remus said patiently, laying his hand over the one
clutching his dressing gown.
“Don’t judge me too harshly,” he begged. Remus gave him a sympathetic look.
“It won’t change a thing, My Dear Severus,” he promised. At this point, he
couldn’t imagine anything that might injure his feelings for the man. Not after
being him. Not after sharing in his and Harry’s ordeal and feeling his heart
and hearing his thoughts.
Severus smirked. “It changed everything,” he said darkly. “But I didn’t mean
that. I know it has never been a sufficient excuse for what I put Harry
through. But I used it as one.” He lifted his eyes to the werewolf imploringly,
“Don’t think too badly of me after, if you can.”
Remus was confused. He thought he knew what he was about to walk into, and
seeing Rainey assaulted could not have been easy for Severus, but he couldn’t
understand what it had to do with Harry. Nevertheless, he nodded.
Severus sighed and released him, turning away as if unable to even watch Remus
return to the Pensieve. Remus didn’t do so immediately. He had to take a moment
to prepare himself. He knew this would be difficult. If he had a way to fast
forward the memory and skip this part, he would. But as far as they knew, there
was no way past it, only through, and he felt certain there was something on
the other side of it they would need to know to find Harry. He took a deep
breath. And then he raised his wand and dove back in.
 
***** Now to the Bottom Dost Thou Search My Wound *****
                                    Severus
 
Tumbling. Falling. Rending. Crashing. Fragmenting. Crumbling.
There were so many words for what was happening to and inside of Severus, and
none of them was remotely sufficient to describe the scope and magnitude of it.
Years spent constructing layer upon layer of walls to insulate himself from the
event were shown to be in vain. They all disintegrated.
They had been showing cracks for a while now. The Dark had threatened their
integrity far more than anything had in ages. Severus should have shored them
up afterwards, but he hadn’t had an opportunity. Harry’s Madness had distracted
him, during and after. He hadn’t expected to be tested again so soon, so
blatantly. He’d had no time to prepare himself against the onslaught as he had
before he’d carried Harry to the lab to wait out the dark of the moon, knowing
what would happen in its shadows. 
He felt helpless and naked. The rags he wore did not help the sense, but even
his trusted robes would not have shielded him from this. He wouldn’t have been
able to feel them. In his mind, Severus was disrobed completely, clawing at
dirt. He had no sense of the world around him. Not of the threadbare rug over
cold stone that bruised his knees or the chill morning breeze through the ever
brightening window.
This was much more than a reminder or an allusion. The thing itself had
materialised as if from his very nightmares. It was real and tangible, floating
with deceptive innocuity in the basin beside him. He didn’t have to view it to
see it. And he did see it, quite involuntarily, as he was too exhausted to
muster a defence so unexpectedly.
The quiet of the room left a vacuum which his memory filled. It built to a
cacophony, as if every moment of the ordeal was playing at once and endlessly.
Every sensation and emotion blared in unison, giving voice to his demons,
drowning out even thought. His mind and body screamed, though his lips were
still and his throat silent. Pressing his hands to his ears did not block it
out. Scrunching shut his eyes did not shutter them to the evil that played
rapid-fire and unbidden like the vilest and most graphic of horror films in the
theater of his memory.
Harry had watched this,he thought, the shame of that knowledge creeping up as
if from the stones at his knees to coat him in cloying filth as black and
tenacious as tar.
Remus was watching it now. Severus shuddered.
Get him.
At this moment, Remus was watching them lay hands on the boy he was. Severus
felt their fingers bite, and he rubbed his arms to soothe the sting, though it
went to his very bones.  
This is why you turned me down? For this?
The years that Loraina and Harry had spent since to dislodge the disgust he’d
felt for himself then seemed undone in an instant; the single sneering critique
of a rapist somehow bearing more weight in his subconscious than the thousands
of praises whispered by lovers.
What are you going to do about it, you bony little faggot?  
And there it was. He’d had decadesto dismantle the associations in his mind.
But even years of carnal bliss with a very male lover had not succeeded in
neutralising the accusation. Years of visiting obvious pleasure on Harry had
not allowed him to venture those same activities himself. All because their
abusers had called him a faggot. All because they’d cemented in his sensory
memory the horrible pain of uninvited penetration.
Make him kiss it.
Severus shook his head, but the voices would not be quiet.
I’ll make him do more than that.
He felt just as helpless as he had then. Just as powerless to prevent what was
to come.
Make it fit, you tosser.
It was as if he was tearing apart all over again. The memory of it clung to him
like the blood and mud had then, but now he felt the sticky grit on every inch
of him, a grime that would never wash away. He felt a cry rise in him, a bellow
of rage and despair and resentment. But before it could escape, there was a
noise behind him.
The sound of Remus hitting the floor fortunately broke the spell, shattered the
bonds that shackled him to the flashback, and allowed Severus to struggle loose
of the thing, if not entirely free of it. Severus’ eyes flew open and he gasped
his relief, but it was short-lived.
He turned in time to watch Remus scramble back away from the Pensieve as if the
thing chased him, his eyes impossibly wide, his mouth twisted in a grimace; and
Severus’ shame was reinforced. The werewolf stumbled to his feet and glared at
the gently glowing basin in horror, then immediately turned to the window at
his back, rushing forward to throw his head out of it to be sick down the side
of the castle. Severus turned away from the sight, hugged himself as the man
continued to heave as if attempting to purge himself of the filth he’d just
witnessed.
Severus wished the stones would swallow him. He wished he had Harry’s cloak. He
didn’t want to be seen. He didn’t want to know how Remus would look at him now,
if he’d regard him with the same disgust he’d just blasted toward the Pensieve.
He mourned already the loss of the tenderness he’d seen in the man’s expression
before. There might be pity there now but surely no longer love. He wished he’d
never seen it to begin with. He hated that he’d allowed himself to feel it in
return, especially now that it was surely going to be unrequited. He heard the
man stagger away from the window. He heard him approach, but he refused to look
at him. Why couldn’t Severus disappear?
It was Remus’ sob that made him turn and the sound of the werewolf’s knees
striking stone at Severus’ side, but he kept his eyes on the floor. Remus knelt
beside him. He reached for the vampire but didn’t touch him. It was as if he
couldn’t bring himself. As if he didn’t want to be contaminated. Severus rubbed
his arms, tried to tell them to be content with themselves as Remus’ would no
longer be providing the contact they craved.
“Oh, Severus,” he gasped. It was shuddering. “May I?”
Severus was surprised by the question. Finally, he looked at the man. At his
face. Into his eyes. Miraculously, he did not find disgust there. Neither was
there pity. There was only compassion. A sea of it. It inundated the vampire,
and he scowled at Remus, confused. Severus looked to his hovering arms again
and realised Remus was not repulsed. He was asking permission.
Severus had been too shellshocked to weep, but he felt his eyes fill now. He
realised he’d been holding his breath, and he gasped for air as if surfacing
after near drowning. He couldn’t answer the werewolf, though. He couldn’t reach
for him. He was afraid that if he stopped hugging himself he might fall apart
completely.
Remus closed the distance between them slowly, giving Severus every opportunity
to push him away. Severus willed him closer. It seemed his arms would never
descend, but then they did, and Severus was so grateful for it.
Remus embraced him fiercely, kissing the top of his head over and over. It was
a uniquely Remus gesture and surprisingly comforting. But he didn’t seem to
feel he was holding him close enough, and Severus found himself gathered
properly, pulled into the man’s lap like a child with a skinned knee to be
rocked as they both cried. “I’ve got you,” Remus whispered. “It’s alright, my
sweet Severus, I’ve got you now.”
Severus had so rarely been held this way. He’d so rarely felt protected, or
that he needed to be, and he’d never really allowed such a thing from himself
or others. Remus’s arms made him feel safe, though. He was unable to deny his
weakness at the moment. He was unable to reject Remus’ strength. Before that
night, he’d never trusted his burdens to the keeping of another before, though
he’d attempted to carry those of others, and it was so freeing to really set
them aside finally. He’d let Remus hold them, just for a little while. For the
first time in his life, he realised just how tired he truly was.
He closed his eyes and relaxed into Remus’ embrace. “I’m so sorry,” the
werewolf sobbed, pressing his forehead to Severus’. “I’m so sorry.”
Severus didn’t know why the comment was so gratifying. No one had ever
apologised to him for what had happened before. No one had ever known except
Loraina, and she had been just as wounded. It didn’t make him okay. It didn’t
erase his scars. But it made his walls seem less necessary. Instead of Severus
spending so much effort propping them up, there was someone bracing him,
letting him face the thing in their absence. It was less frightening knowing he
wasn’t facing it alone. The foe might never be vanquished, but at least someone
was fighting it at his side.
Severus finally released himself and twisted to hold Remus instead.
 
***** And Will Revolt from Me to Succor Him *****
                                     Remus
 
He landed hard on the floor of Minerva’s office, but though he’d escaped the
Pensieve, Remus wasn’t free of it. Severus’ cries of pain and Rainey’s banshee
wail followed him, reverberating around the gaping hollow the scene had carved
from Remus’ heart. He stumbled to his feet and glared at the gently glowing
basin in horror, not seeing it. What he saw instead, in flashes like random
frames of film, were hands where they shouldn’t be, lovers sundered, tears on
cheeks, the grotesque smiles of those who find glee in the suffering of others.
Remus saw malice. And pain. And blood.
There was no doubt in his mind that he’d just witnessed murder. Who those two
children had been died that night. Remus had watched what was vital and pure
and essential in each of them sputter and extinguish like a flame deprived of
oxygen, smothered by violence and cruelty. The light in their eyes when they
had looked at each other just moments before was gone forever. And Remus
recognized the haunted look that was left in its absence. They both wore it
still.
He’d supposed that life on the run was responsible for Rainey’s, that the
atrocities Severus had seen in Voldemort’s service had caused his. But he
realized now their demons had been born much, much earlier. He could only
suppose what had happened to Rainey afterwards. All he had seen was Stanley
toss her to the ground and fall on her like a hyena on a stolen kill. But it
had not been her rape that had ended her, it had been watching Severus’, and
their bizarre relationship abruptly made perfect sense.
Remus was finally going to be sick. He turned to the window at his back and
rushed to throw his head out of it. He could not stop seeing the terror in
Severus’ eyes when he realized what was about to happen, or the look he’d
shared with Rainey then. He could not stop seeing his own hands pass through
the bastards like smoke, over and over until they lost all recognizable form,
as he’d attempted to tear them away from Severus. He was still trembling with
the rage and frustration that he had not been able to stop them, though he’d
tried. He’d tried. Had tried to rend the villains limb from limb while Rainey
gave voice to the screaming of his own soul.
He had to get a hold of himself. Severus had been alone this whole while, had
been hurting and Remus hadn’t been there to hold him. But the sound of his
retching too resembled the desperate raking of nails on packed dirt, which
caused Remus to retch again. Finally, Remus’ stomach accepted that it could not
be emptied further, and he staggered away from the window to see to the man the
boy he’d just seen torn apart had become.
So many things suddenly made sense to Remus now. So much of who Severus was and
why he did and said and thought what he did was illuminated. It was no wonder
Harry had emerged from the forest that evening and thrown himself at the man’s
feet, swearing to sacrifice anything for the man’s happiness, even Remus. What
Remus himself wouldn’t give now to try and make right, in any way he could, the
wrongs Severus had endured.
Severus was still that broken boy, no matter what he’d lived through since or
how well he’d learned to carry himself, to pretend otherwise. The way he
trembled now, holding himself, his face turned away in shame, was exactly the
young man Remus had just seen in the Pensieve. Though, the only shame to be
found in what had happened to him belonged to the vile monsters who’d assaulted
them.
But Remus understood his withdrawal, the way he seemed to try to disappear.
Severus felt sullied. Ruined. That’s why Remus had such difficulty convincing
him of his inherent worth before. It was why he had sacrificed himself for the
Order for so many years, why he gave so much of himself to Harry. It was why he
felt, beyond all reason, that he deserved the ills that had befallen him,
despite that he’d atoned for his mistakes several times over. Though he had not
been injured as badly as Severus, or as violently, Remus had felt a shadow of
that shame himself as a boy. Enough of it, at any rate, to know what Severus
was feeling now and why he’d yet to heal.
Remus wanted to launch himself at Severus and snatch him up and squeeze his
hurt out of him; to not let him go until he understood, really understood, that
he was not what had happened to him, that no matter his features or his flaws,
he was beautiful and perfect and loved. And loved. But it wasn’t something one
could force on another, and too much had been forced on the man already.
Remus fell to his knees at Severus’ side and held his arms open in invitation,
though Severus would not look at him. “Oh, Severus,” he begged, “May I?”
The man looked up at him in surprise as if he couldn’t believe Remus would
still want to touch him after what he’d seen, and it added yet another band to
Remus’ already bursting heart. Remus could see Severus’ incredulity, could see
him questioning Remus’ motives, because he had so internalized the cruel words
of his attackers that it was easier for him to conceive of insincerity on
Remus’ part than to accept, not only that Remus offered it genuinely, but that
Severus was truly worthy of the man’s compassion. His expression cut Remus to
the quick. But it was not Severus’ suspicion that wounded, it was the
inspiration for it. If the bastards in question hadn’t all died decades ago,
Remus would have tracked them down, as he had Kreacher, but he would not rue
the results in the morning.
Severus stared at Remus’ hovering arms and his eyes filled with tears. He
gasped and could not seem to stop, hugging himself more tightly. Remus felt if
he did not hold the man in his arms soon, he’d die of the longing. But he
closed the distance between them slowly, giving Severus every opportunity to
push him away. Severus closed his eyes when Remus’ arms finally encircled him,
and Remus embraced him fiercely, kissing the top of his head over and over.
He’d have liked to have worshipped every inch of him with his lips, but kisses
didn’t really heal wounds, no matter what mothers told their children, and
Severus’ were too deep to reach regardless.
Severus trembled but was yielding as Remus gathered him properly into his lap.
He didn’t return his embrace, but he offered no resistance as Remus rocked him.
“I’ve got you,” he promised, wishing there was a way to hold him closer still.
“It’s alright, my sweet Severus, I’ve got you now.” It seemed an ironic thing
to say to a vampire. Severus was by far the stronger of them physically. But
strength came in different forms, and all Remus possessed was now Severus’ as
well.
Remus felt the man relax into his arms. Not completely, but Severus seemed to
be coming to accept that he was safe, that it was okay to breathe, okay to
hurt, okay to be exactly as he was and Remus would still be there to hold him.
In all the time Remus had known him, Severus had never lowered his guard. Not
really. He’d always seemed to expect battle at any moment and had held himself
ready for it. And why shouldn’t he? He’d been under siege his whole life. It
hadn’t only been James and Sirius who assailed him, but Remus understood now
why Severus had never been able to let that resentment go.
Snivellus. Hearing the name had always turned Remus’ stomach, but now it filled
him with unbearable shame. His friends had not only tormented the young man,
they had inspired derision toward Severus from others. Their taunt had been on
Severus’ attacker’s lips as they’d violated him, and every time he heard it
after, it had to have reminded the boy of what he’d suffered. “I’m so sorry,”
the werewolf sobbed, pressing his forehead to Severus’. “I’m so sorry.”
Remus felt Severus finally let go of the last of his reservations. He twisted
in Remus’ arms to cling to him. He was quiet. Remus might have expected
sobbing, like before, but Severus was still, seemed to be at peace. His tears
dried while Remus’ still trickled, and he nestled his head over the werewolf’s
heart.
“We have to find Harry,” Severus said softly after too brief a moment. Remus
shook his head. He knew they couldn’t stay there that way forever, but the
horror seemed too fresh. Severus pulled away, and it felt as if a part of Remus
had been removed, a limb amputated. He reached to pull him back, but Severus
lay a hand on his chest and looked into his eyes. He looked more subdued than
Remus had ever seen him. “Thank you,” said Severus. “But...it’s time, Remus. We
need to finish it.”
“You’re certain you’re ready?”
Severus nodded. Remus took a deep breath to steady himself, trying to borrow a
bit of the man’s calm. He reached up to brush away the last remnants of
Severus’ tears and leaned in to kiss him tenderly on the lips. Severus’ eyes
remained closed even after Remus pulled away. Then he smiled --actually,
genuinely smiled-- and though it was small, it lingered. Remus liked the way it
looked on him. He liked, as well, the clearness and confidence in his gaze when
he opened his eyes, his perpetual scowl nowhere to be seen.
They helped each other to their feet, neither of them entirely stable but
strong enough together to make their way to the Pensieve. Regardless of what
they found, both of them would need to rest when they were done. They simply
had nothing left. Their reserve tanks were empty. Just making it through the
rest of this memory would be a feat. They would have to rely on each other’s
arms.
When they returned to the hut, Harry lay on the floor, staring unseeing at the
ceiling as Rainey stroked his face and arms. It was in no way sexual. She knew
the trauma he’d just suffered. It had been hard enough on Remus, and he’d
simply viewed it. Harry had lived it. Rainey had already removed the memory,
but Harry had not yet emerged from it. When he did finally surface, he gasped,
replenishing the tears on his cheeks Rainey had just smoothed away. He looked
up at her, trembling and sorrowful, but couldn’t seem to speak. Her eyes
apologized to him, as well, and he reached up and drew her down into his arms,
cradling her gently as if to comfort her, even though he was the one who
sobbed.
Remus’ anger toward her had cooled considerably. He’d have joined Harry in his
embrace if he could. Her motivations became clearer to Remus. Harry’s enemies
were Severus’ enemies, and Severus’ enemies were hers. Besides, she’d watched
Harry and Severus’ relationship drain the vampire. It drained them both, but
her loyalty was to the man in Remus’ arms. Like Remus, she’d seen that what had
once sustained the two of them now seemed to poison them. Their need for each
other was almost unhealthy, more an addiction than an attraction. But where
Remus thought to help them heal, Rainey seemed content to render them asunder.
He didn’t agree. He couldn’t agree with anything that brought Harry to harm.
But he at least understood.
Rainey petted Harry until his tears dried, but still, he lay speechless.
“They’ll be looking for you, Lovely,” she said softly. She seemed to not want
to rush him, but she glanced at the dead man on the floor and Harry nodded his
understanding and sat up slowly. What they had done could not be discovered by
search parties scouring the forest for a lost bloodwolf.
“What did you do to them?” he whispered after a long moment.
“I think you know that I did to them,” she answered, just as quietly.
Of course. Remus had heard her tell them that she would kill them, but he had
not been able to focus on it over the breaking of his heart as he looked down
at Severus, winded and aching, all his struggles to stop the crime having been
in vain. There was an obvious reason none of their attackers were alive still
for Remus to murder. Stanley hadn’t stumbled drunkenly into the Lake to drown.
The Quidditch accident that had broken Boris’ neck had been no accident. And
Bobby...well, he’d simply disappeared a week before Seventh Year exams. Remus
remembered them searching the Forest for him. There had been rumours for months
that he’d never recovered from his brother’s death, and that he had been acting
increasingly erratically. Half the school thought he’d simply gone mad
completely and wandered off. The other supposed he’d killed himself. Remus had
to imagine that whatever Rainey had done to him, it would likely make Harry’s
foray into torture here look like child’s play. If they ever found Bobby, Remus
would bet good galleons they found him in pieces. He was not nearly as bothered
by this as he knew he should be.
“Did Severus know?” Harry asked her.
“He had to have, but we didn’t speak of it,” she admitted. “They simply
disappeared one at a time and we never acknowledged it. There was no point. He
could not have stopped me. Talking would not have changed their fate. Perhaps
he didn’t even want to. Discussing it would have forced him to admit that to
himself, and he wasn’t ready to accept he could want such a thing.”
Remus looked to Severus, but the man showed no sign that he agreed or disagreed
with what she’d said. He simply wore the same thoughtful expression Rainey did
as she spoke. Knowing Severus as he did, Remus could imagine that all
discussion of the event had been forbidden. Though, the undoubtedly horrible
fates of rapists did not seem to trouble any of them at this point.
“I think he realized, then, what I would do for him,” she went on. “What I
would do to those who hurt him. How far I would go. There is no length I would
not go to to punish those who would harm him,” she told Harry, her expression
hard but casually so. “Which is why we must find this bitch they call The
Boss,” she sneered, her malice more active in her expression now. “Why we must
make her pay for what she has done.”
This was why she had allowed Harry to see the memory. So he could understand
her drive to protect Severus at any cost and be compelled to join her. Harry
stared at her, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere. “I can’t,” Harry told her
finally, bracing himself for her response.
She glared at him. “What do you mean, you can’t?” Rainey demanded in a low
snarl.
“I’m not leaving, Loraina,” he said apologetically. “Especially now. Don’t you
see? They didn’t win. It’s worked out. I have to take care of Severus now,” he
said determinedly, and Remus felt Severus hold him tighter, as surprised and
touched by Harry’s devotion as he had been by Remus’ before. “I have to-”
“The ones who orchestrated this are out there still,” Rainey spat, rising
angrily to her feet, “threatening to expose you, threatening your life and the
lives of those you love. Threatening Severus through you! Don’t you want
revenge?” she demanded.
“I’ve gotten all the revenge I care about,” Harry said, shaking his head. He
looked over at the remains of his vengeance which still needed to be dealt
with. He didn’t look remorseful, just weary. “I can take care of myself now,”
he explained. “The ones I love can take care of themselves. Severus needs me.
It’s over, Loraina,” he told her sadly. “Thank you,” he added sincerely, “for
what you’ve given me, but...it’s over.”
Severus was shaken. “Why?” he asked helplessly. “Why is he gone, then? Why did
he come back to us just to leave?”
Remus shook his head. He had no answers, but he felt certain they were coming.
***** Look, Sirs, if You Can Find the Huntsman Out *****
It was heartening that Harry seemed to have chosen them over this mad campaign,
at least initially. But Remus dreaded learning what could possibly have been
sufficient to change his mind, especially after the evening they had all
shared.
As Rainey stomped angrily from the hut, the memory shifted. They were standing
in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place now. Both men pulled a pained breath on
seeing Harry standing at the sink, naked and still glowing. He was refilling
the teapot that Remus only just remembered he’d set to boil before he had been
drawn upstairs. He’d promptly forgotten about it when he’d overheard Harry vow
to Severus to turn Remus out. Though, that pain seemed old now. If they were to
climb the stairs, they would find themselves in bed together. But on opposite
sides of it, shyly touching fingertips across the divide. How far they’d come
in just a handful of hours.
Remus could hear the tap running in the tub upstairs. It had not yet
overflowed. It slowed the flow of water in the kitchen sink but Harry stood
patiently, grinning to himself as the pot gradually filled. It was a serene
moment, and they were all startled by a sudden knock on the kitchen window over
the sink. Harry only just managed not to drop the teapot in alarm, and he set
it aside with a scowl, turning off the water before peering through the
darkened window panes into the back garden.
Remus and Severus shared a perplexed look. Grimmauld Place was Secret Kept.
Remus himself was the Keeper. Anyone who knew how to find the house could and
would have come by the front door. Harry searched the garden intently, and he
nearly stumbled backwards in surprise when the knock occurred again,
accompanied this time by a flurry of feathers. He hurriedly unlatched the
window and threw it wide. A nondescript brown owl flapped inside but did not
linger. It dropped the small parcel it carried to the floor before immediately
disappearing back through the window. Remus felt Severus stiffen at his side.
The episode had been bizarre, but not enough to account for the troubled
expression on his and Harry’s faces.
“What? What is it, Severus?”
The vampire swallowed apprehensively. “Blood,” he said simply.
“Whose?” Remus asked with a shudder, his expression matching his lovers’ now as
he stared at the small box Harry knelt to pull from under the table. He seemed
loathe to touch it, though, glancing up the stairs more than once as he
considered it anxiously. With a trembling hand, Harry retrieved the package and
stood, setting it carefully on the table. He peeled back the brown wrapper
slowly until he could pry open the lid of the paper box. Even Remus could smell
the contents now.
Harry seemed inordinately terrified by what he found, though, and Remus turned
to Severus for explanation. The man scowled and tested the air, a look of
concentration on his face, before his hand flew to his mouth.
“My gods,” Severus gasped.
Before Remus could ask, Harry reached inside and gingerly plucked out the
contents of the box, and Remus had a sinking feeling that he understood. Most
of its true colour was dyed through with the tacky red tint of drying blood,
but Remus spied unsoiled streaks of rich chestnut in the shorn curl in Harry’s
fingers.
Remus’ eyes fell closed with sickening dread. “I toldher,” he said in a pained
whisper. “I warned her it was too dangerous to wander the Forest alone.”
“But who could know this particular threat stalked it?” Severus sighed.
Harry dropped the thing onto the table as if it were caustic and glanced
nervously toward the stair, clearly torn. He disappeared to the laundry,
emerging in a t-shirt and jeans before stuffing his feet in the trainers by the
garden door. Then he snatched the parcel and its contents from the kitchen
table and rushed to the sitting room with Severus and Remus struggling to keep
up.
It didn’t matter. The memory ripped them first to Severus’ rooms and then to
Loraina’s from there. She seemed less than pleased to find Harry suddenly
stepping from her hearth uninvited.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she scowled. Severus made a small noise and Remus
turned to him. He was scrutinizing the women.
“What is it?” Remus asked.
Severus shook his head. “She’s lying.”
But she hadn’t said much that Remus could tell. Before he could inquire
further, Harry stepped toward her. “Loraina,” he said urgently, but she wasn’t
finished.

“Being accomplices does not give you the right to invade my privacy on a whim,
you entitled brat. What is it you want now?” she demanded, growing angrier
still. “Another sliver of my soul? Another taste of my despair with nothing to
offer in return?” she spat, pacing the floor in front of him. Severus frowned
at her, shaking his head.
“I can’t put my finger on it,” he said. “But something is off.”
Harry sighed. “Loraina, please, listen to me-”

“So you like pain, is that it? Oh, I know. Let me show you the brutality of a
forced infection. Thatmight give you a kick. Or maybe you’d rather see the
height of the Madness when Severus nearly drained me dry, shagging me into the
dirt while I pleaded with him to look into my eyes and remember who he was!”
Severus winced and looked away, shamefaced. Remus held him tighter. Whatever
was wrong would have to be puzzle out later.
“No, no. Even better,” she went on, her anger curdling to despair. “Let me show
the moment when I realized Severus was done with me. The sad, dead look in his
eye when I almost struck him for not ripping the throats from the brigands that
would have left us with our own throats slit for nothing but our wands and
shoes,” she said, causing the man to curl in on himself as if her words were
blows. Remus stroked Severus’ back, watching the scene for the both of them.
“Or would you rather I just bottled these up for you to sip on?” Rainey asked,
gesturing to the tears that spilled down her cheek. Harry looked at her and
shook his head in sad apology. He understood her affront, as did Remus. She had
shown him something intensely personal with the expectation that it would sway
Harry to her way of thinking. But the sacrifice had been in vain, and though
Harry had not been obligated to follow her because of it, she felt betrayed.
“Here I was, thinking you were a masochist,” she hiccuped, her whimpers making
her sound more like a heartbroken little girl than the bloodsucking killer
Remus knew her to be, “with all those bruises Severus left on you. But you’re
not,” she accused poutily. “You’re a sadist. The worst kind. The kind that
pretends they aren’t. Fucking Gryffindor,” she muttered finally as she turned
her back on him, angrily swiping at her cheeks.  

“Loraina. I am sorry,” Harry said softly with aching sincerity. “I know you’re
angry with me, and I don’t blame you. I apologize if you feel like I didn’t
hold up my end of the bargain. But I never actually agreed-”

“Loopholes,” she spat disdainfully. “Loopholes!” she spun around to shout at
him, startling Severus into turning back to face her. “You are so fond of your
excuses,” she muttered bitterly with a dismissive wave in Harry’s vague
direction as she turned to continue pacing.

“Look,” he began, sympathetic but growing frustrated. “It’s not my fault that
you needed me more than I needed you. But now you have to listen to me, becau-”

“Need you?” she interrupted, seemingly appalled at his audacity. “Need you?”
she repeated, her face a disgusted grimace. “I don’t need you, you vain little
shit,” she spat, livid. “Who in hell do you think you are? Who in hell do you
think I am? I wanted purpose and direction. I wanted distraction. All of which
you conveniently offered. I need nothing and no one. And I don’t have to listen
to shit,” she added to his assertion. “If you want to have a confessional, run
to your pet mongrel. He is so fond of his heart-to-hearts,” she sneered. “Or go
find your damned bleeding heart Mudblood.”

“Godsdamnit, Loraina,” Harry shouted finally. “They have the damned bleeding
heart Mudblood. That’s why I’m here!”

Loraina abruptly stopped her pacing. The anger and anguish instantly vanished
from her face and posture as she turned to him, replaced by incredulity and
curiosity in equal measure.
“There. That look,” Severus muttered, almost to himself, his eyes narrowed. “It
isn’t sincere. She’s up to something.”
“You think she knew?” Remus asked. Severus shrugged. He seemed so tired.
“Do I think she could have allowed Hermione to be taken because she knew it
would drive Harry to her? It’s certainly within the realm of possibility. She
was in the Forest. I doubt she could have been unaware of intruders. Watching
whatever mischief they committed unseen from a distance, knowing she could kill
them at any moment without them ever seeing her face, is just the sort of game
she’d enjoy. Though I really thought she held some fondness for Hermione,” he
frowned. “She finds her earnestness entertaining.”
Rainey cocked her head at Harry, waiting for his response. The young man took a
breath to calm himself before extending his still shaking hand to offer her the
box. She snatched it from him and immediately fished the lock of hair from
inside, rolling it between her fingers as she held it up to examine it. “Oh
yes,” Severus sneered, shaking his head in disgust. “She knew.”
“Then what was that diatribe, if she knew why Harry had come?”
“Convenient. She’s still angry with him, even though she knows she’s getting
her way. And she was likely deflecting suspicion, besides.”
Rainey sneered. “The ones you love can take care of themselves can they?” she
taunted Harry, returning the hair to the box and then tossing the thing back to
him. She licked her fingers clean before crossing her arms and scoffing at him.
Harry glared at her but did not respond.
“Why come to me?” she asked, giving him a distrustful look. Her manipulation
was artful. Remus had no doubt Severus was the only person who could have
spotted it. She smirked as divining the answer. “Because you know,” she said,
wagging a finger at him. “If you tell them, they will stop you. You’ve always
known that.” The more Harry fumed, the more gloatingly she sneered. “They will
not come with you. They will alert the Ministry instead. But the Aurors are
bunglers. How challenging was your final exam?” she goaded. Harry threw her an
acrid scowl. “They’ll push papers and follow dead ends,” she continued to prod,
circling him as she spoke. “And all the while your Hermione will be in the
hands of murderers and drug-addled madmen.”
She drew close to Harry to whisper in his ear, wringing as much from her
revenge as she could. “I wonder what they'll do to her when she runs her
mouth,” she said, skipping back away from the suddenly murderous expression the
comment evoked, seeming tickled by it. Remus was feeling far less understanding
toward her with every word. “Or when they get bored,” she shrugged. “She is a
pretty little thing under all that frizzy mess.”
Harry was trembling with anger. It reminded Remus of when she’d tried to draw
out the wolf before, but more malicious. “I do wonder what they’ll do,” she
went on musingly. “And to think she was so happily free of you and your
bullshit just days ago. But now she may never get back to her shiny new lover
on their sparkling private beach. And it will be all...your...fault,” she said
quietly, leaning in as she spoke, only inches from Harry’s increasingly violent
expression.

She finally succeeded in provoking the young man to violence. Harry snatched
her by her shirt front and slammed her, snarling, against the sitting room
wall. But she was unfazed. In fact, she began giggling so uncontrollably she
couldn’t even manage to free herself from his grasp. Harry’s aggression
withered to be replaced by disgust and he released her, letting her slip down
the wall and onto the floor where she continued to laugh.
“Are you going to help me or not?” Harry demanded down at her. Her giggles
quickly spent themselves, and she looked up at him with a grin, her head
lolling against the stones behind it.

“Well, of course I will, Lovely,” she shrugged. “I’m ready when you are.”

Harry nodded, seeming relieved, but then he turned to pace. “I’ve left my wand
at home,” he fretted. “It’s in my jeans pocket in my room and I didn’t want to
disturb the both-”
He broke off his explanation too late. Loraina pulled herself from the floor,
looking as if she were about to be ill. “Now why would it be in a different
pair of trousers on the floor of your room where you might ‘disturb’ the boys?”
she asked flippantly. She sniffed him, her nose scrunched. “I could tell you’d
just been with one of them. Lucky Ducky, though, seems to have finally managed
them both.” She sneered at him, but Harry’s expression held an aggressive lack
of apology. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, eyeing him with disappointment. “You
don’t need a wand.”

Harry nodded but looked uncomfortable. Remuswas uncomfortable. Harry’s creature
abilities could only do so much against armed wizards. Severus’ pinched the
bridge of his nose. “Does she think he’s attempting rescue or fucking suicide?”
he spat, his aggravation quickly returning.
It seemed she was merely toying with Harry, however, as she sauntered over then
to pull something from the drawer of her writing desk. When she returned, she
presented him with a wand Remus had never seen before. “Willy’s,” she explained
with a shrug.
Harry took it reluctantly. It looked shoddy. Definitely not an Ollivander’s.
Harry gave it a swish, though, and it responded. “We don’t know any more about
where to find her than the Ministry does,” Harry pointed out, seeming to grow
less confident about the endeavour with each passing moment.

“Don’t we?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “I’ve been spending a lot of time on
Knockturn.”

Harry stared at her as if contemplating their odds. “We won’t get in,” he added
anxiously. “If we go in with our fangs bared, the real bad guys will see us
coming and scarper.”

“So we won’t go in with our fangs bared,” she shrugged. She returned to the
desk drawer and took more things out of it. “Polyjuice,” she explained,
waggling a flask illustratively in his direction, causing Severus to sputter
with indignation. “And bits of Willy,” she added, several strands of hair
pinched between her fingertips. “Don’t look so surprised, Lovely,” she said,
almost offended. “We both know you’re shit at foresight, and I never go into
anything unprepared.”    

“You just happen to have Polyjuice?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“One of Severus’ N.E.W.T.s made it for her final assessment. I helpfully
offered to ‘dispose’ of it for him. Poor dear was so busy with other things at
the time,” she explained, her voice thick with accusation. Severus seethed but
seemed too angry, or too tired, to rail about it.

Harry took the flask hesitantly, glancing at the floo. He appeared to be having
serious doubts. “You can go to them, Harry,” Rainey said at his ear, startling
him. “But if you do, Hermione won’t be coming back alive. It’s up to you,” she
shrugged.

Harry threw Rainey a resentful look, but his grip tightened around the flask in
his one hand and the unfamiliar wand in his other. He warred with himself for a
moment, but Remus saw his resolve cement. “I’ll be right back,” he said
quickly, already moving toward the floo. Rainey was disquieted but tried
belatedly to hide it.

“Why? Saying goodbye? It will only make it harder,” she said, watching uneasily
as he scooped out a handful of floo powder. “Come, Lovely,” she urged him
softly, her voice full of tragic understanding. “Let us simply go.”

“It’s not that,” Harry objected. “Just wait for me. I promise, I‘ll be back.”
He didn’t give her an opportunity to argue. He was already tossing the powder,
stepping into Severus’ quarters. He flew down the steps to the lab, and Severus
and Remus followed as quickly as they were able. Which wasn’t very.
By the time they made it to the bottom, Harry was stowing the potion Severus
had just brewed him into a felt sack, bits of chamomile still clinging to its
mouth. He added the bottle of Polyjuice to it before tying it off. Then he cast
about for a flask. The amount of blood he deposited in it was almost worrying.
“Blood?” Remus asked. He’d wondered before but had been too distracted by the
other flask’s contents to ask.
“For me to work with,” Severus said, his voice small and wavering. “In case he
doesn’t come back.”
Harry healed the cut with a smear of balm from a cauldron in the corner and
took up the second flask, and abruptly, they found themselves in Minerva’s
office once again. The cache of memories seemed finally to be spent. For a
moment, they merely stood silently holding each other. The task ahead was
daunting. They now knew why Harry had gone, but they didn’t learn more beyond
that Moribund’s was a place of interest. And Kingsley had told them that days
ago.
Eventually, Severus stirred, staggering over to the Pensieve to begin fishing
the memories out of its basin with a shaking hand to place them back into their
flask. Without him there to stabilize him, Remus swayed. He felt faint. “We
have to alert the Ministry,” he told Severus as he watched the man work.
“Do we?” he challenged, still concentrating on his task.
“Severus, they have Hermione,” Remus argued. “Loraina knew this mission would
get them killed. Heknows. We have to help somehow.”
Severus waved his wand at the newly capped flask of memories and they vanished,
likely sent somewhere secure in his quarters. “There was a reason he did not go
to the Ministry himself, Remus, and it was a valid one,” he said, shaking his
head. “How closely do we want them looking into the disappearance of one
William Royal? And there’s no telling what gods awful things Loraina did to
Timothy.”
“Severus. He could die.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Severus snarled, rounding on him and startling
the werewolf. “Do you think for a second I’m not eaten alive by panic and
worry? But we can’t have them finding him only to toss him into fucking
Azkaban!”
Remus was more than a bit hurt by the severity of his tone and it showed, but
he knew the man was at his wit’s end. Severus looked contrite and reached for
him, his touch apologetic. “We have to at least speak to Kingsley,” Remus
urged, resting his forehead against Severus’. He liked the way it made them
feel connected. “He’ll keep it between us.”
“I agree,” said Severus, his tone much softer. “We should get dressed.”
Remus nodded, but he didn’t think he had the strength left to speak to
Kingsley, in rags or not. “Severus, I think we need to rest,” he mumbled,
fading. “I know this is urgent, but-”
He was interrupted by a loud crack behind them. The two men let their arms fall
away from each other and turned to the noise to find Minerva scowling at them.
She was wearing a shawl and hat, clearly having been out. It made sense, now,
how they’d managed not to wake her. She looked a bit frazzled, and not at all
pleased to find them in her private quarters.
“And just what are you two doing here? And in such a condition!” she said
frowning at their state of undress. Neither of them wore shoes. Remus was in a
dressing gown with no sash and Severus’ shirt no longer possessed enough
buttons to be functional. “I understand that we’ve been more informal with each
other as of late, but that’s no call to use my things without permission,” she
grumbled, looking pointedly at the Pensieve which they had not yet managed to
put away. Then she seemed to notice the rents in what little they wore, and the
scratches beneath, and she softened. A bit. She seemed to resent the suspicion
that her reasons for offense were vanishing and was flustered. “What is the
meaning of all this?”
The two men shared a dispirited look. Where to start? How much should they
share?
“Harry’s disappeared, Minerva,” Remus began, taking a step toward her but
quickly deciding it best not to take another. Simply remaining upright was
proving a challenge, never mind forward movement. “Hermione’s been kidnapped.
He’s trying to save her. We’re following. Soon,” he promised, trying to
convince himself he would be able. “We have to-”
The creak of the office door swinging open silenced him, and the three of them
turned at the same time to identify their visitor. Remus blinked, wondering if
his exhaustion was causing him to hallucinate, but he felt Severus’ hand grope
for his arm as if the vampire needed to steady himself, and he knew they were
seeing the same thing.
Minerva turned from the door to lift a demanding eyebrow at them both. “You
were saying, Remus?”
***** For He Must Not Die *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                    Severus
 
“Hermione?”
She looked bedraggled and peevish. Severus couldn’t do much other than blink at
her at first.
“No one was at Grimmauld Place,” she began irritably. “There was water
everywhere. What on earth happened-”
“How are you here?” Severus demanded, finally finding his voice. She looked
confused.
“Well, I flooed to-”
“We thought you were kidnapped,” he said, almost accusingly.
“Oh, I was,” she said, her irritation turning to pure spitfire. “Where the
hellis Loraina, anyways?”
“Rainey?” Remus stammered. It had taken him slightly longer to recover from his
shock. There was still no blood in his face.
“What about Loraina?” Severus said coldly, angry without yet understanding why,
though not at Hermione.
“She accosted me in the forest,” said the young woman, her lips twisted in
outrage. “Then she tied me up and took me to the Shrieking Shack. She refused
to tell me why, just that I’d be found or I’d escape soon, that I was clever
enough. She didn’t even tie me all that well,” she said, showing them her
chafed wrists, “though I only just managed to work my way loose. I was in that
damned hovel for hours. Absolutely covered in splinters,” she grumbled. “And
she cut my hair! And my bloody arm,” she added, less concerned, displaying the
already-healed wound. “Bloody hurt.” They all just stared at her, slack-jawed.
“What?” she asked, apprehensively, finally taking in the state of them and the
fact that they were all in Minerva’s office at the crack of dawn. “Where is
she?” She looked around the room. “Wait, where’s Harry?”
“You should know where he is,” Severus muttered dejectedly. She shook her head
and looked to Remus to clarify.
“Why didn’t you tell us, Hermione?” he asked quietly as if it still hurt him
that she’d kept it to herself. Her irritation finally left her and her eyes
widened in understanding.
“He hasn’t.”
Remus nodded sadly. “To save you,” he explained.
“But I’m right here,” she scowled.
“We know you’re here! ” Severus finally exploded, having had more than he could
bear of the back and forth. “He doesn’t know that, though, and he’s trying to
be a bloodysaviour again!”
Severus filled his lungs to bellow further about the absolute clusterfuck that
was their situation, but before he could continue his tirade, Remus abruptly
collapsed to the floor. The Potions Master’s fury and frustration instantly
vanished, usurped by heart-stopping concern. He hadn’t fallen to his knees in
despair, Remus had fallen unconscious.
Severus dropped to his side and pulled Remus’ head into his lap. He was paler
than Severus had realized, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow though
his skin was cool. The fact that it had been there for hours only just
registered with the vampire. Remus stirred, prying open his eyes with
difficulty, and saw Severus’ worried expression. “It’s alright, Severus,” he
slurred, threatening to drift out of consciousness again. “I’m simply
overwhelmed. I...I just need to rest.”
“No,” said Severus shakily, taking in the size of his pupils. The light in the
room continued to grow with the rising sun, but they remained blown wide.
Nausea. Weakness. Sweating. Drop in temperature. Dilated pupils. “No this…”
“It almost looks as if he has-”
“Skirmish Sickness,” Severus said breathlessly, finishing Hermione’s thought.
She had dropped to her knees as well and was feeling Remus’ brow. The two of
them shared a terrified look as she checked his pulse. It was still dim enough
in the room that Severus could see it struggle.
Panic gripped the vampire and he buried his arm beneath Remus’ knees to lift
him. “Help me, someone,” he gasped, staggering to his feet with Remus in his
arms. “Floo us to my quarters. Quickly.”
Minerva obliged, and the two women followed close on Severus’ heels as he
carried Remus unsteadily down the stairs to his lab. “Severus,” Hermione
ventured anxiously from behind him. “He needs to go to St. Mungo’s.” The
Potions Master shook his head adamantly, laying Remus on his cot.
“Severus, I think maybe she’s right,” Remus mumbled, seeming to finally realize
how sick he actually was. He knew what Skirmish Sickness was and how serious it
could be, and he looked a bit lost and vacant, as if he were suddenly staring
his death in the face.
“And explain how you happened upon a curiously slow-acting form of cross
toxicity?” Severus muttered, tugging his blankets up and tucking them beneath
the werewolf’s chin. “I think not.”
“It wouldn’t bother me, Severus,” he frowned. “Would it really shame you to the
point you’d let me die?”
The question so wounded Severus that for a moment he lost track of what he was
doing. He cast Remus a pained look. “It’s not about that,” he said quietly.
“Loraina and I are both unregistered. If I were discovered, I would lose my
position here. Without it, none of us would have access to our potions
ingredients. And...there’s more than a rumour stirring about mine and Harry’s
relationship. Shagging a vampire would be almost as damaging to his reputation
as them discovering he was one himself.” He scowled at the werewolf. “Besides,
you are not going to die,” he said firmly. “I refuseto let you, do you
understand me? The mortality rate associated with cross infection is mostly due
to the speed and severity of onset, not the symptoms themselves,” he explained,
regaining his focus and forcing himself to his feet to rummage through his
ingredient shelves, pulling down several jars and setting them on a workbench.
“That is in our favour. If this was a typical case, you’d have been unconscious
hours ago.” He cast about for a scrap of parchment and a quill, scratching down
a list for the Matron of Hogwarts. “It is an unconventional accidental
infection with slower and milder symptoms. I can treat you,” Severus said,
straightening and looking him in the eye. “Remus, I will not let you die,” he
vowed.
The werewolf nodded but still seemed troubled. “Perhaps I can’t go to St.
Mungo’s. But Severus,” he said softly, as if it pained him to do so, “you
should be following Harry.”
Severus simply stared at him for a moment, his heart called in separate
directions. He hadn’t exactly forgotten about the young man and the peril he
was in, but Remus was here before him now and in just as dire a need. Moredire,
in fact.
“It’s okay,” Remus whispered, sounding increasingly fatalistic. “I know you
want to go after him. And you should.” He looked the vampire in the eyes, the
fear bleeding from his as the werewolf seemed to achieve some kind of
acceptance. “You chase your happiness where you can find it, Severus,” he said
as firmly as his condition would allow. “You deserve it.”
As if Remus deserved to die for the sake of that happiness. As if Severus could
ever truly be happy if it came at this cost.
“It’s something that he invited,” Severus said finally, swallowing his longing.
“As you said, Harry is an adult. I fully intend to bring him home as soon as we
know for certain where in fuck he’s gone,” he growled. “But I do not believe
him so fragile that he cannot see to himself until we sort this,” he said,
having made up his mind. He moved determinedly around the workbench and toward
his elixir cabinet.
“Severus-”
“I’m not going to abandon you, Remus!” he practically shouted, stopping
abruptly to glare the man down until he accepted it. Severus would have no more
of this opening one’s arms to death and sending Severus off with his blessing
nonsense. “You aren’t going to fucking die, so wipe that pitiful look from your
face and concentrate on recovering. Because the sooner you’re better, the
sooner we can go muzzle our fucking shortsighted, irresponsible, impulsive…”
Severus literally bit his tongue, because far too many additional adjectives
sprang to mind and they didn’t have time for him to list them all. He hadn’t
been so truly annoyed with Harry in years. Confident there would be no further
argument, Severus summoned Hermione. “I need you to go to the infirmary. Rouse
Poppy. I need everything from this list. Fast as you can.”
She nodded but looked tempted to argue. She was white as a sheet and kept
casting panicked glances to Remus. But the glare he’d silenced the werewolf
with was still fixed to Severus’ expression, and Hermione held back her
objections and rushed toward the stair with Severus’ request to Madam Pomfrey.
Severus yanked open his elixir cabinet, pulled down a phial of Wideye Potion,
and tossed it back. It was like putting a plaster on a severed limb, but it
would have to serve. He felt his head clear marginally, the concoction boosting
his already surging adrenaline by the smallest amount. It would soon be
completely fatigued, but not before he did what he needed to do.
Severus plucked a few more bottles from the case before closing it, pouring
them in measured amounts into a flask with a few of the ingredients from his
shelves. He shook and strained it like a cocktail into a small beaker and
carried to an ailing Remus.
“Here,” he said, his temper cooled considerably, perching on the edge of the
cot. “Drink this, Dear.” He helped the werewolf to wrap his fingers around the
glass, but Remus made no move to obey. Severus found the man staring at him, a
small smile playing on his lips. “What?” he frowned. Remus shook his head,
unable to speak for a moment.
“You called me Dear,” he said, moved enough that it was almost inaudible.
Severus felt his cheeks warm. He’d not noticed. “Well,” he whispered, self-
conscious. “You are dear to me,” he admitted.
Remus gathered Severus’ fingers in his weaker ones and lifted the vampire’s
hand to his lips, and Severus felt compelled to bend and replace it with his
own. But they had an audience, and so he gently reclaimed his hand and slipped
it behind Remus’ head to help him lift it, bringing the beaker of medicine to
Remus’ lips instead. “You need to rest now,” he told the werewolf. Remus had no
choice but to obey. Severus had dosed him with, among other things, Dreamless
Sleep. Almost immediately, Remus’ eyes closed as he slipped into untroubled
slumber, and Severus’ heart gave a pang, hoping to all the gods those eyes
would indeed open again once more.
Certain he was sleeping soundly, Severus rose swiftly from the cot and turned
to his workbench to begin the distillation he’d need to treat the werewolf, but
he came face-to-face with Minerva. She stared at him expectantly. So much had
happened so quickly, they’d not gotten a chance to finish explaining the
situation. There wasn’t strictly time to go into it. But there wasn’t really
time to put it off, either. Severus opened his mouth to address her when
Hermione flitted down the stairs with her arms full of Severus’ order, plus,
unexpectedly, the Matron who’d filled it. Poppy swept past him without a word
to examine Remus. The vampire let her, deciding his conversation with the
Headmistress could wait before striding over to Hermione.
The young woman was visibly shaken, still gripped by the fear that Severus had
just set aside in order to feel it later, when he could afford to. “I
apologize, my dear,” he told her, lifting the items from her hands and
transferring them to the tabletop with the other components. “You’ve had a
trying night, been abducted and assaulted, and all I did was shout at you.”
She opened her mouth to respond, her expression miserable as she looked up at
him, but her eyes filled with tears and she seemed to discard what she’d been
about to say. “It’s all gotten wretchedly out of hand,” she said instead,
swiping at her cheeks. He patted her awkwardly on the arm, but he didn’t have
time to pet her. He had work to do. Severus turned to begin setting up his
equipment, and Hermione was quick to help, expediting the process enormously.
“Minerva, help me move him to the infirmary, won’t you?” Severus heard Poppy
say just as he finished setting everything to brew and took a step back. He
scowled over at the two women as one conjured a gurney and the other performed
a levitation spell on his sleeping companion.
“He’d be more comfortable in his own bed,” Severus objected, sweeping over.
Poppy gave him a restrained but scolding look. “I cannot tend to him from
Grimmauld Place,” she said, politely exasperated.
“I shall tend to him,” he countered with a frown, almost certain that should be
obvious.
“Severus,” she argued, reaching for patience, “you are not a healer.”
Severus’ brow creased further. “Do you object to my planned course of
treatment?” he demanded, gesturing to the medicine starting to percolate on the
table behind them. “Is there anything you would like to add to it that I cannot
administer?”
Poppy glanced at the contraption, her lips pursed, and huffed out a sigh.
Before she could answer, however, Severus dismissed her completely and turned
to pluck a still hovering Remus from the air, trudging stubbornly toward the
stair with him.
“For pity’s sake, Severus. I’m not trying to keep him from you,” Pomfrey
fussed, bobbing up beside him as though to supervise.
“Good. Because you shan't,” said Severus flatly. The Wideye Potion was wearing
off more and more quickly with each step he climbed, though, and he wasn’t
confident in his ability to make it to Grimmauld Place before his body failed
him completely.
Severus heard a levitation spell being whispered behind him and Remus’ weight
evaporated. He turned to see Hermione with her wand raised. She gave him a
sheepish look as she tugged the gurney with her to where Severus stood staring
at her, open-mouthed, as he absorbed her betrayal.
“I’ll help you,” she said quietly when she reached him, and Severus heaved a
sigh of relief. Together, they settled the werewolf onto the floating gurney.
Grimmauld Place was still dripping, but Severus didn’t have it in him to worry
about it. Damages could be repaired. Later. By someone else. Severus only had
the capacity to worry about the man he guided up the squelching stairs.
Before they laid him in bed, Severus pulled the shredded dressing gown from
Remus' shoulders. He reached to do the same with the man’s ruined trousers but
cast a sudden look to Hermione, feeling a foolish but stubborn jealousy. She
was already seeing more of the werewolf than Severus was comfortable with. But
she seemed to understand his pause and politely turned around as Severus
finished stripping Remus and settled him gently into bed, not turning back
until Severus had carefully tucked the bedsheets around him.
“What do we do now?’ she asked.
Severus shook his head. Saying it aloud made it all the more frustrating.
“There isn’t much more we cando at the moment. The garlic distillation I’ve
started will take a few hours. I’ve given him potions to treat his individual
symptoms, but they will need to be re-administered when next he wakes. Perhaps
before then. They can be given intravenously if necessary. Beyond that, we
simply must wait until the infection runs its course. The werewolf strain in
his blood should overpower and obliterate the invading vampire virus
eventually. But the two are at war for the moment, and all we can do is
maintain the battlefield.”
“And why,” Minerva asked critically, “are they at war within him?” Severus
blinked at her. He hadn’t even noticed her entering the room. Nor Poppy.
Wonderful. He had a full audience.
His cheeks flushed crimson. “It’s a long story,” he hedged. “And unimportant.”
“The two of you didn’t get into a scuffle?”
“With each other? No,” he said, shaking his head and dropping to a seat on the
bed, reaching absently to lay a hand on the sleeping man beside him.
“With some other vampire, then?” she pressed. “Loraina?”
“There was no scuffle,” he sighed.
“But Severus,” she argued, growing frustrated, “why are the two of you so
battered? And why is Remus so ill? From whom did this cross infection come?”
Severus found it difficult to meet the Headmistress’ eye. “It isn’t the result
of hostilities, I’ll say that,” he muttered.
The three women shared a look, and Severus’ blush was suddenly contagious.
“Oh,” Minerva stammered. “But I thought Harry wasn’t infectious,” she persisted
in a hushed voice as if afraid to be overheard by polite company. Gods, Severus
thought the heat in his face might cause blisters soon.
“Heisn’t,” he told her even more quietly through clenched teeth, his eyes
firmly glued to the floor. The Headmistress tsked.
“Really, Severus,” she said, flustered. “This relationship all of you have is
positively labyrinthine,” she muttered, rearranging her shawl for no
discernable reason.
“It really isn’t anyone’s concern,” he grumbled bitterly.
“Except when it is,” she huffed back. “Remus is critically ill, but apparently
we can’t take him for proper medical treatment because then we’d have to
explain he had unprotected physical relations with an unregistered vampire in
Hogwarts' employ,” she groused. “Stop making it my concern and I’ll gladly stop
being concerned. And where in Merlin’sname is Harry?”
Severus rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. It felt this night would
never end. There was so much that needed to be done and Severus didn’t have the
energy for any of it, not even to explain it. “There isn’t much I can tell
you.” 
“That you can, or that you will?” Minerva asked, her eyebrow arched. Severus
threw her an annoyed glance but ignored the comment.
“Loraina, we learned tonight, has convinced Harry to hunt down his attackers
with her. She’d been trying for a while, it seems, but he’d had second
thoughts; had agreed but then had changed his mind about it. And so she
apparently staged Hermione’s abduction as a ruse in order to change it back,”
he explained. The young woman in question looked suddenly guilt-ridden, but
being used as an unwilling pawn in Loraina’s schemes was hardly her fault. He
gave her a forgiving look, regardless. “They set off this evening,” he went on.
“Or...last night. Whichever. They are gone,” he finished miserably, laying his
head in his hands.
“Well, that certainly explains it,” Minerva muttered with a troubled frown.
“Explains what?”
“Kingsley summoned me to discuss an urgent development. He did not want to do
so via floo and could not leave the Ministry, so I met him there,” she told
him. “The gang out of Moribund’s was decimated last night.”
The news wasn’t particularly surprising, but it was nonetheless upsetting.
Severus was exhausted to the bottom of his very soul, and he must have looked
it, because he felt Minerva offer a rare gesture of comfort.
“There was no suspicion of Harry’s involvement that I could ascertain,” she
assured him, laying her fingertips on his shoulder. “That information is
entirely new.”
“Let us hope there remains none,” Severus sighed.
“And you and Remus had nothing to do with it?” she ventured carefully, eyeing
the blood-stained rents in his meagre clothing. She didn’t seem critical, just
curious.
“No. We were here, trying to discover where he’d gone.”
“And that involved my Pensieve?” she asked, seeming far more disapproving of
the trespass than of possible mass murder. Severus merely glared at her as if
warning her not to dig further. There was no way in all of Hades he’d be
allowing anyone else to view the memories Harry had left behind. She seemed
disgruntled, but mildly so, and did not pursue it. “I suppose I shall contact
Kingsley, then,” she muttered in surrender.
“Only Kingsley, Minerva, please,” he asked. “The situation is delicate, but I
really can’t go into it just now,” he murmured. He swayed where he sat. His
exhaustion was catching up with him fast and he was fading.
“You have a lie-down, Severus,” she told him, sounding surprisingly kindly as
she patted him lightly on the back. “We’ll all discuss what’s to be done once
you’ve rested.”
“I can’t rest,” he objected, even as his eyes attempted to slide closed. “Remus
has to be monitored.”
“The infirmary is empty,” Poppy said, stepping forward. Her expression was far
less scolding than it had been in the lab. “I can sit with him for a time while
you get some sleep. I’ll wake you if there’s a change.”
Severus looked at her, torn between protest and gratitude.
“And I’ll help,” Hermione was quick to add. She was still anxious, still seemed
to feel she needed to compensate for her role in the night’s events.
Severus couldn’t argue. He could barely remain conscious. Finally, he nodded
his acceptance, but there was no way he’d manage to make his way downstairs and
to his own quarters. He only just managed to stumble his way around to the
other side of Remus’ bed to collapse into it, falling instantly into sleep at
the werewolf’s side.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Severus: Grr. MY werewolf. *spit*hiss* No touchy touchy.
     <3
***** Hold Thee Dearly *****
                                     Remus
 
He didn’t feel pain, only weakness. And cold. For a werewolf, so used to the
fiery metabolism which fueled their monthly healing, the chill in his bones was
insidious. And yet, the sweat seemed to pour from him, despite his lack of
fever. It chilled him even further.
Thankfully, he wasn’t often awake. But when he was, Severus was there; at first
in rags and then in crisp clean robes; often laying beside him, sometimes
holding his hand. He looked so concerned, it pained Remus, and the werewolf
tried to speak to him to comfort him, but no words ever seemed to escape.
Occasionally, he was aware of others talking, usually to one another. Though a
few times, Remus realized Severus spoke quietly to him when they were alone.
When next he woke, Remus would try to recapture those words, but he never
could. There was only a sense that what had been said was important and
personal, things that perhaps the vampire had always wished to speak to another
but could not bring himself to say. Remus hoped Severus would repeat them when
he was well enough to listen.
He didn’t know how many days had passed, but Remus woke finally, clearer-headed
than he had been in what felt like ages. “Severus?” He struggled to focus on
the figure seated beside him. When it resolved itself, however, it was not the
Potions Master. Hermione quickly set aside the book she’d been reading.
“How are you?” she asked, leaning forward to rest her hand over his. It was a
bigger question than he had strength to answer. She seemed stricken as she
looked at him but also heartened by his lucidity, and though his waking seemed
a surprise to her, Remus smelled broth close at hand. The young woman turned
hopefully to pluck it from the side table. “Do you think you could take some,
Remus?” she asked him.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. He attempted to sit up but found he was too weak
to do much more than slide his hand across the top of his blanket.
“Wait, Remus. Let us help,” she rushed to offer, setting the bowl back down.
“Severus. Severus, he’s awake.”
The vampire was there, after all, slumped in the chair at the writing desk. The
House Elf that hung over it, though, was missing. Severus stirred, locked eyes
with Remus, and was almost instantly on his feet. Together with Hermione, he
managed to work an additional pillow beneath the werewolf, lifting him enough
that the young woman could spoon a beefy liquid into Remus’ mouth without
choking him. To everyone’s surprise, including his own, he managed to finish
the bowl, and when he requested more, he half expected Hermione to burst into
tears. She nodded and hurried from the room to warm another for him.
Hungry as Remus was, he wasn’t certain he would manage to stay upright long
enough to drink it. Though he’d done little more than lay and swallow, he was
exhausted. Without the distraction of food, Remus turned his attention to
Severus. Well, to finding Severus. Once Remus had been propped into place, the
vampire seemed to have disappeared. Remus found him leaning against the far
wall, regarding him with a concerned but hopeful expression.
The werewolf found his distance unbearable. It seemed the time for whispered
words and comfortable weight beside him on the bed was over now that Remus was
awake. He wondered if Severus knew that those things, more than the medicine
they administered, were responsible for Remus’ recovery. Without them now, he
felt like giving in to the weakness in his bones, like slipping back into
oblivion. He was almost too tired to beckon to him. “Please.” He didn’t have
the breath for much more, could not articulate his plea further.
Severus’ brow furrowed and he pushed himself away from the wall. “Please, what,
Remus?” he asked softly.
“I need.” Each word was quieter than the last.
Severus drew close to the bed and crouched beside it. “What do you need?” His
tone was patient, but his expression was anxious as he waited to hear the
werewolf’s request.
“You.” It was barely a whisper, but it seemed to take Severus’ breath to hear
it. Remus opened his hand to him, hoping the vampire would look to see it, as
he could no longer move anything but his fingers. He was fading. Severus’
touch, however, as he gathered Remus’ hand in his own, helped energize the
werewolf; as did the palm laid gently on Remus’ cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Severus whispered, anguished to see him slipping away again. But
Remus couldn’t argue that they both were to blame for Remus’ condition, had
both lacked foresight and should have known better. He couldn’t tell Severus
that he would not have taken back their night together for all the world,
despite this outcome. Remus could only drift back into sleep, feeling warmer
under the vampire’s icy touch than he had in days.
Don't be gone so long this time, Remus. I...I need you, too. I can't face all
this alone. 
Remus didn’t think he’d dreamed it, and it was far more sustaining than the
broth he didn’t get to drink.







***** Let Her Rest in Her Unrest Awhile *****
                                    Severus
 
Hermione appeared in the doorway with a steaming bowl of broth but stopped
short on seeing Severus kneeling beside the bed with Remus’ hand held in his
own and tears standing in his eyes. Severus swiped at his face as he stood, but
the young woman had already seen him in several more emotional states than most
were allowed. It seemed an unnecessary waste of energy to pull back up his
mask. He looked at the bowl she held and shook his head sadly. Hermione very
nearly dropped it as her hand flew to her mouth.
“He’s not…”
“No, no,” Severus assured her, stepping forward to take the sloshing liquid
from her trembling hand. “I only meant that he’s not awake any longer and won’t
be needing this,” he said, setting it carefully aside. “It’s alright. He’s
merely sleeping.”
Hermione released a sob. It sounded more from pain than relief, and he helped
her to a seat where she cried openly. Severus hovered at her side, not quite
sure what to do about it. She had barely slept since Remus fell ill, watching
him closely during her shifts as if willing him well and spending her time away
from his bedside fretting over Harry’s absence and the news trickling in from
Kingsley. The stress seemed to have caught up with her.
“For a moment I was almost certain you were telling me he’d gone. They do that
sometimes,” she said as if to herself, bunching the hem of her shirt in her
hands. “When my grandmother fell ill, she woke only once before she passed on.
It was like she was saying goodbye. If Remus had died, I...I’d never have been
able to forgive myself,” she wept.
She’d shouldered so much guilt over Remus’ condition, it was almost baffling.
Her abduction, which she’d really had no say in, had had no bearing on the
situation that caused Remus’ illness. And even if she’d confessed Harry’s plans
to them sooner, it was very likely things would have transpired in just this
way eventually, regardless.
If anyone was to blame, it was Severus. He’d been berating himself for days for
not having considered the consequences of their interaction. Of course, he’d
had no thought of being with the man at all until the moment it had actually
occurred. Remus had been the one, apparently, scheming to make it a reality.
And Severus was more than a little peeved at the man that, in all his
contemplation of it, this complication had never occurred to him. Still, he was
well familiar with the panicked self-condemnation he saw in Hermione’s eyes.
Severus knelt beside her and patted her arm. His attempt at comfort was awkward
but appeared to be appreciated, though her small smile seemed to excuse him
from further efforts and so he withdrew to perch on the edge of Remus’ bed.
“It must have been difficult,” she said, pulling herself together. Severus gave
her a questioning look. “Watching Harry be so sick for so long,” she clarified.
“I’m sorry, Severus,” she whispered with an aching sympathy. “I know I couldn’t
have done it myself,” she confessed in a small voice, picking at the stitching
on her skirt. “Knowing the ones we love are in pain is one thing, but seeing
it…” She glanced to Remus and shuddered.
Severus took a deep, steadying breath, as remembering that anguish had stolen
the one already in his lungs. “Remus will be alright now,” he told her. His own
anxiety over the man’s condition had disappeared along with the broth Remus had
devoured. “A dying man wouldn’t have been so hungry,” he said with the faintest
reassuring smile. Still, he looked over at Remus as if to confirm he was indeed
breathing. It was habit at this point. The man’s position seemed uncomfortable
to Severus, still propped upright on extra pillows even though Remus slept. He
reached to gently remove them.
“I never thought I’d ever see the two of you show anything more tender than
forced civility toward each other,” Hermione said wonderingly as she watched.
Severus didn’t bother to blush. After he’d possessively squirrelled the man
away --and also confessed the cause of his current condition-- there seemed
little sense in hiding his affection for the werewolf.
“Nor I,” he admitted quietly. “I suppose hearts change.”
He’d rather resented it when Harry had first changed his. He hadn’t liked being
reminded that he had one, much less being made suddenly slave to it. But this
was different somehow. It had been just as involuntary, but loving Remus felt
less like burden and more like liberation. The two men met each other on more
common ground than they did with Harry. Severus didn’t have to save Remus from
himself. Rather, it was the other way around.
“That’s what I’ve always hoped,” Hermione said after a moment as if she hadn’t
been able to help herself. There was an urgency to her tone, and Severus looked
up at her inquiringly. “Katie and I,” she began with a blush that hinted at
shame, though Hermione seemed the last person Severus would suspect of being
embarrassed by such a relationship, “that’s one of the things that drew us
together, our belief that hearts can change. That the marginalized could be
brought into the fold. That differences could be embraced. She wants to defend
the oppressed against the laws that oppress them. And...I wanted to change
those laws,” she said sadly. Though it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t have an
opportunity. Harry’s incident might be delaying her studies, but the situation
couldn’t persist forever. “First, though, the public has to have a change of
heart. Progress always starts with the people.”  
“Yes, well,” he shrugged, absently smoothing Remus’ blankets. “General
attitudes are slightly more difficult to sway. It isn’t as if I have a sudden
and abiding penchant for werewolves now,” he muttered.
“Yes, but your attitude toward this one changed,” she pressed. “Almost
completely. Because he’s familiar to you. He’s not just any werewolf, he’s
Remus.” She was being almost argumentative, and he wasn’t certain he understood
why. Severus’ brow furrowed.
“I might point out that it took quite a bit to change it.”
“Something extreme,” she nodded. “That’s how it seems to work. People can be
opposed to something their whole life, but when someone close to them is
affected, it shifts something in them. When children come out to their parents,
when friends fall ill, it becomes personal. Empathy is easier with those we
know.”
“I suppose,” he said. He wasn’t convinced they were still discussing him and
Remus.
“It was Harry, wasn’t it?” she asked.
“What was Harry?”
“The thing that brought you together.”
Severus regarded her uncertainly. Harry’s incident had certainly brought them
together, but mostly in forced proximity. Which, of course, began his softening
toward the werewolf. But it was their soul-stripping experience with the
Pensieve that was responsible for this present tenderness. Without it, the
tentative connection they’d established in Harry’s bed might have fallen apart
completely in the light of morning.
Something about their conversation unsettled Severus. He didn’t necessarily
disagree with anything she’d said, but her eagerness for him to confirm her
conclusions with their example made him uncomfortable. He supposed the
situation had simply shaken them all, left them grasping. Hermione’s ideology
was her rock. Her commitment to advocacy was what kept her grounded, and he
couldn’t say he didn’t feel the need for something to cling to himself at the
moment.
“It wasn’t as straightforward as all that, I’m afraid,” he told her. “Our
empathy might not have been so immediate or so complete without engaging in
activities decidedly not recommended for the general public.” He couldn’t quite
decide if it was wise to divulge what those activities were. Hermione was as
sharp as anyone he’d ever met, but her recent judgement had proven
questionable. Not that Severus had any room to criticize in that regard, he
thought to himself, glancing again to his unconscious companion. He sighed,
finally buckling to the confused inquiry in her eyes.
“I haven’t been entirely forthcoming about all that happened the night Harry
disappeared. Because the particulars are of absolutely no consequence to
finding a solution to our present difficulties,” he told her, almost talking
himself out of the admission. “Remus and I did slightly more then than view a
handful of Harry’s memories in the Pensieve.”
Hermione’s cheeks coloured and she glanced at their ill friend and then away
from them both.
“I didn’t mean those kinds of activities,” he stammered. “Well. Clearly,that
occurred,” he conceded, flustered. “But I was referring to what happened
afterwards.”
“Which was?” she prompted when he went quiet. He wasn’t in the habit of
divulging such intimate details about himself. But her understanding of the
situation seemed dangerously simplistic. She’d earned his respect in helping
him work out Harry’s reprieve, however. Enough of it that he felt compelled to
sacrifice some of his privacy in order to insert some nuance into her
philosophy. He didn’t consider her naive, per se. He simply sometimes forgot
how very young she and Harry were and how much they could benefit from his
experience if only he could bring himself to share it with them. The problem
was, he’d never really been the mentoring type. That kind of thing was Remus’
forte, not his.
“Truly seeing things from another’s perspective is a mental exercise at which
few excel,” he began, struggling to find the words for what he was trying to
convey. “It is not something I’m in the habit of myself, I confess. And even
the most open-minded of people do not often experience a sea change merely
through exposure. Outside of the Order, I will always be reviled as a Death
Eater by those staunchly opposed to Voldemort, no matter my true role in the
war. By the most vehement of those, I will be accused of opportunism, at best.
We all have our prejudices, for good or ill, and none of them is easily
shifted. Remus and I are no exceptions. We had to actually become one another
for a moment in order to reach the proper understanding.”
“Become one another? What, through Polyjuice?” she asked. By her expression,
she seemed to be considering what bizarre kinks they must engage in. Her
overhearing his and Harry’s reunion couldn’t have helped her perception of
their appetites. He never imagined so many people would --or would be given
reason to-- contemplate his sex life.
Severus sighed. “Looking like another does not bestow the context of their
past, does not reveal the progression of reasoning behind their actions. Do you
know why the Pensieve was created?”
“In order to view the memories of another,” she shrugged, disconcerted by the
seeming shift in subject. Severus shook his head.
“It was created in order to view them safely. One does not require it. There is
a way to experience someone else’s past as if it were one’s own. That is what
Remus and I did. It was something Harry and Loraina engaged in, as well.
Though, the process can be painful and is detrimental if repeated often.”
Hermione leaned forward, instantly fascinated. “How? How is it done?”
Severus winced. This knowledge had very nearly died, as perhaps it should have.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t help feeling he’d just set a bloodhound on the
trail. “Hermione, I can not stress enough that this is not knowledge meant for
general consumption and not an activity I recommend. It can lead to madness.”
“Of course. I understand,” she agreed a bit too readily. He doubted she would
let the matter rest. It was his own fault for teasing her with it, he supposed.
“It’s straightforward enough. Rather than depositing the memory in the
Pensieve, one inserts it into their own mind instead. Though, you have to be
careful not to release it there. I honestly don’t know what might happen should
that occur.” He held out no hope whatsoever that she would refrain from testing
this new knowledge and felt he should issue that warning, just in case.
She sat back to contemplate what she’d been told, her eyes dancing with the
possibilities, and Severus was almost certain he’d made a mistake. “So what is
conveyed, exactly?” she asked him. “Just the moment in question from that
person’s perspective?”
“It’s more of a snapshot of the person. It carries with it their thoughts and
feelings at the time, which can reveal previous experiences, as well. If they
are remembering their past, you glimpse that also,” he explained, his heart
sinking as he ‘remembered’ Remus’ troubled encounters with a man he had not
named even in his own thoughts as if he had been the werewolf’s personal Dark
Lord. The bastard hadn’t even had a face that Severus could recall. Remus had
succeeded in scraping it from his consciousness, leaving him with only the
memory of the man’s touch and his voice and the jumbled sense of shame and
arousal, guilt and confusion that they had invoked; things Remus could never
repress entirely, though he seemed to have tried.
He noticed Hermione’s attention and pulled himself from Remus’ darkness. She
could tell that Severus had been gripped by some remembered pain and seemed
sympathetic but pensive. “What did you show each other?” she wondered aloud. It
was too bold, and Severus scowled at her. Of course, she wanted to know exactly
what it took to turn enemies into lovers. It was a fair curiosity but highly
personal. Though she appeared to understand his affront, she did not retract
her question or divert her attention.
“I saw the night he left Hogwarts,” he admitted finally. He decided not to
supply that Remus had not shared the memory of his own volition. “I showed him
my time in the Malfoys’ dungeon.”
Her eyes grew wide then thoughtful. “But you were there for days,” she argued
after a moment.
“Doesn’t matter. Once a memory has touched your mind, it becomes yours in its
entirety. You can gain days in an instant.”
She nodded, chewing on this new information. “Thank you, Severus,” she said,
tucking her knees beneath her chin. She was watching Remus sleep but not really
seeing him. “You’ve given me a lot to consider.”
Severus was relieved. As wholehearted as her convictions were, she appreciated
subtlety far better than Harry. Perhaps he made a decent mentor, after all. He
only hoped he wouldn’t be called on to act as one very often.
***** For I Must Talk of Murders, Rapes and Massacres *****
Chapter Notes
     Allow me to bludgeon you all over the head with political allegory.
     (I promise it's pertinent.)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
They congregated in the kitchen, and those who could took tea and biscuits.
Minerva had business elsewhere, so it was just the three of them. The distance
chafed Severus, but he knew Remus would be fine by himself for a while. He’d
woken twice more, and eaten something solid the last time he did. His colour
and strength were returning, as were his good spirits. The only thing that
dampened them now was Harry’s continued absence.
“The full moon is in two day’s time,” Kingsley pointed out, settling in at the
table with his cuppa. He was understandably exhausted and his presence was rare
and appreciated. It wasn’t easy for him to get away. Hermione nudged a plate of
jammie dodgers toward him and he took one with a grateful tip of his head.  
“That will be good,” Severus said, nodding to himself. “It may sound counter-
intuitive, but the moon will help heal Remus. The burst of magical energy will
give him strength and will embolden his werewolf infection enough to finally
eradicate the vampire virus from his system completely, when it is as its
weakest.”
“While I sincerely look forward to Remus’ recovery,” said Kingsley with a sigh,
“we have a Bloodwolf on the loose somewhere.”
Severus cursed under his breath. He had been so preoccupied with Remus’
recovery he’d all but forgotten about the Full affecting Harry as well. The
young man had consumed his almost every waking thought for as long as the
vampire could remember, and Severus was subtly ashamed the matter had slipped
his mind. Though, he couldn’t help but think that Harry would have been just as
distracted by Remus’ condition. If he knew of it, surely he’d come home to
them. But there was no way of getting that information to him.
“He took the potion I brewed with him,” said Severus. Though the knowledge
brought none of them much comfort.
“Do we know how well it works?”
“No,” Severus admitted. “If at all.”
“Do you think he’d come to the Shack?” Hermione ventured. She’d been unusually
subdued since their conversation the day before, and she didn’t seem entirely
focused now. Severus shook his head.
“Loraina wouldn’t allow his coming so close to home. He’d be too tempted to
give us some sign that he’s well. She can’t risk him actually speaking to any
of us. She knows her hold on him is tenuous. Also, they might suspect we’d have
warded it to alert us of trespass; which isn’t a terrible idea, just in case.
But Loraina will have anticipated this,” he reasoned confidently. “I don’t
think we’ll have to worry about him running loose or losing control. She’ll
have means to contain him. She always seems to have means for things,” he
sighed, leaning to rest against the counter behind him. “She’ll have prepared
for half a dozen possible scenarios, and a handful of others besides she
doesn’t seriously expect to come to pass. Unless they are no longer at
liberty,” he added as an uncomfortable afterthought. “Though, if they are in
enemy hands during the Full, gods help their enemies.”
“There’s reason to believe they are not,” said Kingsley, finishing his tea.
Sharing the news didn’t seem to cheer him. Hermione slipped from her chair to
pour him another as he elaborated. “We’ve received word that another body was
found this morning.”
They all shared a slightly embarrassed look. Bodies were clues, and as such
were almost hopeful signs. While none of them wanted to outright condone the
act of murder, as Kingsley himself had pointed out when they had first apprised
him of the situation, one could hardly blame the young man. “We were both
there, Severus,” he’d said, though in hushed tones. “You saw what the savages
did to him. Not to mention they killed a damned fine man in Grayson. You know
as well as I do the people he’s after can never be rehabilitated. My conscience
is not overly troubled knowing he was behind Moribund’s. We’ve been cleaning up
the aftermath of their handiwork for years. The world is a better place without
them in it.”
Today’s Kingsley didn’t seem to have changed his attitude toward the whole
affair. He seemed bothered by the increasing risk to Harry’s safety far more
than the heinousness of his crimes.
“After the initial massacre, bodies have been turning up singly, but in no
discernable pattern,” he explained to them. “The only thing that links them is
either their political views --namely that they are Pureblood extremists-- or
their connection to the illicit potions trade. There have been calls to put a
watch on any witch or wizard with an IP arrest on record, but thankfully we
haven’t the resources or the manpower for that. The general attitude around the
office has been that this mystery assailant is doing us a favour and should be
left to take out the trash,” he confided with a shrug. Hermione didn’t even
raise an eyebrow. At least they weren’t the only ones who seemed to be morally
bankrupt.
“The situation is getting more complicated by the day, however,” he went on,
frowning into his fresh cup of tea. “The victim found earlier was a Ministry
informant, and that’s made some in the department uncomfortable. Honestly, the
Aurors calling for surveillance are the ones I’ve long suspected of being
crooked,” he muttered. “They have their fingers in pies they shouldn’t and are
starting to sweat as more of their friends are turning up with their throats
cut. There’s no proof yet that Harry is involved in any of this, and as long as
we don’t look more closely, there may never be. But if they kill an Auror,
Severus,” he told the man sadly, “my hands will be tied.”
“Are you implying I should be out looking for him, before he gets himself
killed or arrested?” Severus grumbled, pushing himself away from the counter to
pace the room. “It hadn’t occurred to me,” he sniped. “Kindly tell me where to
look and I’ll leave this instant. You’ve just said there’s no discernable
pattern. The only link is the illicit potions trade. Should I simply go wander
about random drug dens hoping Harry and Loraina will attack while I’m there?”
he scowled.
“I’m merely giving you the information that I have, Severus,” said Kingsley,
wearied by the man’s irritability but not particularly offended by it. “They
are following a trail but destroying it behind them.”
“At least the Full will distract them for a time,” Severus sighed, settling
back into place at the counter to brood. “It could buy us a few days.”
“Let us hope so,” said the Auror. “And let us hope, as well, that it won’t
cause even further complications. We’ve been attributing the murders to drug
wars, black market dealings gone sour. But at least one of the victims has
shown clear signs of a werewolf attack.” Hermione gasped softly and threw a
pained look to Kingsley who acknowledged her concern with sad nod. “Not many in
the department are aware of this,” he assured them. “The mauling victim was but
one in a crime scene littered with stabbing deaths. But if one of the
singletons turns up with the same signs, there will be no hiding it. The
investigation would become a wolfhunt, and it may pass out of my jurisdiction.”
“But if it becomes a wolfhunt,” Hermione said, voice wavering, “public warnings
will be issued.”
“The backlash would be swift,” Kingsley agreed. “The werewolf community will be
vulnerable. Which is one of the reasons why the decision was made for the
information to be kept secret in the first place. Not that there is much love
in the department for Dark Creatures, but they’d be loath to have to hand this
over to another office. If they are sloppy again, though,” he said, referring
to Loraina and Harry, “things could turn very ugly very quickly. Frankly, we’re
already bracing for an increase in hate crimes in the event that should
happen.”
The mood in the room grew heavy, and they all took a moment to nurse their tea
and anxiety respectively. They were one mangled corpse away from a complete
shit show, as far as Severus could tell. A sinking sense of foreboding pulled
him to a seat in one of the unoccupied chairs around the kitchen table. As
dejected as he felt, Hermione looked positively terrified.
“The Riding Hood Bill could pass,” she whispered, as if the horror of such a
thing forbade raised voices.
“And if it does,” Kingsley grunted, “I’m resigning.”
The contemplation of it pulled the Auror’s usually jovial expression into a
disgruntled scowl, and Hermione looked to be almost in tears with dread.
“What?” Severus asked, looking from one to the other. “What is the Riding Hood
Bill?”
Kingsley looked over at him in surprise. “You need to get out of the dungeon
more often, my friend,” he scoffed. Severus frowned at him. Be that as it may,
he hadn’t left it in quite some time and had no idea what they were referring
to or why it would upset them so. “Forced relocation of all registered
werewolves,” Kingsley explained finally. Perhaps he thought Hermione would have
taken up this baton, but she was lost in her own troubled thoughts. “They’ve
been trying to pass the bill in one form or another since the Dogtown riots.
Burning their slums to the ground seemed to please an awful lot of people until
they realized the survivors would then be scattered throughout the general
population. The first incarnations called for all registered wolves to be
required to wear some sort of distinguishing accessory.”
“What? Like a yellow badge?” Severus interjected sardonically. The parallel was
blatant enough to be almost ridiculous. But then, bigots are often bigots
precisely because they are unable to grasp subtlety.
“Like a yellow badge,” Kingsley confirmed, so seriously that Severus’ sneer
faded.
Good gods. How many wars needed to be fought before people learned? Dogtown had
been a decade ago. Since then, the Wizarding World had seen and defeated the
rise of one fascist overlord. Did they really want to foster the conditions for
another to take his place?
“The most extreme proponents have demanded full scale relocation,” Kingsley
went on, “which is what is contained in the present legislation. It’s never
made it past the Third Reading. But it  has  made it to the Third Reading,” he
stressed. “That was not long after the war, when killings done by werewolves
under Voldemort’s sway were coming to light and the general implication was
that all werewolves were either his agents or susceptible to similar
allegiances. Support has since declined, but unfortunately there’s still been
enough to the bill keep alive and evolving. Harry’s misadventure may change
things for the worse. Time dulls people’s fears, and there haven’t been any
verifiable violent crimes committed by werewolves since the war ended. Until
now.  And  it’s an election year,” he added, eliciting a wince from Hermione.
“The potential media frenzy could swing the electorate in a dangerous
direction. It could become a campaign issue. The Riding Bill could pass,” he
warned in an angry grumble. “And I’m not about to be a part of the
enforcement.”
Hermione pulled herself from her distress. “But wouldn’t that fall to the
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?” she frowned.
“Any registered wolf that refuses the Ministry summons would be listed a
fugitive and be under the jurisdiction of Magical Law Enforcement,” he told
her.
What a few minutes ago had seemed distant and absurd was gaining credulity by
the moment. Severus’ growing alarm must have shown in his expression. “No
matter what happens, Remus is safe here,” Kingsley reassured him. “He’s Secret
Kept. But he’d be a prisoner in Grimmauld Place. If he left it, he’d be at risk
of apprehension. Though I suppose that would be better than being a prisoner in
a Ministry compound.”
“You’re saying if this bill passes they’d try to send him to some sort of
concentration camp?” Severus demanded angrily, finally finding his voice. “He’s
a bloody war hero, for fuck’s sake!”
Kingsley’s expression mirrored Severus’ disgust. “He’s a werewolf,” he muttered
with a shake of his head. “Whatever else he is, in the eyes of the Ministry, in
the eyes of the public, he is that first. They’d bay for his blood just as
loudly, regardless of his service.”
“Over some mangled potion pusher?” Severus spat in indignation.
“An  uninfected  potion pusher, Severus,” Kingsley pointed out. “It doesn’t
matter how reprehensible the victim. The only person a werewolf is permitted to
transgress against without it reflecting on the rest of his kind is another
Dark Creature. If one kills another for position in a pack, people shrug. If a
wolf is struck down unjustly by an overzealous Auror, no one bats an eye. But
let a werewolf so much as bare his fangs to an uninfected wizard, and the
rabble start lighting torches.”
“You’re unregistered,” Hermione said quietly, drawing Severus’ rather
disconcerted attention. “I’m not trying to dismiss your struggles with
vampirism, Severus. But they’ve been private struggles. Those living openly as
Dark Creatures have always understood these things.”
“And be glad you’re unregistered,” Kingsley added, “because if they manage to
pass this measure, I promise you, vampires will be next on their list.”
For a moment, Severus was unable to quite wrap his mind around the absolute
senselessness of prejudice. It wasn’t as if the man was a complete stranger to
it. Slytherin House was rife with it. He’d been a Death Eater. He’d seen
firsthand the ugly potential of ignorance distilled by fear into hatred. He
understood the power of propaganda in skilled hands. But no Dark Lord
orchestrated this crusade. As jaded as Severus was already, the capacity for
Human Nature to disappoint apparently was limitless.
“Creature rights would be set back decades,” Hermione said, her voice small and
trembling. She looked near tears. “Harry has no idea what he’s doing to his own
people,” she huffed in exasperation. “And Loraina doesn’t even  care ,” she
added crossly. Though this was not a new development. Historically, Loraina
cared about precious few besides herself, and laws had never especially
concerned her, either. “Harry could have swung public opinion in a positive
direction,” she fumed, not looking at either of them, simply venting her
frustration to the Universe in general. “He  could  have filled Parliament with
sympathetic representatives ready to fight for his rights as saviour turned
Dark Creature by extremists through no fault of his own. He might have
advanced  werewolf rights and now he’s threatening them!” She seemed overcome
by this travesty of circumstance. “I...I have to talk to Katie,” she said,
finally breaking into tears before quickly rushing from the room.
The two men watched her go. They’d been given no opportunity to respond to the
outburst. Though Severus, for one, would have been at a loss as to what to say.
He was plenty upset himself. Even if no one ever linked these crimes to Harry,
they might not come out of this disaster unscathed, after all. Remus’ life
could be affected forever by what Harry and Loraina were doing. Somehow,
Severus felt Remus would take the development in stride. He’d been dealing with
discrimination virtually his whole life. This new escalation in it wouldn’t
surprise him, simply sadden him. But Harry would be devastated at having had a
hand in it. He quite possibly would not regret his killing spree, but this
would weigh on his conscience forever.
“Severus, do you have any ideas at all about who in hell you pissed off badly
enough to set all this in motion?” Kingsley asked, waking him from these
troubled thoughts. Severus shook his head apologetically. He’d wracked his
brain already and come up with nothing. He’d hurt so many. “Let’s ask a
different question, then,” Kingsley went on, patient but determined. “They
obviously worked from your formula. Who else was involved with that?”
“I had a handful of assistants,” Severus shrugged, reaching for their names and
faces but recalling nothing definite. All of the Dark Lord’s followers had
seemed the same to him, blindly obedient and disturbingly fanatical. They
became faceless and interchangeable to Severus as the war dragged on. He’d only
had the capacity to concern himself with so many details, and who stirred
Voldemort’s cauldrons hadn’t seemed consequential at the time.
“I admit to not paying any of them much attention. Most of them worked to
supervise Audentia production with a number of House Elves. There were a couple
who were more promising that most often helped with special projects. But they
were never allowed to see the actual formula, they merely worked on separate
components of it. Though I suppose a clever enough person could extrapolate a
fairly clear picture of it from just that. Unfortunately, there was no time to
return for my notes after the final battle,” Severus lamented. “I never knew
what became of them. Anyone could have walked away with them.”
“What would one need in order to prepare the potion? What kind of resources are
we looking at?”
This was a far more promising line of inquiry, and Severus nodded to himself as
he considered the potential. “Tracing the rare ingredients might get us
somewhere,” he agreed, becoming more heartened. “Though I don’t know how far.
These things are always available on the Black Market for the right price. So
they will have needed to be well funded. No matter how they procured the items,
they will have been expensive. And the potion was too successful to not have
been tested beforehand,” he added, shivering at the thought. “They would have
needed someplace private and contained to do so. Someplace near inescapable.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the rest of Severus’ train of thought was
suddenly arrested, and he and Kingsley shared a thoughtful look. Though,
Severus hesitated to voice exactly what it was they were thinking.
“Someplace like a dungeon?” Kingsley supplied for him, his eyebrow raised.
“Possessed by someone with significant wealth?”
“Loraina seemed to believe Draco was involved,” Severus reluctantly conceded.
“She hinted as much to Harry when she recruited him. But Draco’s injury left
him severely disabled,” he argued.
“His injury at Harry’s hand?” Kingsley asked meaningfully.
Severus merely stared at the Auror for a moment while he turned it over in his
mind. The idea did not sit well with him for some reason. It seemed far too
obvious. Though perhaps Severus simply had never let go of the hope that Draco
was better than his father. The Potions Master wasn’t known for his idealistic
sentimentality, but he was still reluctant to accept this increasingly
reasonable conclusion.
“The Boss is female,” he pointed out stubbornly.
“Who administers the Malfoy Estate,” Kingsley persisted, “now that Draco is
incapacitated and Lucius is in Azkaban?”
“I don’t believe it of Narcissa,” Severus said flatly. “She was never a Death
Eater. She did not approve of Lucius’ involvement with the Dark Lord.”
“What wouldn’t a mother do for her son?”
That killed the objection on the vampire’s tongue, and Severus shifted
uncomfortably. A mother’s love could be a frightening and powerful thing. Lily
gave her life for Harry. Narcissa, he knew, would do the same; would kill and
maim for Draco. And who wouldn’t go to extreme lengths for the ones they loved?
Severus had been prepared to do as much as Harry had done already, and several
times that, in order to bring him home. He was still prepared to do so. Loraina
was doing what she was in some misguided crusade for Severus’ sake. As much as
Severus hated to think it of them, it was not inconceivable that the Malfoys
were behind all of this. And he supposed it could not hurt to investigate that
suspicion.
“Remus isn’t well,” Severus fretted, knowing time was short but unable to bring
himself to go without him. “I can’t leave him.”
“You may not have to,” said Kingsley, pleased that Severus was coming around.
“Arthur and I can visit Malfoy Manor without you.”
“If it is them and you confront them, they will flee,” Severus cautioned. “They
have the means. And if they abscond, Harry and Loraina will pursue them and
we’ll never find any of them.”
“I hadn’t planned to interrogate the Malfoys,” the Auror assured him. “But some
reconnaissance may in order,” he reasoned as if to himself. “I wouldn’t be able
to obtain a warrant, and anything I find while trespassing would be
inadmissible. But our concern is not to bring the Malfoys to justice, it’s to
protect Harry. If we could find evidence of their involvement in the dungeons,
at least we’d know Harry’s eventual destination and we could possibly intercept
him. And by the time we know anything for certain, perhaps Remus will be well.
Or more so than now,” he amended, seeing the skepticism on Severus’ face. “The
question is how to get in,” he wondered aloud, worrying his lip between his
fingers. He seemed excited to finally have a plan of action and anxious to
hammer out the details. “The grounds will undoubtedly be well warded.”
“The dungeons spill beyond the boundaries of the estate in places,” Severus
informed him. Though he still had reservations, Kingsley’s enthusiasm was
contagious. “I know of at least three entrances outside the wards, but there’s
no telling if they are still passable. Besides, those passages are dangerous,”
he warned. “Especially if they’ve been testing a bloodwolf serum there. We
don’t know if the past subjects are still living, or how well the infection
took. We don’t know what manner of creature could be awaiting you.”
“Arthur and I can take care of ourselves,” Kingsley said with a wave of his
hand, seeming unconcerned as he rose from his seat, his movements infused with
purpose. “We’re not going to fight with anyone, just to have a stealthy look
around. I’ll discuss it with him and come up with a plan. In the meantime,” he
said, patting the vampire on the shoulder, “you see to Remus. Don’t worry about
anything else for now, least of all me. I’ll be back when I know more,” he
promised, already moving through the door. “But I’m far more hopeful than when
I arrived, I can tell you.”
Severus listened to him Disapparate just outside the front door, unsure what he
was feeling about the overwhelming amount of information he’d just been handed.
Harry hadn’t  necessarily  set in motion state sponsored genocide. That was
simply the worst case scenario. Hermione would calm down and see how distant
that danger still was, he was certain. Or at least he hoped, as he was in no
mood to try and comfort her over it. It was still possible things would work
out. They had more of a lead now than they’d had yet, if only their friends
could manage not to get killed while following it.
It was all out of his hands, though. And in the end, Severus decided to do as
he’d been instructed and not dwell on any of it. He’d been given express
permission to devote all of his attention to Remus, and he decided to indulge
in it. He would very likely have done so, regardless, but now he was determined
not to feel guilty for it. With a sigh, Severus pulled himself to his feet and
then up the stairs, with no thoughts beyond listening to the cadence of Remus’
breath in sleep and rewarming the empty side of the werewolf’s mattress.










Chapter End Notes
     *sigh* Who else is exhausted?
     Do I have to finish this fic? *pout*
     (I say that, but then I'll hit a good run and think, 'THIS SHOULD
     LAST FOREVERjkfhasp;fldhslsdh!' I really think I need to find the
     middle ground there.)
***** Each Wreathed in the Other's Arms *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                     Remus
 
Whatever Severus had added to his bathwater water leached the soreness from
Remus’ limbs and the last of the ache from his bones. He felt truly warm for
the first time in an age, and after he’d scrubbed the stale sweat from his
skin, he sat and soaked for what seemed like forever.
Harder to purge was the ache of his heart. He’d been caught up on news of their
wayward lover. Despite the distance, Remus could sense his Mate was whole. But
the same bond that told Remus so must have also alerted the young man to his
Alpha’s brush with near death, and it hurt his feelings more than a little that
Harry hadn’t returned. His presence would have helped Remus heal. Fortunately,
Severus’ love stood substitute.
Severus might be reluctant to call it that, but that didn’t make it any less
true or less cherished. Remembering the vampire’s constant presence at his
sickbed warmed Remus as much as his bathwater, and Remus very much looked
forward to showing Severus his appreciation. He was still far weaker than he
had been before his illness, but his strength was returning at a gallop. This
was the first time in his life the Full had actually made him feel better the
morning after, and Harry’s indifference notwithstanding, it allowed little room
in Remus for anything but hope. He emerged from the steaming bathroom in his
towel, feeling bright and fresh and new. There had been a moment at the height
of his illness when he couldn’t recall what health felt like and couldn’t
imagine ever being well again. Now, he had to actively remind himself that he
was not yet fully recovered and to not overexert himself.
That dictate was promptly forgotten when the werewolf stepped into his room to
find Severus spilled across his bed, asleep. The man had kept vigil on the
landing all night, and though he was naturally nocturnal, the sun was now high.
Remus quietly closed his door, debating for only a moment before slipping the
lock into place. For a while, Remus simply leaned against the wood at his back
and took in the sight, assuring himself it was indeed real and not his wildest
imagination. Severus seemed so very vulnerable, and Remus felt a bit like the
Big Bad Wolf, moving toward the bed with careful, predatory steps. He would
very much like to eat the man up. But of course, only with Severus’ permission.
Remus shed his towel but did not slip between his newly changed sheets. Severus
was stretched out atop them, and so Remus did the same. He lay close enough to
taste Severus’ cool breath as it puffed gently from between his barely parted
lips as he slept. Being a creature who consumed nothing but a daily potion, it
was clean and sweet. In fact, Remus had noticed of Harry that vampires tended
to be clean all the way through, with no need of the typical preparation a man
might make before being with another man. It was wonderfully convenient. Remus
was slightly heartbroken to realize he’d never taste Severus as he’d wanted to,
not drink him down as he did their young lover. But he could taste other parts
of him without worry, and Remus’ mouth already watered.
Severus’ eyes fluttered open and Remus smiled at him. “You’re here,” the
vampire mumbled groggily. “Did you call for me?” he asked, his brow furrowed in
concern. Remus shook his head and Severus sighed with relief that he hadn’t
been derelict in his duty. “You should have,” Severus scolded softly, almost
slipping back into sleep. He’d instructed Remus to tell him when he was ready
to quit the bath so he could help the werewolf back to bed, but there had been
no need, and Remus had wanted to stand on his own now that he was finally able.
He brought a hand to the vampire’s face to brush the ebony strands from it, and
Severus’ hand rose automatically to meet it, resting over Remus’ wrist as if
he’d done it countless times before. The easy contact made Remus’ heart soar.
Severus had lain an arm’s length away from Remus for days and the werewolf
hadn’t had the strength to reach for him. He owed Severus a thousand touches, a
backlog of impulses that had had to go unfulfilled until now.
“My Sweet Severus,” he sighed, stroking the man’s cheek with his thumb. The
address drew an endearing splash of colour to the surface of Severus’ alabaster
skin.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of sweetness before,” he murmured with a
familiar curl of his lip.
“People are blind,” Remus whispered, shaking his head at the folly of others.
Nevermind that he was fairly recently one of them. “But I see you now.”
Severus’ lips were easily caught but less than confident as they returned
Remus’ attentions. It was the first time they’d kissed without the influence of
overwhelming stress or well-stoked passion. Though, Remus intended to remedy
that situation in short order. He was feeling strong and assertive, and he had
rarely been as sure of anything as he was of his feelings for the man lying
beside him. He knew in his heart those feelings were requited. What Severus was
displaying wasn’t reluctance, simply inexperience. Remus would remedy that, as
well.
His hand slid from Severus’ cheek to the first in a seemingly endless queue of
buttons, popping it open slowly to match the pace of their kiss. It wasn’t long
before he had freed enough of them to slip his hand beneath the layers of
fabric and claim the length of Severus’ neck with the covetous spread of his
fingers. He could feel the tripping tempo of the vampire’s pulse beneath his
palm, and it inspired their kiss to deepen. Remus didn’t want to rush, but he
was anxious to feel more of the man, to sweep his hands unhindered down his
lithe torso.
Severus did not assist in his unwrapping, but he allowed it. His fingers still
rested on Remus’ busy hand but they exerted no influence one way or the other.
He seemed simply to be hanging on, marking Remus’ progress as the werewolf
carefully undid both the man and his buttons. It was not until the last had
been unhooked, and Remus slid his hand around Severus’ waist, that the vampire
reached to mimic his touch. Severus hadn’t seemed to notice Remus’ nakedness,
and he moaned softly into Remus’ mouth when he ran his palm down the werewolf’s
back and encountered no resistance when he met the end of it, continuing
eagerly on to the firm curve of Remus’ arse as Remus brought his knee up to
slip between the vampire’s welcoming thighs. Severus was satisfyingly hard
against his leg, but before Remus could roll him to his back to kiss him
properly, Severus pulled away with a gasp.
“You haven’t even recovered from the last time,” he panted, laying a hand on
Remus’ chest to restrain him as he still stretched for Severus’ lips. “You may
have a death wish, but I’ve no interest in being your bane.”
“The matter seems simple enough,” Remus murmured into the crook of Severus’
neck, undeterred. Perhaps he should be more concerned, but his desire for this
man overwhelmed his better sense, drowned out the memory of his recent, bitter
weakness. Severus clasped his wrist to restrain him until he realized Remus was
simply reaching for the vampire’s robe pocket. The shape of Severus’ wand was
familiar and drawing it felt like becoming reacquainted with an old friend. “Or
will a prophylactic spell not suffice?” asked Remus, finally reining in his
advances, though it took a considerable effort of will.
“I believe it might,” Severus said hesitantly. His cheeks were painted red and
his eyes were heavily lidded. He gazed at Remus’ lips as he spoke as if he
could taste them simply by looking and it made his mouth water. Severus didn’t
want to stop any more than Remus did, but he was ever the cautious one. “But if
I’m wrong...”
“There’s only one way to find out,” said Remus, offering Severus his wand.
“Which do you think would be best? I know about half a dozen, though you might
have one already in mind.”
Severus did not accept his wand. He simply stared at it for a moment before
turning away, somehow blushing even further.
“Severus?” he frowned. “You do use prophylactic spells, don’t you?”
“I’ve never especially needed to,” the vampire said defensively. “Loraina
disliked them, said there were better ways to prevent conception and that she
was always careful to be tested for...other things. She took my virginity, and
I took Harry’s,” he shrugged. “Until the incident with the Golden Hufflefucker
--which, I realise now, never occurred-- I knew them both to be faithful. There
didn’t seem much danger in doing without a spell,” he said quietly, clearly
self-conscious.
Remus blinked at the sheepish, half-naked man before him, unable to quite wrap
his mind around what he was hearing. “You mean, after Rainey you never…? Until
Harry?” Severus didn’t answer, but his blush extended suddenly to the tips of
his ears. “Holy Hell, Severus. That was nearly fifteen years.”  
“I’m well aware,” Severus muttered. He began to roll away from Remus and off
the bed, but the werewolf caught him around the waist and held him close from
behind.
“Wait, my sweet,” he placated, squeezing him tight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean
to offend. I’m simply surprised.”  
“Do you have to keep calling me that?” Severus grumbled, but his annoyance
sounded less than sincere.
“Yes,” Remus smiled, nuzzling his neck. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll teach you
the spells, shall I? But for now, let me.”
“Are you certain you’re well enough for this?” Severus questioned even as he
allowed Remus to ease him onto his back. Remus nodded his absolute certainty
before reaching to gently undo the front of Severus’ trousers.
He looked at the man’s erection longingly, gratified to see that it hadn’t
flagged. A bead of precome sat temptingly on the tip. Remus licked his lips but
refrained from tasting it. He understood the aversion to the spell, as
something was undoubtedly lost to it, and not just the satisfaction of that
particular craving. It was far better than Muggle alternatives, but it still
changed the texture of the skin, affected the way it would naturally move. It
certainly limited the range of play. Remus would make do, though.
Severus gasped softly as Remus carefully eased back his foreskin and touched
the tip of Severus’ wand to the gleaming head of the vampire’s cock, whispering
the spell that would hopefully protect them from the almost deadly consequence
of last time. Then he rolled to the side and did the same to his own, noticing
Severus watched as he manipulated himself and that he seemed to enjoy doing so.
His hungry expression lent a sudden urgency to Remus’ actions.
“We won’t be needing these,” Remus told him in a quiet growl as he worked off
the rest of the man’s clothes. Severus was docile under Remus’ hands, and the
werewolf knew it was not typical of him. The role reversal was gratifying
though surprising. But then, Severus had never really been with a man. They’d
come together at some point via Harry before, but this situation was new for
the vampire. He’d only ever been with a woman and a boy, both smaller and, with
Severus, submissive. Remus wasn’t especially either of those things. There was
no need for an exchange of power here, though. Remus was leading for now but
only because Severus seemed so unsure. He’d have to work harder to contain
himself, to sooth the vampire’s nerves.
He slid back up to take the man in his arms again. “Do you trust me, Severus?”
he asked softly as he sampled the man’s neck, causing him to sigh. He didn’t
otherwise answer and Remus pulled back to look him in the eye. “If you aren’t
comfortable,” he assured him, combing his fingers through Severus’ hair, “we
can stop.”  
“It isn’t that,” said Severus, his brow gently creased. “It’s simply so soon.
You were so weak just yesterday.”
Remus smiled at him. Perhaps that was the reason he’d been so docile, but Remus
wasn’t fragile. “Let me worry about me,” Remus told him, reclaiming Severus’
lips so he could not argue further. Severus seemed to debate with himself for a
moment, but then Remus felt him surrender, and their kiss became more heated,
more what he’d expected from the man. Severus twined his arms around Remus and
tangled their legs, pressing more closely against Remus’ body. It was not
necessarily aggressive, simply responsive. Their passions fed off one another,
and Remus was in raptures.
“Yes,” Severus sighed, throwing back his head to give Remus access to his neck.
“I do.”
“You do what, my sweet?” Remus mumbled against Severus’ skin, distracted by its
taste and its curious coolness, the silken texture of it.
“I do trust you,” Severus told him, very deliberately.
Remus slowly ceased his attentions and drew back, searching Severus’ face for
confirmation of what he suspected the man had meant. The vampire’s look was
unflinching and somehow vulnerable at the same time. Remus’ heart skipped a
beat, then it pounded in his ears. He brought his hands to Severus’ face and
the man pressed his cheek into Remus’ palm without breaking eye contact.
“It doesn’t have to be what you’ve known,” Remus said shakily. His heart was in
his throat. “It doesn’t have to be the way Harry prefers it.”
“I know.”
“It can be gentle and slow.”
“Remus,” he sighed, grasping him by the back of the neck to press their
foreheads together. “I know. And I trust you.”
Remus was so overcome he could barely breathe. He decided his gratitude could
only properly be expressed with a kiss. And then another. And then more trailed
down the man’s jaw and across his neck as Severus gasped softly beneath him.
But then Remus paused to get a handle on himself, because if he didn’t, this
would be neither gentle nor slow, and it must be absolutely perfect.
Remus worked his tongue and lips over Severus’ chest, and the way the man
writhed beneath him severely tested Remus’ self-restraint. The vampire was so
deliciously androgynous: the slight of his build, the fluid precision with
which he moved. With the exception of a pert set of small breasts --which Remus
did not particularlymiss-- Severus possessed everything he sometimes craved
about the female body; like the slink of it when at rest which revealed its
graceful contours and the supple, sweeping line it made when he arched in
response to Remus’ ministrations; but with the essential addition of a
beautiful, slender cock and the knowledge of how to use it well. Severus wasn’t
feminine, he simply wasn’t overtly masculine, and Remus found the balance that
was struck absolutely intoxicating.
Remus visited worship on almost every inch of Severus’ chest and stomach,
outlining each rib with his tongue, memorizing every hollow with the brush of
his lips before wordlessly urging the man to roll over so he could repeat the
process across the length and breadth of Severus’ back. The vampire panted and
gasped, clawed at Remus’ sheets as the werewolf methodically drove him half mad
with desire. Lust, Remus knew, was as essential to easing this process as was
patience and lubrication. When properly aroused, the body naturally opened
itself, and Remus would not take it until it begged him, until passion left it
yawning in invitation.
Not that he wouldn’t help it along. Remus carefully guided Severus’ legs to
spread with a caressing hand, savouring the satiny surface of his inner thigh
as he kneaded the swell of Severus’ arse with relentless lips. He heard
Severus’ breath hitch and felt his muscles stiffen when Remus settled between
the man’s knees, but Remus eased his attentions to feathery kisses and stroked
the vampire’s sides until he relaxed again. He warned Severus of his intention
with a gentle swipe of his tongue the length of his crease from his perineum to
the base of his spine. The man shivered and gasped, his breathing shallow in
anticipation. He’d watched Remus do this to Harry, but nothing really prepared
one for experiencing it for the first time oneself.
“It will be alright, my sweet,” Remus whispered soothingly, nuzzling his cheek
against Severus’. “Relax. Trust me.” The vampire still trembled, but his
breathing slowed, and Remus gently parted him with his thumbs.
The first brush of the werewolf’s tongue across his pucker sent a shuddering
jolt up the vampire’s spine. Remus lapped at him without pressure for a while,
allowing him to become accustomed to the sensation, until Severus moaned softly
into Remus’ pillow, and then the werewolf gently massaged the quivering ring of
muscle with the tip of his tongue. Even now it was contemplating acquiescence,
the tension dissolving momentarily before returning in fits and starts with
Severus’ stubborn apprehension.
“Just breathe, Sweet. Deep and slow,” he whispered between passes. “That’s it.”
He felt the man truly relax finally and he hummed his approval, earning him an
encouraging groan from Severus.
Remus encountered less and less resistance after that, not needing to force
himself inside. Each swipe of his tongue seemed to sink deeper than the last
with almost no effort. The vampire was writhing again, lifting himself into
Remus’ shallow thrusts until they established a stuttering rhythm. Severus’
breathy moans bled into one another until they were almost ceaseless, turned
throaty as the vampire pressed back into Remus more insistently.
“M-more,” Severus whined, bunching the sheets in his fists. “Remus,” he gasped,
“I need…ah!”
Remus worked him a moment longer before slowly pulling away. The vampire
squirmed in response to his sudden absence with a plaintive whimper, but Remus
stroked his back, enticingly sheened with a light sweat, as he rose to his
knees and reached for the top drawer of his bedside table. Severus shivered as
the werewolf retrieved a vial of clear liquid, watching intently as Remus used
it to coat the fingers of one hand before settling beside him. Remus bent to
kiss Severus deeply as he reached with oil-slicked fingers for the place he’d
just left, still wet and warm and yielding from his efforts. He gently coaxed
Severus’ tongue into his mouth and suckled it as his fingertip slowly pressed
itself inside the man.
Severus’ lips drifted away from Remus’ as he concentrated on the invading
digit, his features settling into the most exquisite, delicate grimace as he
focused on relaxing his untrained muscles to allow the werewolf further inside
of him. It was gorgeous, and Remus’ hand trembled as he battled the urge to
plunge more quickly, to fuck the man with deep and ardent thrusts with his
long, slender fingers until he cried out Remus’ name. The werewolf was so
achingly hard, he feared Severus’ expression alone might undo him.
Once he was fully sheathed, he let his hand rest unmoving for Severus to
adjust. “Okay?” he asked, his voice taut, stroking the sweat-soaked hair from
Severus’ face with the hand not embedded elsewhere. Severus panted, his fangs
peeking from between his lips. He looked up at Remus, his eyes washed black,
and seemed to consider for a moment before nodding. Remus carefully removed
himself. “Roll over then, my sweet.”
Severus’ cock was delicious despite the prophylactic spell. It seemed to fit
between Remus’ lips and to the back of his throat as if it had been specially
made for the space. It was Remus who writhed now as he brought his hand back to
Severus’ opening, gently pressing himself into the mattress with the same slow
cadence with which he worked his finger in and out of the vampire, the same
rhythm with which he sucked him deep into his mouth again and again. His free
hand found one of Severus’ and they grasped at one another as Remus’ pace
quickened and they both moaned. Once again, Severus requested more, and Remus
carefully pressed a second finger inside, searching for the man’s prostate.
One of them was going to come soon. The sound of Severus’ pleasure, swelling in
his throat to spill from his lips over and over again, drove Remus to the
brink. Severus had been so reserved before, so in control, and the abandon that
now seemed to grip him, lifting him, arching, off the mattress, was one of the
most erotic things Remus had ever witnessed because of it. He muttered
incoherencies around the vampire’s twitching cock as he glanced up to see
Severus’ head toss from side to side. And he pressed inside of him more
insistently to tip him over the edge.
"No," Severus gasped. His hand found the back of Remus’ head and clutched at a
fistful of the man’s hair, wrenching him away from the vampire’s lap with a
sharp tug. Remus gritted his teeth and growled low in his throat. He’d never
been so roughly manhandled and the unexpected thrill of it almost finished him.
But for once, Severus wasn’t exerting authority. He was simply desperate and
unable to control his actions with any precision as he continued to writhe
around Remus’ unrelenting fingers. The werewolf watched with a surprised but
deeply satisfied moan as Severus bowed his back, reaching a hand down to feel
where they feverishly twisted in and out of him as if he might include one of
his own.
“Want you...inside. Remus!” He shuddered, so close but not ready to be.
“Please,” he keened.
Remus had to plunge his free hand between his own legs and grasp his bollocks
to keep them from seizing. Holy Hell.This had been meant to be slow and gentle.
Remus wasn’t certain just when that plan had been abandoned, but neither of
them seemed to be complaining. Severus reached for him imploringly, and Remus
attempted to crawl up the man to claim Severus’ lips, warm and red and plump
from being pulled repeatedly between the man’s snagging teeth. But Remus’ head
swam when he rose to his hands and knees, and his limbs quaked so violently
they would not hold him. He seemed to have forgotten that he’d very recently
almost died, and whatever strength had returned to him seemed to have been
spent in lust already.
Now Remus was the one who whimpered and reached. And Severus, realising what
must be happening, forced his own quivering limbs into compliance to slide
himself down the mattress to meet the werewolf. He tangled his fingers in
Remus’ sweaty blond curls and kissed the man as if both their lives depended on
it, throwing his leg over Remus’ hip and reaching with his other hand to find
Remus’ throbbing cock and guide it to his well-stretched hole. They were weak
and trembling but managed to meet halfway in a glorious union that elicited a
grateful sob from them both. There was no top or bottom, no dominance or
submission. They lay side by side, clinging to one another, working equally and
in synchrony toward a shattering and mutual climax. 
When it finally came, Remus felt he might weep. As his vision cleared, he saw
that Severus actually was, and he brought a shaking hand to the vampire’s face
and stretched to kiss the salty beads from Severus’ cheeks. Neither of them
could catch their breath.
“Are you alright, my sweet Severus? Did I hurt you?” he asked, stricken to
think he might have betrayed the man’s trust. Severus didn’t know his limits
yet and Remus should have had more self-control. A bitter shame settled in the
pit of his stomach until he felt the fluttering touch of Severus’ fingertips on
his face.
“Oh, my Dear Remus,” was all he could manage, grimacing but not in pain, his
fangs still extended. Remus couldn’t explain the shiver the sight induced.
Severus brought his lips to the werewolf’s but could not kiss him for
shuddering. Remus summoned the last of his strength to pull the man closer. If
only he were well, he’d have held the man tighter. Though it could never be
tight enough, never close enough.
“I do,” Severus whispered, sliding his arms up to cling to Remus’ broad
shoulders.
“You do what, my sweet?” Remus asked, pressing their foreheads together.
“I do love you,” he breathed in Remus’ ear.
The tears that had threatened before sprang forth again to cloud the werewolf’s
vision, and he struggled to tighten his faltering grip around Severus’ waist,
burying his face in the vampire’s chest with a quiet sob.
“Thank you.”
Remus almost thought he’d imagined it. He had feared that he might never hear
it, that he would have to wait years as Harry had. Severus gave a weak chuckle.
“Granted, I’m not overly familiar,” he said, still panting as he stroked Remus’
hair, “but I don’t think that’s how this exchange typically goes.”
Remus’ cheeks already ached from smiling, but his grin spread even wider. “Of
course, I love you,” he said emphatically, looking up into Severus’ impossibly
dark eyes. Neither seemed to want to look away. They hadn’t really moved at all
since they’d finished, and Remus still rested inside of Severus. As far as he
was concerned, they could lay there exactly as they were --in each other’s
arms, looking into each other’s eyes-- forever.
Remus heard someone try the door but ignored it. He knew he’d locked it.
Hermione might try the knob again to make sure but would quickly divine the
reason for her blocked entry and leave them be. Sleep was creeping up on him.
They were both spent and fading. The knob jiggled again, there was a creak, but
Remus was drifting blissfully. He barely heard the Petrificus Totalustearfully
whispered from the open doorway behind him.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Fluffersmuts!
     I bet y'all didn't know I could even DO fluffy!smuts.
     (I'm just as surprised as you are.)
***** Reveal the Damn'd Contriver of this Deed *****
                                    Severus
 
Was he weeping?
Gods. He was. What had come over him? Severus didn’t weep. Not only that, he
had begged. He had pleaded. Had made the most humiliating of noises. He had
writhed like a wanton and been reduced to a snivelling, twitching mess by this
man and his tongue and his fingers and --gods-- his cock. Severus felt he ought
to be ashamed of his behaviour, but it was impossible to do so when the
werewolf gazed at him with such wonder despite it.
It was as if Severus forgot who he was when he was with Remus. Or as if he
became someone else entirely. This man...this wonderful, generous, foolishly
good man...had shattered and remade him. He had looked at Severus’ fractured
soul and seen something beautiful that hadn’t strictly existed, but in doing
so, Remus had shaped Severus into that vision. He felt new. The look in Remus’
eyes left the vampire no choice but to believe he really was desirable, loved
and worthy of that love. Remus had taken his broken pieces and, instead of
trying to fit them back as they’d been, he had rearranged them into something
better. Remus’ love made of Severus a mosaic.
“Are you alright, my sweet Severus? Did I hurt you?”
The vampire didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Yes. This hurt; like the
breaking of shackles that had long been too tight. There was pain in
liberation, sharp in its sudden contrast, in the recognition of the
unacknowledged pain one had languished in which was no longer present but not
recovered from either. Parts of Severus he had thought to be long dead were
remembering how to feel, and the reawakening was gloriously agonizing.
Severus reached up with trembling fingers to touch Remus’ face, wondering at
its stricken expression. It was so rare for anyone to be so moved by the
thought of Severus’ suffering. He’d seen something like it many times before in
Harry, but the young man was so new, he didn’t know what to do with it.
Severus’ pain hurt him, but Harry always became preoccupied with that hurt,
unable to address Severus’ for grappling with his own in response. It was less
a matter of selfishness as it was of immaturity. Severus knew Harry would grow
out of it. But he hadn’t realized how much he’d shouldered as a result in the
meantime. And Remus’ single-minded concern for the vampire, even though he was
unrecovered and spent past exhaustion himself, was touching.
“Oh, my Dear Remus,” he shuddered. He wanted to kiss the man but was too
overwhelmed. Remus struggled to hold him tighter, and so Severus brought his
arms around his shoulders to cling to him as best he could, though none of his
limbs seemed to want to obey him.
“I do,” Severus told him. Remus had asked before. Not with his words, perhaps,
but Severus had recognized the question in his eyes as Loraina had been
speaking to Harry. Severus had been unsure then. He wasn’t any longer.
“You do what, my sweet?” Remus asked, pressing their foreheads together.
Severus was already growing accustomed to the pet name.

“I do love you.”
It was not a confession the old Severus would have been capable of making. It
would have required too much vulnerability, would have exposed a weakness in
him that could be exploited. The new Severus recognized that love was not a
weakness but a strength. That it required courage. Besides, Remus had already
torn down Severus’ walls, stripped all of his defences. But he had also shown
in countless small ways that they were unnecessary in the first place, at least
with Remus.
Whatever Severus had expected, it wasn’t for the werewolf to bury his face in
the vampire’s chest. And it certainly wasn’t to hear the tear-filled Thank you
he sobbed there, but it was so very endearing.

“Granted, I’m not overly familiar,” he admitted as he stroked Remus’ hair to
console him, “but I don’t think that’s how this exchange typically goes.”

“Of course, I love you,” Remus said emphatically, looking up at him with a
smile like the sun. It sent a shiver of contentment through the very core of
Severus’ being. The vampire lay for a while basking in it, amazed that it
lingered even as sleep began to overtake the man. Their activities had been
ill-advised and Severus was tempted to feel guilty. Remus had still been far
too weak. But Severus had craved it so intensely, and Remus was a grown man,
capable of making his own decisions.
Remus still rested inside him and it was curious how satisfying that was. He’d
been so afraid for so long to allow such a thing, and now he hated to
relinquish it. He must, though. It was too dangerous for them both to drift off
to sleep this way. There was no telling how long the prophylactic spell would
hold. Severus would shift them once Remus was properly asleep and clean them
both. But it seemed alright now. It seemed too perfect to disturb.
He heard someone try the door, but a quick glance showed the lock in place. He
decided to ignore it. Remus’ face, as he slipped into blissful oblivion, seemed
far more deserving of his attention. The next jiggle of the knob went almost
unmarked. It was the movement in his peripheral as the door swung open that
made Severus half-raise his attention, and by that time, the spell had already
left Hermione’s wand.
Severus could feel his features frozen in puzzlement. He and Remus were
suddenly rendered into some erotic sculpture as the paralyzing spell locked
them into place in each other’s arms. He was too confused and embarrassed by
their condition to be angry yet. More than anything, he resented the intrusion
on such a profound and cherished moment, but surely there was a reasonable
explanation for whatever was happening.
There had better be.
He could just see Hermione over Remus’ shoulder. There were tears on her
blushing cheeks. She disappeared from sight and shortly thereafter Severus felt
a blanket settling over them.
“I hate to have done it this way,” Hermione apologized, closing and relocking
the door, adding spells to it to prevent others from doing what she’d just
done. “I’d been concerned about how I’d manage to spell you both without one of
you having time to stop me. The opportunity presented itself and I simply had
to.”
She took a ginger seat on the bed behind Remus and Severus could no longer
properly see her face. “I know it seems rude, but there are worse positions to
be frozen in, don’t you think?” There was no mockery in her voice, but Severus
felt his cheeks colour. Apparently, the spell couldn’t prevent blushing.
Severus looked at Remus’ motionless, beatific expression. The truth of her
statement did not lessen the vampire’s building aggravation. “It’s lovely,
though, this is,” she said softly. Severus could veritably feel her eyes brush
them. “I know not many people will understand. It took me a while to myself.
But the way you all love each other is beautiful. I’ve seen the sincerity of it
in your eyes, in all of your eyes as you look at each other, and I’m so sorry
to have come between you and Harry.”
Her voice wavered, and Severus had a sinking feeling she wasn’t talking about
her chronic disapproval of his and Harry’s relationship all these years. He
watched her reach to tug the blanket up over Remus’ shoulder, covering him
further before running a hand fondly down his arm. “Remus, I’ve always loved
you. I’ve always admired your integrity and your kindness, your unflagging
optimism in the face of relentless struggle. It was partly to end that struggle
that I did what I’ve done. Little did I know the closest solution to that
puzzle was right in front of us this whole time,” she said, reaching for
Severus’ hand where it clung still to Remus’ shoulder.
“Severus,” she said achingly, “I failed to appreciate you until far too late. I
regret holding a grudge for so long. Getting to know the real you beneath the
gruff exterior has been both a joy and a penance. If only I’d listened to Harry
all those times he tried to convince me of all your good qualities. I was
guilty of the same blind prejudice I condemn in others because I believed you
took advantage of Harry. I simply couldn’t fathom the bond you shared or that
it could be anything but immoral. It’s such a pity. There’s so much I could
have learned from you, so much good we could have accomplished together. If I
could have seen the truth of your feelings for Harry sooner, if I had known of
your work on vaccines before, maybe all of this might never have happened. And
now it’s too late.”
She seemed to dissolve into tears for a moment before pulling herself back
together. Her distress distressed Severus. He wanted to feel charitably towards
her, but he was sick with dread over what she would say next. Whatever reason
she might have for paralyzing them and tearfully confessing her thoughts could
not be a good one. Could not be a forgivableone. For all her generous
compliments, she would not have bound them unless they would not have heard her
out otherwise.
“I never meant for things to turn out this way,” she averred. “I couldn’thave
foreseen Loraina’s interference. Though, I don’t know what I expected, really,”
she muttered, shaking her head at herself. “It was madness from the start. Love
clouds one’s judgement. Though, I suppose I don’t have to tell you that.”
If he’d been capable, Severus’ eyes would have fallen shut in nauseating
disappointment. This couldn’t be real. Obviously, he was still sleeping,
waiting for Remus to call him for help out of the bath. What they’d done had
been too perfect to have actually happened, anyway. Severus had been dreaming
and now it had shifted into nightmare. There was no other explanation. The
alternative was too unthinkable.
“I know you said it was dangerous,” she said nervously. “But I suppose we’ll
have to hope for the best. I’d been agonizing over how to explain the
situation, how to make you understand whyI infected Harry. I knew you’d never
accept mere words. And then when you told me about sharing memories, it all
became clear. It was like a gift, though I certainly don’t deserve one. I
know,” she said tearfully, “that you will never forgive me. And that’s alright.
I shall never, ever forgive myself. But I need you to see. For Harry’s sake, so
you can explain it to him, I need you to really understand what happened. This
is the only way,” she finished, her voice small and pitiful and pleading.
Severus had not an ounce of sympathy for her. He hoped she suffered, was bitter
that she would never know the depth of suffering she’d inflicted on Harry.
Whatever fondness that had awakened in him as they had worked on Harry’s potion
had withered entirely.
I infected Harry.
The confession echoed disorientingly through his awareness. He had thought it
convenient that she had brought the one book, perhaps in all existence, that
contained the key to Harry’s reprieve, but he’d been too grateful at the time
to question it. As he had explained his work to her and that he’d been working
on a vaccine for years, she had been shocked, had run immediately to her cache
of tomes and plucked the perfect one from the pile without hesitation, turning
to the necessary page as if she’d done so several times before. Because she
had. And she wanted them to empathize with why she’d done this unspeakable
thing. If Severus could have moved, he’d have refused the memory she foisted on
them. She did not deserve their understanding. She most certainly didn’t
deserve Harry’s through them.
Nevertheless, Severus saw the glimmery strand drift into view. It was a
terrible violation to do this without one’s consent. She’d never done it
herself. She had no idea what it did to a person. He doubted it would have
stopped her anyway. Hermione rose to her feet and bent to smooth the still damp
hair from Remus’ temple in order to lower the memory there. She did not leave
it long. He’d told her it was unnecessary. He’d told her so much because he had
thought he could trust her. After she removed it from Remus, she bent and, with
an apologetic expression, carefully lowered it into Severus’ mind as well.
***** Thou Art Too Much Deceived *****
                                     Remus
 
Hermione had been used.
The thought gasped. It was the only coherent notion Remus was capable of as he
watched her share with Severus the overwhelming explosion of information she’d
just shown him. He was still grappling with the enormity of what he suddenly
knew, was still swimming in images and thoughts and feelings he hadn’t yet made
sense of, but the one clear thought Remus had was that Hermione had been
manipulated. It was not a thing she felt herself. Clever as she was, she was
too trusting, somehow too pure. It was a conclusion the werewolf came to on his
own. She didn’t realize it yet, but Hermione had been blatantly exploited.
The consequences had been so calamitous, he wanted to reject the sympathy he
felt for the young woman. But even before she’d forced her point of view on
them, Remus had been more disappointed than angry, had felt bad for her without
understanding with such clarity why he should. She was like a niece to him.
However much he loved Harry, he’d also adored Hermione, and it made him
absolutely sick that she had thrown away her future. It had been sobright. And
all for a girl who Remus suspected did not properly love her back, who was
simply enamoured of the opportunity Hermione presented. How long would that
love last now that Hermione could no longer provide the influence of her name,
could not lift her lover into fame with her? Hermione was going to be
devastated when she realized she’d hurt Harry so profoundly for nothing.
Katie.
Remus couldn’t hate Hermione. The rancour that burned in him was reserved
solely for the young woman who had led their dear friend astray. Katie, whose
Muggle father had met her Muggle mother while visiting London, had lived abroad
long enough to absorb the warped American concept of social justice before
bringing it back with her to her birthplace. And it had been her sentiments
Hermione had broached before when she floated the idea of Harry coming out to
the public.
Katie had idolized Hermione as a student at Ilvermorny. While most American
Witches and Wizards were hardly aware of the war being waged across the pond, a
handful of globally-minded students followed it obsessively, attempting to
raise awareness and encourage aid. And Katie had been at the forefront of the
near-ignored ideological crusade. It was their S.P.E.W. To them, it was simply
a cause. More than anything, it was a banner they waved to make them feel more
enlightened and evolved than their peers. It was abstract and distant enough to
not truly be understood, though nuance was often lost on most Americans,
anyways; and the excessively wealthy tended to be out-of-touch regardless of
their setting.
Hermione was a legend in activist circles, even in the US, and meeting her at a
march for Creature rights on campus and realizing they went to the same
university had been a dream come true for Katie. But Remus suspected it was
Hermione’s reputation she loved more than the young woman it was attached to.
“Being Hermione Granger must open a lot of doors. Being Harry Potter would open
even more.”
“Activism isn’t Harry’s thing.”
“How could it not be? Isn’t he fucking a vampire?”
“I told you that in confidence, Katie! Don’t you dare breathe a word.”
“You know I won’t. But isn’t his best friend a werewolf? Aren’t they all gay?
He couldn’t be a more perfect icon for Social progress unless he was Muggle-
Born. And he was raised by Muggles. His mother was Muggle-born. You’re Muggle-
born.”
Too much.
There was too much information too suddenly. Hermione had strung together so
many memories into a single strand, but she hadn’t allowed them to watch them
play out, and the enormous mass of detail she’d deposited in Remus’ mind
practically caused him physical pain. Remus was still disoriented when he felt
her withdraw. Severus’ mildly confused expression was, of course, unchanged.
But Remus could see the quickened tick of his pulse in the vein in his neck. He
could only imagine what Severus was thinking. Undoubtedly something murderous.
“So now you know where he’s going.”
Did they? Remus sifted through the conglomerated mess in his brain. Yes. It was
there. An island owned by Katie’s family. They’re rich enough to own an
island?It was small and remote...and filled with monsters.
“He won’t know where to safely land there,” she fretted. “The port is cloaked.
The rest of the island is inundated with Muggle-repelling charms, but that
won’t deter Harry and Loraina. They’ll almost certainly land on the island
proper, and it is sodangerous.”
She hadn’t known just how dangerous until recently. So much had been done
without Hermione’s knowledge. She would never have condoned human
experimentation, which is why they didn’t tell her about it until after the
fact.
“Don’t let their sacrifice have been in vain, Hermione. Because of them, we
have a perfected serum. Honor them by seeing to it that it does its job.”
Remus felt a chill skate up the immobile muscles of his back. Their Potions
Master, Agnes,the Boss, was without conscience, and Katie believed the ends
justified the means. And Hermione was a pawn, the one with access to Harry; a
brilliant, idealistic fool caught in a quagmire that wasn’t strictly of her
making.
“Please be careful when you go,” Hermione begged them. “I know you’re still so
sick, Remus. And Severus, you must be exhausted. But at least you know what
you’re facing and can be prepared. Harry and Loraina have found Agnes’
distributor. He was the only one who knew where the island was and what goes on
there. They’ll almost certainly be headed that way as soon as Harry recovers
from the Full, which won’t take long.”
Remus felt himself suddenly embraced. “Please try to forgive me,” she begged in
his ear, weeping softly. “I only ever wanted to make the world a better place.
I lost my way, but I still love you all with my whole heart. Pleasetell Harry I
love him. And that I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.” She released him and stepped
back.
“I’m afraid this has to be goodbye.” She was crying properly now with
irrepressible, hiccupping gasps. “The spell should wear off in an hour or so.
I’ll miss you all terribly,” she sobbed. “Save Harry. Bring him home. Severus,
do greatthings. And Remus, please take care of them both.”
Remus heard her leave, her distress growing faint as she made her way to her
room before he heard the gentle pop of her Disapparating, and then he heard
nothing at all. The silence made Remus’ pounding heart all the more deafening.
There were so many reasons to panic, Remus hadn’t even properly catalogued them
all. But one was far more pressing than the others.
An hour or so. They would be locked like this for an hour more! But they
couldn’t be. The spell Remus had used on himself had never lasted so long.
There were other prophylactic charms that were more enduring, but he’d known he
would be too weak for their activities to be anything but brief. He’d aimed for
strength over longevity. She couldn’t have known when she froze them that Remus
was still inside Severus or how little separated the vampire from the dangerous
product of their love. That wouldn’t make it any easier to forgive her should
Severus fall ill.
He wondered if the vampire had realized the peril he was in. Remus had never
been under a Petrificus before, but he had to believe there was a way to speed
up his release. He fought against the paralysis in his limbs, concentrating on
moving his extremities through sheer will. He was exhausted already, but Remus
would do whatever he could, would struggle to his dying breath, to protect the
man locked in his arms.
 
***** And Wander'd Hither to an Obscure Plot *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                    Severus
 
Agnes Pierce.
Severus remembered her now. She’d been cleverer than the typical aspiring Death
Eater. That’s why he’d allowed her to personally assist him in the lab. Though
by that time, Severus was so jaded he considered anyone devoted to their
‘cause’ to be lacking in some vital critical reasoning skills and not worth an
inordinate amount of his attention or respect.
That condescension would lead to their collective downfall.
She’d looked up to Severus, had seen him as a mentor. A role model. To her, he
was the ultimate example of what a Death Eater should be. He was the Dark
Lord’s most trusted and beloved servant and a genius Potions Master, besides.
But Severus had no time for her questions. He didn’t recognize her true
abilities. And somewhere along the way, her adoration had turned to resentment.
It was only after the final battle, when she had gone back for Severus’ notes,
that she realized he’d been intentionally causing the hybrid potion to fail.
The formula he’d left behind wasn’t perfect, but it would not have taken much
to make it so. That was no consolation to her at the time. Not after she’d
produced her own in secret, certain she had struck on the flaw in the recipe.
She had intended to succeed where the Dark Lord’s shining paragon had failed,
both securing her ascension to official Death Eater status and embarrassing the
man who almost willfully overlooked her brilliance. She was so confident in her
abilities, in fact, that she tested her prototype on her own brother, so he
would have the honour of being the Dark Lord’s first hybrid soldier.
But she wasn’t as skilled as she’d believed. Something had gone wrong. Unlike
the countless other test subjects she’d helped dispose of, her brother had
lived through the ordeal, and he was indeed a hybrid, but he was also strictly
a monster. Almost none of his human faculties survived the transformation. To
her utter heartbreak, she would have to keep him bound and imprisoned, at least
until she could work out some sort of cure. But then the Dark Lord fell and her
plans with him. And it was soon revealed that he fell because of the man she’d
once so revered.
When Agnes discovered that the hybrid potion wasn’t the only thing Severus had
sabotaged, her hatred consumed her. Because of his betrayal, she reasoned, she
was destitute. Though skilled, she was near unemployable, especially as she had
to care for a demon of her own making in her basement. She had no resources.
She only escaped prosecution by assuming a new identity and living in the
squalid shadows off Knockturn.
But fortunately, she hadn’t been the only one left struggling after the war
ended. Scores of her fellow pureblood loyalists had hit rock bottom with her.
And they all had a need; one she could satisfy. She couldn’t afford the
ingredients for Audentia, but Mut was close enough and cost pennies to produce.
Someone with the necessary skill and equipment could make a fortune. Or at the
very least, a living.
Severus knew these things because Hermione knew them. And she knew them because
Katie had told her. And Katie could tell her because she’d met Agnes while
performing some volunteer social work for the disadvantaged.
Agnes generally distrusted the goody-two-shoes social workers, as her papers
were false. But they should be sound, and she was desperate, had spent all her
profit from Mut on wasted potions ingredients for failed antidotes. She needed
government aid to keep them fed if she was going to keep trying to cure her
brother.
Katie was different from the other volunteers Agnes had spoken to. She liked
her. She wasn’t a smug Gryffindor or a blasted, insufferable Hufflepuff. And
that was because she hadn’t gone to Hogwarts at all. She did not have an
automatic prejudice against Slytherins, and Agnes didn’t need to bother
pretending to be otherwise, which put her at ease. Katie was a Thunderbird,
whatever that meant. And after she regularly, personally helped Agnes find
assistance through a variety of Ministry programs, Agnes had started to share
more details about her unique situation with the engaging, understanding
American.
Severus’ head pounded. There was not space enough for all the information
Hermione had forced on him. To make sense of it, he needed to start at the
beginning somehow and work his way through. Though she’d never practised it
before, Hermione had deftly sewn together a number of memories, like editing a
film. Trust Miss Granger to be an instant expert even in this. It was such a
shame. All that cleverness would now go to waste. But that was the least of his
concerns. Severus needed to follow the narrative she’d provided, and seeing as
they would not be moving for a while, he might as well attempt to do just that.
He could not close his eyes, but he successfully ignored what they showed him
and reached into his new memories.
It had only been a matter of months since Hermione had met Katie Winstead. The
young woman had been in a number of Hermione’s classes, but it wasn’t until
they bumped into one another at a rally that the fierce New Englander with the
quirky glasses had recognized the famous Gryffindor. That wasn’t entirely
Katie’s fault. Hermione had taken to straightening her hair. Her curls were so
characteristic that it proved a fairly effective disguise. She didn’t
particularly care about her appearance beyond being well-groomed, but notoriety
was not conducive to study, she’d found.  
Coming to know Katie over coffee and homework and the late-night creation of
protest signs was like looking into a mirror for Hermione. She’d found herself
a doppelganger with a charming accent, someone who was as passionate and bright
and concerned about equality and the rights of the oppressed as she was. They’d
been instantly and mutually smitten. Katie’s ideas might have been a shade more
radical than Hermione was used to, but her intentions were pure and her energy
electric. Whenever their path seemed daunting and Hermione’s conviction
flagged, her spirit dampered by harsh realities, Katie was there to reignite
her fire. She helped Hermione hold on to the belief that a more just society
was possible in their lifetimes. With enough work and the right risks, they
could change the world.
“Activism isn’t Harry’s thing,” Hermione had had to explain to her one night
after Katie had broached the idea. Their pillow talk often included discussion
of some social issue. They liked to share ideas in the sated comfort of their
afterglow. Safe in each other’s arms, warm in their bed, no dream seemed too
big.
Well. Almost any dream.   
“How could it not be?” Katie had asked, absently fondling the spray of freckles
across Hermione’s bare chest. “Isn’t he fucking a vampire?”
“I told you that in confidence, Katie,” Hermione had warned. She felt bad for
having shared something so sensitive, but there was no one else for her
to complain to about Harry’s unconventional lover and their worrisome habits.
“Don’t you dare breathe a word.”
“You know I won’t,” Katie assured her. “But isn’t his best friend a werewolf?
Aren’t they all gay?” she argued. “He couldn’t be a more perfect icon for
social progress unless he was Muggle-Born. And he was raised by Muggles. His
mother was Muggle-born. You’re Muggle-born.”
“Well, I would argue thatIam his best friend,” Hermione countered. The
conversation made her uncomfortable. She’d discussed activism with Harry before
because she recognized the impact he could have, but Harry was weary. He wasn’t
ready to enter another fray. “Remus is technically his godfather. Though that
whole triangle is massively complicated,” she muttered.
“You don’t have to pretend to be obtuse for me, Hermione,” Katie scolded
playfully after the attempted redirection. “I’m not threatened by smart, driven
women.” Apparently, the opposite was true, as she stretched up to sample
Hermione’s neck. Hermione was continuously flattered by Katie’s attention. It
was not a thing she was accustomed to. Viktor had been complimentary, of
course, but for all his sweetness and devotion, he was fairly...simple. He felt
Hermione was something special but didn’t really appreciate how and why. Katie
understood her, though. And she adored Hermione for all the right reasons.
“Harry is tired,” she argued but without much vehemence. Katie’s kisses were
distracting. “He’s fought for others for a long time.”
“You’ve fought, as well,” Katie pointed out. “And you choose to keep fighting.”
“He istraining to be an Auror.”
Katie scoffed and Hermione was sad when she pulled away. “And become a cog in
the police state? Great. He’s training to be part of the problem.”
Hermione furrowed her brow at her. “I think he’s more interested in bringing
change from the inside, like me.” It wasn’t a far-fetched concept. Idealism was
fine and good, but it had to be tempered with practicality. There was only so
much they could accomplish with antagonism. “Katie, I want to be a legislator,”
she contended. “You’re studying law yourself. You knowhow this works. The only
change that’s lasting comes from within the system.”
“The system never changes unless it’s required to change by the people,” said
Katie, unswayed. “The people never change until it affects them personally. Or
affects someone they love. And no one is loved more than Harry Potter.”
The comment chilled her for some reason. It sounded as if Katie had more in
mind than Harry speaking at rallies. Hermione gave the young woman an
apprehensive look which Katie seemed to take as an invitation.
“I’ve been chewing on an idea,” she told her, her eyes dancing as if she’d been
waiting for the right moment to share it. “Listen, I’ve met someone. No, not
like thatkind of ‘meeting someone’. On volunteer, I ran across this lady who
says her brother is both a werewolf and a vampire. You ever heard of such a
thing?”
“What? No. That’s not even possible,” Hermione said with a shake of her head,
unsure how a stranger’s delusion related to Harry.
“That’s what I figured, too,” Katie said, growing excited. “But then I
remembered a story I’d read in a book my parents bought while we were
vacationing in Spain when I was younger.” She hopped out of bed to pull said
book from her messenger bag. “So I kept talking to her, right?” she went on,
crawling back into bed while Hermione perused the beautiful old tome. “That
boyfriend of Harry’s, he’s a real piece of work isn’t he?”
Hermione was disconcerted by the apparent subject shift. “He certainly could
have chosen better, yes,” she conceded, her lips pursed.  
“The trial records are all sealed, I’ve checked, but apparently he was dabbling
in some pretty twisted shit while working for Old Fuckface. We’re talking
Mengele level unethical. This woman,” said Katie, pausing until Hermione looked
up at her, “she was his lab assistant.”
Hermione gaped at her. “What? And she’s not in Azkaban?” Pardons had not been
handed out liberally and sentences were not lenient. It had taken every bit of
Harry’s influence to save Severus from prison, despite how instrumental he was
in ending the war. No one working in Voldemort’s potions laboratory should
still be at liberty.
“She went into hiding, changed her name and all that,” Katie said trying to
wave it off. Hermione wouldn’t be so easily dismissed.
“You should have reported her,” she said critically. It hurt her feelings
somehow that her girlfriend would so much as give the woman the time of day.
“Why would you even entertain such a person?”
“Oh, she’s a piece of work herself, alright. Deals drugs to all the rest of the
leftover dregs from Voldemort's army,” Katie told her with a shrug, to
Hermione’s increasing outrage.
“Katie! You realize these are the people who killedmy friends. And you’re
fraternizing?” After six months, she still struggled to impress upon the young
woman how personal these events were to her, and the fact that Katie seemed so
unperturbed by such associations upset Hermione.
Katie could see Hermione’s distress and took her hand to bring it to her lips.
“I know,” she placated. “These are terrible people. Honestly, they’re barely
human to me. Which is why I think Agnes is better where she is, doing what
she’s doing to keep them all in the slums where they belong. But it’s not just
that,” she went on, not giving Hermione time to reflect on the callousness of
the statement. “There’s a reason I’ve been building her trust. She told me what
she helped Snape work on, and it’s something I think can help us.”
Severus mentally stepped back from the memory for a moment. This exercise was
exhausting. His guilt was already so heavy, and these revelations didn’t
lighten it in the least. He knew Hermione had disapproved of his and Harry’s
relationship, but he hadn’t quite realized she’d had such a harsh opinion of
him personally. He shouldn’t care what she thought, especially now, but it was
an unexpected blow. And this lover of hers seemed to have an even lower
opinion, had helped to drag Hermione’s down further.
Miss Winstead certainly was an opportunistic little hussy, Severus thought
bitterly. And a conniving one. Agnes had told her all about the special
infection Old Fuckface’s Cocktail Mixer had developed --self-contained and non-
transmittable-- and a plan had begun to form in her mind just as she’d met
someone with ties to the one person necessary to execute it.
“We have all this information, Hermione,” Katie huffed, pulling the book from
her hands and staring at the ancient bloodwolf illustration as if it was the
key to everything. “The knowledge is there, I know it. Likely it’s been looking
us in the face for centuries but no one’s cared to use it. All that’s missing
is the motivation. No one bothers to improve the lives of monsters. As if they
couldn’t also benefit from a cure, as if it doesn’t potentially protect them
should they somehow become infected,” she fumed, more baffled and frustrated
than bitter. For all her talk of making things personal for others, this issue
still didn’t touch her as it should. It was a concept. A crusade. “They don’t
see Vampires and Werewolves as victims, as infected humans. To most people,
they aretheir infection. And the horrors of their illness are attributed as
personality flaws, like they are moral failings or something rather than
magical symptoms. We have to find a way to make them care, Hermione. We have to
find someone beloved and above moral reproach to make it hit home for people.”
“I cannot believeyou’d propose such a thing,” Hermione said, fighting back
furious tears. This girl was supposed to care about her, but she couldn’t, not
if she could make such a suggestion, even as a hypothetical. “Harry is my
friend. My oldest and dearest friend,” she spat, turning to crawl out of bed to
escape the insensitive young woman.
“Whoa. Cool that Gryffindor temper and listen to what I’m saying, Hermione,”
Katie said, attempting to prevent her departure. Hermione jerked her arm from
the girl’s grasp but stopped trying to leave.
“I heard what you said, Katie,” she hissed. “And like it or not, I ama
Gryffindor.”  
“Then act like it,” Katie challenged.
Hermione was shocked out of a generous portion of her anger. “What?”
“Be brave. Be bold.”
“This isn’t bravery. This is betrayal,” Hermione insisted, bothered by the
insinuation that her courage was lacking. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to
save Harry’s and I’m not about to ruin it just when he’s finally gotten it to
himself just for some blasted ideal,” she spat.
“But they would fixhim, Hermione,” Katie persisted. “Because of who he is,
they’d have no choice. They wouldn’t rest. That’s the whole point. That’s why
Agnes would help. She wants to cure her brother.”
Hermione was beyond exasperated. “We aren't certain it’s even possible!”
“You knowit is,” Katie said with absolute confidence, taking both of Hermione’s
hands and looking steadily and reassuringly into her eyes. “And when they fix
Harry, they fix his boyfriend. And his godfather,” she added, knowing Hermione
would be more swayed by Remus’ plight than Severus’. “He’s young. He’s got
plenty of years ahead of him,” she went on while Hermione was still reflecting
on Remus’ bitter and undeserved struggles. “Do you think he would begrudge a
few spent sick if it cured everyone he loved?”
Hermione returned Katie’s unwavering stare. There wasn’t much Harry wouldn’t do
for either man. If he really thought he could contribute to a cure, Harry would
sacrifice almost anything, including a few years of his life.
“Can you not bear to see him hurt for just a little while if it lifted
thousandsout of the gutter and gave them back their lives?” Katie asked as if
Hermione was being selfish for wanting to shield her best friend from harm. “If
it eradicated disease and stigma and healed society, or at least a massive
chunk of it, don’t you think it would be worth it? Wouldn’t he think so?”
The whole thing frightened Hermione, both in the scale of the vision and the
sober reality of the price that would have to be paid to make it manifest. It
was still fanciful at this point, though. It was just talk. The implications,
both good and bad, left her reeling.
“They’d never let him agree,” she finally responded. All these arguments were
moot, really, because Severus and Remus would never, ever allow Harry to
volunteer. And that knowledge allowed her to breathe a little easier.  
The matter seemed simple enough to Katie, though. “Then let’s not give them a
choice.”
 
Chapter End Notes
     'NOTICE ME, SENPAI!'
***** Remember, Boys, I Pour'd Forth Tears in Vain *****
The only reason Hermione agreed to meet the woman was because she wanted to be
able to identify her for the court.
Well, that was the main reason. At least, it was the one she told herself. But
there was a generous amount of curiosity she didn’t openly admit to. If
Pierce’s brother truly was what she said he was, he was a miracle. So much
could be learned from studying him, Hermione simply couldn’t afford to ignore
the opportunity completely.  
She wasn’t sure, though, what would happen to him if his sister was arrested.
She wasn’t even certain he’d consented to take the potion. He may need an
advocate. The situation was complicated, and Hermione needed more information.
“I know who youare,” Agnes had hissed when she laid eyes on Hermione. “This is
a trap,” she accused Katie, looking around her as if she suspected Aurors of
hiding in the shadows.
“She isn’t exactly undercover, is she? If I was going to bring a narc, I’d have
chosen a less conspicuous one. Relax, she’s on our side,” Katie assured her.
Hermione cast Katie an uneasy glance. She sounded so confident, though Hermione
didn’t recall giving her any indication of such a thing beyond allowing herself
to be cajoled out of giving the young woman the silent treatment after a few
days. No doubt, Katie assumed that meant Hermione had finally ‘come to her
senses’. Sometimes she was too sure of herself.
“She’s on hisside,” Agnes argued, eyeing Hermione distrustfully. She wasn’t
wrong, and the look the Gryffindor gave Agnes was not charitable.  
“We all want the same thing,” Katie said calmly, trying to ease the tension.
“Really?” Agnes demanded, “because I want the traitor’s bollocks and saviour’s
neck.” She glared at Hermione as she said this.  
“Harry did not hurt you,” Hermione told her with a coldness that burned. She
hated everything about the woman. She was furtive and rat-like, an opportunist
who profited from the suffering of others. Mut was an epidemic on Knockturn,
fueling crime and despair. That she had nothing to show for the sin but a
series of failed cures for her monstrous sibling did not arouse any sympathy
from Hermione. “You picked the wrong side.”
“It might not have been the wrong side if not for them,” the woman countered,
just as acidly.
“It would always have been the wrong side, just not the losing one. But here we
are,” Hermione smirked. The woman didn’t seem to take kindly to being called a
loser, and Katie had to intervene before she could draw her wand.  
“Agnes!” she said, throwing up her hands, “Do you want to heal your brother or
not?” That subdued her. She’d been struggling with his condition alone for a
long while. “And hurt your enemy?” Katie added to sweeten the pot.
“How does this hurt my enemy?” she asked, distrustful but coming around. “It
might inconvenience the Boy Who Lived, but he isn’t really the one I want to
suffer.”
“Not a lot of people know this, but the traitor happens to be boinking the
saviour,” Katie informed her with a smirk, earning a scowl from Hermione. Agnes
looked sceptical. They weren’t an obvious couple. “Worships him. Ask her,” she
said with a nod to Hermione who said nothing, but her uncomfortable blush
seemed confirmation enough for the woman. “You could show Snape the pain you’ve
felt, watching a loved one suffer,” Katie persuaded. “You could return it.”
“You’re just as smitten with him,” Agnes accused, narrowing her eyes at
Hermione whose skin was veritably crawling at such talk. The thought of Harry
in pain made her physically ill. Through Katie, Agnes had painted a pretty grim
picture of the atrocities Severus was capable of, but if he was dear to Harry,
there must be something redeeming about him, and Hermione couldn't actively
wish pain on him, either. He’d risked so much during the war to keep Harry
safe. All of these thoughts must have been written on Hermione's face. Agnes
was more than a little tempted by Katie’s proposal, but she wasn’t a complete
fool. “Why would you let him be hurt?”
Hermione said nothing. She wouldn’tlet him be hurt. She was only here to
understand the situation better. Wasn’t she? Katie watched Hermione become
increasingly anxious from the corner of her eye.
“Because she cares about helping people,” she interjected, pulling the focus
from her troubled girlfriend. “If Harry Potter is infected, they’d move Heaven
and Earth to cure him. And if they cure him, they cure everyone. They cure your
brother.”
“My brother is something no one else is,” Agnes fretted, paying Hermione no
further mind. She could tell Agnes cared for him, and she wanted desperately to
believe he could be saved, but she seemed to have learned that hope was dearly
bought.
“Then we need to make Harry Potter whatever that is,” said Katie. “Can you do
that?”
They didn’t have to usethe serum, did they? If they could just convince Agnes
to produce it, maybe they could analyze it. Hermione didn’t pursue Potions
herself, but she knew plenty of aspiring Potions Masters and Healers from
school. They were often the most active in conversations about Creatures’
rights and eager to volunteer their scientific knowledge to combat the myths
and blind prejudices surrounding the debate. They would be fascinated by this
development.
 “I have the fiend’s notes,” Agnes nodded. “And I see what’s wrong with them.
But it won’t be easy,” she added with a sharp sideways glance to Katie. “Or
cheap.”
“Oh, I have money,” Katie chuckled. “And money can obtain anything else. Tell
me what you need and I’ll make it happen.”
Severus was distracted by a moan from Remus. It was faint, but the arms around
Severus’ waist trembled, as well. It was curious. Severus’ own paralysis showed
no signs of weakening. It was actually assisting his mental exercise, and he
wasn’t overly anxious for it to end. Hermione was gone. The liberty of movement
would not bring them any closer to finding her. Kingsley and Arthur were
unavailable, sneaking around the Malfoy dungeons looking for clues of
involvement they would never find. Minerva was away interviewing a potential
new Grounds Keeper for Hogwarts. Besides, freedom would only make Severus
restless, and he needed to finish what he was doing before he could allow
himself to rush off to Harry’s rescue.
The irony almost made him ill: rescuing Harry from a rescue mission. How many
times was this now? Both young Gryffindors were still bloody children and just
as easily manipulated. Katie was simply Hermione’s new Draco. How grasping and
desperate for understanding and affection must she be that she allowed herself
to be duped again? To have dragged Harry into peril again? Human nature could
not be learned from books. Intelligence was worthless if not accompanied by
common sense. Perhaps this will have finally taught the otherwise brilliant
girl to put less faith in her heart or in other people.
But was it really so straightforward? Perhaps he wasn’t being fair. After all,
Severus was having to unlearn that very lesson himself. It was what had kept
him so isolated for so many years. It had also kept him alive, though, he
reasoned. And he had only dismantled his walls for those who had eventually
proven themselves worthy of it.
Severus turned his attention to Remus again. His extremities seemed to stir
more and more, but his angelic expression had not yet changed except to be
sheened lightly with sweat. Though Severus’ hand and leg were going numb from
his weight, the werewolf was still a warm, comfortable shape in the vampire’s
arms.
Looking at him, a part of Severus was glad he’d closed himself off so tightly.
Remus had been worth waiting for. Severus’ paralysis chafed, finally, with the
vampire’s sudden impulse to bring his fingertips to Remus’ face. It was so
different from Harry’s, from anyone Severus had ever been intimate with or had
had the desire to be intimate with. There was nothing soft about it, and yet it
was enticing, begged to be touched. His freshly shaven jaw was so sharp and
strong. His delicately parted lips, looking as if they were waiting to be
kissed, were thin but expressive. Even the lines etched across his face were
attractive. They did not age him, they illuminated him. The ones that bracketed
his mouth spoke of a habit of smiling. The deepest ones, at the corners of his
bright, amber eyes, evoked the impression of kindness and laughter. He was so
handsome once one took the time to look. It was almost as if he’d worn a
glamour similar to Harry’s and Severus had only just been allowed to see how
breathtaking he actually was.
Studying him was delightfully distracting, but Severus was in the middle of
something. With effort, he ignored Remus and sank back into memory.
“I can’t believe you’re still corresponding with her,” Hermione fumed. After
the meeting, Agnes hadn’t been mentioned again, and Hermione had assumed that
the scheme had been abandoned once she’d informed Katie she had no intention of
participating. But now here was an owl to Katie from Agnes. “I don’t like her.
I don’t trust her, and I’m turning her in,” Hermione said flatly. The serum
wasn’t worth working with such a person. Hermione would find a way of broaching
the subject with Severus. He wrote the original formula, surely he could
provide some insight.
“She’s not in London anymore,” Katie told her, tucking the scrap of parchment
into her pocket and feeding the owl a treat before sending it off.  
“Good,” Hermione said automatically. Then, “Wait. Where is she?”
Katie ignored the question. “Now that exams are over, let’s take a vacation,”
she said, slipping an arm around Hermione’s waist and pulling her in for a
sweet kiss. “There’s this island I own…”
Remus moaned, much louder this time. It sounded as if he were trying to speak
but couldn’t manage it just yet. The arm draped over Severus’ side slid down it
a few inches. He’d be fully mobile before long, and when he was, he’d free
Severus. The Potions Master needed to finish reviewing his new memories. He
skimmed through Hermione’s arrival on the tropical beach and her delight at the
private paradise. Katie had pulled out all the stops to impress. Champagne and
a host of aphrodisiacs on a blanket in the sand. Kisses and sweet nothings in
the surf. It wasn’t until the next day, after proclamations of ardent and
sincere love had been exchanged, that Katie invited Hermione to tour another
part of the small island.
A formidable magical barrier separated their peaceful cove from the dense trees
behind the villa, and just inside it was the door to a sizeable underground
bunker, obviously very new but already saturated with the pungency of potions
ingredients.
Remus rolled away from Severus, breaking his concentration. The werewolf was
ungainly as he untangled himself from Severus, as if drugged. The vampire
struggled to focus.
“Loose on the island? How many?” Hermione couldn’t breathe. “How are we any
better than Voldemort?”
“Don’t let their sacrifice have been in vain, Hermione. Because of them, we
have a perfected serum. Honor them by seeing to it that it does its job.”
Remus’ fingers were crawling painstakingly across the sheets toward Severus’
wand, and he was grunting with the effort. He’d release Severus from the spell
any moment. The vampire needed to finish...
“Katie, I don’t want to do this.” She was desperate but tried not to let it
show. “We’ve made so much progress already without Harry. Now that we’ve
perfected the hybrid, we can study it.” Perfected the hybrid. Gods, they’d
perfected monsters. The infection could be used as a weapon by anyone as
unethical as Voldemort with enough clueless volunteers to build an army. Did
Katie not see that? But they had a small island of them already, somehow, and
Hermione couldn’t help them without a cure. Could they even find a cure without
Harry? “Surely we can find other Potions Masters supportive of what we’re
trying to do and bring them on board.” Everything was spiralling out of
control. When had this happened? Why hadn’t she done more to stop it?
"It’s already done, Hermione.”
For a moment, she simply blinked at the girl, not understanding what Katie was
saying. When it dawned on her, Hermione was almost certain she was going to be
sick. “What?”
“It’s done.”
The room was spinning. Hermione’s knees could no longer support her and she
sank to the floor with Katie easing her fall. “When?” she asked dazedly. “How?”
“I have a friend who temps in the Auror department. She overheard the agent
pegged as Harry’s partner talking about their first assignment. Agnes’ people
are already on their way there.”
Hermione staggered to her feet and rushed for the door. She didn’t know where
she was going or how she was going to get there, but she had to go now.
“Hermione! There’s no way to stop it,” Katie said, catching her in her arms and
trying to gently direct her to a seat. “We’re a thousand miles from London.”
“Why would you keep this from me?” Tears were streaming down her face. She felt
so betrayed. How could Katie look at her so sympathetically when she was the
reason Hermione was hurting? “Why would you not tell me before?”
“Because I knew you’d suffer a last-minute weakness of resolve,” Katie said
sadly, stroking away her tears. “I know you love him, but this is more
important than any one person.”
Was anything more important to Hermione than that one person? “People might
die, Katie.”
“People havedied. The right people. And the deserving will be saved. You have
to break eggs to make an omelette, sweetie. We’ve talked about this. You know
how and why change happens. The Ministry manipulated the system to take down
Charles Blackfur and turned the people further against Dark Creatures. It’s
time to play their game. It’s time to manipulate the manipulators.”
Hermione wanted to hate the young woman. But everything had already been set in
motion, and if Hermione didn’t have Katie, what was she left with? “What if it
doesn’t work?”
“Then we keep fighting, as we always have.”
“But Harry-”
“Will be fine, no matter what happens,” Katie assured her. “But to make sure,
you have to go and do your part. You have to make him play his. Once his
condition is revealed, you fight for him, just like you would if we weren’t a
part of any of this. Go do what you do, sweetie.”
Oh, gods. She was a part of this. “We’re going to Azkaban.”
“No, we’re not. Hermione, look at me. We can be someone else tomorrow if it
comes to it. Okay? Just you and me. Breathe, sweetie. We can go anywhere, be
anyone. Hermione?We’ll be fine.”


***** This Pleasant Chase *****
                                     Remus
 
It took him a few tries, but Remus was finally able to mumble the spell that
would release them both. The weight of paralysis evaporated and Severus’ limbs,
still clutching a Remus that was no longer present, collapsed while Remus
melted into the mattress, his chest heaving.
“Remus?” he asked, sitting up. His muscles were stiff but limbering with use.
“How did you-?”
“Had to pull out,” Remus panted. His shaking hand rose to his stomach where
Severus had rested against him. The skin there was slightly damp, but Remus
couldn’t tell whether the spell had begun to leak or if he was simply sweating
from the effort of breaking the Petrificus.
Severus’ eyes widened with realisation. He crawled over to lift his wand from
Remus’ fingers and examine them both closely. “Likely only a bit of seepage,”
he muttered, “and caught early and treated, I’ll have mild flu-like symptoms at
worst,” he reasoned out loud. “But if you hadn’t…” Severus was overcome, his
fingertips finding Remus’ face as he drew close to hover over it. “How did you
ever find the strength?”
The look on Severus’ face stole Remus’ breath. How often had he seen such
tender intensity directed at Harry and grieved that it would never be his? And
yet here it was, shining down at him, forhim. “I’d move Heaven and Earth to
protect you,” the werewolf vowed, his voice nonetheless weak. His hand found
Severus’ wrist as the vampire’s had his earlier. Severus seemed touched by his
sincerity and bent to kiss him sweetly, but Remus could tell he was distracted.
“Heaven and Earth,” he mumbled to himself as he pulled back. Remus hadn’t meant
to echo Katie’s words, but he realised that he had. “Wait here,” Severus told
him. He rolled off the bed and pulled on his trousers, slipping his wand into
his back pocket. He didn’t dress further, and Remus loved the sight of him
hugged just so by well-tailored slacks but bare-chested. It was somehow more
erotic than him being fully naked.
Remus rather felt bad for such thoughts. So much was going on. Severus might
soon be ill. Remus was tremblingly weak. Harry was in danger. And yet, all
Remus really wanted in that moment was for Severus to come back to bed and do
to him what the werewolf had recently done to Severus. He could still feel the
heady weight of the vampire’s tender look and he craved more of the same.
When would they have a whole day at once without crisis where they could simply
be and be together? He was so tired. He only wanted to sleep in Severus’ arms
and worry about Harry tomorrow. Did the young man even care to return?
He recognized he was likely simply still sulking over Harry’s neglect before,
and he reminded himself that the young man was a victim, both of his well-
meaning but grossly misguided friend and of a rival for Severus’ affection bent
on self-destruction. Besides, Harry’s willingness didn’t enter into it. Like it
or not, they were following, and Remus knew they were following soon.
Severus rushed from the room and returned a short time later with a number of
phials. He drank two himself in quick succession before easing himself onto the
bed beside Remus and carefully lifting his head to feed him a third. It was
peppery and subtly sweet, and Remus felt his head clear with the small boost of
energy it provided. It allowed him to sit up and drink another, much larger
dose of medicine Severus handed him. Remus felt marginally stronger. At least,
he stopped trembling.
“Temporary measures,” Severus muttered, unsatisfied. “But better than nothing.”
He looked the werewolf over with concern. “How do you feel, my Remus?”
The werewolf smiled to himself. He liked it, the simple possessive. He liked
being Severus’ now, as Harry had been for so long. The young man sometimes
would claim to chafe under Severus’ possessiveness, but more often than not, he
silently revelled in it. Remus understood that thrill. He didn’t mind being
owned by this man. Not ruled by him, perhaps, but belonging to him was fine. It
was wonderful. Remus answered him by hooking his hand behind Severus’ neck and
pulling him in for a kiss. It was anything but chaste. Severus returned his
unexpected passion for a moment before pulling back and rising from the bed,
taking a step back as if attempting to escape the wolf’s embrace before he was
swept away by it.
Remus, however, wasn’t finished with him. The restorative properties of the
potions he’d drank were proving increasingly effective, and he slipped from the
bed after Severus, his intention written clearly in his expression. Severus’
skin flushed as he met Remus’ eyes, but he backed further away from the
werewolf’s predatory advance until Remus stalked him all the way against the
wall, a hand flat against it on either side of the vampire’s head.
“You’re feeling well, then?” he stammered. His smirk was shaky and his eyes
heavily lidded as he stared at the werewolf’s hungry lips. Remus nodded. He
dipped his face toward the vampire’s neck but found himself turned suddenly,
pinned to the wall in Severus’ place. “Just because I let you bugger me once
doesn't mean I’m going to bend over for you whenever you please,” he said, his
voice trembling but stern even as he allowed Remus to open the front of his
trousers.
“I wasn’t asking you to,” said Remus, claiming the vampire’s lips and his wand
at the same time. Severus allowed both.
“Remus,” he objected weakly as the werewolf whispered three prophylactic
spells, one on top of the other, “there are urgent matters-”
“Then be quick,” Remus said, dropping the wand to the floor and turning to face
the wall before pressing his still bare backside against Severus’ well
protected and obviously agreeable crotch. There was no telling when they’d next
have an opportunity for this, and Remus wasn’t willing to wait for something so
uncertain.
Severus' hand came to Remus’ hip as if to restrain him. “Don’t think because
you’re feeling under the weather that I’ll be gentle,” he warned, his voice
taut. The fingers at Remus’ side bit into it as the vampire struggled to cling
to his rapidly crumbling self-control.
“I wasn’t counting on it,” said Remus, grinding back into the man, causing him
to groan. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”
After a moment more, Severus’ restraint snapped and Remus felt himself pressed
into the wall with a growl that curled his toes. Then Severus took a step back,
dragging Remus’ hips with him and shoving the werewolf’s head down to bend him
over.
Holy Hell. Remus never realised how much he enjoyed being so manhandled. He was
not a small person, was not used to being with someone capable of manipulating
him in this way. But despite being more diminutive, Severus was considerably
stronger, even when Remus was perfectly healthy, and the contrast was
surprising and so bloody arousing.
The vampire pulled away and Remus felt the cool drip of spit hit his cleft,
sliding down to his opening where Severus’ cock met it. There was no other
preparation. Remus drew a deep breath, opening himself as best he could as
Severus sank insistently inside of him.
Remus felt himself tear and tried to flinch away, but Severus’ hands held him
firm. He’d instructed Harry before to fuck him the way Severus fucks, so he
wasn’t wholly unprepared, but the young man still had possessed more hesitance.
Remus didn’t hate it, though. In fact, he was surprised by how much he enjoyed
it. Not that Severus was unnecessarily rough. He didn’t pause but he wasn’t
violent. And Remus did as he’d been taught. He remembered to breathe. He
embraced the pain, and after a few steady, measured thrusts, Remus moaned.
Severus responded by sinking further than before, and Remus bent forward even
more, letting him in.
Severus didn’t hold back after that. He pumped the werewolf hard and fast, so
that Remus had to brace himself against the wall with his elbows, his shouted
moans echoing off the panelled surface. Fuck, it was intense. And unrelenting.
Not that Remus wanted it to relent. He reached back and grasped Severus’ thigh,
urging him deeper, harder, while his other hand found his own cock, allowing
his face and shoulder to bear the brunt of the force hammering him against the
wall so he could fist his aching erection.
It didn’t last overlong. With a last few staggered thrusts, Severus finished
first with a guttural moan, his cock throbbing as it pumped its prize into the
prophylactic spells. Remus mourned that he was robbed of the sensation of
Severus’ thick warmth spreading through him, but only for a moment. His hand
clutched at Severus’ thigh more desperately, begging him without words to stay
inside while Remus finished bringing himself off. No spell contained him,
though, and he painted the panelling with his satisfaction.
Remus’ legs trembled, but otherwise, he felt fantastic. He released the
vampire, needing both of his hands to help him climb back up the wall in order
to return upright. The smile on his face was so wide and persistent it was
almost painful, and when he turned to Severus, the vampire seemed surprised by
it.
No, he realised. It wasn’t Remus’ grin. Severus was mildly overwhelmed by the
whole encounter, his pupils blown wide and his fangs peeking. The vampire
hadcome exceptionally hard, Remus reflected, and the werewolf was
extraordinarily pleased with himself. Severus looked at Remus as if he was some
exotic creature. He didn’t seem to quite know what to do with his hands, and so
Remus reached out his own and pulled him in for a luscious kiss.
“Excellent medicine. Thank you, Doctor,” he smiled, slipping from between the
vampire and the wall. Remus swatted Severus playfully on the arse as he
gingerly stepped away and over to his wardrobe. “Alright, my sweet,” he said
with a sigh, climbing into a clean pair of trousers. “Let’s go and collect the
little shit, shall we?”
 
***** Blood and Revenge are Hammering in My Head *****
                                  Harry: Now
Harry was exhausted. In body, in mind, in soul. Soon, though, he could rest.
Forever. He had one last task, and then this --everything-- would all be over.
He’d never looked so forward to the end of anything. Not even the war.
They’d been on the water for three days looking for the island. Of necessity,
they spent their daylight hours below deck. Loraina hadn’t had a drop of potion
since they left Hogwarts and it didn’t take long for the sun to turn on her.
Though, she prefered it that way. She said she felt sharper and more powerful
than she had in years. Glutting on human blood had helped both of them in that
regard. Harry had taken his last dose of golden elixir before the Full. It had
never done much to alleviate the sear of daylight. He hadn’t been taking it
long enough. But it had allowed him to remain himself while the moon was high.
For whatever that was worth. There wasn’t much of him left.
Harry tried not to think of who he had been. He no longer cared what more the
mission cost him; the moment he’d set out on it, he’d lost everything that
really mattered to him. What use was his sanity or humanity now? All he had
left was Hermione. And once she was safe, he could let her go, too.
“Harry.”
Loraina beckoned him to the helm where she stood peering through the darkness.
She never used any other address now. He’d earned her respect and, with it, his
own name. When he took his place beside her, her arm slipped around his waist
with absentminded familiarity. Harry leaned his hip into hers as he studied the
darkened horizon.
“You think that’s it?”
“I can smell them from here,” she whispered, her eyes already black. Her lust
for killing was like nothing Harry had ever seen.
But no. That wasn’t right. It was not the killing she craved, it was the
battle. Loraina wasn’t a murderer, she was a warrior. And she’d been away from
combat for too long. He had given her her last war, one worthy of her, and that
endeared him to her.
“Can you not smell their blood, Harry?” she asked with a shiver. “This is it,”
she said, her voice like the dusk at their backs. Gone was the mania of a
hunger underfed. Now that she was allowed to touch him, she no longer acted
like a cat in heat, and her seduction was practically accidental. And far more
effective because of it. She slipped between Harry and the console, pulling his
hips to hers by the band of his trousers. “Are you ready? Are you prepared to
end it?” Her hand slid to the back of his neck, but he resisted her pull. They
both knew he wouldn’t resist it long. He never did. His own hand rose but only
to brush the hair from her eyes.
Loraina was not who he had thought she was. She was not, he suspected, who
Severus thought she was. Once she broke her shackles and was able to embrace
her true nature, her insanity all but evaporated. The woman was fey and
unpredictable, but she was far from crazy. The Madness had simply exaggerated
behaviours to which she was already prone, which looked like mundane madness to
those who didn’t understand them. The Blood didn’t change a person, Harry had
decided, it simply made a caricature of them.
Harry thought perhaps that she had known this all along and hoped Severus would
be able to see it as well. She was still the girl he’d loved, just more so. The
two had shared enough memories since their flight that Harry saw that clearly
himself. Her time in the forests had distilled her. She’d become perfectly
herself. In Dumbledore’s service, Severus had been similarly refined. But
Severus refused to acknowledge it, refused to relinquish the last image he had
of her those years before while the Madness was still fresh and her anger so
raw. All this time --during the war and since-- she hadn’t been mad. Not truly.
She’d been frustrated to the point of recklessness. Discontent and vocal about
it in the only ways in which she was allowed. Such things had been mistaken for
insanity in women since time immemorial.
Harry could feel that his eyes matched hers. The fading light shimmered,
colours were more vivid. His vision was hunt-ready, catching even the tiniest
hints of movement, like the way the blood pumping through the veins beneath her
papery skin made it jump almost imperceptibly. He could indeed smell their
quarry. Their musk was carried by the breeze even this far asea. Recent
practice had left his senses well-honed. So close to the Full, it was the wolf
who reigned. And the wolf’s nose was especially keen. He’d never tasted this
scent before, though, and it thrilled him.
He’d supposed he had been the first. The only. But he was not. He was merely
the quintessence, the monster perfected. He was about to meet his antecedents.
He was about to kill them, in fact, and the anticipation of the taste of their
blood stirred him, whet his appetite. There was no blood to drink here. No
flesh to tear. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything to devour.
He would not be compelled, however, no matter how persistently she pulled at
him. She knew this. She liked it about him. She’d told him that she’d assumed,
because of the nature of his relationship with Severus, that he wouldn’t care
for such a role. Not that she minded taking control, but it had delighted her
when he’d put up a proper fight...for her and not against her. She prefered to
be conquered. Like him, she enjoyed submitting, though only after her partner
had proven himself worthy of it.
Harry hooked his arm around her waist. She was such a little thing, so easy for
him to snatch, yanking her to and up him, toward his lips. Strange that the
most fearsome killer he’d ever met could be so easily lifted, could feel so
weightless in his arms.
He didn’t love her. He didn’t even like her, and he felt certain the feeling
was mutual. But he respected her. And she had been right. She thawed the ice in
his veins. Never mind that she was the one who had chilled his blood in the
first place.  
 
***** Entrails Feed the Sacrificing Fire *****
Harry’s rage blistered. It wasn’t just the sear of his torn muscles and the
deep throb of his reshaped bones. His wrath engulfed him like flame. The heat
of it rose to his face and filled his head till it threatened to burst. At
times, he felt so buoyed by it he was almost convinced he’d burnt himself to a
cinder and was being lifted on the updraft created by the inferno that had
reduced him.
The Beast within had long since been glutted to capacity. Instead, Harry fed
this blaze, carving off and tossing in the pain he could not resolve to stoke
it higher.
He imagined Severus in his lab; despondent, betrayed, alone. He ripped the
image from him and used it to fuel the flare of claws and flash of fangs as he
dispatched another of his predecessors. This one was even more pathetic than
the last, far more animal than man. Harry had no sympathy for these alleged
brethren of his. They were not victims. They had been pulled from a pool of
willing martyrs, all eager for the opportunity to further the cause of Harry’s
downfall. Nevermind that they’d been lied to. The true goal of this grand
experiment had been to hurt Severus, not Harry.
Being reminded that Severus was in pain lit his steps as he pelted through the
trees, searching out his next casualty.   
Loraina was with him, but this was his hunt. Until now, he’d had to restrain
himself, leaving the killing to Loraina’s blades when at all possible and
reserving his monstrosity to instil fear enough in their captives that they
vomited forth the information they needed before she finally finished them.
They’d both fed from the wounds she carved, but he’d not yet gotten to savour
the deliciousness of ripping his enemies to shreds with his own hands.
Harry slowed to a stop and stared down at his bloody claws, and his flame
wavered. If Remus could see him now…
Another of his kin descended on him from the branches of a nearby tree,
thinking he was ambushing Harry. His feet never hit the ground. Harry caught
him by the neck with a talon-tipped iron grip and held him aloft. But Harry did
not see the face of the creature from which he slowly squeezed the life.
Superimposed was Remus’ visage. Disgusted. Disappointed. Dismissive. The look
in the man’s eye pierced Harry’s heart. He’d become exactly what his Mate had
never wanted him to be.
Harry hadn’t wanted this, either. He’d had no choice! They had Hermione. She
was innocent, dragged into this quagmire against her will. It was Harry’s fault
she was in danger, and it was his attackers’ fault he was this monster,
theirfault he’d so disappointed his Alpha. The young man’s fury reignited.
Before he realized what he was doing, the defective bloodwolf fell with a thud
at Harry’s feet, a portion of his furred neck still clenched in Harry’s hand.
For a moment his savagery faltered and Harry was himself again; yet monstrous
in form but mentally the twenty-one-year-old man who matched wallpaper to
drapes and still mourned the loss of broom rides in the Sunday sun. He shook
the ambiguous mass of bloody flesh from his fist and cast about, suddenly lost.
How had he found himself here, murdering strangers beneath trees of a kind he’d
never seen before except in photos? How many had he slaughtered already? He’d
lost count. The island couldn’t possibly be able to support them. Not all of
the bodies he’d seen that night were the result of his arrival. They must hunt
one another. And now they hunted him, and vice versa.
Harry shivered, whimpering like a hellhound pup. He should be at home. With
Remus. He could still feel the ghost of the gulf that had opened in him over a
week ago. They had been stalking some destitute but formerly high-brow
Voldemort sympathizer when Harry had collapsed. His weakness had come on so
suddenly and unexpectedly, Loraina had had to carry him back to the vacant
warehouse they’d decided to make their temporary home. Harry didn’t know how,
but he knew what the pain meant. It was as if half his heart had atrophied. His
insides felt cavernous with the shrinking presence of his better angel, and he
knewRemus was dying.  
Even laid so low, Harry had tried to go to him. He would have crawled to
Grimmauld if that was what it took. He’d have dragged himself through every
gutter in the godforsaken city.
But Loraina had not let him.
“Why, Harry?” she had demanded, picking him up yet again to carry him away from
the exit like some frazzled mother dragging her squirming tot from a candy
display. “What difference does it make at this point? You being there won’t
save him.”
“But I have to be there,” Harry had pleaded. “I have to be with him when he...
if he...”  
“And have two deaths on your hands?” she asked sharply. Harry looked up at her,
horrified by the accusation. “Why else would he be dying except because he
tried to find you? What if you go to him and shedies, too?”
Perhaps he shouldn’t have left the memories. Why hadn’t he realised they would
just encourage the men to follow rather than give them the peace of knowing
where he’d gone? He’d been in such a rush. He hadn’t thought things through.
Guilt curdled the blood still on his stomach from the massacre they’d committed
only hours earlier.
“It is tragic,” she told him sincerely. She was more fond of Remus than she
liked to admit. She must have been to consent to leave Severus to him. “But
what’s done is done. If you want to honour him, don’t let his death be in vain.
Stay the course. You’ll thank me later, Lovely,” she said softly, brushing the
tears from his eyes as he lay helpless on the squalid, abandoned mattress where
she’d just redeposited him. “When Hermione is free and whole and in your arms,
weeping her gratitude, you’ll know I was right.”
She might have been, but that didn’t stop him from resenting her for it. Harry
dragged himself from the memory just as she caught up to him.
“We’re going to exhaust ourselves if we keep rushing about,” she said, jogging
to a stop beside him to admire his handiwork. “We need to see if any of them
can talk, can tell us where to find the bitch,” she said, nudging the dead man
with her toe. “This place is too large for us to simply run around hoping to
stumble across her.”
She suddenly disgusted Harry. What she had turned him into disgusted him. If
not for her, he’d be home now, helping Remus recover from whatever had
threatened his life. If not for her, Severus’ heart would not be broken and
Harry would not be on this accursed island, ripping the throats from monsters.
They had no idea if Hermione was even here. They had no way of knowing if she
was still alive. None of the captives they'd interrogated had spoken a word
about her. They were here for no other reason than because Loraina wanted to
punish the woman who'd sought to harm Severus. Harry was here only because he
was her executioner’s blade. She hadn't even intended to help him tie up the
boat after they arrived.
“Let it drift. You know we’ll not be leaving.”
Harry had almost dropped the ropes in disbelief. “But Hermione will,” he had
said firmly, giving her a leery scowl. “Once we rescue her,” he emphasized.
Loraina had met his demanding glare with almost no apology. It was as if she’d
forgotten Hermione entirely. His friend had never been a part of her plans.
Loraina was here for revenge and saving Hermione was an ancillary benefit.
“Efficient,” she nodded approvingly at the body at their feet. Harry watched
Loraina delight in the gaping rent in his victim’s neck, and with no real
thought, Harry backhanded her, careful to avoid catching her with his claws but
not trying too terribly hard to measure his blow.
She didn’t stumble far. As she straightened, a smirk curled her bleeding lip,
and she was still chuckling when she reared back and struck him sharply across
the jaw. She didn’t pull her punch, either, and the pain was impressive. Still,
Harry hadn’t budged. He turned to snarl at her but otherwise held himself in
check.
“Hate me later, Harry. We’re busy,” she said witheringly, nonetheless wiping
the blood from her lip with her fingertip and smearing it across his bared
fangs as if as a peace offering. And with that, it as if the altercation never
happened. Whatever the reasons, they were there, and neither of them would ever
be leaving. They might as well finish what they came to do.
***** A Speedier Course Than Lingering Languishment *****
“Slightly harder to get information out of these bastards than the ones back
home,” Loraina muttered with a short, rueful chuckle before spitting a mouthful
of blood to the sandy ground beside their latest kill. “Your pretty face
doesn’t have quite the same effect here.” She winced, pressing her hand to her
side. Harry limped over to her.
The bloodwolves they’d met just after landing had been almost comically easy to
dispatch, and it had occurred to him that their going was remarkably easy for a
suicide mission. He realized now that was because they'd been the weakest of
the bunch, half-starved and reckless from living on the fringes of the island,
away from more prime hunting grounds. As Harry and Loraina moved inland, their
foes proved increasingly formidable. They were far more human, for one, and so
more calculating. They were much stronger, as well; battle-proven alphas who
were better fed and adept at defending their territory.
Harry nudged at her hand with his muzzle until she moved it, revealing three
ugly gashes. It was abundantly clear why she had dragged him here. In a contest
of ferocity and pure might, she was outmatched. She was strong and skilled, but
without the threat of Skirmish Sickness to either party, the combat was more
brutal and straightforward than she was used to. Fangs were no longer off
limits. Not that that would have mattered with the last one. His claws had torn
through her leather bodice like tissue paper. Harry gave her wounds a
charitable lick before reverting so they could talk. There was no swoon to ease
his transformation, but at this point, pain was such a constant companion that
a bit extra did little more than wind him.
“How bad is it?”  
“I’ll live,” she shrugged, seeming disappointed. She ignored her wounds to give
Harry’s a look over. “Given enough time, that would scar,” she told him
musingly. Instead of pointing to the tear in question, she tiptoed to return
his wolfy gesture, swiping her tongue across his cheek. “Pity it won’t get the
chance. It’d be an improvement. Especially since your trademark has all but
disappeared.”
“Are you saying I’m ugly?” he asked distractedly, searching the trees. His
concern for her had already faded and he was puzzling over their next move.
They were losing too much blood to be making so little progress. He was almost
certain the last two bloodwolves they encountered had been capable of
communication, but they had been less than inclined and strong enough to ignore
their attempts.
“You are many disagreeable things, Harry,” Loraina purred, despite that Harry
was paying her almost no mind. “Ugly is not one of them. Don’t act like you
aren’t aware,” she chided. “No one likes false modesty.” She seemed slightly
frustrated that her flirtation was falling flat. She hadn’t put so much effort
into it for ages. She hadn’t needed to. But that was when their road was longer
and Harry required distraction. They’d reached the end of it now, and the time
for diversion was over. “You know what I mean, though,” she persisted
stubbornly, admiring his bleeding face. “Not enough to disfigure, just to give
you an air of danger and mystery. These are the kind of scars that get you
laid, Harry.”
“Never had much trouble without them, to be honest,” he muttered, trying to
step around her. She placed a splayed hand on his bare chest to halt him.
“Want to have a go now? Could probably fit in one last round.”
“But I hate you,” he reminded her off-handedly. There was no venom in it, it
was simply a statement of fact. She smirked at him and pressed herself closer.
“Since when has that ever stopped you? Besides, you know what blood does to
me,” she whispered, using her fingertips to paint with the red stuff still
oozing from his myriad cuts. Harry finally gave off scrutinizing the trees and
looked down at her. He was accustomed to her manner but it was starting to get
on his nerves just at the moment.
Her gaze shone up at him hopefully. Harry seized her by the hair. It was done
up in a ponytail for battle and provided a convenient handle. He was not rough
with her, merely firm, and Harry felt her legs give ever so slightly and saw
her eyelids droop as she yielded to his control, her hand falling obediently
away from his chest. She was breathless, eager to drop to her knees. He
declined to command it.
“We’re not going to learn anything this way,” he said, eyeing her
dispassionately. “The ones who can talk won’t. They know who I am.” He released
her and stepped around her as he had tried to before and she heaved a
disappointed sigh, abandoning her flirtation altogether.
“New plan, then,” she said, cleaning and inspecting her knives before slipping
them back in their sheaths. “We head for the beach. Follow it. If they have a
base, it won’t be in the middle of this monster nest,” she reasoned, stepping
up beside him with her fists on her hips. “There’s an anti-Apparation spell on
the island, so the only way to get supplies will be by boat. Which means
there’s a port. And why would they set up shop all that very far from it?” She
considered what she’d just said and nodded her approval to herself but then
slipped into a frown. “Won’t be as much to kill on the beach, though,” she
pouted.
Harry was already headed in that direction and she followed almost reluctantly.
“Haven’t had enough?” he asked her.
“There’s no such thing,” she said. “Besides, I thought it might be good to put
them all out of their misery.”
“We’ve certainly made a dent in the population.” Trudging naked and bloody
through the tropical vegetation was not nearly as much fun as galloping through
it on tough-soled paws had been, but he wasn’t up for another transformation
just yet, and there was no vitality in their victim’s blood to help the process
along.
Besides, talking was refreshing. Or rather, being able to talk. He’d spent so
much time as the wolf lately, he was starting to fear he was losing the knack.
“Once we cut the head from the snake, surely they’ll die out. They’ve already
stripped the island of almost anything with a pulse besides each other. Have
you noticed?”
“I notice everything, Harry,” she said with a curl of her lip, not being subtle
about admiring his backside as she stepped past him to help ease his path
through the underbrush.
***** I Rush'd Upon Him, Surprised Him Suddenly *****
Harry knelt in the surf and let the waves rinse the gore from him while Loraina
waited behind on the beach. He’d expected impatience from her. The sun was on
its way and he sensed in her the same anticipation of imminent completion he
felt himself. But she had said nothing. Perhaps she’d detected his weariness.
As much as she coveted her impending doom, it would ultimately wait, at least
for this.
The moment felt significant in a way Harry couldn’t put into words. The salty
wash outlined all his many cuts with mild fire. He ran his hands through the
swirling red that stained the water around him before it disappeared, swept out
to sea. It was as if the sins that had produced that blood were being absolved
by the primordial powers of those vast waters as they rinsed it away. Harry let
himself submerge entirely, holding himself under the benedictory caress of the
waves to complete his baptism, before slogging his way back to Loraina.
He was not as renewed as he might have hoped. Watery pink rivulets snaked their
way down his body from the lingering wounds he could not heal because he could
not feed. It wouldn't matter for much longer, though. Surely he wouldn’t
succumb to them before then.
“Are you ready?” she asked him, uncharacteristically subdued. There was no
guile in it, no riddle, and no taunt. When he nodded, she stepped closer and
took his face in hand. She made him look at her, and when she was certain he
really saw her, she repeated her question.
He was. He wasn’t sure if he’d feel sated when it was all over, but he looked
forward to it ending either way. Harry knew he’d die having done the best he
could, having fought as fiercely as he was able until the very end. Whether or
not they managed to save Hermione, it will have been enough. Harry nodded
again, more resolutely, and Loraina returned it before releasing him.
“The leeward side of the island looks to be in that direction,” she told him
quietly, pointing North. “The port is most likely there. We landed opposite it.
Just our luck, having had to fight the length of the place,” she muttered with
a rueful curl of her lips. Harry smirked, but fondly. As if she’d have had it
any other way.
They followed the beach toward the as-yet-hidden cove. A kind of electricity in
the air that caused the hair on the back of Harry’s neck to stand on end
heralded the invisible barrier that blocked their path forward, but that didn’t
prevent him from colliding with the thing. There was no going around it. He ran
his hand along the wards from the treeline to the waterline from where they
extended quite a ways further, into the sea.
“Do you think there’s a breach somewhere deeper in the trees?” he asked,
stepping back to consider the unpassable nothing in front of them.
“I doubt it,” she said with a shake of her head. “Too dangerous. Some of these
bastards are smart enough to find such a gate, and they are exactly the ones
our hosts wouldn’t want to pass through it. Though, that doesn’t mean we can’t
get past the thing. I’m just concerned about how long it will take the others
to realize the door’s open,” she said, drawing her wand. Harry had almost
forgotten she carried one. She’d relied on her blades since they arrived. He’d
left Willy’s wand behind on the boat along with all his clothes. Like Loraina’s
knives, the wolf had seemed a better weapon for this type of combat. “We don’t
want all the baddies we avoided by taking the beach to rush the cove,” she
reasoned. “At least, not until our business is concluded. I know we’re being
watched. Let’s just hope the rabble near the sands are too scared or too far
gone to understand they could follow us.”
“Are you certain a spell can disarm it?” he asked, giving it a shove. It seemed
every bit as formidable as the wards placed on Hogwarts Castle after the
Dementor attack.
“They aren’t keeping out Wizards, Harry. They’re keeping out beasts. None of
the bloodwolves we encountered possessed a wand, and I doubt that was by
accident.” She stepped toward the barrier, testing it with her fingertips.
“Durable but not complex,” she said as if to herself. Then she bent and touched
her wand to the wards just above the sand, muttering a spell under her breath
as she brought it up and over their heads and back to the beach again, carving
an unseen doorway. She ushered Harry through before following and repeating the
process behind them in reverse.
“I thought you just said-”
“Theatre, Harry,” she told him, not breaking character by speaking to him in a
murmur the way one would have uttered a spell. “Much harder to replace the
thing than it is to punch through it. But there’s no reason our audience can’t
be led to believe I’ve done just that. Might buy us some more time before they
come poking around to inspect it,” she finished, stowing her wand and motioning
for him to follow her to the cover of the trees, safe now this side of the
wards.
They didn’t have to go far before they came across the first structure they’d
seen on the island since they arrived. After fighting through long acres of
untamed jungle, the sight of it was almost jarring, as if it did not belong.
The maintenance shed sat at the edge of a pristine, idyllic beach dotted with
strategically placed lounge chairs and deceptively primitive-looking canopies.
Not much further down the sand was a house. A small mansion, really. With its
columns, it looked like an ancient temple retrofitted with modern amenities.
The whole tableau revealed the pursuit of a certain aesthetic: unpretentious
but staggering luxury. Considering what filled the trees behind it, its very
existence seemed especially arrogant. But what did he expect of people who
played at being God?
“Are you sure it was a good idea to skip the bath?” Harry asked, scrutinizing
the browning crusts of gore streaking her skin with a disapproving eye. She
wore the blood of her enemies like war paint. It was the only trophy she’d had
time to keep. The smell of her was overpowering this close, and should the
breeze shift, they might as well have set off a flare gun. There would be no
hiding their location, much less their presence.
“I just smell like all those mutts we’ve gutted,” she shrugged. “Maybe that’s
what they’ll think I am. Besides, we aren’t hiding, really. We’re merely
scouting our approach. What does it matter if they know we’re here?” she said,
checking her knives for readiness. “What could they employ that’s worse than
what we’ve faced already? Odds are, they know we’re on the island. Or that
someone uninvited is, at least. Since we’ve lost the element of surprise,
perhaps we should see where fear gets us. Me like this, you in your true form,
marching fearlessly up the beach together? They’ll soil themselves,” she said,
a glimpse of her once everpresent, manic grin tugging at her lips.
“I’m not certain I’m comfortable with that plan.”
“So stolid and practical,” she grumbled, giving him a critical look. “We might
as well enjoy ourselves a bit before we die,” she said, nonetheless stepping
back into the shadow of the trees and scrubbing at the worst of her warpaint.
“There are tracks,” he pointed out, ignoring her pout. “A bloodwolf. Too large
for anything else.”
“This side of the wards?” she puzzled, stepping forward to examine them with
him. “Something definitely patrols this perimeter,” she nodded, easing a knife
from its sheath and eyeing the trees to either side of them. But her caution
came too late. Harry hadn’t been able to detect its scent over Loraina’s
stench, but he heard it now: the steady, rumbling rhythm of air being drawn
into and expelled from cavernous lungs through slavering jowls.
“Run!” he gasped to Loraina, turning to flee himself just as something massive
exploded from the foliage behind them in pursuit.


***** A Crimson River of Warm Blood *****
                                     Remus
“You can’t keep reverting back and forth," Severus chided, winded and stumbling
over the body of their latest assailant to reach him. "At this rate you’ll be
spent before we find them.”
“The wolf keeps threatening to take over, even though I’m not transforming
entirely,” said Remus, shrugging off both the man and his concerns.
“Let it. You’ll be stronger. We’ll move faster,” Severus persisted.
Remus shook his head adamantly. He understood Severus’ anxiety. He shared it.
They were so close to finding Harry they could literally smell him. But it
would do no good to sabotage the whole undertaking by being reckless now. He
placed a hand on Severus’ chest and gently forced him to arm’s length, ignoring
the man’s hurt expression.
“I’d be a monster. Severus,” he argued with a shudder, “I might not recognize
you. Not as you. The vampire in him allows Harry to keep his head when he
turns, but I don’t have that advantage. I...I don’t trust myself,” he admitted.
The confession shamed him, but Severus’ wounded leg spilled the scent of
infection as well as blood and it singed the werewolf’s nose even as they
spoke. “They turned here, anyway,” he pointed out, turning himself before
Severus could reply. “I think they made for the beach.”
Severus did not press the issue but Remus could sense his frustration. “Their
foes became too much for them, finally,” he observed instead, allowing Remus to
lead the way.
“Thank the gods for that,” Remus muttered wearily. “They became too much for us
two skirmishes ago.” As far as he could tell, there had been little to no
planning by the pair they tracked. They seemed to have simply ripped headlong
into danger, trusting their strength to see them through the gauntlet.
“We can’t be far behind. Their engine was still warm when we found it. If we
hurry, we should catch up to them before...”
Neither of them wanted to articulate the rest of that thought, and so they
pressed on toward the beach in silence.
Ostensibly, they were trying to reach Harry before he met his match, but Remus
would have thought any number of the foes he’d faced already might have fit
that description. Their initial worries seemed unfounded now. Harry was
certainly stronger than any creature Remus had ever encountered, and the
aftermath of his rampage here continued to reinforce that fact.  
What they actually feared --the real danger to the young man they loved-- was
already beyond their ability to mitigate.
The two had been following a trail of corpses like breadcrumbs, each more
grisly than the last. A few showed the clean, sweeping slash marks of Rainy’s
blades, but most were mangled. They didn’t look mauled so much as ripped to
shreds. The Harry they knew, the one who had bounded so buoyantly from their
bed when last they’d seen him, would not have been capable of such violence.
“What do you suppose we’ll be collecting, Remus?” Severus asked as if reading
the werewolf’s thoughts. It was unsettling to hear the fear in his voice. Remus
had watched Severus dispatch bloodwolf after bloodwolf, each more formidable
than the last, with a cold and deadly efficiency only an unfettered vampire can
achieve, and the man had never batted an eye.
“Does it matter?” Remus asked quietly, breaking through the last of the trees
and onto the beach to follow Harry and Loraina’s footprints now rather than
their scents. Severus’ answering silence was too concerning to ignore, though,
and Remus turned back to him finally.
The vampire was struggling far more than Remus realised. His limp was not
pronounced, but the man was so stubbornly stoic that the fact it showed at all
made Remus suspect Severus’ injury was far more serious than he’d supposed.
Still, Remus knew that was not the source of the pain he saw on the man’s face.
He ignored the revulsion of the scent of Severus’ blood and attempted to draw
him into his arms. Severus pushed him away.
“We can’t tarry,” he grunted, setting his jaw and trudging forward; but when
his step faltered on the sandy terrain, Remus caught him and held him fast this
time. Severus resisted for a moment before appearing to remind himself that the
werewolf was the one person who had permission to see his weakness, and he
softened, returning the other man’s tenacious grasp. “Remus,” he whispered,
seeming hardly to breathe. “What if there’s none of him left?”
“I’m not immune to it either, my sweet,” Remus said, squeezing Severus tighter
to soothe his trembling. “But we can’t undo what’s already been done. All we
can do is deal with the aftermath.” Severus nodded but could not meet his eye.
“And we will,” Remus assured him. “Together.”
At the very least, whatever they found at the end of this trial, neither would
have to face it alone. Between the two of them surely…
Remus was struck a sudden dread that was so cold and piercing it dropped him to
his knees where he dragged Severus as well. This was not fear borne of
contemplation, though. It was altogether more powerful, more tangible; a sudden
vacuum in his soul his consciousness was too shaken to properly define.
“Remus!” Severus gasped, laying him out on the beach to frantically search for
the injury that had felled him. Remus was reeling too much to explain that the
wound wasn’t physical. He brushed Severus away and rolled to his stomach. He
tried to find his feet but his pain blinded him, sending him stumbling back to
the ground.
“Damn it, Remus, what is happening?” Severus implored as he tried to help haul
the man upright. But the shifting of the sand coupled with his injured leg and
Remus’ flailing made the effort futile.
“Ride me!” Remus managed to choke out past the lump in his throat. Severus
released him in his surprise and Remus settled to his hands and knees again to
steady the spinning world.
“What?”
Gradually, Remus succeeded in focusing on Severus’ face. His expression was
equal parts baffled and terrified and demanding. Remus drew a deep breath and
reached up to grasp the man’s soiled robefront. “It’s Harry,” he explained with
difficulty. “He’s hurt, Severus.” Just speaking it made his stomach lurch.
“Gravely. We have to hurry. You’re injured. There’s no time. Ride me.”
Fear and understanding kindled in the vampire’s eyes and he nodded, stepping
back to allow Remus to transform.
***** Had You Not By Wondrous Fortune Come *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                    Severus
It wasn’t as if Severus had never seen Remus transform, but that had been years
ago and before Severus had any reason to appreciate the process. Remus wasn’t
silent as he changed, but he did not vocalize anything approaching the true
agony he must be feeling. It was difficult for Severus to watch, difficult for
him to hear. But it did not take long for Remus to emerge from it, the shredded
remains of his clothes falling away to the sand below. Severus had forgotten
how large Remus was in this form, how truly formidable he must be.
Gods, but he was beautiful.
The moon overhead washed his sleek, golden fur with cold fire, outlined the
heft of his physique across his breast and haunches in silver flashes as Remus’
chest heaved and his legs readied to spring. There was so much restless power
stored in the bunch of his muscles.
Severus had seen werewolves in Voldemort’s employ. As a rule they were stringy
and thin, strong but nothing like this. They were all Omegas or something like
it, weak-willed followers in search of a master, and easy pickings for the Dark
Lord. But Remus was wholly unlike those wastrels begging for scraps. He was
clearly an Alpha, confident and secure in his inherent power. His presence was
commanding, and it was no surprise now, seeing him in this form, that Remus had
succeeded in subduing Harry on his first Full despite how fearsome the latter
was.
It was a pity he stank so. The pheromones he’d secreted since they’d landed on
the island, released by his partial transformation of muzzle and claws, had
turned Severus’ stomach, but it was nothing to the nauseating wave of wolf-
stench Remus radiated now. It stirred Severus’ blood. The intrinsic loathing of
his infection for the creature Remus was threatened to make a puppet of the
vampire as it woke in all his veins and cried out for its ancient enemy’s
demise.
It seemed they scented each other at the same time. Remus’ amber eyes cut to
Severus, his fur springing upright the entire length of his spine, his lips
curling back to reveal stretches of fangs like jagged saw blades on either side
of his muzzle. There was hatred in the growl that rumbled deep in the wolf’s
chest, and Severus surreptitiously slipped his hand in his robe pocket to grasp
his wand. His heart pounded as they regarded each other, waiting to see if the
love their human halves felt for one another would be enough to override the
instinctive hostility programed into their very DNA.  
But the eyes that glared at Severus from beneath a hooded brow of blond fur
were undeniably Remus’. Severus could do nothing about the blown black of his
own eyes, but he kept his fangs hidden and forced himself to relax his posture.
His friend wasin there. Beneath the fangs and fur, his own gentle, nurturing
Remus was there, and Severus reached out to him now, extending his free hand
toward the mane that ringed the werewolf’s neck.
Severus thought he could tell that Remus was trying, was struggling to control
his hostility. But when Severus was half a moment from closing the distance
between them, the wolf prevailed and Severus only just managed to save his
fingers from Remus’ snapping teeth. He sprang back, not an easy feat with his
injured leg on the sandy terrain, and tightened his grip on his wand. But Remus
was almost immediately contrite. The shock of having almost caused Severus
actual damage seemed to finally allow Remus to overcome his instincts. He
whimpered, laying his ears back as if in apology, and Severus permitted himself
to breathe again.
Remus turned his nose North, testing the air, and he let out a low, mournful
howl before he padded over to the vampire and lowered himself to the sand,
giving him permission to mount.  Remus whined softly as if to beg him to hurry,
but Severus couldn’t resist stroking the wolf once, soothingly between the ears
and down the back of his long neck first. Remus waited until Severus was
settled, finding a seat in the slight curve of Remus’ back and a secure grip in
the luxuriously thick fur above his shoulder blades, before rising to his feet,
bearing the vampire aloft, and springing forward with a determined growl.
Never in his wildest imaginings could Severus ever have envisioned himself in
this situation, riding a bloody werewolf, of all things, like a fucking battle
steed. But it was glorious somehow, exhilarating despite the terrifying
circumstances. Their power and purpose had never seemed more unified, their
differences more reconciled. Together, they were assuredly a force to be
reckoned with.
Remus sprinted up the beach, building speed as he went. Severus was able to
register the invisible barrier they crossed only after they had passed through
it. Remus’ head turned, then, to the trees, but only for a moment. Even Severus
could sense their quarry did not lie there, even if it might have passed that
way. Harry awaited them somewhere further up the beach. Severus could smell
him. He could smell his blood and that it was too strong, that worryingly much
of it must have been spilled to the air for them to so easily track it.
Soon, they didn’t have to scent Harry’s blood as they could see it, curdling
the sand between broken lounge chairs and pooling in the bottom of deep
trenches carved into the beach by scraping claws. It was not only his, but
enough of it was. They couldn’t afford fear at the moment, though. Severus
translated his to fury as they streaked past the wreckage, past the beachhouse
sitting dark and silent beneath the trees to their left, toward the short pier
that jutted out into the cove where the noise of battle could be heard.
Further up the sands, Loraina dueled with Agnes, clearly unable to get close
enough to employ her blades; assuming she had any left. Severus could see the
hilts of at least three glinting in the fading moonlight at they protruded from
the hairy side of the beast bearing down on a naked and bloody Harry laying
unconscious at the edge of the surf.
Try as he might, Severus couldn’t suppress his panic. They weren’t going to
make it in time. Remus ran with all of his might, but the distance shrank too
slowly and the monstrous bloodwolf stalked toward Harry with single-minded
intention. They had to distract it. The sand muffled the drum of Remus’
galloping footsteps, but Severus loosed a shrieking hiss which Remus followed
with a barking growl of his own, and the bloodwolf’s attention snapped to the
pair. It turned its back on Harry altogether in order brace itself for their
approach. The unearthly roar it blasted toward them might have cowed even the
staunchest of warriors, but it washed over the two of them like a gentle wave,
effortlessly ignored. The creature stood between them and their Darling
Dearest. No force on earth could alter the trajectory of their protective fury.
Without pausing to think, Severus drew his knees up, his toes scrambling to
find purchase on Remus’ slick back as it rippled beneath him, waiting...waiting
for them to draw close enough for him to spring. He pushed off of Remus’ broad
shoulders, using the werewolf’s already significant momentum to help catapult
himself toward their foe. The resulting, molten pain in his injured leg was
ignored, forgotten as he shot through the air like a spear, his fangs bared and
hands spread like claws ready to tear the beast apart.
As he sailed toward it, the bloodwolf seemed to spread its arms as if in
welcome, and a fraction of a second later, they collided. The impact drove the
air from both their lungs, but neither relinquished their grip on the other,
their claws and fangs embedding themselves further into their enemy’s flesh
with each skipping contact with the sands below as they tumbled, over and over,
across the beach. When they finally slid to a stop, Severus found himself
beneath the creature. It was massive and completely inhuman. Its weight pressed
Severus deeper and deeper into the shifting sand with each lunge of its maw as
its tried to clamp the slavering thing over the vampire’s neck. Severus could
not fight back, he could only attempt to defend himself. It took all of his
remaining strength to hold the creature back, its snapping teeth nonetheless
claiming nips of his face and neck. Severus wouldn’t hold out much longer, but
he wouldn’t need to.
In a blink, it was simply gone. Remus had knocked the rabid creature from him.
He hadn’t slowed in the least, and Severus heard bones crack as the broad
expanse of Remus’ chest plowed into the fiend’s side with breathtaking force.
There was absolutely no pause between the impact and the snarling flurry of
teeth and fur.
The two battled furiously only feet from Severus, but to his shame, he couldn’t
help. The vampire required a moment. His flight from Remus’ back had ripped the
wound on his leg even wider, and that pain refused to be ignored any longer.
His collision with the monster had cracked at least one of his ribs, and their
spill across the sands had left Severus with a myriad of new gouges and scrapes
and cuts as claws and teeth had attempted to find purchase in flesh as they
rolled.
Severus struggled to a sitting position, his hand clutching feebly at a wound
in his side which poured blood over his ineffective fingers. Harry lay some
ways from him, not conscious but clearly stirring toward it. Much closer was
Loraina who seemed to be losing her duel.
Despite all she’d done, it drove a spike through Severus’ heart to see her so
battered. He could see the gore of a dozen bloodwolves staining her shredded
clothing, recognized their scent from the corpses they’d encountered in the
forest. She had to have been nearing the end of her strength before they even
arrived here, and now she struggled against the other Witch’s onslaught,
absorbing at least as many curses as she deflected or even cast. It was rather
impressive, actually, the way she weathered spells that would have felled
lesser Wizards. Severus had never realized just how formidable she was. As he
scrambled to his feet, however, a blast from Agnes’ wand finally succeeded in
knocking Loraina from hers, and Severus felt his hackles rise and his fangs
extend. She may be the least of them, but Loraina was still one of the many of
Severus’ beloveds on the beach that night.
Remus’ battle with the bloodwolf had not abated but was too frenzied for
Severus to assist with. The werewolf did not appear to need his help, in any
case. Harry was not in immediate danger. But Agnes threatened to escape, and
Severus could not allow that. The pier and the boat waiting there were at
Severus’ back. He stood between the bitch and the means of her escape. She
would have to pass through him to reach it. And she wouldn’tbe passing through
him.
Once she was certain Loraina wasn’t about to rise again, Agnes turned on her
heels to make for the boat only to find Severus, grim and bloody, blocking her
path. She practically ran straight into his arms, and he could see the fear
that ignited in her eyes as she realized it was too late for her to change
course. Severus closed the distance between them with inescapable, vampiric
speed, his hatred easily buffering him against the pain of movement, and he
seized her upper arms with biting fingers to pull her face to his. “Hello,
Agnes,” he greeted in an icy whisper.
She didn’t struggle. She knew it was hopeless. Instead, she mastered her fear
and smirked at the man restraining her, though it was shaky. “Surprised you
remembered my name.”
“I didn’t, actually,” he shrugged, eliciting a murderous expression from her
before Severus knocked it from her face with the back of his hand. She slumped
unconscious in his grasp and Severus flung her to the ground. She wouldn’t be
waking any time soon. Severus would have liked to have ripped her apart, but it
wasn’t his place. No matter what remained of their Harry, whether or not it
would drive him further down his road of damnation, her death belonged to him,
should he choose to take it. Severus bent and wrested the wand from her
fingers, straightening just in time to hear a strangled, pained yelp.
He spun toward the sound, his heart frozen with fear, but he found the
bloodwolf laying motionless with Remus astride it, its neck clenched in Remus’
jaw. With one last shake for good measure, the werewolf let the dead thing fall
from his mouth. He whimpered as he staggered away from it. His blond fur was
stained all over with sticky red mats. Severus called out to him, but Remus
paid him no mind. Instead, he limped his way toward Harry who seemed to be
attempting to rise. The werewolf licked at his Mate’s wounds, ignoring his own.
“R-Remus?”
Severus’ eyes fell closed at the sound of Harry’s voice. It seemed so long
since he’d last heard it. He’d feared he might never hear it again. Even though
it was not his own name, the sound was sweet. If it had to be another’s, it was
best that was Remus’. The two of them were almost equally dear to Severus now.
It felt as if Severus finally had permission to breathe again. The bands that
had slowly been tightening around his chest since Harry had disappeared could
finally be allowed to fall away. He looked around him at the aftermath of their
battle, the culmination of their journey. Agnes lay at his feet. The remains of
what he assumed was the wretched woman’s brother wet the sand with its still
seeping blood only yards away. Loraina lay unconscious but breathing beneath a
nearby tree. Severus could see the tenacious glow of her heart blinking in its
shadow. And they, he and Remus and Harry, were left standing. At least,
metaphorically. Severus was so grateful he could weep.  
Clutching his injured side, Severus shuffled his way toward his companions --
his lovers-- weary and ready to feel their embrace. Remus was still tenderly
nursing Harry’s wounds as the young man struggled to wake properly. Though
dazed, he met Severus’ eye, and the vampire watched as tears filled Harry’s.
For a moment he seemed unable to even breathe, but then he whispered Severus’
name. It was trembling and questioning, as if he could scarce believe the
vampire was actually there. Before the man could respond, however, the wolf
between them bristled. It turned to Severus with a low snarl, and Severus’
blood turned to ice in his veins.
He saw nothing at all of the man he loved in the beast’s amber eyes.
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     LIKE A MAJESTIC FUCKING STEED! WOO! FUCK YEAH!
     Sorry. I'd been looking forward to that moment for a while now.
***** Gracious Triumpher *****
                                     Harry
He hadn’t died. This wasn’t a dream. He hadn’t been sure when he woke to find
Remus licking his face. It had seemed too surreal. But if this was a dream,
surely he wouldn’t be so keenly aware of the sand eating its way further and
further into each of his many wounds. And that must mean that Severus really
wasthere.
Harry had so many questions, but at the moment, he was too grateful for their
presence to ask. He hadn’t dared to hope he might see either man ever again.
“Severus?”
The Potions Master seemed to wilt with relief at the sound of his name, but his
reply was cut short by Remus’ growl. Why would Remus growl at Severus? Harry
turned a questioning look to the vampire, but Severus was not looking at him
any longer. All his attention was on the wolf that turned menacingly to face
him, and there was hurt in his eyes. More than that, there was fear.
“Remus, what’s wrong?” Harry asked, reaching out to stroke the retreating
werewolf. He did not react at all to the sound of his name. “Remus? Remus,
stop,” Harry admonished, grasping weakly at the wolf’s blood-soaked fur as if
that might slow him. All it seemed to do was agitate him further.
Remus’ growl deepened, became more threatening, and though his injuries
screamed, Harry forced himself to move. He scrambled to his knees to seize
Remus around his middle in hopes of slowing his advance, but his feeble efforts
were ignored and Harry was thrown forward onto his hands and knees as Remus
stalked slowly but steadily toward the vampire.
Harry cast a panicked look to Severus. Why wasn’t he running? The man hadn’t
moved, but he wasn’t standing his ground either.
Severus was giving up.He was hurt, Harry realised. There was blood on his face
and neck that must be his own, and Harry was certain the man’s torn black robes
must be hiding even worse damage. But that wasn’t what rooted him in place.
Harry had seen that expression before. It seemed a hundred lifetimes ago, but
it had been only a few months prior, as Harry had flooed away from the man the
day he’d passed his Auror exams. Severus’ expression held the same defeat it
had then, the same profound grief. The Potions Master’s heart was broken, and
it wasn’t Harry who had broken it this time.
Harry didn’t have time to wonder why all of this was happening. He simply knew
that Remus was dangerous and that Severus wasn’t going to move, wasn’t going to
defend himself. So Harry would have to do it for him.
There was only so much pain one could ignore before it stopped being a matter
of willing oneself to power through it. At some point, the body simply ceases
to obey. As Harry staggered to his feet, his pain blinded. It felt as if he was
being attacked internally by a thousand tiny knives which he knew to be grains
of sand irritating his open wounds. He lost whole seconds of consciousness,
waking to find himself back on the ground and having to start again. It didn’t
matter. All that mattered was that he tried again. And again. Until finally,
when he found himself falling once more, it was at Severus’ feet.
“Harry, I said don’t!” Severus cried, nonetheless helping him to rise, though
the man was almost as weak as Harry was. “You need to get back, Dearest.
Quickly!”
“He won’t hurt me,” the young man assured him. Indeed, the wolf was concerned.
Whenever Harry’s body shot through with new pain, it whimpered. But that didn’t
distract Remus from Severus. If anything, he seemed to consider the vampire
even more of a threat now, and he attempted to circle around so that Harry was
no longer between them. Harry couldn’t let him.
Once he was properly on his feet, things were easier. He stepped away from
Severus to confront the wolf, unsteady but determined. Harry didn’t want to
hurt Remus, either. It made his stomach roil simply considering it, but he
refused to allow Remus to come any closer to Severus. If he truly wished the
man harm, Remus would have to kill Harry first.
The young man realized, now, what must have happened. He spied his dead enemy
on the sand and Remus’ blood-matted fur and he understood. Remus had
transformed outside of a full. There had been no Wolfsbane to teether him to
his human self. He’d lost touch with it in the frenzy of battle, as Harry
almost had several times that night. Remus was purely The Wolf right now,
defending his injured Mate from an eternal enemy. There would be no reasoning
with him. Harry had to speak the only language Remus understood at the moment.
Harry hadn’t the energy to manage a complete transformation, but he pushed
himself as far as he could. He felt the tips of his fingers sprout razor sharp
claws, felt his muzzle extend far enough to accommodate an additional few
fangs. The wolf yipped at him as if scolding him for wasting his fading
strength. It paced restlessly, alternately whimpering and snarling as if to
say, ‘I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. I know best. Trust your Alpha.’
Harry answered him in a roar. Though it was not as fearsome as it would have
been if he’d changed completely, it still communicated his challenge. The wolf
was unsettled, but after a moment’s deliberation, it seemed to have had enough
of its partner’s foolishness and it lunged.
Harry felt his claws open the side of Remus’ face, and the wolf stumbled back
in hurt that was not strictly physical. Harry roared again, louder than before.
‘Your will will not prevail this time,’ it said. ‘Stand down.’
With no further challenge, the wolf before him folded its ears to its bowed
head, and Harry felt the shift deep within him. Remus was no longer his Alpha,
he was Remus’. Relieved that no further violence would be necessary, Harry
released his transformation and fell to the sand with human hands and a mouth
that could speak. He had relinquished the form, but he retained the Wolf’s
resolve. He projected it on Remus now, unquestionable even in his frail state.
“Let go of it, Remus,” he commanded him quietly, communicating with something
more than words. “Come back to us.” And with a whine, Remus did.
Harry could allow himself, finally, to rest. He was utterly spent. He felt
Severus help him to settle fully onto the sand, but the Potions Master did not
linger long at his side. As Remus finished transitioning back to his human
self, Severus kissed Harry’s hand, stroked his cheek and gave him a tender,
tearful smile; but then he staggered away from the young man and over to their
companion.
“Is it you again, My Remus?”
Harry’s eyes had drifted to a close, but his brow furrowed at the address,
confused.  
“My gods,” he heard Remus murmur, his voice trembling with horror and shame.
“Oh, Severus. I am so sorry, my sweet.”
Harry felt as if he was dreaming again. His tired mind was hardly able to
process what he was hearing. He felt certain he must be imagining it. But when
he finally managed to pry open his eyes and turn his face toward the two, he
found them clinging to one another. He saw Severus grasp Remus by the back of
the neck to press their foreheads together. He watched, disbelievingly, as
Remus pulled the vampire to his lips.
***** Villainies Ruthful to Hear, Yet Piteously Perform'd *****
“I knew it,” he breathed to himself. Harry felt a smile lift his cheeks as
consciousness slipped from him again, perhaps for the last time. It was alright
for him to let go now. Severus and Remus would take care of one another, just
as Loraina had said. Darkness beckoned, but as he greeted it, a delicious
warmth spread across his lips, distracting his descent.
“Remus, can you afford this?”
It seemed he heard their voices from a distance, echoic and faint.
“I have to. Severus, I think he might die otherwise. Besides,” Harry heard him
say as a drop of the warm something fell through his lips, exploding against
his tongue like a tiny miracle, “I’m not as bad off as I look. You and Harry
weakened the thing quite a bit before we ever clashed.”
The warmth became liquid fire. Soon it poured steadily into Harry’s mouth and
down his throat, setting him aflame as it went, forcing the darkness to recede.
It wasn’t enough, could never be enough. Still, it burned away his fog and
Harry’s eyes fluttered open to see Severus and Remus hovering over him, one
stroking his hair while Harry nursed the other’s bleeding wrist.  
“Better, Darling?” Remus asked when he finally reclaimed his arm.
Harry nodded, though he wasn’t sure he was being truthful. His wounds hadn’t
all sealed, but they had stopped bleeding. He wasn’t up to facing any more
bloodwolves that evening, but death no longer seemed a foregone conclusion. At
least, not yet. Though his touch was gentle and his eyes worried, Severus’
voice was severe.
“You are in such trouble, young man,” he intoned, causing Harry to shiver.
“Precisely how much, you will discover when we get you home.”
But Harry hadn’t decided if he was going home. Not that it would do to mention
it at the moment. He could hardly imagine wearing clothes again much less
returning to civilisation. He simply couldn’t picture himself ever again
sipping tea as he read leisurely on the sofa by the fire. Surely, Harry’s life
now could only be blood; the pursuit of carnage. He was a beast and no longer
fit to even attempt to pretend otherwise.
“Patience, my sweet,” Remus said, helping Harry to sit up and urging him to
rest against him. “He may need considerably more healing before you’re able to
mete out any punishments.”
“What luck. This meal should finish the job nicely,” supplied Loraina as she
shuffled toward them, dragging a bound woman across the sand behind her. Harry
recognised the Incarcerous spell that restrained her, but he did not recognise
the prisoner.
He was surprised to realise how glad he was that Loraina had survived. She was
worse for wear, but she was not nearly as damaged as Harry was. His companions,
however, did not seem to share his relief. Certainly not the one who held him.
Remus growled at the sight of her as if he had not yet fully shaken the wolf.
Severus fixed her with an unforgiving scowl but nonetheless rose to his feet to
subtly position himself between the two.
“I’m sure Agnes here would be honoured to help along the healing process,” she
said brightly, ignoring both men to lock eyes meaningfully with Harry.
Agnes.
They’d heard her name from several terrified lips. The Boss was powerful,
influentially speaking, but hardly respected and universally unloved. It hadn’t
taken much to convince her minions to talk, once Harry and Loraina finally made
their way far enough up the chain of command, but almost no one had known where
to find the villain, or whom even they might ask. It had taken them over two
weeks of bloody detective work to finally track down the one man who, rumour
had it, dealt with The Boss directly.
Remus allowed Harry to extricate himself and stagger to his feet as Loraina
tossed the helpless woman before him in offering.
Finally.
“Where’s Hermione?” he demanded, his voice cold and hard; a warning that Harry
would not be merciful.  
Beside him, Remus gasped. “Gods,” he murmured. “Severus, he still doesn’t
know.” Harry’s glare at the woman faltered and his eyes fell closed, but he was
too heartsore to turn and ask what Remus had meant.
What else could he mean but that Hermione was already dead? That must have been
why they’d come, to try to head off Harry’s fool’s errand. They had found
Hermione’s body, and all of this toil, all of this blood, had been for nothing.
Harry threw a sickened look to Loraina, but maddeningly, she simply shrugged.
Of course. This had never been about Hermione. Not to her. It had always only
been about the toil, about the blood. It had been about Agnes. But before Harry
could lay into Witch, Loraina’s prize found her voice. It was bitter, the
acidic drone of one who knows they are about to die at the hands of those they
hate.
“They lied to me,” she sneered. “They told me they’d fix you. Not that I’d have
minded you being cursed, but I neededthem to fix you,” she told him angrily.
“Doesn’t matter now, I suppose,” she said, throwing a defeated glance at the
corpse of her guard dog which lay at Severus’ feet.
Harry was too ill and exhausted to make sense of what she was saying. Why in
hell would she want anyone to fix Harry? There was no question that she was the
one who’d infected him. They’d personally killed the henchmen she’d hired to do
the deed.
It didn’t matter. Harry didn’t care. He only cared about one thing. “Where is
Hermione?” he repeated dangerously. He wanted to hear it from her own mouth. He
wanted her to confess the murder so he could pass sentence and be done with it.
“Harry,” Severus cautioned, reaching out to him. But he needn’t look so pained,
needn’t worry how he would break the news. Harry knew, he simply wanted Agnes
to speak it aloud.
“How the fuck should I know?” she spat. “I’m not the bitch’s keeper. It’s
Katie’s job to keep her distracted. Granger hates this place,” she smirked,
“which is one of the reasons I never leave it. She refused to step foot here
again once she found out about the experiments.”
Before Harry could react to the pronouncement, Severus cast Silencio on the
woman and Remus was suddenly at Harry’s side, reaching to comfort him. The
young man shied away from his touch, the weight of his confusion causing him to
sway on his feet. Harry could no longer ignore it.
What in hell was happening? Nothing at all made sense.
“What?” he said, scowling at the woman. “Wait, how do you know Katie?” he
demanded, despite that he knew she couldn’t reply.
“Harry,” said Remus, choosing his words carefully, “there are some things you
should know. But...they’ll be difficult for you to-”
“Oh my,” Loraina gasped, cutting him off. All eyes turned to her and she
squinted at each of them in turn as if watching pieces of the puzzle fall into
place. She barked out a laugh. “I should have just killed her,” she said to
herself with a shake of her head.
“Loraina, shut up,” Severus snarled, but it had absolutely no effect on her
sudden, baffling mirth. She drifted off into contemplation for a moment before
dissolving into a full-blown laughing fit.
“Oh gods,” she wheezed, doubling over with hilarity. “I couldhave killed her!
And honestly, I’ve wanted to for so long now, too,” she confessed, gasping for
air. “The tedious hussy.”
“Loraina, if you value your life, it would be best if you stopped talking,”
Severus warned through clenched teeth. “Immediately.”
But she mustn’t stop. “Killed her? Killed who?” Harry stammered, unable to
process-- really--anything at all that had happened since Remus pulled him back
from the brink. He was reeling. His confusion was suffocating. He needed to
understand whatever it was they all clearly already knew. “Loraina, what in
hell are you on about?”
“I was going to tell you anyway, Lovely, once this bitch was dead,” she
shrugged, kicking Agnes absently in the side. “Interesting new wrinkle now,
though,” she mused.
“Loraina.”
“Why are you shielding her, Severus?” Remus chastised, scowling critically at
the other man. “Let her tell him what she’s done.”
“He’ll kill her,” Severus argued, returning the man’s consternation.  
“I might kill her!” Remus snarled with uncharacteristic hostility.
“Will someone just tell me what the fuck is going on?” Harry bellowed, at the
end of his tether.
The two men shared an uncomfortable glance, but it was Loraina who answered.
“Hermione’s fine,” she shrugged to Harry, taking a cross-legged seat on the
sand, obviously unperturbed by discussion of her death. “Well, she will be
until you catch up with her, that is.” Harry didn’t reply and she rolled her
eyes at his stubbornly bewildered expression. “You never were very clever,” she
sighed. “It was me, Harry,” she said, leaning toward him as if sharing a
secret. “I sent you the parcel.”
Parcel?  
Theparcel.
Harry rejected what he was hearing, more in an attempt to preserve his sanity
than in disbelief. “No,” he argued, adamant. “No, that was definitely
Hermione’s blood.”
“Of course, it was. I had to make it believable,” she said as if that should be
obvious. “She caterwauled something awful when I pricked her arm to collect it.
Not nearly as much as when I snipped that curl, though. I really don’t
understand why she’s so attached to the ratty mess,” she muttered, shaking her
head.
Harry thought Severus might be speaking to him, but the young man didn’t have
the capacity to absorb what was being said. He stared at Loraina but didn’t
really see her, too distracted trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she
was the one who had sent the parcel. Lorainahad owled him a box of Hermione’s
blood-soaked hair.   
“You mean to tell me,” he demanded, still grappling with the revelation, “that
you’ve lied to me this whole while? You knew,” he went on, his voice rising,
“that Hermione was in no danger?”
That’s why she had never asked their prisoners about her. Not a wordwhen she
interrogated them while Harry could not because he was busy loosening their
tongues with his hideousness. She had dragged him all over creation, had led
Harry to believe his best friend’s life was in his hands. Hell, just hours ago
she had allowed him to tie up the bloody boat, thinking it might be needed, all
the while knowing no one would be coming back for it.
Loraina watched as he processed everything they had done together the past few
weeks, watched as Harry’s rage built slowly, stuttering his breath and making
his body tremble. “Got you out the door, didn’t it?” she said, crawling to her
feet. Her expression was entirely devoid of repentance. Harry glared at her,
struggling to master the urge to call the Beast. He had no doubt he would soon,
but he had more to say before it robbed him of the power of speech.
“Besides, you heard her in Minny’s office yapping about revolutions,” Loraina
scowled as if annoyed that Harry was making such a big deal of things. “She
wanted to useyou, Harry!” she argued. As if Loraina’s actions had been
altruistic. As if all this were for Harry’s sake. “She would have made your
pain a pawn in her politics,” she spat, growing steadily angrier herself. She
chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. “Oh, I thought I knew her game, but I
had no idea how vast the board. I wanted to show her what being used felt like,
so I harvested her bits and left her bound in the Shrieking Shack. But like I
said,” she sneered, disappointed in herself, “I should have just killed her.”
Her absolute hypocrisy threatened to make Harry physically ill. “Gods,” he
shuddered. “You used me, you utterbitch,” he grimaced, disgusted. “You played
me for a fool. You took me away from Severus!”
“You are an albatross around his neck,” she interrupted in a hiss, reflecting
his condemnation. But Harry had only just begun his tirade and wouldn’t be
distracted.
“You kept me from Remus when he was dying. He was fucking dying, Loraina!” he
shouted, practically frothing at the mouth now. “A part of my own soul almost
withered away, and you wouldn’t let me bid it farewell. All for the sake of a
fake rescue?” The pain of it woke in his memory afresh. “Oh, ‘What if you go to
him and she dies, too?’” he mimicked sneeringly. “That horseshit, while I
pleaded with you to let me go to him.” Harry was shaking so hard he could
barely speak. “All of this!” he spat, waving a hand to their blood-soaked
battlefield and the soldiers left standing on it. “Remus thinking I didn't care
about his pain, Severus thinking I don’t love him as much as my vengeance?” He
turned to the Potions Master then, his expression wretched. “Nothing means more
to me than your love, Severus. I would give my life for the sake of it. But it
wasn’t my placeto sacrifice Hermione’s,” he said, imploring him to understand,
to believe him. “And you knew,” he went on, turning his venom back to Loraina.
“You knew I’d have no choice but to save her. All of this blood,” he said with
a shake of his head, gesturing to the wet stains that covered them all.
“Yes, well,” she interjected peevishly, “the boys here wouldn’t have come to
any harm if youhadn’t left them those shiny trinkets.”
“All of those murders.”
“Oh, I don’t know what you’re whinging about,” she huffed, throwing her hands
up in exasperation. “I did most of the killing. Well, of the humans, at any
rate.” The gravity of the situation seemed completely lost on her. She showed
absolutely no respect for Harry’s justified outrage. “Granted, the thing with
the mutt wasunfortunate,” she conceded. “Truly, Remus, I like you,” she told
him. “Almost put me off my blood to hear you were ill.”
“Don’t you dare speak to him,” said Harry, seething at her audacity.
“You know why I couldn’t let you see him off. You’d have never left again, and
we weren’t finished,” she shouted as if frustrated with having to explain it.
“Yes, I lied to you, Harry,” she admitted with a dismissive shrug, “but Remus
is fine. Look at him. Quite fit, actually,” she added, raising an eyebrow
approvingly at his nakedness. Both Harry and Severus muttered angrily under
their breath, taking a warning step toward the smirking woman; but Remus
intercepted the Potions Master, drawing him away from the other two with a
shake of his head. Unhindered, Harry stomped closer. She didn’t flinch, even
when he drew close enough for his angry words to buffet her face.  
“We killed a dozen people, Cobs!” Why wouldn’t she show even the slightest hint
of regret for what she’d done, what she’d led him to do? Harry hated this, but
he didn’t want to hate Loraina. Not truly, not purely. Though, she was leaving
him little option.
“Those murders were each earned several times over,” she replied, as icy as he
burned. “So what if it took losing your precious mudblood to get the ball
rolling? Every drop of blood we spilled was owedto you,” she told him with
complete conviction. “Her blood is, as well,” she said, stabbing a finger in
Agnes’ direction. “Go ahead, Harry. Kill her,” she urged. “Claim what is
rightfully yours! And do it for yourself, finally. Admit it’s what you want and
stop hiding behind this farcical crusade. Own it!” she spat angrily. “Be a
man.”
“I am no man, you mad bitch! I am a fucking monster,” he keened, near to tears
with the painful truth of it. “And you’re the one who made me this way.”
“Then take my blood, as well, Harry,” she said. The tone of her voice was
familiar. It was the seductive command she employed when the bloodlust was
thick and Harry’s resistance was at its weakest. “You said it yourself. I
played you for a fool, Lovely. I owe you,” she intoned. “Collect already.”
“Harry, wait,” Severus cried as Harry seized her by the throat, tears trickling
down his cheeks even as his lips curled back in a snarl. “Loraina, enough.”
“Severus.” Harry didn’t have to see Remus’ scowl, he could hear the disapproval
in his voice.
“He should know everything, first,” Severus objected.
“You just don’t want him to hurt her.”
Loraina smirked tauntingly at Harry as they argued. No doubt she could feel the
murderous impulse causing Harry’s fingers to twitch around her neck. She mocked
the heartbreak in Harry’s eyes. They were never lovers in anything but a
physical sense, but he had truly thought they had shared a bond, that they had
respected each other as comrades in arms. Knowing, now, how hollow their
relationship had truly been gutted him.
“Of fucking course, I don’t want him to hurt her! But that’s not the point. He
has a right to know-”
“Shut up, Severus,” Loraina snapped, done with their bickering. “Harry and I
have unfinished business.” Harry shook his head at her, begging her not to make
him do this. “I tricked you,” she whispered spitefully, declining his entreaty.
“I betrayed you. Hate me, Harry.”
“Oh,” he shuddered, “I do.” Whether he wanted to or not, Harry hated the woman
with his every fibre. He craved her death. He fantasized about watching the
spark fade from her eyes as he crushed the life out of her.
“Harry, please,” Severus begged, seeming to have freed himself from Remus and
drawn closer. “She deserves to answer for her crimes, I’m not implying that she
doesn’t. But this…”
“Don’t listen to him,” she said, panic flashing across her face as Harry’s
fingers relaxed from around her throat.
“I’m not,” he told her, flinging her away from him in disgust.
“Then why aren’t you killing me?” she shrieked, scrambling back to her feet.
“Because you want me to,” he said, returning her glare. “That’s why you dragged
me here, isn’t it? Why would I give you what you want?” he sneered, shaking his
head as he turned to walk away from her.
“Harry Potter!” she screamed at his retreating back. Harry ignored her
hysterics. He needed to get away from her, from all of them. His disappointment
sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach.
“I turned you into a monster, remember?” Loraina called after him, trying to
get a rise. “I let Remus think you didn’t care whether he lived or died. I
carved up your pet mudblood. Harry!” she cried, seeming to grow more desperate
with each step that carried him further away from her. “I made you betray
Severus. Tell him,” she dared. “Tell what we did on Knockturn, slathered in
blood and overwhelmed by the lust of killing.”
Harry flinched, repulsed now that he’d ever touched her in that way, but he
resisted the impulse to turn to see Severus’ reaction.
“Tell him,” she taunted, seeing she’d struck a nerve, “how you fucked me
against the wall at Moribund’s while our victims lay cooling at our feet. On
the same night you left them both spent in your bed, no less.”
Harry stopped and shut his eyes against the memory, but it played unbidden,
anyways.
“And don’t you dare argue that I manipulated you. It was only a matter of time
before you abused his faith...again. If it wasn’t me it would have been someone
else, just as it was the mutt before me. You are poisonto him,” she hissed,
unmistakable hatred in her voice. “You eat him alive from the heart out. He’s a
shadow of his former self. Because of you,” she indicted.
Harry didn’t bother contradicting her. He had nothing to offer in his defence.
He merely hung his head and continued his slow escape.
“Don’t ignore me, you arrogant little shit! Come back here and finish what we
started!”
Harry heard the zing of a blade being drawn from its sheath, but he resolved to
wait until the last possible moment to face her, when she could no longer be
ignored. He wouldn’t kill her until she forced his hand. But the moment never
seemed to arrive. By the time he finally turned, he found Severus now stood
before her, and Harry’s heart forgot to beat. The two were chest to chest,
unmoving, and blood dripped to the sands between them.
***** 'Tis Present Death I Beg *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                    Severus
He and Loraina locked eyes, their stares mutually stunned, and neither of them
dared to breathe. Severus felt wetness saturate the front of his robes,
curiously cool despite what it was. It coated the fingers of his hand trapped
between them. Time seemed to be suspended, the moment entirely surreal, until
Loraina released the breath she was holding in an explosive puff, spraying the
Potions Master’s face with her blood.
All at once, time resumed its forward march, seeming to sprint to make up for
its detention, and Loraina was falling before Severus thought to prevent it. He
sank with her to the ground and pulled her into his arms, unable to stop
staring in horror at the knife that protruded from her chest, unable to fathom
that he had been the one to put it there.
“No,” he gasped. “Loraina?”
One would think he would be inured to the sight of blood, but this wasn’t just
any blood. This was her blood, and there was so much of it. The shocked
expression had not yet left Loraina’s face and she turned it to consider the
blade that pierced her, a weak smile tugging at the corner of her mouth even as
a trickle of red slowly began to leak from it.
“No, no, no, no,” Severus stammered. He wanted to pull out the offensive thing
but didn’t know if he should, if that would make things worse, and his
trembling hand hovered, indecisive. Oh gods. What should he do? How did he fix
this? Loraina turned her amazement to the man who held her and her smile
widened. “My love, I didn’t mean it,” Severus cried quietly, anguished.
“Please, I... ”
What had he done?
He had been so relieved when Harry had spared her. But then she had reached for
the blade sheathed behind her back, and he had known what the look in her eyes
meant. At his feet lay the dead bloodwolf, one of Loraina’s blades sticking
from its side. Without thought, Severus reached out to grasp it as he strode
past on his way to position himself between Loraina and Harry’s certain murder.
But this? He had never intended this, surely. He’d only wanted to stop her. Had
neededto stop her, but…
He reached to stroke her hair apologetically but noticed his hand was slick
with her blood and he shied his touch, his fingertips nonetheless leaving
tentative red tracks where he caressed her face instead. He felt he would be
sick. The world lurched. “I am so sorry.” He could not stop shaking.
Her teeth as she smiled at him were stained red. “For what?” she asked wetly,
speaking with effort, seeming genuinely confused. How was it that there was no
condemnation in her eyes?
“For everything,” he whispered miserably.
Ever since he’d eavesdropped on Harry’s memories of her, Severus had ached to
talk with Loraina. He had needed to tell her that he understood why she’d done
this terrible thing. That he knew, now, that he had hurt her in ways he’d never
intended and could never undo.
“I’m sorry for failing you. For not loving you enough.” He wondered, now, how
that could have been possible when allhe could feel for her at the moment was
love: crushing and familiar and profound. “I’m sorry for breaking you,” he
wept, forcing the words past the pain that seized his chest and arrested his
breathing, “and not putting you back together.” As Remus had done for him. As
he would do for Harry. As he should have done for her all those years ago.
“But you’ve made up for it, my love,” she told him. Her voice was thick, her
words coming slowly between ragged, hard-won breaths. “You may have failed me,
but now you’ve freed me.” There was contentment in her shuddered sigh despite
the pain that pulled at her features. “I’m so glad it turned out to be you,”
she said, her fingers searching for his face but too weak to reach him. Severus
gathered them gently in his own and assisted them to his lips.
He felt so helpless. He tried and failed to return her serene smile. “I have
always loved you,” Severus confessed, pressing his cheek to her palm.
“I know.” The quiet surety of the statement crushed the remaining pieces of
Severus’ heart. “And I you. But now you need to stop, Severus,” she told him
with gentle firmness. Speaking seemed become easier for her as she relaxed into
the inevitable. “Love cannot warm a dead woman.” Severus’ eyes fell closed and
he felt tears cascade down his face, but he forced them to open again. He
couldn’t waste this fading opportunity. “Give my share to Harry,” she said
after a moment’s thoughtful reflection. “I wanted to hate him, but he does so
try. Besides, I have a debt I need to pay, and I feel that might cover it.”
Severus grimaced at the request. He felt as if he might implode. He wanted to
scream at her to stop this, to fight. But he knew the effort would be futile
even if she’d been willing to make it, and so he simply nodded.
“Kiss me, though,” she whispered. The hand not caught in his punctuated the
desperation of the request by clawing feebly at his robes. “One last time. Then
I can go.”
“But I don’t want you to,” he whined, dissolving into sobs and clutching her to
him. It was uninhibited by self-consciousness or the habit of restraint. And it
was selfish, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He felt lost and alone
and unsure what to do with all of this pain.
“But I will anyway,” she said with the patience of a mother to a frightened
child. Patience she couldn’t afford and she knew it. “So grant me this before I
do,” she said more urgently, tears springing to her eyes finally. “Please,
Severus.”
Severus had never been able to resist such a heartfelt entreaty, would not have
attempted to resist this one, regardless. He slipped his hand behind her neck
and lifted her face to meet his, pressing their lips together, and his
remembered entirely and at once the shape and feel of hers. They seemed to
greet them like a loved one too long away from home, and they lingered overlong
because Severus knew that when they parted it would be over and she would be
gone.
Finally, he lowered her to his lap and gazed at her, at the peace on her face
that made her look as lovely as he’d ever known her to be. It seemed, for a
moment, she was once again that girl he’d met beneath the ash tree by the lake.
The burdens she’d accumulated afterwards were gone. They no longer weighed her
features, and she looked fresh and new again, somehow, in death.
Severus’ grief took hold of him slowly at first. As he looked at her, he felt
the cry building in his chest, swelling in size until it was too large to
escape. It fought its way toward his lips anyway only to be caught in his
throat, choking him. He thought he would surely die from it, and when it
finally emerged, it was piercing and painful. It felt as if it had burst him
apart in order to be loosed. He gathered Loraina in his arms again and released
another wail, more shattering than the first, but no matter how tightly he held
her, how much pressure he applied to it, he could not stem the gush of anguish
that poured from the wound she’d left when she’d passed.
Severus felt someone gently pry Loraina from his arms while someone other
coaxed him into theirs. They both held him as tightly as he’d held Loraina’s
corpse and let him spill his sorrow onto their breast. There was no shortage of
hands to hold, hands to stroke him. Neither was he in want of lips to gently
press away the folds of dismay from his brow or to whisper soothingly in his
ear. He was grateful that he’d had some practice with this before now, that
Remus had shown him how to properly fall apart so that he did not have to think
on it now and could simply shatter, trusting those he loved to safeguard his
pieces until he could collect himself once again.
The magnitude of his grief surprised him, but it shouldn’t have. He’d spent so
many years trying to convince himself that Loraina was less important to him
than she was. He’d felt he’d needed to; at first because she’d been
irretrievable, and then because she’d been inescapable. He only wished he’d
realized sooner how much she’d really meant to him and found a way to express
it before she’d been driven to this madness. He wished he’d recognized that her
madness was not inherent but had been consistently nurtured, in no small part,
by his refusal to admit what they meant to each other, both past and present.
It didn’t matter any longer. She was gone. He felt he should hate her for what
she’d done, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. Besides, he had other
things to worry about now. He had to get his Dearest Love home and help him
begin to mend the scars she’d inflicted. He had to fulfill Loraina’s dying wish
by loving Harry even more, so much more that he wouldn’t be driven to the
recklessness that had claimed her. Remus would help. And thank the gods that
Harry had thrown the two toward one another. Together, they would all heal.
Together, perhaps they’d finally find peace.
 
Chapter End Notes
     R.I.P. Rainey. I'm gonna miss you, you crazy, homicidal bitch. <3
                                    [death]
***** What Villain Was it That Spake *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                     Harry
Harry was shaken. The relief he’d felt on realizing that the blood staining the
beach belonged to Loraina and not to Severus had been followed closely by
dismay at noticing just how much of it there was. Now, he added his own tears
to the Potions Master’s as he held him tight.
Though the circumstances had been disingenuous, Loraina had belonged to Harry,
too, for a time. Long enough for him to recognize that not all of the hurtful
things she’d said had been sincere. No matter her motives or her crimes, no
matter how complicated his feelings toward her, the woman was important to
Harry, and her loss touched him more deeply than he cared for.
Severus was quieting, settling himself into Remus’ arms, and Harry watched as
the werewolf petted the vampire, thrown once again by the delightful
strangeness of it. If he hadn’t been keeping such a tight grip on him, the
young man might have attempted to slip away and leave Severus in Remus’ capable
hands. Harry’s weren’t good for anything anymore but inflicting pain. Really,
he reflected, when had they ever done anything other? No matter how much he
loved him, despite his best intentions, Harry always only seemed to hurt
Severus. The words Loraina had spit at him might have been intended to provoke,
but that didn’t make them untrue. Besides, Harry needed to be alone to finish
wrestling with Loraina’s death, and her treachery and the thousand sins they
had committed together because of it.
Thank the gods, that journey was finally over. Hermione was safe, through no
part of Harry’s, but he supposed it didn’t matter so long as it was true.
Perhaps he could rest now. He looked out at the sea, the sky gradually
lightening above it, and it called to him.
“Harry Potter.”
That had not come from the sea. It had come from the beach house behind them.
Harry didn’t recognize the voice, but turning, he found he recognized the face
of the young woman to which it belonged. He’d never met her, but Hermione had
shown him her picture once. “It’s an honour to finally meet you,” she smiled.
Her presence disconcerted Harry, as did her familiarity. It was like an itch in
his subconscious, but he was too weary to focus on it; he longed to be away.
How long had she been there? Why hadn’t she come to their aid?
“Where’s Hermione?” There was an iciness to the barely repressed rage in Remus’
voice as he rose to face the girl, Severus’ hand held tightly in his as the
vampire found his feet as well. Severus seemed no less hostile toward her, but
it was more passive, as if he didn’t yet have the heart to project proper fury.
“Wait. I thought she hadn’t been kidnapped?” Harry stammered, only just
remembering what Agnes had said earlier; that it was Katie who kept Hermione
distracted, that Hermione knew about the island but refused to visit it. So
much had happened afterward, he hadn’t been given an opportunity to reflect on
it.
“I haven’t seen her,” Katie sighed in answer to Remus’ question, seeming more
bothered by his nakedness than by his animosity. “I probably won’t ever again.”
She sounded so sad about the fact.
“It was unwise of you to come here,” Severus told her, collecting himself. He
still clutched Remus’ hand, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice. She
directed her reply to Harry.
“I had to talk to you,” she said, her look imploring. “We’re so close to
changing the world. You can help us do it.”
Harry cast a confused look to Remus and Severus, but their glare at the young
woman hadn’t abated. Their stillness, combined with the fierceness of their
attention, was unnerving. Katie, however, did not seem to recognize the threat
they posed.
“We’re on the cusp of great things,” she went on. “And you’re the key, Harry. I
can understand you’re upset with us. But if you would just listen to what I’m
proposing, I’m sure you’d come to understand why Hermione and I developed the
serum; why you were the only one we could share it with.”
“Why Hermione…and you...?” Harry gasped. His mind, already fatigued from the
last bombshell, tried but could not stave off this one. He staggered back a few
steps under the weight of it.
Hermione? No. It wasn’t possible.
“Kill her,” Remus said simply to Severus, his calm tone incongruous to his
posture. It was a command he’d have expected from Severus but never from Remus.
Katie spared them a nervous glance but continued speaking to a still-reeling
Harry. “Surely then you’ll see why you have to confess your condition to the
world,” she said, the earnestness in her voice reminding him painfully of the
young woman he’d come in vain to rescue. “I know you’re reluctant, but so much
work went into making you the perfect catalyst. This opportunity is too
precious to waste.” Harry stared at her, dumbfounded by her foolishness, her
sheer audacity. “It won’t be instant,” she granted, speaking more urgently as
if she knew her audience was coming to a close. “And there might be a little
violence,” she added with an almost apologetic shrug in Remus’ direction that
made him bristle further, “but when the dust settles, the world will be a
better place,” she explained adamantly. “And not just for you and those you
love,” she said, glancing demonstratively at Severus and Remus, “but for
everyone like you.”
Everyone like Harry. Because Harry was now like Remus and Severus. Because of
her. Her and Hermione. They had deliberately made him this thing. To what? Not
to tarnish his legend as he’d supposed. To use it?
“Miss Granger meant more to you,” Severus said now in answer to Remus’
suggestion. “Please, be my guest.” He spoke as if Hermione were dead, but
Loraina had said she was unharmed. The whole thing begged to be understood, but
Harry was so weary of revelations.
When he remained unresponsive, Katie seemed to finally decide the other men
could no longer be ignored. “So you like having to live in the shadows?” she
asked them, growing defensive. “You enjoy grappling with your illness with no
help from the powers that be? You’re happy with the status quo?” she demanded.
“Surely Harry deserves the honour,” said Remus to Severus, ignoring Katie
completely, which seemed to incense her. “He doesn’t realize it yet, though. He
deserves to know, my sweet,” he said, his hostility softening as he turned to
address his companion. “Would you like to show him, or shall I?”
“You stupid Creatures!” Katie sputtered, stomping her foot like a bespectacled
Varuca Salt. “Can’t you see I’m trying to save you? Can you not appreciate all
I’ve done? The trouble I went to, the investments I’ve made?”
Harry didn’t fully understand what they were talking about, but he grasped
enough, and he wasn’t about to tolerate her speaking to them in such a way,
regardless. He began stalking toward her and saw the panic in her eyes when she
broke off her scowling at Severus and Remus long enough to notice his approach.
“Harry, her wand!” Severus called out in warning on seeing her scramble for it.
But rather than curse him, she muttered a spell to activate some sort of ward
around the beach house just in time to deflect the Expelliarmus Severus fired
toward her.
Of course she didn’t attack Harry, he thought darkly. She still needed to use
him.
“I hadn’t wanted it to come to this,” she huffed, even bolder now that she was
standing safely on her side of the wards. She was only a few feet away from
Harry, close enough for him to have ended her in a blink if not for the
invisible wall that separated them. Harry clashed with it anyways out of spite
and frustration and was repelled. He found it the same sort as the one that
separated the cove from the rest of the island, though he felt certain this one
would not be so easily carved through. Not that he had a wand.
Harry paced back and forth in front of her like a caged tiger--a starving one--
and she watched him with growing irritation. The selfless entreaty in her
expression had disappeared entirely, replaced with a condescending disapproval.
“It’s unfortunate that your condition led you kill the two men closest to you,”
she said, giving Harry a meaningful look. He growled at her. If he hadn’t been
so exhausted, he’d already have transformed. “If they were uninfected, that
might cause a problem for us; but since they are merely Dark Creatures, perhaps
it will serve to elicit more sympathy for you and bring us a cure even faster.”
A cure. That was her game? How completely asinine it all was. “Are you
threatening them?” Harry asked, incredulous. He felt the Beast beg for release.
“I’m going to tear you apart,” he promised, raking his claws down the wards.
Katie never flinched.
“No,” she said, staring steadily at him as she raised her wand to Remus and
Severus, “you aren’t.”
Harry shot a terrified glance to his lovers. Severus, the only one of them with
a wand, stood in front of Remus, ready to deflect whatever she cast. But he
looked so weary, and Harry was too far away to be useful. Though, there would
be little he could do besides throw himself in front of the curse, anyways.
Harry moved to do exactly that, heaving himself in their direction just as a
flash of light burst from the steps of the beach house.
He fell well short of them but scrambled across the sand on hands and knees to
close the distance, certain he would arrive to find them injured or unconscious
or worse. But before his pain and fury could properly register, he felt hands
grasp him and arms helping to pull him to his feet. Both Severus and Remus were
unscathed, though that wasn’t the cause for the amazement on their faces. Harry
looked back at the beach house to see what was.
“Incarcerous. Silencio,” Hermione cast as she stepped from the front door of
the house, eyeing her bound and helpless girlfriend dispassionately. Then she
lifted her eyes to Harry. He saw sadness and apology in them as she dispelled
the wards and descended the steps. Harry stumbled loose of Severus and Remus
and shuffled over to meet her. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she whispered, looking
over his injuries in honest distress.
The sight of her wounded Harry more deeply than the bloodwolves had. He’d been
so worried about her for so long, he wanted wrap her in his arms and crush her
to him. But considering what he’d just learned, he was almost afraid he
wouldn’t stop squeezing.
“Hermione? What did she mean by it?” he asked helplessly. “Why would she say
you helped her to develop...this nightmare? Tell me,” he begged. “Tell me she’s
lying.” Gods. He’d even pretend to believe her, if only she’d deny this
unspeakable thing.
She turned an anxious look to his companions. “He doesn’t know?”
“We haven’t had the opportunity,” Remus replied quietly.
Hermione nodded, seeming to debate with herself for a moment before bringing
her wand to her temple and withdrawing an especially long memory. “Lie down,
Harry.”
“No. No, just tell me it isn’t true, Hermione,” he pleaded, glancing at the
dangling strand from the corner of his eye with dread.
A tear cascaded silently down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” she told him,
her voice trembling. He shook his head, unwilling to accept such a painful
truth. This betrayal was incalculably worse than Loraina's. “I do so wish you’d
let me show you,” she said. “But if you refuse, I understand.”
Harry turned a lost look back at Remus and Severus. They regarded the memory
waving gently in the tropic breeze with a solemnity that seemed hard to
reconcile with the diaphanous fragility of its appearance. Remus met Harry’s
eye and, after a moment’s reflection, nodded; wordlessly encouraging Harry to
do as he’d been asked.
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Oh my Glob! *flails* IT FEELS LIKE WE'VE BEEN ON THIS FUCKING BEACH
     FOR CENTURIES ALREADY. *languishes*
                                  [beachhate]
***** Vengeance is in My Heart, Death in My Hands *****
 
                                     Remus
“Leave it,” Severus advised her as the tip of the memory sank into Harry’s
temple. “It’s too much to rip away so quickly. Let it play.”
Hermione seemed overcome by the gentleness of the suggestion and the equanimity
in the Potions Master’s expression. The hand holding her wand began to tremble,
but she nodded gratefully and braced her elbow against her knee.
Not that he forgave her, but Remus respected Hermione for coming. She was
clever enough to have escaped detection indefinitely. She well knew what Harry
was capable of and what he was likely to do, but she chose to face her mistake
rather than run from it. Remus dreaded what would come next. There was no
telling how the memory Hermione fed Harry would affect him or how far his
revenge might extend. Remus knew blood would be shed, and he was ambivalent
about it, though this whole chain of events had rather skewed his own moral
compass. The troubling question was whose blood it would be.
Finally, Severus nodded permission for Hermione to reclaim her memory. Everyone
waited, silent and breathless, for Harry’s reaction; but he didn’t give one for
the longest time, lying still and expressionless as if he remained under the
vision’s sway. When he finally stirred, Harry staggered to his feet like a
zombie. It was concerning how he would not meet anyone’s eye. More concerning
was the way he trudged toward Agnes with a slow but relentless step. The
woman’s face was a mask of hatred and her mouth twisted and stretched, clearly
cursing Harry at length as he grasped her by the hair; but because of the spell
Severus had cast, there was no sound besides the sigh of the waves and the
whisper of the sands beneath her as Harry dragged Agnes back over to the
assembly.
Without a word, Harry lifted her head to his chest and twisted it until long
after her neck gave a sickening crackle, setting her limp body at Severus’ feet
after like a gift but not meeting the Potions Master’s troubled gaze. That
done, he turned and stared at Katie. His stride was just as sedate as before,
but as he walked toward her, Remus spied the ends of Harry’s fingers sprout
claws.
The curse that Hermione had cast to prevent Katie from firing one at Remus and
Severus had left the other young woman unconscious. Harry knelt beside her for
quite some time as if hoping she’d wake. Remus could hear Harry growl softly as
he looked at her, and he knew Katie’s death would not be as clean as Agnes’.
“Look away, Hermione,” he said, gruff but quiet, seeming to have grown tired of
waiting. Hermione whimpered softly but did as she was told, turning her head
and squeezing shut her eyes as Harry divested Katie’s body of its head with a
slow deliberateness that made the murder even more unsettling. Remus couldn’t
watch, either. He turned to Severus and the two clung to one another, mourning
the humanity that had died in their beloved. Remus could not blame Harry for
his vengeance. As Rainey had said, this was blood that was owed to him. That
did not make the way he claimed it any less disturbing.
The thud of an object falling heavily to the boards of the beach house steps
announced end of the ordeal, and Remus and Severus turned a wary glance at
Harry as he set his own sights on a trembling Hermione, still sitting where he
had left her on the sand. The look in his eye was agonized, his expression
conflicted. He grimaced as he approached her as if he hated to but had no
choice.  
“Harry, wait,” Remus called softly, but Harry bared his fangs at the man and
growled at him as he fell to his knees beside his lifelong friend. He didn’t
speak, but Remus still felt the silent command to stay away in bones.
Hermione turned to face Harry, and her Gryffindor courage faltered momentarily
but did not fail as she met his tearfully enraged stare. “Harry...I’m so
sorry,” she said again, her words small and tremulous.  
“Are you going to beg?” he asked, the cold calmness in his voice at odds with
the riot of emotion on his face.
“No,” she whispered, taking a deep breath to steel herself. “I’m not.” There
was no pride or defiance in the statement, simply acceptance. She closed her
eyes, and she didn’t flinch when Harry’s blood-slicked hand closed around her
neck. Remus took an urgent step toward them, but Severus held him back.
“Wait,” he whispered, considering Harry cautiously. The young man didn’t seem
to be doing much more than gripping her firmly, but that could change in an
instant, and Remus was anxious about the aftermath if it did. Nonetheless, he
heeded the vampire’s advice. Severus was as experienced with this version of
Harry as anyone could be.
“Voldemort once showed me a vision of you writhing in pain as he tortured you
in front of me,” Harry hissed in Hermione’s face, causing her eyes to flutter
open. Her hand came to the wrist of the hand that wrapped around her neck and
her brow furrowed, perhaps concerned she wouldn’t be given the quick death
she’d expected. “I didn’t know it was a vision at the time,” Harry explained,
his voice surprisingly even. “I still have nightmares about it.” Hermione was
silent, wide-eyed and dreading. “What he did to you in that vision, Hermione,”
Harry shuddered, his face crumpling as if remembering, “is nothing compared to
what I’m about to do.” His voice as he said this was pained, as if he truly
wished it weren’t so.
Remus could not hold his tongue any longer. He brushed away Severus’ warning
hand to step forward and plead with the young man, “Harry don’t do this.”
“You are not Alpha any longer, Remus,” Harry snarled back at him, seeming
furious to have been interrupted. “You cannot compel me.”
“Perhaps not,” Remus said gently, raising his hands to beg for peace as he
inched closer, despite the way Harry’s willful stare pushed back at him like a
physical force. “But I am your friend, Darling,” he said, his expression
beseeching. “And as someone who loves you, I am telling you, you willregret
this.”
“You don’t even know what I’m about to do,” Harry sneered, summarily dismissing
the werewolf to turn his attention back to Hermione. He tugged the wand from
her unresisting fingers, and they were all nonplussed when the young man
brought the tip of it to his forehead. With the hand still at her throat, Harry
forced Hermione to lie on the sands before easing the memory he had withdrawn
into her temple. Her eyes clouded and Remus winced as she soon began to screech
in pain. It had to have been the same memory Harry shared with William and
Timothy of the hybrid potion ravaging him. But instead of holding it poised as
he had with his previous victims, Harry allowed the memory to slip from the tip
of Hermione's wand to disappear into her mind. Her screaming tapered and
stopped, but her eyes remained wide and unseeing.
Harry gave a shuddering sob as he rose to is feet, Hermione’s wand falling from
his fingers as he straightened. Remus regarded him warily, unsure what exactly
had just happened. He’d never seen a memory released into the mind of someone
to which it did not belong. Judging by his expression, neither had Severus.
They gave the now catatonic young woman an uneasy glance, but most of their
attention was reserved for the almost equally unresponsive young man shuffling
toward them.
He did not look at them as he drew even with them. His eyes were on the sea as
if it were the only thing left in the world. “If she wakes up,” he said, his
voice flat and almost inaudible, “tell her I forgive her.” And with that, he
continued on past them, walking slowly but inexorably toward the water.
Severus scowled after him, his mouth hanging open in disbelief as Harry moved
beyond the swirling surf as if he had no intention of stopping. All at once,
the Potions Master’s expression turned livid, and he strode swiftly after the
young man, catching him by the hair in knee-deep water to force him to meet his
eye. “Where do you think you’re going?” the vampire demanded through rage-
clenched teeth, his voice dangerously low.
Harry, tears spilling, bared his fangs at the man and pulled against the grip
in his hair, toward the waves.
“Don’t you dare try to pull that hierarchical rubbish with me, little boy,”
Severus snarled, tangling his fingers deeper in Harry’s black strands,
eliciting a growl from him as it nearly buckled the young man’s knees. “I am
not your bloody beta,” he snapped. “I don’t care what you are or how fearsome
you might seem to others. I am not frightened of you, and you will notignore
me.”
Harry whined and writhed in the vampire’s grasp, but the dazed and distant hue
of his expression began to fade, and he looked up at Severus through his lashes
as if tempted to be contrite. Severus, however, was not yet inclined to
forgiveness.
“After the utter fucking shite we went through to find you, we aren’t about to
just let you walk off into the bloody ocean. Have you lost your mind?” he
asked, his incredulity reaching its peak. “I don’t give a kneazle’s left tit
how sweetly death calls to you. You are going to live, do you understand me?”
he told the young man, releasing his hair and seizing him by the back of the
neck. “And you’re going to live with us,” he added in an angry hiss, yanking
Harry sharply to his lips.
The kiss was long, and Harry’s hands rose to clasp Severus’ shoulders as if to
stop himself from drowning in it. By the time it broke, Severus’ anger seemed
to have been spent and Harry was pliable in his arms. “Our bed is large,
Dearest,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to Harry’s as the young man
surrendered to him completely. “We need you to fill it properly,” he explained,
turning him to guide him back to dry sands. “Now where did you leave your
fucking clothes?” he muttered with a weary sigh. “We’re going home.”
The young man seemed thoroughly broken now, lost and no longer possessing any
will of his own. Severus gingerly transferred Harry to Remus’ care, giving his
head an affectionate stroke before walking over to gently collect Rainey’s
remains.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
