Strange Emulsion

Snape usually did not mind teaching. At worst, it was an exercise in both futility and annoyance, at best it was a chance to add his influence into a brilliant future. Somewhere in the middle he took a grudging satisfaction at teaching the rudiments of a necessary science to students who would benefit from its discipline if nothing else. Lately there seemed to be nothing but the worst. Wouldn't have anything to do with your little... side project, would it? Snape bristled at his own question. On the way back from the great hall that evening, the moon had been clearly visible above the Forbidden Forrest, an almost unnatural looking half circle marking the time until he would have to see Remus Lupin alone again.

He closed his eyes and reached up to rub the back of his neck, trying in vain to banish some of the tension that dogged him everywhere he went. In truth, there had hardly been a time since his school days that he looked at the moon without thinking of Lupin, but now it was a thought that came through loud and clear, as opposed to the almost silent whisper that once accompanied such seemingly off-handed observations. As he leaned his head against the back of the couch he reluctantly admitted that it was easier to think about Lupin than to banish his image from his mind.

Snape cringed as he remembered Lupin as he'd last seen him closely--casually slouched in the armchair, laughter filling his eyes as he let the bell slide off his fingers and crash to the floor. Even with his eyes already closed Snape felt the urge to somehow hide from the image. Over the last two weeks he had slowly admitted that the discomfort that came over him was partly due to regret, regret that he hadn't taken the challenge that Lupin had offered him. Still, he mused, what greater regrets would have followed? The undeniable attraction he felt for Lupin was not enough the overcome the animosity that still lived in him.

Still, there was a time when the animosity had been overcome, and so thoroughly that Snape had thought it might never resurface. He fidgeted and then reclined on the couch. It was foolish, he knew, but lying there reminded him of the evenings Lupin had spent in his flat. Still, maybe lying there, on the couch, would be enough of a change from his nightly routine to banish the dream that had come to him every night for the last two weeks. It came with such uniform regularity that he didn't even bother with the Dreamless Sleep potion, knowing that it would only come back once the potion was stopped, and he had no desire to become dependent on one of his own creations. He closed his eyes, hoping to see nothing but the velvet blackness until morning would come.

*

Lupin sighed and rested his head for a moment on his hand. On his desk, balancing precariously atop piles of parchment and assorted periodicals, stood a line of four owls, each with what could only be termed an expectant look. The smallest one, a tawney brown, actually persisted in holding out her leg, until she tumbled over to the disapproving looks of the other three. Lupin double checked the rolls of parchment once more. Dumbledore had generously allowed him to order any number of dark creatures he should need for the class, and given the third years' dismal experiences with Lockhart, Lupin felt they should be exposed to as many as possible. Still, it did mean an awful lot of paperwork for him, and one glance at the top of his desk was all one needed to see that it was not his strong point.

Finally each of the owls had been sent on their way, and Lupin leaned back in his chair. He smiled grimly to himself. The mess really was quite impressive, but at least it did not extend to his bed. Perhaps there he would slip into sleep, and his mind would stop racing.

The restlessness was quite new, he thought to himself as he shrugged off his robe, revealing the same pair of faded jeans and the well-worn tee-shirt he'd been wearing the morning after his last transformation. The tee-shirt was quite the worse for wear, considering that the house-elves, dear things, had attempted to remove the splatters of latex paint from the fibers. He sighed, looking down at the worn patches as he stepped out of his jeans. Leaving them slung across the back of his chair he walked to his bedroom, doing a couple of pull-ups on the lintel as he walked through the door.

As he laid on the bed the various sounds of the sleeping castle reached his ears, mainly the whistle of the wind around the corners near and far, and the occasional trickling sound from the distant pipes. It was entirely unlike the nights he had spent only too recently, either encamped in a wild place full of the sounds of animals, or in a city, where the din of vehicles and other people was almost as uniform as true silence.

He tossed slightly on top of the comforter, his shirt and boxers enough protection against the drafts for the moment. The isolation of the castle became an oppressive thing when he was unable to sleep, and for a moment he allowed his mind to wander across the ridiculous idea of an all-night Tesco being nearby. What would his fellow wizards make of the fluorescent lit stores lined with countless varieties of every imaginable product? Such as it was the Muggle world had become his home in the past few years, and, grateful as he was to be back at Hogwarts, he had to admit there were a few things he missed. Cinema was one of them, the parade of moving images that one could become so lost in that their own lives were forgotten. He pulled back the sheets and blankets and slid into the bed. Wizards were unlikely to pursue such avenues of entertainment, given their abilities to conjure any scene at will. Granted, those kinds of parlor tricks were well below the par of the sweeping epics he had grown to love, but then again the wizard's imagination was for the most part more developed than that of the average Muggle. Any wizard could train themselves to dream at will, and it was to this end that he decided to apply himself as sleep continued to elude him.

Something too mawkishly happy would only send him into a sentimental kind of depression, he knew, and any memory or vision too solemn would only keep him awake longer. As the cool sheets warmed to his body heat his mind fixed on a memory, and he slid into unconsciousness.

Here, in the vision, he was only semi-conscious. The only think keeping him from slipping into the oblivion of sleep was a bright ray of white sunlight--no matter how he turned his head it was there, so he decided to stop fighting and just open his eyes. When he did a shock of dismay ran through him, for he recognized the pale green sheets of the infirmary, the pale yellow stone walls shining in his peripheral vision.

His mouth was dry, incredibly so, so he risked a strange pain in his neck to lift his head. There was nothing on the table next to him, but there was an unobstructed view of the next bed, and of the boy in it . Lupin's breath caught in the back of his throat when he saw the black hair spread across the pillow, a pale hand thrown across the face, obscuring it. Even with his features hidden, however, there was no doubt in his mind that it was Severus recovering not even two meters away.

The shock of seeing Severus there woke him a little more, and in that more conscious state he became fully aware of the injuries that were keeping him in the infirmary. Every time he moved there was a pulling sensation along his spine, as if the skin there had previously split open and was fighting to do so again. His arms and legs were clearly bruised all over, and even his face felt sore. When he picked his head up again, he noticed that there was a strange kind of halo around anything that reflected light, including the preturaturally pale skin of Severus Snape. He closed one eye, and then the other, discovering that the halo went away when only his right eye was open. He sank on to the bed in a kind of despair.

"My eye," he muttered, "how did I manage to lacerate my own eye?"

"You didn't." Turning his head slowly he saw Severus standing next to his bed, his black school robes looking only a little the worse for wear. "Potter did that for you, I believe." It was with a kind of hopeful disbelief that he watched Snape hoist himself on to the high bed. If he was wearing his school robes he couldn't be that badly hurt, and if he was sitting on Remus' bed... it was either a very good sign, or an exceptionally bad one. "Of course," Snape continued slowly, a slight catch entering his voice as he gingerly laid himself down, "he was brandishing a rather prickly branch at the time, just trying to keep you from eating us, I suppose." Having finished that little speech he turned his head up toward Remus' and managed a small crooked smile. That he would choose to have a sense of humor now of all times struck Remus as highly suspicious, and he kept himself from relaxing into the heated curve of Severus' body. "This is highly uncomfortable," Severus continued, his head still bent at that odd angle, "I'm going to turn myself over."

Lupin was practically crazed with the desire to reach out, to encircle that twisting body with his arms, but a fear of what laid in wait kept him at bay. He watched, wincing himself as Severus completed the evidently painful process of turning over.

"Where are you hurt?" Lupin could not keep the concern from his voice, though he knew it would be a powerful weapon against him, if Snape chose it to be.

"I hardly want to say," Severus said, "since knowing you you'll set up a wail about it such that I've never heard, but I suppose there's no keeping it from you." So saying he started undoing the buttons of his robe, revealing a white, but apparently unscathed clavicle. Arching his back a little he let the robe fall open, and it was only his previous words that kept Remus from wailing in vain, for across Severus' chest were marks such that only he could have made. Ten deep cuts were arrayed across his chest from his left shoulder down to the opposite hip, and though they were spaced like the fingers of human hands, no human could have cut the swaths that, even healing, showed their depth. Hardly any of the gleaming white skin of his chest remained; all seemed to be consumed by the furrows themselves, or by the puckering purple rim of flesh that surrounded each one. Hardly realizing what he was doing, Remsu reached out to touch one of the marks, a shorter one apparently made by a werewolf's "thumb," but Snape slapped his hand away before he got too close. Lupin met his eye, chastised.

"No," Severus whispered, "Pomfrey packed them with silver powder." He reached down and picked up the hand he had just cuffed out of his way, stroking the back of it with his thumb. "If you had had any of your own blood underneath your," he paused for a moment, "claws, it might have caused... complications for me. The sliver won't hurt me, but it will kill the werewolf blood that might have entered my body."

Remus shuddered as Severus' thumb traced its message of kindness across the back of his hand. He spoke of the werewolf so passively. Was it possible he didn't know that he was literally in bed with it?

"Severus," Remus whispered, trying to hold on to his hand. Snape slipped his hand away and brought it up to Lupin's cheek, and somehow he didn't dare to flinch away. "I am the werewolf."

Snape chuckled low in his throat, a dry, gravely sound that might have been mistaken for anything else had Remus not known him. "I know that, you eejit," he said, bringing his hand around to the back of Remus' head and pulling him forward. "Did you hit your head on top of everything else?"

Remus hated himself for it, but he allowed himself to be drawn into the kiss, allowed himself to relish the sweet sensation of Severus' face so close to his, the soft puffs of breath against his cheek, and then the gratifying pressure of their lips pressing together, first softly, then hard enough to feel the shape of each others' teeth beneath them. It was only when Remus parted his lips at Severus' insistence that the kiss was ended.

"Your tongue is positively like sandpaper," Severus said. "That can't be healthy. I'd forgotten how long you'd been lying there." He reached behind himself slowly, retrieving the water glass which he held at an odd angle, somehow without spilling any. "Here," he said, bringing his other hand behind Remus' head once more, "you should probably drink the whole thing."

Lupin allowed himself to be helped, dreading all the while the inevitable conversation that would follow. "Swish it around some," Severus continued, "not to put too fine a point on it, but your mouth tastes absolutely awful." Remus would have managed a small smile if it weren't for the fact that he was already dribbling water down his front.

"Severus," he said as the other boy leaned back to replace the glass, "I meant what I said. I am the werewolf. All the time." He fixed Snape with a hard stare, trying to ignore the nebula that seemed to surround him, but instead of backing off Snape merely laid himself even closer to Lupin, resting his head on the edge of the pillow. "That thing that attacked you in the tunnel, that was me. That was as much me as I am here now."

Snape looked surprised, but not angry. "Do you remember it?" he asked.

"A little," Lupin admitted. "I knew it was you. I knew it was you the whole time." He looked at Snape, his eyes hardening in his defiance. Lupin knew he was expected to deny that, or pretend he didn't know what he was doing, but the truth was that he did know. He was simply powerless to stop it.

Now anger did flash across Snape's face, but he didn't move. "The whole time?" he asked. "Did you know I was going to follow you there?" Lupin felt Snape's muscles tense, as if he was getting ready to spring from the bed.

"No," Lupin said, "but once I saw you, I had no doubt as to who you were."

"And?" Snape leaned forward, the edges of his scars brushing against Lupin's white dressing gown.

"I wanted to kill you." The look that twisted his face was close enough to remorse that Snape never questioned it, never realized it for what it was until it was too late. Lies! Lies! screamed the voice in Lupin's head. If he does not know the truth, how will you know it is you he loves, instead of some misapprehension?

"But you didn't, did you?" Severus asked fondly. Remus was too shocked at his tone to shrink in guilt from his touch. "Surely it would have taken more than a silly boy with a branch to fend off a werewolf intent on killing me," he said as he traced the slope of Remus' cheekbone.

"That is true," he said, hoarsly, thinking, though we'll never know, will we?

"Then what is there to worry about?" He pulled Remus close, and through the thin cloth of his nightshirt Remus could feel Severus' wounds radiating heat.

It was nothing to the heat in his mouth, though, their kiss all the more vivid for the difference in their temperatures. As Remus allowed himself the pleasure of tracing the underside of his tongue he realized, dully, that the other boy was certainly running a serious fever, brought on by his own dirty claws. Rather than pull away, though, he pressed himself closer, and found himself quite unable to stifle a moan when the evidence of his own arousal clashed almost violently against Severus'. At that, Severus broke away from him.

"We cannot risk my wounds touching your flesh," he said, his voice soft but intense, "otherwise..." he did not finish his thought, simply pulled Remus even closer.

Remus flushed but did not try to pull away. "Why so bashful, little wolf?" As he ran his hands over Remus' sides Remus noticed that he was avoiding the middle of his back, as if he knew that was where the hurt lie. "Are you saying you do not desire me?"

"It's not that," Remus said, "it's just..." he inclined his head slightly towards the door, and Snape knew he wasn't referring to the risk of someone entering the infirmary. It was a bigger "out there" that he was worried about.

"Who cares what they think," Snape said, and now his voice was fierce and hard, more the way Lupin was accustomed to hearing it in public and even when they were alone. "What couple among them has gone through half so much together, much less in one night?" One glance at Snape's eyes assured Lupin that none of the anger was directed at him, and he relaxed somewhat in the ever tightening grasp. "It has fixed us together forever."

The last word was like a stone being dropped into a well, taking with it the chance Lupin thought he might have of keeping the truth a secret. It's alright, he thought, just tell him. It doesn't matter anymore. He opened his mouth to speak, but once again Snape covered it with his own, and he was drawn into a place so full of pleasure and happiness that nothing else seemed to matter.

"Just one thing," Severus murmured, "and I am sorry to even ask."

"Yes?" Remus felt light, knowing that the question was about to be asked. This could be either the end, or just a larger part of the beginning.

"I assume you knew nothing of why I was in that passage."

Remus' mind went blank. In the horror of the evening and the moments since he'd wakened, he hadn't even considered it. "I guessed you followed me. But how did you know how to open the tree?"

Snape sighed. "Black. He thought he'd play a little trick on me." Remus was stiff with shock. "I knew where you were going," Snape continued, "but not how you got there. Black showed me. Thought it would be funny for me to meet you once you'd already transformed."

He must have known what I was going to do, Lupin thought, how could he set me up like that?

"It's alright," Severus said, "you need to sleep." He gently traced the underside of each of Lupin's eyebrows with his fingers. "I'll stay right here."

"Pomfrey," Remus muttered, now truly exhausted once more.

"I charmed the room," Snape murmured, "she and anyone else can try to come in, but until it wears off, they'll continue thinking of things they have to do elsewhere."

"Dark, Sev," murmured Lupin.

"Borderline," Severus agreed pleasantly. "Sleep well, little wolf."

He slept, but even in the warm shelter of Snape's body he did not sleep well. In the darkness of sleep he seemed to be riding a wave of conflicting emotions, relief alternating with guilt so rapidly it seemed to be making him nauseous.

"This was the darkest night of my life," he murmured, coming to the surface only briefly.

"The darkest, Remus?" Snape whispered, his fingers tracing the network of white scars that marked Lupin's shoulder, a sinuous voice designed to wrest secrets from the sleeping.

"Yes, but it's alright now." Lupin slid back to sleep, only dimly aware of Snape stirring beside him.

Then there were voices, but he was beyond being able to identify them. The charm had worn off. The voices sounded distant, so maybe there was still time. He sat up, the whole room engulfed in some kind of haze, groping blindly for Snape, and found him clutching his hands. Snape pulled him forward, bringing their faces together. Though the voice in the background raged on, Snape looked ready to speak.

Lupin spoke first. "Severus. Got to tell you something."

"Remus, I know, but listen," Snape's voice was desperate but still harsh.

"No. You don't know. Got to tell you."

"Remus, please," that voice was growing nearer. Lupin took a deep breath.

"Never meant to kill you," he managed to force the words out. His skin felt too tight, hot and brittle. "Only wanted to change you." The angry voice was in the room now, seemingly all around them.

"Change me?" Whoever was doing the yelling grabbed Snape's robes from behind and hauled him away, but not before Lupin saw the look of shock, then disgust cross his features.

The bright haze of the room dissolved into blackness, then, simply, nothing. When he woke, Snape was gone, and only the memory of his arms circling his sleeping form kept him sane while Madame Pomfrey labored to bring his fever down.

*

Lupin chuffed in the darkness, a surprisingly wolf-like sound. Good one, he thought, not too happy. Wouldn't want that. Still, the fact that Snape had held him that night, after all he'd assumed about Lupin wanting him dead, had to speak to something. If it ever really happened, Lupin thought. Nothing to do but ask, or I suppose I shall go mad. It's not like he would refuse to make the potion for me then, is it? Resigning himself to a wakeful night he pushed back the covers and set his feet on the cold floor. The small clock on his desk confirmed that it was too late to actually call on Snape, but Lupin shrugged on a baggy old sweatshirt anyway, and grabbed his jeans from where they'd fallen off the back of the chair. Waving his wand at the cold fireplace he set up an economical blaze, just enough to make a pot of water for tea. As he sipped, a memory from a scant two weeks ago popped into his mind, waking from the transformation better than he'd ever felt, and letting that bell slide off his fingers. It must have been a side effect of the stronger potion that he'd been able to understand what Severus was saying to him, but still.

"Why don't you spank me, Severus," he intoned sarcastically to the empty room. "Oh, brilliance." He drew his feet up on to the edge of the chair, hugging his knees close in an attempt to banish the strange mixture of shame and elation that memory seemed to bring.

*

The dream came anyway, but at least it stayed pleasant for a longer time than usual.

He was standing in the charms classroom, a thin line of moonlight streaming in through the high window. The anticipation alone was better than anything he had felt in his waking life for years, the simple happy anticipation of something completely enjoyable.

As he leaned against the cool stone wall he felt his breathing, so swift and shallow. Trying to breathe deeper only made him seven more lightheaded than he already was, and he gave up trying to control himself. He watched the line of light broaden slowly as the moon rose higher, lightening the floor with a milky path.

The pleasant feeling of anticipation slipped slowly into a kind of barely repressed panic, a fear that what had been so dearly longed for would not, after all, come to pass. The path of the moonlight on the floor grew wider and brighter as the moon rose, and his panic turned to a more familiar sensation--anger. He began pacing the length of the room, and was ready to storm out when a quiet click arrested his movements.

"Lupin," he said harshly, looking towards the door. It appeared to be shut tightly. He practically spun on the spot, sure that someone was nearby, but unable to figure where they might be. When his back was turned, there was a crash from the chalk rail, and a small cloud of dust rising from the floor. "Remus, is that you love," he called, practically biting his own tongue as the endearment slipped out. Well if it wasn't they'd know who he was waiting for. Thankfully the next thing he heard was a familiar chuckle as Remus took off the hood of the invisibility cloak.

"You're cute when you're scared," he murmured as he walked towards Severus, his head seeming to float, disconnected from any visible body. "Maybe I should scare you more often."

Severus turned his head away from the kiss, only to have it land on his neck. Cursing his suddenly weak knees he wrapped his arms around the shorter boy. "Don't even think about it," he managed as Remus added a flickering tongue and a simply dangerous amount of teeth to the kiss.

"You like high collars, don't you?" Remus teased, muttering as he worked his way up Snape's neck.

"Don't. Don't, don't, don't," Severus muttered as Remus laid a series of ever sharper nibbles along his jugular. With each word he felt compelled to hug him tighter, as his knees, so sturdy when it came to facing a foe, seemed to be weakening with each little bite.

"Why not," Remus asked, grinning, "you seem to," he paused and pressed himself even closer, "like it."

"Because I haven't given you a proper kiss yet." It wasn't entirely true, really, he just didn't want annoying bite marks to have to charm off or otherwise conceal. He still wasn't entirely clear on how effective the charm was, and he had no desire to be caught looking like he'd met a vampire. "That, and this cloak is freaking me out." In illustration he groped at Remus' invisible back, rather harder, and lower, than was necessary.

"Fine, fine," Remus said, throwing the cloak over a nearby chair. He was wearing his school shirt and pajama trousers, and his feet were obviously bare save for a pair of worn canvas oxfords.

"You're going to freeze to death," Severus admonished him, unable to keep the concern from his voice when he saw Remus' attire.

"So come over here and warm me up." His accompanying grin was almost too much of a challenge to walk away from, but Snape gathered his restraint and went to the cupboard instead. A simple unlocking spell revealed the cushions Flitwick used for summoning spells, and another spell sent them tumbling out on to the floor in a cozy pile. Lupin watched as Snape stood stiffly next to it, taking longer than necessary to put his wand away, closing the door of the cupboard, and looking anywhere but at Remus. They had only been meeting like this for a few months, but Remus had a feeling that it would always be like this, as if Snape were afraid he was about to have a nasty trick played on him, as if Lupin would look at him, sprawled across the cushions, in surprise, and ask him what he was doing there.

Even after he had made himself comfortable and pulled Snape down with him Snape stayed silent, but fidgeted, as if he had something he wanted to say. "Something on your mind?" Lupin asked as he linked his arms around Snape's waist.

"Is that your invisibility cloak?" Snape asked. He tried to keep his voice light, but the stiffness of his shoulders against Lupin's chest gave him away.

"No, it's James'," Lupin murmured as he nuzzled Snape's neck. It wasn't too likely that it would make him forget his line of questioning, and sure enough, he soon shook his head.

"Didn't think you two were really on speaking terms," Snape said stiffly. No matter how much he didn't care for Lupin's friends, he wasn't about to take pleasure in their little arguments, or gloat about the role he may have played in them.

"We speak," Lupin said, though the hollow quality in his voice gave away the idea that it was never for long. Their old hours long chats were, indeed, a thing of the past. "He caught me waiting in the common room for everyone to clear out tonight. Said I had that look on my face."

"Which one?" Though he was annoyed with any part Potter might have in the conversation, he couldn't resist the idea that Remus might have betrayed his eagerness so simply. He twisted himself around to see.

"Like this." Remus arranged his features into a peaked, anxious countenance, his eyes fairly glowing.

"You are completely transparent." Severus began undoing Remus' shirt buttons with deft, sharp motions, which made it clear he didn't care if some of them happened to snap off. "What else did he say?" The harsh attempt that was Snape's voice was contradicted when he laid his cheek on the smooth patch of bare skin he had revealed.

Remus twitched his shoulders, settling pleasantly with the familiar scratchy feeling of Severus' barely-there whiskers against his cooling skin. "Said I'd be in too much trouble to contemplate if Filch caught me, especially with you. Then he just handed me the cloak and let me out the portrait hole."

"Oh, rare," Severus said, slipping a hand around to the small of Remus' back. He felt Remus shiver as his cold hand left a trail of cooler skin before coming to rest in the warm curve. "I suppose it's alright if I get caught walking back to the dungeon." He turned a little to let his other hand meet the first one, his arms circled around Remus' warm waist.

Remus rested his chin atop Severus' head, an oddly intimate gesture. "I'll walk you home." Severus swore he could feel the smile, and the thought of those long eyeteeth glinting in the moonlight reminded him of the question he'd been meaning to ask.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? You'd have to find your way out of the dungeon all by yourself." He tightened his grip, the question forgotten for the moment, the old pattern being observed. It seemed that there always had to be a challenge; each sweet evening had to begin with a scuffle.

"Oh, I think I can handle it." Remus pivoted his hips sharply, and Severus was surprised to find himself not pinned beneath Remus, but rather splayed atop him. The pile of cushions had shifted with his movement to nearly surround them, trapping him securely. With one practiced motion Remus opened all the buttons on Severus' shirt without popping off a single one, then cradled the back of his head in his hand, guiding him down for his proper kiss.

*

In his sleep, Snape sighed with the memory. It was so good, even as an imaginary moment that should have been stale after so many years of being replayed in his mind. That sensation of skin on skin, so exhilarating, was tantamount to suddenly being gifted with an entirely new body. He willed himself not to wake, and drifted back into the dream.

*

The hours slipped by practically unnoticed. Each time a worried glance would be cast to the line of moonlight moving across the floor another diversion would present itself. Time did not exist for the times when they were embroiled in some impossible delight, and only when they were brought back to themselves by the feeling of cold air on moist skin did they consult the stripe of moonlight moving closer and closer to their lair.

Severus cast a worried glance to the de facto time piece far more than Remus did, but then worry came more easily to him too. Sometimes the discomfiture would be gone from his features before Remus could even see it, but more often Remus would see, and, more often than not, attempt to kiss it away.

"Why so worried, love?" he asked. It was as familiar as the kisses themselves.

"Afraid I ask too much of you." The answer brought a rain of kisses, first on his lips, then all over his face.

"I could always say no," Remus pointed out in a hot whisper, teasing the back of Severus' earlobe with his tongue. But he was never a tease, always more than willing to jump right in.

When Severus had a mind to notice the light again it was surrounding them, gleaming, increased from the reflection off their pale bodies. Four hands clasped together were a white knot over his navel, and below that Remus' hair, a dark path across his legs. Against his thigh he could feel Remus' breathing, panting and laughing, facing away from him as he did when he could not yet speak.

Severus knew that at that moment his face held not a trace of worry. He could feel it in the utter lack of tension around his eyes, a lax feeling that went all the way down to his shoulders. It would be the perfect moment for Remus to turn towards him, and yet there was a pause great enough for thoughts of his unasked question to return. Remus shifted slightly, and his hair fell off his shoulder, leaving the moonlight free to illuminate the scars there.

Severus had never asked about them. He was grateful enough that Remus did not ask him about any of the smaller scars that dotted his own body, but none of them were likely to have a story behind them as this one did. The network of scratches crowned by two deep puncture wounds was surrounded by thin white stretch marks, a sign that the healthy growing skin had had to strain against the old scar tissue as it grew. Remus turned as Severus was contemplating them, and saw the grave look he wore.

"Still worried my love?" he asked sadly. He began crawling up towards Severus' face, taking longer than was strictly necessary. "Scared for me, or of me?" Neither possibility seemed to alleviate the sadness, and Severus reached out for his face, chagrined that he should be causing Remus any sadness at all.

"Maybe of you," he said, lightly, "you are very fierce, after all." His smile was cut short as Remus brought his face suddenly very close, gnashing his teeth in large exaggerated motions.

"Fierce?" he said, between gnashings, "what ever could have given you that idea?" He lowered his mouth to Severus' in a kiss, letting his teeth mimic there what they had been doing only moments before. "I suppose I am rather fierce," he murmured, letting his head fall to Severus' shoulder, "but I promise I'll never hurt you."

Severus' hand cupped itself across the back of Remus' head, holding him securely. Severus marveled at how their bodies fit together, the nest of cushions now a warm, if slightly sticky, place. He closed his eyes for a dangerous second, savoring the comfort, the likes of which he had never found elsewhere. When he reluctantly opened them, he realized that his other hand had been absentmindedly stroking the indentations on Remus' scarred shoulder. When he looked down, it seemed that Remus was meeting his eye with something like understanding.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," Severus began. He was finally willing to break the comfort of the place with his own queries.

"Yes?" It seemed that a hint of fear finally entered Remus' eyes.

As Severus opened his mouth, the unmistakable sound of a footfall was heard from the corridor outside, and it was with horror that both boys regarded their mutual nudity. Silently and quickly as possible they gathered their clothes together while Remus made a mad dash for the invisibility cloak.

When Filch opened the door there was nothing amiss in the room, but Mrs. Norris lifted her dry pink nose and gave the place a few suspicious sniffs. Under the cloak the boys huddled in a cramped posture, clutching their clothes, in a way that would have been funny had the prospect of their capture not been so gruesome.

Once the footsteps had faded, Snape arrayed the useful cushions on the floor again, only to give them a good once-over with his best cleaning charm. There was no reason to suspect that anyone other than the fourth years would have to use them, but there was no telling for sure. He and Lupin did not speak as they made their way to the dungeons, Snape feeling absurdly young and grateful as they slipped unseen and silent through the corridors.

"Good night," Remus whispered when they were but a yard from the Slytherin common room portrait. He reached up and stroked the side of Snape's face, drawing him down into a kiss that was sweet and almost absurd in its leisure, given their position in the middle of the corridor. "I meant what I said," he whispered as he pulled away. He slipped the cloak from off of Snape, leaving him apparently alone in the hallway, save for the warm whisper in his ear. "I would never hurt you." The experience of being kissed by someone he could not see was both arousing and eerie. Then there was only the barest swish of material sounding from the end of the hall to let him know that Remus was gone.

*

Snape sat on the edge of his couch, pondering the dream. It came so often lately that one would expect it to have faded in brilliance, or for the subject to have lost its interest. Still, every time he awoke to find himself practically trembling with longing, and, now, wonder. Was it possible that Lupin hadn't known what he was going to ask? That those impossible promises were given in sweet ignorance of what Snape suspected? He leaned back. How could the memory retain any of its old sweetness, given all that had passed since then? There was only one way to find out.

Wandering the castle at night was not his favorite thing, and he moved quickly, even faster than usual, employing every secret staircase and passage he could think of to get him to that secluded section of the third floor. It seemed to him somehow reasonable to expect that Lupin was awake as well--if not, he could always turn away and never reveal his visit.

Standing on the landing of the third floor, Snape paused. It was not like him to put too much stock in dreams of any kind, and this one should, he thought, be no different. He turned and descended the stair with the same haste with which he had climbed it, then threw the door open.

For a moment he was disoriented, seeing the unexpected flood of warm yellow light and the open door. Then his eyes adjusted, and he realized that the figure standing in the door was Remus Lupin.

"Lupin," he managed, "what are you doing here?"

Remus stepped into the light a bit, so that Snape could see his face clearly. "What do you think I'm doing here," he asked, "I live here." Stepping aside he revealed his desk. "I was just going to take a little walk. What are you doing up here?" The humor in his voice could not disguise the curiosity.

Snape took his time answering, not knowing quite what to say. "The castle," he finally decided to say, "is moving again."