Taking Care of Truth

Taking Care of Truth

The library, the books, the parchment, Remus. That was how it all started, with ink blots and quills and long-gathered dust, and, above all else, the quiet.

*

For reasons rather obvious to both himself and all others, Severus Snape spent a great deal of his time in the Hogwarts library, forever in search of new knowledge to use against others. Knowledge like that doesn't come cheaply, doesn't necessarily come at all. However, seeing as Severus had always been vehemently opposed to things not working out the way he wanted them to, he was rather insistent that he should, in time, be a man of great expertise. And so he thought a lot and wrote a lot and by nightfall his eyes were aching with words; words and information that, at the moment, were doing him no other service than being in his possession. But these words had the possibility of slowly and tantalisingly becoming hitherto unknown entities of freedom, power and, most importantly, respect. And that was what he liked. And he liked and slowly loved.

They were often there as well; he'd see them, of course, heads bent together, the strands of their hair mingling over books or something else entirely. Toothy grins and hush-hush laughs - he was reminded of a potion just about to boil. Annoying though the four boys' presence was to him, he never moved further away; never even once did it cross his mind. Instead he kept warily quiet, seated at his table and half-hidden by a shelf, and maybe he was spotted and maybe he wasn't. One eye on his books and two ears tuned to the regularly scheduled display of public camaraderie - could anyone blame a tingling of curiosity, of jealousy, and, as the years went by, of outright revulsion and anger? He thought not. He listened on.

In the evenings the hush of the library became the proper sort of quiet. The quiet where the scratching of a quill is heard through several fully-stacked shelves, the quiet where softly muffled footsteps on the other side of the library sound as if they're right behind you (oh, the crimson carpet is worn now), the quiet where a boy cannot loudly ask to borrow a spare quill. It was simply the kind of silence where a boy must go about his feeble excuses in another manner altogether, and so of course it was evening when Remus Lupin sat down at the little table next to Severus's and nodded slightly.

The next day passed full of puzzlement and suspicion. In the evening he returned. Severus found his hands trembling ever so slightly as he turned his pages. Lupin had moved a chair closer.

By the end of the week Severus was rather behind with his homework.

A spy, he concluded late at night. A spy sent out on a quest for spells and amusing tales of odd behaviour, with all results going very public indeed less than ten minutes after their revelation, and, naturally, all said results being exceedingly embarrassing or grudgingly clever or both. Sleep was impossible.

Saturday morning arrived, bearing the warmest beams of sunshine which, despite their potency, refused to penetrate the stone walls of the library. Nevertheless, Severus broke into a sweat when he arrived to find some rolls of parchment and an inkwell lying opposite his self-appointed seat. He was still standing there when Lupin arrived upon the scene: the library, the books, the parchment, and the droplets on Severus's forehead most thankfully not visible in the shadows. Lupin nodded then, as was his custom, and unloaded the books he'd retrieved from the stacks on the wooden table.

"Aren't you going to sit down?"

Severus eyed him more sceptically than ever. "You appear to have taken my place."

"No." Lupin slid down in his chosen seat before glancing up. "Your seat is there, if I recall correctly." He gestured to the chair on which Severus's fingers were subconsciously lingering. "And I should think I do."

Apparently - rather regrettably really - there wasn't something wrong with the rest of Lupin's little group of associates. Of course, the sun and the day of the week played a rather substantial part in the reasons for their delightful absence, but even so. Lupin was on his own now. Keeping his head down, Severus sat down, spread his things out on the table, and set to work with many firm resolutions of effectivity and focus.

Sometimes they looked up at one another. Sometimes they did it at the same time.

Lunchtime arrived. Neither of them left. Severus's stubbornness had broken out at this point, and he had every intention to show it.

When he was about halfway through his essay on the properties of knotgrass, Lupin let go of a little sigh. To prove he was able to concentrate despite such unwelcome distractions, Severus steadily continued writing. Despite his carefully unaltered demeanour, the only thing he could think of at this moment was This chair is far too uncomfortable to be expected to park one's arse on, and consequently had to scratch it out again when Lupin was again fully engrossed in his book.

"What are you writing?"

Severus stopped in mid-scratch.

"What's it to you?" His suspicions arose again with instant clamminess of chest.

Lupin shrugged and went soberly back to his book. "Nothing, of course."

He fell for it. "Herbology, then. Knotgrass," he hissed across the table.

"Wasn't that due last lesson?"

"Not for the Slytherins," Severus lied, and started jabbing his quill onto the parchment, making dots, dots, dots, and every stab was at Lupin's face.

"If you want some help, I -"

"I'm hardly some sort of Crup walking on two legs, am I?"

"Of course not," Lupin answered calmly. "It was just an offer, since I've already finished it."

"Well, why don't you go and help your friends instead, surely they can't have managed to finish it only one day after its due date?" Severus said with an air of forced conversation.

"It's not only my friends I'd like to be with," answered Lupin with eyes agitated and accusing and then suddenly averted.

The only sound in the library at that particular moment was that of Severus Snape tapping his quill on his parchment.

"I'm hungry," he said rather faintly, abandoning Lupin in favour of the Great Hall, bringing with him four books, one and a half roll of parchment, one eagle feather quill and a bottle of black ink, with one eerily fascinating train of thought leading the way. The weight of his belongings increased with every step.

Lunch served its usual purpose of filling the stomach. When he left, he thought he saw Potter's head turning towards him. The realisation came as he walked through the doorway. He could use this. He could really use this.

And so Severus read the day away, resisting the urge to finish it off with a wank, not to mention resisting thinking of the person he'd be likely to think of in such a situation, and slept. He then repeated the whole procedure on Sunday, waiting keenly for Monday evening and the quiet, oh, the quiet, and the library, the books, the parchment, Remus. With eyes closed, he was still thinking rather hard of everything else than the slightly tiresome feelings he now suspected to be true, but was otherwise quite satisfied with this turn of events.

They would not be pleased to hear of it, were it to happen. He was sure. And he'd damn well make sure it got back to them too. Oh, how they would despise Lupin. How they would shun him. How it would lead to their little pack's crumbling from within.

However, mostly Severus was looking forward to the groping.

fin