Tea and Chocolate

Bitter Sweets

Though he still had a home somewhere outside the city, Remus Lupin had lived at Grimmauld Place since the Order of the Phoenix had been reestablished -- or perhaps before that, from the time Sirius Black had asked Lupin to move into his home. Snape was uncertain which had come first: the gathering of Dumbledore's allies or Black and Lupin's private decision to renew the relationship they had begun years before. To the surprise of many, that bond had not been severed by the interruption of more than a decade while Black was in Azkaban and Lupin believed him to be a murderer, and by the time the Order began to gather at Grimmauld Place, the two were evidently on intimate terms.

Since Lupin lived primarily at Grimmauld Place, he had one of the largest rooms in the house, furnished with his own belongings and well-tended even when he was away on Order business. Because Snape stayed mostly at Hogwarts, however, even during holiday breaks, the room he used when he stayed at Grimmauld Place was small, impersonal and occasionally loaned out to others if space was needed to board visiting wizards. As a result, Snape had done nothing to make the room more his own, and he rarely kept any personal possessions in the desk beyond a few essential ingredients for potions and a handful of books.

Thus Snape found himself standing in his room, having placed his wand temporarily atop the wardrobe, with a hand in his pocket and a peculiar embarrassment keeping him from withdrawing it. The pocket was full of sweets from Honeydukes, purchased on an impulse he had no wish to examine at present. He had just returned to Grimmauld Place and had promptly quarreled with Lupin in the library, where his onetime colleague at Hogwarts had been teaching Hermione Granger a spell for aggression far beyond her current ability to control.

Snape did not particularly like sweets. He did not wish to eat them, nor did he wish to leave chocolate bars in the desk of a room considered his own, where someone meddling with an unlocking charm might find them and draw entirely the wrong conclusions about why Snape had purchased and hidden them away. Before he had made a decision about what to do with them, however, a knock at the door interrupted his musings. Shoving the sweets deeper into the pocket, Snape quickly removed his hand to retrieve his wand, flushing as if he had been caught at something shameful. "Yes?" he demanded imperiously, with no suggestion that his visitor should enter, but a moment later the door creaked and Arthur Weasley's overly bright hair and smile intruded through the doorway.

"Oh, Severus, there you are," he said, as though he had not already ascertained this from Snape's response to his banging. "Molly asked me to tell you that supper will be early, so that those going out this evening can eat with the rest of us first." Those going out were on the way to a last-minute raid on the Scottish border, more dangerous than usual given the numbers involved, but such facts would not be mentioned outside of meeting rooms protected with a silencing charm. Lupin would not be going on the raid, as it was only a day until the full moon, nor would Snape, who had several potions to mix including Lupin's wolfsbane.

"I will keep that in mind, but you may have to start without me, as the timing of my work must be precise," he said shortly to Arthur, who nodded and began to withdraw before becoming distracted, upon turning, by someone in the corridor. From Arthur's greeting, Snape knew that it was Lupin, and because Arthur did not bother to pull the door shut, he heard the entirety of their conversation, which concerned the Floo Network and a safe-house that no longer was. Snape's hand returned to his pocket but he hesitated to pull out the candy, in case Lupin should unexpectedly walk in and find him there with it.

Indeed, Lupin did come in to the room, though not before knocking and then inquiring at Snape's terse acknowledgment whether he might enter. Lupin glanced around awkwardly and looked as though he would say something about one of the paintings on the wall before coming to the obvious conclusion that the painting was not Snape's, but belonged to the house and just happened to have been placed there. "Please sit down," intoned Snape, rather more of an order than he had intended, yet Lupin sank with a grateful nod onto the sagging, threadbare sofa. It was quite chilly at any distance from the fireplace, and he rubbed his hands together, glancing up when the package in Snape's pocket made an unexpected crinkling noise.

Snape knew that if he ignored the sound himself, Lupin would choose to ignore it as well; the potions master might have had ingredients in his pocket for a concoction that was none of Lupin's concern, or parchment containing information for Dumbledore's eyes only. But he was disturbed by the telltale flush on his own face, and reluctantly reached into his pocket to remove the largest parcel, keeping the chocolate bars buried deep inside. "I have some Every Flavor Beans that I confiscated from a student, if you wish to risk them," he improvised. The other man's countenance lit up absurdly as Snape unwrapped the gaudy package, setting it on the table nearer Lupin. "Some of these may be cocoa-flavored, but I could not tell them from mud, leather or tree bark."

Leaning over a little, Lupin peered into the bowl for a long moment, then reached out with long fingers and popped one into his mouth. "Chocolate," he announced with a broad smile on his face. Oddly encouraged by this enthusiasm, Snape leaned forward. Though one of the green ones must surely have been mint, he dared not risk eating a slime-flavored bean, and it was impossible to tell apricot from vomit in the orange light from the fireplace. The red ones were likely to be safe -- cherry, cinnamon or corned beef, if not blood, a tang that had never repulsed Snape -- yet he experienced unguarded pleasure when his mouth filled with the taste of roses. Lupin remained bent over, studying the beans intently, and pointed to one of the green ones. "That is green apple," he announced, "and that one there is certainly mold, so don't touch it."

"My favorite was always caramel, but I couldn't be certain of telling it from birdseed," Snape admitted. Picking up the package, Lupin poked through it a little, then took out one of the beans and offered it to Snape. Warily he took it, noting that Lupin's hands were still very cold. The sweet-sticky taste warmed his mouth as he reached for his wand, flicking his wrist to build the fire. Then he frowned, glancing at Lupin. "I had thought that your metabolism would make you overly warm rather than chilly."

"One would expect so," Remus replied, holding out a bean. "Tangerine, I think? The rest of me is warm -- but my fingers simply will not cooperate." Taking the candy, Snape bit down and discovered that it was the far more rare spiced pumpkin. His hum of surprise made the other man smile. "Sometimes my sense is a little off. I'm only about eighty percent accurate. From which poor young witch or wizard did you confiscate these?"

In the moment that he hesitated, trying to think of a convincing culprit, a dreadful flush covered Snape's face, too rapidly for him to loosen his collar or blame on the blaze in the fireplace. Lupin looked befuddled -- worried, perhaps, that Snape would not wish to discuss life at Hogwarts with him -- and it came to him of a sudden that Lupin might miss the children who had once been his students, not connected with the adults in the Order who visited Grimmauld Place on occasion. An unlikely sense of guilt nagged at him. Silently he reached into his pocket again, withdrawing the bars of chocolate, which had become slightly soft from the heat of his own body. "They're from Honeydukes," he said shortly, not bothering to explain anything more about the beans.

Lupin's eyes fixed on him, startled at first, then suspiciously bright as he accepted the gift. "Thank you," was all he said. They ate quietly for several minutes -- Lupin the chocolate, Snape a pair of beans that looked identical but one tasted like seaweed while the other tasted like sage. The fire crackled as a burning log crumbled. Silences were often awkward between them, reminders of the many subjects they could not or would not discuss despite years of acquaintance, but when recently they had shared tea, Snape had been aware that Lupin was making an effort to be companionable, although these days Lupin rarely made an effort to speak to anyone at all. Now he added, "For so many years I'd hoped you could forgive me," in such a low voice that Snape might have pretended not to have heard.

Glancing over at Lupin, Snape wondered whether it would ever be possible to explain that he could forgive the werewolf, whose emergence was an unhappy fate that Lupin had managed to control responsibly save on two occasions, both unfortunately involving Snape. What he could not forgive was that Lupin had loved Sirius Black in spite of what Black had done to both of them; he doubted he would ever be able to forgive the casual cruelty that had nearly made himself a corpse and Lupin a murderer.

The man beside him appeared shrunken, old before his time -- certainly no sort of threat, although Snape had personally witnessed the horrifying transformation to werewolf more than once. A shudder of revulsion moved through his chest even as he acknowledged that he no longer felt the sickening dread the creature had held for him in his youth. Perhaps once the Death-Eaters had returned, his childhood fears had been transformed for good, because he knew too well that there were fates far worse than being torn apart by a werewolf.

"If you believe I still hate you for that prank that Black and Potter pulled, I accept that you had no part in it," he said, more harshly than he intended, but at least the words were there. Lupin only nodded, head lowered, eyes closed. Why, Snape still wanted to ask -- why Sirius Black, damn him, for all these years -- if it had been Potter, Snape might almost have understood, even though he had loathed Potter, because everyone had wanted to *be* James Potter with his Quidditch trophies and his flock of admirers. Not even Potter would have been so cruel without Black goading him on. And, unlike Potter, black sheep Black must have known what it felt like to believe that he had nothing. Despite his popularity and charm, he had had that in common with Remus Lupin...Lupin, the prefect who had never, to Snape's knowledge, tried to stop his friends from their behavior.

"What can my forgiveness possibly mean to you?" he sighed.

"A great deal, Severus." Lupin sounded as old and tired as he looked. "I don't think I can ever forgive myself for some of the choices I made, nor for being such a coward. I sometimes wonder why I was placed in Gryffindor."

"Indeed?" asked Snape with bitter amusement. "Which house did you think of as the refuge of cowards?" For all the renowned bravado of Gryffindor, it had produced as many cowards like Pettigrew as true heroes. The loyalty of Hufflepuffs, the intelligence of Ravenclaws and the ambition of Slytherins often made them just as brave. Young witches and wizards were sorted when they first arrived at Hogwarts, shaping their houses and being shaped in turn by them; Snape had wondered at his own placement when he was first sorted, given his family's undistinguished bloodline and his preference for books and potions to the politics of the wizarding world. "We were very young," he muttered. "I must remember that, on occasion, when dealing with Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger and their ilk."

"Much younger," Lupin agreed, though he did not sound particularly convinced. "But that is not enough to bring me any peace about it." Snape sat silently with him, watching the firelight flicker across the surface of the beans, making them appear in hues that disguised their natures, though even the most innocuous vanilla-looking bean could prove to be earwax- or fungus-flavored on the inside. He suspected it would give Lupin no consolation to hear him say so.

Indeed, he felt little peace himself, not because of the distant past, but a more recent conflict between them. Shifting uncomfortably on the sagging sofa, he returned Lupin's apology with a thought he had tried not to dwell upon even in his own mind: "I should not have revealed your condition as I did at Hogwarts. I should have spoken to you first. I have sometimes wondered what might have happened differently, had there not been a vacant position on the faculty these past two years."

"Oh." The involuntary exclamation was hushed yet tremulous, like a soft cry of pain. Lupin lifted his head and clasped his fingers carefully in his lap, as if he wanted to be certain each hand would hold the other steady. "Oh," he said again. "I think...perhaps we had better agree that what's in the past is past, Severus." Snape nodded, feeling something akin to shame at the speed with which Lupin spoke the words, wondering whether he had hoped for such an opportunity without any real expectation that it would come to pass. "If Fudge was determined to infiltrate the faculty, there was little that Dumbledore could have done, whether or not there was an opening," observed Lupin with a smile devoid of blame. "And I daresay that the Ministry of Magic knew of my history even if the parents of Hogwarts students did not."

"Even so...I should not have simply announced what I might have discussed with you beforehand."

Lupin separated his crossed fingers to hold up a hand, signaling that it was enough. The hand trembled slightly, as did his voice when he spoke. "Thank you, Severus." It was true that the Ministry had known, and that if it had been left to Umbridge, Lupin's disgrace would have been far more bitter -- worse perhaps than her treatment of Trelawney -- but that did not negate Snape's betrayal. Still, he perceived no resentment, and as Lupin took another bite of chocolate, a wry smile crossed his face. "You never pitied me at all, did you."

Rather than answering at once, Snape reached for the package of beans on the table, picking curiously through several. "Do you suppose this one is blueberry, mint or tree mold?" he asked, showing it to Lupin, who studied it for a moment.

"That's tree mold." He peered into the package. "There seems to be a blueberry one...here." Putting down the light blue bean, Snape took the one Lupin offered and popped it into his mouth.

The flavor that burst across his tongue was strange, though not entirely unpleasant, and it took him a moment to guess at it: "Prune." Lupin laughed apologetically as Snape swallowed and continued stiffly, "No matter what you may think of me for my behavior at Hogwarts, I am not so cruel that I would have wished for Sirius Black's death, nor have I failed to understand the effect that it has had on you."

"That isn't what I meant." Lupin had dropped his eyes at Snape's mention of Black, but he regarded him directly once more. "The rest of it. Everything else that has happened, everything that I am. You don't feel sorry for me, do you?"

"I *am* sorry, Lupin." Snape could only hope that the look on his face was closer to regret than bitterness, but he was not certain. "I have tried to sympathize, to understand at least...but I cannot say that I pity you. Dumbledore and others have gone to extraordinary lengths for you. Your parents were obviously devoted to you, they made certain that you were educated where many would have hidden their offspring away. And you have been loved. We are who we are; I see little benefit in wishing any of us could be otherwise, or in trying to recreate ourselves."

"You did." To his surprise, Lupin was smiling. "You became a Death-Eater, and then you turned your back on them. I've never felt that you felt sorry for me the way the other do -- poor Remus, his life is such a sad story. You've never made me feel fragile or second-best to Sirius and James even if that's damning praise from...what is it?

Very uncharacteristically, Snape had begun to laugh, and Lupin was blinking at him as if he had gone mad. "Do you honestly believe that I would be here if, as you say, I had turned my back on the Death-Eaters?" A hint of unease crept into Lupin's expression, and Snape had the impression that the hand sliding casually across his hip was hunting for his wand. This amused Snape even more. "Now are you thinking I might be working for both sides? Do you really believe that I could fool Dumbledore? What a change it would be to be so respected -- to have it believed that I might accomplish such a feat. Did you all think that I defied the Dark Lord and he said, 'Very well, Snape, obviously you've made your choice?' Or did you really believe that I might still be working for him, or feigning to do so, to further the interests of the Order? No: the Dark Lord let me go because he believed I would never be a threat to him -- he tried to kill an infant, but he let me walk away."

Lupin sat silently during this outburst, and when Snape fell silent, he picked up another bean, looking dissatisfied as he bit into it. "Liver."

Snape did not mind liver, cooked with onions and garlic, but when he bothered to eat sweets, he preferred them to be sugary and light. There was a bean on top that might have been mandarin orange but it might have been sharp cheddar, and another near it that could have been anything from cherry cobbler to rare steak to seafood bisque. "Sometimes I do wish Bertie Botts would put out bags of single flavors," he admitted.

"I would be satisfied with bags that were nothing but 'proper' sweets," Remus agreed, and took the top bean, eating it with a sigh. "Cheese."

"Don't spoil your supper," admonished Snape, even as he remembered Arthur Weasley's warning that they would be eating it early. "We'll be expected in the dining room shortly. Lupin...I believe I can say with certainty that Harry Potter does not pity you, nor do the twins, nor Moody, nor Dumbledore. I think it more likely that they pity me, given their low estimation of my skills; I can guess why they believe that Dumbledore needs me. I have always known that, as Potions-Master for the Order, I could be asked to create a poison to probe the thoughts or destroy the mind of an agent like Pettigrew or Barty Crouch. And I am fully capable of uttering an Unforgivable Curse should it be required, which would then remove me from my colleagues permanently. It's why the others accept a former Death-Eater so readily: if someone must take on that task, they would rather it be me."

"Pity you!" It was Lupin's turn to laugh. "I rather suspect that the younger ones are afraid of you, Severus, while your peers respect your skills -- do you have any idea how much it rankled Sirius to hear Dumbledore talk about your abilities as an Occlumens?" At the look on Lupin's face, Snape tried to interrupt, to turn the subject, but the other wizard was determined to have his say. "I know you think that I blame you for what happened at the Department of Mysteries the way Harry does, but Harry is still a child in some ways, and there are so many things that should have happened differently. Things we didn't see. Things Sirius didn't see. There is nothing we can do, any of us, to change the past. Nor, as you say, what we are. I *have* wondered why Voldemort let you go, and I have also thought...what happened to Sirius must have happened for a reason. You could help me understand that reason, if you were willing."

Snape was still formulating a reply when a knock at the door interrupted. "Mrs. Weasley sent me to call you to dinner, Professor," Hermione Granger's voice floated in from the hallway. Miss Granger was certainly not afraid of him, reflected Snape with certainty, and the notion made him smile darkly, narrowing his eyes. She was bright and also ambitious, not content merely to do her best; she wanted the others to know how intelligent she was. Lupin was quite close with this generation of Gryffindors, and his beliefs and opinions would carry weight with them. This was, Snape understood, to the benefit of all of them.

Lupin was smiling as well, watching him. "Are you scheming, Severus?"

"Perhaps." It would not do to let Lupin know too much about his thoughts, and he fixed him with a steady, impassive gaze. "Shall we go down, then?"

A nod, and Lupin rose, leaning down to close the package of beans. "There's a charm I know to make them reveal their flavors," he told Snape. "But it's not completely accurate, because not everyone's tastes are the same. And sometimes people like to be surprised." Picking up what was left of the chocolate bar, the werewolf smiled again. "Thank you for this. It means more than I expect you realize."

Snape nodded, already turned away from him toward the door, embarrassed. "Come, or we shall be late." As they moved to leave the room, Lupin disapparated the torn candy wrapper, putting the rest of the bar into a pocket for later.

"I think it's time, yes."