Tea and Chocolate

Alastor Moody noticed first. Of course it would have been Moody, thought Remus Lupin, shaking his head and smiling as he walked away with a sealed phial that Moody had placed in his hand, growling, "Give this to Snape when you see him; he'll know what to do with it." With his Auror training and his all-seeing eye, Moody often made discoveries before anyone else.

Molly Weasley, of course, had known from the start -- had known before either Remus or Severus Snape had given any real thought to letting go the past, trying to forge a connection in the uncertain present at Grimmauld Place where they lived as if under siege. The members of the Order of the Phoenix had much greater matters to occupy their attention than the personal lives of the witches and wizards who belonged to it, but that didn't stop a lively interest nonetheless.

Mad-Eye Moody was unlikely to share any speculation of that nature unless he thought an affair might damage the Order or any of its members. And Molly would never jeopardize her matchmaking by bragging about it to anyone but her husband, who tended to blush about such things when confronted with the details, despite having fathered a substantial brood. But sooner or later, the others were bound to figure out how things stood. Remus had already caught Tonks studying himself and Severus together in the library one evening, and he was certain that Minerva had suspected as well, when she asked them jointly to investigate a museum.

Eventually, if it continued, the others would know. Harry Potter would find out. At which point it was possible that there might be significant damage. Yet that was not proving to be enough of a reason to consider ending it...not even close to enough, thought Remus with another smile and a pleasant heat coming into his face as he heard Severus' voice in the kitchen, snapping in annoyance at Molly as she asked him about various students at Hogwarts.

Severus wore irritability like a shield; it prevented all but those who truly had something to say to him from attempting to make conversation with him, but a few individuals persisted, Molly being the most relentless. Remus was beginning to suspect that beneath his exasperation, Severus had both respect and affection for her. This particular evening, however, his tone sounded particularly aggravated, and when Remus stepped into the kitchen to be greeted with a curt nod rather than a hint of a smile, he knew that something must be wrong beyond the usual frustrations with students and difficulties within the Order. He also knew that he dared not ask.

Based on various remarks each of them had made, Remus was under the impression that Albus Dumbledore had encouraged Severus to reestablish his ties to his former associates among the Death-Eaters. It was safer for everyone if Snape worked alone and if the head of the Order alone knew of his dealings with them, but Remus couldn't help but be aware when Severus was inexplicably absent, nor when he returned to headquarters in a particularly foul mood. At such times Severus tended to avoid others, particularly Remus, which had seemed hurtful until he realized that Severus was only trying to spare him his temper.

Thus Remus expected, when he knocked on Severus' door, that he would likely be met with coldness if not outright hostility. He was surprised to be admitted instead with little more protest than a sigh and the words, "Oh. Lupin. Well, come in." With a tired flick of his wand he brought over a second cup to the small table by the sofa and poured tea for Remus. "Is this about the last report? Or did you need something else?"

"I didn't need anything at all," Remus replied, picking up the teacup and blowing on the steam rising from it. "Alastor Moody asked me to give you this -- " Reaching into a pocket to retrieve the phial, he placed it on the table beside the saucer. "And I thought you might like some company. You seemed unhappy when I saw you in the kitchen earlier."

"That's generally a reason to avoid my company, not to seek it out, isn't it?" asked Severus in a tone of warning, but Remus could hear resignation beneath it, and it occurred to him of a sudden that he was not certain, in all his life, whether Severus had ever had anyone he could go to when misery drove him to seek contact, as Remus had had Sirius, James, Peter and Lily at a time when he most needed people to whom he could turn. Withdrawing his own wand, he murmured words to make the fire burn a little warmer and moved closer to Severus on the couch.

It was easy to see that Severus was uncomfortable; he opened his mouth more than once as if he wished to say something, only to close it and frown as he stared down at his teacup. Remus himself could think of nothing to say that didn't strike him as an inane attempt to start conversation, but he sat and watched the fire and drank his tea, and finally said, "The house doesn't feel right tonight."

"I was unaware that this house ever achieved an ideal of comfort," Severus replied. "If you are having trouble sleeping, I can certainly fix you a draught."

"I'm not having trouble sleeping; on days when I have no work to do for the Order, I fear I sleep too much." Now that he was paying attention to such things, Remus thought that under the condescension in the potions master's tone he heard concern, or at the very least a desire to be useful. "Perhaps it's the effect of too many raids. Though I know that you're under more pressure than I am, with your teaching responsibilities." Reaching up, he rubbed Severus' shoulder with his palm.

"The work is certainly not more than I can bear," Snape retorted in a somewhat irritated tone, but he did not tense or move away from Remus' hand. "I'm quite well. You've no need to add to your concerns by worrying about me." Encouraged by the stillness of the man under his hand, Remus moved closer to him, reaching across his back to his other shoulder. "There's no need," insisted Severus in the same weary voice, then added a declaration that would have made Remus smile, were he not being careful to cause no offense: "If you want to touch me, Lupin, at least stop pretending it's for my own sake."

It was very nearly an invitation, and Remus accepted it gladly, pulling Severus gently against him and putting his arms around him. The response came more slowly, with a somewhat aggrieved sigh, as if Snape wanted to make it clear that he was only conceding to Lupin's necessity by returning the hug. Smiling a little as he stroked his back, Remus murmured, "I keep thinking about all the things I need to do over the next few days, reminding myself in case I forget..."

"I am certain that I can find you a spare Rememberall, if you would like to borrow it. I have confiscated several from students who didn't know enough not to use them for silly games."

"But a Rememberall wouldn't tell me what I had forgotten, only that I'd overlooked something." Warmth radiated from Severus' neck, and his lanky hair smelled surprisingly good -- perhaps he had charmed it, though more likely he had been in a room somewhere filled with burning incense and the smoky sweetness clung to him.

Cautiously Remus brushed his lips against Severus' cheek and continued to rub his back, feeling the other wizard drop his head fractionally, letting out a long breath. Very quietly, Remus admitted, "I missed you earlier." He expected a rebuke, to be informed that Snape had had important work to finish, yet he received only a hum that sounded suspiciously pleased as Severus let his forehead rest against his shoulder. The small intimacy loosened Remus' tongue and he added, "I worry about you when you aren't here."

"You might just as well worry about any of us."

"I do worry about the others, but I daresay that the raids are harder on you than on most of them." He felt Severus stiffen, preparing to object, and stroked his shoulders again. "Listen, there's something I want to explain to you. You asked me once whether it was worse knowing that Sirius was dead than believing that he had killed my best friends, and I've been asking myself the same question ever since. I think guilt was the only thing that kept me alive the first few months, all those years ago, when I thought Sirius had betrayed James and Lily when we had all trusted him. This time, after he fell, I didn't see how I could survive losing him again, but you've made me realize that it does change everything -- knowing that he was innocent, and free, and that he died defending the things that mattered most to him. I can afford to try to remember the good in him, and in James, and I don't feel as though I must wake up every morning only to make up for the past. But I also know that for you, things are different."

Severus had gone rigid in his arms, but he wasn't yet attempting to pull away, so Remus forced himself to continue, worrying that the other wizard would not want to hear yet certain that they would never understand one another without the conversation. "I want to explain something to you about Sirius." At this Severus did lift his head, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a grimace, but Remus shook his head. "Let me talk, and then, if you wish, you may tell me how much you must always despise him. I wish I could tell you that Sirius would have wanted it otherwise, but I can't. For the last two years he defined his connection to you with the same aversion I know you felt toward him. He was a very damaged man, Severus."

The black eyes were not so much looking at Remus as boring through him, and he quickly pressed on. "You know what the Dementors do -- they steal away every happy memory and leave only the worst, unhappy, twisted recollections behind. Sirius lived in their midst for twelve years. Apart from being able to turn into a dog and simplify his emotions, the only reason he survived with his memories intact was that he was so bitter and so angry, not even Azkaban could rob him of them. Don't you see -- it wasn't just you whom he couldn't forgive. The Sirius who came back from that place hated me as much as loved me. He could be caring and protective and passionate only because he'd been resentful and hurt, for so long that all those feelings had blended together. I think Harry was the only person he could love unconditionally, because Harry had been a baby -- in Azkaban he existed only as an idea for Sirius, not really a memory of a person he had known."

Quiet for a moment, Remus studied his companion. Severus sat very still, his eyes hooded and unreadable, and his mouth had tightened even more; nevertheless, he had not pulled away from Remus' hands. Apart from breathing, not a muscle in his body seemed to move, making Remus wonder how he could hold himself so rigid. "Do you understand why I'm telling you this?" Remus asked him. "I can only imagine what it must cost you to see Lucius Malfoy and his friends now, to know what they've done, and to know that you are expected to strike at them -- the very people who were once your closest companions. But I do have some experience with watching love turned to loathing, and the cost of that."

Severus was silent for so long that Remus was certain he had breached the acceptable boundaries of their association, such as it was. He had not seemed to blink once during Remus' soliloquy, as if he had withdrawn to a place so deep within himself that neither the words nor even the air could penetrate. Yet he waited, unmoving, and when it became apparent to him that Remus planned to say nothing further, he shifted his weight, so suddenly that Remus tilted and would have slid off the sofa had Severus not caught his arm.

"Was that meant as a confession, Lupin, or a statement of solidarity?" The words were hardly compassionate, but beneath the impassivity of Severus' gaze, something was kindling and it didn't appear to be anger -- at least, not anger directed at Remus. "If you are looking for sympathy, then I will say it is a pity that an unjust imprisonment caused you and your lover so much suffering. And I am truly sorry if you suffered at Black's hands, when you never deserved..."

He bit back the rest of the sentence, though Remus strongly suspected Severus had been about to say that with Black, being made to suffer sometimes had nothing to do with whether one deserved it. "Let me assure you, however, that you have no need to console me over whatever feelings you think I have for any of my former associates. You know very little of my prior -- " Suddenly his mouth twisted as if he did not like the flavor of the word he would have spoken, and he concluded in a rather more subdued tone, "One does not have to have been held by Dementors to experience the loss of one's most pleasant memories."

Remus' mouth felt very dry. Rather than turn and break contact with Severus, he muttered an accio command, making his teacup float half-full into his hand; the cold tea soothed his throat, but he realized that he had grown quite chilly sitting before the dying fire, despite being so close to the other wizard, who looked pale and tired. "What did he do to you, Severus?" he asked softly, meaning Voldemort, inquiring almost rhetorically, but his companion shot him a fierce glance, dropped his gaze to glower at the floor and answered a different question altogether.

"I don't remember the first time I..." Severus fell silent, swallowing with some difficulty. His shoulder jerked in an odd shrug, and to Remus' surprise he laughed softly. Freeing his hand from Remus' arm, he gestured toward the bed. As his eyes followed the movement, Remus blinked at the bed, then at the man beside him, trying to figure out exactly what he was telling him. Surely he couldn't have meant...? With a twist of his mouth, Severus confirmed, "He -- Malfoy. Lucius. Didn't want me to remember. He used a charm on me to make me forget."

It felt as if every muscle in Remus' body had frozen at once, and he was glad of it, because he had a overwhelming urge to smash something -- perhaps many things, starting with the teacup in his hand. This was why Severus could be so still, he realized, because the alternative to absolute control would have been chaos. The only words he could think to say would have impugned Lucius Malfoy's parentage, person and erotic proclivities, and all of them were likely inaccurate, but Remus couldn't bring himself to care. With very great force of will he placed the teacup on the table and took Severus' hand.

Severus scarcely seemed to notice the pressure on his fingers, though his faltering speech righted itself and he spoke clearly and calmly. "Of course, such as he was, he couldn't resist bragging about it to me afterward, so I learned of it from him. I have wondered which would be worse -- having one's happy memories taken away, or never to have had them in the first place. In any event, I could only think to ask him to do it again, so that I could remember."

Sudden pressure on Remus' fingers made him discover that he was squeezing Severus' too tightly; he forced his hand to relax, though he knew that he was having no such success keeping his nostrils from flaring, nor his mouth from twisting in fury. Sirius had hurt him badly -- had cried out terrible things in the height of passion, and, worse, had asked Remus for pain, begged even, because for twelve years he was only capable of experiencing pleasure along with anguish to hold off the Dementors. But the deliberate cruelty that Severus described was unlike anything Remus could had imagined.

The dark eyes were on him again, still calm and strangely benevolent. "I don't expect -- "

Quicker than thought, Remus closed his eyes and lifted Severus' hand to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. "I would promise you," he began, pausing to swallow. "I would promise never to hurt you."

Though he had followed the movement of his fingers to Remus' lips without showing any emotion, Severus suddenly jerked his hand free, flinching visibly. "No one can promise that."

"It's not...it's never something I would strive to do," Remus tried to explain.

"Don't you understand?" Now Severus was looking at him, devoid of the serene expression he had worn before. "When he hurt me, deliberately, I knew that he was paying attention, and that he attached importance to the act. It was far easier to bear than when Black and Potter did the things they did, for absolutely no reason that anyone could fathom. It's not being hurt that -- "

Remus interrupted him out of desperation, pulling Severus roughly into his arms, biting down on his own lip and hoping the other man couldn't see that he had tears in his eyes. It was largely a futile hope; he wished only that Severus would not be so repulsed by his weakness that he would push him away. Yet Severus did not, and after a moment he said, "Lupin. I apologize. I've no right to place any of this on your shoulders."

"No, no, don't be sorry..." Remus' voice was shaking, and the trembling only spread into his arms when Severus moved his hands up to hold on to him, though he knew it was meant as a gesture of kindness.

"It would be unfair to expect you never to hurt me. I know that many of your choices cannot be your own." At first Remus thought he was referring to his lycanthropy, and to the long-ago attack that was evidently destined to remain between them, perhaps always, but Severus continued, "If Harry Potter were to discover that you were here with me, like this, can you imagine what he might do? You are one of very few adults he trusts. He has become increasingly rebellious. You cannot afford to risk alienating him, and even if you were willing, it would be too dangerous, at a time when the Order must comprehend his purposes and movements. Too much is at stake for me to burden you with things that should have ceased to matter long ago."

"Obviously they haven't ceased to matter."

"That is my own concern. It should not affect your judgment." Remus shook his head, but Severus insisted, "You must not make any misguided attempts to protect my feelings, such as they are. Dumbledore understands this: he has never had the slightest compunction about demanding that I extend special privileges to Potter, even over my explicit objections."

Managing a smile, Remus kissed his temple. "Severus, don't imagine that I would ever treat you as though you were fragile. But that doesn't mean that I can't wish to spare you pain."

After a moment, Severus nodded. "I only hope you understand, Lupin, that it would be foolish to cause yourself pain in an effort to spare me."

"Ah, but my own pain is far easier to cope with -- I've lived with it for long enough."

"In that case, consider that it would also be self-defeating."

The voice was Professor Snape's, the same clinical tone in which he reminded Remus unnecessarily each month to be certain to take his potion with time to spare before the full moon, which Remus had long attributed to fear -- fear that the wolf might break free and attack him and others. Now he wondered how he had never noticed the shame and regret it disguised, though he thought hazily that perhaps he might be imagining things; his head felt heavy, and he realized that Severus was gradually slumping against him. Sighing softly, Remus closed his eyes. It was several minutes before he realized that he had become unaware of his surroundings beyond the warmth pressed against him...that he was falling asleep.

Severus shook him gently. "Lupin. We will both be very stiff tomorrow if we remain here for much longer."

"Oh." The hands urging him upright felt as clumsy as his legs, and he caught Severus' arm when they stood. "Will you let me..." Unable to think how, or even what, to ask, he glanced over at the bed, expecting a flat rejection before he could even form the question, but Severus waited with an air of expectation that seemed almost hopeful. "Stay," Remus whispered. The word hung in the air like a plea before his onetime adversary nodded.

"I suppose you are as likely to stumble across someone outside if you leave at this late hour as you are if you creep out in the morning."

Remus wanted to keep touching him, to take his hand and lead him to the bed, but he was afraid it would seem like a demand, so he settled for walking over himself and folding the outer layers of his clothing on top of the dresser. While Severus sat at the foot of the bed and, methodically, removed his shoes, he slipped beneath the blanket, listening as his unlikely bunkmate commanded the flames in the room to quench themselves, one by one.

When Severus had finished, he got under the covers, lying rather stiffly on his back. Turning alongside him, Remus briefly pressed their hands together, whispering a quiet goodnight. The reply was muttered, but it made him smile, and as he drifted off to sleep he realized why: Severus hadn't called him Lupin. He'd said, "Sleep well, Remus."