Taking Care of Business

I know it was a stupid thing to do. Stupid, risky, and just plain perverted, when you get right down to it. But boys will be boys and all that, right?

Right.

I had absolutely no intentions of wanking off the first night in my new home, with Severus Snape just down the hall - really. I'm just so stressed out, and tense, and overwhelmed, and then there are all these new feelings and sensations - especially that weird moment with Remus today - and... oh, hell, I'm a red-blooded seventeen-year-old male, and if that's not reason enough, I don't know what is.

Of course, had I known the 'outcome' of that particular activity on this particular night, I may have had second thoughts. My only defense is... well, I reckon I don't have much of a defense. Slap on the handcuffs and lock me up - I'm guilty. I, Harry James Potter, plead guilty to wanking off to images of my most-hated professor and third-in-line arch nemesis (after Draco Malfoy and ol' what's-his-name), the one and only Severus Snape. Severus Aloysius Snape, I amend, thinking back to the secret keeper ceremony, when that little tidbit was divulged.

Oh, sweet lord, I can't believe I just admitted that.

It all began innocently enough, with the memory of Remus, and the way he looked at me today. Golden-amber eyes gleaming like sunlight and honey and... god, I'm hard just thinking about it.

Which, of course, explains why I came so hard I nearly blacked out the second Snape crossed my mind.

Merlin, I am so fucked.

I lay awake, breath still coming in ragged pants, listening to the stilted hammering of my heart, and seriously contemplating the merits of suicide. I am so caught up in my own mortified misery I almost miss the sound of Snape's door slamming open and his footsteps thundering down the hall.

Funny, I never heard him go to his room.

The footsteps pause, and I scramble to the edge of my bed, digging through the discarded khakis for my extendable ears. I pop them in just in time to hear Snape's sharp intake of breath, and a dull thud right outside my door.

Panicked, I clamber out of bed, nearly tripping over my own feet, a la Tonks, as I do so, and run to the door, wrenching it open. Snape is slumped in a heap of dark robes on the floor, breathing shallow, unmoving. I fall to my knees beside him and shake him roughly by the shoulder.

"Snape? Snape! Oh, god, please be okay! Please don't be hurt, please don't die, please... please, just be alright!"

I hear a grunt from somewhere beneath me, and suddenly bottomless black eyes are staring into mine. He blinks blearily, mouth twisted in a confused frown, and looks around in a daze.

"Potter, what the fuck is going on?" he mumbles, attempting to stand. He manages to pull himself to his feet, but then wavers, staggering forward dangerously. I jump up and catch him around the waist, steadying him. He tries to pull away from the ersatz embrace, but I tighten my grasp and look up stubbornly at his face.

"Stop trying to fight me," I say through gritted teeth, pressing my entire length against him in the hope of ceasing his flailing before one or both of us end up with a black eye. Memories of the last twenty minutes assault me, and I shove them back, firmly telling myself that now is not the time, dammit! "Now, listen. I don't know what happened, but I opened my door, and you were passed out in the hall. Do you remember anything?"

He goes suddenly still, resting in the circle of my arms for a bare moment before breaking away and leaning heavily against the wall.

"Voldemort," he says, almost a whisper. "The dark mark... I have to go... now!" He pushes himself off the wall, aiming in the general direction of the stairs, but stumbles after the first step. I catch him again, this time by the arm, and yank him toward me.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I say, grasping the thin material of his robes. "Hold up a minute, professor. You just fainted in front of my bedroom! What's going on? Is it always like this?"

He looks thoughtful for a minute, and then shakes his head slowly. "No. Not ever, that I can remember. It's never been that painful, at any rate."

"Do you still feel it?"

"Not as strong, but yes, it's still there." He gives me a look that could almost be described as gentle. "I have to go, Potter."

I swallow around the sudden lump that has taken up residence in my throat and nod my head. "I know," I say quietly. "But I don't like it."

"Though your concern is touching," he says, with only a shadow of his old smirk, "I don't think 'Potter wouldn't let me come' will go over very well with the dark lord."

I blink, a bit thrown by his choice of phrase, and then shake my head in an attempt to clear out all the hormonal fuzz.

"Whatever," I say, shrugging in what I hope is a dismissive gesture. "I still don't like it."

"Like it or not, the decision is not up to you. Or me," he adds under his breath. "Now, Potter, if you wouldn't mind..." He holds out an arm, and it takes me a moment to figure out he needs help down the stairs. I'm almost tempted to make him ask (make him beg, an annoying voice in my head pipes up), but I'm honest-to-goodness just plain terrified of the man. Also, I doubt Dumbledore would think humiliating and humbling him is the best way to go about taking care of him.

Sighing and wishing I could just shut my brain off for a while, I take his arm and lead him carefully down the stairs. I am glad I kept my mouth shut, as I can see how much it eats at him to accept my help. I avoid his gaze and pretend that this is the most natural thing in the world, and I am ashamed when I glance over and see the relief plain on his face.

We make it to the fireplace without incident and he turns to me briefly before tossing in the floo powder.

"Listen, Potter," he says, resting his weight against the mantle. I can see how weak he still is, but I refrain from reaching out to him. "After I'm gone, I want you to contact Lupin and have him floo over here."

I'm sure my eyes must have nearly come out of my head, but Snape does not react. "Why?" I ask, embarrassed at the squeak in my voice.

"I don't want you here alone tonight. I mean it, Potter. The second I'm gone, you fire-call him. Are we understood?"

"Yes sir," I say meekly, feeling my cheeks heat up. To my horror, Snape gives me a knowing leer.

"I'm sure you'll find some way to keep yourselves occupied in my absence, won't you, Potter?"

I sputter for a moment, frantically searching for some response, and by the time I come up with absolutely nothing, Snape is already standing amidst the roaring green flames, ready to leave. He leans out of the fire and places his lips insanely close to my ear.

"Be careful, Potter," he whispers, "I hear he bites."

And then, he is gone.

That disgusting, perverted, eavesdropping, degenerate bastard! I seethe, allowing my anger to take over in the vain hope of deferring my mortification. My entire body is aflame with passion, and it's not the romance-novel-with-the-busty-redhead-on-the-cover-you-keep-hidden-under-your-pillow-so-your-dormmates-don't-find-out-about-your-weird-hobby kind either.

I sigh despondently and sink to the floor, tossing a handful of powder into the fire and calling out Remus's name.

Half an hour later, I am ensconced in an armchair with a steaming mug of tea and one very worried werewolf.

"And you think the Call was different this time?" he asks yet again.

I shrug, swirling the last dregs of too-strong tea in the bottom of my mug. "Yeah, I guess so. He said it was more painful than ever before. I mean, he actually passed out in front of my room."

Remus frowns. "Well, it doesn't sound good, but I suppose all we can do now is wait and hope for the best."

"That's it?" I say, feeling my anger flare once again. "I hate this! I just feel so... so..."

"Helpless?" Remus supplies with a sad little smile, and I nod. "Harry, I know. I felt the same way every time Sirius..." He stops for a moment, swallows hard, and then continues. "Every time Sirius was out doing something for the Order. It's only natural to be worried."

I am momentarily flustered by the comparison to his relationship with Sirius, but I pretend to ignore it, hiding my expression behind my mug as I toss back the remainder of the tea. I decide a change of subject would be best for all involved.

"So, Remus, how are you getting on?" Lame, I know, but it's late and I'm sleep-deprived and I've just gotten my jollies to images of one former and one current professor. I'm allowed a moment or three of lameness.

"Alright, Harry. And you?"

"Fine. Just fine." We fall into a long stretch of uncomfortable silence and I stare at the floor, hoping to find something fascinating in amongst the plush grey carpeting. I hear Remus shifting on the couch, and I can't help but watch him out of the corner of my eye. Merlin, he's beautiful. Just fucking devastating.

I feel my arousal begin to stir and try desperately to tamp it down. This is wrong, I tell myself firmly. So, so very wrong. Sirius would kill me. Scratch that. He'd kill Remus, and then he'd kill me, and then he'd feed our carcasses to Buckbeak. I smile at the thought, and then feel a pang of longing that has nothing to do with Remus or - thank all the gods - Snape.

"Harry? Are you sure you're alright?"

I look up quickly and try to blink away the sudden wetness in my eyes. "Yeah," I say huskily, swiping a hand across my face.

He looks at me tenderly, and I very nearly come undone. "Want to tell me what you're thinking about?"

"Sirius," I answer truthfully.

His lips pinch together, but he doesn't look away from my now-steady gaze. "Do you want to talk about him?" His voice is hoarse and thick, and I can see the same wetness glimmering in his own eyes.

"Not if you don't want to," I say. It's been almost two years now, but we still haven't had a real discussion about the man we both cared for so much. In the beginning, I think he was afraid I was too emotionally unstable to deal with it, and then after that I was worried that it would be too painful for him. That was after I learned the true nature of their relationship. I still can't imagine losing someone I was so completely and wholly in love with, especially after being separated from him for all those years.

"Harry, come over here," he says, gesturing to the seat beside him. I make my way over to the couch and settle in, soaking up his solid warmth. He puts an arm around my shoulder, and I revel in the feel of him.

"It's still hard to talk about him," he says, resting a cheek on the top of my head, "but I know I need to. I'm sure you do too. I wanted to wait until you were ready, but then the timing always seemed wrong somehow. I'm sorry it's taken me so long."

"It's okay, Remus, I understand. I miss him," I add in a whisper.

"Oh god, Harry, so do I," he says, his words muffled in my hair. "I miss him every single day of my life."

"How do you get over it?" I ask, tilting my head to look up at him. A lone tear slips from his eye and travels slowly down his stubbled cheek. I watch it for a long moment, transfixed, and then reach up tentatively to brush it away.

"You don't," he says, leaning the slightest bit into my touch. "You don't ever get over it. You just live each day and keep on going, no matter how hard it is. I know that's what Sirius would want."

"Aren't you lonely?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. God, I am such an insensitive git.

Remus merely smiles and reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of my face. "Yes, Harry," he says softly, "I am lonely."

My mouth is on his before I even know what I'm doing. His lips are soft and warm against mine - not resistant, but not yielding either. It takes only a few seconds for the realization of my action to come crashing down around my shoulders. I pull away quickly, horrified at what I've done. Remus's expression is bewildered, but not angry.

"Oh god," I whisper, closing my eyes tightly and sinking further into the couch cushions. "I'm so sorry, Remus, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't plan... I would never... oh, shit."

"Harry," he says, and I feel the warmth from his hand seep through my pajamas as he lightly touches my knee. I jerk away, terrified of what I might do if he continues touching me. Turning, I bury my head in the throw pillow at the end of the couch and groan loudly into it.

"Harry," he repeats, pulling me up by the shoulder and gripping my chin until I am forced to look at him. "What just happened?" he asks slowly, as though trying to understand. Hell, I'd wonder too, if the son of my dead best friend and godson of my dead lover tried to force himself on me. Can't blame the man for being a bit curious, can I?

"I kissed you," I say miserably, lowering my eyes away from his intense amber gaze.

"I got that much," he says, not without a trace of amusement. "What I'm wondering now is why?"

"You know, Remus, I'm feeling pretty zonked. Maybe I should just turn in..."

"You're avoiding the question, Harry."

"Do you blame me?"

"Not really, no."

I look up quickly and see that he is smiling. I can't help but return it, and I feel an enormous weight has been lifted.

"God, Remus, I'm so sorry. I never meant for that to happen. It's just... I guess I feel that you and I are... kindred spirits... somehow."

The smile makes its way to Remus's eyes, which light up like tiny constellations. "You're absolutely right - we are. Of course, that still doesn't explain why you felt the need to kiss me. You can talk to me, Harry. I won't be mad at you."

I sigh. "I know you won't. I just... well, I'm completely embarrassed, for one thing. And I... I don't know... I feel childish, I guess."

Remus's eyebrows knit together in consternation. "Childish? Why?"

I roll my eyes (which I snidely remind myself only goes to further support my point) and pull my knees up to my chest, looking straight ahead as I speak.

"I guess I feel like one of those stupid kids who has a crush on his professor, you know what I mean? And the kid writes some note, or puts it in his journal or whatever, and the professor finds out. And of course he has to let the kid down easy, right? So he's sweet and charming and kind, or at least the kid thinks so, when really all he's doing is being condescending and patronizing. And the kid goes off, crushed, but with an even bigger case of hero-worship, thinking his professor's the greatest man who ever lived, because he can reject him but still make him feel good about himself. Until one day the kid overhears the professor talking to another professor about him, and they're laughing because 'isn't that cute?' and 'it must have been awfully embarrassing for you' and 'he'll grow out of it soon enough.' But the kid doesn't feel like he will. His feelings may not be grown-up or mature, but they're real, and they hurt, and he spends every day in class wondering how stupid his professor must think he is - how completely idiotic, to fall for someone who isn't, and never will be, in his league."

"Wow," Remus breathes once I've finished. I look up, surprised, not expecting that reaction. "Harry," he says seriously, "do you really think I'm condescending? Do I patronize you?" I detect the uncertainty in his voice and immediately wish I could retract proverbial foot from proverbial mouth.

"No, Remus! That's not what I meant at all. It's just... that's what it feels like, you know?"

He nods, and then glances sideways at me, almost shyly. "How long have you felt this way?"

I grimace and duck my head. "Would you believe since this afternoon?"

He lets out a bark of laughter, and I look at him sharply. "Sorry!" he says, instantaneously looking contrite. "Sorry, it's just that... wow, you really move fast!"

I can't help but laugh too. Here it is, the middle of the night, I'm keeping vigil for Severus Snape with my ex-professor whom I've just physically assaulted, and on whom I've just admitted having a tremendous crush, and we're laughing because it turns out that I, Harry Potter, am a fast-mover when it comes to relationships. How ridiculously absurd.

When the laughter dies down, I turn to look at him, telling myself I WILL NOT BLUSH. Of course, I do, right down to my toes, if the tingly sensation is anything to judge by. Remus watches me watching him, and a strange look crosses his face.

"Harry," he says, very quietly. So quietly I'm not sure I'm hearing him. "I don't think of you as a child."

The smile dies from my lips. "You don't?" I say breathlessly.

He shakes his head. "Not at all. And I would never, never make fun of you for what you feel. You may be young, it's true, but I've no doubt that your feelings are real. I'm actually... flattered."

"You are?"

He smiles slightly. "Yes. And Harry, under different circumstances - none of which have anything to do with your age, I might add - I would probably consider... you." He reaches out then and runs the back of his knuckles along my cheek, and my heart leaps into my throat, thankfully decides to remain inside my body, and then plummets into my socks.

This is, apparently, what the poets mean when they refer to time standing still. The very air around us does not move as Remus tips his head toward mine. I glimpse a flash of liquid amber before my eyes flutter shut, and then there is nothing. Nothing but the velvety feel of his lips on mine, the contrasting scratchiness of his stubble against my chin, and the sweet, sweet taste of him. He sweeps his tongue along my bottom lip, and I sigh blissfully into his mouth.

This is a real kiss. This is what it should have been like with Cho. This is what it will be like when I find the person I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.

But it isn't Remus.

I pull away then, surprised by that thought. Remus looks down at me, biting his lip worriedly. I reach out and smooth it with my thumb, feeling suddenly quite a bit older.

"Well," he says, and I notice that his pupils are dilated, so that only a thin ring of gold is visible around the black. "Did that help things, or make them worse?"

I think about it for a minute. "It helped," I say finally, and I know it's true when I see the relieved look on his face. "I... I like you. A lot. I think you're probably the greatest man I know, and I love you... as a friend. But I think that's all it is. Well, except for the fact that I think you're sexy as hell."

Remus snorts derisively, and I grin, feeling better than I have in days.

"It's true! I think it's the whole 'werewolf' thing." I look him up and down rakishly, and he rolls his eyes at me.

"Oh, give me a break."

"No, really! You're smart, and funny, and mysterious, and you have these eyes... wait... I did say I don't like you like that, right? Why was that again?" I know I'm babbling now, but it's partly out of nervousness, and partly out of relief that I haven't fucked things up irrevocably. I open my mouth to continue on with my rambling when something he said hits me.

"Wait. Did you say you'd consider me... under different circumstances?"

He looks away, and I think I see a faint blush grace his cheeks.

"Yes, I did," he says softly. "Like I said, Harry, I don't think of you as a child, and I haven't for some time. You've grown into an intelligent, talented, handsome young man, and I'd be an old blind fool not to notice. I already care about you - have since the day I met you - and I think, if you did have those feelings, that maybe I could reciprocate them. But..."

"But what?" I wonder, now thoroughly intrigued. Is he actually saying he finds me attractive? Perhaps I should rethink my decision.

"Well, for one thing, the kiss helped you decide that you don't really feel that way about me, which is kind of what I was hoping for."

He smiles gently at my hurt expression and runs the back of a finger down the bridge of my nose.

"Mostly, because I'm not planning on being in any sort of relationship with anyone for a very long time."

"Why not?"

He sighs plaintively, and I wonder if I should just drop it. "I promised Sirius..."

"You promised Sirius you'd never be with anyone else? But surely he'd..."

"No, no," he continues, waving a hand. "I did promise him forever though. I realize that was unrealistic, and of course I know he'd want me to be happy, but it still... feels like betrayal. I'm sure I'll find someone, someday, and I'll fall in love again, but that's not going to be anytime in the foreseeable future. I would never ask you to wait for me, Harry."

That persistent ache in the back of my throat is still there, stronger than ever. "You know, Remus," I say slowly, "I think you might just be my very best friend."

He smiles at me. "I know you're mine."

"You know, I was thinking... maybe I want to wait."

"For what?"

"For you. Maybe when I'm older, I'll feel differently."

Remus's smile is bittersweet. "No, Harry, you won't. There is someone already waiting for you to find them, and it isn't me, nice as that would be. Whoever they are, they're very lucky."

"The same for you, you know," I whisper, leaning my head against his shoulder and basking in the feelings of warmth and friendship and contentment, as well as a new sort of longing - a different ache.

We stay like that for several moments, until I start to get a crick in my neck and pull away. Remus stretches and yawns, then gets up, taking our empty mugs back into the kitchen. When he returns he sits on the couch, but leaves a small bit of distance between us.

"You know," he says, giving me a grin, "your mum got me hooked on the telly when I went to visit her summer before seventh year. What say we see what's on in the middle of the night these days?" I hate to tell him home shopping and infomercials, and so I simply smile and nod, relaxing into the couch and letting the soft buzz of the telly wash over me.

I awake some time later when a tremendous crash wrenches me from my slumber. Snape is huddled on the hearth, gasping and clawing his way toward the sofa. I am beside him in an instant, tugging his left arm around my shoulders and wrapping my right arm securely about his waist. Remus, dozing on the other end of the couch, snaps awake and helps me lift him to the nearest chair.

"Severus?" he says, concerned. "Severus, can you hear me?"

My heart is thundering in a mad rhythm, and for a moment it is so loud I cannot hear his response. I lean closer just in time to catch his, "...been beat up, Lupin, I'm not fucking deaf."

Well, at least they didn't break his spirit.

I immediately begin checking him over for injuries, which look severe, but don't seem to have caused any major damage. His right eye is swollen and purple, and I can make out the beginnings of several fantastic bruises all the way from his temple to the place his neck disappears under the collar of his robes. He winces when I brush against his left leg, and I look at him worriedly.

"Is it broken?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think so. Hurts too bad to be a break."

"Severus, what happened?" Remus asks behind me. He is trying to speak soothingly, but I can tell it irritates Snape all the more.

"Nothing too... out of the ordinary," he says, and then coughs raggedly. I instinctively place a hand on his back and begin to rub in calming circles. I can only imagine what he'll do to me for it when he's well, but right now I don't care.

"They always beat the shit out of you and leave you for dead?" I ask dryly. "You know, you may want to consider finding some new friends."

Snape snorts, and then sucks in a pained breath. "It was a... celebration," he says, and I'm actually grateful to see that damned smirk.

"A celebration of what?" Remus asks, appalled.

"My return to the dark lord's side," he says, and then starts to rise out of the chair. "Need some water..." he mumbles as he struggles to stand.

I push him gently back into his seat. "I'll get it," I say, heading for the kitchen. When I get to the door I stop and turn around. "They must throw one hell of a New Year's party," I say, and Snape's hoarse laughter follows me into the room.

When I return he seems more alert, and accepts the glass of water I hand him with a grunt of acknowledgment. He downs it in two gulps and holds it out for more. I start to rise, but Remus puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Let me, Harry," he says, taking the glass and disappearing into the kitchen.

"I trust the two of you... were able to keep yourselves... occupied?" Snape rasps, trying and failing to quirk that damned left eyebrow.

"Shut up," I say, wiping a thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "You don't know anything about it."

"Know enough to... tarnish your reputation... forever."

"No," I say firmly, "you don't." I hesitate for a moment, and then look at him seriously. "I was worried about you, you know."

"Of course," he says, nodding slightly. "And did you know that the ghost of Merlin resides in my arse pocket?"

"I'm being serious, Snape."

"So am I, truly. Go get my trousers and I'll prove it."

I shake my head. "My god, it seems the death eaters have somehow beaten a sense of humor into you. Pity it's such a lousy one."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor."

"We aren't at Hogwarts anymore."

"Then twenty points from whatever this goddamned place is."

Remus returns at that moment with his water, and he is thankfully unable to speak as he drinks it. When he is finished he settles back against the cushions and closes his eyes.

"Do you want me to help you upstairs, professor?" I ask. He cracks one eyes and scrutinizes me.

"No," he says finally, closing his eye. "'M fine right here for now. I'm going to sleep now... and, Potter?"

"Yes, professor?"

"Nothing I've said is to be held against me when I wake up, is that understood?"

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, and look almost fondly at the grumpy, exasperating, worn man in front of me. "Welcome back, sir."

"Missed me, have you?" he says, managing to raise one eyebrow a fraction of an inch. His eyes close then, and I watch him until his breathing evens out and he begins to snore lightly.

"More than you know, sir," I whisper, feeling a sudden urge to take care of him - an urge that is not born out of a sense of duty or obligation - but out of a genuine desire to help him, to see him well. It strikes me then that I have missed him.

More than you know.