Mirage

"Done!" whispered Sirius triumphantly as he slithered behind James, a rush of exhilaration smelling faintly of sweat and Butterbeer. "We're in business."

James grinned as Sirius's head emerged from empty air, flashing a winsome, albeit devilish, smile. "Do you think he noticed?"

More Sirius appeared as the Invisibility Cloak was shed and surreptitiously folded under the round table. "I don't think so," said Sirius with a gleeful smirk. "Look at the way he's got his nose stuck in that book. I doubt he'd so much as blink if this place fell to the ground."

James chortled. "Now all we have to do is wait," he said, eyeing the seventh year Slytherin sitting at the small table in a secluded, badly-lit corner of the Three Broomsticks. "Not for long I hope."

Sirius rose and sat beside Peter, putting one arm around the smaller boy's shoulders. Peter disengaged his chewed nails from his mouth and gave Sirius a weak, trembling smile. "What if . . . what if he thinks his tea smells funny, or tastes funny? D'you think he'll suspect us?"

"Relax, Worm," muttered James. "You said it yourself, this potion is tasteless and odorless. He won't be able to tell."

"But he's so good at Potions," whimpered Peter. "He's bound to smell something, taste something."

"Don't let the size of his nose fool you, Worm. He won't be able to smell it," murmured Sirius with a sly smile. "Besides, I've tried this potion on someone with a definitely stronger sense of smell."

"What?" hissed James while Peter merely blinked in incredulity. "Who?"

Sirius flashed them a brilliant self-satisfied smile. "Mrs. Norris. She ended up rubbing herself all night long against that statue of Carl the Cantankerous up on the fourth floor while I went down and raided the kitchen."

"Wicked," whispered Peter in awe.

Sirius smirked and downed his Butterbeer nonchalantly. Then his eyes lit up and he waved frantically toward the door. "Remus! Hey! Over here!"

Catching sight of his tall friend, Remus smiled and strode toward the table near the far window. It was not exactly located in the middle of the crowded room, but what with the brass candelabras hovering and twirling overhead, the light coming from the sunshine reflected on the snow outside, and the glow of the brightly burning logs in the fireplace, the table practically served as a center stage for the Marauders, where they basked in the adoring and jealous glances sent their way furtively or openly.

Trust Sirius to find us a table where we could see everything and be seen by everyone, thought Remus as he reached the table.

"Didn't think Pomfrey'd let you join us, Moony," said James.

Remus shrugged. "She doesn't know I'm here," he grinned. "I told her I wanted to sleep in my own bed and she let me go."

"You sure you're OK?" asked Peter. "You don't look so good to me."

"I'm fine, Worm, don't worry," Remus replied. "Besides, this is our last Hogsmeade visit before we have to brace ourselves for NEWTs; I'm not about to miss this one."

The other three Marauders groaned in unison. "Do you have to remind us about that?" hissed Sirius, grimacing.

"He's drinking it!" whispered James suddenly. Sirius and Peter swung their gazes toward the other side of the room. Remus had to squint to recognize the figure that had suddenly claimed his friends' attention.

At his table across the room, Severus Snape raised his tankard and took several large gulps before returning his attention to the page of Potent Poisons of Portugal.

"Oh, no," whispered Remus. "What are you doing to him this time?"

"Just wait and see," purred Sirius, a sly gleam in his eyes.

"We put the Bacchanal mushrooms in his drink," informed Peter, grinning nervously.

"The what?" asked Remus, eyebrows knit.

"They're supposed to lower a person's inhibitions and make him more amenable to . . . fun," James explained gravely. Peter chortled.

"In other words you're making fun of him," Remus said darkly.

"In other words we're taking our last chance to let Mr. Snape see that there's a world outside the Potions dungeon," countered Sirius.

"At his own expense?" argued Remus. "Why can't you leave him alone?"

"You're no fun," snorted Sirius. "He's doing this to himself, can't you see? If he hadn't set out to make us his enemies from day one, I would've been more than happy to ignore him."

"His only mistake, as far as I know, has been to dislike us," reminded Remus. "What has he ever done to you," his eyes met those of his friends in turn, "that he won this privilege of becoming our clown."

"He's nearly blown your cover once, Moony," muttered James.

"That's hardly . . ."

"Look," Peter whispered urgently.

Four pairs of eyes turned to look as Severus lifted his tankard once more, sipped the contents distractedly--his eyes were still on the pages of the book before him--then paused, frowning. The Marauders held their breath. Severus stared at the tankard in his hand, raised it to his lips and gave the rim a tentative lick.

Peter whimpered.

Severus swirled his tankard experimentally, watching the liquid sloshing inside it with something close to fascination. He brought the tankard to his lips again, and sipped, his eyebrows rising slowly in appreciation.

Peter clutched Sirius's hand. Sirius pried him loose impatiently.

Severus tipped the tankard and drank the contents to the last drop, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve, sighing visibly. He gazed around the room with a look of fiendish pleasure on his face and his lips curled into a smile which could only be described as demonic. He gave a short laugh and his expression, even from afar, looked decidedly menacing.

Sirius's grin was no less roguish. "It's working," he whispered.

"What's going to happen?" asked Remus in a hushed tone. He could not help but stare at the Slytherin boy across the room with fascination and curiosity.

"Something interesting, I hope," Sirius answered gleefully.

"Don't worry, Moony," put in James reassuringly. "This isn't the lake in summer."

Remus gave his friend a jaundiced look. "I can see that," he murmured. "There's a glaring lack of Lily Evans here."

James turned red and was about to open his mouth to speak when Sirius rose suddenly.

"I'm going to the music toad," he said. "Coming, Moony?"

***

Remus stood, a little too hurriedly perhaps, and followed Sirius to the far end of the bar.

"I don't understand," said Sirius as he fumbled in his pocket for silver sickles, "why you decided to play the voice of conscience today. You're hardly innocent, Moony. You've had your own share of wicked ideas once in a while; like that time when you put firecracker dust in Filch's floo powder jar; and that Halloween night we drugged that Slytherin-beater - what's-his-name - and shaved half his hair off. We've been playing at this kind of thing for as long as we've been here and this could well be the last day we can pull this off. We'll be out of here before summer."

"What I don't understand is, why Severus?" Remus said quietly, hands in the pockets of his jeans, watching his friend pull the heavy, leather bound music folder from the top of the bar. "Why him? Again."

Sirius pushed the silver coin through the thin slit on the padlock that secured the wide snakeskin band around the folder. "Because he's convenient," he said coldly, staring at Remus. "He's mad at us; he wants nothing better than to make sure we get into some serious trouble; he's not overly anxious to play fair himself; he spies on us and he's tipped-off Filch more often than I care to remember. He hates us, Moony, plain and simple. He's a Slytherin, by the way, and that's as a good a reason as any: just as his reason for holding a grudge against us is probably because we're Gryffindors." The padlock opened with a rusty click. A low, chaotic buzz emanated from the folder as Sirius spread it on the bar and flipped a few of its brittle, yellowing pages with the air of a connoisseur, rubbing the thin, silky hair that had started to grow along his jaw with his thumb. He raised his eyes, a sly grin on his face. "Either that, or he can't stand it that I'm so good-looking."

Remus rolled his eyes, groaning. This wasn't going to be easy, he thought despairingly. He glanced at Severus, who had bent his dark head over his book again, his fingers drumming on the surface of the wooden table. Remus bit his lip and raked his brain for anything he could recall about the Bacchanal mushroom. It lowered inhibitions, James said. Then what?

Sirius hummed in pleasure. "I think this'll be perfect," he said as he ripped a page from the folder. For a brief moment the dark dots of musical fruitflies on the sheet swirled and hovered fretfully before settling back in their original positions. Sirius closed the music folder and, carrying the droning page, made his way to the cage at the far end of the bar.

"I could go on, Moony," he said as he opened the cage door. "I could remind you about how there's something fishy about Snivelly's ties with You-Know-Who's lackeys; how I caught him picking on the First Years . . . I could go on." The fat, warty toad squatting in the cage croaked impassively as Sirius dangled the music sheet before it. "But bottom line is, it's fun; or have you forgotten what fun is all about?" he continued. The toad blinked and opened its prodigious mouth. A long, slimy tongue flashed out, wrapped around the parchment and stuffed it into the toad's mouth. "Snivelly's going to be livid, so what? He's been angry forever, he's going to stay angry forever. He's going to make an embarrassment of himself, but he actually hit rock bottom in the self-esteem department long ago and he can't go any lower. And we'll all be out of here in a few months anyway, so..."

He paused and winced with disgust as the toad, watery eyes blinking as if in pain, ponderously swallowed the music sheet, fruit flies and all. "Muggles really do have more sense with that...what do they call it? Jokebox?" The toad blinked again, stretching a green, warty hind leg.

Remus shrugged, trying to hide the frantic sense of helplessness that started to tear inside him. This was going to be the lakeside after the DADA OWL all over again, he thought gloomily. Only this time no one would suspect that Head Boy Potter and his cronies had anything to do with it. The Marauders sat as far as possible from the scene of the crime, safe and virtually blameless.

The toad's throat suddenly bulged into a sickeningly thin balloon and, as it deflated, a song blared in the room; a mellifluous, languorous melody with a deceptively simple beat. A throaty female voice began to sing:

"I am forever chasing a mirage..."

Remus glanced at Sirius. The dark-haired boy was grinning from ear to ear. "Perfect," he mouthed.

Perfect for what, wondered Remus as he followed a swaggering Sirius back to the Marauder's table. He could not help a quick look at Severus but the Slytherin was still huddled over his book; his long, greasy hair hiding his face.

Remus took his seat beside Peter, who grinned and said, "I've got you a drink."

"Did you spike this, too?" asked Remus acidly, making a show of sniffing the tankard of Butterbeer before taking a cautious sip.

"Ouch, that hurts, Remus," commented Sirius dryly.

"Well, I did put something in it," James matter-of-factly added. "Something to get rid of your holier-than-thou syndrome."

Sirius snickered and slapped James on the back. Peter chortled until Remus's murderous scowl silenced him.

"Look here, Remus," said James. "Even if anything should happen to your precious Snivelly you're clean, you're not to blame. It's all Padfoot's, Wormtail's and my idea. But whatever happens, you can't point the finger at us. You've no proof."

"That is, if you want to go on playing prefect," added Sirius with a scathing look on his face.

"You know I won't do anything," snapped Remus bitterly. "I can't."

"Just so long as you remember that," muttered Sirius, looking away with disgust.

Remus rose from his chair. "I'm out of here."

"Aw, Moony," Peter laid a nervous, placating hand on Remus's arm. "Don't take this personally. It's just a joke."

"Do you see me laughing?" snapped Remus pushing his chair back and taking a step away from the table.

"For someone who's traded resting after the full moon for a bit of fun in Hogsmeade, no; you don't seem to be doing enough laughing to make the escapade worth it," Sirius drawled darkly and loudly enough to freeze Remus mid-stride.

"Sirius!" hissed James, jabbing his friend in the ribs warningly and looking around to see if anyone had been paying attention.

Remus stood stock-still not two paces away from the table, scanning the room with wild, panicked eyes, his heart racing. He felt James's hand on his arm and numbly let himself be guided back to his chair. There was a whooshing sound in his ears and he felt weak with fright.

Someone touched him on the shoulder and when he looked, he saw that it was Sirius.

"Sorry, mate," said Sirius and, for all his previous animosity, his gesture like his words was sincere. Remus wished he had some bitter, hurtful things to say, but to be suddenly thrust like this to the very brink of danger and to see everything - his days in Hogwarts, his friends, his future - rushing headlong into the abyss had drained him of contempt and in the hollowness that remained he could not even be grateful that no one seemed to notice what had transpired. He nodded blankly, stupidly, and was thankful when a pale, worried Peter shoved a cool tankard into his hand. He raised the tankard, noticed with a distant disgust that his hand was shaking with the aftershock, and gulped the beverage in a desperate attempt to drown the sudden onslaught of self-pity.

"See why I don't fancy Snivelly much?" murmured Sirius. "He's ruined our Hogsmeade visit."

"Sirius." There was something in James's quiet tone that conveyed "Enough!" with sufficient vehemence to silence Sirius.

Remus sat back and heaved a shuddering sigh, looking around the room to keep his friends from discovering the fearful chaos that had shaken him to the core. He gazed at the Slytherin still sitting at the far table and wondered if the only thing that had saved himself from the Marauders' cruelty was the fact that he was one of them.

At his table, as though feeling the scrutiny, Severus slowly raised his eyes. He swept the room with a smug look, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. His fingers, long, pale and slender, worried at the buttons fastening the stiff, high collar of his black robes. Then suddenly he rose, standing tall and straight and precise, and began to stride to the center of the room.

In the middle of the room there were four narrow tables clustered around one polished wooden pillar. A fourth-year Ravenclaw was peacefully nursing her foaming pint of Butterbeer when Severus shoved her none too ceremoniously aside and used the wooden stool she had been sitting on to climb onto the table.

"Hey!" The girl started to protest as she tried to rescue her tankard which had toppled sideways, spilling Butterbeer over the edge of the table and onto the floor. "What are you . . ."

Her words were cut short by Severus's smoldering gaze. Any further, stammering objection was effectively quelled by a growing smirk on the Slytherin's face as he kissed the tip of his index finger and pressed said finger to her lips.

"Yuck!" Exclaimed another student from the other side of the pillar, but Severus was past caring. His attention had already been diverted to the seemingly all-important act of unbuttoning his robes.

And it was then that Remus finally realized the treachery of the Bacchanal mushroom. He watched helplessly as Severus began to sway and gyrate to the sensuous thrum of the music, (". . . to the very edges of this world . . .") his back against the post, his feet finding their way gingerly and yet unerringly around the bowls of chips and tall glasses abandoned by their surprised and alarmed owners.

"Oh, no," Remus groaned.

"Mmm. Yes," was Sirius's complacent rejoinder.

Peter tittered, James chuckled, and on the table in the middle of the room Severus undid another button, revealing a pale, scrawny neck.

The toad in the corner of the room kept belting out the languid, seductive music, and to the trill of the flute, the throb of the bass, the chuckle of the guitar, and the overriding teasing whistle of the violin, Severus twisted in staccato grace, sliding up and down the wooden post, his left hand caressing his own neck, slipping into the splayed halves of his robes to stroke his chest, face tilted upward to gaze, openmouthed and in clear, unabashed yearning, at the soot-feathered beams crisscrossing the ceiling.

"An endless desert of loneliness . . ."

His right hand glided down the front of the half-opened robes, cleverly flicking buttons loose from their holes, until the garment hung like curtains from his bony shoulders and his thin, mottled grey undershirt was revealed for all to see.

There was a scattering of scandalized whispers and disbelieving sniggers around the room at this. But when Severus whirled around to face the wooden post, running one hand, restless and suggestive, up and down the smooth wood, the snickering became subdued somehow. Mouths opened and eyes stared with wary fascination as Severus lifted one wiry leg and rubbed it along the post--his face, flushed with eyes half-lidded, was a picture of wanton lust and abandon.

"Oh, this is rich," said Sirius with barely contained delight.

Remus wanted to run out of the room which was growing more stifling by the minute, but he could not move a muscle; he was riveted to his chair by that drunken, dissolute face that looked over a gaunt shoulder and seared the room with its blazing, rampant desire. He sat back, shaking, and watched the gaping faces around the room with rising nausea.

Slowly, an inch at a time, Severus peeled his robe off his shoulders and let it cascade down over the bowls and glasses and tankards to a puddle of night-blue folds on the floor. Once again he turned, with a feline grace that combined muscle tension and incredible suppleness; the glow of the fire and candlelight bathed him in the gold and red of flame. Remus held his breath at that illusion of sculpted fire as Severus arched his back and ran both of his hands across his taut torso: up, down, up, down again, until the nearly gauzy material bunched across his thin chest and he was rolling his nipples in his palms, mouth open in a voiceless cry, hips outthrust.

Somewhere a girl screamed and a glass shattered on the floor. Others gasped and someone whimpered nearby and it took Remus a few moments to realize that it was Peter. He looked at his friends and could hardly recognize them. They were staring wolfishly at the writhing figure draped around the central post, their eyes gleaming darkly; they were nearly panting and it was a wonder they weren't slavering madly over the table top. Remus averted his eyes from the grotesque scene, only to see Severus squatting at the bottom of the pole, one hand stretched and trailing upward along the wood, the other stroking between his spread legs and along his inner thighs, in a rhythm timed and controlled by that of the music.

"Can illusion quench my thirst?"

Remus tried to look away, tried to tell himself that it was wrong, that it was ugly. He tried to take in the unhealthy pallor of Severus's skin; the prominent ribs and hipbones and the sharp curves of the shoulder blades; the pink splotches of acne on Severus's back, anything at all, to remind himself that this act was not something that Severus would have done on his own volition. He'd been tricked into it, forced to do it against his will. Raped. The word echoed violently in Remus's mind, and he felt sick with the guilt and shame it instilled in his heart; but the thought did nothing to curb the tingling on his skin, the way his heart thundered, the heat that coiled and runneled down his belly, and the need that juddered and hammered in time with the music which had somehow stolen into his blood.

"A lake of sun-burned sand."

Curse Sirius for picking that song, Remus thought savagely, as he held his breath and watched Severus pull his undershirt over his head; I'll never be able to hear this music again without getting sick and aroused at the same time.

At that exact moment the pretty, buxom Rosmerta emerged from the cellar hefting a small cask of Butterbeer. She stopped, panting, at the top of the staircase, wiped her sweaty brow, pushed back unruly curls from her face and took in the sight of a crowd of mesmerized youngsters staring agape at a half-dressed boy rubbing himself against the wooden post in the middle of the room. Other than the music pulsing from the toad in the corner ("I am forever chasing a mirage . . ."), the occasional snickering and gasps, and the crackle of the fire, the room was oddly quiet.

She stalked suspiciously toward the central tables and was rooted to the floor, gawking, as Severus, one hand hooked around the wood above him, back arched, eyes half-shut and mouth open in a naked display of unbridled lust, slipped his other hand into the waistband of his jeans and bucked his hips.

"Hey!" shouted Rosmerta and dozens of students were jolted from their trance, and looked sheepishly at anything but the pale body writhing on the table. Severus turned slowly and licked Rosmerta with the flames roaring in his dark eyes. To her credit, she only blinked, blushed furiously, faltered a step or two, and shook her head before advancing upon the table with all the bristling fury of a lioness who's caught a stranger trespassing on her territory.

"Stop this minute and get your nose down from there, you young pervert!" she shouted at Severus. "What do you take this place for? Some seedy bar down in Knockturn Alley? Get off before my father sees you and drags you to the Ministry's dungeon. Now!"

Severus eyed the shapely woman below him with intrigued condescension, then slowly lowered himself to face her. He was smiling, a relaxed, self-possessed smile that completely transformed his face from the usual sullen, cynical mask into something almost handsome. He peered at Rosmerta for a moment, then suddenly took her face in both hands and moved in to kiss her. It was not a gentle, fleeting kiss, but a deep, passionate probing that caught her unprepared and left her breathless. Severus hummed softly as he swirled his tongue in Rosmerta's mouth, his hands traveling downward over her bare shoulders and pressing her hard against him, stroking the length of her back and groping, kneading at the luscious curves of her waist and hips. Rosmerta uttered a muffled yelp and struggled to get free while Severus abandoned her lips and went on to nibble along her jaw, down her neck and on to the slope of her shoulder, while his right hand inched its way steadily towards her breast. Rosmerta's hand thumped the table, searching for weapons, before finally curling around a full mug of Butterbeer, which she snatched up and dumped none too gently over Severus's head.

Severus spluttered and released his captive amid gasps of nervous laughter from the audience. Rosmerta staggered back, face crimson, mouth working soundlessly, breast heaving. Then she turned abruptly and fled toward the door that led to the upstairs parlor. Some of the young spectators in the room watched uneasily as she disappeared behind the door, but the others had already shifted their eyes to the dripping figure of Severus who straightened imperiously, brushing back sopping dark hair from his face. He stood still for a while, head bowed, the Butterbeer making his skin glow even more in the candle light. Then with his finger he traced the path of an errant drop as it slithered over his skin, and lingered briefly over his nipple, before sliding down his concave stomach into the cup of his navel and lower. He brought the wet finger into his mouth and licked it. Remus could hear a few panting breaths breaking into the rich, honey-like beat of the music. Still with one finger in his mouth, Severus brushed the thumb of his other hand along the damp waistband of his jeans, seemingly surprised to find a wide, damp spot in his lap. He looked up slowly, his eyebrows climbing half an inch toward his hairline and his lips curling into a devilish smile as his hand flicked the first brass button open.

At their table, as one, the Marauders sucked in a surprised breath. As Severus's fingers moved to the second button, Remus gave a strangled cry and gripped the edge of the table, feeling waves of painful heat rolling all over his skin while his heart beat at a frenetic pace and his blood roared as it turned into molten flame. He could not breathe, watching with part agony, part need, and part shame as Severus undid the button and slowly, slowly parted his fly, revealing a triangle of sallow skin with a scattering of thin, dark strands. The fingers crept lower to the last button.

But no one did see what that lay beyond that last defense of Severus's modesty because suddenly there was a whirl and rush of movement and the Slytherin disappeared from his stage with a muffled yell and much mysterious dropping of plates and tankards and wooden stools. There was another storm of indeterminate nature, raging in the direction of the bar's back door, accompanied by savage if stifled "Outta my way, morons!" and a flurry of unseen shoves and kicks.

Then in the eerie lull that followed--broken only by the smooth, hypnotic rhythm coming from the toad in the corner ("Oh I'm a fool who squanders my chances." --James Potter stepped forward and cleared his throat.

He was skinny but tall, and his dark eyes were electric behind his glasses; his hair, untamed to begin with, looked positively wild now, sticking up at every angle. He looked formidable and menacing.

"I know who you are," he said, looking at each bewildered face in the room. "I know your names, your classes, your houses. Severus Snape has made a mistake and done a foolish thing in this room. But if word gets out and he becomes an object of ridicule at school, I will make sure that every house loses points . . . lots of points. I repeat: Lots. Of. Points. I don't care who croaks, the second I find people teasing Severus about this, even behind his back . . ." He paused, looking around, his Head Boy badge gleaming. "Each house loses points."

"But James," quipped a Hufflepuff sixth year, "Rosmerta..."

"I'll talk to Rosmerta and her father, and if necessary I will explain to the Headmaster," James cut in decisively. "This is Severus's last year at Hogwarts, I remind you, and he has been a model student all this time. I know this isn't his idea of a prank. In fact I'm not sure he knows the meaning of the word prank. Something, someone was making him do it. And for all we know it could have been You-Know-Who."

It was ridiculous, but no one dared to laugh.

"I'm forever chasing a mirage, across an endless desert of loneliness."

The toad stopped singing.

***

"Do something, Sirius!" panted Remus as he struggled to slide Severus's hand into the sleeve of his undershirt.

The Slytherin wrapped a long, wiry leg around Remus and tried to nibble his earlobe, murmuring breathlessly, "I want you, I want you so badly I'm dying; can't you tell?"

Remus could distinctly feel the pressure of Severus's arousal against his hip, and he shuddered. "Sirius! Stop laughing! This isn't funny!" he choked out.

Sirius wiped his eyes and tried to pull Severus away. "Come now, Snivelly," he giggled. "Remus isn't in the mood, can't you see? It's that time of the month."

Remus blushed brightly to the roots of his brown hair. "Shut up, Sirius," he hissed between gritted teeth.

Severus tried to push Sirius away but his movement was hampered by the undershirt tangling around his chest. "Leave off, you worm!" he snarled.

Severus's vicious struggle against Sirius did not help Remus one whit. As he growled and lashed out at Sirius, fending him off, Severus backed hard into Remus, making the Gryffindor gasp and close his eyes for a few seconds.

Sirius finally managed to subdue the fighting Slytherin, lowering him to the floor and pinning his wrists against the wall of the underground corridor that led back to Hogwarts. "Down, boy!" he snapped. "Down!"

Severus shot Sirius a look of pure venom and hatred, spewing a steady stream of black curses that, fortunately, were useless without wandwork. Remus crouched beside the Slytherin, trying to wrestle him into his sodden robes. "When is this mushroom going to wear off," he gasped.

"I don't know," said Sirius, pushing Severus back down. "Ask Peter."

"Will he remember any of this?" Remus yanked the two sides of Severus robes together and fumbled for the buttons. An image of Severus's fingers cunningly releasing those buttons made him momentarily dizzy.

"I don't think so," said Sirius thoughtfully. "Peter said the mushroom releases the person's repressed dreams and desires, basically pushing back his dominant personality and bringing out his alter self. The Snivelly we know might be asleep somewhere under that greasy mop. I said 'Down boy!'" He slammed Severus roughly against the wall.

"So he's been wanting to do this all his life?" asked Remus incredulously, at the same time realizing that he had come perilously close to straddling the Slytherin in an effort to still his scrabbling feet. The Gryffindor's fingers shook and slipped from the small, smooth button he was holding and he cursed under his breath.

Sirius snickered. "You think we'd have have worked out this thing with the nose after seven years," he said. "Turns out he had a few surprises . . . um . . . up his sleeve all this time."

Remus reached the last button, and nearly jumped when Severus thrust up his hips enticingly as he fastened the button over his waist. "We have to get him somewhere," he said, turning to Sirius, keeping his eyes away from the writhing body under him. "This is our secret tunnel; he'll tell on us."

"You're right," said Sirius thoughtfully. "I'll go and look around a bit. I think we can stash him in that broom closet near the landing to the hospital wing and let him out when he's himself again."

He looked down at the Slytherin pinned at an awkward angle on the floor. Severus answered his glare with a murderous stare, before slowly, devilishly licking his lips. Sirius made a face. "Can you handle him? Do you want me to knock him out? Or do you want to do the scouting?"

Remus swallowed hard. "I'll be fine," he said. "I've got my wand. Besides, I can't be seen around the hospital wing. Pomfrey'll blow her top if she catches me running around instead of sleeping."

Sirius snorted. "All right then," he said, rising. Remus stood with him and backed away from Severus. "I'm taking the Invisibility Cloak, Remus. Won't be long." He whirled and started to jog along the corridor, disappearing behind a dark corner leaving only the diminishing tap-tap-tapping of his sneakers.

Remus stared at the Slytherin boy on the floor. Severus sat with his back against the wall, looking at Remus with a small, disconcerting smile. Remus looked away, crossing his hands in front of him.

"You want me," said the Slytherin suddenly. His voice was deep and mellow, he made each word feel like a caress. Remus shivered and kept his eyes on the corner where Sirius had disappeared. "You want me to kiss you."

Severus slithered along the wall as he rose to his feet. Remus pointed his wand at the Slytherin. "Stay where you are," he said and cursed himself for the faint tremor in his voice.

Severus laughed, a rich, easy laugh. "Who do you think I did that stunt at the Broomsticks for, Remus?" he drawled smoothly. "Who do you think I imagined when I kissed that bar wench?"

Remus remembered those lips dancing on Rosmerta's mouth and he felt anger and disgust welling up inside him. Was I that transparent? He steadied his grip on his wand. "Back off, Sev!" he growled.

"You're a dreadful liar, Remus," laughed Severus, and in one swift, nimble move he seized Remus's wand, flicked it aside, closed in on the Gryffindor and trapped him against the wall.

His kiss was gentle, mere brushes against Remus's half-open mouth. His lips were warm and slick, and when Remus answered the kiss, timidly, gingerly, he found that Severus tasted of Butterbeer and honey and caramel toffee. He smiled despite himself. His eyes met the Slytherin's gaze. It had strangely softened when he wasn't looking.

This time it was Remus who captured the Slytherin's mouth--a slow, feather-soft answer that Severus accepted with breathless patience. Remus tasted the corners of that slack mouth and felt it quiver into a smile. He wrapped the upper lip with gentle, probing kisses, and nibbled softly at the bottom one. Severus whispered Remus's name; his voice rough and vulnerable and fragile with yearning. He covered Remus's mouth and this time his lips were hungry, insatiable.

Remus felt long, sticky fingers touching his face, stroking his cheek, his neck, his arm. He raised his hands and cupped Severus's face tenderly as the kiss deepened and lingered. He regretted having to break off to breathe, but Severus only let go of him to kiss his way down his jaw, and along his neck. Remus tipped his head back and let Severus nuzzle his way down his throat. He felt again the rolling waves of heat and need, radiating from his body with each frantic beat of his heart. But this time it was nowhere near the sharp and painful sensation he'd felt in the Three Broomsticks. Maybe it was the absence of shame and guilt. He felt Severus's lips tracing the base of his throat, Severus's leg brushing against his, a pressure and heat where he most appreciated it. Perhaps it was Severus's tenderness and the knowledge that this time Severus was in his arms, solid, close and warm. The Slytherin's tongue darted out and trailed a slow, lazy swipe upward to the spot under Remus's ear, and his body under the night black robes made the same languid grind along Remus's body, eliciting a shudder and a moan. Maybe it was . . .

"What're you doing, snake!" Sirius's voice boomed, shattering Remus's train of thought. He was shaken and suddenly Severus was no longer in his arms. He saw the Slytherin whirl and smash against the wall. Sirius leapt upon him and aimed a powerful punch at the Slytherin's jaw before grabbing the high collar of his robes and banging the dark head against the floor.

"Sirius!" screamed Remus, pulling his fellow Marauder from the Slytherin's unresisting body. "Stop it!"

Sirius seemed to snap at the admonition. He turned from the unconscious Severus and advanced anxiously on his friend. "Did he hurt you?" he asked urgently, reaching out to touch Remus's hand. "What did he do to you?"

Remus stared into Sirius's eyes, stared at the concern streaking the face still scarlet from rage, and he suddenly felt infinitely alone and bereft. He took a step back. "Leave me alone, Sirius." It was a struggle to keep his voice even.

"Remus?" Incomprehension. How could Sirius be so clever and so blind? "Tell me. Did he hurt you?" Solicitous hand touching Remus's sleeve.

"Don't touch me." He couldn't hide the tremble now. Sirius withdrew his hand as though he had just touched a boiling cauldron.

Remus walked hastily away, rounded the corner and took the stairs two at a time; but when he reached the landing to the hospital wing his tears came. He brushed at them angrily and was glad that the paintings were all snoozing.

***

Remus felt something brush along his robe and fall with a soft thump onto his shoe and then a clink to the floor. He looked down and saw his spare ink bottle rolling away. He sighed and began to chase the bottle, gripping the torn corner of his bag to keep his things from falling. He managed to grab the bottle and tossed it back into his bag, and checked to see if he had lost anything. His best quill was gone. He scowled and tried to control the urge to set his decrepit old bag on fire with a single spell.

"Go on! I'll catch up," he called to Peter, who was waiting for him at the top of the stairs to the Great Hall. "I've lost my quill!"

Peter nodded and disappeared among the other seventh years who descended the stairs buzzing with moans and groans about NEWTs.

Remus retraced his steps to the cavernous room where the entire seventh year had just taken their NEWT on DADA. It was empty now, and the candles hovered unlit above him, the light in the room coming only from the windows that soared from the floor to the ceiling along the eastern wall. Remus walked along the alley between long rows of desks, head bowed, scanning the floor for his quill. He reached his desk and crouched to look closely under it. Still no quill. He stood up.

"Looking for this, Lupin?"

The voice, coming out of the stillness, surprised him, but nothing prepared him for the gossamer caress that he suddenly felt along his cheek. He sprang back with a cry and suddenly stared into the sneering face of Severus Snape.

Remus still had occasional dreams where he saw Severus dance, sometimes in his robes, sometimes naked, but always for him, always for Remus and for no one else. The face he saw in his dreams was relaxed, gentle and sometimes even smiling, the kind of warm, genuine smile that made Remus smile in return. The face that gazed back at him in the empty, silent hall was cold and jeering, with almost serpentine eyes fixing a disdainful look on Remus as he nodded and said, "Yeah. Where did you find it?"

Severus smiled serenely as he dropped the quill. Remus quickly snatched it, wondering if he should thank the Slytherin.

"You leave things scattered wherever you go, Lupin." The voice was still deep and smooth, but it was filled with ice now. "Have a care. One of these days you'll lose everything and no one will help you look."

He turned with an impressive swish of his robes and left without saying another word.

Remus stared at the quill in his hand. The Bacchanal mushroom only brought up the unknown shadow of a person's heart after all. It was an illusion, the kiss in the tunnel months ago: the tenderness, the taste of honey and caramel and Butterbeer, and longing in Severus's voice as he called Remus's name, it was all counterfeit, a mirage, a lie.

Epilogue

The master healer of St. Mungo's hospital looked grave and anxious amid the dancing flame of Severus Snape's fireplace.

"What happened this time?" demanded Severus.

"Well, Headmaster, you know how he never seems to believe that he no longer has magical power since the Last Battle," the healer began in his raspy voice, made even grittier by the crackle of fire. "He tried flying this time. He took one of the hospital brooms and went to the rooftop. Fortunately an orderly saw him and we managed to catch him before he launched himself off the roof." The healer's brow was beaded with sweat but Severus surmised they had nothing to do with the fire. "It was a harrowing moment, Headmaster."

"I'm sure it was," said Severus without sympathy. "What happened next?"

"He tried to kill himself, Headmaster," said the healer flatly.

Severus swore. The healer's eyes bulged but he said nothing.

"How?" asked Severus although he was not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"He slit his wrists in the bath," explained the healer. "The mirror in the bathroom reported the incident when it saw blood in the water flowing from behind the shower curtain, thus we could rescue him in time. But it was a near thing, Headmaster, a frighteningly near thing."

Here it comes now, Severus thought. He could almost see the healer wringing his hands in preparation for his plea.

"I know it is the middle of the school term now and you have to preside over the Quidditch match next Saturday, but if you could come for a brief call, we would be very grateful. He always seems a lot calmer after your visits," the healer said earnestly.

"Very well," said Severus. "I'll be there immediately. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Master Healer."

The healer began his usual stream of unctuous, profuse gratitude but seeing Severus reach for the urn on his desk he quickly made his exit. Severus reached into the urn and scattered a few pinches of powder on the burning logs where the Master Healer's head had popped up earlier. There was a glimpse of an untidy office and Severus wrinkled his nose. "Mr. Longbottom!" he bellowed.

The young teacher's face appeared over the log immediately. "Headmaster?"

"I'm going to visit Lupin at St. Mungo's. Some emergency, I'm afraid. The School Council is coming for dinner. Keep them company if I'm not back by that time."

"Yes, Headmaster, of course." Neville Longbottom's head bobbed eagerly. "I hope it isn't too serious."

"I hope so. Thank you, Neville," said Severus, ending the conversation. He got up to his dressing room and changed his usual robes for something more comfortable for traveling. Then he took his Pensieve from the top drawer and began to neatly placed strands of his memory there. The day he watched Sirius whisper something in Remus's ear, making the young man blush and laugh--they were in Diagon Alley then, pointing at a flying Harley Davidson in a shop window with Sirius's hand on Remus's shoulder. The day he saw Remus danced with Sirius--it was at that blasted Potter's wedding, and Severus was assigned to come to spy for the Dark Lord, disguised as a caterer after gulping a horrible polyjuice potion made with a slice of the poor muggle's ear. He stood in the balcony holding a silver tray of champagne and watched Remus resting his head--his cheeks were red from too much drinking--on Sirius's shoulder as they danced in the garden, which was dark except where light from the party inside shafted through the windows. The music poured from the house into the night, and Severus left the memory of that music in his Pensieve.

He arrived at St.Mungo's in less than five minutes; the Master Healer welcomed him personally near the fireplace and ushered him to the north wing, where they kept the ragged survivors of the Last Battle.

Remus lay on his side on a bed equipped with magical straps to keep any uncooperative patient from leaving. He was pale, almost as white as his bedsheet and pillowcase, and with his long hair now completely silver, and his body too thin to make any appreciable swell on the bed, Severus almost thought he had been led to an empty bed.

Severus sat down on a chair by the bed and held the frail hand lying on the snow-white bedsheet. A thick bandage wound around the wrist, and Severus wondered how much of Remus's life had flowed away before the mirror shrieked in alarm.

Remus was dreaming. Severus could see glimpses of memories tangled in the chaotic current of the nightmare. Mostly they were snippets of the Last Battle. Harry, screaming "My blood is in you, Voldemort. If I'm dead, you're finished!" just before he leapt to the fire that killed him. The agony of having one's magic torn away with one cruel incantation when Remus came between the Dark Lord and Neville--no longer the plump, timid boy, but the wizard who finally roared his fateful Avada Kedavra at the much weakened Voldemort. Remus stirred and moaned in his sleep.

Severus bent down and kissed the closed eyelids, feeling the eyes rolling restlessly underneath, tasting the tears. He let his mind open out, he let his emotion flow unchecked and reach out and touch; none of his wistfulness, none of his jealousy, none of his fears and sorrow, only all his love, only his devotion, to blunt the razor edges of the nightmare. There were long, unhealed fissures in Remus's mind, places where nothing remained but the bitterness of grief and loss, and Severus let his thoughts fill the emptiness, his memories imparting the comfort of days much sweeter, a time far happier.

I love you, Remus.

Remus seemed visibly calmer now, his breathing deep and regular. Severus watched the sleeping face in silence, then slowly, carefully eased himself onto the bed, cradling Remus in his arms. He stroked Remus's cold face, running his finger along the dry, white lips. His finger lingered at the corner of those lips, and he felt it curved in a smile.

"Sirius?" whispered Remus.

Severus closed his eyes and rocked the thin body in his arms, slowly, gently.

I am here, Remus.

I am glad, Sirius. They say you are gone. I am so frightened.

I am here Rest now, my love.

I love you, Sirius.

"I love you, Remus," whispered Severus faintly and in his mind the song echoed, always mockingly, always.

"I'm forever chasing a mirage, across an endless desert of loneliness."

~fin~