Coming Home

Severus Snape has not been this angry since-

Well, since Potter was a first year. Lip curling, he remembers gawky, eleven-year-old Potter, his incompetence in Potions, his lack of discipline, the infernal-

"Severus," says Dumbledore, eyes flashing warningly.

There is a long silence. Snape is trying his hardest not to look across the room, because that will mean acknowledging the other man's presence and accepting that he is not getting out of this, no matter what.

"Albus, if it's-" comes another voice, soft. Severus can hear the gentle rasp in the man's tone, so familiar. He looks up against his will, and Dumbledore has put his hand up to stop him. He looks pointedly at Snape, who is at last out of excuses.

He does not have to vocalize his response, his agreement. Albus' eyes sparkle down at him, a small smile on his lips. "Thank you, Severus."

There are a million furious retorts on Snape's tongue, but instead he purses his lips and murmurs, "It is nothing, sir." He bows out of the room, and Remus Lupin's searching hazel eyes find his own as his exits, and he does not want to remember.

*

The problem with brewing Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin is the memories. Snape is dying to know why Lupin does not take his lead rather than attempting to make casual conversation. Such things make the pain even more acute, and surely it has been too long to do anything but reminisce.

*

The month after Black dropped his near-fatal hint to Severus - prod the knot on the Whomping Willow, follow the path down, down - and the month after the incident, Snape visits Lupin in the Hospital Wing. Lupin (grudging, Snape concedes, Remus) is lying on a bed in the very rear of the wing, his fair skin ashen and marred with short, dull red scratches. There is a magnificent purple bruise on his right cheekbone, and his eyes are closed, and Severus is leaning over him, his hands on the side of the bed, and he wants, with all of his fifteen-year-old being, to-

"Don't just stand there," says Madam Pomfrey, a young thing, her blonde hair coming out of its bun, pushing a small tube of some vile-smelling ointment into his hands.

And Severus goes about spreading the salve onto the scratches on Remus' face, his hands, his shoulders. Madam Pomfrey is busy, but not too busy to notice the way Snape's hands touch the other boy's pink skin. She doesn't say anything.

Remus is awake now, but only just, and he doesn't really mind that some figure with dark hair - that is not James, that is not Sirius - is standing over him, because the figure's touch is so gentle, so-

"You're awake," comes the voice, and it is hoarse and restrained.

Remus flinches, not at Severus' touch, but in embarrassment. "Why-" he begins, but his words are cut short.

"I came to apologize for last month."

Remus snorts. "This isn't your fault," he says, gesturing at his torn body.

Snape grimaces. "I meant for-"

"For following Sirius' instruction?" he asks, his voice so soft but growing in intensity. His cheeks are pink in frustration. "Did he ever apologize to you?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"No."

"Then don't be sorry." Silence. "Come to think of it, I should be sorry for nearly killing you, shouldn't I be?"

Severus starts to counter him, starts to say how ridiculous Remus is being, but the other boy has fallen back asleep, his light brown hair falling over his eyelids. One light hand slips down the blanket and dangles off of the bed; Snape it afraid to return it to it's proper place.

*

With a thud, Severus places the smoking goblet in front of Lupin, middle-aged and weary, who is talking with a thirteen-year-old Potter. The image is so reminiscent of their Hogwarts days that Snape wants to run from the room, but can't.