Coming Home

In his panic, Severus sends an owl to Lupin.

He insists that, beyond Albus, he could think of no one else. It is true, but under normal circumstances, Remus Lupin would never have occurred to him.

The Dark Mark has been becoming clearer, darker, all year, since Pettigrew escaped last spring. It first reared its head as a dark, painful bruise on the inside of his left forearm, and he ignored it for as long as possible. Now it is impossible.

Dumbledore seemed neither terribly shocked nor terribly concerned when Severus showed the black skull to him, which had irritated Snape more than Karkaroff, lately.

"I think you should owl Remus about this, Severus," Albus urges, his eyes twinkling despite the pressure of the darkening Mark. Snape meets those eyes, his hair limp across his brow, and for a long time does not speak.

"What makes you think-"

"Please, Severus," says Dumbledore. "You are perhaps the greatest Occlumens I know, but let us not forget that you are out of practice. How many years has it been?" He smiles down at Severus, whose face is rapidly changing colors.

Snape's eyes blaze. "Albus, this is-" He is trying to say that this is an all time low for the headmaster, but the headmaster is smiling that smile again, and Severus stops.

"My apologies, Severus. I did not mean to pry," he adds, his voice alight.

Snape is already at the door, is already planning the letter, is already beginning to beg Lupin for-

-something.

*

Remus Lupin, twenty-three, opens his eyes to soft footsteps.

"Severus?"

"Shh," comes the reply, in the dark. "Why are you still awake?" Snape eases himself into bed beside him, their fingers entwining. So tired.

"Why are you so late?" Remus asks despite himself. He can feel Severus tense against him.

"I was-"

"Hush," says Remus, turning to find Severus' lips. Suddenly all Snape can think is how tired he is, right now at 4:12 AM on a Tuesday, but he lets Remus' tongue find its way into his mouth, lets Lupin suck on the flesh at the base of his neck. Remus' hands are on his chest, at the buttons of his shirt, at the fly of his trousers, and-

Severus shudders, pain rushing to his arm. He jerks away, scrambling to put up a blanket, sheets, a pillow between them. Even in the dark, he can feel Lupin searching his face.

"Turn the light on, Severus."

"Aren't you exhausted?" he begs Lupin, attempting to calm his nerves and ease himself into sleep.

"No." Silence. Remus' voice is overwrought. "Turn on the light."

He obliges, faking a huge yawn. Remus raises an eyebrow.

"Severus," he begins, reaching a hand out to reassure the other man, who winces. And Remus knows. "Let me see your arm."

Silence. Severus does not know what to say.

There is a warning on Lupin's face, in those bright hazel eyes, and Snape wordlessly pushes the sleeve up to his left elbow.

*

Severus Snape, forty, reclines in his quarters with a half glass of cheap wine, a sweater covering his Dark Mark. In light of Voldemort's second rise, how worth it was his sacrifice? He downs the wine, eyes glistening with anger and anxiety, and runs his fingers over the black monstrosity marring his pale flesh.

*

An owl arrives, the school owl that he sent out hours earlier. It taps the glass of his window with its beak, and he lets it in, and the letter falls at his feet. And all Severus wants is to know that Remus Lupin isn't going to run.