The Marathon Man

* * *

"We've allowed the boy too much," hissed the Dark Lord, addressing a deathly silent gathering. "Fortune has been on his side lately. What power keeps Potter afloat?"

Voldemort wasn't expecting an answer. How could this rabble provide it, when he himself couldn't understand how an uneducated sixteen-year-old with two friends, one of whom, as Snape assured, was a complete cretin, and the other - a cowardly slip of a girl, could find and destroy almost all the Horcruxes. There were only two left, and he was one of them. Even Nagini let him down. The blood of a centaur condemned by his kind, an ultimate poison, robbed him of his only friend. Her last hunt has cost her her life. A traitorous beast! Like the rest of the dull weapons of his future glory. The magical world was paralyzed with fear, the Ministry - on the brink of surrendering its power to him, Lord Voldemort. All that was left was crushing a boy with a diminishing circle of allies, and the last bulwark would fall victim to his grand plans. Two weeks, and it would all be over. Snape was dangerously gifted.

If he succeeded in creating an invisible Mark, one that could be applied without physical contact and begin its existence at the thought of its master (which the branded knew nothing about), they would destroy everyone. Young Malfoy would serve their victory one last time. There was a reason Snape offered to keep the boy around for experiments. He was too clever, that Severus Snape. Suspiciously clever.

«Away with you all. I am very disappointed. Snape, you shall stay behind.»

The hall was soon empty; only three remained. The Lord sneered. Fenrir Greyback sized the former Potions Master with a carnivorous glare and barked, "He reeks of werewolf, master. Dumbledore's werewolf. Lupin."

Snape looked at the beast daring to yelp in his presence. "My Lord, I cannot stand it when simplistic life forms intervene with my research for the good of your glory."

"What do you mean to say, Severus?"

"He's nothing to say, master, he attempts to evade punishment by covering his treachery with meaningless phrases!"

"My Lord!" snapped Snape. "The mutt is irritating my ears! Of course, if my Lord doesn't need the new spell for the Mark, which you graciously bestowed upon me to design, to work not only on humans, but also on the primitive beings, of whom this animal is a glorious example, I will simply annihilate Lupin."

"You've lured him to your abode?"

"I should say I captured him, master."

"Hand him over to me, you bastard! I've a score to settle with him!"

"What is the master's will?" Snape was eviscerating both his interlocutors with a ferocious glare.

"You want to test the Mark on the werewolf?"

"It was meant to be a surprise for my Lord. But this scoundrel has deprived me of the pleasure of presenting it to you."

"How so? I am very pleased, Shape."

"Master, tell him to give the werewolf to me! Lupin is a vile traitor, he should pay for his schemes before he dies!"

"He will live as long as it's necessary for the experiments! And you, worthless mutt, will have nothing for your impudence!"

"He is infected, you imbecile, and will die in four, at most five days! He's one chance to make it out of ten; give him to me! The worst is yet to come, think about it, Snape!"

"Are you threatening me, Greyback? You, a monster, are yapping at me? And in your miserable idiocy you dare stand in the way of creating such an important spell for our Lord?"

Voldemort was enjoying himself immensely. Hatred has awakened in the Dark Lord a feeling of absolute power and served him much better than the notorious friendship the late Dumbledore so clung to. The Lord laughed - 'the late Dumbledore' was as sweet to his ears as Avada Kedavra. The old fool thought love achieves more in battle than fear and hatred - what laughable nonsense! His servants would do anything to outwit each other in his servitude; they went straight for the throat without thinking twice. Aggression ruled the world. He who understood that was unstoppable in his quest for power.

"Snape, you may do as you wish with Dumbledore's pathetic minion. Greyback, if you value your kin quite so much, Snape will entrust you with his remains."

"Who do you take me for, Master?" The professor was offended. "There are no remains when I am finished with my work! I'm not some good-for-nothing werewolf!"

"And if I obtain the werewolf on my own - if I steal him - can I use him without fear of incurring my Lord's wrath?" Greyback ran his tongue over his yellow fangs.

"You may, if it doesn't bother Severus and he won't complain about it."

"My Lord's wish is law to his faithful," the old werewolf put an emphasis on the word 'faithful', glancing at Snape angrily, "servants!" Then he added through gritted teeth, "There won't be anyone to complain."

"You mean there won't be anyone to complain about," hissed Snape with the same amount of poison in his voice, glaring at the monster backing away to the door.

"Is loneliness burdensome to you, Severus?"

"I long for it, my Lord."

"Soon you shall live as you have always desired."

"I sincerely hope so, my Lord!"

"And your studies, are they successful? Will everything be ready on time?"

"I will do all that I can."

"Then you will accomplish a great deal."

"Yes, Master."

"Is it not strange we cannot locate Mrs. Malfoy?"

"You've nothing to worry about; she will not get to Draco."

"You hid yourself well. Even I cannot determine your whereabouts as yet."

"My master knows full well that at his first command the secret of my abode shall be revealed."

"But not your Secret Keeper."

"Forgive me, my Lord."

"I have settled on a day. Will everything be ready? How much time will it take to apply the Mark?"

"I am attempting to make the process immediate."

"You are a powerful weapon, Severus."

"In my Master's arms, my Lord. In my Master's arms only."

* * *

Severus Snape was unusually pleased with himself. The scorching forehead of the still alive werewolf was buried in his neck; his breathing - calm, not ragged, although somewhat hoarse, warmed the short hairs on his chest, and the beast itself, docile and lax, pressed against the cool linen of the potions master's shirt. This is nice. I suppose I am grateful to Lupin. Without his ludicrous ailment I'd never have determined my own preferences. I do not pity him. Perhaps my hatred towards him shall reawaken as he does. But now he is entirely at my mercy and I can do whatever gives me pleasure. I am definitely grateful to Lupin. Severus used the tips of his fingers to carefully rub white cream with the smell of dog-rose into the dry skin, diligently avoiding the scars. He had another ointment for the horribly looking welts, a translucent one with the scent of a blooming linden. Now, having banished the distorting mirror of dislike and long-lasting enmity from his heart, Snape thought Lupin himself reminded him of the light, plain, and at the same time touching flowers of the honeyed tree. And that the moments when the man under your control - that is to say, the beast, of course - that is, Lupin, who is under your control, brushes a sweaty thigh against your trousers, and the damp cloth doesn't irritate but makes you glad that the first round in the battle against the disease is won - these moments are worth the risk.

After meeting with the Lord, Snape promptly Apparated to Hogsmeade. The Shrieking Shack, having duly served the Marauders, finally became useful to their ancient enemy. Either that or it has decided to support its former owner from afar. Having taken Polyjuice Potion, the professor turned into the school caretaker Filch and delved unobstructed into the library, confusing Madam Pince with his austere disposition and categorically refusing to look at her new catalogue. Further journey into the Slytherin dungeons didn't attract anyone's attention either. A handful of students scampered away from the dreadful caretaker, and professor Slughorn - a gibbering idiot, by the way - couldn't, of course, protest a closer look at his cabinets in search of secret hiding places... "kids these days have no shame, Professor, hid Weasleys' Exploding Erasers behind the Headmaster's gargoyle, the hippogriff take them!" Actually, Severus didn't doubt that axiom however he looked. Having stuffed his bag full, Shape cheerfully trudged towards the Forbidden Forest, first nearly running into Headmistress McGonagall, then the real Filch. However, that night Fortune favored Severus - he reached the Whomping Willow swimmingly and a few Apparitions later arrived safely to his hideout.

The next night Headmistress Minerva McGonagall had an odd dream. It resulted in the demolition of the Shrieking Shack, raised wards in the underground tunnel and a test of every inhabitant and guest of Hogwarts for Polyjuice Potion. Professor Snape wasn't alarmed by these precautions in the least.

* * *

On the fourth day, Snape hated Lupin with such pure and sharp fury that their twenty-year-long rapport seemed a game of cowboys and Indians in comparison. Despite all of the Potions Master's efforts, the blasted beast refused to regain consciousness.

Snape memorized everything there was in the ancient folio about werewolf illnesses, including the Red Cap Fever that acquired its name due to the sores on the skin: bright scarlet and extremely painful. He brewed three essential potions, nearly greasing the text with his nose. He rubbed them all over Lupin's nude body every hour, thus cutting his own sleep-time short. He managed to pour another potion - a nutrient - down his patient's throat, and in such a way that wouldn't see the senseless beast choke. And the stupid animal not only wouldn't wake, it ran a fever, groaned, and tried to scratch itself. Snape was desperate.

The horrid boy kept teasing him quite shamelessly. He claimed that Snape botched the potions on purpose, so that Lupin wouldn't discover the professor's heightened interest in the anatomical details of his body and bite his head of, or give him rabies. If infected, the honorable Professor Snape would turn into a Gryffindor. Furthermore, Snape was wildly afraid that the werewolf's brain would sustain irreversible damage and he'll turn into a complete idiot.

"Worse than Potter? asked Draco, delighted. "I think it's the best choice for you, sir. You'll have a housetrained werewolf of your very own. You'll do as you please with him, or worse."

"No Draco, two idiots in one house is too much even for me." Later, sitting by the cot and threading his fingers through the sweaty, graying curls, Snape thought he won't be able to bear a mad Lupin. He won't be able to look into eyes glazed over with a shroud of feeble-mindedness. And he'd never forgive himself for it.

"Professor!"

"Yes?"

"How do you interpret this abbreviation?"

"Whatever do you mean? Analysis."

"Sir, I think they mean a potion of anal application. You're rubbing it into the wrong place. Pouring into the wrong place! It isn't effective enough. Rather, completely ineffective."

"You are implying," Snape drawled thoughtfully, "that the fools who wrote this treatise intended to confuse me?"

"Not at all, Professor," Draco giggled, contented. "They simply misjudged your..." his self-preservation instinct yelped shut it! "lack of experience in..." Snape turned and glared at the Boy-Who-Has-Gone-Too-Far, Medusa-like, "medical terminology used in the books about beasts."

"What would I do without you? So advanced for your age," muttered the Potions master and headed off to experiment with his Guinea pig. A thick black potion stood at the ready, as did two others. Suddenly the professor was seized with timidity entirely unlikely of him. In four days, he has wrapped the werewolf into his touch like a spider wraps a fly with a thin thread. There were gentle caresses, hard intrusions into the innermost secrets of the unconscious Lupin; there were hesitant palm journeys over the skinny ribs and touching paths sketched with uncertain fingers over his jaws and neckline. There was rough pressure of fists over the bony ridge of his spine, but now he was about to do something so elusive and irreversible it was frightening. It was as though he was about to give his second Unbreakable Vow, and Lupin's unawareness of it would not change a thing.

"Bloody werewolf; can't even die like a normal person. It's all fun and games with him. I haven't slept or eaten in all this time; no, I've got to get up his arse, too. They've put me out my entire life. Tried to push me in the dirt. And here it is - the peak of my humiliation."

"Sir, let's Avada him and put and end to it."

"Go on, then."

"I can't. He's helpless. How can you... We took care of him. We're responsible..."

"Then stop blathering nonsense and get out!"

"Are you embarrassed to do it in front of me?"

"Rubbish!"

''Perhaps I should be the one..."

"Get out, Draco. It's bedtime. Don't make me angry!" The boy staggered back knowing Snape's dissention into an aggressive phase, as usual, didn't bode well for him.

Half an hour later Snape sat motionlessly next to Lupin's limply hanging arm and hated the sly werewolf that has so evilly invaded his mind. If only it were just the mind. Severus Snape never lied to himself.