The Marathon Man

* * *

Remus was climbing up a long, steep ladder. Tall steps resisted his efforts with the rebelliousness of a living thing; besides, they were all of different height and sometimes, in order to ascend one, Remus had to pull himself up. The air was so thick it was difficult to breathe, and after each pull he inhaled at length the strange substance that served as air in this place. His lungs were burning. His throat was blocked up with shaggy rotten-smelling weeds. Every step left the werewolf nearly listless, but far in the distance the light from Sirius' candle was dancing on the dark stairs. He had to catch up with him. He had to explain that he, Remus, was not to blame, that he simply didn't make it in time; that he was missing Sirius. The stairs were becoming steeper and more slippery, too. Barefoot, Remus stepped into sticky puddles in the dark. Blood and tears, he realized. The werewolf tried walking faster as the steps began to flatten and narrow. Lupin nearly caught up with the bleeding Sirius, but the shape twenty meters away from him turned, and it wasn't Black.

James Potter was looking at him. A young man, somewhat older than Harry, he was smiling and waving at Remus. "Come on, don't be afraid. Has the lot of you left my son? Why? He's a good boy, isn't he? Shame on you, Moony! Still alive, yet you're on your way to me. Haven't you strength enough to protect my son?"

"James! James..." James couldn't hear him. He kept on waving, and his words about Harry, about friendship and honor, about how glad Prongs was to see Moony, hurt Remus. Then James' hands grew larger, his voice roughened and his words changed. "You lied to me, werewolf! Coward! Turn back, this is no place for the living..."

This isn't James. Who is it? I'm falling. And Remus counted the steps with his head, seeing the wavering candlelight slip farther away. Then he was thrown onto a raft. The raft swirled and swam in utter blackness, but the water wasn't below Remus - it was above him. A heavy, opaque mass pressed on his chest and didn't cool one bit - on the contrary, it boiled Remus' skin and his long-suffering bones. He couldn't understand whether the raft was going downward or upward, the swirling left him disoriented and dazed. Just then, a light gleamed above Remus' head. The thick layer of water began to rarefy and cool down. Streams of air flowed into Remus' fever-tortured lungs, darkness acquired color - first blackish-blue, then ultramarine, dark turquoise, light blue and, finally, a blinding white. For a few moments Remus couldn't see a thing, but it seemed a battery of sounds hit his ears in compensation. The bubbling of a liquid poured from one vessel to another; the whisper of a robe; pacing; an irritated male voice, another, clearer and younger; the squeaks of furniture, the rustling of pages; the creak in a bent joint. With the last sound came sensation - someone was rubbing his feet with nimble fingers, bringing to life a myriad of angry ants that sank their teeth into Remus' petrified flesh. Merlin, it hurts, why...

The werewolf tried swatting the harsh hand but his body wouldn't admit him to be its master. And he couldn't see his tormentor - boulders were pressing down on his eyes; no, they're just stones, small ones, all he had to do is will himself to remove them. Remus gathered his strength and peeled his eyes open. A gray ceiling wrought with cracks and spider webs hung low above his head. Voices suddenly ceased, Remus blinked - the ceiling lightened and the webs vanished. The hand on his thigh froze and then moved under the werewolf's nose, acquiring a glass on the way. Cool glass pleasantly chilled his chapped lips. Odd, wasn't I swimming? Why do I feel so dry? Thinking filled his head with a savage ache. Someone standing alongside and, therefore, invisible lifted Remus up, making new armies of ants spring to life, moving snitch-fast to Lupin's lower back, and sat behind him, cautiously pressing the naked werewolf to the rough wool of his robes. At the hand of the stranger, the glass dipped, and a thin rivulet flowed down his throat.

Either during his time walking the stairs and swimming on the raft Remus has lost his drinking ability or his body, for reasons unknown, took offense to the liquid, but the werewolf nearly choked with a heaving cough. He was repositioned, the glass disappeared, one hand came up to massage Remus' chest, the other tapped an invigorating rhythm along his spine. He was hurting again. The thirst didn't abate. Finally he was back to the chest wrapped in a robe, and - as the stranger seemingly learned from his mistakes - a tiny teaspoon with a clear potion was offered, then another, careful fingers supervising the process of the potion's relocation into his mouth. Soon Remus felt the heavy weight of fatigue as though he had spent many a sleepless night doing work for the Order, or several hours having an educational discourse with Mrs. Weasley. And, instead of draining the next teaspoonful, the drowsy Lupin licked at the long, unexpectedly bitter fingers with an awfully familiar scent.

"Look at the wretch, Draco, he's laying here half-dead and looking worse than if he'd been hit with an Avada, but still trying to bite," a derisive and - the corner of Lupin's mind that was still awake piped up in amazement - full of restrained delight voice broke his integrated perception of the world into an intricate kaleidoscope. - Congratulations, Lupin! That wasn't difficult at all. You're predictable, Lupin, and...

"Stop trying, sir, the grateful audience is asleep." Draco thought he had stumbled upon a Christmas card entitled 'Evil, bent over the fallen Good in affection, and thus reborn' - what silly things those cards sometimes portrayed! "Careful, you aren't morally ready for lullabies."

"His first chance at commissioning a requiem was lost when Lupin let himself get captured by me," Snape smiled maliciously, "though I don't think it was his last."

"I do," Draco whispered spitefully, watching as the Professor's fingers, despite the angry words, gently carded through the brownish-gray curls at the werewolf's sweaty temple.

* * *

Remus spent over twenty-four hours in the anteroom of two unstable worlds - dream and reality. Had he but moved, and a spoonful of potion appeared at his lips and the familiar voice buzzed annoyingly that he had to eat, that it was horrid manners to cringe and whine when he was given medicine, that Lupin's desire to wolf down chocolate as soon as possible was praiseworthy but unrealistic - his stomach would not handle it. But this sludge is okay, Remus' languid thoughts had no beginning or end, they just blazed up like Chinese lanterns at a carnival and quickly faded out of his slumberous mind. The owner of the offensive voice was impudent and harsh and deemed himself in absolute power over Remus' body, which the werewolf didn't like much. On the other hand, he was the sole source of all food, drink and care. Moreover, the familiar, but not wholly recognized by Remus' clouded consciousness man gently tickled Lupin's neck and stroked his hair. It felt very nice. The man's constant presence gave the patient a sense of peace and safety, so rare in the last thirty-five years of his life that it warmed the werewolf far better than the prickly wool robe he was periodically pressed against. I'm probably very dear to someone. Someone must really... Remus was overcome by sleep. The interesting thought went unpondered.

* * *

"This is a healthy slumber."

"Professor, you ought to get some rest yourself. You'll soon look like Professor Lupins' twin."

"I? His twin? You're mad!" Snape radiated haughtiness and arrogance. "A worthless werewolf, an animal - and me?"

"Say what you want, but you like him."

"Draco, you are still young and cannot understand. There is nothing sweeter, nothing more magnificent than an enemy whose life you have saved, who is doomed to gratitude - humiliated, defamed by unexpected mercy he'd have refused in wrath. If he were only able to do so."

"I seem to recall Professor Lupin - that is, the blasted werewolf - was very grateful to you for the Wolfsbane."

"To me? Just for the idiotic potion? If only I hadn't allowed Dumbledore to coerce me into keeping from your classmates that Lupin was a werewolf, he'd have been exterminated like a rabid dog! If I testified that Lupin helped Black escape and saw to his hiding, he'd have gone to Azkaban himself! If I..." Snape silenced abruptly and ran his tongue over his lips, nearly slipping and revealing a certain point that would give the boy unnecessary food for thought, "...as you see, the potion is the least I'd done for the monster."

"Then he has aided Black?"

"Of course! I've no doubt of it. He can lie about it all he wants. 'Hang on Severus, you misunderstood me.' I never misunderstand! But it's all water under the bridge now," Snape sneered. "Black is gone. This time I've gotten round the vile mutt!" The Professor carefully dabbed at Remus' sweaty forehead. "He's alive and well and I sincerely look forward to his awakening."

"You know, I think he would have chosen death," Snape's arm jerked away for a moment, eyes narrowing into angry slits, but Remus sighed in his sleep, trying unwittingly to snuggle closer to the source of the cool caress, and the Potions' Master's features smoothed - as if a skilled restorer ran his brush over a dusty, moldy, fly-blown canvas, bringing out its initial colors, clear and bright.

* * *

The ceiling turned out to be white. There were no cracks in it after all.

Where am I, Remus thought, how did I come to be here? What about the wedding? Am I married or am I dead? If I am married, where is my wife? If I'm dead, why is there a ceiling? I remember a male voice. Did I marry a man? Then I'd rather be dead. Or not? Merlin, I can't think, I can't bear this. My chest feels scratchy. I'm alive. Otherwise I'd not be so thirsty. Where is the man who gave me water? Remus tried looking around and failed shamefully. What is this nonsense - am I paralyzed? And yet I can speak!

Remus strained and squeaked something distantly resembling "Oman epie." The spell translated as "Someone help me!" and, thought it sounded disgracefully, had a stunning effect. There was a crash behind him, an angry hiss, and then Severus Snape himself hovered over Lupin. A moment later the door creaked as someone else flew into the room with a piercing cry.

"Professor, was there an attack? Did he attack you? I've come to help!"

"Do you mean - help him? Our pet has peeped, and will very likely growl soon."

Lupin felt ill. Hatred was burning his insides, terror and shame slowly filled his soul; helplessness has made him, an adult wizard, into a tortoise stuck on its back. Despair ripped at him - furious, futile. At least my death will be worthy of notice, Remus thought ridiculously.

"F-n-d you S-v-r-s..." he whispered. Severus bent closer, interested.

"What are you mewing, Lupin? Expressing your gratitude? Don't mention it."

"I think he just reported he found you, sir," young Malfoy's cheerful laughter pierced the back of Remus' head like a knitting needle.

"That was unworthy, Lupin; you ought to have said you caught me. Aren't you all heroes, you dumb Gryffindors - either heroes, or dead men? Like your Black!" A mournful mask froze upon the werewolf's features, an expression of disdain and such staggering abhorrence that, for a split second, Snape felt sorry for himself. Really, blaming someone for their stupidity does no good when this one will still have to be fed. Should have given him the potion first. The "hero" is daft enough to try and starve himself. "Now, Lupin, listen to me. Just you try doing anything I won't like. Try to refuse meals or hurt yourself and I... I'll drag you back from the Other Side, I've done it before. I'll split the world into pieces and spit them all out but I will get you back because no one else will. If, however, you disobey me, I'll send Potter a wolf's head first thing. Your bride, too. Do you follow me? Do I make myself clear? Would you like me to tell you what your bastard of a pet will feel when he receives my package? Tied with a string! Do you think anger will make him stronger? Codswallop! Potter will need to keep his wits about him in the final battle! And it won't be justice on his mind, but vengeance! Vengeance is no weapon; vengeance is death."

"Murderer," the voice from the cot was barely audible. "Traitor and murderer."

"Growling so soon, Lupin?" Snape's nose seemed to be inclined to pierce Remus' forehead, his breath stirring the werewolf's eyebrows. "I see you did not heed my warning. Draco," the boy gave his Head of House a haunted look, unblinking and flat, "bring me the..."

"I give in." Remus felt anger suffocating him. "I won't do anything."

"...chicken soup. I made some last night."