Abject Lessons

Severus Snape graded papers like a vengeful god weighing souls. He wrote with a raven quill sharpened to a needle fine point that was always neatly coated with just the right amount of crimson ink. While it would have been appropriate for the ink to drip like the blood of an innocent, he simply wouldn't allow it. No quill would have the audacity to stain the perfect obsidian slab that made the top of his desk.

With a snap of his wrist, Severus sent a graded paper skidding onto the top of the 'finished' pile - the already sacrificed victims. I couldn't shake the mental image of students with their hearts torn out. "What do you want?" he asked with a glacial sneer.

"Nothing in particular," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. It was cold in the dungeon, colder than I remembered it ever being during my student days. It was a shame that I hadn't thrown a jumper on beneath my robes before I'd left my rooms. "You weren't at the staff meeting this morning. I thought I would check up on you, since you're normally quite punctual."

"Your concern is touching," he said, in a voice that indicated everything but.

"We were discussing the Dementor issue."

"That is not my business."

"I would've liked to heard your opinion, though. I respect your knowledge base."

"Yet how could it be broader than your own?" he asked, his tone becoming deceptively mild. He dipped his quill into the inkwell with care. Something about the motion of his wrist caught my eyes. "You're the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, are you not? Obviously, they chose the most qualified of the candidates, wouldn't you agree?"

His tone made my stomach burn with acid. I'd heard it far too often during our days at school together, its malice becoming more refined with each successive prank we'd subjected him to. "That's not fair, Severus."

With great deliberation, the quill dipped back into the inkwell and stayed there. He rested his hands on his blotter, his fingers white and spidery against the dark leather. "Very little is, Professor Lupin, however much it offends your leonine sensibilities."

"You've changed, Severus. You know that."

"As much as I shudder at being so direct, I must say that my dislike of you and your cronies has not changed in the slightest."

I shook my head, ignoring the barb. I had listened to his insults and rantings ever since I'd arrived, and they'd sounded unreal to my ears. Productions of melodrama, reiterations of old, long-buried anger that had been dug up for my benefit. "You're closed off."

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with my insight. "I should hope so; I would hate to think that I am still an object for your mockery now that I'm grown."

This was getting nowhere quite rapidly. A change of subject seemed a good idea. Even as I opened my mouth to speak, he beat me to it. "The full moon is in a few days."

Damn him. As if the blood singing in my veins with the madness of moonlight wasn't enough of a reminder. "I know." The constant struggle between exultation and self-loathing made me want to claw at my own skin.

"We will begin the preparation for the next batch of your potion tomorrow."

"We?"

"It is high time that you became more familiar with the intricacies of your own medicine. I may not always be here at your beck and call."

A low growl escaped my throat before I could stop it. Severus took in my horrified expression without so much as an eyebrow twitch. "You will be here at half past seven tomorrow, then." His voice was like steel covered with velvet, and it caught in the base of my spine. "Is there something else you need, Professor Lupin, or may I continue to grade these papers?"

I didn't have the strength of will to answer. Instead I turned on my heel and left the dungeons as quickly as I could without actually running, unable to shake the feeling that I had barely escaped.

I could track the progress of the moon without ever needing to check the sky. As she turned her face ever more my way, I'd stand at the brink of madness. She drew my dreams into a downward spiral, elements of the final production appearing one at a time, so subtly that I barely noticed it any more.

The night before the full moon the dream would always be the same. I ran through the woods on four legs, a howl in my throat and the feeling of freedom so powerful that I almost wanted to weep. After I'd run for a few moments I would come across a wall of mirrors; the woods weren't actually large at all, it was an optical illusion. That was when I realized I was trapped and had no hope of escape.

I woke sweating on those nights, always.

On the night of the full moon, I didn't dream at all. I saw the world in a haze of red and tracked the stars by scent. I was no longer Remus Lupin; I was nothing but The Wolf, who was neither good nor evil and didn't even understand the meaning of those words.

I still had a few days, though, and I could think rationally. I remembered to pull a threadbare jumper on beneath my robes before I walked down to the dungeons.

Severus was waiting behind his slab of a desk as if he had not moved since the previous night. He sat in silence as I shut the classroom's massive door behind me, and waited until I had turned to face him before speaking. "You're tardy."

The tone threw me into momentary confusion, heightened by the Wolf stirring in my blood. "You're not the only one with papers to grade," I said.

"When you commit yourself to something," he continued as if I hadn't spoken, "I expect you to take it upon yourself to arrive in a timely fashion. Disrespect does you no credit."

"Wait - "

"No excuses, Professor Lupin. You're better than that."

Unfortunately, I could never shake the feeling that I wasn't better than that….or anything else. Guilt was a disease, the same as lycanthropy. "I apologize, Severus. I won't be late again."

There was no further comment on the matter; it was nice to see that there were some changes from our school days. He stood with the barest swish of fabric. His robes seemed to bleed into the walls of the darkened classroom, with only his face and hands clearly defined. His black eyes bore into mine as he walked toward me. The blatant challenge drew a growl and then a whimper from the Wolf inside, but I couldn't look away. His eyes disturbed me; during our school days he'd always been an open book. It was the thing that had made him such a wonderful target for Sirius' teasing. Now they were closed and shuttered with iron, perfect mirrors that I could see only my own turmoil in.

When he was three paces away I took a careful step back, running into the closed door. His presence was like a scent that filled the room, one that made the Wolf curl its lips and crawl on its belly.

"Follow me," Severus said, turning away, "it's time that we get started." I sagged against the door and gulped down a deep breath before I could make myself follow him.

The library was always a place for solace to me. It was where Peter had found me on my first day at school, sniffling around a bloody nose and trying desperately not to cry as the insults of the other children echoed in my head. Later, it had been the place where James and Sirius had discovered Peter and I playing wizard chess in an attempt to forget our own social failings for a few moments. It was where I had taken my first kiss, where I had wept over my first heartbreak, and where I had read poetry to my personal ghosts until they settled to sleep.

That was why it was no surprise that I found myself in the library, tucked into a far corner of the geography section (Topography of Tanzania, Thailand, Tibet, Timor-Leste, and Togo) so little used that even the dust had forgotten of its existence. There was a rickety table that Peter and I had snuck in one night so we'd have a place to set our chessboard. My fingers unconsciously traced the deep scratches in its battered top as I re-read the article on the werewolf "problem" in Romania that I'd cut from the paper.

...monster...near our children...shocked...not human...ravening beast...

Perhaps in the old days, I would have cried and allowed the tears to cleanse this latest blow. I had no such solace now that I was an adult. Instead, I just felt numb, dirty, and utterly defeated.

The soft sound of footsteps made me look up. It was Severus, his arms weighed down with books. He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

With great deliberation I folded the bit of parchment and tucked it into my pocket, then smoothed my hair back. Severus was still there when I looked up, his expression shockingly neutral. "Is there something you need, Severus?" I asked.

"No."

We continued to stare at each other. I desperately searched his eyes for some sort of hint as to what the next move would be; instead, I could only see my own sadness.

He spoke next, perhaps taking pity on my obvious discomfort. Pity was not an emotion I often thought of in conjunction with Severus Snape. "Your progress has been satisfactory. It seems your potions skills have improved since your graduation."

"Thank you," I said, for lack of any other reply.

"However, I would not think to encourage overconfidence. You must continue to report to me until I am entirely satisfied with your ability to make the Wolfsbane potion."

"I understand."

Silence fell once more, and with each passing moment I became more aware of his sheer presence, crashing against me in waves. I could only hope that he stayed where he was; the little alcove was too small for me to be able to share the space with him comfortably.

"Humanity is a relative concept, Remus," he said, his voice low.

It took me a moment to realize that he had even spoken, and another to understand what it was he had said. "No one knows that better than I," I replied.

"I somehow doubt that." His eyes bore into mine. "You have not realized that it is an inner value that cannot be calculated by anyone that stands on the outside."

"That doesn't make any sense, Severus!"

"It must," he said. "It's all that I have, and likewise what you need. Good evening." He turned and strode away. His hair was tied back with a silver ribbon, and I watched it in odd fascination as I attempted to make sense of what had just been said.

My hands were shaking with barely controlled fury as I made my way down into the dungeons. I'd forgotten my jumper, but it didn't really matter; the heat of my anger would keep me more than adequately warm. It was early enough in the day that there were still a few students in the hall. They scattered before me like leaves in the whirlwind as the Wolf howled a feral chorus in my mind, urging me to let the rage rush wild through my veins.

The door's wood creaked warningly under my hands as I pulled it open with deceptive slowness. Forcing myself to take in a deep breath, I stepped inside.

"Is there something that you need, Professor Lupin?" Snape the vengeful god asked from behind his black desk.

"That was completely unnecessary and you know it." I growled.

"Ah. Longbottom." With great deliberation he set his quill down into the inkwell, his fingers lingering for just a moment. "You have issue with my teaching methods?"

"That wasn't teaching, Snape, and you know it. That was mean-spiritedness, pure and simple."

He stood with a single motion, his hands on his desk. "I see. And you, in your vaunted Gryffindor pride, feel that it is your place to judge me." His tone was deceptively conversational, but something about it forced the Wolf to slink back into a dark corner of my mind, turning the anger in my veins to ice.

"Yes. When my students are in question, I do." I said, attempting to keep up the image of righteous wrath. I wasn't fooling anyone, least of all myself.

That lapse was all he needed; he swept from behind the desk, crossing the floor to me in a few quick strides. I couldn't even step back. I had nowhere to go.

"They are my students as well, Lupin. And they have been my students a great deal longer. Do not question me in matters of their education."

Somehow, I found a spark of boldness and continued. "It doesn't make any sense! You have no reason to act in that way. It's...unprofessional."

"Ah, so now you want an explanation. How different from the implied demand of an apology."

"Why?" I nearly howled, the beginnings of anger seeping back into my veins.

"Because," he said, leaning in close, "not every professor can be a student's favorite, and not every one should be his or her friend. They need someone to be strict with them, someone to have high expectations of them, and someone to hate." His eyes swallowed up my world until I was drowning in darkness. "And I need their hatred to be my cloak."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to. All you have to understand is that I have my methods and that they are necessary."

"But-"

"Do you understand?" he demanded, his voice becoming thunderous. I felt as if a door had been slammed in my face.

"Yes. I do," I said. I could find no other words.

"Good. Then we have no problem." He turned away and walked back to his desk, the heavy fabric of his robes brushing across my arms and legs. I shivered, unable to look away as he once more sat and took up his pen. He had finished grading one paper when he looked up, one ignored lock of hair hanging across his face. "That will be all, Professor Lupin."

There was so much I wanted to say, but I could find words for none of it. "Yes. That is all. Good evening." Instead, I settled for merely escaping while I could still remember why I had come.

"What, pray tell, do you think you're doing?" The question drifted across my skin like a floe of ice and I shivered, looking up from the leaves I had been chopping.

Severus had crept up behind me while I was concentrating and now stood so close that I could feel his heartbeat in my bones. I always did become more sensitive to the rushing of blood as the moon turned her face toward me.

"I'm cutting up the Wolfsbane leaves," I said, even though it was obvious. I had learned over the last several weeks that when Severus asked a question, it was best to answer him.

"The recipe calls for the leaves to be chopped finely. That is not in dispute. You, however, are mangling them."

I set down the knife carefully. The fumes from the bruised leaves were making my eyes sting and water, and I tried not to think about what the juice staining the heavy leather gloves that covered my hands would feel like if it touched my skin. "If I didn't have to wear gloves - " I began.

His hand slamming down on the tabletop startled me into silence and set the surrounding cutlery rattling. In my ear, his voice dropped to a murmur. "If I wished to hear an excuse, Professor Lupin, I would have asked for one. Now, I'm not certain what this innocent plant matter has done to offend you, but you are ruining it. At this rate, you will never be self-sufficient."

"If you would let me sharpen the knife - " I began again.

He drew in a breath, and I felt the air next to my ear move. The tiny gap that remained between the two of us was making me faintly claustrophobic. "The knife is sufficiently sharp for my needs," he said, "I fail to see how you could surpass my notoriously exacting standards. Now do it again, and do it right."

The command snapped me into focus, sharper than I'd ever been before with the Wolf so near to my blood. I set to chopping with renewed vigor, believing that my technique had improved. I was wrong, as Severus soon informed me.

"Are you intent on wasting my time?" he asked. "You can do much better than this."

Three, four, and five times I heard similar words pass from his lips; no matter how I worked, I couldn't pass muster. As I prepared to start once again, he snatched the knife from my hand and buried it point first in the table.

"Take off your gloves," he commanded. There was no other word for it; by the time my mind had realized the meaning of his words, my hands were already free of their leather confinement.

"Follow me." He walked over to one of the walls; it was covered with a chalkboard as long as the room and quite nearly as tall. He said nothing more as he picked up the chalk and began to write in flowing script; he knew my attention was riveted upon him, my eyes devouring the sweep of his shoulders, the hint of that silver hair-ribbon. With a final, emphatic peck of the chalk, he dotted a period onto the end of the sentence and turned to face me. "What have I written?"

His letters were angular and flowed into each other in a rather distressing fashion. I had to squint for a moment before things snapped into focus. "A neat cut is achieved by a single circular motion of the wrist."

"Excellent. Contrary to popular opinion, you can read." He held out his hand to me. "Take it."

The piece of chalk that lay in his palm was only slightly paler than he. Growing more confused by the second, I complied. The powdery feel of it made me shiver.

"Copy the sentence neatly. Don't stop until you've covered the board."

It was nonsensical. There could be no reason to do such a menial task. "I - "

"Was I somehow unclear in my instructions, Remus?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that purred through me.

"No, Severus," I said, touching chalk to board with an earthy click.

"You are currently my student, Remus, and I expect you to address me accordingly. I have been too lax in this respect previously."

I glanced back at him. "...Professor Snape?"

He nodded, just once. "Proceed." There was the soft swish of fabric as he turned away, going back to his desk. I could feel him watching me for all that he appeared to be grading papers. His gaze was a palpable weight as I wrote, never wavering.

My hand began to cramp halfway through the appointed task, but I forced myself to continue; he'd told me to fill the board, and I would do just that. After a while, the pain simply drained away, taking with it the perpetual tension in my shoulders and back. It was...relaxing, and comforting. The piece of chalk was shorter by half when I finished. "Professor Snape," I began.

"I can see," he said from a few steps behind me. "Do you begin to understand?"

"I believe so."

"Good. You may continue to work now."

Later, when I had finished chopping the Wolfsbane, he told me what a good job I had done. It left me with a warm feeling spreading up and down my back. I didn't realize until that night as I lay in bed how much it should have disturbed me, and how little it actually did.

For once, my presence in the library was not representative of retreat. I found myself cozied into the geography section with the album containing the few pictures I'd taken during my school days. The rickety table was pushed up against one of the shelves and I was curled in a chair, rediscovering pages one by one.

There were the four of us on a trip to Hogsmeade, James tickling Peter unmercifully while Sirius levitated the both of them.

There was James at the station. He and Lily were sitting on his trunk, leaning against each other, content and asleep. That had been our final year.

Peter and I playing chess. He was winning, a soft smile on his face. He didn't win often.

My seventh year Potions class. Inexorably, my eyes were drawn to the front row of seats, where Severus had sat. The other students were waving and smiling; he alone had his nose in his work, his shoulders hunched defensively. He had been a sallow, shrinking, resentful boy in those days. "You've changed so much," I murmured, "What happened? Was it for the best? What sort of tempering does it take to transform a man so thoroughly, to give him that sort of edge?"

No answer was forthcoming from the album page. The Sirius in the picture flung a ball of parchment at Severus, hitting him squarely in the back of the head. The boy's image seemed to collapse in on itself.

I turned the page quickly, unwilling to watch any longer. Children could be so cruel. I had borne the brunt often enough myself, and had in turn passed the favor along. It left a bitter taste in my mouth.

There were the four of us again, right before the Yule ball our seventh year. Sirius in deep blue, James in true Gryffindor red, Peter resplendent in warm brown, and myself in understated charcoal grey. The three others each had a girl on their arm (James had Lily, of course) and were making quite merry. I alone was aloof. I remembered that year well; it had been a miserable evening of standing by the punch bowl and speaking as little as possible. I was the only one without a date; even if my infatuation hadn't trampled across my heart the week before, I'd always known that I'd never sweep into the dance with the one I wanted on my arm. It wouldn't have been appropriate in the least.

The sad melodrama of my angst-ridden youth brought a smile to my lips as I turned the page to another picture of Peter and I with our chessboard between us. I almost flipped on, until a strange, incongruous movement caught my eye. I bent in for a closer look, wishing that the picture were a bit brighter. Squinting forced a few lines into clarity; the sweeping line of a black sleeve, a pale patch of skin visible between two books. Whoever it was had been hiding behind one of the shelves and watching us.

The hiding figure made another, restless movement, bringing an eye into my field of view. Dark, almost black against the sallow skin. I set the album down and leaned back, a bemused smile creeping to my lips.

Severus. That was certainly interesting.

My rage at Snape's treatment of Neville had been nothing compared to this; it danced in my blood, white-hot sparks flowing from my vision down to the tips of my toes. I hungered to rend, tear, kill, destroy, anything that would allow me to taste blood in my mouth and feel the solidity of bone against my teeth.

The walk to the dungeons was a blur to me. One instant, I was being informed of Snape's little foray into my class and his homework assignment; the next, I was shoving the door to his classroom open with enough force to reduce the table that sat next to it into splinters.

"SNAPE!" I howled, clenching my hands into white-knuckled fists.

As if by magic he appeared in the doorway to his office, one hand idly smoothing back a lock of hair. In an instant he had taken in my rage with cool black eyes and crossed the floor in between us with rapid steps. My hands twitched of their own accord, longing to grasp his throat.

Then he locked eyes with me, and I discovered that there was something stronger than my own rage.

He stopped less than a meter away, never blinking or looking away. "You will calm yourself before addressing me," he commanded, his voice cold.

Once again, I found myself complying without thinking. The Wolf gave one last defiant howl before being thrust into the back of my mind. My hands stopped shaking, and the anger drained from me as if it had never existed.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his lip curling slightly. "This unseemly entrance, this shouting. How dare you such a thing?"

"How dare I? You've got a lot of gall. What the hell have you been doing in my class?" I shouted.

"So you think I owe you an explanation?"

"I think you owe me a damn apology!"

"I owe you nothing, Professor Lupin, absolutely nothing," he said, his manner becoming even more chill. "I will endeavor to put this into simple words that you can encompass. They will find out, sooner or later, despite what you and Dumbledore think. You have the trio of brats in your class, and Ms. Granger is far too smart for her own good even if Weasley and Potter are utterly useless. All I have done is take the first step toward ensuring that when they discover the truth, they will be more inclined to be…understanding." He took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am their worst enemy, Lupin. If I were to say that the sky is blue, they would claim it to be orange just to be in opposition."

The absolute nerve of it took my breath away for a moment. The sheer ego it took to even think such things was shocking in the extreme.

Severus wasn't done yet, though. "I am tired, Lupin, of dealing with your constant doubt and questioning. Have I not made it abundantly clear that I am quite at home with my role in this little melodrama, and that I do, in fact, know what it is that I do?"

I fell into the new patterns of behavior without a thought, "Yes, Professor Snape."

"You obviously lack understanding in this matter, and are sorely in need of correction." He strode over to the chalkboard, and I watched his movements with wonder. There, a slight stiffness in his gait, an odd set to his shoulders - he was well and truly angry with me! As he returned, he threw something at my feet, forcing me to bend and pick it up. It was a box of chalk.

"Begin," he ordered.

I worked in a timeless place; there was only me and the simple task that I had been set. There were no worries, no fears, and the Wolf was held silent in the darkest corner of my mind. My arms grew weary, my hands cramped, but the sensations were warm and comforting, sending me spiraling deeper until I thought I would never again come to the surface for air. It was then, mid-sentence, that I ran out of board.

"Set your chalk down." Severus said, his calm once more intact. I did as he asked, flexing my fingers against sudden stiffness. He walked up beside me and drew a long, thin pointer up from the chalk tray with a metallic 'snick'. "Place your hands against the board, and do not move them until I give you leave."

My heart began to beat faster with his words, and a slight trickle of fear laced with odd exhilaration ran through me. Still, I did as I was told, looking straight ahead at the board.

"Read what you have written."

I licked suddenly dry lips and began, "I will not - "

swishCRACK!

For a moment I couldn't encompass what had just happened, from the whistling of the pointer to the sharp shock as it contacted on my buttocks. The endorphin rush began, sending warmth rushing to my fingertips.

I looked back at him, unsure. Nothing but calm and poise showed in his expression. "Continue, Remus," he said, so quietly that I almost didn't hear him. The command was still there, sinking into my skin; it didn't matter if he whispered or shouted.

There was the choice; I knew that I could simply walk away. " - question Professor Snape's actions." My voice wavered for a moment before firming.

swishCRACK!

"I will not - "

swishCRACK!

" - question Professor Snape's actions."

swishCRACK!

Again, my mind traced the now familiar steps, deeper and deeper within. I imagined I could almost hear a song, the siren music that was mine alone, untainted by the Wolf or any other dirty touch of my life. There was pain, yes, but it was mine, and it left me full of warmth, comfort, and feeling. I continued to read, Severus continued his "discipline", and then...

swishCRACK!

I flew.

It was impossible to say how long I had been gone in those new, secret places. Reality faded back slowly, bit by shy bit. I could feel the weight of Severus' hand on my shoulder, his breath coming heavy as he leaned against me with the sensual dampness of his skin against my own. I gloried in it all.

When I finally had the strength and was able to concentrate enough to form words, I spoke, "You're a sadist."

I could feel him smile. "I know what it is that I am," he said, his breath tickling my ear in a maddening fashion, "Now I am endeavoring to help you understand yourself."

For once, darkness was comforting, and not worrisome. Until now, darkness had meant night, and night had meant the coming of the moon. Now, it was comfort, and oddly enough, safety. I knew that if I opened my eyes, I would see only the darkness of a velvet blindfold. Even if it wasn't there, I wouldn't have opened my eyes for all of the galleons in Gringotts.

My arms were stretched high over my head, my wrists enclosed in sturdy leather cuffs. It was a delicious image in its own right. I could feel his eyes on me like heat, sweeping up and down my body.

"You are comfortable?" he asked, nonchalance carefully calculated in his voice.

"As comfortable as I need to be."

"You look quite beautiful like this, Lupin. I hope you realize that."

"If you say." I smiled.

"I'm no fool," he replied, walking slowly around me. The slight breeze of his passage sent a chill across my bare skin. I heard the swish of his robes as he bent, and one long fingered hand grasped my ankle, buckling on another cuff of leather with tender care. "Unlike most, I believe in caring for what is mine."

"Yours?"

"How soon he forgets," Severus said, his tone amused. He tended to my other ankle, then spread my legs apart, securing them. I was well and truly pinioned. "Do you require another lesson?"

"I may."

His laugh was like velvet along my spine, making me shiver and ache. "Perhaps I will accommodate you, if you beg with the appropriate humility." Cool fingers traced my spine from neck to buttocks, butterfly light. I arched my back as well as I was able.

"Please."

"A beginning, I suppose." One by one, he followed the curves of my ribs with his fingernails. "I've watched you since we were in school. I followed you into the library often, and peered between the books when it was just you and I in that deserted place."

For a moment my cheeks burned as I remembered a few of the nights he might have witnessed, when I'd been driven to the library by my adolescent fantasies and attempted to fulfill them the only way I knew. It was an automatic reaction, and a ridiculous once considering my current condition.

"Yes," he nearly sighed the word, the rough pads of his thumbs barely brushing over my nipples. I whimpered low in my throat and began to pant. "I knew your movements better than you did."

"Please," I tried again as his fingers began tracing light patterns across my belly, lower and lower.

"Patience is a virtue that I possess in spades." His voice dropped low.

My whimper became a moan, and I threw my head back. I burned.

"There was only once that your actions weren't transparent for me, you see. And I admit that even after all these years, I'm still quite curious. Perhaps you'll indulge me." His fingernails raked quickly across my buttocks.

"Anything! Please…"

"The day that you cried, when you tore that notebook to shreds. I'm certain you remember it. On whom were you wasting your tears on?" A light touch ran across the curve of my hip, driving my muscles to clench and jump.

Even through the haze of arousal, I could remember the day he spoke of. If that was all it would take, I'd gladly tell him, "Sirius," I gasped, "I was crying over Sirius."

Hot lips scorched my neck and I cried out as the phantom hands circled closer and closer to the rapidly strengthening ache in my groin, never quite touching.

In the end, I did beg.

I was well and truly lost, in body, mind, and soul. I lay curled in a bed of moss, naked and shivering, surrounded by trees that were unfamiliar to my fuzzy thoughts. It didn't matter to me. My blood was sluggish in my veins, devoid of the Moon's influence. I hadn't felt that way in years, since the last time I had run wild, before I'd come back to Hogwarts.

I moaned, covering my face with my hands. It didn't help. All I could see were his eyes, throwing black sparks of anger. All I could hear was the venom in his voice, the hatred directed at Sirius, and at myself, echoing through the broken rooms of the Shrieking Shack. And below it all, the agony I could feel rolling off from him in waves.

Had I really betrayed him? He'd thought so, and it clawed at my gut. If I'd had the energy, I might have cried. Instead, there was only a terrible numbness.

I don't know how long I lay in the forest, lost in my own pain. The sound of movement nearby drew me sluggishly back toward the red light of dawn.

His hair and eyes were wild, his skin sallow, and a cut marred his forehead, but his bearing was calm once more as he walked toward me. There was no anger in him now, only a profound sort of pain that twisted his lips ever so slightly. Without a word, he picked me up as if I weighed nothing, covering me with a soft blanket.

For a moment I entertained thoughts of resistance, of struggling and striking out. In the end I wrapped my arms around him and clung. It was all that I had the strength for. Only after he had taken me to my rooms, performed a cursory check for injuries and tucked me into bed did he speak. He sat in the most uncomfortable wooden chair in my room,h his head bowed and locks of hair shadowing his face.

"I cannot ask you to forgive me, Remus. What I've done is unforgivable. I suppose, even after all these years, it explains why I can still wear the Mark and not be driven mad." Absently, he smoothed his sleeve where it covered the horror on his arm.

"Potter lives, and seems to almost have been strengthened by this nonsense. The Dementors are gone. Black still lives, and has escaped." He let out a soft breath. "I know that there was nothing between you. I reacted badly to the conjurings of my own imagination when I found you gone, off with the one person I have not released my youthful hate for."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he only shook his head. There was a leaden finality to the movement that made my stomach clench. "That is why," he continued, "this is necessary. For the first time in my existence, I serve a higher purpose. I allowed myself to be distracted, and look what I almost wrought! I cannot afford to feel anything. I can't trust myself if you're around. I would gladly pay any price if it were only me, but there are too many burdens on my less than adequate shoulders already."

He drew in a deep, calming breath and straightened, squaring his shoulders before he spoke again. "That is why I have done what must be done. I have made certain that you will be asked to leave the school and will never be allowed back in any capacity. And that, too, I cannot ask you to forgive. I've made certain that Dumbledore has suitably important work for you that will keep you far away." The chair scraped across the floor as he stood, and he looked at me with the eyes of a broken king.

"Perhaps when this has ended, you will be able to forgive me. Until that time, the best I can do is say that I am sorry at the necessities of my own weakness."

And then he was gone, leaving me alone to return the shards of my life to some semblance of order. It was the last I saw of him.

The rich loam of my garden felt lovely between my fingers. I could almost feel the sheer life radiating from it, promising the best garden I'd had since Voldemort's return. Life and magic were finally returning to the land. It was like the burst of growth after a forest fire, which was a fairly accurate comparison to the end of the war.

The distinctive creak of my front gate prompted me to brush off my hands and put down my spade. I wasn't expecting visitors, but it wasn't unusual for Sirius or Hermione to stop by. They did little to fill the void in my life. I'd once been desperate enough to put an add in the paper. It was amazing how many varieties of people one could encounter, none of which fit.

There he stood, framed by a trellis of climbing roses, their blood-red blooms in stark contrast with his monochromatic dress. His absolute confidence had returned, showing not even a hint of pain or uncertainty.

I stopped in my tracks, crossing my arms over my chest. "Severus," I said, with far more nonchalance than I felt, "I wasn't expecting you."

He walked toward me, holding me in place with his eyes alone. Internally, I trembled with the abrupt return of so many conflicting emotions. He stopped barely a step away, a slight smile twisting his lips as he gently traced the line of my cheekbone with his fingertips. "Severus?" he mused, "How quickly he forgets."

I leaned into his touch like a cat. "I've forgotten quite a few things," I said, reaching up to free his hair from the familiar silver ribbon. The satiny fabric was rough against my fingers.

"Do you require a lesson?"

I let the ribbon fall to the ground and tangled my fingers in his hair. "I may."

His smile was soft, a dangerous little expression. "Well, then I suppose I had better make it one that shall never be forgotten again," he murmured as he lowered his lips to mine.

And it never was.