Someday

"You know, my birthday is coming up..."

I try to say it as casually as I can, reminding myself that I need to breathe as I wait for a response from the man lying beside me. I blatantly refuse to look at him as the seconds tick by. Instead I focus my gaze on the ceiling that hovers above me, counting the small cracks in the stones.

I will not press this issue. I will allow him to respond without feeling as though he's required to.It's a mantra I've just created and I maintain my composure by repeating it over and over.

"Hmm," he finally responds in a non-committal tone and I just barely resist the urge to growl in frustration. He would have to make this difficult, wouldn't he?

Still not looking at my lover, the cracks in the stone now reaching nearly one hundred, I hesitate only a moment before adding, "I'll be turning forty..."

Again, I repeat my mantra and wait to see if he has any intention of actually participating in this conversation I'm trying to have. After a few more seconds, and a few dozen more cracks have been stored in my memory, he reacts.

The mattress shifts with his weight and my brow furrows slightly as I try to pinpoint his movements without actually looking. Then, I see him out of my peripheral vision and can feel his eyes upon me. Finally, I turn to face him.

He's lying on his side, his head propped up by one long, thin-fingered hand. The scowl that has become his trademark is firmly in place and his dark gaze is diligently trained on me.

I suddenly find myself at a loss for words.

Fortunately, he isn't. Another heartbeat passes and his silky voice hums through the bedchamber in a way that causes me to nearly shiver. There are times I believe he could read the ingredients of a Weasley Wizard Wheezes item and still make it sound sexy.

"What is this about, Lupin?"

And there it is. The question I've been waiting for yet dreading all the same. It's the perfect opening for me to use, the perfect example of what, precisely, this is all about. The entire speech that I've worked on for the past few weeks is specifically set up to work wonderfully with those five words he's just asked.

Yet, my words continue to elude me.

Slowly his eyebrow rises toward his hairline and I realize that, if I am going to speak, it had best be now. So, unable to remember even one sentence from my oh-so-carefully-made speech, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"That's what I've been wondering."

Well, that wasn't so hard, was it?

Except, now he looks rather put-out and just a tad aggravated. And that wasn't my intent. I didn't wish to make him defensive, or to give him the impression that this was all some sort of idle pillow talk. I wanted to come across as strong and firm and all the sorts of things that I know I canbe yet seem entirely incapable of whenever he's present.

He's moving now, turning back to face the ceiling. I suppose I should be grateful that he hasn't leapt from the bed we share and begun ranting. Or, worse yet, leave in a fit of anger and pettiness.

I'm not grateful, I realize distantly. I'm a bit hurt, if I want to be honest. I'm trying to have a conversation and, since I'm not doing so at hisspeed, he's going to act like a petulant first year.

Sighing, I resist the urge to reach for him and instead grasp ahold of as many of the words from my speech that I can remember.

"What is going on between us, Severus?" I question, my voice sounding as small and confused as it does in my own mind. I hold up my hand to stave off any sort of response he may wish to make and forge ahead. I also refuse to look at him, once again returning my attention to the ceiling.

After all, I may be a Gryffindor, but even my bravery has its limits. And looking at him, knowing he is actually listening to me and that this isn't some sort of fantasy I've created would most definitely go well beyond those limitations.

"We've been together for months now, yet you can't even bring yourself to say my given name," I begin, my confidence strengthening as I begin to face the demons of this so-called relationship. "The only time you act as though you don't hate me is when we're here, in this room, and even then you seem to barely tolerate my existence. I put up with it for reasons that I can't even begin to identify, hoping that someday you're going to change, that thiswill change."

I pause to draw in a breath and collect my thoughts once more. That last comment sounded far too desperate and, if there is one thing that I've come to realize, Severus Snape does not respond to desperation very well.

He remains silent, thank Merlin, and I'm quickly able to begin speaking once more. This time I deliberately keep my voice as even as I can.

"I'm about to turn forty," I state, knowing I'm repeating myself yet I feel as though it's necessary. "I'm going to be a forty year old lycanthrope with no money, no job, and a home that makes the streets of London seem grand. My only true friends have all died and the only person that I wish to spend any time with still cannot call me by my first name."

I'm bitter sounding, I know it. I also know that he likely stopped listening to me the moment I began to take pity on myself and my lot in life. Yet I don't stop and he doesn't interrupt me.

For that, at least, I'm grateful.

"I'm not certain what this is, what it is we're doing. I know we aren't lovers; they don't act as we do. I know we aren't friends; they have mutual respect for each other." I sigh once, squinting to keep the tears of frustration and anger away. Then I slowly turn to face him.

"So I'll ask the same thing you asked, Severus," I murmur. "What is this about? What are weabout?"

Total silence envelops the room as I struggle to control the wolf within me. It isn't happy, doesn't believe I've made my point clear enough. And, it's most likely right.

However, I don't care. I'm exhausted from what small amount I've said, terrified that it is all going to end here and now, and horrified that I've allowed even what few feelings I did come to the surface.

I'm also waiting for a response that may likely never come.

It does, though, and I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Severus never could allow someone else to get in the last word.

He doesn't look at me, something that makes me grateful yet also hurts. He doesn't rage, either, as I had feared he might. His voice remains even, calm, almost soothing, and his gaze remains firmly fixed on the very same ceiling I was studying moments earlier.

"I do not hate you," he begins and my eyes widen in slight shock. I bite back a response about how he does a poor job of showing it. He sighs and I wonder if I've actually said the comment out loud. Then, he turns to face me and I know that isn't the case.

"I do not hate you," he repeats again, as though he is trying to convince himself as much as he is trying to convince me. "I simply am not certain how else to act toward you."

I nod, slightly. It makes sense, in a Severus sort of way.

He's hated me his entire life. To change that now is frightening, confusing, and ultimately dangerous.

It still isn't good enough, though.

A corner of his mouth rises as though he has read my thoughts and agrees with them. Perhaps he has.

"When the Dark Lord was defeated..." He trails off, the pain of that experience still overwhelming to us both. He continues almost immediately though and I idly wonder where it is he manages to put all the emotions he refuses to allow surface.

"I spent that entire evening sorting through corpses on the Hogwarts grounds. I waded through the bloodied and broken bodies of mere children in search of anyone who may still be alive," he murmurs and my heart seizes up in my chest.

Harry,my mind whispers. Albus, Minerva, Poppy.An image of Ginny Weasley's lifeless form as Molly cradled her to her bosom flashes before me and I have to bite back the bile that rises in my throat.

Severus is still speaking, I realize, and I struggle to pay attention.

"I had thought I was the only one who was still alive. Some horrid twist of ironic fate that Ishould survive when so many others did not," he states in a bitter tone. His eyes flicker with a brief glimpse of pain before they become unreadable once more.

"Then I discovered you."

I knew it was coming, yet the comment still manages to take my breath away. The time he is speaking of is little more than a blur of pain and anguish to me. The final battle having taken place so near the full moon, I had already been exhausted in pain for days.

And that was without the ten or so doses of Cruciatus that Peter managed to cast on me before I ripped out his throat.

I lick my suddenly dry lips, half a heartbeat away from telling him to stop talking. I don't want to hear this, I tell myself. I'm perfectly content leaving the past where it is and taking what small amount of pleasure I can get from whatever it is we share.

I remain silent, though, knowing that he needs to say this as much as I don't want to hear it.

His voice grows quiet as he continues and I watch the shadows from the dying candlelight flicker across his pale and drawn face. "I have spent the better part of my life hating you for a number of reasons," he states in a way that isn't an insult but merely a statement of fact. It doesn't make it hurt any less, though.

"First and foremost was your friendship with Potter and Black. Guilt by association, I suppose. You were also kind and compassionate -- two things I had been taught were weaknesses. Then came the discovery of what you were and my ignorance managed to fuel the hatred to an entirely new level."

Again, the statement isn't said to be cruel. And again, my heart seizes up in pain and I have to bite back a snarl in retaliation.

His silky voice continues, weaving the words into a blanket that threatens to suffocate me with their honesty. I don't want this!my mind screams and I have to remind myself that this is preciselywhat I asked him for. An honest examination of us, our relationship, and our expectations is what I desired and it is what he is giving me.

"Over time, the hatred grew to a general dislike. Granted it was irrational, but it was nevertheless quite real. I simply did not likeyou. I had thought that, with time, someday I would grow beyond that." He gives me a humorless smile. "Then, you returned to Hogwarts, Black escaped, and the hatred surfaced once more."

There's that word again. Someday. Odd how we both have used it, yet mine was in reference to the present and future while his was in reference to the past.

He pauses and I hear him inhale. The memories of the past are assaulting me as he struggles with whatever he has to say next. When he speaks again the silkiness has been replaced by a raspy tone that sounds foreign to my ears.

"It wavered, after that. It varied from dislike to hatred and everything in between. Until I discovered you after the battle."

I don't want this!my mind reminds me once more. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from telling him the same thing.

If Severus realizes my struggle he doesn't comment. He just continues to stare at me with the same dark eyes. He opens his mouth and I watch his thin lips form the next onslaught of words.

"I do not hate you. I do not dislike you. And I do not wish to be the one that is causing you to closely examine all that has gone wrong in your life."

I want to respond that I wasn't doing that, but I don't. It's the truth after all. It is because of him, because of the mockery of a relationship that we're involved in, that I allowed the fact that life is unfair to consume my every waking thought.

His hand moves and he slowly touches my face. I close my eyes against the sensation, unable to hide my emotions and not wanting him to see them in their raw form.

"Perhaps someday," he whispers and I open my eyes in puzzlement. He is still staring at me, his fingers dancing across my skin and his expression unreadable.

"Perhaps someday," he repeats again, "I will be capable of offering you more. Perhaps someday I will be capable of giving you what you desire ... and deserve."

I nod, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. It isn't what I wanted to hear but I suppose it will do. For now.

"Someday," I echo in a choked tone. Then he is moving closer, his lips are upon mine, and I feel as though I'm drowning from the sheer tenderness of the moment.

Someday,my mind reminds me. Someday he will call me Remus and acknowledge me in public. Someday he will stand beside me as the anti-werewolf groups ostracize me from a society I risked my life to protect. Someday.... someday he will love me.

Someday.

The End