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Home is where, When you go there, They have to take you in. -- Robert Frost

I think, in the end, it was all the fault of a couple of Death Eaters -- fellow Death Eaters, really, I should say, as at the time my lot was unavoidably thrown in with them.

It was on account of the Death Eaters that I was in Diagon Alley that August, having just emerged from a meeting with some lower-level peons, who assured me that the Dark Lord was most eager for my service, despite the fact that he sent fools and witlings to woo me. The meeting had been in Knockturn Alley, a place of shadows and dark dealings, and I was, I must admit, brooding upon the words we'd said; upon my own lot in life, a former Death Eater, not really on the side of good or bad, but somewhere in-between. Nothing seemed certain, you see. I had no assurance that, having once won my way back into Voldemort's good graces, I would not be taken wholly over. I am not so strong as all that.

Voldemort.

You see, there are still those unafraid to say his name.

At any rate, there I was, in a poky little room above the Leaky Cauldron. I could have gone back to Hogwarts that night, I suppose, but I detest the Knight Bus and one cannot sleep on Muggle trains. I should know.

I had prepared for bed, and was sitting in my dressing-gown, reading. There was no knock. There wasn't even any warning. No footsteps, no shouts, just a sudden explosion of noise as the door to my room slammed open, and a figure ducked inside. Without waiting for me to move, he raised his wand and said, in a hoarse and barely carrying voice, "Petrificus Totalus!"

And I, of course, froze.

The figure shut the door, leaned back against it, and took two deep breaths.

"I am sorry, whoever you are," he said, in a calmer tone of voice, and I realised all he could see by the light of the lamp were my petrified hands. "You'll understand in about ten seconds -- "

There were pounding feet, and the sound of a window at the far end of the hallway banging, and curses.

"Out through the window and up on the roof," said a voice from outside. The figure at the door listened, carefully. "From there 'e could go anywhere. We're done here."

"But if he -- "

"We'll catch 'im. If 'e tries to get back to 'ogwarts or anywhere near the Ministry, we'll catch 'im."

I began to wonder who was desperado and who was policeman. They did not sound like Aurors.

The footsteps faded, and the figure let out a sigh of relief. "Lumos," he murmured, lighting the room. He let the little luminous ball drift up to the ceiling.

"Severus Snape?" he demanded, when the light hit my face. If I could have moved at all, it would have been an even toss-up between a sneer and a gasp.

"Severus, it, it's me -- Lupin," he stammered. "I'm so sorry -- here -- "

He came forward, mumbling a countercurse embarrassedly. I felt life flow back into my muscles.

"Well, this is good luck!" he said, putting his hands on his hips. I stared up at him, mute now not from the spell but from surprise.

The man before me looked nothing like my memories of Remus Lupin, either the old ones of our school days or the more recent ones, when he had come to teach at Hogwarts. That Remus had been thin, weak -- grey already threading his light brown hair. A frail, sickly sort of man. Granted, he had put on some weight while he was a fellow teacher, but still --

Standing in the flickering light of the weak lumos spell, this man looked far from helpless, far from sickly. He was still rake-thin, still without much muscle, but now it was the lean look of a hunter. His hair was dyed black. He was darkly tanned, and there were four thin, angry red lines crossing his left cheek, from the bridge of his nose to his chin. He gave me a weak smile.

"You look shocked, Severus," he continued, flopping down on the bed, his legs dangling off the edge. He was wearing black, that much I could make out.

"You make yourself quite at home, Lupin," I replied, closing my book and setting it aside. "In trouble, are you?"

"Of a sort. Bad hats. They've been trailing me since I left -- " he struggled up on his elbows, gave me a searching look. "Well, since I left where they began trailing me."

"Riddles, Lupin?"

"One never knows who's listening," he answered. "You don't mind me barging in like this, do you?"

"Oh no. Why should I mind being assaulted, taken advantage of, and mistrusted? My single bed is your single bed," I answered. I am afraid I'm often cross, but the world often irritates me. Remus sat up, and rested his elbows on his knees. He drew a hand across his face, winced as sweat was rubbed into the wounds.

"Fudge is a fool," he said finally. "I've been working for Dumbledore. I know you have too, he's told me so. So you can consider my imposition for the night as a small working for the greater good. Then you may feel free to pretend martyrdom, Severus."

"You'd better let me see to those cuts," I said, and took up my own wand. They were tricky, enchanted to resist minor healings, but I am not a minor healer. He smiled with relief as the angry lines faded to pink patches of new skin.

"You always help, Severus," he said. I stood over him, looking down in amazement. "Why do you always help?"

"Because I didn't, when it really mattered," I replied, setting the wand on the nightstand. "You take the bed. I've slept in chairs before."

"Ta, Severus. I'm knackered," he said, removing what looked like dragonhide boots. "Merlin's grinning on me, eh? I barge into a random room in the Cauldron and there's Sev Snape, who hates me but can't resist saving poor bedraggled werewolves."

"If you romanticise me again in that fashion, Remus Lupin, I shall ensure that you cannot speak for a month."

"And I've no doubt you could do it, too," he said frankly. He seemed...different, in this place, in that ridiculous costume. Dangerous in a way I'd never associated with Remus. He touched my arm.

"Don't stare at me like that," he said.

"I am not staring at you."

"Yes you are. Like you're trying to decide whether to beat me to a pulp or let me get myself killed naturally."

"I was not thinking that."

"Stop arguing."

"No."

Remus laughed, then, but it was tinged with a hint of desperation. "So are you going to help me, Severus? Going to take my messages to Dumbledore and let me sleep here tonight and give me the money I need?"

"Can I do otherwise?"

"Not without blowing your cover."

I will admit that this put me just slightly over the edge. I grasped him by the lapels of what turned out to be a black silk shirt -- not at all his usual style -- and lifted him to his feet. Off his feet.

"If you ever say anything like that again, so help me I will shake you to death like the -- "

"Dog I am?" he managed, breathlessly. "Go on, Severus. You've been wanting to beat me into the ground for twenty years. Here's your chance."

I set him down.

"You have no idea," I said, through clenched teeth. "I may not be popular or well-loved or pleasant, but I am not a Death Eater."

His face paled. He touched my shoulder, and wouldn't meet my eyes.

"I didn't mean to say you were. I was just joking," he said. His fingers pulled my sleeve away from my arm, tugged on it gently. "I meant your cover as a decent human being. I didn't mean to imply you were a Death Eater."

"The last joke you made at school nearly killed me. This one insulted my morality. You do rack up the points with me, Remus," I said coldly, stepping back. He followed.

"But I never mean it," he said, still looking miserable.

"But it happens anyway, doesn't it?"

He bowed his head, and I realised that I was tormenting a tired, frightened man.

"It's the natural way of things. Gryffindors and Slytherins fight. It's what we do."

"For Merlin's sake, Sev, we're not schoolboys."

"We don't have to be."

"So that's it, is it?" he demanded. "Severus Snape and Remus Lupin, great freedom fighters on the side of Light and Good, however reluctantly in some cases, and we can't even be friends because we were in different houses at school?"

"It's more than that and you know it."

"No, I don't! How many of us are left from school, Severus? That really give a damn about the world? James and Lily are /dead/ and Lucius Malfoy is practically the Dark Lord's lapdog and -- and Sirius is hiding out and Peter -- " His voice cracked. "Why do we have to be the heroes?"

"Someone has to," I replied. I had never particularly thought of myself as a hero.

Remus leaned forward, seeking comfort, and who was I not to give it? I put my hand on the back of his head, holding his face against my shoulder, my neck.

"It's not like last time. There are only a few of us, just a handful, and half the wizards we could call on in better times are scared stupid," he said, and I felt his breath on my skin. I doubt he noticed that I tilted my head, just a touch, so that he fit better in the crook of my neck.

"You're tired," I said. "You'll be the better for a good night's sleep."

"Didn't you hear?" he asked. "We're not allowed to sleep. Constant vigilance and all that."

"I can be vigilant for both of us," I said. I meant to ease him back onto the bed, but he clutched the collar of my dressing-gown, and suddenly we were both sprawled atop the counterpane. To add embarrassment to mild contusion, his molestation of my collar had forced my robe open at the chest.

"Why do we always fight, Sev?" he asked. He touched my face with his hands.

"I hold grudges and you antagonise me," I answered.

"Yes, it's sort of a hobby," he said, and he kissed me.

I remember being shocked to discover the scars on his body, when the silk shirt fell from his shoulders, when the hardwearing black denim slid from his legs. I think he saw my scars, too. We neither of us had any illusions about the sort of men we are, after that.

Where his fingers touched, I was sure it must be magic, the way I felt; when he murmured things, outrageously romantic untruths, I was sure they must be some sort of spell, to make me believe that Remus, slight, wiry Remus -- who had needed me but never wanted me -- might find me something different when our clothes were off. When he could touch my shoulders, twine his legs in mine. It wasn't magic, but it felt like it. It might very well have been love.

No, there are no illusions between us. We fight with each other; it's what we do. But we also fight shoulder to shoulder. We're soldiers, in our own way. And even a soldier has to have somewhere to call home.

For me, home used to be the dim little rooms at Hogwarts, where I lived and worked.

Now, I often think, Home is Remus Lupin.

And I think, for him, it might be wherever I am.

I like to believe that, at any rate.

END