Consequences

4: Consequences

The Potions master didn't find much sleep that night, nor the next ones. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw the werewolf, staring at him with that disgusted frown on his face. Whenever he drifted into dreamland, he felt pain and longing in a cruel, twisted combination. More than half a dozen times each night he woke, confused and disorientated, and in the end he always decided to get up. It was never later than three in the morning, and always he felt like he had been clubbed.

He truly and honestly tried to eat, but didn't manage it. Once, he had forced a piece of bread down his clenching throat only to throw it up seconds later. Weakness claimed him. He could drink water, and that was about it. No sweetened tea, no broth, no Strengthening Potion – nothing. In the end, and so not to fall unconscious, Snape decided to inject the potion directly into his veins twice a day, hating it, feeling like a drug addict, but having no choice nevertheless.

The days became cruelly long, the nights ridiculously short. Snape grew paler than ever, and sometimes he just sat and stared into nowhere instead of casting a spell or a charm. Tiny specks danced in front of his eyes when he tried and it scared him beyond reason as it was far too close to the hallucinations he remembered when the curse had ruled his mind.

"You should see Poppy, my dear boy," Albus told him one evening when Snape refused to go into the Great Hall once more. "You look decidedly ill."

"I'm fine," Snape snapped and headed for the dungeons. He could feel Lupin's presence although there was quite a distance between them. The werewolf didn't even look in his direction. "Just leave me alone, old man."

Dumbledore sighed and nodded, watching Snape disappear round the next corner.

*****

Six days after Bellatrix had cursed him, Snape was as close to a breakdown as never before in his life. Encounters with the Cruciatus Curse the Dark Lord had used on all his followers every now and then, battle injuries, losses of friends and comrades – nothing had drawn on his strength as badly as this curse, or rather, the side effects.

One evening, Snape went into the library and searched for more information about Desipentia. Believing his own books had told him everything about the curse, he hadn't bothered before, but it became more and more obvious that they hadn't been able to warn him about what was happening to him right now. He wasn't depressed, he had only small problems to face such as students or colleagues, and he had no intention of killing himself. Yet, he couldn't face food, couldn't sleep, and couldn't get Lupin out of his head. Instead of what he had expected, what was described in the books, he longed for the werewolf's touch, his mouth, his damn cock, and that was just unacceptable.

Standing in the dark, quiet library, Snape thought for a moment and decided that he should look for books about Love and Lust Spells rather than Dark Arts volumes. All of this had to be caused by Desipentia; still, there was more to it than would happen under normal circumstances, and he needed to find out what it was.

When he found the information he'd been looking for shortly before sunrise, he neither believed it nor had any intention of letting anyone know. "Impossible," he said quietly so as not to startle the Grey Lady who was dozing in one of the bookshelves. "Ridiculous." And he turned and left, went upstairs to the Owlery and mended the roof until he heard students running through the school and the sound of magic in use.

Around Lunchtime, he became really dizzy and it wasn't because he was hungry. The Strengthening Potion had seeped into his blood only a few hours ago; he wouldn't need another dose before dinner.

An hour later, when the sun was high up in the sky, sending brilliantly clear, warm beams through the windows of the Owlery, Snape wondered why it had become so very dark and cold.

Not too long after that, his heart began to race and his eyes made him see non-existent colours in the darkness that surrounded him. His blood boiled, or at least, it felt like it was boiling; cold sweat ran down his back, and he shook as if he were a rag doll in a child's hand.

"Damn fuck," Snape murmured and fell against a wall. "It's true then. Fuck." He sounded tired and weary. Absently, he rubbed his hands along his arms. His broken wrist had healed and where the Dark Mark had been was now a week-old scar, but both hands hurt as if the wounds were fresh and raw.

Staggering, he managed to get out of the Owlery. One thought ruled his mind, one desire, but he needed to get into the privacy of his rooms before he could give in to his needs, the needs of his failing body.

"Sir?"

A student, a seventh-year Hufflepuff, lightly touched his arm and Snape jerked his aching head up, momentarily not knowing where he was or who.

"Sir, are you all right? Shall I get Madam Pomfrey? Or Professor Dumbledore?"

"Lupin," Snape croaked. "Get Lupin. Tell him to come to the dungeons. Tell him I need him. Now."

The student stared at the Potions master, looked him up and down and obviously decided that he better hurry if Remus Lupin was to see Snape alive.

Snape already had forgotten what he just had said. Lost for words, he stared after the running boy, then turned and half-stumbled, half fell downstairs, all the way into the dungeons and not too far away from the doors to his private rooms.

"I'm getting sick of this," Snape murmured and got up on swaying legs. "Truly, this has to stop, even if I have to kill the werewolf myself."

*****

Remus Lupin was helping a group of second-years to repair the greenhouses when Kincaid came running along, panting, a scared expression on his face. "Professor," he called out. "Professor!"

Remus frowned. It wasn't unusual for students to call him by his old title although he hadn't taught at Hogwarts for four years, but it was very unusual that they put so much emphasis in the words. "What is it, Kincaid?" he asked, wiping sweat off of his face. It was a warm, sunny day, and they had been working hard since breakfast.

The boy nearly fell over his own legs, managing to stop just in time or he would have bumped right into the werewolf. "It's Professor Snape," he gasped. "He sent me. Told me to get you. He looks like..."

Remus felt his heart skip a beat at the mentioning of Severus's name. Without even looking, he dropped the stone he had been holding for the past ten minutes. It crashed heavily to the ground and shattered. "What about him?" he asked. "He looks like what?"

"Like death, sir," Kincaid replied. "He looks like he's about to die. I mean, he looks awful ever since the war is over, but I haven't seen him in such a bad state yet. He was shaking and sweating and looked really grey and bad, and he told me to get you: he said he needs you and that you should come to the dungeons immediately."

Remus didn't hesitate and ran towards the castle. How can it be that I hurry to his side when he just snaps his fingers? he wondered, and feared to find his friend dead at the same time. Shouldering anyone in his way out of said way, he stumbled and would have fallen if Albus Dumbledore hadn't caught him.

"Remus?" the Headmaster asked mildly. "Are you in a hurry?"

"It's Severus," the werewolf replied shortly. "He's asked for me. Let me go and have a look what's wrong with him, will you?" Tugging his arm free, he stormed on.

"Dear me," Dumbledore murmured. "I guess I should make sure they don't kill each other."

This was precisely the thought that jumped into Remus's mind when he descended the staircase to the dungeons. "I bet he demands me to leave. Orders me down here to tell me to get the hell out of Hogwarts. I just wonder why he didn't do so a week ago."

Actually, he'd wondered himself why he was still here. He could have left after the battle had been won. Nothing held him here, and there were enough hands to help rebuild Hogwarts. Relatives in France and Germany would have taken him in willingly; as a war hero, he probably would have found a job now as a security guard all over the country on top of it.

Instead he had stayed. He worked hard each day, ate in the Great Hall, talked to his former students, to colleagues, to friends. Pretended everything was fine, made it obvious how happy he was that the war was over and Lord Voldemort was dead, all the while hiding how painful it was to be in the same place as Severus, to see him only now and then and to witness every single time how the Potions master turned round and stalked away whenever he saw him.

Had he really hoped they could talk about that night? Talk it over and come to terms and resume their...

Well. There had never been friendship between them. So there was nothing to get back to but hatred from Severus's side and longing from his – no problem that they hadn't talked.

Banging against Severus's door felt wrong. I shouldn't be here, Remus thought. All that waits inside is disgust, and honestly, I don't need that.

Slowly, the door swung open – it hadn't been locked, which made Remus feel even more uneasy than he already had been. Severus always locked and warded his doors. Something must be wrong.

Tentatively, Remus pushed the door open and was greeted by chilled darkness. "Lumos," he murmured, welcoming the light. "Severus?" he called, taking a step inside the Potions master's forbidding rooms.

"Close the door," a voice Remus barely recognised rasped, "and come over here."

"Severus!" Sitting on the ground, hidden behind his worktable, Remus could see his friend's legs outstretched on the stone floor. The werewolf wanted nothing more than to rush to his side, assuming that he was wounded, injured, in need of his help. Only in the last moment did he rein himself in – he knew with certainty that the last thing Severus wanted was him getting closer.

Something about the stillness of those legs unnerved him. It nearly seemed as if the Potions master was unconscious, which was of course impossible as he had just talked only a moment ago. Involuntarily, Remus took a step and then another one until he stood right in front of the man on the floor. "Goodness," he whispered with disbelief. "When did you last sleep, Severus? Or eat?"

The Potions master indeed looked close to death. Deep, purple, bruise-like shadows were under his eyes; the bones in his face stood out sharply like razor blades. He was even paler than usual, and his breathing came in harsh, painful rasps. Restlessly, Severus clutched his hands into fists over and over again – it was obvious that he was at the edge of a major breakdown.

"Lupin! Get over here!" Half unconscious or not, the commanding tone was unmistakable and Remus had no other choice but to obey. He lowered himself to one knee and tried to look as calm and unimpressed as possible despite his urge to hug and soothe the other man.

Secretly, deep inside, Remus shivered. Longing washed through him and the urge to touch Severus, to caress his sunken cheeks, to hold him close, to make him feel better was near impossible to resist. It was hard to suppress, this urge, this demanding, strong need. But resist it he must. Remus knelt on the floor – just managing to suppress the impulse to touch – and waited for the man to issue his next order.

*****

Snape, though, said nothing. He just reached out with his long, sinewy arm and grabbed the werewolf's neck, pulling him down, pulling him closer. Unceremoniously, he ripped open Lupin's shirt, pushed his ice cold fingers between fabric and skin, searching for the heart, the pulse of life; fast and determined, nearly brutally even, he pressed his palm against the werewolf's warm flesh.

Lupin, Snape's mind told him. Wolf, his nose confirmed, breathing in the rich, wild fragrance the man radiated without even knowing it. Under his palm Snape could feel the fast heartbeat. His blood sang with delight at the close contact; his own racing, staggering heart, after hours and days, finally calming down. The tremble in his muscles subsided, and even the cold stone that once had been his stomach stopped aching from one moment to the other. The sudden absence of pain was sort of painful in itself, and Snape nearly whimpered with relief when he was able to take a breath without having to force the air into his unwilling lungs. Where there had been fear there now was relief – fear that Lupin wouldn't come and relief that he had done so nevertheless.

Deeply, Snape breathed in. Harshly, he pulled Lupin another little bit closer. He didn't give a damn how this must look – like a lover's embrace – he just needed the physical contact, skin to skin. He needed to feel the other man's heartbeat under his fingers if he wanted to survive this day. He had denied facts long enough. He hadn't listened to his body's needs, and now, his body demanded its rights.

Slowly, Snape rested his head against the werewolf's shoulder. For the moment, for a few, brief seconds, he would enjoy this simply because he had no other choice. And he didn't even care that the werewolf's muscles were hard as stone, his hands balled to fists like a man who would rather beat his way out of this situation than just sit and wait to see what would happen next.

He hates me, Snape thought dreamily and couldn't suppress a sigh. Well, he's not the only one. Damn pity I need him if I don't want to die; damn pity I don't hate him, too.

*****

Dumbledore came in only a few minutes later, and Snape reacted fast and instinctively. With a brutal push, he sent the werewolf flying through half his living room, either not seeing or not caring about the stunned, hurt look in the other man's face. Both men were on their feet nearly at the same time; both avoided looking at each other with determination written all over their faces.

"What is going on here, Severus?" Dumbledore asked and once more closed the door. Idly he strolled into the middle of the room, then flicked his wand and lit a fire. "Christopher Kincaid tells me you are dying; Remus nearly ran me over on the way into your dungeons. And you both look as if you'd rather duel than talk to each other. I want an explanation. A good one, my dear boy."

Snape brushed an invisible speck of dust off of his grey shirt. He didn't wear robes – they had proved to be too heavy for his weakened body – but currently he wished for the forbidding, black garment. "I needed him," he sneered and jerked his head towards the werewolf. "Apparently, I am..." At a loss for words, he paused.

"Yes? You are?" Dumbledore inquired mildly.

"Helpless without him," Snape snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "I haven't eaten in a week, I have been living of Strengthening Potions I inject directly into my blood because I throw up everything else but water. I can't sleep for more than an hour at the time, and I hope you haven't found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher yet because Lupin will need to take on this job if you want me to continue to teach Potions."

"What?" Remus asked and sat down heavily on one of Snape's chairs.

Dumbledore hummed a tuneless little melody for a little while until finally, he said, "Ah," and then, "I don't understand, Severus. Helpless? In which way? And why can you neither eat nor sleep? You look quite awful, I give you that, but that is no explanation, merely a fact. Has your... problem to do with aftereffects of the curse?

"My problem, as you call it, will cost my life if you don't keep him near me," Snape replied coldly. "Because of this sodding curse I am bound to him. A forced binding, mind you, but a binding nevertheless. It took me a while to realise and even longer to accept it, but it is true whether I like it or not. I have to keep his company. I have to be close to him at least once in twenty-four hours, and close means at arm's length at the most. If not, the sodding Desipentia curse will drill its claws into my mind again. My body denies service because it needs the werewolf to function. I have denied contact so far and I have suffered for it. Today I had to give in and therefore sent for him. Satisfied with that explanation, Albus?"

Briefly, Snape closed his eyes, and gods, how much he longed to get near the werewolf, smell him once more, touch him, breathe him in just one more time!

Dumbledore's eyes had widened at Snape's words. Lupin, though, looked as if he had been hit by a Bludger right between the eyes. "You must be joking," he rasped. "That is impossible – I broke the curse and you can't be bound to me! A binding is a voluntary thing, it has to be performed willingly! There was nothing done willingly that night you were cursed, Severus, so..."

"I am aware of that, Lupin," Snape snarled. "No need to remind me how much you hated doing what had to be done. I hated it just the same. I can't help the facts, though. And you should have listened: this is not a voluntary, legal binding, it is a forced one. Until I find a way to break it, you are doomed to keep me company once a day. Your absence is the reason I am half starved and too tired to tie my own shoelaces. Get used to it. You were kind enough to relieve me of Desipentia; it should be a lot easier to sit next to me during meals." Sarcasm poisoned each word, and the Potions master saw Lupin pale. It didn't feel good though, this visible sign that his words had hurt. In fact, it felt lousy.

I felt lousy for two decades, Snape mused and got closer to the now merrily burning fire. Why did I ever hope that after the Dark Lord's death I would begin to feel better?

Dumbledore looked at the two men, one resembling quite accurately an underfed scarecrow, the other looking like a man doomed to the gallows. "Can you stay, Remus?" the Headmaster asked. "For as long as Severus needs to find another solution?"

"You believe him?" Remus sounded thunderstruck. "Desipentia doesn't work like that, Albus. You know that. It..."

"I can see it, Remus," Dumbledore interrupted him. "And Severus knows most about the Dark Curses. Desipentia is so very rare; I am not really surprised that it has even lesser known side effects. I must insist you stay. I wanted to ask you if you would pick up teaching anyway, but as it is, you don't have a choice."

"I could just leave." Remus stared at the old man threateningly.

"No, you couldn't," Dumbledore replied quietly, and Remus looked away.

With a sigh, the Headmaster got up. "Stay here, Remus, and order dinner for the both of you. Severus, I want you try and eat something. If your assumptions are correct, you should be able to keep at least some food down. Tomorrow, both of you will eat in the Great Hall – your students, Severus, are waiting for you to do so anyway, and like that, there will be no reason for rumours. And in case I haven't made it plain – these are orders. Understood?"

Snape gave a curt nod. After a moment, Remus did so, too.