Bound

7. Bound

Dinner was over at Hogwarts when Snape arrived with Lupin at the huge gates. Students were walking down to the lake, some held hands, some argued, and others looked for friends or someone who would allow them to copy their homework. They were doing what students always did when the school day was over.

Until Snape arrived, tall and black and with a thunderous expression on his pale face. With long strides, nearly running, he headed for the main gates, pushing through students as if they were nothing but lifeless puppets. He paid no attention to the shocked cries; he didn't see them rushing out of his way. All he cared about was the unconscious man in his arms and the necessity of getting him into the infirmary as quickly as possible. Snape could feel the life energy seeping out of Lupin's body, like water seeping out of a cracked bucket; not much longer and he would be dead.

Hogwarts' walls echoed his steps, and the cries of the students who witnessed Snape's arrival. Laughter stopped, kisses broke, and one pupil called out called out in shock: "It's Professor Lupin! He's injured, or maybe dead! Snape brought him, and do you think it was him who killed him?" Snape heard the words, but didn't even bother to look at the speakers.

When Minerva McGonagall blocked his way, though, he had no option but to halt his steps.

"Severus!" she stammered, gaping at him and at the bleeding man in his arms. "What..."

"Get Albus," Snape snapped and shouldered her out of the way. "And hurry. I might need him."

"Good Merlin," the old witch murmured and pointed one long finger at a student. "Rufus, run ahead to the infirmary, and tell Poppy that Professor Snape is bringing a patient. Sheila, you go with him. Make sure that no one gets in their way."

"Yes, Professor," the two students chorused and ran off. McGonagall rushed to fetch the Headmaster herself. She didn't have to go that far. The old wizard had lingered in the Great Hall and had just emerged out of the darkness, a small bowl of whipped cream in his hand, one finger on the way to his mouth.

"Minerva," he said mildly. "I'm surprised. Weren't you supposed to oversee detention for two Slytherins?"

With a flick of her wand, McGonagall vanished the bowl in the Headmaster's hand. "Severus is back. Remus is injured. They are on the way to the infirmary, and Severus has asked for your presence. He said he might need you. What is going...?"

"Thank you, Minerva." Dumbledore turned and walked away, apparently unconcerned and without rush.

*****

Snape ran upstairs, kicked in the door to Poppy's realm, shouting her name. By coincidence the infirmary was empty; obviously, no student had managed to get hurt or get sick on too many sweets or something nasty from the Weasley shop. Snape had the choice of five empty beds, and he took the one in the corner close to the walls and the window. "Poppy!" he roared, lowering Lupin onto the clean, white sheets. Without waiting for a response he summoned Blood-Replenishing Potion, using his wand to inject it directly into the werewolf's veins. It didn't do much good, though. Lupin was bleeding badly now, despite Snape's earlier attempts to heal the wounds. Bellatrix had done a thorough job with her curses and the garden shed tools.

Snape acted on instinct. He was no Healer, but knew enough to keep someone alive for a considerable amount of time. He had been in the centre of the Dark Lord's wrath often enough himself; he knew how to deal with injuries, and he would be damned if he let the werewolf die now, after he had managed to get him out of the mad witch's murderous claws.

Lupin's breathing became irregular; the intervals between breaths grew longer. He lay very, very, very still upon the bed. The sheets had turned red; blood was dripping on the floor. Without even touching him Snape knew that the werewolf might have a few minutes left, no more. And then Poppy rushed in, pushed him aside, and cast a spell that sealed several wounds at once. She snapped her fingers for more potions, her wand flying and her hands flying as she worked on her patient, ignoring Snape and Dumbledore, who had arrived at last.

Snape blinked twice and slightly shook his head as he watched the matron perform healing spells. He took in Lupin's limp, white hand that hung over the bed frame, and abruptly turned away.

"Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "Tell me what happened."

Snape needed to take a few deep breaths before he was able to answer, and for some reason, he looked out of the window where the moon was bright and brilliant in the night sky. A few early bats chased their dinner, and the Potions master was momentarily dumbstruck that everywhere else, things seemed to be perfectly normal. "Bellatrix is dead," he said, and, "I burned her to ashes," he continued.

The werewolf's breathing became shallow, barely audible even in the quiet infirmary. Snape felt icy dread creep up his spine. Strangely enough, it wasn't because of what it would mean for him. It was because Lupin would die.

"I am glad you have brought him back," the Headmaster said wearily. "Maybe Poppy will be able to save him."

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape snapped. "He's as good as dead. And I want your promise that you will cast the Killing Curse on me once he has taken his final breath." With those words he threw his wand onto a nearby table. "I won't fight."

Dumbledore paled. "I cannot kill you just like that, Severus!"

"Can't you? You expected me to kill you last year when you were stupid enough to put on the Resurrection Ring. When you talked me into believing that killing you would be a necessity to save Draco's soul and an act of friendship towards you. I didn't have to do it in the end but only because we found another solution. I would have done it, though, and I expect you to return the favour, old man. I will die screaming once Lupin is gone but not before trying to kill others. You know that. I consider it only fair that you do what you asked of me." Snape crossed his arms over his chest. Hadn't he done so, Dumbledore would have seen his trembling hands.

Behind them, Poppy swore. Snape didn't turn round: he had no intention of seeing Lupin die.

The Headmaster sat down heavily on one of the beds. " I had hoped that the killing would stop with Tom's death," he murmured. "And still one friend of mine is about to die and I will have to kill the other in a few minutes time."

Snape wanted to give an acid reply, but before he could find the words to say, he felt a deep, horrible pain in his chest. It was piercing and hollow, sharp and bitter, and suddenly his mouth tasted of fresh blood.

Suddenly, the silence in the room was too deep. The rasping, harsh gasps from Lupin had stopped.

Dumbledore raised his head, tears streaming down his cheeks and into his beard. A sob from Poppy fell into the silence like a raindrop into a puddle.

Time stopped.

Snape didn't know he had turned until he saw the ashen face of the werewolf, his still chest, the ugly line of blood that seeped from the corner of his mouth. Crimson drops still landed on the floor, but there was no pulse to be seen anymore in his throat.

Inside Snape, madness flared up like a bushfire. "No!" he roared and was at Lupin's bed with one large step. "You cannot die; I won't allow you to die!"

It wasn't because Lupin's death meant he would die as well. It wasn't because he wanted to live, or because he feared death. It was so much easier. His anger welled up because Lupin dared to leave him behind; because he wouldn't be able to sit next to him at meals anymore. "I care for you, and I forbid you to die," Snape hissed, red fury blinding him, and pressed both hands on the motionless, blood-smeared chest.

He reached out with his half-mad mind inside the dead body of his childhood enemy and touched his heart, his lungs, grasped for his fleeing soul. Snape didn't know what he was doing; he didn't even know that there was something he could do at all. What he did know was that Lupin couldn't die. Not now, not here, in safety. Not after he had tricked him out of Bella's hands.

Lupin's heart was warm, his last breath still fresh in his throat. Two broken ribs had pierced his lungs – Poppy hadn't been able to heal them. No wonder the werewolf had died. Snape could feel the damage through his palms pressed against Lupin's chest. He could feel the heart wasn't beating anymore, and then he thought, What the fuck, and made it beat. Forced it to beat with sheer willpower, or stupidity, or stubborn madness or whatever it was that fired his rage. Forced Lupin's heart back into service, forced the lungs to take another breath, forced the life back into his bondmate with such fury that Lupin's muscles cramped in pain – how dare the wolf attempt to sneak away, how dare he leave him alone?

A deep, harsh gasp emerged from Lupin's snow-white lips. Snape pressed his body down and didn't mind that the werewolf spat blood all over his hands. "Breathe!" he ordered. "Live!" And then he swayed, his legs feeling suddenly like jelly as his arms filled with lead. Snape would have fallen had Dumbledore not caught him.

"Merlin," Poppy said in a surprisingly unimpressed voice. Unceremoniously, she poured another potion down Lupin's throat as if the man hadn't been dead only a second ago. "Don't know what just happened, but you brought him back, Severus. Don't know how long for, though. He's awfully weak."

Sound returned, filling Snape's ears with the sweet music of the werewolf's short, gasping breaths. Snape staggered, then had to lean against the wall for support. Dumbstruck, he stared at his hands, red from Lupin's blood. "What have I done?" he croaked. "How did I do it?"

"Now that's something I'd be interested in, too," the matron said. "No one can bring people back from the dead. Not unless..." Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. Absently, she healed a burn mark on her patient's neck. "Severus, did you just share your life energy with Remus?"

"I don't know," Snape answered. He felt light-headed; not much made sense at the moment.

"Because if you have, it would explain why you were able to bring him back. The problem is that life energy can't be shared just like that. If you were bound to each other, though..."

Dumbledore pulled a chair close to the bed, took Snape by the shoulders, and forced him down on the wooden seat. "It is a forced binding, Poppy. As a result of Desipentia, cast on Severus by Bellatrix Lestrange during the final battle."

The matron simply raised an eyebrow. With one look she took in the shaking Potions master, pale from exhaustion of what he just had done. "I see," she said. "That explains a lot. Especially why he asked you to kill him – dying from the Madness curse is truly horrible. I would prefer a clean death, too."

Snape didn't seem to hear her words. His eyes were fixed on the werewolf's hand, still hanging over the frame of the bed. Taking it seemed the most logical thing to do. His fingers entwined with the werewolf's, and the Potions master closed his eyes at the rush of emotions the touch brought. Relief, safety, worry, fear even, combined with a strange happiness that they both were, against all odds, still alive. "His lungs are pierced," Snape said in a dreamlike tone quite unlike his usual sneer. "He's still bleeding badly, but I think... Wait. Wait a moment."

Concentrating, Snape reached out once more. Now that he had done it once, the second time was considerably easier. It was a bit like wearing another man's coat, a coat slightly too large, with an unfamiliar smell and the buttons at the wrong height, but a familiar garment nevertheless. It wasn't an unpleasant experience to be part of the werewolf, and it was surprisingly easy to find the injured lungs and... "Poppy," Snape murmured. "Two broken ribs. Left side, the fifth and the sixth. If you mend them, I can heal the holes in his lungs and stop the bleeding for good."

The matron shared a disbelieving glance with Dumbledore but did as the Potions master asked. "Done, Severus," she said in a mild, low voice, as if Snape were really sleeping, dream walking, and she was eager to not wake him up.

"Hmm." Snape tightened his grip on Lupin's hand. There, there were the holes, now bleeding heavily as the broken ends of the ribs were gone. A deep breath, simultaneously taken by both men, and Snape felt them closing, healing.

Lupin coughed once. More blood sputtered out of his mouth. Then a second, deeper breath, and a third. No fresh blood followed: the blood on the werewolf's chin began to dry.

"I didn't know that was possible," Dumbledore said, his hand still on the Potions master's shoulder. "Poppy, do you think it is safe for Severus to do that – whatever he is doing?"

The matron helplessly shrugged her shoulders. "I haven't a clue, Albus. I have only read about forced bindings and I've never seen anything like it. I suggest we leave them alone. I can't do much more but monitor them and make sure they are undisturbed." With that, she beckoned Dumbledore to step aside and raised a screen around the bed and the two men.

"What if Severus donates too much of his life energy?" The Headmaster sounded genuinely worried.

"His decision, Albus," Poppy Pomfrey answered sternly. "It's obvious that they need each other. I will check on them. Now go and tell the students that Professor Snape and Professor Lupin are out of danger for the moment."

*****

Late at night or early in the morning? Snape didn't know and didn't care, either. Pale moonlight shone through the window next to the bed, the silver disk not completely full anymore. Shadows were blown through the infirmary, hid under beds and behind curtains and gave the impression of ghosts wandering around.

Snape was awake, but just barely. It was a state between sleep and wakefulness, and he was too tired to as much as think about it. All that counted was his hand in Lupin's. All that mattered was the light, easy way the werewolf breathed and the sound of his heart, pumping blood through his veins. Lupin was fast asleep, healing, dreaming. Snape was not quite awake, not thinking, not aware of the many hours that had passed since he had arrived at the infirmary.

Silently, Poppy Pomfrey stepped around the screen, as she had done so quite a few times in the past hours. It was nearly four in the morning, and each time she had checked, another wound on the werewolf's skin had healed itself. Occasionally, she had cast a monitoring charm, checking if the internal wounds had healed as well as the visible ones. They were: the damage caused by Bellatrix's curses and the tools she had used was undone. Scars and tender, new skin were the only witnesses to the torture Lupin had endured not that long ago.

Not making a sound, the matron pulled a chair close and sat down opposite the Potions master. Snape still held Lupin's hand in his. Long, black hair touched the sheets, and to the matron it seemed as if the Potions master hadn't moved once in the past hours. "Severus," she whispered. "Severus, it is time to have a break. You need to sleep or you will collapse."

Slowly, Snape raised his head. He looked at his hands, took in the werewolf's sleeping face, and saw that someone had cleaned off the blood. "Soon," he murmured. "Can't go yet."

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "I didn't say you have to go anywhere. I said you need to sleep. Those are two different things, Severus. There are enough beds here for you to take a nap."

Snape just shook his head. "He nearly died. He did die. Couldn't stand it." Whispered words in the darkness. One might have thought they hadn't been said at all.

Gently, the matron put her hand on the werewolf's forehead. "No fever, and the bleeding stopped hours ago. You have saved him, and you have healed his wounds faster than any spell or potion could have. He must mean a lot to you."

"I believed he hates me. I was wrong. He doesn't. On the contrary – he..." Once more, Snape looked up, this time at the matron. "Bella Legilimensed him. Told me things I didn't know and wouldn't have guessed in a lifetime." He sighed deeply. "I felt him die. It was as if half of myself was being ripped out of me. It hurt, and it scared me. To imagine he'd be gone forever was unacceptable."

"Everyone thinks you loathe him, Severus." The matron spoke in a mild and quiet voice, as if talking to a scared child. Maybe she did so because it was late and Snape so obviously was beyond mere fatigue. Maybe it was because she knew that sometimes, in the small hours of the morning and after a particularly horrible day, people said and did things they normally wouldn't say or do, and because of this fact they needed to be handled with great care. "The way you treat him; that you don't talk to him or so much as look at him. But I believe... You don't, do you?"

"Of course not." Snape closed his eyes and lowered his head on his and the werewolf's entwined hands. "He is one of the few people who has always treated me with friendliness. I have known him since we were children. Secretly, I treasured his friendship and feared at the same time he was mocking me. I now know he didn't." With a weary hand, he wiped across his face. "I should have let him die, Poppy. I wish I had been strong enough to end this tonight."

The matron frowned. Snape didn't see it, but she was looking deeply confused. "Why do you say this? You like him. You care for him – what you did was extremely dangerous for yourself, and it saved his life. Why do you..."

"Because there is no other way out of it." Suddenly, Snape leaned back in his chair, breaking contact with the werewolf for the first time in over eight hours. The moon shone right into his face, giving his skin a silvery shine. Shadows were painting strange patterns on his cheekbones; he looked like a ghost. Another sigh. "Apparently, a forced binding gets stronger with the months. When this began, I thought I only needed to be near him once in twenty-four hours. Then I realised that I craved more. In the past few weeks, three meals a day seemed to do." Snape's right hand moved as if it had a will of its own. Slowly, it touched the sleeping werewolf's wrist. The Potions master watched, slightly surprised, as his fingers wrapped around the slender joint, and his thumb brushed across the warm, soft skin. "I long for his touch so badly that it hurts. I want him, I need him, and if I weren't rude to him, if I so much as spoke a friendly word, my resistance not to touch him would break. Very soon, three meals a day won't be enough. In a month or two, I won't be able to spend more than two, three hours without him, and I know it will break both of us. Death would have been a neat solution. Now I don't know how... Poppy, I really do need a way out of this!"

For many long moments, the matron was silent, watching the wounded man on the bed and the dark one on the chair. "You two are so very different from each other, in nearly every way imaginable," she mused. "And still, I wonder..." She touched the Potions master's hand. "I wouldn't say that under any other circumstances, Severus. I am well aware that you are too exhausted to think properly, and thus, to hex me for my inappropriate words. But... did you ever consider the possibility that you are searching for a solution in the wrong direction?"

Snape pulled his eyebrows together. "I don't understand."

"You are tired," Madam Pomfrey said. "You need to sleep." She took her wand and gently pierced Snape's skin. A faintly golden liquid seeped into wrist. "A Sleeping Draught. In a minute or two, you will doze off. Until then, think about it. Why try to break the binding? Why not strengthen it instead?"

Snape shook his head, trying to get the hazy mist out of his mind. "I don't understand," he repeated. "What else is there to do other than try to break it, to free him from my presence? Maybe, if I kill myself, he will survive, although the prediction declares that he won't."

Carefully, she brushed her fingers across the Potions master's pale cheek. "Would he want to live without you?" she whispered, and Snape blinked at the question.

"No," he whispered. "He loves me. Bella said so, and he said so, too. But he can't." His tongue grew heavy with every word he spoke. "I'm a murderer, a traitor. Dungeon bat. Spy. I destroy the ones I love. I need to... to..."

Maybe, the matron would have objected to his words – she surely gulped heavily at the self-accusing, bitter tone in Snape's voice – but the potion worked too fast. Slowly, the Potions master sunk forward, his eyes dropping closed for good this time. Swiftly, Madam Pomfrey was up and around the bed, catching Snape before he slipped out of his chair. A Hovering Charm took his weight, and she was just about to put him into one of the free beds for the rest of the night when she realised that it wouldn't be in the best interest of either patient to separate them. Therefore, she modified the werewolf's bed so it was big enough for two and lowered the fast asleep body of the Potions master onto the mattress. A second flick of her wand and the blood-soiled clothes of Snape were replaced by clean pyjamas. Finally, she pulled the blanket over both men, wondering how Severus would react when he woke. "I guess he will kill me," she mused, and adjusted the screen so that no one apart from her could take a look behind it. "On the other hand, if I had put him in a bed as much as a foot away from Remus, he possibly would have woken up again despite the potion, crashing to the floor trying to reach him. Men. Strange creatures, really."