Solution

8. Solution

When Snape woke up, it was in the usual way: asleep one moment, fully awake and alert the next. He had learned to wake like that when he had been a boy, a child, really, and needed to be out of his mother's way as fast as possible in case she was drunk and in a hitting mood.

So, being awake was not what flustered him. It was his surroundings: white walls instead of stone, bright light instead of the dim flicker of candles. A soft breeze tickled his nose, and that was strange, too, because in his dungeons there were no windows.

His sheets weren't white, either and there generally wasn't a screen around his bed. What for? No one could enter his private rooms without his permission. There was no need to shield his bed from curious eyes.

On the other hand... He felt extremely well. He had slept deeply and without dreams. Moreover, he wasn't cold – he usually managed to push the bedcover away, and he often woke up shivering long before sunrise, unable to go back to sleep and unwilling to get up, either. Conclusion: he was neither in his bed nor in the dungeons.

Stretching his muscles, musing what he would have for breakfast, he suddenly thought, Bellatrix is dead. I killed her.

And was there a reason why his right arm was numb?

Actually, Snape hadn't woken up the usual way. He wasn't as alert as he had thought or he would have realised that he wasn't alone in the bed the moment he had opened his eyes. Now, turning his head, he wondered how he could have missed the fact that a full-grown man was snuggled up to him, head on his arm, breathing deep and evenly.

"Lupin?" Snape said, dumbstruck. "What the..." Then he closed his mouth and remembered Poppy injecting him with a Sleeping Potion and assuring him that he didn't have to leave just to take a nap. "Didn't expect her to put me into the same bed with you, wolf," Snape whispered hoarsely. He didn't want to wake the werewolf. Not now, whilst they were so close together.

Come to think of it, shouldn't he get out of bed as quickly as possible? Shouldn't he be ashamed of the comfort he felt, the relief that washed through him at the fact that Lupin wasn't dead and, most of all, the genuine happiness that burned inside him like a small, hot flame? It was so rare that he felt good; it was even rarer for him to be happy. Rare enough that he hadn't even recognised the emotion at first.

Hesitantly, Snape touched Lupin's flannel-covered shoulder, which was so close to his chest that he could feel the warmth the other man radiated. His fingertips, unused to contact with something living, moved on curiously. They found the pulse in Lupin's throat, beating slowly and reassuringly strong. They sneaked on to the jaw, up to the cheek and cheekbone and a bit higher, where finally, they brushed over the soft, barely perceptible eyelashes. Yes, Lupin was asleep. More than that, he was in a healing trance, and wouldn't wake for another few days at least. Therefore, the werewolf couldn't feel the Potions master's chest pressed against his back, his breath on his neck, or the arm Snape had slipped protectively over his waist. There was no way Lupin would ever know how deeply the dark wizard inhaled his scent or how close he had been to kiss his neck, only lightly, just once, and quickly enough to declare it an illusion hadn't Madam Pomfrey chosen that precise moment to check on her patients.

"Good morning," she said lightly. "Or rather, good day. I see you are awake, Severus. Well, you've slept for forty-eight hours. That surely should have been enough."

Snape managed not to blush and to not jerk his arm away from under Lupin's head. Instead, he carefully turned to lie on his back again, looking up at the matron inquiringly. "What time is it?" he asked, casually and a bit impatient as if he'd asked a student for a potion ingredient. "And what day?"

The matron chuckled. "It is Tuesday, Severus, and two in the afternoon. It is time to get up and have something to eat. After you've taken a shower and got dressed, that is. By the way, how do you feel?" Not awaiting his answer, she flicked her wand at him and Snape felt the telltale tingle of a Health-checking Spell. Madam Pomfrey nodded approvingly. "Excellent. You have fully recovered from whatever you did to save Remus's life. I see no reason for you to stay in the infirmary any longer. Come on, get up. Remus needs another week to heal. Your presence has done him the world of good, and I will allow you to visit him as often as necessary. Will that suit you?"

Snape, having eased his arm out from under the werewolf's head, sat up. His bare feet dangled an inch or two above the floor, and the pyjama trousers were slightly too long. At first, the sight made him frown – no one had ever seen him in pyjamas, no one had ever seen him without his heavy boots. His feet looked fragile in the mid-day sunlight. Fragile and so very human that Snape, for as long as a heartbeat, believed that if he looked human, he might actually be human enough to allow himself some more of the happiness he had felt but a moment ago. For so many years he had been a spy, a traitor even, and a murderer more often he cared to think about. He had not been human, though – a servant of the Dark Lord shed humanity from the moment he took the Dark Mark.

But now the mark was gone, erased from his skin like dirt. Am I human? he wondered and waggled his toes. Am I human enough to be happy?

Suddenly, from out of nowhere came an urge to laugh at this, all of it, because it was so stupid to sit here, being ordered around by the school matron, and feeling so very much out of place. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have slept in one bed with Lupin, and he certainly shouldn't have enjoyed laying next to the werewolf, feeling his heart beating against his chest and wondering how Lupin would react if he woke in the Potions master's arms.

"Severus?" Madam Pomfrey prompted, and Snape just slipped off the bed and took the clothes she held out for him.

"You are right. I should take a shower and then leave," Snape said and walked past her to the small infirmary bathroom.

*****

When Snape headed downstairs through the quiet school, he became aware that he didn't wish to hide in his dungeons just right now. The pupils and his colleagues were busy in the classrooms, his own Potion students would be lounging in their common rooms, as he didn't have a substitute, so actually, he could go and have breakfast in the Great Hall rather than his own rooms. Down there in the dungeons, it would be cold and dark. Furthermore, the emptiness of his rooms would remind him of the fact that he still had a problem he couldn't solve and really didn't want to think about right now.

You think in the wrong direction. The thought crossed his mind when Snape walked through the empty hall and sat down on one of the students' tables, and it took him quite by surprise. But a house-elf chose that precise moment to pop up on the table, asking him for his wishes. "Porridge, toast, butter and honey, black tea and milk," Snape said absentmindedly, watched the elf vanish and his breakfast appear with gentle clinks of the dishes. Pouring milk in his tea and adding sugar to his porridge, he began to eat and wondered what the thought meant. The wrong direction? Poppy had said it the night he had brought Lupin back, the night the werewolf had nearly died.

"Did die," Snape clarified. "He died and I brought him back out of sheer egoism. And what did Poppy mean – why do I think in the wrong direction?"

"Sir?"

Snape half turned. "Potter," he sighed. "What a surprise. I'm out of the infirmary less than fifteen minutes and you decide to pester me with your presence. I'm eating, in case you haven't noticed. Go get your head crashed in at Quidditch, boy."

Harry took a step forward. He seemed determined to talk to Snape. "I'm sorry to disturb you but... Well, the Headmaster will only say that Remus is alive, and Madam Pomfrey refuses to let me or anyone else visit him and there was this article in the newspaper and..."

"Sit, Potter," Snape ordered and pushed his empty bowl aside. Fresh toast appeared on his plate, accompanied by golden butter and delicious smelling honey. Taking a sip of his tea, he asked, "Which newspaper article are you talking about?"

Harry hesitantly sat opposite his Potions master, clearly unsettled by the sight of Snape sitting at the Slytherins' table, and not at the teachers'. He placed a much-read copy of the Daily Prophet in front of Snape. "The article about you and Bellatrix Lestrange. Professor Dumbledore gave an interview the day before yesterday. It says..."

"Let me read it myself, Potter," Snape snapped and took the paper. Eating his toast, drinking his tea, he scanned through the article. "They printed a picture of me," he said when he was finished. "What the hell did they do that for?"

"Because you killed Bellatrix Lestrange? I mean, she was one of the last Death Eaters on the run. Most of the others are either dead or in Azkaban. Professor Dumbledore called you a war hero about fifty times during the interview. He stated that Remus had been taken by Bellatrix, and that you... got him back. He confirmed as well that she is dead, burned in a garden shed behind Voldemort's house in Little Hangleton."

Snape took a sip of his tea. "If you know all this, why are you here?" Unbidden memories jumped up at him – Lupin's screams, his bloodied skin and the deep wounds, the smell of burning flesh. Do I have to break the binding? he mused and wondered why this thought seemed to be so right.

The boy – young man, Snape realised – raked his hands through his hair. "I saw you bringing back Remus. He was in a really bad condition and I want to know if he is really alive or if..."

"You truly believe Albus lied to all of you, including the press?" Snape continued with a snort. "Don't be ridiculous. Lupin is in a healing trance. Bella tortured him, and yes, she nearly killed him. I was there in time to prevent his death. Satisfied?"

Harry gulped. "Why then is no one is allowed to visit him?"

Snape could barely suppress a shudder at the thought of Potter coming to the infirmary, seeing him in close embrace with the werewolf. He definitely had to find a way to thank Poppy for her protectiveness. "Because he needs to sleep, not deal with annoying students," he answered coolly. "Give it a week and he'll be back teaching."

Now it was Harry's turn to snort. "Will he? I'm not sure about that. To me, it seems as if you will force him out of the school before Christmas. You did it once, after my third year at Hogwarts. You made it public that he's a werewolf; you forced him to resign." Accusingly, he stared into the older man's eyes; typical Gryffindor boldness mixed with typical Potter stupidity.

"I did that because I had to," Snape said and finished the last bite of his toast. "He knew I would do it; it was the only way to get him safely out of Hogwarts. The curse on the DADA post usually demanded a sacrifice after one year of teaching, as Quirrell, young Crouch, and Lockhart could tell you if they were alive, or sane. I didn't want Lupin to die back then any more than I wanted him to die at Bella's hands. I don't want him to leave Hogwarts, neither today nor in the future." Surprised at his own words, Snape thought, Maybe I don't have to break the binding; maybe I can strengthen it instead.

Silence. Snape looked up and saw Potter staring at him. "What? Did I just grow two heads?"

"No, you... You smiled. Sorry. Came as a surprise. Now, if you don't mind, I'll go up to the infirmary..."

"No, you won't." Snape was harsh. "Lupin needs his rest. Neither you nor anyone else will disturb him. But I promise you that if his condition deteriorates I will let you know."

That caused the boy's mouth to sag open. "You will... actually visit him?"

"Naturally," Snape said and then an idea sparked up in his mind, an idea mad enough to make him laugh out loud. He didn't see the dumbstruck face of Potter and wouldn't have cared if he had. This idea, the solution to his problem, was so very obvious he wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.

*****

When Remus Lupin woke more than a week after Bellatrix had captured and tortured him, he did so slowly, with heavy eyelids and aching bones. Uncomfortably, he moved his shoulders and expected pain to shoot through him, pain brought upon him by a mad witch and her rusty tools. He expected to wake up on a wooden table in a windy garden shed, with Bellatrix bent over him, scissors in hand and ready to snip him into little pieces.

The ceiling was white. He was lying on sheets, not wood. And, most important, there was neither pain nor a mad witch in sight. His muscles were a bit stiff after... well, however long he'd been wherever he was. "Where am I?" he asked, not expecting an answer. Obviously, he had died; naturally, there was no 'where' at the other side of the veil.

"You are at Hogwarts, Remus," someone said, and the werewolf nearly jumped out of his skin before he realised that it wasn't Bellatrix's voice.

"Poppy," he croaked, struggling to sit up. "That means I didn't manage to die. Shit. Would have solved a problem or two."

The matron just shook her head. "Men," she said. "Truly, I can't believe how stupid you all are. You are alive and complain about it? Remus, Severus killed Bellatrix to save you!"

A memory stirred. "He... did he?" Remus lifted his hands and ran a finger over the faint scar in his palm. "She nailed me to the table. I remember screaming. I remember..." Another memory, a dark one, embraced him. "I remember dying, Poppy. How can... Why am I alive although I died?" Confused, the werewolf unbuttoned his pyjama top. The smooth, only lightly scarred texture of his skin was clearly not what he had expected to see. With his fingertips he traced a long, pale line from his left collarbone down to his right hip. "That one hurt," he rasped. "I felt the ribs break when she did that. I couldn't breathe afterwards. I knew I would die and then... Severus came. Talked to her. Touched me. Tricked her, killed her. Soothed me and told me... He said he doesn't want me to die."

The matron sat on the bed and gently rebuttoned her patient's pyjama top. "That was a week ago, Remus. When he realised that you were gone he went after you. It took him half a day to find you, and when he did, you were in a very bad state. When Bellatrix was dead he pulled the nails out of your hands, brought you to me, and stayed at your side constantly for nearly three days."

"But I died!"

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "You did. The broken ribs had pierced your lungs and you stopped breathing. Severus wasn't going to let that happen, though. Because of the binding, he was able to share his life energy with you and brought you back from behind the veil just in time before it fell close for good. You might like to thank him when he comes to visit."

Remus opened his mouth, and then closed it again, silently repeating what the matron had just said. Finally, he managed a croaked, "What?" only to decide that he must have misunderstood major parts of the matron's words.

With a sigh, the matron got up. "He visits you after breakfast, after lunch, and before dinner, Remus. Every day. And then once around midnight. Usually, he dozes off in the chair next to your bed, with his hand on yours. If I didn't insist he slept in his own bed for at least a few hours each night, he wouldn't go back to his rooms at all."

"But..." Remus was thinking fast. That Severus would sit voluntarily with him was impossible. Therefore, there must be another reason for his behaviour. And the only reason was... "The binding is tightening." It wasn't a question, but a statement. "You know about the forced binding; you just mentioned it. Then you must be aware that he only saved my life because he dies when I die. He sits with me because he has to, not because he wants to." Gritting his teeth, he swung his legs out of the bed. He wanted to get out of here, feeling vulnerable in pyjamas, without his wand, hungry, and in need for a shower more than anything else.

Madam Pomfrey pushed a stubby finger into his chest. "You are as bad as Severus," she scolded. "But I won't interfere with your affairs. You two have to sort this out by yourselves, and I hope you will come to your senses in time, Remus."

Remus snorted dismissively, put on his clothes, and left the infirmary. The only thing he needed to gain right at the moment was a large bottle of Firewhiskey.

*****

Getting back to the High Table for meals was a lot harder for the werewolf than he had thought. Everyone beamed at him, obviously happy that he escaped one of the most dangerous Death Eaters without apparent harm. They didn't know how badly he had been injured; they didn't know how close exactly he had been to death. Minerva hugged him tightly, Sybill shed a few tears, and Dumbledore twinkled at him as if he knew a secret about what had happened. It was, all in all, considerably unnerving.

And then there was Severus, of course. Sitting at his usual place, he didn't so much as look up when Remus walked in for dinner. If anything, he seemed unaware at the fuss his colleagues made about the werewolf and the noise of the students welcoming one of the best-liked teachers back amongst them. I bet he would leave if he could, Remus thought and took his seat next to the dark wizard. I bet he wishes he could have let me die every wake or sleeping moment.

"Lupin," Snape said, obviously as a way of greeting. The werewolf wasn't sure – he was too surprised that the Potions master had said anything at all, given the fact that, until today, he had never spoken a single word to the man he was unwillingly bound to.

"Hand me the potatoes." It was more an order than a polite question. Still, Remus was somehow shocked – Severus asking him to hand over a dish rather than reaching out to summon it over his head? That was... Yes. It was unique. And impossible.

"Are you feeling well?" Remus muttered the words before he could help it and reached for the required dish.

Snape took the bowl of potatoes out of Lupin's hand and spooned a few onto his plate. Just when Remus believed he hadn't heard the question, the Potions master hissed between two bites, "No, of course I am not feeling well. You left the infirmary this morning before I had a chance to see you. You hid in your rooms all day. Actually, I feel lousy, and it's your fault. Poppy told me you figured out yourself that the binding is tightening. I expect to see you in the teachers' common room at eleven tonight."

"Severus. I must admit I am shocked." The sweet, dreamlike voice of Sybill Trelawney interrupted the hushed conversation. "That you are actually talking to Remus without shouting at him is nothing less than a miracle. Of course I have foreseen this change in your attitude. I can tell you, though, Remus, that it won't last. I thought I should let you know in time that soon, a dark shadow will fall upon you like frost upon a blooming rose."

"Thank you, Sybill," Remus replied through gritted teeth. "That surely is quite a helpful prediction." Deep inside him, a pang of regret sparked up when Severus jerked his head back, focussing his attention back at his dinner. "I'll be there," he murmured nevertheless. "Common room. Eleven. As you order."

"The salt, Lupin. And stop babbling," Snape snapped.

*****

Meeting at eleven at night in the teachers' common room became a regular pattern over the next weeks. After dinner, Remus would go to his rooms and prepare classes for the next day. It never took him long, and then he began to pace, restless, hopeless, knowing that there was no way out of it but death. By ten he was usually too tired to think properly; at a quarter past, he would take a drink, the first of several to follow. At a quarter to eleven, he was drunk; not too drunk to walk or pretend that he was merely sober, and yet not sober enough to feel too sharply the fear that claimed him with every tick the clock made, but definitely just drunk enough to meet his nemesis without shuddering all the way through the meeting.

This one meeting of the day, this additional time Severus needed to stay sane, was pure hell for Remus. Not because Severus was nasty, cold, or made acidic remarks – he didn't. It was because unlike during meals, there was never anyone else around, as if their colleagues knew that eleven at night was the one time they should be anywhere else than in the teachers' common room. During meals, Severus was icily polite at best. He occasionally demanded a dish or a bottle to be handed to him. He nodded hello when he saw Remus, and gave him an even shorter goodbye, leaving with his robes billowing theatrically around him. There was no real conversation between them, and it was good because otherwise, Remus wouldn't have been able to eat a single bite.

The nightly meetings, though, were different. As they were alone, neither Remus nor Snape needed to keep up the pretence of nothing amiss for their colleagues and students. They could act as they wanted to, and for Remus, it was worse than torture.

Severus Snape was a different man at night. The most obvious change was his appearance: at night, he never wore robes, just dark jeans and a shirt in various shades of grey. Sometimes his hair was bound back into a braid, and he seemed taller even than in daylight. Either sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace or leaning against the mantelpiece, he was always there when the werewolf arrived, waiting in silence for the man who would ease his pain. Because in pain he was, Remus knew. He had learned a lot about the Potions master in the past weeks. Had to, as Severus, for whichever reason, usually was in a talkative mood late at night.

Which was precisely the reason why Remus had begun to get drunk beforehand. As soon as he had realised that the nightly meetings wouldn't be what he had expected: half an hour sitting close to Severus, without talking, without looking at each other, pretending they just shared the common room for a brief amount of time. He had tried to handle it that way, of course, only to find Severus frowning at him. "I would prefer to converse with you, Lupin," he had said. Not snapped; said, in a nearly friendly tone.

Remus had been acutely uncomfortable. Being forced to stay in the same room with the Potions master was bad enough, but having to talk to him was worse.

No use to deny facts. It was bad because hope flared in the werewolf's stupid, aching heart. Hope that there was a chance for friendship. Hope that they could leave the past behind them and just enjoy an evening together every now and then. Remus longed for Severus's presence so badly that it hurt, knowing at the same time that those nights in the common room were but an illusion, born out of necessity. By now, Severus was unable to be separated from him for more than eight hours at the time. Even sitting next to the werewolf during meals three times a day didn't prevent his body from aching, his hands from trembling, and his mind from worrying. "As soon as you are out of eyesight, Lupin, I can't help but panic that you won't come back," Snape had admitted a few nights ago, casually as if he was talking about the weather. "My urge to touch you grows stronger with every breath I take. Very soon, I won't be able to suppress it. Best prepare yourself for that occasion."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Remus had replied quite aggressively. "You know, this is as horrible for me as it is for you. I don't care to imagine how bad it will get once the binding gets so tight that I have to stay by your side twenty-four hours a day." He had been pacing the common room by then, nervously wringing his hands and trying to keep some of the chairs between himself and Severus. Gods, the man smells delicious now that he takes regular showers, the werewolf couldn't help thinking. If I'm not careful, I will jump at him, devouring him right here on the carpet.

That was the problem, wasn't it? The binding showed its effects on him as well as on his bondmate. He might not have problems with keeping food down or suffering from a pounding headache when Severus wasn't close, but he surely longed for him and wanted to be near him just the same. Which was impossible, of course. This, all of this mess, was still the result of a curse and a rape. No chance Severus would ever forgive him. No way the Potions master would welcome his touch.

Firewhiskey helped. It made the werewolf's mind mellow and hazy, it made his movements slow, and somehow it dampened his sense of smell.

Tonight, Severus wore a jumper over old denims. The fire had burned low, and only a warm shimmer lightened the common room. Remus hoped with all his might that maybe, there wouldn't be too much talk tonight.

"What do you remember of the torturing, Lupin?"

So much for not talking, Remus thought and shuddered involuntarily. Thinking of that day under Bellatrix's hands was something he avoided doing. "Not much," he replied, and poured himself another glass of Firewhiskey. "Pain. Humiliation. More pain. Screams. Her laughter. Her eyes. Can we change the subject, please?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought so," he murmured, leaving Remus at a loss about what he meant with that cryptic comment. "Well, let's discuss your transformation, then."

"What about it?" Remus snapped. "It will happen as usual. I will try not to get captured by another mad Death Eater. I shall stay in my rooms. I might manage dinner, but certainly won't show up for breakfast..." His voice faltered.

"That is impossible," Snape said matter-of-factly. "I will have to see you at least once that night. Leave your doors unlocked. I don't want to break in again."

Remus exploded. "You will not come anywhere near me whilst I'm a wolf!" he shouted. "That's private. I'm sorry to say so, but that night you will have to suffer, Severus."

"I always suffer." Snape sounded indifferent. "Full moon is on Thursday evening, which is two nights from now. I will send a student with the Wolfsbane Potion. I do expect you to show up at eleven tomorrow night, though."

"Fine," Remus said bitterly. "As you order. Do you wish to put a collar round my neck and a leash to make me walk at your heel?"

Snape didn't answer. He turned his back to the werewolf, and hadn't Remus known better, he would have thought a pained expression had crossed the Potions master's face at his cruel words.

*****

As awful the nights were for the werewolf, so soothing they turned out to be for Snape. Admittedly, he hadn't expected this to happen once he had realised that he wouldn't manage a whole night without Lupin's presence. He had thought the hour in the common room late at night might be a torment, a constant reminder of how unlikely it was to go through with his plan. But on the contrary: though Lupin was very clearly anything but sober, he was nevertheless pleasant company. It was easy to talk to him, easy to ask questions and poke for answers. It seemed as if the gentle, friendly man wanted to share this hour with him as much as he wished to be somewhere else, and Snape didn't need to wonder anymore why this was the case. He knew why Lupin acted so strangely; it was obvious to him ever since Bella had told him about the werewolf's memories.

The man liked him. More than that, he loved him. Him, the Potions master, the dungeon bat. Despite their tumultuous past, despite the fact that they had never spoken much or even spent a considerable amount of time together, Lupin wanted him as much as Snape wanted the werewolf.

Unfortunately, there was no chance whatsoever that Lupin would give in to his needs and wishes voluntarily. Snape knew that the werewolf thought he had raped him, and that Lupin still felt guilty, massively guilty about what he had done. Talking about it was impossible: Lupin would with certainty run from him the moment Snape mentioned the night of the final battle.

Therefore, he had demanded Lupin's presence in the teachers' common room each night for the past three weeks. He needed this meeting; in addition he wanted to find out if his logical conclusions to get them out of this mess were indeed correct. That he was rewarded with a werewolf too nervous in his presence to speak two coherent sentences in a row was annoying but not insurmountable. Lupin always kept his distance, but not, as Snape once had feared, out of disgust.

*****

"And one last counter-stir," Snape murmured to himself, finishing the Wolfsbane. Decanting the green-golden liquid in a goblet, he left his rooms, heading silently upstairs. It was the night before the full moon; another twenty-four hours, and Lupin would turn into a werewolf once again. Before that happened though, Snape needed to see his plan through – he honestly doubted Lupin would stand another month under the constant pressure of the forced binding. He equally doubted his own ability to resist; earlier on, during dinner, he had brushed across the werewolf's wrist with his fingertips, unable not to do so and sincerely hoping no one had seen it. Tonight had to be the night he changed their fate; tonight was the only night he could do so.

Naturally the Potions master had done some research on werewolves and their weaknesses. What he had found were little details, varying from werewolf to werewolf. One was sensitive to sunshine, the other disliked noise, many preferred not to eat before a transformation. However, one thing was identical in all sources he had questioned: the night before the full moon, the night before a transformation, was special. In that night, a werewolf was closer to his wolf-self, and instinct always took over when a situation went awry. That one night, a werewolf couldn't control himself, be it concerning danger, pleasure, or fear.

Naturally, Snape decided that this was the one night he might manage to catch Lupin in his trap, if at all.

Silent, like a black panther, the Potions master strode upstairs to Lupin's rooms, goblet in one hand and an ancient parchment in his other. Lupin was expecting the knock on his door: a student, bringing him the Wolfsbane Potion as announced by Snape the previous night. His guards would be down; with a little luck, the Potions master would have no problems gaining access to his rooms.

*****

"Put the goblet in front of the door, please."

He sounds tired, Snape thought, hearing the tension in the werewolf's voice. Tired and angry. Not the worst combination. Knocking again, he refused to do as ordered; he needed this door to open, and he didn't want Lupin to greet him with a wand in his hand.

"I said... Damn." The door flew open, and Lupin stood only a foot or two away from him. Hair ruffled, shirt half open and pulled out of his trousers, feet bare – clearly, he hadn't expected a visitor tonight, and definitely not Snape, of all people available at Hogwarts. "What the hell?" Dumbstruck, he even peeked past the Potions master, as if the student he had expected to bring him his potion was hiding behind the lean frame of his colleague. "What do you want?" he hissed. "I've been at dinner, although the smell of the food made me sick. I would have come to the common room. Later. Not now. Get lost, will you? I'm not in the mood for a chat."

"Lately, you seem to have lost your ability to talk at all, wolf," Snape replied coolly. "You barely bother me with your opinion about students, teaching, or the world as such. Here's your Wolfsbane. I finished it only a few minutes ago and decided to deliver it myself. Will you let me come inside or do you insist in being rude?"

"I... what?"

Snape sighed. "I want to enter your rooms, Lupin," he said and just pushed past the stunned man who – unsuccessfully – tried to block his way. Thrusting the Wolfsbane Potion into one of Lupin's hands allowed him the needed distraction to get inside. A lazy move and the wards were back up, raised by the Potions master: as he had broken into the werewolf's quarters not too long ago, he knew enough of his wards to use them if necessary. And now, tonight, it would be very necessary.

"Out," Lupin hissed, dangerously silent. "I don't want you in here. I want another few hours of peace before..."

"I found a way out of our dilemma." Casually, Snape sat down in one of the armchairs. Stretching out his legs, he then placed the parchment he had brought on the small table next to the chair.

That one statement got him Lupin's attention, as anticipated. Involuntarily, the werewolf's breath hitched at the words and he came closer. Not much, just a step or two, but close enough for Snape to see a thin film of sweat on Lupin's forehead. He's nervous, the Potions master realised with satisfaction. Nervous because of my presence. Good.

Hesitantly, Remus touched the parchment with a trembling finger. "Are you serious? You found a way to break the curse?" There was enough hope in his voice to stab right through Snape's usually so cold and calculating heart.

"No," the dark wizard replied, shattering this hope rather carelessly. "I said I found a way out of our dilemma. A forced binding cannot be broken. There is another solution, however. You might find it unacceptable, but be assured, there is no other way." With that, he opened the top button of the black shirt he wore tonight as if he were too warm, which was a ridiculous assumption in itself given the chilly temperature in Lupin's rooms.

The werewolf stepped back as if Snape had muttered a particularly nasty curse. His eyes, though, were fixed on the small, pale triangle that showed beneath the Potions master's throat. "Which other solution?" he managed.

"Drink your Wolfsbane first. It works best when consumed warm."

"It tastes worst when consumed warm," Lupin complained, and looked at the goblet in his hand as if it would jump at his throat any moment. Squeezing his eyes shut, he brought the rim to his lips, hesitated, and then downed the faintly shimmering liquid in one deep gulp. Shuddering, he wiped his sleeve over his lips; the goblet was placed harshly on the table. "Horrible. I truly wish I didn't have to drink this every month."

Snape snapped his fingers and summoned a glass with water. Getting up, he wordlessly handed it to the werewolf, who took it and gulped it greedily.

"Too sweet. This damn potion is just too damn disgusting," Remus muttered when the glass was empty. "I swear, there will be a day where the prospect of drinking the potion is worse than the prospect of..."

"I need you to marry me," Snape cast in.

The glass slipped out of the werewolf's hand as if it had grown hot all of a sudden. His eyes became round and wide, a shocked expression exploded in them, and the last drop of water went down the wrong way. Coughing, he turned away from Snape, who caught the glass in mid air and placed it gently on the windowsill. "Mad, you are mad, Severus!" Lupin's mellow voice had turned into a croak. He was cornered: behind him the window, in front of him the Potions master, who was now opening a second button of his shirt. The werewolf's eyes were drawn to those long, pale fingers; with visible effort, he ripped his eyes away from fabric and button.

"I'm not mad. I told you I found a solution. This is it. We marry. Unless you have a better idea, I would recommend we get the ceremony behind us as quickly as possible." Snape stepped back, giving the werewolf a bit of space. He picked up the parchment he had brought and held it out to the man who looked as if he had been struck by lightning.

Slowly, Remus raised his hand, took the parchment, and opened it. His lips moved when he read; clearly, he didn't believe what was happening to him. "That's a contract," he murmured. "A marriage contract. With my name in it and yours, Severus, and that is the contract for a legal binding, the rarest and strongest variation of marriage possible! Gods, man, are you completely out of your mind?"

Snape quirked his lips and pulled a string of leather from the pockets of his surprisingly tightly fitting jeans. With smooth movements, he pulled his hair back and bound it at the base of his neck. The shirt slipped out of his trousers, and for a brief moment, his bellybutton was to be seen.

Lupin swayed. Reaching out, he caught himself on the windowsill, knocking over the glass that stood there. It shattered on the floor to thousands of sparkling pieces. With his other hand, he held the contract in front of his eyes. He looked positively sick.

The Potions master was unimpressed. "Currently, Lupin, the forced binding holds a great deal of discomfort for both of us. In addition, it is life-threatening: if either of us dies, the other one is dead as well. Had Bella killed you, I would have followed you into the grave within the hour. Have you forgotten about this little detail?"

Hoarsely, Remus replied," I don't remember much of that day. I've told you that already."

Snape nodded and took the parchment from the werewolf's limp fingers. "This contract will free us from those restrictions, as it is strong enough to override the original curse and with it, the forced binding. There will be no necessity anymore that you stay close to me; you could even die whenever you like without fearing I will follow you to the afterworld, pestering you for being too stupid to stay alive. Moreover, unlike a forced binding, a legal one can be undone after three months time. It's a trick, but I am certain it will work. As soon as the ceremony is performed and the parchment signed, you are free to leave Hogwarts. No more meals next to me; no more nightly meetings in the common room. So. Marry me."

Remus just stared. His eyes went from Snape's face to the parchment in his hand to the shattered glass on the floor and back up again to Snape's pale, hairless chest. Especially to Snape's chest, which was now clearly visible due to the fact that three buttons were undone. "I can't marry you. It would be... wrong. I..."

"I don't care whether you consider it right or wrong or if you feel uncomfortable with it," Snape snapped. "It is nothing but a necessity. It has no deeper meaning. The prospect of being able to pack your things and leave Hogwarts in the morning should be enough to convince you." Impatiently, Snape slammed the parchment onto the table, picked up a quill, and scribbled his often-used signature fluidly underneath it.

Remus watched the Potions master's name glow up in bright silver and green colours before he took the quill himself. Dreamlike, he stepped closer to the table; dreamlike, he signed the contract and watched his name glow up in red and gold. Then both names sparked up in little fireworks.

Snape held out his hand. Still quite visibly too stunned to do anything else but act as ordered, the werewolf placed his own hand on the Potions master's open palm. The sparks formed a thin, silver-green/red-gold band of stars and encircled wrists, fingers, and lower arms of both men. An eerie, thin voice filled the room, its source the parchment itself. "Bound for life; bound in marriage. The legal binding is performed; may it never be broken," it whispered. "Honour the binding; honour your love. No lies will stay hidden."

Lupin barked out a dry, bitter laugh and pulled his hand away as if he had burned himself. The sparkling stars stayed around his wrists for a moment and then vanished into nothingness. "That was it? We are... married?"

Snape flexed his fingers. "Indeed."

"It doesn't feel different. The binding, I mean. How do we know if it really worked?" The werewolf began pacing the room, up and down from wall to wall. "Actually, I feel as if I'm drunk. Or hexed. This can't be real. Did you put anything in the Wolfsbane to make me agree to this?"

A heavy sigh indicated that the Potions master slowly, but surely lost his patience. "Had you been drunk, hexed, or under the influence of drugs or potions, the parchment wouldn't have accepted your signature. You accepted because you were – surprisingly enough, I must admit – able to follow my line of logical explanation. The marriage will free us from the consequences of Bella's curse. Once it is completed, that is."

On the table stood a bottle of wine, unopened. Clearly, Remus had planned to drink it later. Snape uncorked it, poured himself a glass, and took a generous swig. His shirt hung nearly open on his lean frame; only the middle button was still closed.

The werewolf's eyes were glued to the spot where the Potions master's heart beat beneath his pale skin. "I want you to go now, Severus. I... really, you need to go. Now. I... beg you!"

Casually, Snape slumped back down into the chair and threw one long leg across the armrest. "Hardly. This is not over yet."

Lupin didn't seem to have heard him. Nervously he ran his hands through his already ruffled hair. "It's the night before the full moon, Severus. I am not myself tonight. The wolf... the wolf is close to the surface. I act on instinct, and that could be dangerous... for you. Go. Please, go."

Snape just shook his head.

"And what do you mean, the marriage needs to be completed?" Remus continued. "I signed the damn paper, I joined hands with you; what else do you want? That I wear a ring?" Remus nearly shouted the words. Trembling, he stood in the farthest corner, wide-eyed, breathing heavily, and tension radiating from him like heat from a fire.

Snape leaned his head against the back of his chair. It was a most leisurely, even invitingly open position he had chosen; he was well aware of the effect it had on the werewolf. "Sometimes, Lupin, I wonder how you managed to get through school, given your obvious lack of knowledge. The signature is only part of the marriage. Without the sexual act, it is invalid. And concerning rings – they will appear on our fingers once we have shared a bed."

Remus stood with the back to the wall, so when he jumped back in shock, he hit his head hard on the stones. Wrapping his arms round his shaking body, he half turned away, staring into the darkness outside his rooms. Dark clouds had gathered in the sky; there would be a thunderstorm coming down any moment now. "This is a nightmare. Just a nasty, horrible nightmare. You are not here, and this is not happening."

Snape took another sip of his wine and waited for Remus to finish.

"I... can't. I wouldn't! I mean, I would never, ever touch you, Severus! Not voluntarily. Never. No. There is no way you will ever talk me into touching you!" Angrily, the werewolf wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. Outside, the first raindrops hit the frozen ground and the high windows.

"Quite insulting, Lupin. Be assured, before Bella had captured you, before I came to take you to the infirmary, your statement would have surely driven me out of here, assuring me you were disgusted by my presence." Rolling the glass between his long fingers, Snape asked, "You still can't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"What you said to me while lying on Bella's torturing table. She had Legilimensed you. She shared your memories with me, the memories she had found in your mind." Snape got up and took a step towards the man in the corner. Remus couldn't back away any further, but he tried nevertheless.

"Bella told me you wanted to sleep with me."

"No!"

"You took a lust potion because otherwise, you would not have been able to do what needed to be done: as much as you wanted me, you were terrified at the prospect of having to take me by force. So you drank the potion, you bound and gagged me to prevent me from hurting you and myself. Nevertheless, being with me was heaven for you, at least for a brief moment. Then you ran away, disgusted...

"Please. No!"

"...at what you had done despite the fact that it had been necessary and that you had saved my life. In your shower, you thought of me whilst pulling yourself off."

"I did not!" Horrified, Remus pressed his hands against the cold glass. A flash made it vibrate, and the light gave the werewolf's features a sickly look.

"There is no use lying," Snape said mercilessly. "You love me; you yourself said so. You want me, which is the reason why you keep your distance. You fear you will attack me if I get too close. You shiver, you tremble, your nostrils flare, and you can't take your eyes off me. Right now, you smell me and wonder how I would taste, how my skin might feel under your fingertips; how it would be to have me underneath you."

Remus bowed his head and pressed his hands onto his ears.

Another step. Snape was now at arm's length. His voice was not entirely unfriendly when he said, "You can barely control yourself. I can see it, and I know it. The night before the full moon is the one night when instinct takes over and overrules your logic and your will. You want me. I advise you to take me, as it is the sole reason why I'm still here."