Part Two

Remus feels Snape's gaze return to his chest as he prepares him.

Snape does not seem as confident as before – he is not touching him, neither does he search out his gland, and Remus waits, willing himself to relax. This is not the instigation of the bond, with its accompanying chants and predetermined ritual – only its reinforcement, and Remus does not know what to expect this time from Snape, drug-free and unhindered by procedure.

He sees Snape's eyes rake briefly over his chest again as he withdraws and repositions himself over him.

Severus begins to inch into him, and Remus, feeling each minute stretch as Severus starts to fill him for the first time without the rip of orgasm obliterating all else, hears himself gasp and moan.

Severus stills and his eyes snap up, and Remus sees them search his own. His gaze is charged with tension, and Remus realises there is none of the easy air of before – there is no sign of any potion this time. Remus replies in his own way to the unvoiced question. "Touch me."

Another question appears to pass through Severus's eyes before a resigned understanding seems to glaze them as they unfocus and move away from him again as his body shifts.

Remus feels rough skin curl around his hardness, and he sucks in a breath at the touch even as he reluctantly reaches down to remove Severus's hand. "Not there." He places the warm palm where he had seen Severus's glance returning earlier, and Severus stares in wonder at the pale hand where it rests on Remus's chest.

Remus closes his eyelids and feels the still warmth penetrate his breast with each rise and fall.

A moment later, he feels the heat push down uncertainly on his breath as Severus begins to move again, further into him.

Without the anxiety of the spell the first time, without the drugged haze of the Calming Draught and pain-killing potions Snape had given him against Lucius's torture, Remus's senses explode ... Snape, against his skin, Snape pushing into him, withdrawing, pushing again. Snape's breaths at his chest, Snape's hair brushing over him, Snape's pale arms braced either side of him. The smell of potion-brewing all around him. Each inch, each breath, each smell...

Snape stills and shudders, and Remus feels Snape swell inside him.

Then already he is withdrawing, and Remus opens his eyes to see him fall languidly to the side.

Remus lies still, listening to Snape's laboured breathing, listening to his own aching need.

The bed dips as Snape pushes himself up. He pauses as he reaches the edge, and Remus sees his glance.

Remus closes his eyes and wills him to leave. Please just leave. Remus holds on feverishly.

At last, the bed creaks back into place as Snape rises. There is a brief rustle as Snape gathers his clothes – too quick for him to have dressed fully – followed by the click of the door.

Remus opens his eyes to the empty room.

He has left the scent of sex behind, the room is still hot, and Remus shuts his eyes once more and reaches down, enfolding his need in his hand, soothing it, bringing it to completion to the feel of a careful heat on his chest.

~ ~ ~

Remus wonders if Severus knows he is his first. He knows he must feel tight. He has only had one, brief, encounter, with a man whose name had not mattered and who did not know his. Remus's sole aim had been to satisfy the feelings he had for his friend – to stem the pain each time Sirius smiled his way – knowing the roots of his smile never reached as deep as his own. Sirius – the height of cool ... the ladies' man through and through ... unknowingly stoking his lust with his unattainability.

But he was young and foolish, and though he knew the full moon was weeks away – knew it – as the man with Sirius's dark hair caressed his skin and explored inside him with his limber fingers, Remus became afraid of the rising animal passion that began to overtake him – afraid to come round to bloodied sheets, bloodied mouth.

He escaped and emptied his stomach in a dark doorway as a drunken crowd of youths laughed at his cowardice.

Only Tonks, brave, sweet Tonks, succeeded in convincing him his vulnerability was less of a danger than he thought.

But he knew there was no man that he could have trusted, no man worth the risk. No man who would not have balked, despised him, turned from him in disgust and fear if he had told them his true nature. Only Sirius knew and accepted him for what he was. And Sirius was the impossible – something Remus knew he could never have. Remus knew then that the impossible was his fate, following him everywhere he went, surrounding him like a cage.

~ ~ ~

He does not know what he had expected – perhaps the wolf in the centre of the room, sat in a pool of moonlight, baying at the window?

Snape's wide gaze lingers over the sleeping creature sprawled out on his – its – bed.

He sees the pointed shape of the snout, leading down to its wet nose. Its tufted tail – another unmistakable hallmark of the werewolf.

He does not know why he is here. The first time had been out of necessity – to prevent the wolf from snuffling through his house in search of water. This time ... this time it seems to be pure whim. A morbid curiosity.

Snape's whole being speaks of danger as he stands here in the doorway, his wand tight in one hand, the other gripping the door handle. A gulf of terror, almost tangible, like a paralysing wall of flames, seems the only thing between him and the creature, pulling and pushing, both preventing him from stepping forward from the doorway and stopping him from leaving.

But he hasn't felt so alive for a long time, not since the end of the Dark Lord, since the end of his deep-rooted subterfuge.

He stands and revels in the adrenalin coursing through his veins.

Only the shiver of a memory brings him finally to his senses, and he edges the door closed and gathers his nerves in the hallway.

~ ~ ~

"Some people say I'm mad, keeping them in my house, when there's ample space on the grounds somewhere, in the barns. But," Waddock leans in a little over the counter and lowers his voice, "I admit I find danger rather seductive." He straightens. "And why on earth should I be made to feel embarrassed about that, I ask you?" He lets out a derisive laugh. "No. Let them keep their safe little lives, with their loyal wives and two-point-four children. Me, I prefer to live a little." He turns his bright eyes on Snape. "Don't you?"

Snape gives him a sardonic glance as he hands over the Wolfsbane.

"That musky aroma," says Waddock as he takes the bottle heedlessly, too arrogant to see Snape's careful mockery. "Seductive, don't you think?"

Snape curls his lip in a sneer. "If you say so." Waddock is well-known for his penchant for young women, strings of which can often be seen paying him visits. Snape keeps his expression carefully neutral. What the man does in his own time is his own business.

"The musky scent. The danger." Waddock is gazing into the distance now, his eyes unfocused. "Werewolf." His tongue caresses the word, curving around each consonant, drawing out the vowels, tasting it, savouring it. "All mine."

Waddock blinks, then, and refocuses on Snape. He gives a slight self-effacing laugh. "Where was I? Ah, yes, how much do I owe you for this?"

He hands over payment in Galleons and Snape gives him his change, and as he leaves, Snape stares across the room at a pile of dusty old books. He thinks of labelling potions, scrubbing cauldrons. He thinks of his damp and filthy cell in Azkaban. He even tries to imagine Mad-Eye Moody naked in his bed, his magical eye wandering....

But it is no use, he knows. The urge had been there. The magic will have begun to collapse, and no matter how he feels now, he knows it will not stop until he does something about it.

"Fuck."

He closes his shop and Apparates to the alley next to Spinner's End.

When he flings open his front door, he hears the crawling sound of the wireless and sees Lupin reclined in the chair, a book resting on his chest, his eyes closed and mouth open slightly. Lupin is breathing heavily, and Snape feels his irritation grow with every rasping sound. He slams the door closed behind him.

Lupin gasps as he comes to, wide-eyed. He gathers himself quickly, catching the book before it falls to the floor, and his surprised gaze lands on Snape. "Severus? What – Is it evening already?" He glances at the clock. "It's only half-past two." He jumps to his feet, apparently still a little shaky with sleep. "Is something wrong? What's happened?"

Lupin sounds worried, he is looking at Snape anxiously, and Snape can't bring himself to form the necessary words. The idea of what he has to do is far from his mind right now, and he finds his humiliation at turning up out of the blue building.... But, to his relief, Lupin appears to have already deduced the reason for his sudden arrival. Lupin's eyes are round as he asks in a low voice, almost a whisper, "Now?"

In reply, Snape marches to the staircase.

He hears footsteps on the stairs behind him as he enters Lupin's room. On the threshold, as he waits, he notices for perhaps the first time that subtle scent of animal. Musk. It seems to grow stronger as he stands there, and the memory of Waddock's lecherous smirk earlier, still fresh in his mind, assaults him again.

He hears the rustle of Lupin's robes. He turns. "Not here." He strides past Lupin the short distance across the hallway to his own bedroom. He has never allowed Lupin in here, but it will have to do for today.

~ ~ ~

Severus lifts his spent weight from him and scowls. "Why didn't you wash today?"

Remus regards his sour expression with uncertainty at the strange remark. "But I did. This morning."

Snape's glare deepens, disbelievingly perhaps, and his face turns a shade of pink around the edges. The bed dips violently and creaks in protest as Snape rolls to the side and immediately stands to dress.

"Going back to work?" Remus asks tentatively as he draws the bedcover over his exposed skin.

"I still have orders to fulfil today."

Remus watches him pull on his robes. Orders, he thinks. You always seem to need orders to follow, don't you, Severus? Even when you took it on yourself to save me from becoming a killer, you felt you were following unspoken orders – of unrelenting, endless duty....

Remus's thoughts return to earlier – the panic he felt at waking to the unexpected sight of Snape's tense, dark figure by the door. The way Snape regarded him – emotions warring in him as he stood there, until Remus thought he saw, to his surprise, his expression turn to one that had been almost ... apologetic.

"Severus," he says now. "Can I ask why – you know. You've never.... This is the first time you've ... when I haven't been anywhere near you."

Severus still has his back to him as he continues to dress in silence.

"It's none of my business, of course." Remus pulls the covers higher. He watches as flakes of snow drift out of the white sky and kiss the windowpane.

"Someone came in for some Wolfsbane Potion," Snape says grudgingly, and Remus turns back to see him pulling his cuffs straight.

"And you thought of me? But ... you must handle it a lot ..." Remus feels he shouldn't have said that, somehow. Somehow, there is more to what Snape has said, and Snape has already granted him more information than he cares to.

Severus turns to him, and Remus sees a muscle in his jaw twitch. "You're right. It is none of your business." He strides over to the window and opens it wide. A blast of air chills the room, and Remus grips the bedcover.

At the door, Snape pulls his face back into a sour expression. "Change the sheets."

~ ~ ~

Remus turns and watches Snape dress, grey and black sliding over pale skin. Is it his imagination only, or does Snape seem to be joining him in his bed more and more often? He wonders if it is just his mind playing tricks on him.

Because it does seem to be getting easier. It does seem to be becoming almost pleasant ... enjoyable. Even though Severus has not touched him since that first night.

Perhaps Remus is simply thinking of the next time already – perhaps he is beginning to look forward to Snape's heat over him, inside him? He is always careful not to hold Severus's back for fear that he will give him cursed wounds (or is it because he knows Severus will not allow his touch?) But perhaps he is beginning to want it – to need it – not just for reinforcing the magic that keeps him from Malfoy – but selfishly – for himself, too?

Severus scowls down his robes at a button that refuses to comply with his pale fingers as he rushes to dress.

Remus wonders when his gaze had first begun to linger over those harsh creases that always form between those dark brows when he is angry.

~ ~ ~

Slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb the wolf, he steps forward and reaches out.

The scent of wolf is stronger, filling his nostrils, as he brings his hand closer. Steady fingers brush fur – and Snape's heart misses a beat – the hair feels bristly, coarse. Old. He brings his hand up higher, toward the head, nearer danger. Snape stops.

Did he see the eyelids twitch a little?

The wolf exhales suddenly, a blast of warm air rushing from its flaring nostrils, and Snape jumps back, his fingers tight around his wand.

He stands still, silent, but the wolf makes no further sound. It is still asleep, its rib-lined belly rising and falling slowly, and Snape releases his breath slowly, mockingly. To think he spent these last few moons by his front door like a stranger in his own house – while the thing lay here dozing.

He edges out of the room, his eyes fixed on the slumbering mass of bristly fur, and he closes the door with a click on the beast that terrorised his teenage dreams.

~ ~ ~

Remus knows he sometimes dreams as the wolf. In the sliver of time during transformation as the wolf's mind battles his for supremacy before the Wolfsbane sends it cowering away, he feels its strength, its relentless hold over him – its death grip. And he pushes away the images it tries to tempt him with, its insatiable need for blood.

While in wolf form, he allows his more innocent dog-like nature to pervade his human mind in its stead. He likes to allow himself to dream in that state, to dwell as the innocent creature who imagines bounding through tall grass in the rain, stopping only to send the drops flying from his body in urgent twists, his happy tongue loose and long and free.

Last night he dreamed of a calming touch descend briefly to his head, and a familiar scent pervaded his nostrils, bringing with it a sense of belonging that trickled deeply into him and sent him breathing out long and deep.

~ ~ ~

Even as Remus draws his finger slowly along the edge of the sturdy table, tracing each scratch, each depression, even as he feels Snape's gaze heavy on him, he doesn't stop.

He is surrounded by the pungent scents of potions, and between the dark corners are cramped shelves filled with greying parchments, well-used books, their spines in various stages of decay, even worse than the ones Snape keeps in the sitting room at home, glass bottles housing animal, plant and Merlin-knows-what-else parts. Cauldrons sit by the base of one wall, where he knows Snape is attending to a maturing potion, parchment in one hand.

The workshop is a treasure trove of potions. It positively reeks of brewing.

Severus has become tired of Remus's complaints about being stuck in the house. This morning, Remus asked him once again about his day and the place where he works in the centre of town, and so Snape has brought him here so that he can see for himself. Snape will permit him to assist him for a while, and perhaps later he may let him attempt a potion he has read about in one of Snape's books.

Remus knows it is only to shut him up, but he feels slightly excited nonetheless.

He recalls how Snape Apparated them to a stone stairwell leading to the columned terrace on which the shop is set, one of many identical ones around the Muggle courtyard two floors down. He remembers stepping through the shop door and immediately inhaling the overpowering scent. It is Snape times a hundred – and Remus feels he could stay here forever. At first he shakes this strange thought away, uncertain where it comes from.

But he can't help but become immersed in this atmosphere, this pervasive darkness, this odour, this ... Severus.

"Is this the table where you work?" Remus hardly dares to ask the words – he wonders how his voice will sound. But Snape's gaze is already on him. He feels it. And he traces each cut in the table. Each one made by Snape. Snape chopping roots, Snape's fingers measuring each part carefully, Snape studying each ingredient.

I have my urges too, Severus.

At last, he hears his name spoken with that strange, rough edge that more and more seems to send a shiver and a thrill simultaneously through him, and Remus now feels his guilt wrestling with his need.

A rustle of robes and parchment as Snape moves from his potion forces Remus to turn. He mustn't make it too obvious. He faces Snape with an enquiring gaze, though inside he is almost giddy with need.

But he feels the wave of guilt as he sees Severus's anxious expression, the emotions warring in him.

His stomach lurches. How could he have been so foolish, so callous?

But it is too late to turn back now. He has done this – he alone has set the protective magic on its downward spiral – and now he is forcing Severus to reinstate it. Because of his own selfish desires.

What the hell was he thinking?

Severus blindly sets the parchment he is still holding to one side and steps forward. Remus searches for an apology, but how can he say sorry for this? How can he make this all right? "Severus..." He sees Severus pause and swallow, and it occurs to him that Severus is interpreting his anxiety the wrong way.

It's my fault. It's my fault! I wanted this. But he is too much of a coward to tell him.

"Let's go home." Remus turns to the door.

"No." Severus swallows again. He is still facing the worktable. "It must be here."

Remus feels his stomach twist painfully at the anxiety in Severus's voice. He has done this to him. "Severus." He steps toward him, not knowing what to say. "I..." He looks into Severus's black eyes, only a foot from his own. "You aren't forcing yourself upon me." His voice is barely a whisper. "I want you to know that."

Whatever Remus expected to take the place of the worry in his expression – a softness, perhaps (foolish Remus!) – he finds himself now recoiling from the anger that he sees building in those dark eyes.

"Bend over the table."

In his shock, Remus stumbles backwards until he touches the table. Severus is bearing down on him. "Turn around."

He saw you! He knows! Everything inside Remus screams at him that he deserves this.

But something else, something borne of being around Severus so often, the part of him that is still learning Severus's ways, tells him that Severus is protecting himself. That he is erecting a barrier because Remus crossed a line with his last remark. That he is angry at himself, not Remus.

"Turn. Around."

But Remus finds this voice difficult to hear through his turmoil of emotions as he presses back against the table. He didn't want it to be like this. In truth, he didn't really know what he expected it to be like. He is a fool.

An apology forms on his lips, but he bites it back and turns to the table, leans over it. Why make Severus even angrier?

He feels his robes being lifted and gathered around his waist, and he steadies himself on the scratched, stained surface.

This is what you wanted, wasn't it? Why aren't you enjoying it?

Remus squeezes his eyes closed. His bare thighs press against the table edge as Severus slides two fingers into him. At least he is preparing him first.

It's more than you deserve.

His breaths slow as Severus feels inside him then withdraws. A moist hand falls on his hip as he feels Severus's heat behind, closer.

And then he is inching into him, pushing him into the table. Slowly. Remus has chance to adjust to each stretch, to keep his breath slow and deep. He leans down, his forehead almost at the table. With every breath he inhales more of the smell of potions, with every inch Severus gains inside him, he feels more of his heat behind.

At last, Severus is filling him. He stills.

Remus wants him to move, but he daren't show his need. He keeps as still as Severus, his own deep breaths loud in his ear, echoing off the table's surface below.

Then the unthinkable happens.

At first, Remus believes he must be dreaming as he feels the rough skin brush his hardening cock. But it is real – it must be – fingers curl around him – and he dares himself to look down. He rests his forehead on the table and holds his breath as he watches, in the dim light, a pale hand work itself down his length. Remus closes his eyes and revels in the feeling.

It is the first time Severus has touched him of his own accord since their first night. The first time that it hasn't been necessary.

He lifts himself back onto his hands, fingers on the rough surface of Severus's worktable, as Severus begins withdrawing.

Severus's hand stays in place as he moves slowly into him again, establishing a rhythm, rocking him into the table edge, and soon Remus can't hold on to his senses any longer – Severus is all around him – his scent – his touch – his heat – his sound as he pants above him – even the table Remus breathes heavily against is littered with signs of Severus – Remus's thighs pounding into its worn edge. Severus is all around and inside him, and Remus comes with a gasp and a cry as he spills himself over Severus's worktable, leaving his own scent across the place where Severus spends his days.

Severus thrusts a few more times before he stills deep inside him and exhales above.

He pulls out a second later, and Remus hears him mutter a few cleaning charms. Remus straightens and pulls down his robes.

Though Severus has already cleaned the worktable, Remus knows his scent is embedded into each tiny scratch, mingled with each potion stain. Inseparable.

A deep warmth fills him.

~ ~ ~

He occupies his mornings with tackling a little more of the dust accumulated over the years, the sad state of some of the furniture, the crockery, even the haphazard arrangement of Severus's books. Remus does not read many of them, of course – he has never had any interest in Dark magic, and Severus frowns horribly when he does express a polite interest in his reading material. Only the ones on potions seem vaguely interesting, and some afternoons he drifts off to the droning words. But Severus still does not seem to have noticed their new organisation according to subject, and Remus does not know whether to be relieved or dejected at this. (Though Remus does notice, with a little annoyance, that every so often he is forced to replace some in their proper location.) One part of the house he makes sure he never, ever ventures, however – not since that one and only time – is Severus's bedroom.

It is on one such morning, a bright, blue-sky morning, that Remus heaves back the threadbare sofa in the sitting room. The accumulation of dust here is shocking, dampening his spirits. And it comes as little surprise that he discovers a few odds and ends among the dust. It's at times like these he wishes he had a wand. But of course, the Ministry would know straight away. A werewolf with a wand, uttering a harmless cleaning spell? What a crime! He sighs and pushes away such debilitating thoughts.

He bends to gather some of the more interesting-looking items – he counts at least ten Sickles. Spending money. If only he had somewhere to spend it....

As he peers beneath the sofa's edge, something white catches his eye. He leans down further and makes out a small corner – perhaps a piece of parchment. It is just out of reach, and he has to twist and reach his arm underneath, feel around in the dark before his fingers touch a sharp edge. He brings it out and holds it to the light.

Far from being a piece of parchment, it seems to be a photograph, of a woman and child. Remus frowns. They aren't moving. Not even a slight change in their expressions.

It is altogether an odd photograph. The seated woman wears a slightly sullen expression under her heavy brows and seems to have been caught off guard – Remus feels uncomfortable watching her never-changing expression of surprise – and the child ... the boy....

Remus blinks and rises, bringing it closer to the window. The boy is sallow, dark-haired – greasy-looking.... But it is the hooked nose that settles it. Merlin.

If this is Severus in the picture, if this is his mother, why aren't either of them moving?

But that isn't the strangest thing.

Remus looks up in thought. It occurs to him that not only can he not recall seeing any moving photos in the house, he can't recall seeing any photos in the house.

He lowers his gaze back to the boy. In contrast to his rather irritated mother, he is looking straight at the camera with a calm expression.

It gives Remus the impression that he is in cohorts with the person behind the camera – that he has set his mother up. Yes – is that a slight curl he sees at the corner of his mouth? Severus can't have been more than about seven or eight....

Remus turns the picture over. The words 'SUMMER, 1967' are inscribed on the back. The same year, the same age that Greyback came for him...

When he stole his childhood and made him into a monster.

Remus returns his gaze to those black, care-free eyes. He feels a pang of sadness as he imagines the irritation sliding from his mother's face as soon as the camera is down.

He focuses instead on the boy's gaze as it stares into him, not accusingly, not pushing him away from their private scene, but almost ... welcoming, as if they are sharing a secret together. Remus finds a muscle in his cheek twitch as he copies his barely discernable smile.

He turns and leans on the wall as he shares this moment with the eight-year-old boy.

But if Severus had been close to his mother, then why do there not seem to be any photos in the house now, none on display anywhere – not even in Severus's bedroom, that one time he had been in? Why is the only picture of Severus's family underneath a dusty old sofa?

Remus ventures the question that evening.

"You know, I can't remember seeing any pictures of your family around the house." In frames, he adds silently. I'm not lying, not really.

Severus doesn't look up from his paper. Remus waits. Severus turns a page.

"Didn't you get on?" Remus asks.

There is a pause, but at least Severus answers this time. "I don't see that is any of your business," he says evenly.

"I just thought it was odd. I would have thought one might have caught my eye by now ... you know..."

Severus turns his black eyes on him. "Very subtle, Lupin," he sneers. He makes a derisive noise as he watches Remus grow uncomfortable. "It took you long enough." He turns back to his paper.

"Took me long enough for what?"

"To work out that I have no house-elf, that there are no magical fixtures in the house." He glances wryly at Remus. "That there are electric light switches on the wall of virtually every room. None working, admittedly," he adds, frowning into the Prophet, "but there nonetheless."

Remus watches him as he reads. Of course Remus has noticed the strange switches on the walls, by the doors – though he assumed that Severus simply moved into an old Muggle house. He has ventured outdoors a few times – without Severus's knowledge, of course – and from what he can see, the area is mostly uninhabited, in a dilapidated state. It would make the perfect place for someone to hide out.

But is Severus saying instead that his family lived here? What is Severus saying, exactly? "Not every family has a house-elf," is the only thing Remus can think of to say.

Severus throws him a weary glance.

Well, Remus's parents couldn't afford to keep a house-elf – he knows for a fact the Weasleys couldn't – still can't ... probably. He sighs, tries to recover his train of thought.

Severus's family. The photo. He looks across – Severus's eyes are skimming the paper. "So what are you saying?" Remus asks at last. "This is your family's house?"

"What do you think?" Severus sounds irritated.

"I don't know. Yes?"

Severus looks up again, his annoyance showing as his gaze pierces into Remus. "Weren't you there when the Wizengamot dragged my parents' names through the mud?"

"I – must have missed that part." Remus gives him a wry, sympathetic smile, but Severus turns back to the paper.

After mention of the trial, Remus isn't sure how to broach the subject anew. Is Severus suggesting that one of his parents – perhaps both – were Muggles? "I feel like a hot drink. Tea?"

"Not for me."

"Would you mind if I had some cocoa?" He moves to rise, taken over by his sudden thought. When was the last time he tasted chocolate?

"Be my guest. But you won't find any in the house."

"Ah." Remus sits down again. "Never mind." He takes a quick breath. "But why don't you seem to have any pictures of your family?"

Severus keeps his gaze on the paper, but Remus sees his eyes come to a stop and his jaw clench. "Because my father was a filthy Muggle and my mother was a pure-blood traitor. I destroyed every single picture, burnt every single one of their belongings." Remus sees the paper crease around his tight grip. "Surely it is not that difficult to work out, even for you?"

Severus's voice is harsh, signalling the end of the conversation, and Remus keeps his hand from moving instinctively to his robes where the photo is concealed.

He chooses to remain silent. The boy didn't think those awful things about his parents, no matter what his words are today.

Remus decides then that he will not let him destroy it. He will not let him reduce the boy's fleeting happiness to nothing more than ashes. He will be safe with Remus.

~ ~ ~

Severus is in a mellow mood – for Severus. He and Remus have finished nearly an entire bottle of elf-made wine between them, and Remus has barely touched any of it.

Remus has asked him about his workshop, and Severus tells him it used to be his father's. Remus remembers he told him his father was a Muggle. He thinks of the boy who shares his secrets with him after an evening of silence with Severus.

Remus glances at the nearly empty bottle. "You – don't really think that about your parents, do you?"

Severus does not look up from where he reclines, eyes shut, in the chair, a half-full glass in his hand, resting on his chest. "Think what?"

"That your father was a – filthy Muggle and your mother was a blood traitor."

Severus's eyes snap open then. He leans forward and places his glass on the table. He makes a derisive noise as he fixes his dark gaze on Remus. "What do you think, werewolf?" His voice is low – Remus hates it when it gets this low – when he calls him werewolf. "Did your parents care for you?"

Remus looks at him in surprise. "Of course they did."

"And when they discovered what you are, did they still?"

"Of course. Yes."

"Though they treated you differently, yes?"

Remus stares at the cold gaze, his breaths hot and ragged. "Isn't it enough you hate your parents? You won't make me hate mine..."

"You're not listening to me." Severus stares into him. "When they understood what you are, they felt the same inside, though they treated you differently."

Remus feels his breaths slow, cool, as he searches Severus's angry gaze.

"More distant," Severus continues. "And when everyone else around condemns, you follow blindly, agree." He turns away. "A foolish teenager – following blindly until it is too late for the truth to be heard."

Then Remus thinks he begins to understand. "You destroyed everything?"

"To keep the truth from my new family," Severus spits bitterly.

"You don't have anything?"

"I have my memories."

Suddenly, in the angry man before him, Remus sees something of the boy, staring sadly at the table. Remus finds his hand slipping into his robes, almost of its own will. He slips the small square of flimsy card to the table and slides it along.

Severus's gaze falls on it, and Remus sees his eyes widen, freeze in recognition.

"I found it underneath the sofa last month while I was doing some cleaning."

Severus's voice is hoarse, hard. "Take it away."

"Severus..."

"I said take it away. Take it away!" He jumps up and strides toward the kitchen.

Remus grabs the picture and follows. "Severus. You don't need to hide the truth any more. The war is over."

Severus turns to him angrily. "It is never over. Not until the last one of us who can remember it is dead and gone."

Remus looks into his eyes, at the raw emotion – the most he can ever recall seeing in Severus's carefully guarded face.

"I don't accept that," Remus says. "I think that its control over us ends as soon as each one of us chooses it to end." He slides the picture into Severus's hand, turns and slips from the room.

~ ~ ~

He misses him, the boy who exists only in the moment. Who understood his eight-year-old self's fears for the future. Shared his loneliness, shared his silence ... shared his secret smile in the dark.

It is silly, he knows. But Remus finds he can't help but ask after him and his family. "Do you still have that photo?" he says, genially, casually, one day at breakfast.

Severus eyes him carefully. "Checking it is still intact?" He reaches into his robes before Remus can answer and slams the picture on the table.

Remus finds himself face to face again with the boy – searching each other – his familiar, secret smile holding him ...

"When did you say you found it?" Remus raises his gaze to see that Severus's eyes are narrowed. "A month before you showed it to me?"

Remus feels guilt creep over him. The horrid guilt of a secret pleasure being uncovered, dismantled. He has miscalculated just how much he has been missing that strange smile on that pale face.

"Like little boys, do you?"

Remus's breath catches. Severus's coldly suspicious gaze raises an offended fire in his belly. He feels sick at Severus's accusation.

"Of course, your kind do have the taste for children – 'bite them while young'..."

Remus's chair flies back. "You bastard!" He is shaking with fury; Severus's meaning is unmistakable. He runs from the room and doesn't stop until he is behind the door, against the wall, heaving burning breaths.

How could he –?

Remus shakes against the wall.

~ ~ ~

He knows his eyes must still be raw from that morning when he enters the room.

Sounds filter through from the kitchen as Remus sits. He will not let Severus's words make him hide forever.

He hears a rustle of robes as Severus comes through to the sitting room and sits in the chair opposite. There is a hollow thud as he places a mug on the table.

"I found some at the back of a cupboard."

Remus looks up then, at the mug filled with a brown liquid. Recognition – and thirst – sets in.

He knows Severus is lying – he'd checked everywhere, craving chocolate. He hadn't realised Severus had paid any heed to the passing remark he made over a month ago. Remus stares at the steaming cocoa set in front of him.

"I was wrong to say what I did." Severus pauses, but Remus keeps his gaze on the cocoa. "You're nothing like that monster Greyback."

Remus turns away, his throat dry. "I don't want to hear his name."

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then?"

Remus looks across at him. Though one eyebrow is raised, and his mouth seems to curl slightly, Remus thinks he caught a passing hint of something in his eyes ... something like anxiety .... But his implacably neutral gaze is already back in place.

Remus wonders why he has never noticed before just how much of the boy in the picture is left in the man.

He slides his gaze to the mug that Severus has made for him.

"It's just cocoa."

Remus cracks a smile and lets out a half-hearted breath of laughter at Severus's attempt at reassurance – and at the same time Remus finds himself unable to ignore the rough dryness in his throat. Reaching, he takes the drink from the table. He looks up and meets Severus's gaze. "Thank you."

As Remus sips the cocoa – chocolate! How he has missed it! – he sees Severus settle back into the chair.

He curls his hands around the hot mug and gazes into it. "You were my age," he says, his breath disturbing the rising steam. "In the photo. The same age – when ..." He takes a breath. "... when I was bitten." He watches the vapour swirling, inhaling the sweet scent. "You look happy there. Do you remember who took it?"

"My father."

Severus doesn't offer further explanation, and Remus doesn't want to pry. He takes another drink, healing chocolate warming his insides as it goes down.

"Take it."

Remus looks up to see that Severus is holding out the picture. He searches Severus's inscrutable eyes. "I – I can't. It's yours," he says firmly. "It's the only one you have."

"I have my memories."

Remus glances from the boy to the man and back again.

He feels the heat from the mug Severus has made for him warm his hands and tastes on his tongue the chocolate Severus has bought for him. He shakes his head firmly. "It's yours."

Severus pauses, searches his gaze, then slowly takes back the picture, looks at it with an almost critical eye. He moves to place it back in his robes ... but then pauses ... glances at it again with a strange expression, an almost determined look. Then he rises from the chair, and Remus watches as he strides to the fire.... Remus nearly cries out as his hands begin to slip from around the mug.... But instead Severus raises the photo to the mantelpiece above.

As Severus gazes at the picture propped up against the base of the clock, Remus relaxes a little. He indulges in more of the heavenly chocolate, sure he has never tasted a better cup.

~ ~ ~

Sometimes Remus hears Severus's soft mutters as he wandlessly checks the magic after spending time in his bed.

Tonight, Remus feels himself begin to drift off to the cadenced sound of Severus's whispers over him.

A sudden change in the rhythm draws him back.

"It can't be."

He looks up into Severus's serious expression. "What? What is it?" He sits up.

"Stay still!" Severus's breath is harsh, urgent. He starts the low murmurs again as he stares into him.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Severus curses and brings his eyes to his. He moves from the bed, his loose cotton shirt billowing as he paces across the room. "It isn't possible." He rummages through his robes and brings out his wand.

"What isn't? Tell me!"

Severus draws his wand over him, his lips moving almost silently beneath his deep-set frown.

Remus can't bear it any longer. "For God's sake, Severus, please tell me what's going on."

Severus lowers his wand and exhales harshly. "If you would keep still and silent, perhaps I could find out."

"Find out what? Is it the magic?"

"It isn't possible," Severus repeats as he draws his hand through his hair and stares into Remus.

"Isn't it working any more?" Severus brings his gaze to his, and Remus's stomach drops. "Oh, God."

"Oh, it's still working." Severus frowns. "At least, it seems to be."

"Then, what's the problem?"

Severus pauses. "It is working. But I don't know how. The magic we put in place ... something is wrong with it. For all intents and purposes its power is gone.... It should be gone. Yet there still seems to be some magic – something – still keeping Malfoy's down. I don't know what it is and I don't know how it came to be there."

Remus searches Severus's sober gaze as this sinks in. "For how long?" he breathes. "How long will it keep Malfoy's from working?"

He feels the colour drain from his face as he looks into Severus's eyes – Severus doesn't know.

"I will find out what this is," Severus tells him. "It is holding – whatever it is." He grabs his robes and dresses hurriedly.

"Can I help?"

"You know nothing about Dark magic, Lupin." He turns and holds his gaze. "I will find out what is wrong."

Remus stares after him. He doesn't want to go back to Malfoy. He doesn't want to leave Severus's house.

~ ~ ~

He drops the book on the floor and picks up another. Something ... there must be something ...

He scans through the pages, flicking through them furiously. His dark eyes skim over the familiar terms – obscure and Dark – horrid and gruesome ...

In a rage, he flings it down and stares at the scattered books at his feet – all useless. All of them utterly useless.

He has never seen anything like it before. The Dark magic was supposed to stay in place ... it was supposed to be strong enough to override Malfoy's claim – how could its power have simply vanished? And what the devil has taken its place? Has Malfoy done something?

Snape leans back a little in the chair and rests his elbow on the arm, holding his head in his hand. Think! There must be something I'm missing .... Something obvious ....

He looks up. Perhaps .... He stands and strides to one of the bookshelves that line the room. Flicking his wand at the topmost shelf, he watches the thick, brown leather-bound volume arc slowly away from its neighbours, toward his outstretched hand.

Carefully, he turns the fragile, aged pages within.

He finds the chapter. Dark Possession. He scans through the section headings. Causes ... Ways to Enforce ... How to Suppress Attempts to Surmount ... Undesirable Outcomes ... Secondary Effects ... Long-Term Behaviour ...

He exhales and returns to the third section.

No, no, no! – all the methods listed here that a victim may try to use to overcome such Dark magic need spells, incantations ... and because the binding magic is still between him and Lupin, it must be something they have done together .... But they have done nothing like this...! He grips the leather cover and growls in frustration. He will discover what this damned supplanting magic is!

Dark possession .... This is a binding form .... Something that relies on two-way magic .... Snape flicks forward again to section four, 'Undesirable Outcomes'. He skims through the rhetoric impatiently. When he reaches the top of the next page, he stops.

He rereads the paragraph. And again. And again. He swallows.

The reference is so small – almost a passing mention – he could easily have missed it.

But of course it is, he thinks, his eyes unfocusing. This is a book on Dark magic – some of the very Darkest. Such a reference has no place in here.

Almost involuntarily, his gaze strays to the bookcase concealing the stairway.

How is he going to explain this to Lupin?

~ ~ ~

Remus gets up at a quarter to six, unable to lie there staring at the ceiling any more.

When he enters the kitchen, he is surprised to see Severus at the table, his head on his arms, apparently fast asleep. He stirs, and Remus notices that he has been lying on an open book.

Severus raises his head slowly, as though stiff from sleeping over the table. Remus sees that his robes are undone at the top – it does not appear as though he has been to bed at all last night.

"Lupin." His voice is rough from sleep; he clears his throat impatiently.

Remus takes the seat opposite. "Did you find anything? Well?" he asks when Severus doesn't answer.

Severus stares and slides the book he has been lying on toward him.

Remus takes it questioningly. It is obviously a book on Dark magic – a very old one judging by the flowery language and old-fashioned script. He shakes his head at it and looks up at Severus.

"The top paragraph on the right."

Remus reads the words, not understanding any of them. This is all beyond him. Dark. He hates it. He exhales a hot breath. "How old is this?" he asks, leaning back and staring at the sepia pages with a frown. He looks up.

"This is ancient..." Severus glances at the book. "...power."

Remus searches Severus's distant expression. "I don't understand it," he implores.

A spark passes through Severus's eyes. "You never were any good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, were you?" He clenches his fists and stands, turning to the small window behind him. Remus stares at his taut back and waits. "Do you remember..." Severus says at last, his tone distant again, "...the Dark Lord's end?"

"Of course I do."

"His body dead ... with only his final Horcrux remaining to take refuge in ... he possessed Potter."

Of course Remus remembers it. The horrifying sight of Harry trying to hold on in the face of so much pain as Voldemort sought to expel Harry's soul from his body.... And after all that, after finally vanquishing Voldemort, bringing everything to an end, it had been a stray spell from a vengeful Death Eater that had felled Harry. "I remember it," he says heavily.

"Then you remember how he finally defeated the Dark Lord, threw him out – nowhere for him to go but through the veil, to his end?"

Everyone knows how! "Yes," Remus says impatiently. "Is this going anywhere?"

"It was his final mistake. 'The power the Dark Lord knows not.'"

Remus closes his eyes tightly against the surfacing memories. "If you're not going to tell me what..."

"The magic we put in place remains. Only, its Dark element has been replaced by something else. Something more ... powerful. Something the Dark little understands." Severus turns and points. "Read."

"I did. I read the whole paragraph. I don't understand it."

"Read it again. The last sentence."

With a sigh, Remus turns from his impatient gaze and reads. ... One instance moste vile is noted, whereby the Noble Magick had been ridded by means of weakness of will, reciprocative solicitude, all gracious strengthe seized by the feeble usurper. "'Feeble usurper' – what does that mean?"

"It is a book on the Dark Arts – what do you think it means? Its enemy – the Light! The Light!"

"But what does that..." Remus stares at the book, tries to understand. The Dark element of the magic has been replaced by one of Light? "How..."

Severus strides forward and brings his finger down onto the page. "There! That, there!"

Remus looks down where Severus is stabbing his finger. Solicitude .... Solicitude? He glances up at Severus.

"The power that Potter used," Severus says through gritted teeth; his urgent stare is almost piercing.

"But Harry used – He defeated Voldemort by – by thinking of his parents, Sirius, everyone he'd lost – believing their deaths would have been in vain if he gave up ... and all the people he'd leave behind to Voldemort if he surrendered.... That's..." Remus looks down at the page, "...'solicitude'?" He laughs bitterly ... nervously. "That's the Dark way of putting it, is it? So clinically – almost ... disparagingly?"

"The Dark way is not to put it any way at all, if possible."

Remus stares at the words ... then his gaze falls on the preceding word, the modifier – reciprocative – and its meaning hits him ... reciprocal. But that would imply ... that Severus ...

Remus strains to keep his eyes on the page before him. He feels Severus's gaze heavy on him. Remus has known his own feelings for a long while now, unmistakable, undeniable, and he is glad that Severus knows, it is a relief .... But this ... this means that Severus now too .... Why Remus should feel rather sick right now, he doesn't quite understand – it weighs heavy, feels like guilt – but he keeps his head down and prays for the feeling to pass.

After a moment, Severus moves to retake his seat, and Remus glances up. Severus's expression is empty of emotion, serious. He looks tired from lack of sleep.

Remus thinks of the implications on the magic of this new information – Severus says it is the same, only less the Dark. No – not the same ... more powerful ... stronger. As long as it holds, of course .... As long as .... But Remus tries not to think of that. "So," he says quietly, "does this mean that when you ... we don't have to ...?"

Severus looks at him. "No. We don't."

Remus drops his gaze as Severus looks away.

So, that is it, then. Remus knows him – Severus will not allow himself to be vulnerable in Remus's bed voluntarily, without any sense of obligation to do so ... without the associated duty.

And they had never even kissed.

Remus finds he now regrets this the most. They have been swept along, driven by the belief that they were doing it simply out of necessity for the magic – when all this time ...

"I shall make some tea." Severus rises from the table.

Remus closes his eyes. In spite of what the new magic means, he feels he has lost him.

~ ~ ~

Remus glances at the clock. He knows he doesn't really need to – the night is setting in. It will be time soon, and he feels it in every muscle about to tear, every bone about to break.

He glances at Severus, deep in his book. Remus gets to his feet with a weary sigh and heads into the kitchen. After filling the dish with tap water, he returns to the sitting room.

Severus is standing thoughtfully by the sofa, his book in his hand, a thumb between the pages. He looks up as Remus enters. Remus gives him a small smile and makes his way to the stairs.

As Remus reaches the bookcase concealing the steps, there is a flash of black and a pale hand suddenly slides in front of him, against the shelves, barring his way. He looks into Severus's face. "What are you doing?" His voice is light, but he begins to feel a vague sense of unease.

Severus stares at him with an almost wild expression. His black eyes seem to search him. "Stay here," he says at last in a voice so low that Remus thinks he must have misheard.

"What?"

"Stay here." Severus steps closer. "Stay down here."

Remus looks at him nervously. "Don't mock me, Severus."

"Do I look like I am?" Severus steps nearer still, bringing himself further between Remus and the door.

"Then you mustn't be thinking straight!" Remus bursts out in fearful anger as he is forced to take a step back, spilling some water on the carpet. He searches Severus's resolute expression. "I haven't ... No one has ever..." He shakes his head desperately. "Not even James ... not even Sirius saw me. They always waited outside the Willow until I'd transformed. I couldn't take that risk. I wouldn't let them."

"Nymphadora?"

"No. Never." Always, she had accepted his plea that it was too dangerous.

"No one at all?"

"My parents .... Some quack they took me to as a child. But always behind a glass wall, in another room. Never in the same room. Don't you understand?"

"What about that time at Hogwarts when you were professor there? Black saw you then."

He stares at him, incredulous with anger. "But I nearly killed them! I hadn't taken the Wolfsbane."

"And have you tonight?"

"Of course I have."

"Well, then."

Remus stares. "But when I transform, I can feel it – the wolf – wanting control over me."

"Are you saying I don't make the Wolfsbane adequately?"

"No. You always make it perfectly. But it's always the same – it's always worst in those first few seconds...."

"Seconds. A passing feeling." Severus moves his hand further along the door. "Stay."

Remus looks in fear at the fierce determination in his eyes. Severus doesn't intend to let him through. He has to make him see sense. "What am I, a pet dog?" Remus laughs weakly – a feeble attempt to defuse the tension. "Please, Severus. It's too dangerous."

Severus stands his ground, his jaw clenched.

Why is Severus doing this, Remus asks himself. Why – when he has never even been to bed with him since that night – he, who hates the thought of being vulnerable? Why is he now willingly exposing himself to such real danger?

"You always seem to be fast asleep on the bed most of the night anyway."

Remus tries not to give himself away, but it is too late.

Severus narrows his eyes. "What did you do?" His expression lights with realisation. "You took something." His voice lowers angrily, his face nearly at Remus's. "You mixed potions! I gave you that sleeping draught in good faith. You stupid..."

"I looked it up. I made sure first, I'm not an idiot. It works fine with a human mind."

But Severus's gaze still burns with fury. "Why?"

"Because there are only two doors between you and the wolf! Why do you think? I can't take any risks. Now do you see?"

Severus stares, his black eyes boring into him. Remus turns away. He must make him see.... But something occurs to him. "How do you know I'm on the bed?"

He looks into Severus's implacable expression. He feels himself pale. "You – you ..." He shakes his head, turns and frowns, his throat dry. "They weren't dreams," he whispers. "You came into the room, didn't you?"

"What do you mean, dreams?"

"How could you be so stupid? Why didn't you tell me what you were doing?" He refuses to look at him. He feels sick with fear at the thought of Severus being so close to the wolf ... touching it...

"If I were ever in any danger, I would not have gone anywhere near the wolf, believe me."

Desperate, Remus turns to him. "Don't do this. Please." His breaths come in urgent gasps. "Have you forgotten what this wolf is to you?"

"I have not forgotten."

"Then please don't do this to us."

Raw emotion suddenly flares in Severus's eyes and he grabs Remus's arm, the dish flying to the floor, the water spilling out, as he turns him and holds him to the shelves, and then Remus's breath is gone as Severus presses his lips against his.

Remus has no choice but to give in to the insistent pressure and allow Severus entrance, let his tongue explore inside him, his taste fill him. He tries to hold on to it as all too soon it withdraws and the lips are removed.

Severus takes a step back. He looks at him thoughtfully. "It is up to you. If you choose to stay, you are welcome." He levels his gaze with a look of resolute defiance. "But ten minutes after the moon has risen, I am going to come and collect you."

Remus is speechless.

"Have you taken any of the sleeping draught yet?"

"I – No. I take it just before." Remus swallows and blinks, beginning to recover his senses. He gazes into Severus's eyes, realising he is waiting. "I'll get hairs all over your furniture," he says, a last-ditch plea, half-serious.

"I shall put a blanket down."

Remus searches his face. "What about you – what will you do while the wolf is sat near you, in the same room – while it is wide awake?" He tries to emphasise the last words, but Severus looks unperturbed.

"I have my book to finish." He folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. "Anything else?"

Remus feels the pall of defeat. But Severus's determination fills him with hope as well. He edges toward the opening in the shelves and swallows. "Give me half an hour."

"It does not take you half an hour to transform." For a moment, Remus holds his breath as Severus studies him. Then at last Severus says, firmly, "Twenty minutes."

Remus gently lets out his relief. That will give him more than enough time. "And promise me you'll let me go back before the moon sets?"

Severus sighs. "Very well." His black eyes scrutinise him. "I shall wait outside your door until you are done."

Remus stops at the join in the shelves and watches him. Does he – can he mean...?

Severus raises his eyebrow in a question, and Remus feels an overwhelming desire to taste him again.... But the moon will rise soon, any moment, and he worries where that thought comes from. He turns, and pulls the bookcase away.

~ ~ ~

A thick exhaustion fills every part of him, as it always does after a night as the wolf. He pushes himself up and drops his legs over the edge of the bed. Fatigue wants to claim him for the coming day.

But Severus is waiting outside the door. Remus smiles. He remembers dozing in a blanketed warmth on the chair while Severus quietly read his book on the sofa opposite.

His limbs are stiff, but Remus manages the few short steps to the door. He rests his weight on the door as he pulls it open.

Severus's eyes widen slightly as he takes him in. Perhaps he hadn't expected him to be unclothed. Severus raises his eyes and looks into his face. There is a hint of concern in his voice. "You look tired. Perhaps..." He begins to turn, and Remus can't bear it any longer. He musters all the strength he can and reaches out, pulling Severus into the room and holding him to the wall as he shuts the door behind him.

He stifles any protest Severus might make, tasting him, taming his tongue.

When he pulls back after a moment to catch his breath, Severus is staring from where Remus still holds him. The look in Severus's eyes intoxicates him, and he slips his hands over Severus's chest and begins to unbutton his robes, ignoring the tremble in his fingers as he hurriedly makes his way down, revealing the grey shirt inch by inch as he goes.

Severus's breaths come fast and shallow under his fumbling, heated efforts. "Are you – sure the wolf is gone?" he asks.

Remus stops and raises his gaze. But if Severus has any fear – any anxiety – all Remus can see is his own need reflected in Severus's glazed eyes. Severus's mouth is still open slightly, and Remus devours it.

He peels the black robes from Severus's shoulders and tastes the pale, salty skin above the collarless grey shirt beneath. He feels Severus's hands around him, sliding over his hot, wet back, and Remus reaches around as Severus draws away from the wall. Remus nuzzles past the black hair and sets a mischievous smile below Severus's ear. "Make solicitude to me," he whispers into it before tracing each of its folds.

Severus pulls away and looks into his eyes. "No."

Remus's grip on his robes falters.

Black eyes trail down his front. "It looks as though you are very much in control here."

Remus's heart catches as he grasps his meaning. "But ... I ...." He shuts his mouth in fear.

Severus studies him before a slight curl tugs at his mouth. "I think you will know what to do."

Remus hesitates. He knows Severus's earlier remark holds some truth – the wolf does still linger – he can feel its ravenous hunger – though he knows his fears are unwarranted now the moon has set.

But Severus leans in to his neck before Remus can tell him. "This magic has a reciprocative nature, Lupin. I think that should be respected."

Remus curves into Severus's touch ... the feel of his tongue against the back of his neck ... his hair brushing his skin .... Remus pushes him back, against the wall. "My name is Remus."

If Severus is startled, he doesn't show it, and the same maddeningly intoxicating look fills him. "Remus," he breathes, as though testing it. "You still smell of the wolf."

His words are rough, whispered, almost as if he hadn't meant to say them, and Remus hears the unmistakable need they convey. Though at first he is disbelieving, Remus's chest burns with fresh, almost unbearable desire. He curls his mouth carefully and paws Severus's cotton shirt, dragging the low neckline down – just a little – as he fixes his attention on the black eyes above. His heart leaps as he sees them respond, reflecting equal want.

Remus falls into the black depths and claims the mouth that curled around his name.

~ ~ ~

Remus made short work of the rest of Severus's clothes.

He exposed his pale flesh and dragged him to his bed. He growled as he buried himself in the scent of Severus. He panted as he began to thrust faster and harder.

And when he came deep inside him, his low howl tore the name spoken for only the second time from the lips he greedily devoured.

~ ~ ~

Epilogue

Remus was surprised early one evening to see Arthur accompany Severus as he arrived home.

"But what about the laws?" Remus asked him when he suggested the Ministry might soon grant him a reprieve.

"Ah, Umbridge is on her way out. Some scandal to do with goblins – her days at the Ministry are numbered." Arthur raised his eyebrows.

Remus hardly dared to believe. Since the Ministry had deliberately overlooked his work for the Order – deciding he was one of the werewolves who had fought alongside Voldemort ... so undercover they couldn't – or wouldn't – see the difference ... and the few who survived had been too preoccupied with picking up the pieces of their own lives – Remus had almost given up all hope of earning a reprieve. Getting a wand of his very own again. Being free.

"Goblins?" Remus asked, bemused.

Arthur gave Severus an odd smile – and Remus thought he caught Severus's eyebrow rise ever so slightly.

"I'll make some tea." Severus turned and strode into the kitchen.

Arthur turned to Remus with a cheerful smile. "How are you, Remus? Been treating you well, has he?" He glanced toward the kitchen.

"What – Oh, yes. Very well." Remus smiled back, felt some colour rise to his cheeks and made his own, discreet, glance toward the door.

"Good. And this magic thingie he used to override Malfoy...." Arthur's brow creased in concern. "How does it work?"

Remus fumbled, his face growing warmer. "Well ... it's, er, some kind of Dark magic..."

"Dark, you say?" Arthur's frown deepened. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that, Remus."

"Oh, it's not as bad as it sounds. And it was the only one that would have worked."

"All the same. He can cancel it, can't he?"

"What?"

"Snape. He can end it easily enough, can he – when the Ministry finally see sense about you?"

Remus stared at Arthur's waiting gaze. "I – suppose so." Cancel... end it.... If Severus 'ended' it, that would mean.... Remus felt his chest tighten defensively. This was one 'bond' he wasn't ready to be rid of.

But what if Severus could cancel the underlying bond, the Dark one they had initially set up, what would that do to this one? Would it destroy it in turn? Would Severus feel differently about him? Remus frowned. He was being silly again, he knew. Paranoid. How Severus felt – and how he felt about Severus – was not dictated by any magic.

The rustle of robes and clink of cups signalled Severus's return.

"We were just saying," Arthur said, taking his tea, "about this bond thingie. You can cancel it, can't you?"

Remus caught Severus's glance.

"Of course," Remus put in, and Severus turned his gaze on him. "Of course it can easily be stopped." He met Severus's eyes. "Very easily." All too easily.

Arthur was still waiting for Severus's reply.

"Well," Severus said, turning to address Arthur, "we shall cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Yes, indeed." Arthur reinstated his cheery smile as he beamed at Remus. "Hopefully it won't be long now."

Remus smiled back, though his gaze returned to Severus as soon as Arthur turned his attention to his tea.

He searched Severus's guarded expression. Though it would not be based on magic any more, what they had together would still be here. But he knew there would be many other bridges they would need to cross. He would have to let the binding magic go, sooner or later, he knew that. That was what freedom was all about, after all. And he owed Severus that – the freedom to choose – once Remus had his own freedom. The freedom to be. He owed Severus a lot more. But most of all, he owed him the choice.

"Funny, how that thing about the goblins got out," Arthur mused over his mug.

"Decidedly." Severus sent Remus a meaningful glance – and for the first time Remus saw the living, breathing eight-year-old Severus looking back at him ... the secret, hardly-there-at-all smile ... the shared amusement in the glistening black eyes ... everything was here. And Remus knew, whatever happened, whatever Severus felt, whatever he decided once Remus was free, that what they had right now, right here, was as strong as it could be. That, while magic could bind and break, there were some things that were yet much stronger.