Chapter Text
Over the interceding weeks of summer, Remus finds himself over at the Prince-Snape's residence more often than not: he swears that he’s spending more time at Bethel Cottage than his own home, though surely this isn’t true. Perhaps it just feels that way, because when Remus isn’t within a 10ft radius of Severus, he’s more than likely thinking of the boy anyway.
So far, Remus is elated with how his and Severus’ relationship has developed: their walks through the country, down along the shore and around town are pleasant. Afternoons and mornings spent quietly reading together or listening to records, peaceful picnic lunches out in fields of wildflowers or golden barley, having intelligent conversations, teasing and sniping at one another playfully. These things are all more than pleasant.
It’s a different kind of pleasure than what he derives from spending time with the Marauders. With James, Sirius and Peter, their time together is high-intensity: even if they’re just in their dorms, playing exploding snap in their pyjamas and eating snacks stolen from Hogwarts’ not-so-hidden kitchens.
With them, it’s laughter and colour, joy, noise, anxiety and sometimes cruelty. Being with Severus is also different from the quiet times he spends just him and Pete, lounging together like lazy house cats in beams of sunlight, or reading and talking animatedly with Lily. When he’s with Severus, their time is somehow both quiet and intense – like magic, subtle but all-consuming, omnipotent in its unassuming design.
Remus thinks that he could almost call him and the Slytherin friends – if the declaration wouldn’t totally freak Snape out, ruining all the hard work he has sunk into their interactions thus far. But of course, Severus would never be real friends with Remus: not when the lycanthrope can’t even work up the courage to properly apologise to the other boy.
Broaching the topic of Remus’ inaction regarding the torture his friends have put Severus through in the past is more than likely to implode whatever fragile, ephemeral thing has spun itself between them; like a harsh wind blowing away spiderwebs hung between the rafters. Even if they’ve come to some strange, unspoken understanding about The Incident, there are plenty more Incidents for Remus to feel guilty about. Perhaps none caused a reaction within him as visceral before, because the wolf wasn’t involved in any of those occurrences: Remus can’t blame his lycanthropy for the decisions he made well outside the pull of the full moon.
The wolf didn’t make him avert his eyes from the bullying, didn’t pretend to read words on a page through bleary eyes – just stripes of black like marks made by whip lashes on the unblemished flesh of white parchment – while James and Sirius turned their wands against Severus for the grave sin of existing in proximity to them. For being himself, unabashedly so, and coveting the attention of Lily Evans that James so craved; for being a scapegoat for Sirius’ mummy issues, the perfect Slytherin-shaped target to unleash all of that rage and self-loathing onto.
The wolf also hadn't caused the wave panic to rise in Remus’ throat at the mere thought that speaking up might make his only friends turn on him: might abandon him, treat him as the monster he believes he is. Of all his many flaws, Remus is most ashamed of his selfishness – he clings to what doesn’t hurt, even if it isn't good for him. Even if he is disgusted by himself for choosing the easier path. He is selfish because he averted his attention when Sirius or James made cruel comments about how Severus looked, or walked, or breathed – commented on the other boy’s poverty with a sneer that made something inside Remus flinch, knowing how easy their ire could have been turned on himself, how similar he is to Severus and how blind his friends seemed to these same parallels. The words inflicted wounds which were never intended to target Remus’ own vulnerable parts: but a strike landed nonetheless, leaving an ache which stifled Remus’ thoughts, lodged words of protest in his windpipe.
And Sirius, Merlin and Morgana, what to say of Sirius Black? Volatile and righteous and beautiful in his desperate, misguided need to prove himself different from his family. Better, more moral and heroic and good – but in his desperation the elder Black has only proved himself more like his family than if he’d been sorted into Slytherin in the first place. Remus knew well how complicated Sirius’ relationship to his own blood purity was: he respected the strange politics of the pureblood family, never lashing out against his cousins, or first cousins twice removed, or who-knows-what-cousins; but prowling the halls and throwing hexes at all those who happened to get in his way, and who were without a close enough relation. Severus was his favourite punching bag simply because he was Sirius’ natural foil: Severus always provided amusing reactions.
He also knew how, sometimes, Sirius purposely used his privilege for his own gains. How he was well aware of his social standing, the clout his family name provided him (even if he was the disgraced Black), and yet simultaneously remained completely arrogant of quite exactly how these things benefited him unfairly.
Remus can remember vividly the night of The Incident, before Sirius had told Severus where to go, how to surpass the Whomping Willow; before Sirius had nearly made his best friend a murder weapon. They’d had a row. Sirius did most of the shouting, the huffing and puffing, getting red in the face, while Remus had donned his usual role of a disappointed pseudo-parental figure, as he usually did when he thought The Marauders had gone too far. Never would he speak out in the moment: no more than a disapproving look or stern word, or on a couple occasions, pulling his mates away from fights and stitching them up in the commons so that they didn’t have to explain their bruises to Madam Pomfrey. But in the safe confines of their shared dorm? Remus had a little more of that bravery so characteristic to their great House.
One thing to be known about Remus Lupin is that he took the time to think: sometimes too much time, as he was often prone to overthinking, but always, before acting or speaking, Remus thought. Sometimes, The Marauders’ would joke that the world could actively be coming to an end – the heavens cracked open, all the magic in the world spilling forth in a tangle of ripe chaos, creatures from Hell crawling up out of the Mariana Trench like something out of the muggle Bible – and Moony would still be in his head, thinking. Once he’d made up his mind, however, it was hard going to get him to budge. He was like a great, stone boulder that had tumbled from up high on a mountain side – mossy, lichen-covered, reliable and wise and concrete. The fall had happened, it had passed, and now here the rock was, displaced but solid: Remus had made up his mind. The evening of The Incident was no different.
Remus, somehow, had found himself in their dorm that afternoon defending Snape against Sirius’ accusations. Standing in the centre of the room, outfitted in his dressing gown that was far too short on his arms and a t-shirt that had been washed so many times that the garish Welsh dragon emblazoned across its chest had faded from a bold red into a subdued pink. The item had been purchased as a gag gift by his dad, when Remus was much younger, but he simply refused to get rid of clothes if they still fit him: even if it was practically a crop top on him now. Sirius was in a matching silk pyjama set and had a face mask on: they both looked utterly f*cking ridiculous.
Peter was hiding in his bunk, big blue eyes peeking out from the blanket that he’d wrapped tightly around his head. James was sitting on the bottom of his bed, looking between his two friends, completely exasperated with them and rubbing circles into his temples in frustration. Remus was highly strung, the full moon’s rise scant hours away, the light already dimming outside. Soon, he’d have to return to the Infirmary to walk down to the willow with Madam Pomfrey. Normally, he wouldn’t let himself sink into the argument, he would laugh off Sirius’ anger (if it was insincere) and offer chocolate, or a distraction, or a firm shoulder hug. But Remus was tired, so f*cking tired – not only because of the moon.
That day, Remus only had half lessons. He was still exhausted and sore, and had felt a little queasy in the morning, eating nothing until lunch (where he devoured three heaped servings of food). He insisted, however, even through the bright pain which bloomed in his joints and across his skin whenever he moved, that he would be fine. His final period of the day, just after lunch, was Potions with the Slytherins.
Sirius had goaded Severus into provocation after James said something witty but mean to the other boy, causing Peter to laugh. Severus responded by saying something just as witty and just as mean. Remus sat there, having an out of body experience. Maybe it was a mistake to have gone to class, he’d wondered to himself at the time. He couldn’t be bothered with it all, and not for the first time that day, he felt like screaming. Of course he didn’t actually stand up and howl. After all, what was the point? When they were finally leaving, Remus had sighed deeply when he saw Sirius knock the books out of Severus’ hands – it was so bloody childish, so stupid.
The young werewolf bent down and helped gather Snape's things. Handing the boy his textbook with a crooked smile – just a little thing, it was sad and soporific, defeated – Remus watched on dumbfounded as Severus murmured a quiet thanks to him before scurrying off. The Slytherin had ever thanked him before. For the first time in a very long time, Remus felt good about his actions. It was good to help, even if his contribution was such a small thing. Sirius didn’t agree. In his memories, Remus doesn’t remember how they’d ended up arguing in the first place – but he is sure that it was this quiet act of kindness which triggered the series of events which would lead up to The Incident.
He does, however, remember the words he’d calmly but firmly told Sirius that afternoon, squabbling in their dormitory in their pyjamas, awaiting the moon’s rise and his gruesome transformation; “Yes, Sirius, how evil of me to show our fellow student some common f*cking decency. How scandalous of me to pick up his books, which you’d thrown on the floor like a sodding spoilt toddler throwing a temper tantrum. You know what? I f*cking respect Severus, I really do— having to put up with this sh*t from you two all the time—” James had looked taken aback, defensive, while Sirius grew even more furious at Remus’ words. It didn’t deter him however: Remus had lost any of the f*cks he could have given with the gradual setting of the sun.
“ —Merlin and Morgana: he’s the one of the smartest kids in our year; in the whole bleeding school, even. And nothing you do to him will change that— Severus is going to make something of himself, he’s going to become something amazing—” James and Sirius both scoffed at this, but Remus ploughed ahead, unflinching in his conviction, “ —and I for one look forward to the day. Because unlike you, Sirius— Snape will succeed. At whatever he chooses to apply himself to: and maybe you should take a page out of his book, start actually applying yourself, instead of riding off of the privilege your terrible family name allots you. Some of us take what we can get, and some of us get sh*t, but make it into gold anyway. You should take a good long look at yourself, Sirius Black. I don’t think you’ll like what’s looking back at you. I certainly don’t: this hateful, vicious version of you is not who I became friends with.”
Remus had meant to instil within the other boy a sense of contemplation, to deter him from further picking on Snape. It was evidently too much to ask Sirius Black to be introspective. And besides, did Remus really think his words would get through to the Black heir? He'd spent too much of his adolescence trying to prove himself worthy of Sirius’ respect. The Incident, if absolutely nothing else, proved he’d never earned it. That night, when Sirius had sent Severus to the Shack, it had not been to punish Snape: but rather it was a punishment for Remus.
He’s thought about that night a lot, over the months that have passed since The Incident. He thinks of it on his walks with Severus, as he wades through stream water, cool on his calves. He thinks of it as the stream baptises him of all anxieties, of his guilt and near-overwhelming shame; as he chews on a long piece of reed-grass absentmindedly; as he watches the shifting green surface of the water.
When Remus thinks, he smokes lazily – seeing as Severus doesn’t mind the smell, what with his mother being a smoker herself. Though Eileen is fond of those newfangled herbal blend sticks and not the cheap tobacco Remus buys himself in packs from the corner shop, claiming the purchase is for his dad (they never check his ID).
Sometimes he offers Severus a tab, and the boy will hold it between his spidery fingers, taking long drags from the pale cylinder of cancer as it hangs between thin lips. Remus will observe those hands as Severus smokes: beautiful and precise, graceful in the way that only a classical pianist or a sculptor or a surgeon's hands could be, as they mould themselves around air. With a fa*g held limp between long fingers, those hands almost look like artwork.
The pair have taken Remus’ chess set (muggle) out on a couple of their walks, and have played a few rounds together. Severus has a truly devious mind, but he sometimes overestimates himself. Remus, on the other hand, is far too reserved with his manoeuvres and doesn't take risks. Severus has won three rounds, Remus two.
On one walk in early July, they had set off on a winding country path with the express purpose of going raspberry brambling. Everything Remus associated with summer was condensed down into that one glorious day: ice lollies, paperbacks, sweat, the smell of sunscreen and fragrant privet hedges, tart raspberries made into a comforting crumble, cans of fluorescent pop covered in cold condensation that transferred onto his rough palms, insect-noise and wind, napping in the afternoon in front of the telly, coppery sunshine, warmth, home. And it was all shared with Severus.
Remus now knows the sound of Severus’ laugh, he even dreams about it at night. He wants to believe they’re almost friends. He wants to find the courage to apologise.
________________________________________
Remus has also taken his mother’s advice, given to him on that warm evening in late June, after his first visit to Bethel Cottage, having spent the day mowing the garden lawn. He reaches out to his friends.
First, Remus drafts two near-identical letters: one to James and the other to Peter. He asks them how they’re doing, then apologises for not writing to them sooner, and inquires if they’re still up for joining him this full moon out in Wales. He pointedly does not tell them about Severus.
James responds to his owl almost immediately, confirming that he’ll be there for the full, and his eagerness evident in his reply. It makes Remus laugh, makes something bubble up inside him. Maybe there’s hope for them. He’ll just have to sit Prongs down: there’s a difficult talk in store for them in the near future, concerning The Marauders' treatment of Severus.
Peter sends his greetings but says he’s sorry: he and his family are headed to Butlins for three weeks, so he won’t be able to sneak away and join them. Remus doesn’t write to Sirius. Then, he replies to Lily’s owl from the first week of summer;
Lily,
Thanks for your letter – it means a lot that you’re thinking of me. I’m doing quite alright, all things considered. Perhaps some space will be good for the boys and I; though I’ve written James and Pete. I think we can work on things, if they’re willing. I’ve just got to have a chat with them – tough love and all that. You out of everyone knows how pig-headed James can get. I can’t even consider talking to Sirius at the moment, though. Does that make me a coward? Not very Gryffindor-ish of me. I’m a disgrace to our good House name!
’m yet to receive a letter from Professor McGonnigal, however, concerning our Prefect duties for next year. I’m sure she’s just giving us time to settle in and relax. It’s summer break, after all. You’re more of a worry-wart than I am, Lily, and that’s not an easy thing to do! Trust me: by Seventh, you’ll be Head Girl (and if you aren’t, then I’ll be on the frontlines of the riot, chaining myself to the coffee machine in the Teacher’s Lounge. I know they have one – Professor Gulls walks around with a mug of instant practically glued to him, I’d recognise the smell in my dreams at this point).
Otherwise, I hope your first week of the summer hols has been pleasant. Your family is going camping in France this July, yes? Please enjoy – and I’m expecting a terrifically tacky key chain as a souvenir, or at the very least a postcard! Surely, your summer will have been less shocking than my own.
Then on the other half of the paper, he wrote;
I debated on whether or not I should tell you about this next thing. I know that at the end of the year, you and Severus had a fight of some sort. And then there was what happened at the lake. But I know you, and I think that you’d care to hear this. It’s utterly mad: but Snape has moved in next door to me. I’m not pulling your leg here, Lils. He and his mum, Eileen, are living in the cottage down the road from me in Aberystwyth. Eileen is having me work on their garden for them, and Severus and I have been… hanging out? I think we’re at the very least friendly.
He’s wickedly funny, and we share a lot of things in common. Music and books and the like. It’s utterly bizarre, but after we talked and decided on a truce, we’ve been getting on alright. I still feel awful for what happened in Feb. He won’t accept my apologies, anyway; so we don’t talk of The Incident. But we’re going to Holyhead together soon, with our mums. Boggles the mind.
I don’t know if he’d appreciate me telling you that he’s here, or that he’s doing fine. But I thought that, if he’d moved, and you aren’t talking right now, you might be worried about where he’d disappeared to. I also now know that if the situation was reversed, he’d probably feel the same.
Best regards,
Remus J. Lupin
After he’d sent the first letter to Lily, she’d replied back only a few days later. Clearly, the information that Severus and his mother had moved wasn’t news to her. Apparently the Slytherin had left a letter explaining some things to Lily before he left, but he didn’t say where he’d gone, or why.
Lily had been worried out of her mind, and thanked Remus for telling her about Snape in the first half of the letter (in the latter half, she cheerily returned to complaining about her elder sister’s oaf of a boyfriend, her mother’s fussing, what she’d been reading recently and her plans for France. She also thought it prudent Remus talked with The Marauders, and reassured him the best she could through pen and paper).
It was clear to the young werewolf that Lily still cared a great deal about Severus, even if they weren’t on talking terms anymore. He didn’t pry, however, and Lily seemed to appreciate his discretion. Even after their falling out, there was no love lost: but ultimately, it was still between the two friends, not Remus.
With his postal and interpersonal issues attended to, Remus could return his attention back to his most recent project: the garden at Bethel Cottage. He also needed to find a way of gently breaking the news to Severus that James Potter, ‘f*ckwit extraordinaire’, as Snape had once dryly remarked, would soon be prowling the countryside of rural Wales in a few weeks. Yet another difficult conversation Remus would be having in his near future.
The week after he’d sent his letters off, Remus went to Bethel Cottage on Tuesday and Thursday, as arranged. He pulled up all the weeds in the garden, throwing them into a wheelbarrow, and started cultivating patches of soil for when Eileen wanted to start planting this coming autumn, and then again next spring. Remus took all of the dead plant matter he’d amassed after those two days of work, and lugged it from the top of the lawn to the bottom in a wheelbarrow. Then he created a controlled fire to dispose of the bracken. Severus came out to quietly sit with him by the fireside for a while. He brought Remus a cup of tea and a sleeve of chocolate biscuits.
Later that same week, on Saturday, Remus had tagged along with his mum to visit the Snape-Princes again. The afternoon tea was meant to just be between the two mothers, however it ended up being a family affair. The Lupins had brought with them yet another tin of baked treats (an assortment of scones, both savoury and sweet), as well as a basket filled with a number of veggies fresh from their own garden: courgettes, cucumber, sweet peppers, carrots of various lengths and colours, a head of lettuce and some crisp radishes – all arranged like a bouquet of flowers. In return, the Snape-Princes offered quiche and a fine selection of various teas.
The living room at Bethel Cottage had dusty sheets flung over all the furniture, and it looked like Eileen and Severus had been slowly chipping away at painting all the rooms. The main living room and foyer were airy and allowed in plenty of natural light, the textured plaster walls now painted a pleasing eggshell-cream colour, and the bare wood floors were newly polished and overlaid with well-worn rugs. They’d hired a thatcher to come fix the roof, and a plumber to look at the water mains in the house. Slowly it was beginning to feel like a home.
Remus sat next to Severus at the kitchen table, and they talked in hushed tones while their mothers discussed the prices of electricians. Sunlight spilled across the table, which was covered with a crisp white tablecloth. The silverware arranged in neat patterns around the cloth glinted; the steam from the tea cups was ephemeral and pale blue, like morning mist; glowing particles of dust were rendered as if in resin by beams of pallid light; and prisms formed and refracted inside water glasses. Their early afternoon meeting had been embellished in trimmings of silver and white: glowing, holy, a sacrament.
The Gryffindor would return in the middle of the next week for tea, unprompted, armed with his mother’s lemon drizzle cake as an excuse to hold communion with Severus at his kitchen table once more. Eileen joined them, and they talked about the garden and renovations to the house. Severus spoke more, slow and deliberate, in that delicious dark-chocolate tone of his. The raven haired boy seemed more at ease in Remus’ presence now: as if he’d slowly acclimatised to being within one another’s general vicinity, like one might do after rearranging the furniture in their room. There were sure to be stubbed toes, but with time things became familiar, comfortable – easy to navigate.
The rest of the garden work was rather straightforward: using a recipe he’d found in one of his father’s magazines on magical landscaping and gardening, called Greenthumb’s Weekly, Remus commissioned Severus to brew for him a potion that would replenish the mowed grass. The potion was designed to be diluted in water, so Remus took the hosepipe to the lawn, spraying a layer of the potion evenly across the shrivelled garden.
The potion was effectively a speed-grow, similar to the chemicals one could buy from a muggle DIY store in large plastic tubs; however, it was infinitely more effective, cheaper and less harmful to the land. The brew was easy work for the young Slytherin, just as Remus had thought would be the case, and the lawn in the back garden quickly began regrowing a verdant shade of green.
By the old shed, Remus then dug out an area for Severus’ herb garden. A sizeable patch which would get plenty of light. Remus also planned on fixing up the little rickety shed itself, so that Severus might be able to dry his harvested herbs inside. It already had electricity and water: with a few clever enchantments, it would be the perfect potions lab.
The other boy had turned bright pink when he’d asked what the young werewolf was doing, and Remus, sweaty and covered in black earth, smelling of freshly cut grass and nettles, animatedly explained his plans for the herb garden. How there’d be trestles for the climbing plants, defined sections for all the different species of plants, and charms placed on the perimeter to replicate greenhouse conditions.
Severus had then mumbled a barely audible ‘Thanks, Lupin. That sounds really good.’ before disappearing as quick as his long legs would take him: back into the house, his svelte form enveloped by the various tones of blue created in the shade, and the soft piano music which Remus was slowly beginning to associate with the house and Severus himself.
Later that same day, another cup of tea and plate of chocolate biscuits appeared when Remus took a break. He hadn’t seen Severus place them down near where he’d been working, but Remus knew he was the one behind the uncharacteristically thoughtful gesture. The Gryffindor hadn’t even been aware that Severus knew of his penchant for all things chocolate: though it wasn’t exactly Hogwarts’ best kept secret. He just thought Severus wouldn’t care to notice – but then again, the other boy had always been very astute.
It was also becoming evident to Remus that Severus rarely had people do kind things for him, just because they could. Snape was always surprised when Remus held a door open for him, or laughed at his dry remarks, or offered him some of the food he’d packed for their walks.
Even when Remus had offered to make him a cup of tea one afternoon, as he pottered about the kitchen, Severus was hesitant and didn’t drink from his mug until he’d watched Remus take a sip of his own, as if the Slytherin suspected him of poisoning the brew. He was paranoid, and skittish, and responded to every one of Remus’ thoughtless tokens of care with suspicion.
The notion that simple kindness was such a foreign experience in Snape’s life, that its absence had left the boy recognising it instead as veiled malice, left Remus feeling hollow: like someone had taken an ice cream scoop to his innards. This would just have to be the best god damn herb garden in existence. What Remus was too cowardly to say in words, he’d instead show through his actions.
________________________________________
The first week of July, it stormed. Torrential rains pelted down over farmland and grassy hills: sheets of hard water creating a translucent curtain of dull grayish-blue miasma, which hung low and bloated from a sky of vaulted clouds. There wasn’t much Remus could do to help around Bethel Cottage in this weather; but when the first rains came, he’d sprinted down to the Snape-Prince residence in his anorak and wellingtons. He’d quickly thrown tarps over the pits of earth he’d dug days prior, so that they wouldn't flood in the storm.
By then, however, the rains were too heavy for him to run back home, not without serious threat of slipping and hitting his head anyway: his parents were both still at work, and Eileen’s car was in the shop. Remus was corralled by Miss Prince into staying for a late lunch of ham sandwiches and coffee.
A couple rather competitive rounds of scrabble later, Remus called his landline and his dad came to pick him up in his tawny Vauxhall. The rain didn’t cease for three days, then it came in drizzles, like a tap left on overnight: the heavens had been ripped open, and the sky weeped for the dry, barren earth.
When the weather cleared somewhat, it was already less than a week until the July full moon would be upon them. Remus still came over that Tuesday, feeling somewhat achey in his bones, a buzz spreading across his skin in the now diluted, white-gold light of the resurrected sun.
He always got a little fidgety closer to the full – his emotions at an all-time high. But he’d had a lifetime to find ways of managing the symptoms: chocolate was one such coping mechanism, so was taking a boiling hot shower, as well as smoking, re-reading a favourite book in the vague hope of finding comfort between the pages, or throwing himself headlong into a new and intensive project. The latter was his current modus operandi.
Thankfully, the garden hadn’t flooded completely in the summer rains; after clearing the tarps, Remus assessed what damage had been done. It wasn’t anything a little elbow grease and a bucket couldn’t solve. Remus cleared the water-clogged earth where Severus’ garden would one day be, then set about lining the area with large white stones, creating a perimeter for the herbs to grow within and carving into them the correct magical runes to promote growth, potency and abundance.
Severus soon began joining Remus outside, when the weather returned to a balmy twenty three degrees, intermittent with gentle showers. The boy was dressed in a floppy sun hat and a pair of truly tiny athletic shorts, so small they could be considered obsolete. Remus observed the other boy as he planted herbs and flowering plants, shrivelfig and silver-laced violets, the pink-budded dittany and the spindly blooms of asphodel lilies, honeygrass and sage, crowfoot and rosemary. A kind of controlled chaos sprouted within the stone confines of the garden: and it was breathtaking.
Remus then moved on to helping with restoring the house itself. He used a paint stripper and a scraper to remove all the old paint on the front door. He’d then sanded down the wood by hand, painted the trimming, and eventually layered a couple coats of paint onto the front door itself. An emerald green shade that Eileen had selected: Slytherin pride out in full force.
It all took much longer than he’d expected, so that by the time he’d finished painting Eileen had insisted Remus stay for dinner. He walked home to find his father already a couple drams deep into his evening scotch, and half the muggle paper’s crossword completed. That next Thursday, when he’d returned to Bethel Cottage, Severus greeted him on the front step wearing his same tiny athletic shorts and floppy hat: together, they’d sanded down and varnished all the shutters on the house.
Holding the ladder for the other boy, so that Severus could access the tops of the windows, Remus tried very hard not to linger on the curve of Severus’ arse as he balanced above him. It was a very nice arse, from what Remus had glimpsed. But it felt entirely wrong for him to glance at it, to even discern the vague shape of it, certainly to think of it as ‘nice’. Not because it was Snape, and by popular opinion, Remus should be disgusted by him: but because it brought to mind memories of a much younger Remus, who did not know himself as well as he does now. Memories which left him feeling confused, guilty and just a little dirty; simply for lingering on the chests and stomachs of other boys, as they played skins football on the quidditch pitch in Second Year.
Perhaps it felt even more perverse of him to contemplate such things because it was Severus who evoked such familiar, tangled feelings within himself. Because Remus had bore witness to all of Severus’ worst moments, had almost been the cause of what could have been his very worst moment: if James hadn’t come and wrenched Severus from the opened jaws of the wolf. Remus remembers those last couple of weeks of term, after he’d confronted Severus in the library and shared his peace, after they’d received their O.W.L results and congregated around the Black Lake that fateful sunny afternoon.
He was lounging under his usual tree, in the vague vicinity of the other Marauders; Remus had shirked his cloak, using it as a kind of barrier between himself and the dew-soaked grass, and had loosened his tie. He didn’t roll up his sleeves, or unbutton his shirt by more than one notch, still conscious of the mauled appearance of his skin. Nevertheless, he’d been making the most of it, basking in the sun as the stress of the exam season blessedly evaporated from his tense body. Pete sat quietly a couple feet to his left, hands brushing through the grass as if he were petting an animal; his musical laugh a tenor to Sirius’ loud baritone. James was showing off, playing with a golden snitch he’d nicked from the quidditch store shed.
It had started so innocently, Remus hadn’t seen it coming: but he really should have. James had breezed through his exams, as usual, but hadn’t done as well as was expected of him. McGonnigal had expressed her disappointment with the same measure of stern scottish brogue and simmering disapproval that she always maintained, and Remus knew this only to be a prelude to how James’ parents would respond – they’d lecture him about spending too much time chasing girls (read: one girl, obsessively), and causing havoc in the corridors and classrooms of Hogwarts instead of on his studies.
In all honesty, Remus agreed with the adults on this one. But also, as the most consistent nagging voice within his own social circle – with Lily beating him out as the loudest – he knew personally how futile it was trying to get Potter or Black to sit down and revise.
To top it all off, James had made a right arse of himself in front of Lily (once again), by tripping on his own school robes and face planting the flagstones right outside the examination room, to a bubbling reception of juvenile chortling. For once, James Potter hadn’t been able to charm his way out of that most recent blunder, and his teenage pride had been sorely hurt.
And then, once again, what to say of Sirius Black? He’d received a letter from his mother that morning, and that was more than enough to fan the fire. Walburga Black was many things, but a good parent she was not. Remus wasn’t privy to what exactly was enclosed within the folds of that particular piece of parchment, but considering Sirius had instantly cast ‘Incendio’ on the paper after reading no more than a line, it mustn’t have been anything good. James had trailed after Sirius as he stalked from the Great Hall, a powder keg waiting for a spark to set him off.
Apparently, the match that lit the fuse was none other than Remus himself. That day was the first in months where Sirius had come and confronted the young lycanthrope directly, just after Remus himself had cornered Severus in the library. Sirius had looked a little manic, steely grey eyes alight with something a little too close to Dark Magic than the other boy would probably have liked to admit.
He demanded that Remus explain exactly why he was so hellbent on gaining the approval and forgiveness of someone like Snape; couldn’t get it into his head why Remus was so repentant, made himself so small and malleable to the hands of someone as loathsome as greasy little Snivellous. It was like Sirius took it as a personal affront: he most likely did, considering Sirius Black never liked it much when people disagreed with him. When Remus actually stood his ground against Sirius’ violent will, their confrontation had inadvertently stoked the flames inside the other boy to even greater heights.
Then they found themselves by the lake, pouring over their O.W.L scores. Remus had gotten ‘Outstanding’ in everything except for Potions, Herbology and History of Magic, for which he’d received ‘Exceeds Expectations’. He also noted that Lily had scored roughly the same as himself, while Severus was joined at the top with ‘Outstanding’ across the board alongside a handful of Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff.
The following series of events were a piece of string, knotted together in Remus’ thoughts; which he could not untangle for the life of him. It was all blurry, happening out of sequence and with a swelling dread whenever he thought back on that afternoon: different to The Incident, but still palpable.
There was the beacon of red light that was Lily Evan’s hair, as her head bobbed in his peripheral vision, moving towards the lanky, shadowed figure of Severus, sitting by himself under a nearby tree. The sound of students all chattering, comparing notes and complaining, rejoicing at the end of their exams. The glint of gold, the hummingbird-fast flapping of wings as James fiddled with the snitch, attempting to impress Lily once again, but to very little result. Sirius’ baritone laugh taking on a barking, snarling edge as he egged James on.
Then the two of them were approaching Lily and Severus: Remus could see their figures moving as if through thick tar, recessing into the heat of early summer. He pretended he couldn’t see them discreetly drawing their wands, pretended he didn’t know exactly what was coming, what was always coming. He just started down at the book open in his lap, feeling like he was about to be sick, the words swimming on the page and his thumb cuticle bleeding as he picked at it anxiously, not even feeling the pain.
It all became apparent then, even if in his memories of the moment, Remus hadn’t initially realised that Severus and Lily were publicly fighting. He doesn’t know what about – only heard isolated words, like stray spells whizzing past him. He just saw the pained looks on their faces as they hissed whispers at one another, their features warped in his mind, as if he was looking at them through the upturned bottom of a glass.
In retrospect, Sirius had probably goaded James into playing the role of a chivalrous hero, straying into the fray between the two best friends to gallantly support the virtue of his fair crush. Sometimes his friends could be such morons. Predictably, things escalated – which is more than likely what Sirius was aiming for in the first place, and privately, somewhere deep inside James, he probably felt the same. It was a kind of stress relief for them, just like chocolate and fa*gs were for Remus. Sure, smoking kills, but personally the werewolf thought his the healthier of their combined vices.
And then it began: Severus had been disarmed so quickly, likely taken off guard as he’d been wrapped up in his heated discussion with Lily. And then the redhead was warning the two Gryffindors in that slightly terrifying Prefect voice of hers, the one that was scalding in how clear it made her disapproval apparent, simmering like boiling water. Her wand was now also in her hand, but un-poised.
Lily always threatened, but never acted – Remus thought her both too much a stickler for the rules, to the point of making matters worse, for her refusal to meet like with like, and a little naive. He knew she always tried to solve situations peacefully before levelling her wand at someone: and quite honestly, it was reassuring that she had such strong principles to cling to, because Remus didn’t want to meet the sorry bugger who ended up on the wrong end of Lily’s wand. In many ways, Remus thinks of her his more outspoken mirror image.
A quick motion, a spell cast, and suddenly Severus was dangling in the air above the shore of the Black Lake; his dark robes tangled with his even darker hair, covering his face and obstructing the use of his hands. He thrashed about like a freshly caught fish on the bottom of a boat, seconds from having its head lopped clean off to stop all the wriggling.
Quite frankly, he looked pathetic: and apparently everyone in their year who’d come out to the lakeside thought similarly, for the disjointed chorus of teenage voices became the cohesive sound of malicious laughter. Loud and bright and harsh. Worse than a stab of a blade, or the cold prickle of magic against the skin of the soul. It was mortifying, how Severus just hung there, completely helpless, while Lily cursed-out James and Sirius.
Remus really thought he was going to be sick when he heard James ask his enthralled crowd if they’d like to see him strip Snivellus down, to expose his natural, greasy form to the sun. He claimed that maybe a little sunlight might help Snape look less sickly and rotten. Sirius’ laugh in response was a growl, beasial and warning, as he then led the crowd in a chant of the stupid nickname they’d bestowed upon Severus’ at the very beginning of First Year. Remus didn’t look up from his book, didn’t breath, didn’t hear or see anything.
It wasn’t until the crescendo that he returned to his senses; at the guttural scream that had unspooled from Lily’s chest, cutting through the chanting and sneering laughter. Godric’s Golden Balls, children could be so cruel. Remus’ neck had snapped up from where he had been staring unseeingly at his bloody thumb, so fast he thought he heard his bones make an audible pop.
He immediately made eye contact with Severus: those doe-like eyes, black and fathomless. They were as black as the starless sky above a midnight ocean – a watery eternity. And they were just that, watery, brimming with unshed tears. Remus had never, never seen Snape cry before. Not even when confronting him after The Incident. Remus’ heart leapt into his throat while all his other important organs dropped to the basin of his stomach, as ice crept through his veins.
Severus was robeless, his school trousers torn off and flung into the water, leaving him in only his shirt and pants. The expanse of his milky thighs, his slightly knobbly knees, the soft dark hair on his calves all exposed. His underwear was just as threadbare as Remus’ own. His face was bright red from all the blood rushing to it as he was held suspended, like a mouse dangling above the waiting mouth of a cat playing with his food. In that moment, Remus had felt such a deep and profound connection with the other boy. He saw a version of himself that could have been. Maybe it was at that exact moment, all those weeks ago: maybe that was what planted the seed of an idea in Remus’ head, that he could do better by Severus, that he could help.
His body began working subconsciously, without any active input from his brain, as his thoughts folded one into the next like origami – Remus slid his wand from the pocket where he stored it in his left sleeve, and curled his fingers around the reassuring wooden line it made within his grasp. He felt his magic thrum through his body, like a secondary nervous system layered over his existing one; Remus concentrated as his magic moved from his core out along his arm and through his fingertips, the pulse of it in time with his fast-beating heart.
And then he’d send out the spell: a simple little thing, just a stinging hex, something he’d learnt in First Year. It was so f*cking simple. James dropped his wand at the surprise pinch, and Severus was unceremoniously dropped along with it, into the water. Remus cringed as a bout of laughter rippled through the congregated students. But, quite uncharacteristically, Remus had acted impulsively. He hadn't thought first. But he had acted, and for a moment he was completely stunned by himself, staring open-mouthed at James and Sirius as they turned to face him.
“What the f*ck, Moony?” James questioned, indignant and just this side of enraged. People were no longer laughing at him anymore, and after what he’d done to Severus, nobody would remember him eating dirt in front of the examination hall.
“Yeah— what in Merlin’s name are you doing, Moons? f*ck sakes, it’s just Snivellous.” Was Sirius’ immediate support of James, his posh drawl accentuating every syllable of the nickname.
“Enough.” Remus croaked out. He stood up, not knowing what to do with his hands, his book sprawled at his feet on his cloak on the ground, his wand limp at his side, “Just, enough, alright?” Even to Remus’ own ears, he sounded tired. Not brave, or righteous, but positively exhausted. His voice cracked the second time he said the word ‘enough’, but Lily was looking at him with a reserved kind of pride in her eyes.
Severus – resembling a wet kitten, now with his soaked grey trousers back on, concealing all that was unwillingly exposed to his classmates – had his eyes fixed securely to the ground. Remus was vaguely aware of the murmurings, the defensive protests of his friends, Peter’s anxious laugh as he looked between Remus and the others. But in that moment, it felt like the only thing Remus could hear was the drip-drip-drip of water droplets falling from Severus’ long nose and longer hair.
The boy scrambled to get his cloak from the water, then scampered up the bank to retrieve his bookbag, all the while trying to shrug off Lily’s attempts at comforting him. He didn’t hear what he said, but he saw him smack away Lily’s hand. Remus saw the defeated look in those endless black eyes, the way Snape’s face crumbled in on itself. The way Lily’s own face fell and went pale at the sight. Then Severus was stalking away, back into the school, and Remus had to return to his body, pick up his book and cloak, and walk away in the complete opposite direction.
This was why Remus shouldn't be looking at Severus, thinking that his arse is nice, or his hands graceful, his hair pretty and soft. Remus doesn't even know if this is anything at all: maybe what he’s feeling is just a general appreciation of aesthetics, or a fondness developed through their recent companionship, or a strange mingling of compassion and regret – or it could very well just be his jacked-up hormones around the full moon. It could be a combination of all of the above. Remus doesn’t know, but he feels something; and that something is making all this friendship with Snape business even more complicated than it was already proving to be.
Even still, just watching Severus on the ladder, Remus felt something dark and instinctive swell within him. He wanted to know if the other boy’s skin was really as soft as he imagined it to be, he wanted to feel the taught, hot muscle beneath his hands, exploring and exposing. He wanted to fasten his teeth to the tender flesh of Severus’ inner thigh, the meeting of his ass cheek and leg, the plump round of his buttock. He wanted to know how easily Severus’ pale skin would bruise, he wanted to leave marks, learn what sounds the other boy’s sonorous voice would make as it was suspended somewhere between pain and intense pleasure. He wanted to imbibe deeply of that irresistible, sweet, herbal, musky scent of Severus’ which drove him wild, right where it was most concentrated.
In an attempt to try and distract himself from the many intrusive thoughts about Severus and Severus' arse that were plaguing his mind unbidden, Remus tries to strike-up a conversation with the other boy, halfway through their work on the shutters. A little flustered, and reaching for any topic, literally any topic, for them to launch into; Remus does not think before he speaks – something he usually never does. Something he hasn't done since that day by the lake.
“So, I thought I should tell you— let you know, I mean— that, erm, well the July full moon is coming up on the 11th. This weekend.” He says, words stuttering. Off to an amazing start, Remus. He can’t see Severus’ face to determine his expression, but he knows in his bones that the other boy is rolling his eyes at him.
“Yes, Lupin, it is. Prey tell: why might I need to be reminded of this facet of nature? Is Sirius Black hiding around a corner, in anticipation of goading me into confronting a werewolf again? He won’t have much luck— I’m no longer so susceptible to his persuasion tactics.” Is Severus’ dry, sardonic response.
It stings. Strikes a chord. Severus doesn’t trust Remus, has no grounds to do so, and Remus knows this; had been actively trying to build something between them to bridge that gap where mutual trust should have been. And yet this is not what most upsets Remus, no – what his mind snags on is the fact that the other boy still refuses to use his first name. Remus is a sad, pathetic little man.
“Um, no—” ‘wow, this was an awful idea’, Remus thinks to himself. Never again will he open his stupid mouth to say stupid words without first thinking stupid things through, “—I just wanted to warn you that James is coming over.” Severus goes completely still and ramrod straight, his paintbrush loaded with synthetic-smelling wood varnish dripping viscous chemicals onto the flower beds below him.
This was an awful, terrible idea. However, Remus can’t seem to shut himself up. “To help— to help me. Having people I’m familiar with and trust be around me during the full moon is soothing to the wolf— or before and after, I should say.” Remus knows he’s making things worse by rambling, but he can’t seem to stop himself. He’d nearly just given away that James and the others actually stay with him during the full moon, even if he’d never uttered the word ‘animagus’ – Severus was frighteningly clever when it came to these things. He was frighteningly clever about most things, actually.
“I wrote to him. James says he wants to make things right. I don’t know: I want to believe him, I really do. I think that I’m using this full moon as a test for him. To see if he can follow through for once. I just wanted to warn you— he doesn’t know that you moved here, or that we’re— we’re hanging out, I guess. I didn’t tell him, but I thought you deserved to know that he’s coming here soon. That I’m talking to him again.”
Severus is quiet for a long few minutes. At some point he regains his faculties and continues to lacquer the shutters with the wood varnish. His motions are purposeful, and he carries on as if he’d not heard Remus at all. Just when the young werewolf thinks the other boy is ignoring him, and is about to open his mouth again to clarify, because perhaps he hadn’t explained things properly, Severus speaks up.
“Want me to run and hide, Lupin? Am I your dirty little secret?” His tone is just as cold and tumultuous as the summer rains that had poured down the previous week. His voice is like a crack of lightning in the dark cloister of a storm. “I care little for the cavorting of Potter. The same can go for the rest of you— I don’t care for your little friends or what they do with their little lives, you know this perfectly well already; but if you’re willing to forgive and forget, Lupin, then you’re even more of a pushover than I thought.”
“I’m not trying to be underhanded, Severus.” Remus correctly guesses that the other boy took his sincere warning as a threat. He is desperate to rectify the miscommunication, and to do so quickly. This conversation might have gone completely into the sh*tter, but it’s done its job: Remus certainly isn’t thinking of how good Severus’ arse looks. Oh, damn it all to hell. Remus is a terrible person for still thinking about Severus like that, while the other boy is also clearly uncomfortable with him. Where had all of that previous ease vanished off to? Oh yes, Remus had opened his big fat mouth and talked it all away. Maybe it was the suggestion of Severus being Remus’ ‘dirty little secret’ that has his brain firing on all the wrong cylinders.
“I’ve genuinely not talked to him properly since school ended, and even then it was sparingly. I reached out to James and Peter the other day because they usually help me through this time, and I wanted to give James a chance— just a chance— to see what mettle he’s made of. To see if our friendship is worth saving. The only reason I’m giving him this chance in the first place is because James came for you straight away when he found out what Sirius had done, and he’s also the only one of them to apologise to me. It’s not enough— he needs to apologise to you, and it needs to be genuine, not just as a means of making good with me— and that’s just the start. But he needs a place to start, and it’s cruel of me to drag him along like this without the hope of us ever reconciling. If he wants my trust and forgiveness back, then he has to work for it.”
“Those are pretty words, Lupin. But like you just said: I shall also wait to see what kind of mettle you’re made of. I’m sorry if your pleading does not swell my heart, or make me ‘see reason’ as I’m sure Potter and Black might think of it. But they’re bullies. Quite frankly, they’re pricks. Potter is arrogant and has an ego on him twice the size of his head, Black is also arrogant, but narcissistic as well and has a vicious little temper. Peter is a sycophant and even more of a coward than you are.” Severus has climbed down the ladder over the course of his rant, and is now glaring darkly up at Remus from their four-inch height difference. His eyes are almost glowing, something beautiful and dangerous alight in them.
“And, while we’re on the topic, speaking of you—” he jabs one elegant finger into Remus’ chest, “—you are not just a coward, but now also a pushover. And an enabler. And it drives me crazy, Lupin. You drive me crazy. Because of all utterly bizarre and unfathomable things, you’re also kind and nice and friendly. You’re kind and nice and friendly to me. Which I still don’t understand, and I still don’t trust. But I want to understand you, Lupin. I’d even like to trust you, one day, maybe. It’s a terrifying thing. I’ve only ever trusted Lily before in my life and your track record is far worse than hers.”
Remus is pretty sure he’s smiling goofily down at Severus. He has inexplicably lost all control of the muscles in his face. Maybe Severus wants them to be almost friends just as much as Remus does. Or, Bless Merlin, maybe he actually even wants to be real friends.
Remus does what he just swore he would never do again: he speaks without thinking. He doesn’t address all of the (valid and uncomfortably true) issues with Remus and his friends that Severus has pointed out, and still, ashamedly, the words needed to form an apology appropriate for the severity of Remus’ misgivings choke him somewhere between his lungs and his tonsils. All he can think is ‘Severus wants to trust me; he wants to be my friend’, and that is the ruin of him.
“I want to be your friend.” Remus blurts. Severus looks at him as if he’s just sprouted two additional heads and is now the loyal guard dog to the Hogwarts groundskeeper.
“What?” Severus blinks. In for a penny, in for a pound. Or would it be in for a knut, in for a gallon? The rhyming scheme just doesn’t sound as good, and Remus isn’t quite sure what the exchange rate is for the wizarding monetary system is to the pound sterling.
“I want to be your friend, Severus. I thought that was obvious?” Remus’ face folds in on itself like curtains being drawn, as he considers their interactions since Severus had moved in down the street, “Though, I suppose I’ve never expressly stated my intent. In fact, I told you I wouldn’t foist my friendship onto you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be your friend. It just means I respect that you might not share my desire, and could reject my advances if you wished. But then we’ve been going on walks and hanging out. I thought we were having a lovely time. Were we not?”
“Ummm—”
“At least, I’d thought we were having a lovely time. I would hate for you to have forced yourself to spend time with me, Severus. Or to think I was twisting your arm. I’d just thought we’d come to a kind of understanding recently— but if not, then… what have we been doing?” Remus is suddenly alarmed by his own actions. Had he read the signs all wrong? Snape was legendarily difficult to decipher. Oh, no – this is terrible. Remus feels the parasite of people-pleasing squirm around in his guts, misaligning organs he’s pretty sure are vital for his survival.
“It was—” Severus looks like Remus has just sent two concurrent ‘Stupify’ spells at him, “—it was… nice.”
“Oh— so, we did have a lovely time.” Remus says around a breath, beyond relieved he hasn’t gravely misjudged things and overstepped. This making friends business is much more difficult than he remembers it being in primary school. His crooked smile returns to his face.
“I said ‘nice’ not ‘lovely’, Lupin. I have had a nice time with you. And I had a nice time with you in the past, in study groups and in the library. I would like to share further nice times with you. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. Certainly, Lily seems to like you and that’s a big mark in your favour. You’ve also tried to eat me before, however, and have never stepped in when your idiot friends raise their wands at me, except for once, and it was quite frankly too little too late. So forgive me if I can’t conceive of another reason as to why you’re bringing up Potter, if it was not to test me somehow.”
Remus feels that hollowness in his chest again. God, he’s been a not-insubstantial part of the reason Severus is now so unwilling to trust other people. Remus feels a little sick, but he can’t tell if it’s a result of his own sense of niggling guilt, or just the motions of his regular transformation cycle, what with the full moon being so close. Most likely, it’s a bit of both.
“I told you about James to warn you. Just as I said: the face value of the words, Severus. I was just a bit of a prat with how I went about it. I sprung it on you, and that wasn’t fair. So I’m sorry, Severus. I’ll try to be more mindful in the future. It’s no excuse, but I’m always a little scatter-brained this close to the full.”
“See!” Severus wheezes, sounding exasperated, face drawn into a familiar scowl (which strangely Remus no longer finds quite as intimidating as he once did); “This is exactly what I mean. You’re apologising to me. Again! And I don’t know what to do with that, Lupin: people aren’t normally considerate towards slimy, greasy, dungeon-dwelling Snivellous—” Snape spits out the cruel nickname like a bad taste in his mouth, “ —but I still don’t understand why!? Why are you doing this?” The other boy throws his hands in the air, panting out his breaths in his bewildered rage. Remus smiles at him again, fondness secreting from every pore in his body.
“Because we’re almost friends, Severus. And friends, even if they’re not officially that just yet, look out for each other. I didn’t think you’d appreciate having a rogue James pop up out of nowhere. I could have been wrong about that, however. It was all assumption on my part—“
“No! Merlin, no!”
“Ah, so I was right in my assumption.” Remus’ smile turns a little wolfish, co*cked to the side and toothy.
“Lupin, you’re on thin ice: don’t push it.” Snape warns, glowering from beneath the brim of his silly straw sunhat. Was Severus aware of how adorable he looked like this? He was kind of cute when he was mad. Remus struggles to reign-in the bemused huff threatening to escape his lips.
“I swear to Merlin and Morgana— and to any of the muggle gods; Allah, Yahweh, Buddha, The Lord Almighty— I will hex your balls off if you’re f*cking with me.” Suddenly Severus’ anger is no longer cute. Remus holds his hands up in a placating display: he’s quite fond of his balls, actually, and has absolutely no doubts about Severus’ ability to follow through on his threats. Both he and Lily are terrifying that way.
“Severus, you have my word that you can castrate me before the whole student body— even the Hogwarts staff, though you might have to be quick about it— if I am indeed f*cking with you: but I’m being quite sincere with my intentions here, Severus… does this mean you’d also like to be my friend? We can just keep doing what we’re doing now. And if I ever do anything you don’t like, then please tell me. We’ll work out any of the kinks together along the way.”
“…Very well.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It is a ‘very well.’”
“Severus—”
“I won’t hide from Potter, however—” Severus interrupts Remus’ exasperated repeal, “ —so I’ll see you on Monday. After the full moon. Warn Potter, if you must. But he won’t torment me in my own home, during the summer holidays for Christ sakes. May I come over to Sycamore house?”
“Of course— you’re welcome any time, Severus.” Remus says, a little dazed by the hard turn in the conversation: idly, he thought this might be what it’s like to get truly sloshed. With his werewolf metabolism, it takes a great deal of narcotics for him to start to feel a buzz. Usually it requires a mixing of different veins of imbibement for him to feel the effects. But at this very moment, Remus feels like he’s smoked a whole spliff and chugged a barrel of beer, chasing it with a shot of tequila.
He also wonders if Severus is just putting on a mask to seem unaffected by this turn of events. More than that, he’s already worrying about the impending meeting of James and Severus: it is not something he particularly looks forward to.
“I’ll come around for two, then.” Severus decides.
The pair of them return to their work; finishing varnishing all the shutters on the cottage by dinner time.
________________________________________
On a Sunday in the middle of July, Remus awoke cotton-mouthed to the distant murmur of morning rain. Like every full moon before it, Remus was already aching: molten lava ran through his veins, making his skin itch, his limbs fidget, and it felt like every one of his senses was alight with activity. Too much input for his brain to process orderly, resulting in a bright, static buzz that invaded every crevice of his mind; making him prone to impulsivity, often easily aggravated or careless with his actions, and overall incredibly miserable.
First, he registers the smells of his room; the laundry detergent and the body-warmed sheets of his bed, the books on the wooden shelves, a savoury breakfast being prepared in the kitchen, his own earthy sandalwood aftershave as well as the accumulated scents of salt and sweat and time. Each has been strengthened to an almost headache-inducing degree.
Then lay over that initial sensory overload all of the sounds: his father in the shower, the conduction of water through metal pipes hidden all about the walls and under the floorboards of their house, mingling with the pitter-patter of the rain, grey and cold, against the window pain, the slate roof, the gutter and lush gardens below; his mother pottering about downstairs, something sizzling in a pan on the hob, the creaking of the home’s rafters, the wireless tuned into an early morning broadcast.
Remus keeps his eyes tightly shut, his consciousness floating through the shifting red-darkness of his closed eyelids, as he tries to adjust to the discordant melodies of his once familiar home: what was usually comforting now amplified tenfold and made alien in its intensity. He knew if he got up out of his bed too quickly, introduced the watery light of morning into this heady co*cktail of sensations, he’d empty the contents of his stomach onto the carpet. Those kinds of stains are hard to get out of such porous fibres, even with a potent ‘Tergio’, this Remus knew from experience.
Eventually, however, the ravenous hunger in him caused Remus to get up. Slowly, ever so slowly, he exited his room and descended the stairs to the kitchen. His mother greeted him with a plate piled high with a full English breakfast: two pieces of fried toast cut into four triangles, a perfectly sunny-side-up egg, fried tomatoes and mushrooms with black pepper, baked beans (from a can), fat link sausages and crispy bacon.
His mum knew by now that on the day of the full, Remus was dead to the world until his second cup of tea that morning. Only then will she speak with him: and by his request, she doesn’t mention the full moon, or how he’s feeling, or if there’s anything he might need. Remus’ patience for such good-intentioned but ultimately useless platitudes was particularly thin this time of the month.
When a second serving of breakfast had been demolished – this time a modest stack of yet more toast, slathered in raspberry jam – and a third cup of tea was ingested, Remus went upstairs to the now vacated bathroom and ran himself a nice hot bath. He added to the deep tub of filling water a dollop of the lavender bubble bath his mum liked to use, and watched as if in a trance as the water frothed. In his current state, one strong smell was better than many nebulous scents.
Lowering his body fully into the warm, fragrant water, Remus released a deep and contented sigh. The bath eased the pain in his joints, the skittering of his skin, the throbbing of blood vessels which had been fluttering behind his eyes, its intensity slowly having built up into a migraine since he’d opened them that morning. In the water he stays until it becomes tepid, and no longer works as a balm to his weariness. By this time, it’s already early afternoon. Remus is clean and dressed in his most comfortable clothing – trying to eat his lunch, but having lost his appetite somewhere on his journey between the bathroom and his sitting room.
During the days leading up to the full moon, Remus eats like there’s a bottomless void that exists where his stomach should be; the day of, however, his appetite was always touch and go. Remus could lean either way, fluctuating between feeling like he might throw up at the mere suggestion of food, to eating like he’d been starved for months. Currently, the vegetable broth his father had made was making Remus nauseous, and it tasted like bile on his tongue. After a couple spoonfuls, he acquiesced his defeat and trudged through to the living room to slump down into the comfy armchair in the corner.
James was scheduled to arrive just before dinnertime, and so Remus waited for him in his spot in the armchair. He tried to read, to distract himself, but after catching himself reading through the same sentence for the third time, he gave up and tried to take a nap instead.
When Prongs arrives, Remus will sit him down and they’ll talk over their fish and chips. It was Sunday, so supper was always fish and chips. He did perk up a bit at the thought of battered cod and deep-fried potatoes: Remus had hope that his appetite hadn’t completely vanished.
As he sat trying to get some more sleep, he wondered if maybe this wasn’t the best idea, given how raw he’s feeling. Though, maybe it’s exactly because of his current emotional volatility that Remus can be more honest and forthcoming with James when they talk. He won’t try to placate, or differ, or please him – because Remus doesn’t have the f*cking bandwidth for those things right now.
One of the many reasons Remus enjoyed the hotter months over the cold season was because moonrise occurred much later. Tonight, the moonrise was at seven. Although, as if to balance out this minuscule reprise, the heat of summer made his joint pain burn, like there were rods of hot iron that had been embedded into the surrounding muscle there. It felt like he was forcibly caged inside his own flesh: or more accurately, it felt like the wolf was closer to the surface, moving around inside its human suit, trying to bend and twist Remus’ bones prematurely.
The moon and the wolf influenced more of his actions as the hours ticked down; they held more sway over his thoughts, making him distinctly animal in his thinking. Remus was an emotionally fraught mess the day before, the day of, and day after the full moon: prone to fits of tears or irritation, horny and achy and tired. It was like all of puberty had been condensed into his every breath, and Remus wondered if it would feel any different, become any more manageable, as he matured into adulthood. There were very few documented cases of wizards being turned at as young an age as Remus had been. None known that had survived long enough to make it out the other side of childhood. He was a unique case.
Of course, all of this personal discomfort presented itself within Remus’ actions as him being just a little grumpy and cold to the people around him. The very human urge to take up as little emotional space as possible was apparently the stronger instinct to Remus than any of the wolf’s. And Remus had always delineated things this way: him and the wolf, as if they were separate beings, because to him they were.
He must have actually fallen asleep at some point, as Remus awoke to the sound of the Floo roaring into life. Blinking his eyes open and releasing a moan of discomfort as he adjusted himself into an upright sitting position, Remus registered the presence of James in his front room: patting-down the errant ash off his trip through the Floo Network. The other boy looked up from dusting himself off, his wire framed glasses a little crooked, messy black hair a mop of curls upon his head and a sheepish smile spreading across his face.
“Mooney… alright, mate?” James said by way of greeting.
“Prongs.” Remus nodded, not ready to get up out of his comfortable chair yet. He did use James’ nickname, however, as a way of showing that he was happy to see the other boy. “I feel like sh*te, mate. As always. If you’re here, then that means dad’s already got dinner ready under a stasis charm— you fancying fish and chips, by any chance?”
“Sounds good to me, Moons.”
“Correct answer. If you’d wanted something else, you’re sh*t out of luck.”
“Alright, hardarse. I pity whatever children you might sire in the future. You’d be such a strict dad.”
“How dare you— my imaginary offspring would love me. I’d be a fun dad— a fun dad who also keeps my children alive. Which is pretty important.” Remus gets up now, with an undignified grunt, clapping James on the shoulder as he passes him, leading the other boy into the kitchen. James is already laughing softly as he trails behind Remus. “Besides, I’m sure my precious babies wouldn’t be half as troublesome as you are. They’d be perfect. Actually, being your mate is a kind of trial run for all future parenting endeavours I might participate in. I’m practically an old hat at wrangling misbehaving children.”
“Hey— who are you calling a child?” Remus lets out a huff of laughter at James’ indignant look.
“Here, take your bloody battered fish and eat with me. We’ve got just over an hour until moonrise.”
In the kitchen, Remus finds that the stacked cardboard boxes from their local chip shop have been placed in the centre of their dining table, next to a bottle of vinegar and the salt and pepper shakers. He releases the stasis charm, which has kept the food piping hot and the batter perfectly crispy. Then he shakes salt and vinegar over his meal, passing them over to James, before swiping one of the little wooden takeout forks to start skewering his chips and shoving them into his mouth.
“Thank Merlin, my appetite hasn’t completely buggered off. I’m starving.” Remus says around a mouthful of food. If he had the energy to care, he’d be disgusted by himself. James laughs at him while he shovels his own forkful of fish, slathered in tomato ketchup, into his mouth.
Remus gets up from the table and walks across the kitchen, “Drink, mate? We’ve got juice, water, tea, coffee… oh, we have Sprite, if you’d like that.” He says over his shoulder, peering into their fridge.
“Sprite please.” James says, not even looking up from his dinner.
Remus returns to the table with two cans of Sprite lemon. Before he takes another bite of his meal, however, he steadies himself, taking a deep breath. They should probably talk before anything else. But Remus doesn’t know how to broach the topic – sure, he might have strategically chosen the full moon to confront James; however, he still wants this conversation to be productive. He wants to deliver the information, express his feelings, without it coming across as accusatory. The last thing he needs right now is a defensive James. While Remus is stuck in his head thinking, James makes a noise in his throat, getting the werewolf’s attention.
“I know that right now might not be the best time, but I just wanted to talk with you.” James shifts in his chair, like he’s uncomfortable, and clears his throat once again. “So, ummm, yeah— Merlin, this is harder than I thought it would be—”
“Take a breath. What are you trying to say, Prongs?” Remus prompts. His voice is calm and encouraging, surprising himself. He’d thought that James’ puss*footing would annoy him. Instead, he’s glad that the other boy was the first to approach the topic (privately, Remus berates himself for still being such a coward). James sucks in a shaky breath and then releases a deep sigh, before he speaks again.
“I’m aware that, um— that my previous apology to you was somewhat lacking. Actually, well, it was sh*t. It was a sh*tty apology. And I’ve been a really bloody sh*tty friend to you, recently. We all have. And you don’t deserve that kind of treatment, Remus. Really, you’re the best of us— kind and understanding and reliable. I was only joking before: I think you’d make a great dad, actually.” James shakes his head, as if trying to rattle his tangent thoughts out of his own brain with the force of the motion. It seems to work, because he looks into Remus’ eyes with a sincerity that makes the werewolf smile back at the other boy. Kind and understanding and reliable: that was Remus.
“What Sirius did, it wasn’t good. For so many reasons, it was f*cked. And I can sit here and rattle off all the excuses I can think of to defend him, because he’s my brother, but I’m not the person he’s hurt. And you know about his family, you know him— still doesn’t really make what he did okay, does it? I think I’ve realised that now. It took me way too long, but I understand now how exactly he f*cked up: and how I f*cked up, by wanting to sweep it all under the rug, move on from the whole thing, have us go back to normal. But that was really selfish of me. Really, really selfish. I wasn’t thinking about what kind of betrayal of trust his actions were to you, or how he nearly made your worst nightmare real, or how he used you. It didn’t sit right with me then, either, but I felt like our group was falling apart, and that took precedence. And— and I was scared, mate. Really scared of losing you all. It doesn’t make a difference now, I know that, but still. I wanted you to know how I was feeling, at the time. Still kind of feel that way now. In a couple of years, this is all over, and I don’t know what the f*ck I’m doing. Bloody terrifying, that.” James stops, pushing his chips around as he contemplates something. Remus chooses this as his moment to speak his mind.
“Most people don’t know what the f*ck they’re doing. Most adults, I’d wager, don’t know what the f*ck they’re doing. So I think you’ll be just fine, Prongs. Things don’t need to be figured out just yet: you’ve got your whole bloody life to ‘figure things out’—” Remus takes a deep breath, “ —and, mate, if you’re shaky on your feet those first few years after we graduate, your parents will always be there to support you. You know you’re lucky with that, right? Not a lot of people have that kind of support system. Like Sirius— or even myself. I don’t know what I’m going to do to manage my condition once we graduate. And I doubt I’ll be able to hold down a job for long—”
“Oh, sh*t, mate— bloody hell, I’m such a terrible person. I hadn’t even thought of that! Merlin, you know you can always rely on me for stuff, right?” James looks devastated. Remus smiles again, sad now, as he plays with the metal tab on his can of soda. He takes a sip.
“Yeah, mate— yeah, I know I can rely on you. I might find it hard to accept your help sometimes— I can admit that— it makes me feel weird using your money or accepting gifts or whatever. Like it somehow means I owe you, or it reminds me that we’re not the same, like I’m inadequate in comparison. But that’s me, James. That’s because of who I am, not who you are. I’m really glad you’ve apologised to me again. It’s definitely better than your first one—” they both laugh now, and Remus’ smile isn’t so sad, “ —so I forgive you, for being a sh*tty friend. On the condition that you change some things: start doing better, being better. Because I’d love to still be your friend, Prongs. You guys— you mean a lot to me. You called us brothers, that night you confronted me about my lycanthropy. And from what I can tell of people with siblings, brothers fight, all the time, but they also forgive. My forgiveness, however, should be respected.”
“Of course I respect you, Remus.”
“Good. Because I’m being serious about this, James. And I don’t—” Remus gulps in air, his chest feels tight, the parasite of people pleasing burrows deeper into his stomach, “ —I don’t know if I can forgive Sirius. I can’t even contemplate it, right now. I’ve spent too many years expecting that boy to start respecting me, treating me as an equal, and he quite clearly does not. I’ve also spent these past few months hating myself because of his actions, and I’m tired of it. I’m so tired.” Remus can’t bring himself to look James in the eye, he’s so nervous. The other boy silently puts down his wooden fork and listens.
“But more than that, what I really find unforgivable is how little respect he holds for other people's lives in general. It wasn’t just that he used me, James, you’ve got to understand— he was punishing me. For standing up for Severus. I’m sure he felt I was slighting him personally, somehow. But how he acted right after I was discharged from the Infirmary: like everything was fine, like he hadn’t just tried to use me to kill another person. Like he was gracing me with his presence after I’d refused him visiting me after the full moon. Like it was a little thing and I was the one overreacting. It makes me feel sick, just remembering. Actually, it makes me f*cking livid—” Remus looks up at James now, and he sees the other boy considering him, really considering him, maybe for the first time, “ —but I don’t know how to handle my own anger, James. It scares me. That’s why I avoided you all: because I was really bloody angry with you. And I was frustrated with myself. I can’t continue being a coward and sitting back and watching you torment Severus. I can’t. So if you respect me, and if you really want to make up for the past— The Marauders have got to stop the bullying. I can forgive you for how you’ve treated me, Prongs, but I need to see some change before I can forgive you for that.”
He’d said how he felt. Remus had spoken up to his friend; asked for respect, and to see some change going forward. James is silent for what feels like an eternity, and Remus immediately regrets all his life choices that have led him to this moment. Simultaneously, he wants to throw up, run far away, hide somewhere and punch James in the face. It seems even the wolf is dealing with a lot of conflicting feelings today. Before he can do any of those things, however, James speaks up again.
“I feel like I should apologise to you again, Remus.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry—” James says, “ —we’ve been even bigger arses than I thought we were this whole time.”
Remus breaks down in bright laughter: he might be a little manic. The relief is so overwhelming, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The wolf still maybe wants to run, but not hide. Still kind of wants to punch James, but now it also wants to tackle him in a hug, because he’s a part of its pack. “That’s not what I’d expected you to say at all.” Remus says, after he’s curbed some of the laughter. James looks a little concerned for his friend – Remus has been making a lot of people make that expression recently, with his bouts of giggling. The mental image of Severus’ befuddled face brings on yet another hearty round of laughter. James waits patiently for it to pass before he continues speaking.
“I’ve been writing to Lily, you know. At the end of the year, we’d been talking a little after running into each other in the library. I was trying to cram for the exams instead of revising like you’d told me to—” he winks at Remus, making him smile like a fool at his silly friend, “ —but anyway, she was there, she took pity on me. The woman has limitless compassion. An angel amongst men—”
“Prongs, please. Leave the flowery language for your diary.” Remus sighs, laughter subsiding. James flushes red and coughs.
“Anyway— she helped me with some of my revision, and then, I don’t know. You guys are friends, and I know you told her your secret after everything that happened in Feb. You must trust her. So I asked for her advice. And I think she was a little surprised, me asking for help from her, of all people.” Remus has no doubt that Lily was shocked, to say the least, that James Potter was admitting to his wrongdoings.
“Well, yeah. Then we sort of became friends, and she’d listen to me and give me advice about you, and Pete and Sirius as well. And she was the one who helped me see what I’d done wrong… and— the way she talked about Snape, the way she was so sad about whatever was going on between them. I don’t know, it made me feel like rubbish. And then that day by the lake happened— Merlin, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You weren’t thinking, that’s the problem.” Remus says. James nods, considering this.
“I really wasn’t, mate. I’m ashamed of myself. And I’m even more ashamed of myself that it took a pretty girl to explain these things to me, for me to realise that what I was doing was sh*tty. I was being a right prat and didn’t even think twice about it. That day— you say you don’t know how to handle your anger, well, me neither. We just channel it very differently.”
“That sounds about right.” Remus says thoughtfully.
“Anyway, yeah. She hasn’t talked to me after that. And she was right to bin me off. Gods above, I don’t know why I did it myself, so what am I meant to tell Evans, other than I’m sorry? I feel really horrible about it, so I can understand why you can’t forgive me for that. For all of it, since First Year. And— and I know that Sirius and I are close. I can’t ever abandon him. But that doesn’t mean you have to forgive him for my sake. What he did to you, and how you react to that— whatever happens, it’s your choice, Moony. I’ll respect it. I can be both your friend and Sirius’, it just might be a bit awkward. And that’s fine.”
“Thank you, Prongs. It means a lot that you’re trying.” Remus leans over the table to grab a napkin, then sits back and contemplates what he’ll say next. “You know— I think a lot of this mess can be attributed to us being dumb teenagers. But there’s a line between being stupid, making mistakes, and then being cruel. And we crossed that line a long time ago. Really, it’s not me or Lily that you should be apologising to for this, James. You know that, right? Severus deserves an apology perhaps most of all.” Now really was the moment where their relationship could break apart. To his credit, James looked suitably cowed.
“Yeah. I know that I need to make things right with Snape. And before you say it: I’m not just trying to get into Lily’s good graces again— or yours, for that matter. I’ve been coming to this same conclusion since summer break started. I just don’t know how the f*ck I’m meant to get Snape to stick around and listen to my apology in the first place, never mind deliver it with my humanity and most of my body still intact. He’d throw a hex at me before I could even open my mouth. And I’d probably deserve it.”
“Well, you can start figuring out a way to do that tomorrow.” Remus says, cleaning up their now finished dinner, empty soda cans and other random detritus. James gets up to help.
“What are you on about, Moons?”
“Severus is coming over tomorrow. You can say hello and then maybe you can try apologising.”
“I’m sorry— did you just say that Severus Snape is coming over to your house tomorrow, to what— hang out or something!? How have you managed that, Mooney. You’re not blackmailing him, are you?”
“Wha— who do you take me for, you idiot. No, Severus and I are… friendly? Yeah, we’re friendly. We've been hanging out this summer.”
“You’re ‘friendly’ with him, are you?”
“Yes, friendly. We’re maybe friends. I don’t know— he’s very hard to read. But also incredibly funny, and smart, and weirdly very thoughtful. So yes, we’re ‘friendly’ and he’s coming over after the full moon to see us.”
“Us— so he knows that I’ll be here? And he’s fine with that, is he?”
“Yes. I told him you’d be staying here, and in fact Severus was the one who insisted he’d come over. I believe he intends to prove something to you, or for some kind of confrontation to happen, but I won’t be having you two jinxing each other in my kitchen if I can help it.”
“He was the one who insisted on coming over, after finding out I’d be here?”
“That’s what I said, James. Do keep up— now, if you don’t mind, we’ve got twenty three minutes until I’m turning into a great big slobbering werewolf, so if you wouldn’t mind putting a pause on this conversation until after I’ve been securely locked in the cellar, I’d really appreciate it.”
________________________________________
The full moon passed without much incident. Remus is locked in the magically warded cellar at the bottom of their back garden, down past his mother’s vegetable patch, the ivy-covered swing set that is too rusted to use, and the wall of tall, bushy hedges that border the edge of their property, along with the cherry and apple trees which grow there.
Remus’ father doesn’t like that James and the other boys come over during the break to be with Remus during his cycle, always worrying about what could happen, having the secret be so known amongst his schoolmates, or having them in proximity to a werewolf at all. But his father also doesn’t know that The Marauders are all illegal animagus who play with said werewolf during full moons like it’s their pet – and it’s a good thing he’s oblivious, because the information would cause Lyall Lupin to have a heart attack and keel over from shock.
At some point after making friends with The Marauders, Remus had fiddled about with his father’s enchantments on the cellar to allow his friends' magical signatures to pass through the barrier: the charm recognising them as humans, even while in animagus form. The spellwork was similar in design to the wards put on the Shrieking Shack, and so all Remus had to do was reverse-engineer the loophole which allowed his friends to enter the property in Hogsmeade and apply it to the magic of their cellar at home. Tricky stuff, but Charms was one of his best classes, and when it came to the wolf, Remus was always fastidious with the precautions he put in place.
So the night had gone about as well as Remus had expected it to. The pain wasn’t the worst part of his transformation. People always assumed it would be, and don’t get Remus wrong, the pain is excruciating. But pain can also be predictable, he knows that it's coming, and although he still screams in agony as his body is broken-down and remade anew into a more monstrous form, it is also familiar. The worst part of his transformations is the forceable relinquishing of control.
The moment the wolf takes over, and Remus is relegated to being a backseat passenger in his own body – not even his own body, but rather having his being reshaped against his will, until it was no longer recognisable as Remus Lupin, and he's forced to watch on as it happens, trapped within his own mind.
It would begin with small things; Remus wanting to move his arm to scratch his cheek, but the wolf preventing him from doing so. It would escalate until Remus was fighting to stay upright, to put one foot in front of the other or focus his eyes. That’s when the pain would wash over him, transform him, leave the boy behind to make space for the wolf. Then Remus would be at the will of the monster inside him.
When he awoke the day after the full moon – her opalescent pull no longer as overbearing, like the tide receding from the shore, and the new moon a cool, empty shape cut from the vault of space – Remus was always left feeling emotionally and physically drained. This most recent full moon was no different. Remus roused with a slightly bruised side, and the memories, cut-up and disjointed in his head, showed him bleary images of the wolf play fighting with James in his stag form. Those antlers were nothing to joke about: they bloody hurt.
James had slipped out of the cellar after Remus turned back, sometime just after dawn broke. Half an hour later, Remus was collected by James (in his human form, donned in pyjamas as if he’d been restfully sleeping on Remus’ bedroom floor, like his parents believed) and his mother. They came bearing a big fluffy blanket and a small bar of chocolate.
Wrapped up warm, and having demolished the sweet treat to regain a little of his energy, Remus was guided up the garden and back into his bed, one arm draped over James’ shoulders for support. The moment his head hit the pillow, Remus was out. He had only enough time to wriggle on a clean pair of underpants and then he was dead to the world. When he woke up again, this time into full wakefulness, it was already eleven in the morning, and James was nowhere to be found in his room.
Remus yawned wide, stretching his body as he kicked-off his bed covers, and groaning at the twinges of pain that rippled through him. It was a kind of perverse satisfaction that he felt, extending his stretch until he heard the sound of his joints popping and his muscles began to burn: in this pain, Remus indulged himself – it was a kind of macabre reminder that he had been returned to his body, that his control was reinstated. He was himself, and it would be many weeks before the wolf returned. He could breathe easily again.
Then, Remus got out of his bed and trudged down the hall to the bathroom. His mouth tasted sour, and although the bruising had already begun to heal itself on its own, the aching would be helped with a nice hot shower. Werewolf bodies could take care of themselves: quite literally, all Remus had to do was get plenty of sleep and the right nutrients into his body, and within the next day his injuries would have disappeared.
The ability was rather useful, in the day-to-day, but it also served as another reminder for the boy that he was not completely human. Hadn’t been for a very long time: Remus knew better what life was like as a werewolf than a normal person, and he was changed so young that he has barely any memories of what it was like before. The self-healing was just like the preternatural strength, the enhanced senses, the high metabolism, Remus’ ability to connect with his magical core in a different way from other wizards.
He could cast wandless – a particularly impressive feat, one he’d been practising since Third Year – simply by calling upon his dual arcane core: the place where his innate wizard ability and the magical pull of the moon’s curse overlapped to create a deep well of instinctual magic within himself. He contained within him both Dark and Light Magic, so that the energy was mixed, had become grey and ephemeral like mist. It was old magic, like ley lines and runes: it was arcane.
Werewolves could endure muscle strains, heavy bruising, cuts and gashes and bleeding wounds, broken bones – but they were all healed by the primal magic of the wolf, when left to their own devices. Which you had no other choice but doing, really, seeing as the werewolf curse was transmitted through the blood, and thus mutated it. Potions worked by ingestion and diffusion into the bloodstream: meaning most potions either had only half the intended effect, or simply were incompatible with the cursed blood. And the werewolf’s mutation of both magical and bodily systems were too different from wizard’s for the majority of healing spells to work.
So the ability for the body to convalesce on its own was a necessary genetic mutation, in order for the curse bearer to survive the monthly transformation. And while Remus could get hurt, he wouldn’t die unless through old age, by the hands of silver-tipped weapons, by wolfsbane poisoning or caught in a strong, raging fire hot enough to melt metal. Not even ‘Avada Kedavra’, the Killing Curse, wouldn’t have its full intended effect on a werewolf; simply gravely injuring them, with the potential for lifelong disability afterwards. The werewolf curse wanted to propagate, it had evolved to keep its host alive and strong. These symptoms of lycanthropy were often used in anti-lycan propaganda.
Remus had read every book on lycanthropy stocked in Hogwarts’ library, and in a tome from 1925 named ‘Laws Concerning The Lycanthropic Kind and Their Curse: A Compendium’ by a particularly disagreeable man named Beverly Croaker-Smith, Remus had read;‘It’s proof they’re not human, but rather something else entirely. They aren’t natural, and without proper regulation, how is the average wizard or witch to protect themselves from such magical beasts – ones that not even our Darkest curses can fell?’ A similar sentiment was found in ‘Beast or Being: The Werewolf Controversy’ by Charles Julius Manstead, written initially in 1857, but was recently back in popular circulation due to the current debate in The Ministry about weather or not lycanthropes should be moved from their current status as Category V Beasts, to Category IV Beasts, which would supposedly grant them more rights, though truth be told the change was poultry.
After brushing his teeth, using the loo and having his much-needed hot shower, Remus made his way downstairs at noon to find James talking with his mother in the kitchen. His father would already be at work, and besides, Remus and his dad never talked about his transformation. Not really; the young werewolf was aware of how his father’s guilt over the manner in which his son received his curse tainted their relationship, with Lyall treating the lycanthropy like a particularly shameful mistake, but in doing so made his son feel broken.
“What are you two planning? Should I be worried?” Remus said, taking a seat next to James at the table and pouring himself a large glass of orange juice. The two of them had been giggling and talking quietly, like First Years gossiping in the corridors.
“Good morning, sleepyhead. Your lovely mother and I were just talking about how proud we are that you got Prefect again next year.” Said James with a grin, he was still in his pyjamas, hair looking like a bird’s nest, nursing a cup of Earl Grey between his hands. Remus finished his juice in a few large gulps.
“Remy, please try to act like I’ve taught you some manners—” his mother said, bustling over to him and using the corner of a tea towel to wipe away some of the orange liquid that had escaped his mouth and began dribbling down his chin, “ —but yes, I was just asking James here about school and how his exams went. Then we got onto the topic of Professor McGonnigal and the wonderful letter we received from her singing your praises. I know we’ve already said it, but your father and I are so very proud of you, pet.” His mother kissed the top of his head before returning to her station in the kitchen, presumably to continue preparing lunch.
“Yeah, Remy— we’re all so proud of you.” James said in a mockingly sweet tone. Remus suppressed a smirk and punched the other boy in the shoulder playfully.
“Someone’s got to keep all the rabble in line.” He replied.
“Ow! That hurt, Remus. And it’s my wand arm— what will you do if I can never cast a spell again? What of my shining professional quidditch career!?” James gasped, dramatically rubbing his arm and wincing. Remus laughed outright.
“Oh please, Prongs. If you can’t handle a little rough housing then there’ll be no future for you in professional quidditch.”
“Fair point, mate. Fair point.” James took a sip of his tea, then sat back in his chair, looking a little nervous, “So when’s Sniv— I mean, Snape. When’s Snape meant to get here?” He asked.
“Oh—” his mother spoke up, turning around to look at the two boys, “ —is Severus coming over, Remus? Why didn’t you tell me?” Her tone of voice was perfectly normal, and her face pleasant, but Remus knew he’d f*cked up. Damn Hope Lupin and her freakish ability to figure out exactly whatever her son was up to.
“Sorry, mum. Didn’t mean to leave you out of the loop— it just slipped my mind. Severus said he wanted to come over when I saw him on Thursday. I didn’t think it was a big deal.” Remus only half-lied: he did think that it was a big deal, but it had also genuinely slipped his mind with the full moon being so close at hand. Besides, his mother was probably only concerned for the boy, with the knowledge she had about how Remus’ friends had treated the Slytherin in the past.
“It’s alright, pet. I’ve got some freshly baked eccles cakes, so you boys can snack on those if you’d like.”
“Thanks, mum, that’ll be great—” Remus said, before returning his attention to James sitting beside him, “ —Severus said he’ll be here for two. So we’ve got like an hour before he arrives. We’ll head up to my room to talk, though. I think it’ll be for the best that way. Neutral ground.”
“Alright, Mooney. Sounds like a plan to me.” James replied, nodding as if mentally fortifying himself for the confrontation ahead. The other boy finished his tea before taking it over to the sink to clean up. The three of them – James, Remus and his mother – ate their lunch together, and waited for Severus to arrive.
________________________________________
When the Slytherin did finally show up on the doorstep of Sycamore House, at precisely two o’clock in the afternoon, James looked like he was going to vibrate out of his skin from the nerves. The two of them had spoken about the best way for him to apologise over another cup of Earl Grey at the kitchen table, and Remus listened somewhat patiently to all of James’ absurd ramblings. This is what Remus got for imploring his half-witted friend to actually think before acting for once.
It seemed the bespectacled boy had conjured up all manner of possible outcomes, and James was more than convinced he’d at least have one broken appendage by the end of this meeting. Remus wasn’t so sure, after all Severus rarely initiated their rivalry, and he had seemed in all regards to only be looking for a verbal confrontation when Remus spoke with him on Thursday.
Severus threw hexes and jinxes when provoked – and they were mean ones, clever in their ability to harm – but he never drew his wand first. It was just like their chess matches; Severus first observed the proverbial battlefield and then plotted his movements accordingly, only sometimes making rash decisions, usually when his own temper or impulsiveness would flare up.
Remus practically ran through the house when he heard the doorbell. His mother, however, beat him to the punch. The young werewolf came to a stop at the bottom of the staircase: he lent over the bannister to see through the glass door to their entryway, where Hope talked kindly to Severus.
“Hello, pet— come in, come in. If you wouldn’t mind taking your shoes off— you can store them in the cubby there.” She pointed to a little wooden shoe rack by the door.
“Thank you for having me, Mrs Lupin.” Severus replied, already toeing-off his trainers and storing them neatly beside Remus’ own. Something about seeing their shoes lined up together, side-by-side, made a protectiveness swell inside Remus.
“Oh, please, Severus: call me Hope, ‘Mrs Lupin’ makes me sound so old!”
“Severus, hello— thanks for coming over. James and I are camped out upstairs, but we can get you a drink from the kitchen first. Follow me this way—” Remus said, as he descended the last step and then smoothly slotted himself between Severus and his mother, placing a hand on the other boy’s elbow and guiding him down the hallway.
Being in such close proximity with Snape, Remus could tell instantly that the Slytherin was perhaps feeling more nervous about this meeting than James was. And that was really saying something. Severus had his graceful fingers tangled up in a ball in front of himself. The skin around his cuticles on his left index and thumb had been picked red-raw.
Remus squeezed his elbow, hoping to reassure the other boy. At the touch, Severus looked up at him like he’d forgotten Remus was there, he’d been so stuck in his own head: Remus knew that feeling well, it felt like surfacing from the depths of a body of water and taking your first breath. He squeezed Severus’ elbow once again and then gave his bicep a rub up and down, smiling crookedly at the other boy.
“Hey, you’ll be fine. I’ll be right there with you the whole time. If James does something especially idiotic, then I’ll tell him to knock it off— and if at any point you're uncomfortable, or you want to stop or leave, then just tell me.” Remus bowed his head down a little, so that he could speak in a hushed tone to Severus, not wanting anyone to overhear – this seemed like it should be a private conversation.
If he weren’t standing in such close proximity, or still touching Severus, Remus probably wouldn't have noticed the full-body shiver that ran through the other boy’s body. It was a subtle thing, like wind through the reeds, and when Remus looked back into those doe-like eyes, it was as if a mask had fallen into place and Severus was trying to keep the world from seeing his true expression. The only tell Severus had that he’d been affected by something was a slight blush creeping up his neck, and the fact that he kept worrying his bottom lip.
“So— what would you like to drink?” Remus tried to divert the conversation and get Severus to concentrate on something else, even something little and menial, just for a change of mindset; “Tea? We’ve got breakfast, builders, Earl Grey, chamomile, peppermint… umm, lemongrass and nettle? No clue why we have that— or coffee? We’ve got juice and water, obviously—”
“Lupin, please do stop prattling on. You’re overcompensating and it’s entirely unnecessary—” Severus finally detangled his fingers, much to Remus’ private delight, before clearing his throat and extending his height to its full length, shoulders pushed back, “ —I’ll have peppermint, please.”
“Peppermint it is.” Remus said around his smile, taking down three mugs from a cupboard and switching on the kettle. In the first two cups he plopped tea bags for Earl Grey, in the last cup he used the diffuser, which he filled with two teaspoons of the loose leaf peppermint. “Lemon and honey, Severus?” Remus asked, taking from the fridge a bottle of milk.
“Please.” Severus said.
Remus looked over to see the other boy peering around their family kitchen with a keen interest. Severus remained stationary in the centre of the room, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. Remus returned to the mugs and took down the sugar bowl and a little jar of honey; then produced a cutting board and a small knife to cut up the lemon he retrieved from the fridge alongside the milk.
“You don’t look as sh*t as I’d imagined you to, after your transformation.” Severus said abruptly, when Remus looked back over at him again, from where he was quartering the lemon; the other boy looked as if his own words had snuck up on him. Remus barked out a laugh as the kettle made a high-pitched whistling sound and then clicked, notifying him that it had finished boiling the water, “I just meant— what I mean to say is: you still look sickly, but not as beaten-up as one might expect someone whose bones have just been broken and realigned twice in an evening would look… I— I’m glad you seem to be faring well, is all.” Severus cleared his throat again, and his lower lip was now puffy and red from his worrying. Remus tore his gaze from where it rested on Severus’ mouth.
“Thanks, mate. And here I thought I’d get myself all dolled up for your arrival.” Remus deadpanned, pouring the scalding water into the mugs. He set about adding two sugars and a dollop of milk to his own brew, then one sugar and some lemon into James’s tea. “How do you like your tea, Sev? Same as a normal brew or do you take peppermint differently?”
“Different: a drizzle of honey, and a wedge of lemon. I like it scalding hot, so just a dash of cold water from the tap is fine with me, thanks.” Severus finally moved from his position in the centre of the room to come stand a couple of feet from Remus. The boy turned, so that his back was resting against the countertop, and then he crossed his arms over his chest. Remus watched from his peripheral, as he went about finishing making the tea and putting the despondent ingredients back into their places around the kitchen.
“I brought something for you.” Severus says into the pregnant silence that had gestated between them. Remus hands the other boy his mug of peppermint tea.
“You brought something for me?”
“Yes… I’d thought, maybe, you might benefit from some additional aid after your transformation. I know that werewolves can heal themselves when left to their own devices— and that, as I’m sure you’re aware, most potions do not work to the same potency or effect on blood curses. But I’m not a potion genius for nothing— remember that muscle relaxant I made as a byproduct of trying to brew a less addictive version of the Drought of Dreamless Sleep?”
“Yeah, you said it could prove an interesting development if you gave more time to refining the recipe, even if you couldn’t find a substitute for the opium in the Dreamless Drought.”
“Well, I’ve put my efforts and resources over the past couple of weeks towards creating a muscle relaxant serum that could work effectively for someone with your particular— ah, requirements, shall we say.” Severus fishes into his jean pocket and produces from it a small cylindrical glass pot with a metal screw cap. Inside there appears to be some kind of pale lavender cream. “This cream contains ingredients that will soothe the aching in your muscles, as well as coolant and anti-inflammatory ingredients to help with the joint pain. I’ve tested it on a couple of plant clippings, and then on my own skin. It shouldn’t cause any breakouts or rashes to occur, and I believe you aren’t allergic to anything, once again thanks to that high lycanthrope metabolism and strong auto-immune system of yours.”
“I— I don’t understand.” Remus says dumbly, he’s now turned to face Severus fully, a mug of tea in each hand, looking between the raven-haired boy and the little tub of cream he placed on the kitchen counter. He feels like he’s been blindsided, like someone has just punched him straight in the throat.
“You apply this cream by massaging it into the skin, with a moderate degree of pressure, and it should help aid in relieving your discomfort during your healing period: all without the need for you to imbibe a potion. I mean, really— how nobody’s thought of addressing this particular issue with blood curses by simply pivoting the applications of potion craft so that the method of treatment circumvents the need of the potion being diffused into the bloodstream, it's beyond frustrating. Well— I mean, I know the lack of research is obviously because of the general social stigma that blood curses hold. But still, the potential alone of what these methodologies could open up to the potioneering field is vast. It could be revolutionary— there could be new and more efficient, cost-effective means of treating people that haven’t even been thought of yet!”
“Wait, wait—” Remus blinks rapidly, as if he’d just had a torch shone into his eyes, “ —sorry, Severus, hold on a second there. This is all fascinating stuff, truly. Once my brain isn’t as cloudy as it usually is around my transformation, you’ll have to show me your notes. But what I’m struggling to understand is that you— you’ve presumably worked on and made this truly amazing discovery for me. You’ve brought it over today, given it to me, because… were you worried about me, Severus?”
“Well, you said that you wanted me to be my friend, no? I may not have many, but in my general experience, friends tend to worry over the mental and physical wellbeings of their other friends.” Severus has turned bright red, and if Remus wasn’t still holding two mugs of hot tea and gaping like a berk, he’d have scooped the other boy up in a big hug. Remus has been told numerous times that he gives very good hugs.
“Yeah… yeah, you’re right, Severus. Tha— Thank you, really.” Remus clears his throat, suddenly overcome with emotions, “Nobody’s ever done something like this for me before: helped like this, when it comes to the wolf, I mean. So it means more than you could know, that you’ve given me this.” Remus flashes his very best lopsided smile at Severus, as if to express what he can’t through an embrace. The other boy somehow turns even redder, shifting on his feet.
“It’s honestly nothing to make a fuss over, Lupin. Besides— the research and development proved to be highly interesting work anyways, even if the brew itself was relatively simple. Perhaps I’ll take my findings to Slughorn at the beginning of the new term and work on the theorem as my N.E.W.T’s coursework. If anything, I should be thanking you, for acting as my unknowing lab rat in all this.”
“I think I’d prefer the term ‘test subject’ or even ‘personal assistant’. And I’d better at least get my name mentioned in your paper. It could be my only claim to fame, when you become rich and famous off of potioneering.” Remus begins walking back through the kitchen, past the entryway and up the stairs. Severus follows behind.
“Oh? Personal assistant implies that you’ll be taking on a more hands-on role. Are you expecting something out of this? I’m afraid I couldn’t pay you much for your lab rat contributions, Lupin.”
“No, no Severus— it would be payment enough just to actually feel my age around the full moon for once, and not like an arthritic old man, or like I’ve just done a triathlon— I say that I’d be the one assisting you, but from where I’m standing, this all sounds like you’ll end up being my own personal nursemaid. Will you massage the cream into my back for me?” Remus smirks over his shoulder. Severus is so easy to tease.
“Only if you ask nicely, Lupin.”
Remus uses his elbow to jiggle open the handle on his bedroom door, then kicks it open with his foot. He probably could have knocked, or asked Severus for help, and thus not risked spilling any tea – but he has only just wrenched his body back from the clutches of the moon’s pull, and god damn it if Remus isn’t going to indulge himself in his ability to do things freely, without the wolf fighting for dominance.
James is sitting on his bed, a quidditch magazine he brought with him from home open in his lap. His head snaps up, and his eyes go comically wide when Remus enters the room with Severus in-tow. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in muggle clothes, Snape.” The bespectacled idiot blurts, and Remus sighs deeply.
“What?” Severus asks, already a little nettled, before taking a seat on Remus’ rolling desk chair, on the other side of the room from James: as far away as he could have gotten. Remus walks over to take a seat by Prongs, handing the other boy his tea.
“Oh, Merlin and Mor— I’m making a tit of myself already.”
“Not a difficult feat when concerning yourself, Potter.” Snape sneers over his mug.
“Severus, please.” Remus emplores. Severus shoots him a look before subtly rolling his eyes and taking another calming sip of his peppermint.
“I didn’t mean anything bad by it, Snape— I was just shocked, is all. Billowing black cloaks are so synonymous with you in my mind, that I just sort of assumed you’d always wear robes. Does your family not make you wear them? My mum always forces me to put on dress robes for formal occasions or when visiting family. The fabric itches.” Not even a minute in, and James has already gone off on a tangent. The other Gryffindor is scratching his chin in contemplation, and Remus swears he hears ‘Oh, for Christ sakes’ whispered under Severus’ breath. He tries not to laugh.
“I’ve no idea why you think I'm some kind of traditionalist, Potter. In all truth, I’d prefer it if you’d not think of me at all, in any context. But to answer your question: my mother may be a pureblood witch, but she is estranged from her family and very modern. My father is a muggle. I am allowed to wear what I wish in my free time— as apparently noteworthy as it may be to some people, I do actually maintain a life outside of my schoolwork.”
“Your mother is a pureblood? What’s her family name?” This time, both Remus and Severus roll their eyes.
“Really, Prongs? Is that entirely necessary— what does it matter?” Remus asks.
“Sorry, it’s a pureblood thing. You try spending hours of your childhood memorising family trees and house names, it becomes a habit to ask— if not to see how inbred your relations to the other person are before anything escalates.” James’ comment actually causes Severus to relent a soft snort of laughter. The other boy seems absolutely elated at this development, and Remus wonders if this was not an unwise choice on his behalf, bringing these two together.
“Her maiden name was Prince, if you so desperately want to know, Potter.” Severus says.
“Prince? That’s an ancient pureblood house— and you’d said your dad’s muggle? Can’t imagine that went down well with the old inlaws—” Remus nudges James in the ribs sharply with the point of his elbow; the other boy splutters, then looks sheepishly back over at Severus, “ —sorry, Snape. You don’t have to answer my questions: I really don’t mean to pry. Gossiping is just in my blood, so to speak.” And then the moron winks.
“Sweet Merlin, he’s already making puns.” Remus mutters into his cupped hands.
“No, they did not take it well— especially considering she was nineteen and already pregnant at the time my parents married. Even after they’d officially wed, however, her family didn’t acknowledge the bond, or my validity as an heir. Do you know about The Law of Deliniage, Potter? Still in effect to this day within the bylaws of The Ministry of Magic: it states that a child of a muggle and a wixen is legally considered to be a bastard, even if born within wedlock, unless the house of the wizarding parent officially claims the child as a part of their lineage, through a blood-binding ritual.”
“I can’t say I did, Snape.” James replies soberly.
“Mmm— well, a little lesson in magical laws for you there, Potter. You learn something new every day.” Severus is laying his sarcasm on thick today, it seems.
“Alright you two— let’s just take a breath, yeah?” Remus pipes up. If he doesn’t intervene now, Merlin knows how long this conversation will take; “James, for the love of all that is good in this world, please stop asking stupid bloody questions. And no more puns: I’m begging you. Severus, try not to sneer at the boy too much— he’s been concussed so many times in quidditch practice, at this point it’s not really his fault that he’s an idiot.”
“Hey!” James squawked beside him, but Remus knew the other boy would take the comment in good jest. It got another snort from Seversus, however, so it did its job of breaking the awkward tension.
“Go on, then, Potter. Get out whatever it is you need to say to me.” Severus drawls.
“Oh, umm— yep, ah, right. What I wanted to say to you was, um…” James bumbles, his fingers running idle patterns over the enamel of his mug handle. Remus rubs his back in a soothing motion, as if to encourage the words out, like burping a baby.
“Take another breath, mate. Think about what you want to say before you say it: this isn’t something you want to rush and potentially muck-up while you're fumbling with your words. You have time.” Remus says, and watches as James nods quietly in agreement. He continues rubbing the other boy’s back until he’s signalled to back off, and then James looks at Severus. His face is the picture of earnest sincerity, and Remus has to admit he’s proud of the other boy for doing this.
“What I did to you was beyond f*cked, Snape. All of it, but especially what happened recently at the Black Lake. I don’t know what I was thinking— I wasn’t thinking, if I’m honest— I was just angry and lashing out. Not even angry at you, which maybe makes it worse. I’m not telling you all this to excuse my behaviour, but between the guilt I felt over that day, and Remus and— and, um, Lily Evans, talking some much needed sense into me— I’ve realised that I need to start being better, holding myself to a higher standard, if I want to be able to call myself a good man. And I want to be: good, that is. And that, I think, starts with me repenting; as I believe is customary to Christians in the muggle world,”
“Snape, you out of everyone I know are perhaps the most intimately acquainted with my many sins. I’ve tormented you, picked you out and tried to push all of the embarrassing, ugly, shameful parts of myself onto you in the hopes that nobody will look too closely in my direction. It started off as stupid, childish pranks and very quickly escalated into something malicious, I can see that now. For all of that suffering, I don't even know how to begin apologising; but I think that ‘I’m sorry’ is always a good place to start. I am so, so sorry. For everything. The name-calling, the ostracisation, the jinxes and hexes— just everything,
“You deserve more than my flimsy regret, and this little apology. It doesn’t change anything that I’ve done in the past. But I want you to know that going forward, I’ll leave you alone— even try and get Sirius to reel it in. Let you get on with your life in peace: because I’m pretty sure you won’t forgive me, and in all honesty, I don’t blame you. But I care about Remus and Lily’s opinions, and both of those smart-arses hold you in high regard. It’s clearly for a reason. You’re probably a better man than I am, Snape— I can respect you for that.”
Severus is quiet for a long moment, considering. The whole time James spoke, his eyes had been trained on the other boy, searching and scrutinising, as if looking for the chink in his armour, the moment he’d reveal his true intentions and twist the situation so that Severus was once again made the fool. He evidently finds no such thing, as the Slytherin places his mug down on the desktop, before then calmly folding his hands in his lap: never once taking his eyes off of the two Gryffindors.
“You’re right, Potter: I won’t forgive you. I don’t think I can, but I do… appreciate you saying this to me. Despite my better judgement, you seem to be entirely earnest in your apology. But one apology alone is not enough to heal the wounds of the past. We are too far gone for that now. I will, however, make a compromise with you— I also care a great deal for the opinions of Lily Evans, and begrudgingly, I must admit that I also care for what Lupin here thinks. I can’t forgive you the years of bullying, for making my life at Hogwarts hell, for making me fear to walk the halls by myself—” Severus’ voice weavers slightly on his words, and Remus would go over to reassure the other boy with physical touch, a comforting hand on his shoulder, if the young werewolf didn’t think any sudden movements right now would spook Severus.
“I also can’t forgive you for the incident by the lake. You are right to be ashamed of yourself for that. I can, however, thank you for saving me, at the Shrieking Shack. That was an objectively good thing: even if your particular brand of mercy is rather subjective. My compromise to you is this: if you honour your claim to leave me well the f*ck alone for the rest of our academic careers, then I am more than willing to acquiesce, and maintain a civil relationship for you. It does not account for taste, but Remus is rather fond of you, and I am now friends with the fool. For his sake, I think we can stop the rivalry and move on with our lives. Aren’t you tired of it all, Potter?” Severus leans back in his chair, and the dark bags under his eyes look more pronounced.
“Yeah, I am.” James replies.
“Good. Then you have a deal, Potter.”
The three of them spend the next half hour eating the eccles cakes Remus’ mother had baked that morning, talking quietly about school and their professors, before James has to Floo back home. Severus stays for dinner, and Remus feels himself relaxing for the first time in a very, very long time.
