Chapter Text
Severus quietly seathes to himself, placing a leatherbound collection of books on his shelf: a series of encyclopaedias about various herbological specimens and their potential uses in potion craft. On another shelf he has displayed his signed copy of ‘The Left Hand of Darkness’ by Ursula K. Le Guin, as well as the full collection of works by J.R.R. Tolkien: the most well-read of the paperbacks being ‘The Hobbit’. It was his and Lily’s favourite book to check out when visiting co*keworth Public Library as kids.
As he unpacks, Snape mulls over this morning’s events – Remus sodding Lupin, in the flesh, standing on his doorstep. Bastard wolf. Really, Severus shouldn’t have been surprised, it was all entirely plausible that this kind of thing would happen to him: just his luck.
So what if the lycanthrope is his new neighbour – which was just bloody brilliant, if anyone were to ask him. Not that Severus had anyone to ask him these questions anyway, or care about his rapidly unravelling mental state. Not since the lake. Not since the move. This was meant to be a fresh start, where he could (hopefully) relax a little before returning to school; spend the warmer months helping his mum paint the house, dust the rafters, weed the garden – maybe even take the opportunity to read leisurely in the shaded boughs of that old oak tree at the bottom of their property. He had such grand plans.
Then again, he had been a fool to think hope would take pity on him now, having never done so prior in his life. Severus had hoped his Da’ would stop the drink; he’d hoped that he would finally find a place where he belonged at Hogwarts; he’d even hoped that his and Lily’s friendship could last through the turbulence of adolescence. So far, Severus has been let down on every account.
He tries very hard not to scowl at his own thoughts while opening up cardboard boxes in what will be his bedroom: he fails miserably. Seeing the wolf yesterday wasn’t an illusion, as he’d futilely hoped (yet again, another disappointment – Severus really only had himself to blame at this point).
Initially, he’d believed it to be some depraved illusion that his anxious, hormonal brain had conjured up. But no, he’d been perfectly lucid and sound of mind yesterday afternoon on that dusty country road, when he had seen Remus sodding Lupin haloed by tarnished golden light, messy tawny waves falling effortlessly around slightly out-turned ears, strong chin and straight nose softened with a goofy smile and warm hazel eyes.
Lupin had been shirtless. f*cking shirtless – broad shoulders and devloped chest positively glistening with sweat. The most mortifying effect of the whole ordeal was that Severus felt the distinct thrill of attraction surge through his bones at the sight, like an electrical wave. But over Lupin? Merlin, Severus would be the first to admit he has some strange tastes, but that didn’t mean his sexual fantasies should begin starring his almost-murder. Even if Lupin had already been their main focus since Severus’ Third Year.
Much to his chagrin, Lupin had actually been standing there, on the roadside – a trail of dark hair disappearing somewhere tantalising under the waistband of his denim shorts, making Severus’ mouth go a little dry. And then again, the wolf had actually arrived on Severus’ doorstep around nine thirty the next morning, his kind-faced mother in toe, bearing homemade banana bread as if they were the wise men visiting baby Jesus in the manger – all proffered greetings and calm auras. Really quite off-putting. When Severus had opened the door, only to be met with two pairs of honey eyes, he’d thought he was going into cardiac arrest.
Lupin himself had looked a little tousled, a faint sunburn spreading across the scarred bridge of his nose, the rest of his skin tanning slowly and blooming with thousands of golden freckles; which faded into the various smooth pink scars scattered all over his body. And it was a lot of body, Severus had to look at the cold, hard facts of the situation: Lupin had gained a foot and finally filled out those willowy limbs with soft muscle over the previous summer break, making him somehow even more handsome. And now he apparently rambles around the Welsh countryside, shirtless and in short-shorts. Merlin, this was Hell.
Honestly, Severus was a little jealous – the Snape family burns, his bloodline just doesn't catch the sun in the same way. His complexion is too fair, too pale, could be considered sickly: has been. Just another unfair lot in his life that Severus has come to accept. He’d never have cute little freckles like Lupin, or muscles, or a masculine thatch of hair in the centre of his chest; Snape doubted he’d ever stop looking like a slightly ruffled crow tottering about ungracefully on skinny legs.
It didn’t help much that he was relegated to adorning himself in ill-fitting clothes, only further highlighting his lack of any desirable features. He was a mess, and Severus knew it – too feminine and thin for a boy, with a big nose and an awkward disposition. Too much and never good enough, that’s how it has always been.
Upon recovering himself from a minor aneurysm after opening his front door, Severus had first been stricken with the wolf’s open expression. Lupin had been sporting a smile that made his whole face light up. Severus hadn’t seen the other boy smile like that in months, not since ‘The Incident’, as Severus had dubbed it.
Maybe even before that, before their O.W.L’s – back when Lupin was in a study group with himself, Lily and a pair of Ravenclaws. Back when Severus was first realising things about himself, about his sexuality, and had thought for a brief moment in time that maybe the bookish Gryffindor might be the subject of his tentative affections – seeking something normal and pure to distract from the mess that was his life.
And what had Severus done, with Lupin on his doorstep, smiling like he did, muscled forearms on display (for which Severus had the mad urge to lick, upon first seeing)? He’d spluttered and tripped over his words like a besotted fool. Anyone witnessing the scene wouldn’t dare believe that the blushing mess Severus had devolved into was top of their year in Potions and Herbology. Merlin, Severus is pretty sure he had paint on his face, looking a dreadful sight: his hair messy, dressed in a pair of black jeans that had seen better days and a threadbare tee which sat a few inches too high on his torso, revealing a strip of painfully pale skin and too-thin stomach.
He’d wanted the ground to swallow him up, to go find a dark corner somewhere and hide. Severus felt so completely inadequate in that moment – different from how he had in the past. It wasn’t the shame his father’s words had beaten into his body, or the fear of losing Lily, or the insecurity cultivated by Potter and Black’s needled jibes.
Strangely, Severus wanted Lupin to look at him and he wanted him to like what he saw. The thought was soul-consumingly pathetic and awfully needy. Not to mention embarrassing. Thankfully, Lupin looked as if a Dementor had just given him the Kiss – so he probably wasn’t paying very close attention to Severus’ dishevelled state. Not that he would’ve in the first place, if his soul had remained in his stupidly perfect body.
Severus is still trying to reconcile the image of Remus John Lupin, the (admittedly) very sweet, quiet, but unfortunately lacking-any-real-backbone Gryffindor – who’d softly tell off his moronic friends when they singled out Severus, who always seems to have chocolate in his robes and reads books during breakfast in the Great Hall, meaning he spills juice all over himself: that boy is also a snarling werewolf capable of tearing out Severus’ throat. Depending on the current phase of the moon, of course, but that’s neither here nor there.
In fact, he actively has to keep reminding himself that Lupin is a werewolf, a Dark Creature. That he almost killed Severus in the Shrieking Shack. Even if he can’t control his condition, and even though it was obviously all Black’s doing: Severus had been stoutly denying these truths to himself and refusing all of Lupin’s earnest, puppy-eyed apologies. Even though, late at night when nobody was around to judge Severus for his thoughts – he didn’t really think Lupin should be the one apologising.
At the time, however, right after The Incident, it just felt like he’d – once again – been hoodwinked into a long-con ‘prank’ by The Marauders. Like his friendship with Lupin (if he could ever have been brave enough to call it that) was all a ploy to trick him into a false sense of security, before having something put him back in his place amongst the pecking order: this time, it just so happened to be kindly gift-wrapped for Severus in the distinct shape and form of a werewolf.
He knew that he was being irrational and emotional and really quite idiotic – so was listening to Black’s taunt and crawling under the Whomping Willow – but Severus simply didn’t know how else to react. Couldn’t react any other way than lashing out and pushing Lupin away as viciously as he could. Like a wild animal backed up into a corner: the irony was not lost on him.
It was just all too much: Severus was overwhelmed and tired of it all. Tired of the bullying, the professors never taking it seriously, the blatant favouritism, the politics in Slytherin and his increased fear for his safety within his own House due to his blood status – which the professors also never took seriously – and not to mention Lily. She had been slowly but steadily pulling away from him over the course of the year, he’d seen it coming a mile off, and when his attempts at clinging onto their friendship were unfruitful, he’d pushed her away too. Severus didn’t know if he could forgive himself for doing that to her.
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When Severus stepped off of The Hogwarts’ Express on Platform 9¾, he found only his mother awaiting his arrival. He’d given her a questioning look, but she’d simply ushered him into the passenger seat, pushed a little bag of liquorice into his palm (as was their tradition), and got his trunk into the boot of their car. It was twenty minutes of London traffic later that he noticed the thin line of slightly paler skin on his mother’s ring finger, where her wedding band had previously sat. He knew then that she’d finally left him.
They arrived at Spinner’s End very late into the evening – the road of the cul-de-sac was illuminated only by the flickering orange lights of the lamp posts – and Tobias Snape was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t make an appearance at all for the two days it took Severus and his mother to pack up their life, say goodbye to the water-damaged ceilings, grey stucco walls and chipped linoleum flooring of Snape’s childhood home.
Severus knew better than to ask questions of his mother about what had happened. But for the first time in sixteen years, Snape watched his mother use her magic: to speed-up the packing process, then to make them a breakfast of fried bread and runny eggs, and then to pack up their car boot before the muggle moving company arrived on the day of the move.
Watching quietly from the living room doorway, Severus felt the abrupt compulsion to weep, as he saw his mothers usually sad and austere expression now belied a small smile, her wand swishing in the air before her. He’d swiftly wiped his eyes of any gathering moisture and returned to work.
The last thing Severus did before they left co*keworth in their rearview mirror was to post a handwritten letter addressed to Lily Evans through her family’s front door. It was his last hurrah, and he hoped she would appreciate the Gryffindor boldness that he had channelled with the act. Then he and his mother drove off into their new life, away from his father and the horrible house in Spinner’s End.
Snape was no fool – they’d not escaped the phantoms of one Tobias Snape fully, and he knew that he and his mother could never truly exercise his memory nor ward themselves from the impression Tobias had violently carved-out for himself within their flesh. The two disinherited Princes would, in many ways, always be haunted: but they would no longer be stuck under Tobias’ heavy boot, and they’d have the space to breathe, to be free, to use magic. They could start living.
Now, Severus finds himself in the converted attic room of Bethel Cottage: lodgings which they’d acquired through a son of a friend of a cousin of his mother’s esthetician. He wasn’t entirely sure what the connection was. Either way, Severus already liked the house, even if they’d struggle the first couple of winters finding the money to keep the heating on – even then, once they got the chimneys working for the hearths in the sitting room and kitchen, it would be cosy. An extra pair of socks might be required, but it was no bother. For now, however, it was the beginning of summer, already disarmingly warm, and so they’d opened all the windows in the house to air it out while they cleaned.
Severus could feel a sheen of perspiration trickle across his temples and down the back of his neck in the mounting heat. Just before the Lupin’s had stopped by, he'd started painting his room. His mother had found cans of it in their old garage, and they brought them along for the move.
They had with them two cans of a creamy eggshell colour – which he thinks his mother intends to use in the main living area and small study – as well as a pale buttercup yellow (kitchen), periwinkle (master bedroom), and an olive green (Severus’ room). He stopped in his task only for lunch, which turned out to be cucumber and cheese sandwiches.
It was now roughly half three in the afternoon, slowly approaching four o’clock, and Severus had finally finished painting the walls of his room with the calming, warm green colour; leaving the dark supporting beams their natural wood varnish, and rolling out a faded Persian rug across the floor boards for insulation. Another artefact pillaged from the loft in Spinner’s End.
Four steepled windows sat century on either side of his room – looking out onto the back yard as well as the front of the house, the gravel pathway up to Bethel Cottage and the road and trees beyond that. The paint was too wet for him to hang up the lace curtains on the windows, but Severus thought that he might begin work on unpacking his books onto the bookshelves built into one of the walls of the attic.
Severus has never had control like this over his own space before. In his head, he was already planning everything out and making to-do lists. He’ll have to unpack his bed linens and quilt next, packed in a box alongside a small raggedy teddy bear he’s owned since birth called Soot. There’s a desk, a chest of draws and an armoire against the other walls of the attic. He can perhaps set up a small potions lab with his cauldron on the desk, and he can mount a smaller shelf onto the wall over it, to store his ingredients in (once used for spices in their kitchen in Spinner’s End). Another thing he’d never be allowed to do under Tobias’ roof.
Most of Severus’ possessions, however, are books and school supplies; his clothes won’t fill even half of his wardrobe; he only has three posters and a dreamcatcher Lily bought him in Minorca to decorate the walls; and his personal collection of records will have to go downstairs alongside his mother’s, for they only own one gramophone. Kate Bush, The Velvet Underground, Joy Division, Nick Drake, Queen and Bowie alongside his mother’s classical baroque and Celestina Warbeck records. On a window ledge he places a couple terracotta pots with ferns and ivy growing in them. Severus wonders if this warm, quieted feeling inside his soul, like the feeling of a hug on a cold winter's day, is what it feels like to have a home.
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When Severus sees Lupin the following morning, he’s practically vibrating with nerves. He slept through the night only because he’d worn himself out during the day with manual labour. For breakfast, he and his mother drank tea and ate Mrs Lupin’s banana bread: it was delicious. Severus wanted to resent this fact, but found he couldn't deny the woman was a gifted baker. He bitterly ate a second slice before heading off to get ready.
He didn’t know why he felt like he was going to be sick from anticipation – it was only the wolf, Christ sakes. Midway through untangling his legs from his pyjama bottoms, a terrible thought strikes him: Circie’s Sweet Curls, Severus wasn’t scared of Lupin. The full moon was still a few weeks out, and besides, the boy Lupin was far more agreeable than his wolf counterpart. Even if his persistently earnest nature and infuriatingly warm smiles were grating to Severus’ more delicate sensibilities. Still, his stomach was all in knots as he jumped in the shower, turning the water pressure up to scalding hot.
For his birthday the year just gone, Lucius Malfoy had gifted Severus with fancy French hair products that were meant to help with maintaining volume and shine while working in humid settings – such as a potions lab. The older boy had taken Severus under his wing, quite against Severus’ will, when he was still in his First Year and Lucius a Fifth Year and a Slytherin Prefect. Somehow, the quiet boy had attracted the Malfoy heir’s attention with his outstanding test results and cuttingly acidic sense of humour.
Really, Severus was grateful to Lucius; for without his vocal support of the younger boy, he’s sure that he’d have incurred more bullying from within their House. The birthday gift was touchingly thoughtful, seeing as Severus was insecure about his hair at times, and intended to take on a potions preceptorship after graduating Hogwarts. He is also quite sure that the gift was selected by Malfoy’s lovely feancé, Narcissa, who is only a year older than Severus himself, and whom he had become good friends with when she started tutoring him in Transfiguration his Second Year.
However, Severus had yet to use the products. Simply, he’d never owned anything so expensive before – he was scared to use it, overwhelmed by the strange urge to hoard it and save it for as long as possible, as if it were something highly precious. But today he needed a little extra strength, something to help him face Lupin and the awkward few hours he’d be forced into sharing his company.
Turning the bottles over, Severus read the instructions just as carefully as he would a potions recipe: wetting his hair, then flipping his head upside down and massaging the shampoo into his scalp, carefully rinsing the product out and using his hand to shield his eyes, still upside down, before applying conditioner from the roots of his hair to the ends, letting his fingers slide between the silky tresses, and then leaving it to sit for fifteen minutes while he washed the rest of his body.
Rinsing the conditioner from his hair, Severus stepped out of the shower and towelled off his body – then reached for the lightweight leave-in product that came with the set, taking a small amount and warming it between his palms first, then scrunching it into his semi-wet hair before blasting it with the dryer. When he was done, Severus could hardly recognise himself in the foggy bathroom mirror: his hair was as dark and smooth as ever, but retained much more body, and fell around his face in feathery waves. He couldn’t help the blush rising on his neck – Salazar’s Secret Chamber, it was going to look like Severus was putting in effort for Lupin.
Deciding it was best to push those thoughts deep into the haunted catacombs of his own mind, Severus finished up in the bathroom before heading up the stairs to his room. He rooted through the still-unpacked boxes labelled ‘clothes’, looking for something appropriate to wear. He found a pair of high-waisted, light washed bell bottom jeans and a Queen shirt that seemed clean, tucking it into the jeans hurriedly and securing a leather belt around his waist. The belt was another gift from Lily – his heart hurt just thinking about her. Finally, pulling on his pair of battered black boots and shoving his wallet into one of his pockets, Severus felt as ready as he’d ever be to face Lupin.
________________________________________
The Gryffindor showed up on time – five minutes early, even – looking practically radiant. Merlin, he was f*cking huge: like some sort of ambling tree, providing shade to all those in his vicinity. He was dressed similarly as he had the day before, in the same jeans and trainers, but he was now wearing a skintight grey-blue shirt with the faded ‘Adidas’ lettering stretched over his chest. He didn’t have the physique of a body builder by any means, but his biceps looked like they were about to burst out of the fabric. Slung casually over his right shoulder was a denim jacket: who did he think he was, bloody James Dean?
“Severus— good morning, how are you?” First words out his mouth, and the man already had Snape going for a loop. Severus wasn’t even sure that Lupin realised he’d just used his first name, so casually like that, as if he called him by it all the time.
“Lupin, let’s not pretend to be a pair of good ol’ chums. If anything, we once tolerated one another: and then you tried to eat me. So I don’t appreciate your condescension—” Severus sighed in a put-upon manner and stepped out into the mid-morning heat, closing the door behind him, “ —lets get two things straight: you’re here out of some warped sense of repentance, I’m here to make my mum happy. We just have to get through the next couple of hours and then we can leave one another blissfully alone for the rest of the holidays— and trust me, I care very little for people at school finding out that we’re newfound neighbours once the new term starts, as I’m sure you share my sentiments.”
Severus had already started down the path to the gate as he was talking, not looking behind to see if Lupin was following after him. Though, sure enough, he heard the scramble of Lupin’s footsteps as he jogged up to match Severus’ pace; “Firstly, I’m not trying to be condescending, honestly— just being polite— but, if you’d prefer me to be more subdued, then that I shall be—” he manoeuvred himself in a quick few strides so that he was blocking Severus’ path, forcing him to look up and meet the other boy’s whisky eyes. Damn stupid Lupin and his stupid long legs. “Secondly, I wouldn’t dare insult you as to even suggest that we might be on friendly terms— so you have my sincerest apologies—” his tone was dripping in sarcasm, and Severus was loath to respect it, “ —however, we now live five minutes down the road from one another. We’re going to run into each other, the statistical probability of such an event happening is very high. Your mum’s already got me pencilled in for Thursday to work on the back garden. And I wouldn’t wish for you to feel as if you must shutter yourself away in your own home when I come around.”
Severus was slowly getting more and more annoyed: it didn’t help that Lupin, predictably, was being very logical and accommodating. Idly, he wondered if there was anything he could say or do that would truly push the Gryffidor’s buttons. Somewhere dark and private inside of himself, Severus felt a thrill at the idea of riling-up the mild mannered Remus Lupin.
“Would you get to the point, Lupin? You don’t half go on.” He’d finally made it past the tree of a boy and out the gate. They were walking side-by-side down the country road: the air smelt of fresh cut grass and the clean smell of wheat.
“My point is that we should at least try to be cordial towards one another. I’m not going to force you to come on play dates with me, nor will I foist my friendship upon you, as you have very clearly expressed your distaste for such a display. However— I meant what I said the other week in the library: I will no longer pester you about The Incident. I do not expect you to accept my apology, you have every right to reject my ‘warped sense of repentance’ as you so eloquently put it. And I will no longer apologise to you— you have rejected my attempts to make amends— I respect that— but I also think the least you can do now is respect that I simply want us to move forward with a little more grace and civility. At the very least, it will make what interactions we do have with one another bearable.”
Severus comes to an abrupt stop in the road, causing Lupin to nearly fall over himself – coming to a skidding halt himself, spinning around in confusion to see why Severus has suddenly been rendered inert. Lupin’s eyes are full of curiosity, equal parts tender concern and growing exasperation – they are not gold, though it would be easy to wax poetic and describe them as such. But they aren’t, Severus knows this well: he’s seen those eyes, soft and tired, over a stack of books in the library; mercurial and bright as he laughs; or on the rare occasion, molten with rage; strange and animal as the boy is consumed by the wolf.
Lupin’s eyes aren’t gold, though sometimes, in the right light, they catch as such. They’re hazel brown – like bonfires and whisky and toffee and old pennies glittering at the bottom of a fountain, full of wishes. They have little flecks of green in them, too, like a set of windows opened in the morning light – a forest beyond, smelling of pine and wild honey, petricor and fresh earth. Somewhere there’s a hint of chocolate and sandalwood, like Lupin himself.
“Fine.”
“...Fine?”
“I know you aren’t an invalid, Lupin—” Snape sighs again, crossing his arms over his chest and raising one of his raven eyebrows in reproach as he looks Lupin over, assessing – hoping his expression looks disapproving and not appreciative, “ —unless I’m mistaken, it is not currently your time of the month— so you are perfectly capable of understanding my words.”
“Yes, but what you’ve just said is quite out of character, even you can admit that— so I’m sorry if I’m slightly taken aback; but I think Severus Snape just agreed with me on something.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t apologise to me anymore?”
“Don’t try to be smart.”
“I’m not trying.”
“Merlin— you’re exasperating, Snape!” And much to Severus’ eternal chagrin, Lupin throws his head back in a hearty laugh. The sound is deep and rumbling, like storm clouds on the horizon. Severus feels his cheeks colour and tries to cover up this unfortunate biological reaction by placing his sunglasses over his eyes and setting off down the road again, chin tipped up in the air haughtily. People don’t typically laugh with Snape: usually they laugh at him. Severus doesn’t know what to make of it. He reckons it might feel pleasant, which is awful. Truly the worst outcome when Lupin is involved.
“C’mon now, Lupin— you’re the most agreeable out of your little cohort. I can be reasonable enough to see merit in the points you’ve made. And agree that life would be a modicum less painful if we could act— how did you phrase it? With ‘grace and civility’. Though I’ll admit, I’m impressed. I didn’t know that any Gryffindor understood the definitions of those words.”
Lupin is wiping away a tear from one of his eyes, still chuckling softly, as he strides along in time with Severus; “Oh, shut it you prat—” the Slytherin notes a distinct lack of bite to his words, “ —you might be a bloody genius, but I’d like to think I’ve also got a good head on my shoulders. I’ve got you beat in Charms and Defence, anyways.”
“And yet you probably couldn’t brew a cup of tea correctly. I’m amazed you passed your Potions O.W.L.”
“Not all of us can get an ‘Outstanding’— but ‘Exceeds Expectations’ isn’t something to shake a stick at.”
“Slughorn’s standards are dropping.”
“Hush, you.” Despite himself, Severus feels the corner of his mouth tick up in an amused smirk as Lupin’s laughter peels out across the fields, taken away by the summer breeze.
________________________________________
They arrived in the town centre by late morning. The walk in had taken just over twenty minutes, but nearing so close to noon, Severus could already feel a thin layer of perspiration on his skin. Their conversation flowed with surprising ease after Severus agreed to Lupin’s truce, and they moved onto discussing their O.W.L. results, how they found the exams themselves, and the unfair standards of the Board of Examiners.
They gossiped about Henrietta Pontifax, a Hufflepuff in their year, who during her Transmutation exam managed to accidentally conjure a shoal of live fish: only to then subsequently vanish Professor McGonnigal’s hat while trying to get rid of them (rumour has it that McGonnigal still hasn't found her hat). Yet, Severus noted that the girl was one of three in their year to receive an Outstanding in Herbology, alongside himself.
Once they’d made it into town, Lupin took over showing him around the high street and town square. They walked down along the promenade – the pretty rows of pastel-coloured houses overlooking slate grey waves and a wide span of sandy beach. Hanging above it all, like a particularly ancient owl on its perch, was the castle: darkened, weather-worn rocks making up the vague shapes of walls and rooms. Lupin briefly dipped into the history of the castle and the surrounding area. What dukes and lords had power over the land during the Mediaeval times.
This then led them into a conversation about muggle history: from Medieval Britain to the Romans, then Cleopatra – which led to Helen of Troy, then to tragic female characters in general classical literature – ending in a discussion of Greek mythology.
Once they’d started talking about fabled creatures, Severus seemed to have inadvertently broken the dam on Lupin’s Magical Creature knowledge (another of his higher-graded classes, it turns out). They walked around a second hand bookshop talking about local folk creatures: the Ceffyl Dŵr, or water horses, Tylwyth Teg – like the Irish Tuatha de Danann – Water Leapers, the Adar Llwch Gwin and Gwyllgi, or Black Wolf.
They both bought books. Severus’ mother had given him a ten pound note before he left, and though he initially told her he didn’t need it, the woman was adminant about him taking the money to spend on something nice while in town.
Severus found a copy of Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, still in pretty good nick, as well as a slightly more dog-eared paperback of The Trial by Franz Kafka. Lupin picked up a collection of poems by Pablo Neruda – Severus was loath to find they had similar tastes in literature, both enjoying Virginia Woolf, Jane Austin and George Orwell.
Ducking out of the afternoon heat, they spent an hour in a record shop, though neither could afford to add to their collections. Severus spent the time listening to various vinyls in the alternative rock and folk sections – he noted Lupin eyeing a Janis Joplin record, and again was annoyed that he seemed to have good taste in all but the kind of company he keeps.
Somehow, it was three hours later and Lupin had corralled Severus into a nearby cafe: they sat at a table with a sticky top, two glasses of Cola on ice and a club sandwich each between them. The Slytherin, in an unexpected turn of events, rather felt like he’d had the wool pulled over his eyes. He couldn’t quite explain how he found himself in his current situation. Even if asked for a witness statement by an Auror, by penalty of ‘Avada’ – Severus hadn’t a clue how he’d begun the day expecting awkward, stilted conversation at best, petty fighting at worst, but instead has had a pleasant time. He mentally shudders at the thought.
Their conversation was still flowing, like the most natural thing ever. Lupin kept casually throwing-out Severus’ first name, as if by accident, and every time without fail his heart did a little stutter in his chest at the sound of his name taking shape in Lupin’s mouth. Talking to the wolf came too easily, it almost felt like it did when his and Lily’s relationship was still good, and Severus worried he could be lulled into a false sense of security again. Most concerning of all, however, was how relaxed Severus felt in Lupin’s presence – like he was settling down into fresh bed sheets, still warm from the dryer.
They were currently debating the different merits and downfalls of various shielding spells. Snape happened to have mainly researched curses, hexes and various applications of potions and poisons within the academic spheres of the Dark Arts. Lupin similarly had an interest in the subject, which theoretically Severus already knew – as the Griffindor had pointed out earlier, he’d beat Severus’ O.W.L score in DADA with an Outstanding (one of 2% in their year, the git). But the knowledge was a fuzzy thing, far away and with an immaterial impact upon Severus’ life.
Now, however, he was burdened with the knowledge that Remus Lupin had intensive knowledge about all kinds of Magical and Dark Creatures, an interest he gained from his own experience as a lycanthrope; as well as an intimate understanding of various counter-charms, spells and enchantments related to the Dark Arts. For a Griffindor, Lupin was slyly intelligent and it aggrieved Severce to acknowledge this fact.
Severus took a bite of his club sandwich, chewing as his mind wondered. Lupin was still talking, hands animated and moving about his face – as if his words alone couldn’t convey his passion for the subject. The Slytherin was halfway done with his lunch when Lupin took a pause, gulping gratefully from his glass, now covered in condensation. Sevrerus caught himself watching the movement of Lupin’s throat as he swallowed.
“Sorry— I’ve been blathering on. I didn’t mean to harangue you, it’s just so rare that I get to talk about this kind of stuff.” His words snapped Severus back into his body, almost abruptly. The Gryffindor at least had the grace to look a little sheepish after his rant.
“Really, Lupin. Stick to your convictions, would you? You’re still apologising to me. I’m starting to think you’d apologise for breathing if given half a chance—” Severus rolls his eyes heavenward at the end of his statement, to highlight just how ridiculous he thought the wolf was being, “ —besides, you’ve never been able to stop yourself before. Talking someone’s ear off seems to be a hobby of yours— at the very least, your latest diatribe has been interesting.”
“I didn’t say I’d stop apologising completely. Just for The Incident—” Lupin was looking at him with mercurial eyes, and Severus wondered just when in their conversation his acerbic tone and pointed comments stopped having their desired effect on the wolf, “ —I’m just trying to say, you’re fun to talk to. Wickedly clever, but that was a given. And you’re very funny, which altogether isn’t surprising, but still pleasant.” If Severus wasn’t already looking, he would have been able to hear the smile in Lupin’s voice.
“Trying your hand at flattery, Lupin? Don’t make me laugh.”
“I’m just saying that although The Marauders can be good fun—” Severus gave a derisive huff to that statement, but Lupin raised his hand in a placating manner, meaning to go on with his statement, “ —they also don’t like to get into academic debates with me, or discuss the differences between curses placed on buildings before and after The Industrial Revolution. Which, by the way, I’ll need to look for a copy of that journal you mentioned— it sounds fascinating.”
“Well, it doesn’t surprise me that Potter & Co. aren’t the most riveting conversationalists this side of the Pennines. How you haven’t died of boredom from their asinine discussions of quidditch and which of The Oracles of Delphi is the fittest is beyond me.”
“Me neither, honestly. But, you know, friends don’t need to have everything in common to still be friends— it’s just a refreshing change of pace to talk with you and have that little itch in the back of my head scratched by some more mentally intensive conversation. And besides, I don’t feel like I’m having to censor myself with you— especially not around the subject of my ‘hairy little problem’, so to speak. Your stance on that matter is weirdly liberating for me— normally, I can’t really joke about it, and when I do, I can physically feel the pity in others gazes on my skin. Like a brand. So it’s nice to talk with someone who isn’t so…” Lupin scrunched up his face trying to find the right word. Severus fills it in for him.
“Soft? Condescending? Smooth around the edges? Not a popular, wealthy pureblood with pedigree and a guaranteed future as an Auror or Curse-Breaker? I can continue, if you’d like.”
Lupin was smiling at him again. Really, had Severus lost his edge? Was his tone no longer caustic enough in its sarcasm and evident disdain to make the wolf recoil from this seemingly friendly atmosphere burgeoning between them? The very last thing Severus needed was for the Griffindor to think that they were bonding.
“You say what you mean and you mean what you say, Severus— I think that’s a pretty great trait to have, all things considered. Even when you say hurtful things, or when you’re being a sarcastic little git, you still aren’t being insincere. No matter the performance you like to present to the world of a cold and calculating Slytherin, you’re fundamentally a very honest person. I respect that immensely.” Christ, if that wasn’t earnest. Something warm bubbles up in Severus’ stomach, like a potion in a cauldron set to simmer. He needs to stamp it out, eradicate the feeling before it overflows.
“Don’t pretend you know me, wolf—” he drawls, a scowl descending on his face, “ —I distinctly remember you promising to not burden me with your placations and attempts at being cordial. So stop trying to butter me up with all this talk of how clever and witty I am— I already know, you’re just stating the obvious—” he scoffs, but Lupin only flinches when he referred to the other boy as ‘wolf’, so Severus continues on in a petulant fit; “ —besides, why are you telling me all this? Already missing your little codependent posse? It hasn’t even been a week. First person to spare you a glance and you’re desperately trying to get their approval. Don’t be so pathetic, Lupin, it’s unbecoming.”
Of all the ways that Severus had thought Lupin might respond: never was it with raucous laughter. Head back, chest heaving, laughter. Rolling out of him in loud, baritone chuffs. A couple two tables over from them looks over to see what could possibly be making the other boy tear up with overwhelming mirth. Lupin raises one of his hands in an apologetic manner to them, but has to put his other fist in his mouth to stifle his laughter. Severus sits there in a state of shock.
“What did I just say about unbecoming behaviour, Lupin? Merlin and Morgana— get a hold of yourself.” Snape finally says, his bearings coming back to him from wherever they evaporated to upon hearing Lupin’s first hearty bellow.
“I’m so sorry— it’s just— you have no idea, do you?”
“What don’t I know? Certainly nothing that garners this little giggling fit of yours.”
“Severus, I haven’t talked to the other Marauders since The Incident.” Snape blinks rapidly at Lupin’s confession. It must be a lie, he thinks. Lupin is having him on.
“I’m not blind, Lupin. I was there the last two terms of school, if you can recall. You were always around them. Ever the loyal canine companion— so don’t take me for a fool.”
Even as he says the words, memories flood Severus’ mind unbidden. Images of Lupin, alone in the library late at night; sitting despondent in the Great Hall, Potter and Black talking over him but Lupin never reacting to their jokes; Lily walking over to where Lupin sat, isolated, by the Black Lake. He wasn’t always with them, he realsies now, but Snape wasn’t paying much attention to other people during the second half of their Fifth Year. He was actively trying to push people away, actually. So of course, he hadn't noticed how removed the wolf had become from his pack.
“You’re no fool— never a fool, Severus. But I’m being honest. Hand on my heart—” and the other boy moves his right hand to his chest, as if to illustrate his point, “ —I might not have raged and shouted and stormed about the castle in a cloud of gloom. That’s more your style. I think that I was far too shocked by the whole ordeal to really react at all. It wasn’t until a month or so afterwards that I started truly pushing away. Sure, I still interacted somewhat with James and Pete, but Sirius—” and Severus couldn’t ignore the honest-to-god pain in Lupin’s eyes at the mention of the elder Black brother, no matter how desperately he wanted to, “ —I haven’t talked to him at all since February. Which is quite the feat, considering I share a dorm with him.”
Severus is, quite inexplicably, rendered mute. He is vaguely aware that he’s goggling at the other boy, with his lips pressed into a considered line. Lupin seems to take his continued silence as an invitation to go on.
“Of course I was angry. When I think about it, even now, I feel the rage clawing up from within me like bile. It makes me sick, so bloody sick, that someone could treat another human life with such disregard. I’m so unbelievably pissed with Sirius. He knew— he knew— I'd told him a million times that my worst fear was to hurt someone while the wolf was in control. To wake up a murderer, or Merlin forbid, have turned someone else. Passed on this curse.” Lupin’s smile takes on a sharpness that Severus hasn’t seen in the other boy before.
“And yet, as you’ve so astutely pointed out yourself, I have this terrible habit of wanting to please the people around me. I’ve spent most of my life trying to push any big, violent feelings down into the depths of myself. Make myself smaller, squash myself down into a more reserved, quiet, agreeable form. Anything to distance myself from The Big Bad Wolf that has overtaken me every month, since the age of five. So that when— and it’s usually when and not if— people discover my ‘furry little problem’ I can hope, however naively, they may still see the man beyond the curse,”
“It’s not because I shy away completely from confrontation, though I admit to hating it when it comes to my friends— or that I’m lacking in any conviction or opinions. No, I have plenty of those— I’m simply more scared that if I let myself be consumed by those feelings, allow myself to find out what lies on the other side of my reason, that I’ll find all that’s staring back at me from within the abyss is only jagged teeth and the full moon. And now I have all of this anger, but I don’t know what to do with it. Not a clue. So I just stopped. Everything— talking to them, interacting with them. Because I’d get choked up on all this rage that just won’t come out. And now here we are, eating lunch at a caff and I’m still angry, and I’m still sorry— but what can you do? I’ve got to move on somehow, some way.”
Severus remains quiet for some time after Lupin comes down from his speech. They sit in the silence together, not quite companionable, but it’s like the calm after the storm – they’re both subdued and quiet, all the previous fight drained from them. Severus watches the other boy eat as he finishes the second half of his own meal and the rest of his co*ke. Lupin stares off into the middle distance, seeing something that only lives in his memories. At this moment, Lupin looks so bloody young. It makes a twinge of pain ripple through Severus’ chest.
“You were bitten when you were five?” He says into the dead air between them, after they’ve both finished their lunches and paid. Now they’re walking back along to their respective homes. Lupin insisted on dropping Severus off at his house first, like a gentleman suitor from a period drama. It makes the warm bubbly feeling from before resurface: this time, Severus doesn't try to snuff it out.
“That’s what you got out of my little tantrum earlier?” Lupin says. He’s smiling again, but the curve of it is tired and small; a little watery, Severus thinks.
“It’s very rare for persons infected at such a young age to survive the transformation.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I hadn’t known.” Is all Severus can bring himself to say. It’s not an apology, and it’s certainly not a condolence – but he thinks the other boy appreciates the distinction nevertheless. When they arrive at the front door of Bethel Cottage, the paint wrinkling like paper left in a muddy puddle, the colour fading from blue into a diluted, unhappy grey: Severus turns around on the little front step to consider Lupin. They still aren’t at a level, even with the extra height the step grants Snape. Still, he makes eye contact with the other boy.
“I’ll see you on Thursday, then.” And Severus disappears into his house.
