38 days to go.

breaks radio silence

Sat, 09 Sep 2006 04:11:12 GMT

Seriously?

Meredith?

Fri, 17 Mar 2006 04:44:30 GMT

Today, I saw a tow truck towing a tow truck.

The world feels pretty circular.

Breaking Prolonged LiveJournal Silence to Say...

Sat, 11 Mar 2006 06:40:09 GMT

DAMN!

How does Stargate Atlantis do that? Son of a--

That show has such a talent for ramping up the tension, painting itself into a neat little corner and then, oop, there's a trapdoor, too, have a nice *trip*, see you next *fall*--

I hate 'To Be Continued.'

*Fully blames the slashers on her list for getting her to watch the first season DVDs.*

(PS. John loves Rodney.)

Single.

Tue, 14 Feb 2006 21:03:04 GMT

Valentine's Day has a way of getting me down (I am terminally single on Valentine's Day, it seems, no matter what the rest of the year has been like). So, good things about being single (feel free to add):

1. Resting and rising whenever I feel like it, with nary a flash of concern about disturbing anyone.

2. Not having to go for a consult when I make any significant decision. If I want to move across the country tomorrow, hell, I can.

3. Not feeling like I have to keep my mouth shut and be 'the girlfriend'. (This is a specific ex, really.)

4. Letting my shaving go--and feeling fine about my leg fuzz.

5. Guilt-free flirting with the cute Sheriff's Deputy.

6. Guilt-free flirting with the cute girl at the Quik Trip.

7. The elevation of masturbation to an art form. (Is diagram and storyboard use normal?)

8. Not having to defend or hide or excuse what I write or read or think. (Well, except to friends and family. But I don't have to make out with them later and pretend I'm interested.)

9. Being able to go after the things I want, instead of things someone else thinks I should want (25k into my clairvoyant waiter novel, baby, and no English major with a scruffy goatee around to try and torpedo my dreams of publishing obscurity!)--and feeling fucking fabulous about it.

10. Singing when I want to. Sobbing when I want to. Whatever--when I want to.

Okay, so we could all use some roses every now and again. I'm a pretty cool person no matter who I'm attached--or not attached--to. And hell, if you're on my list, you must be awesome, too. (Birds of a feather, right?)

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody, single and otherwise. Eat some chocolate. Feel mushy.

It's a pretty good world, really, when you get right down to it.

Mon, 13 Feb 2006 01:16:57 GMT

I'm not very political, and I know I shouldn't, but...

'Does Dick Cheney have to cap a bitch?!'

http://msnbc.msn.com/id/11312757/

Tue, 31 Jan 2006 08:21:14 GMT

It's nice to know I can still be good and morally outraged.

It's like working a muscle group you'd only been giving a light stretch. Stings a bit, but it's great to know you've still got it.

Thu, 26 Jan 2006 02:06:37 GMT

It is so much a me thing to discover--just three days ago, mind--

Due South.

*Drool*

Wed, 18 Jan 2006 22:21:04 GMT

From the FF.net review file... Posted in its entirety, because it is a big greasy blob of loveliness. Name Censored to protect the, ah... well.

"I deeply appologize for this review, but I have to explain.

Several nights ago, I had a nightmare that I was writing a story called "The phantom of the dungeons" with snape as the phantom, dumbledore as christine. Upon waking in a cold sweat at seven and realizing I was going to miss the bus if I didn't hurry up, I told my sister about my dream. And I was absolutely revolted at the idea of a snape/dumbledore. So revolted that I promised her that if I ever saw one, I'd read it, review it, and then curl up and die(not literally of course).

So I read your story. In all honesty your writing is excellent: There
are few gramatical errors, you have good phrasing, and a vocabulary that allows for rich descriptions and just a good piece of work.

However, The plot appauls me. Snape, and Dumbledore? I am sorry, but
that is revolting.

Please, though, keep writing, you have all of the mechanical functions
down (I am especially pleased at the lack of chatspeak), I will read
any other non Snape/Dumbledore work you have written and most likely
you'll get good reviews if you have a good plot (from me, at least).

Please do not be angry at my review, since you really are such a
talented writer. I wouldn't mind if you'd read and review my story (I'm *Censored*, the story is *Censored*--slight HermioneRemus slash but of course it's time travel!), because I do mean it when I say you are exceptionally talented."

Uh.

Thank you?

I'm going through and answering a bunch of Fourth Year reviews. For those not in the know, it's at Skyehawke now, and there's been a bit of tweaking (mostly at the end) that makes me happier. It will eventually go up here, when I get off my butt and post it. Until then, it can be found with the rest of My Skyehawke Stories.

(And no, I haven't forgotten Soft Place. I will not forget Soft Place, I swear. Give me time!)

Wed, 04 Jan 2006 07:36:08 GMT

From FF.net, a review I love:

"i like this story! it's awesome. nothing scary and bloody! yay!
happy new year"

For SLWM. (My exact thoughts on many stories I read.)

Yeah, so I was totally pegged by everyone on The Fourth Year. :) I blame the dashes. I was writing it right up to the wire--I turned it in literally minutes before midnight on the deadline. I probably won't repost it here for a few days because it needs smoothing and polishing in a couple of places (forgive me, betas, for I have sinned--I ran out of time for all your wonderful corrections, and want to put them in).

And hey, go check out the gift fic for me from odogoddess, Circumstances & Second Chances. Snape/Ron, very creative response to my request, all-around awesome. I don't know if I've managed to convey it properly (and I seem to keep sticking my foot in my mouth about it in comments, personal failing). Tis good. Go read. *Luffs*

Everybody owes Gina massive love for the fest. (Uhh... I was going to write something for Smutmas_Elves, but it unexpectedly turned into a Snarry fic with Snape wearing women's underwear. I'll let y'all know when I finish it--it's turned out a little cracked.)

Happy New Year!

Sun, 01 Jan 2006 08:56:03 GMT

"The Past is, in many things, the foe of mankind; the Future is, in all things, our friend."

–Melville.

Every time I hear that quote, I feel like I could kill a whale. Happy New Year everyone!

If I don't make it up the mountain, I want you to eat me.

Fri, 30 Dec 2005 15:39:02 GMT

Me: Oh, wow! New Snarry novel! I am so there. *Is so there* Oh, yeah!

Me (A short while later): *Is still there* Oh, yeahhh.

Me (A longer while later): *Is yup, still there* Oh, yeah! ...Oh. How many chapters are there in this?

Me (A significant portion of time later): *...Is... still... there* But I'm so close! I'm so close, I can taste it! It's just over that next rise!

Sun: *Comes up*

Me: Almost... there... almost...

Common Sense: You know, it did say 'novel.' Not 'novella.'

Me: What's the difference?

Common Sense: La. And many thousands of words.

Me: ...No...! *Falls to ground, dies*

RIP. Here lies Calligraphy, dead at Chapter 28. Bit off more porn than she could chew.

It's all about love.

Thu, 29 Dec 2005 23:03:25 GMT

And kittens.

Come and play here! The Fluffy!Snape Crackfic Challenge.

And hey, while you're at it, check out the love at merry_smutmas. RW/SS (yes!), post-war, fluffy in a gritty way. :) Circumstances and Second Chances.

It's a good day.

Ficlet.

Sat, 17 Dec 2005 00:48:23 GMT

I'm digging in my hard drive tonight.

Ficlet. Pretty much gen, but pre-RL/SS if you want. A bit melancholy.

“Happy Birthday, Severus,” he said.

“What?”

Remus turned, one hand balancing a saucer, the other adding the third lump of sugar to his morning tea, and met a pair of almost—startled black eyes. “Happy Birthday. …It is your birthday, isn’t it?”

“What?” he mumbled again, before his sneer managed to resurface. “Yes. Of course.”

“Well, then,” Remus shrugged, “Happy Birthday.”

Severus blinked. “And?”

“And what?”

The Potions master folded his arms. “What is it you want—Lupin?”

The corner of Remus’ mouth twitched upward before he could school his expression back to neutral. Severus really had no idea how funny he was. “Nothing. Just saying—Happy Birthday. That’s all.”

A brow arched imperceptibly.

The werewolf shook his head. “So suspicious.”

“When I’ve got a reason.”

For a moment, Remus thought Severus was going to lunge at him. Until the war ended, all he’d ever seen in the man’s eyes was fury, cold and hot, but now… now, he often seemed tired. Sometimes, he didn’t even bother to snap at students.

It rather reminded him of a wounded dog he'd once seen by the side of the road, snuffling and whining softly into the dust, too broken to twitch its tail and flick away the settling flies.

The taller man did not lunge. He leaned closer and closer until they were nearly touching, nearly—

Severus reached around him and plucked a teacup from the table.

Fathomless eyes stared into his own. “Severus, I…” he began, without knowing what he would say.

“Lupin.”

His breath caught. “Yes?”

“You are blocking the sugar bowl.”

Remus swallowed, nodded, and stepped aside.

Buh?

Sat, 17 Dec 2005 00:07:54 GMT

I swear, if I get one more backhanded compliment today...

I'm ordering pizza.

(Someone say something nice but mean. I'm hungry.)

ETA: Sausage and pepperoni from Domino's. Pretty good. Happiness.

For Nerds Who've Been In Love.

Thu, 15 Dec 2005 05:51:11 GMT

(Or for those of us monster geeks who've looked and looked, and think they might be searching forever for a knight with shining pocket protector, but still love romance.)

Please watch 'The Baxter.'

I just cried my eyes out, really. It's supposed to be a comedy, but isn't very funny (I mean it in a good way). Methinks they said 'Comedy' to sell it. It's schmoopy, you know who is going to be together immediately, and apparently some reviewers (went to check the tomato-meter on it just now, ouch) took offense to the 'like-paired-with-like' aspect of the film. Also, Michael Showalter is a better writer than actor, I think, but every time he and Michelle Williams (I take back every bad thing I ever thought about you during Dawson's Creek!) were onscreen, they both lit. I recommend it for a cheesy, fuzzy, weepy evening. That's weepy-happy, before you go thinking someone dies at the end.

Um. But I think I should state for the record, that I'm guilty of trying to read the dictionary. So maybe there's a little identification with the nerds there that some wouldn't have. Oh, well.

*Sniffle*

Sat, 10 Dec 2005 03:29:47 GMT

I liked 'Detention.' I'm sad it's gone.

*Lights candle, puts in window.*

The Remake of 'The Wicker Man.'

Tue, 06 Dec 2005 03:33:43 GMT

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0450345/

No. No, no, no, no, no.

No, no, F!@#ing NO! You bastards! You absolute--NEIL LABUTE? WHAT? EXCUSE ME? GO WRITE SOMETHING HATEFUL DISGUISED AS PROVOCATIVE AND LEAVE THIS ALONE! Do you think you're edgy? Nicholas Cage? WHAT?!?

...Sorry. LaBute's credited as the writer on it, too. Yeah. He's re-writing 'The Wicker Man.'

Heya, Neil? I was indifferent before, buddy, but now? You're on my list. *Pencils in.* This is horrible. May visions of Christopher Lee haunt you until you repent.

Grr. *Seethes*

RL.

Fri, 02 Dec 2005 09:53:38 GMT

So, I quit my high-stress, you're-young-and-have-ovaries-you-must-know-nothing job about a month ago. It sucked, because I finally made the money I'd wanted to make, but it also ruled hardcore, because I got to listen to my supervisors begging me not to leave (after I'd given two months notice!--god, I hate them). Then I was unemployed (a good time to finish one's Merry Smutmas fic--who knew?). It's very hard to find a new job when you don't know what the heck you want to do with your life.

Tomorrow, I start out scheduling blood donor appointments for the Red Cross.

Am feeling very zen about it.

Change is good. Being employed is even better.

Japanese law students? Hot.

Wed, 30 Nov 2005 07:10:45 GMT

I subscribe to Yaoi Daily. It's an interesting place. A lot of the manga they post (and forgive me if I get terminology slightly wrong, I'm a novice) isn't to my taste at all. I'm not so much into the shota or the hardcore bondage. I don't want my men to look like pixies, nor am I particularly interested in rape (by tentacles or otherwise). Price of Tennis and Full Metal Alchemist Doujinshi hold no interest for me.

But there are diamonds in the rough! I would like to declare my love for all things by the artist Yoshinaga Fumi.

'Ichigenme wa yaruki no minpou,' in particular. I'm sure it's available for download at the Aarinfantasy.com forums, or you can subscribe to yaoi_daily and scroll back to the November 18th posting, where you can follow the link back to the first in the series. (Warning: if you have dialup, it will be Slllooowwww.)

It's the tender love story of two law students (one with insanely pretty, curly hair, the other with sexual hang-ups). I love the way the characters are drawn, I like the story, I love the relationship between the characters--I really can't gush enough. I've got 'Antique Bakery', another by the same artist, on order from Amazon.

I changed my icon in tribute. (For a bit, only. I like the big 'C' too much to let it go.) *Happy sigh*

(In other news, Merry Smutmas stories are being posted soon! Yay! And also, augh! But mostly, yay!)

I finally saw the Goblet of Fire.

Thu, 24 Nov 2005 07:59:49 GMT

I liked it. I did! Honestly. Just... this one thing...

Dear Mr. Gambon,

I realize you were given an impossible task. To fill the shoes of Richard Harris is to... well, for lack of an extremely witty metaphor, it's like telling a very, very small thing to go and stand in a very, very big thing and fill it up. You seemed confused, annoyed, angry, stunned, confused again, perplexed, agitated, and confused. Additionally, you need to look to your right. Yes. That actor? His name is Mister Rickman. He's lovely; shake his hand. Watch the way he wears his robes. It isn't some magical gift of physique--he's a bit portly himself.

Bitch, don't you dare tell me it's that black is slimming!

...Sorry, where were we? Yes. The way he uses his robes when he moves instead of treating them like an old shirt. The way he moves his hands, his mouth. The way he stretches and cuts his words. It's this thing called acting. Mr. Gambon--when Daniel Radcliffe is beating you at acting, there's something wrong.

Look, I guess what I'm saying is... you've got no presence. No presence. I don't believe you're in charge. Maggie Smith is stomping your ass. (Rightfully so--is it weird of me to think she's pretty hot? Because I so do.)

But I suppose I can't totally blame you. Richard Harris was King Arthur for a reason. Even at the end of his life, he could convey the impression that he was the most powerful wizard in the world--and underneath it, there was this beautiful fragility. Dumbledore is a man who has *lived*. He's fought wars. He's staggering through this one. This is the battle that's going to kill him--and he knows it.

WHY DON'T YOU?

YOU FUCKER! YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKER! GAH! YOU MAKE ME WANT TO PUT MY FIST THROUGH MY DESK! YOU MAKE ME WANT TO THROW SHIT AT THE MOVIE SCREEN--AND BY THE WAY, YOU *DO* GIVE A SHIT THAT A CHILD HAS JUST DIED IN THE TOURNAMENT--YOU *DO*! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT 'TRIBUTE'? YOU'RE THE HEADMASTER OF A SCHOOL FIRST AND FOREMOST--WHY DO YOU THINK YOUR CHARACTER DOES IT, FOR THE EXCELLENT BENEFITS?! YOU CARE! YOU CARE! YOU CARE! *thwaps repeatedly, thwaps until hand turns blue, thwaps until hand falls off*

...

Dumbledore bothered me so much.

.....

I feel dirty.

.......

*Cries*

In other news, Ralph Fiennes? You will make a fine Voldemort. We will keep you.

Happy Turkey Day, fellow Americans!

Fic: A Soft Place to Sleep (7/?)

Tue, 22 Nov 2005 11:58:38 GMT

FIC: A Soft Place to Sleep (7/?)
AUTHOR: Calligraphy (Caligryphy@yahoo.com)
RATING: The light edge of Mature. Not graphic yet.
PAIRING: Lupin/Snape.
SUMMARY: Our favorite werewolf gets help in the unlikeliest of places... but is his savior really on his side?
DISCLAIMER: Don't own it, making bits up. Yay!
WARNINGS: AU, half was written pre-HBP, will continue in this vein.

Link to Chapter One.

*****

He couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t go back. Not tonight, anyway, when he had coin to spend and a bone-deep weariness to contend with. Not when he was feeling so bloody—rattled—and Harry’s eyes were always on him—

“I need a room for tonight. Whatever’s cheapest,” he told the desk clerk. “A single, if you’ve got it.”

“Absolutely.” The stooping man behind the ledger scrutinized him. “Sir, have I seen you someplace?”

“No.”

“You were in the Prophet.”

He turned his head. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You’re Remus L—”

*****

Wind howled through chinks in the floorboards.

In one corner, he found an old blanket that carried with it the smell of mold in equal part with adolescent hormones. The Shack was still a student haunt, though only the most brave trespassed. He cast a cleaning charm, then a warming charm, and wrapped himself in it before stretching out on the floor.

Sleep came in desperate snatches.

He dreamed of being lost in the woods, and of running from shadows. He dreamed of the war. He dreamed of casting his third Unforgiveable, and the way the wizard’s face had twisted before his life had been snuffed out. He dreamed of a small, hard cot, and cruel fingers measuring his body.

The sound of heels woke him around midnight.

He sat up, blinking in the darkness. “Who’s there?” he said, and cursed himself a moment after. Remus pointed his wand.

Silence. Then:

“Do you know, Lupin, I haven’t had a day without that ridiculous bird since you returned?”

He focused his wand. “Severus?”

“They’ve been sending that great, golden nag of a phoenix along every hour on the hour since you made your latest stab at independence. Lumos.” The room brightened. The shadows split and shrank, revealing a tall, wizard-shaped silhouette, then a face like the pale moon. “I see we’re bedding with the spiders this evening.”

He blinked against the brightness. “I’m sorry. About them harassing you.”

Severus put out his light. “Shut up, Lupin.”

Something hit the ground at his feet. Then, he heard a scrape of metal on wood, and a fluttering sound. “Wh…?”

“I’ll come tomorrow with your next dose. Don’t sell the watch again. It took an age for the tracking charm to take. Imagine my unpleasant surprise when I went to deliver your dose earlier and found myself in a locked, alarmed, muggle jewelry store after hours,” he said, and the room fairly shook under the violent crack of Severus apparating.

Remus blinked. “Lumos,” he said weakly.

On the floor sat the watch, a goblet, and what was quite possibly the same wad of notes he’d refused a month ago. Upon further investigation, he smelled that the goblet was full of Wolfsbane.

The Wolfsbane!

He groped at his jacket pocket. Inside was the flask from the Exchange. Unopened.

He’d forgotten to take it.

He’d forgotten.

He’d *forgotten.*

The casual observation of the Aurors sprang to his ears. ‘But, obviously, you can’t.’ It was true. They were right, and always had been. He couldn’t take care of himself. “Merlin.”

He felt ill.

They’d been right. All along. All of them.

“Oh, God.”

He should take the job at Hogwarts and the bracelet. It wouldn’t be so bad. Likely, he’d become friendly old ‘Mister Lupin’ who worked out in the forest all day. Without a teaching schedule, he’d probably even be able to take the day after the full moon off. He’d be looked after, taken care of. It would be a good thing. It would. He liked Hogwarts. He even liked Hagrid’s hut. It would be nice to have a permanent home. It would.

He cast aside the flask and reached for the goblet. The contents went down like warm tar. He hacked and coughed halfway through, dribbling a bit down his front, and then choked down the remainder of the potion.

Wind whistled through the Shrieking Shack, but Remus hardly noticed.

*****

He didn’t look up until the floorboards groaned again.

“It is seven o’clock in the morning. The phoenix and I have spoken at length. We believe the only solution is to have all of them destroyed. But come over to our way of thinking, Lupin, and we might make you an exception,” Snape said casually.

“I forgot. The potion. I forgot it.”

“…The goblet appears empty.”

Remus shook his head. The floorboards numbed his cheek with cold. “I went to the Exchange again. I didn’t know you were coming this month.”

“I told you I was.”

“For something this important, I can’t take risks.” He nodded at the flask. “I bought it. …And I forgot.”

Snape bent at the waist. He scooped up the flask, pulled the stopper, and sniffed.

Remus recoiled in sympathy.

“It has too much mugwort. Aconite isn’t fresh.” With a flick of his wrist, he vanished the contents. “Get up, Lupin.”

He stared at the cold, gray walls. “No. I like it here.”

“Lupin.”

“I nearly killed you once, here.”

There was a pause. “That’s why you like it?”

“No.” He clutched the blanket more tightly. “…There was a time, when I was here, I believed everything would turn out all right. We were all talented, invincible, young. Stupid.” He adjusted the blanket. “I was so mad at Sirius. He goaded you into coming. And I don’t believe for a second that James didn’t know something was happening. Not for a second. He knew something. Maybe not the whole of it, but… I used to look at you, did you know? I always thought, ‘that’s me, if they ever find out what I am.’ If they ever knew I thought their jokes weren’t always funny or they went too far sometimes—if they ever knew I was some scarred little queer werewolf… I wouldn’t stand up to them like you could. I’d fold. I needed them so much. …I really don’t like being alone.”

There was a space of quiet.

“Lupin, I’m sodding tired. If you want to play Tearful Confessions, book yourself on a chat show and pour your soul out to the universe there. Get up, go back to Black’s house, tell Potter he can fuck off, and if you so desperately need a place to sleep, by Merlin’s Rusted Calcinator, come back to the house, because I will not be returning to this place in my lifetime! Is that clear?” His nostrils flared.

Remus blinked. “I don’t know where you live. No one does.”

“I’ve taken great pains to see it remains that way. The watch is a portkey. Just say ‘lemon drop.’”

He propped himself on an elbow. “Lemon drop?”

Severus looked away. “First thing I thought of,” he said.

“Severus.” He sat up. “Why didn’t you tell anyone I was alive?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Lupin. It’s early,” he sneered, and disapparated.

*****

He came back by the front door.

Harry was there. He waited in front of the stairs, arms folded. “Remus.”

He didn’t know what to say. “Harry. I’m sorry. …I just needed a night to myself. I didn’t—”

“You can take the bracelet off. You’re not on the Registry. We checked.”

He didn’t know how to answer that, except with a nod.

“We’re in the study. You’re coming,” said Harry. He frowned.

*****

Only Tonks, Harry, Minerva, and Kingsley were there.

“Have a seat, Remus?”

There was a chair placed conspicuously in the center of the study. He took a deep breath and sat down. “Private meeting, then,” Remus noted. He rubbed his hands dry on his trousers.

“…They found your usual brewer at the Exchange. Ann?”

Remus nodded.

“We asked her about what happened two months ago. She said you picked up your first dose as per usual. …But that you didn’t pick up your second dose the next day.”

He let out a deep breath. “Yes?”

“You told us you went to the Exchange the second day and couldn’t find her. She was in her usual place. She has witnesses who back her up. She says she was surprised when you didn’t show.” The wall clock ticked. Kingsley stood under it, staring with a perfectly blank expression on his face. Tonks perched on the arm of the chair near the door. Harry spoke softly. “We think you lied to us.”

Remus nodded.

“You told us you couldn’t find your usual brewer, asked around, and found your second dose with a brewer on the south side of the exchange. You gave us a description.”

He nodded.

“No brewer on the south side that day matched your description.”

He kept nodding—a slow bobbing of the head.

“We did find a supplier, though, on the west side, that thinks he remembers you. Someone matching your description bought a large chunk of his stock of aconite.”

Remus kept nodding. He pressed his lips together. He was almost rocking, letting the motion of the nod carry him very slightly back and forth.

“Remus. Do you want to tell us what really happened? …Or would you rather we take you in?”

He swallowed and trained his eyes on the cracks in the floorboards. “Ah. There was this…” He paused, fanning his fingers against his knees. “See, I dropped a crate of wine.” His voice caught.

“Remus…?”

“Do you need some water?”

“No, it’s—fine.” He cleared his throat. “I dropped a box of wine. At the store. A few bottles. Cheap, but—not that cheap. It came out of my pay.” He couldn’t stop nodding. “I didn’t make very much at the store. But it’s fine. It’s always been fine. I live on a budget. I’m good at living on a budget.” He folded his arms, then unfolded them. “So—I sold a few books. Paid the rent. I asked work for an advance. They said, you know, what with all the time I’d had off, they couldn’t give me one. But I knew it would all work out. It always works out. I looked for odd jobs. They had a board in town. But that only had babysitting—and let’s face it, who would hire this to watch their children?” He gestured to his scars. “There wasn’t time to look elsewhere. I went to the park at night and stole change out of the fountain.” He did not look up at the others. “That’s not honorable or dignified, I know. But—if I could just get through the month—it would be fine. Get the potion, get through the change, I would be fine.”

His heart was beating in his ears.

“…My brewer raised her price.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I had just enough money. I went wading and stole to get just enough for the potion—and she raised the price. I bought the first dose, took it. But there was—I couldn’t afford the second. She wouldn’t give me a discount. I’ve been with her for almost two years—she wouldn’t give me a discount. Not even just this once. If she gave me a discount, she’d have to give everyone a discount. …And I understand her position. I do. She’s a businesswoman.” He nodded.

“So you bought the aconite and tried to make the potion for yourself?” prompted Tonks.

He couldn’t help it. Now that he’d started telling the truth, it just kept spilling out. Besides, Harry was staring at him too intently to miss a lie. “I can’t make the potion. You all know that. I’ve tried. I’ve never been good enough. I suppose I could’ve tried again, but there just wasn’t a point anymore. And the other ingredients are expensive. I was—tired.”

“Remus—”

“I couldn’t do it anymore, Harry. I just needed one person to give me a break—and nobody would.”

“You could’ve come to us.”

He looked up. “And the next month? And the month after that? You’re my friends, right now. Maybe this all sounds terribly cynical to you, but I’ve lived with this curse since I was six. I watched my parents tire of caring for me. I’m not going to inflict it on any of you. It’s my problem. I’ll deal with it.”

Minerva’s voice sliced through the room. “I’m afraid it’s gone past that, Remus.”

“We can’t overlook this.”

“Wait a minute. Give him a chance to explain,” said Tonks. “It could’ve been an accident.”

Remus folded his hands. The watch was heavy on his wrist. “That’s what I hoped it would look like.”

They stared.

“I spent the money I had left on a few ounces of powdered aconite, took it home, stirred it into a pot of hot chocolate, and drank until moonrise.” He didn’t look at their faces. “I wouldn’t have used the aconite, but most poisons don’t have a chance of killing a werewolf.” It all seemed so absurd. He chuckled. “And, heck, I beat this one, too.”

“Don’t laugh,” Harry whispered.

“It’s funny.” Suddenly, everything was. They all looked so shocked. “Tell me it isn’t funny—the one night I finally have the guts to end it—it doesn’t work, and I’m kidnapped the next morning.” He shook his head and laughed some more. “I’d love to know which of the Fates I’ve angered. Why me? Of course, one can spend his whole life asking that question, so I usually don’t—still. Does anyone want a drink? I could kill for one. Not myself, you understand, I think I’m over that.” He laughed a bit more, and reached up to feel wetness on his cheek. “Oh, I’m crying. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Wordlessly, a drink was pressed into his hands. He gulped it.

“Remus. We’re going to take you somewhere.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He tried for bright and cheerful.

“It’s a place where they can get you help.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have any money.” Actually, he did, now, what with most of the profit left from the first sale of the watch and the wad of notes Severus had left. Not enough for doctors, though.

“You don’t need any. We’ll take care of it. And we’ll set up the potion schedule with the Ministry for you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to be on the Registry.” He wasn’t a criminal. He wasn’t a monster.

Or maybe he just wished he wasn’t.

Harry’s hands were on his shoulders. “Remus. We care about you.” He lowered his voice. “We’re not asking anymore. This isn’t advice. We’re telling you what we’re going to do. …Are you going to keep fighting us, or are you going to let us help you?”

The room was very quiet.

“…Don’t suppose I have a choice,” he said softly.

“You’ll go, then?”

“…When?”

“Immediately.”

He flinched.

“Please, Remus.”

No. No, no, no. “You have no idea what you’re asking me to do.” No going away. No camps. No places for ‘special’ boys and girls. No places where the wizards were as big as horses and he wasn’t allowed to talk—where they left him in those tiny little rooms alone and made him swallow potions—where every time his Mum wrote, she’d talk about how much fun they’d all have once he got better—

No small places with hard cots where people disappeared.

“Remus? Please.”

He startled. “I… I need to think about this—”

“Stalling isn’t going to work this time.”

“Say you’ll go, Remus. Please. We all care about you so much.” Tonks was crying.

Everyone was staring. Merlin. How embarrassing.

He shook his head. “Look. I won’t—I won’t bother anyone. I’ll find a job and a flat—I’ll go away. I’ll go away and you won’t have to worry about me anymore—I won’t cause any more trouble—”

“That’s what we’re afraid of,” said Harry. “…I’m sorry about this, Remus. I really am. But we’re not going to let you go on like this.”

“Say you’ll go, Remus. We’ll write every day, we swear.”

“Look—I can’t. I…”

“Please,” sobbed Tonks.

In that moment, Harry looked awfully like his father. He nodded encouragingly.

“…Okay. Fine. I’ll go.” He was vaguely aware of people trying to hug him. He put up with it for a moment, then shrugged them off. “I need to pack. My things…”

“We’ll let you get them. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

Kingsley stepped forward. “We’ll need to hold your wand.”

*****

“Just give me a minute. I’m going to change.”

Harry nodded until Remus shut the door in his face.

He padded to the mirror. His eyes were puffy and red, to match the rest of his face. Even his scars seemed a little more flushed.

“You look awful,” the mirror drawled.

He punched the glass.

There was a knock at the door.

“I’m fine, everything’s fine. I dropped something,” he called. His hand was bleeding.

He was so stupid.

There wouldn’t be a job at Hogwarts now—who was he kidding? There wouldn’t be any job anywhere. Everyone knew his face.

“And now they know how deranged you are,” he spat. “Stupid.” Stupid that he’d thought they might overlook it, stupid that it hadn’t worked—stupid that he hadn’t at least put some planning into the event instead of getting upset and dosing himself like some melodramatic teenager. “Stupid.” Stupid for wandering around the Exchange after dark, stupid for getting into a shouting match with his brewer, stupid for openly identifying himself as a werewolf and thus attracting the attention of the people who’d kidnapped him. Stupid for not just—dying. Like a normal person.

It would’ve been so much better. They’d have had a little funeral. Buried him somewhere—on a hill, maybe. People would’ve cried. Told a few stories. And then they could all get on with their lives.

“Stupid.”

He took his shirts off the hangers in the wardrobe and shoved them into an empty satchel that had been saved with the rest of his meager possessions. He included a couple of pictures and a book on defensive hexes that he hadn’t finished. His other bag was still packed.

Another knock.

“Just a minute!” he shouted back, a little too forcefully. Momentarily, he’d forgotten what day it was. The full moon would come that night, and with it another transformation.

What would they do to him? Where would they take him? Some detention facility? Who would they get to take a werewolf? Would he have a choice to stay or leave? Would they get him his potion? Would he be forced to do without? He’d claw himself to death.

Severus.

Remus sat on the edge of his bed. Severus was going to make his potion. Remus had a little money. Not a fortune, no, but enough to get a room and hide out for a bit. Or longer. He was used to living cheaply. He could last for more than a year.

Until he was broke again. Until some accident happened. Maybe he’d get sick. Maybe he’d be robbed. Did he really want to go through all this again in six months? A year?

The secondhand on his watch swept slowly, silently, smoothly, as if it would never cease.

Remus covered it with his hand and wondered.

What if the portrait had been right?

‘It’s not an unethical thing, dear. No one is being taken advantage of, if both parties understand the arrangement. A little coin for a little companionship. He keeps you comfortable, you keep him… comfortable.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t… do that. I’ve never done that.’

‘Never on the long term, no, I’d have spotted my own kind right off—but you must’ve had a desperate night or two, hmm? Back in your younger days?’

‘No. I don’t feel comfortable talking about this.’

‘Oh, you did. Not anymore, though, right, dear? Had a bad experience? …Let me guess. Someone introduced you to silver-play.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m tired,’ he’d said, and crawled into Severus’ bed.

‘They’re all claw marks and bite scars. …Except for your lower back.’

‘Goodnight.’

‘He noticed them, too. There’s no reason to feel self-conscious. I once caught a glimpse of one of Severus’ legs. Looked like he’d been carved and stitched back together. There’s a reason he buttons up to the neck, you know.’

‘I said goodnight.’

‘He’d treat you like a king. You’d have nice things, your potion, amazing food, a lovely bed, and a doting wizard to go with them. …Remus? …Are you still awake? …Remus?’

He thought for a bit.

Remus shot to his feet. His knuckles bled as he rifled through the desk for a scrap of parchment and a quill.

A knock came again. “Do you need any help in there?”

“No. I’m fine,” he called, and scribbled a few sentences.

The doorknob turned.

Remus shouldered his bags. His opposite hand closed around the watch.

Harry and Tonks stared at him through the doorway. “Ready?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes,” he said, and didn’t apologize.

*****

There *was* a moat.

The strip of murky water was no more than four meters wide, but who knew how many deep. Not a ripple stirred the surface.

A levitation charm would’ve been easy enough to manage. Unfortunately, Kingsley had his wand.

“Bit late to back out now.” He scanned the grounds for a handy drawbridge. Finding none, he decided to go it the muggle route.

He slung both bags across. They thudded onto the grass.

There were still no ripples in the water. Maybe Snape didn’t have anything in the moat? Then again, it was Severus. He couldn’t afford to underestimate it.

“Okay,” Remus said, steeling himself. He backed up and took it at a run.

“Oof,” he grunted, slamming into the side of the opposite bank with his midsection. His legs were only in the water for the briefest of moments before he dragged them out, rolling onto the lawn.

Remus looked back. The ripples his feet had made were dying away. No strange, tentacled monsters appeared to slow his progress.

He stood. His shoes squelched. He took them off, shouldered his bags, and proceeded.

Hodges really could’ve been called a small castle. It was white, though, and shimmered faintly, like it had been carved from quartz. Its windows were of every shape imaginable—some round, some square, small, large. The front door was massive, its knocker as big as Remus’ head. He tried to lift it, but it seemed rusted shut. He knocked, but wasn’t sure the sound even penetrated the thick door. “Hello…?” he called.

Nothing. And from what he could see, there wasn’t a bell, either. “Hello? Severus?”

Perhaps Snape would change his mind. Perhaps he’d only offered his home to get Remus to go back to Grimmauld Place and be done with him.

He thought. “…Hodges? It’s Remus. …Look, I don’t want to be a bother, but Severus told me I could come over. …Would you open the door, please?”

There was a great, grinding noise and a series of clicks. The door swung open.

“Thank you,” Remus said, and marched on.

*****

The foyer was huge. Its chandelier easily dwarfed the one hanging in the dining room.

It was difficult to orient himself, coming from the front of the house. An elegant staircase sloped upward, curving as it rose. Remus opted for the dark hallway underneath.

Most rooms had their doors closed. Remus poked his head in one; all the furniture was draped in dust cloths. Sensible, he supposed. It reminded him of parts of Grimmauld Place. He moved on, chose to go left when the hallway ended, and pushed through a set of white doors.

Remus knew the house had one, but was still surprised to find he’d stumbled into the kitchen.

The smell hit him. “Wolfsb—”

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Remus ducked the spell, slamming into a countertop brimming with boxes and bottles of all shapes and sizes—some of which contained moving ingredients. “Severus! Don’t! It’s me! It’s me,” he said, waving his arms and flinching as the wand trained on his head.

Snape’s lip curled. “I should have expected.” He relaxed his stance. “Tell Potter and Minerva that the phoenix is staying. It’s tried of playing messenger. I can’t get it to leave now, and I doubt anything they’d have to say could change its mind.” He blinked. “You look awful.”

“I’ve been told that already once today, thanks,” said Remus. He took a step away from the counter. “You do too, actually.”

Snape had circles under his eyes. “Due largely to you, Lupin. What is it?”

Perhaps it was the smell that made him a bit dizzy. Perhaps it was what he was about to do. “Snape. I came here to talk to you.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” He arched a brow.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Yes?” he snapped.

Remus swallowed. “…Two months ago, I tried to kill myself.”

Snape arched a brow. “Yes? And?”

He blinked. “You’re not surprised?”

“That you tried it and failed? Not at all. Was that everything?”

“No. It’s just that…” Remus frowned and adjusted his grip on his satchel. “Well. You saved my life.”

“No. Your incompetence did that.”

“I mean—you bought me. You brought me back.” He swallowed. “The way I figure it… you owe me.”

There was a pause.

Severus turned from the medium cauldron set over the fire. A string of garlic hung near his head. Dried herbs were stacked on the windowsill. “I… owe you…?”

“I mean—you didn’t bring me back only to see them cart me off to some facility, did you? You had your reasons for helping me, Severus, and they weren’t all altruistic. At least a small part of you brought me back to shame the Order.” Hopefully, it was only a small part. If there wasn’t a little guilt and loneliness there, this would fall apart on him.

Severus’ lip twitched.

“That’s all well and good for you, but what about me? I can’t get a job.”

“That is no concern of mine,” said Severus, in clipped tones. “Talk to Potter. He was the one—”

“You bought me, Severus. Fourteen thousand, nine hundred galleons. You bought me. I’m your responsibility now.” Remus fought the urge to backpedal and claim that he was joking.

He arched a brow. “Are you.”

“Yes.” Severus was a Legilimens. He would completely see through it.

Snape looked at him for a long moment. “If you’ve an account with Gringotts, I can arrange for funds to be transferred—”

“No,” spat Remus. “I’m not here for a handout, Severus.”

“Then why? Your potion isn’t ready yet.” Severus turned back to his cauldron.

“I want… I want a job.” Something permanent. Something he could do without having to skip town every few months.

“Do I look like a shop?”

“No, I—Severus, I could be useful to you.”

“How?” His back was still turned.

Remus put down his satchel. “You said you don’t go into wizarding areas. I could do that for you. Run errands. Do the shopping.”

“I don’t need a personal shopper, Lupin. Besides, you’d be amazed what they’ve got at a muggle grocery.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he replied. “I could help out around the house. I could help you research. I can do a little of everything.”

“I don’t need a little of everything. My life is quite full of meddling idiots as it is, Lupin.”

“I could sleep with you.”

Severus stilled.

Blood pounded in his ears. “I could sleep with you,” he said again, in case Snape hadn’t heard. His palms were sweating.

Severus removed a long stirring rod from the potion and dried it with his wand before setting it down on the counter. He cleared his throat. “No, Lupin. I’m afraid not,” he said quietly.

Remus pressed on. “I’m not talking about sex, necessarily. If you were interested in sex, I wouldn’t mind. I mean, I’d… I did notice that you liked company. When I was recovering.” He swallowed. His mouth had gone dry. His cheeks were burning. “You’d be asleep near me.”

“Shut up, Lupin. I’m trying to concentrate,” Snape said. Malice was conspicuously absent in his voice.

“All I’d need is a place to sleep, food, and my potion. I’d need a little money if I were to live elsewhere. For the rent and all. If you didn’t want me to stay here. If you wanted your privacy. I wouldn’t ask much.”

“You wouldn’t ask at all, if you had other options.”

“I do have other options. I can go somewhere far away and lie to everyone until I get called out again. Or I can go back to Harry and let them put me on the Registry and in some treatment facility where I’ll spend the rest of my days playing backgammon with banshees. …Then I thought about you.”

“Most would see the banshees as the more attractive option,” Snape said quietly.

“I don’t.”

“You’re mad.”

“Probably.”

Severus gazed into the depths of his cauldron. “You’re not a whore, Lupin.”

Remus tried to go for cocky. “With all due respect, Severus, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” His voice cracked.

A snort. “Likewise, if you’re under the impression that I rent my bed warmers.”

“You have before.”

Severus went very still.

“Look. I don’t judge—”

“That was private!” Snape hissed, whirling on him. “Private!” A fleck of spittle clung to Severus’ bottom lip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned back to the cauldron. “It was only the once. Nothing happened,” he added in a whisper, then cleared his throat. “This requires my full attention, Lupin. Kindly remove yourself from my kitchen.”

But he couldn’t. Not when he was already in up to his neck. “No sex, then. I could just be here to sleep next to you. I could set out your clothes, help clean the house. Assist you with whatever you’re working on—”

“I don’t need a house elf.”

“Not a house elf. Like—an assistant. A valet.”

“As pathetic as I’ve been, Lupin, I have never hired someone to be my friend.”

“I’m already your friend.” It was true, Remus realized. “The hiring would be over and above.” Tentatively, he stepped forward and put his hand over Severus’ on the edge of the cauldron.

Snape didn’t shake him off. “You were planning this all along, weren’t you?”

“Severus?”

“That kiss. You were trying to see if I would, even then. You’re more clever than you let on, Lupin.”

“No, I…” He furrowed his brows. “This isn’t a plot, Severus.”

He snorted. “I suppose you simply happened to turn up here?”

“I didn’t do much forward planning,” said Remus. “If you hadn’t told me how to get to you, you’d still be hidden.”

“Ah—so I’m to blame for my own foolishness. This is all my fault, is it?” He shook off Remus’ hand and reached for the stirring rod.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Severus made several quick turns of the rod. “Are you a homosexual, Lupin?”

“…Yes.” He stood next to Severus at the counter. The stench of the potion was making him light-headed.

“Hesitant.”

“It’s not something I talk much about.”

“Ashamed, are we?” Severus leered.

“No… no. It upsets people. I don’t talk about being a werewolf. I don’t talk about being gay. They aren’t topics for polite company.”

“You’re ashamed.” Snape nodded. “May I ask, Lupin, why you assume *I* am a homosexual?” The last word rolled off his tongue with emphasis on ‘sex.’

“Because.” This hadn’t occurred to him. “You mean, you aren’t?”

“I…” The rod made a full sweep of the cauldron. “Am undeclared.”

He blinked. “What’s that?”

“Stop staring at me. You make it impossible to concentrate.” He scowled. “I am making this potion for your benefit, Lupin.”

“I know.” He sidled a bit closer. “What do you mean, undeclared?”

“I meant nothing.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I need a few uninterrupted hours of sleep, and the potion is about to enter the simmering stage. Get out, Lupin.”

“I don’t mean to offend you—”

“There are rooms upstairs. Take any you like. The Master may still be livable. The house will see to your comfort. Under no circumstances are you to do something so dramatic as to leave, forcing me to track you across the known world and back to deliver a potion that has already irritated me to no end. Go, Lupin,” he barked.

“Severus.”

“Go.”

Remus took a step back. “Think about it, at least.”

Severus didn’t turn.

*****

“…What if I said yes?”

“Hmm?” Remus blinked. His feet were wet.

“What if I said yes to you, Lupin?”

He splashed them in the moat. His trousers—a pair of the obscenely nice ones Snape had given him—were bunched up to his knees. The water in the moat was much cleaner than he remembered it—a clear blue. Little orange fish danced around their ankles. “Yes? About what?”

Severus’ trousers were only rolled halfway up his calves. “To the question of you becoming my …valet."

“Oh. Oh, right.” Remus thought. It was terribly warm. He reached for the buttons on his shirt.

“Lupin. Don’t do that.”

“Do what? I’m going to have a swim. Want to come?” Suddenly, he wasn’t wearing anything. Not a stitch. “That’s convenient,” Remus mused, and slid down into the water. The fish parted. “The water’s lovely. …Severus?” He smiled back.

Severus looked on. His eyes were very wide. “I… I can’t swim.”

“My feet touch the bottom. Come on, I won’t let you drown.” He held out a hand. “Come on.”

For a moment, he looked undecided. Severus eased out of his outer robes, but left on his shirt and trousers when he slid into the water. He flailed for a moment.

Remus caught him by the elbows. “Steady.”

Snape thrashed out of his grip, grabbing onto his shoulders.

Remus furrowed his brows. “Severus. Why do you look eighteen again?”

“I’ve fallen asleep. It wasn’t my intention to come to you. It… happens.” He shook his head. Instead of gray hair, he had a few spots.

“Do I look eighteen?”

Severus nodded.

Remus grinned at him. “So this is a sort of—dream magic?”

“No. Not really. A side effect of my ridiculous condition. I used to pop up in Albus’ dreams all the time.”

Severus’ weight was warm against his bare chest. A coil of heat unwound in his belly. “Really? What were his dreams like?”

“Often, we had tea.”

Remus laughed. He ducked his head backwards, wetting his hair, and drank in all the warmth of the sun and Snape, who clung to him more tightly than necessary. “I can imagine. Let your knees go loose, all right?” Severus did, and it was easier to move with the strange, swirling current in the moat. “This is nice. I haven’t been swimming in a long time.”

“Be glad it’s a dream. If we were swimming in the real moat, the hydra might decide to play.”

“You’ve got a hydra?”

“Only a little one,” Snape said, and let Remus pull him along with the current.

“I should feel more concerned about that, shouldn’t I. I tried to jump that moat today.”

“You were never supposed to come here.”

“You’re the one who made the watch a portkey.”

“It was for emergencies.” Snape looked annoyed until Remus loosened his grip. Then he clung on more tightly, inadvertently putting his thigh somewhere very, very nice. “It’s an old hydra. Albus got it used. They were going to put it down. It doesn’t have the teeth to properly bite anyone. I’ve seen one head try to gum the others into submission.”

Remus laughed. “You’re joking.”

“I am not.” He looked affronted.

“All right. You aren’t,” Remus said, propelling them through the school of tiny, golden fish. “What kind of fish are these?”

“Goldfish.”

“Oh.” He laughed again. “Makes sense, them being gold and all.”

“It’s your dream.”

“Severus?” He slowed them down to a drift. “What did you mean, undeclared?” Every brush of fabric made him want to peel Severus out of his clothes.

Severus opened his mouth to speak.

Remus kissed him.

Severus’ lips were quite soft. His smell was lovely.

Remus groaned into his mouth, and dipped them until only their heads remained above water. One of Severus’ arms wound around his neck. There was a wet smacking sound as he pulled back. “What did you mean? Undeclared?”

“Don’t drop me,” gasped Severus.

“Your feet touch the bottom.” Remus demonstrated.

He glared. “Perhaps you’ve little experience in this sort of environment. It can be very unpredictable.”

“What did you mean?” He refused to be diverted.

He sighed. “Nothing, Lupin.” Snape seemed to be having trouble looking directly at him. “I have no desire to discuss this with you.” Suddenly he launched himself forward, his back arching.

“We can certainly do other things.”

“No—there’s—bloody fish in my shirt.” He wriggled.

Remus reached for the buttons.

Severus caught his wrists. He flailed for a moment, then stood, water sluicing off him. His shirt clung to his chest. His hair hung in his face, dripping at the tips. He looked like a cat caught in the rain. “You’d be better off with the banshees,” he said.

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I think you’re a moron,” was Snape’s retort. He let go of Remus’ wrists.

“No, you don’t,” he said, smiling, and ducked his head under the water.

*****

The smell woke him.

The goblet sat on the table near the bed, its stink wafting on the breeze from the open balcony doors.

“I see we’ve returned,” said Felicity. She sat primly in her portrait. Perched in the center of her spread skirt was a basket of apples.

“Guess so,” said Remus. His tongue was fuzzy. He should’ve brushed his teeth. He reached for the potion and tipped it back. Shockingly enough, it went down smoothly. “Ugh.”

A glass of water appeared on the table.

“Thanks, Hodges.” He rinsed the taste away.

“For how long this time?”

“…I don’t really know.”

“Yes, well, please keep in mind that upsetting him makes it very unpleasant for the rest of us, will you?” The portrait scowled. “I’ve never been thrown into the garden before. From the balcony,” she added, and pointed to the frame. “I’ve been chipped.” She folded her arms and sat down in the grass.

Remus blinked. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing.” She frowned. “He’s been a wreck since you left.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

“Then why is he sulking in the Solarium again? He skipped his classes the week after you left. You’d think he was ill.”

“The Solarium, you say?” He tried his shoes. They were still wet, so he opted to leave them off. Since it felt funny to be fully dressed and barefoot, he left off the jacket as well. “Where’s that?”

“End of the hall, turn right, third door on the left, up the stairs.”

“Ah—okay.” He moved to the door.

“He’s been better, you know,” she called after him.

Remus paused.

“When Albus went, he was a shade. Hardly slept, barely ate. It was a truly pathetic sight. He stayed in that bed for months, inconsolable. And do you think they sent him the condolence cards? The flowers? He was ordered to leave the house on three separate occasions by three different, distant relatives Albus hadn’t spoken to in years. The Ministry wanted him out as well, despite the will. They offered him pittances with one hand while pointing wands with the other. And yet he stayed. He’s been threatened and cursed and abandoned by… everyone.” She smiled. “We’ve got quite a lot in common, Severus and I. Sometimes I forget it. …If you’re here for money, take it and leave. He won’t mind. If you feel the need to string him along and drop him again, know this: the house may still like you, darling, but I won’t,” she said.

Remus blinked. “…Are you threatening me?” He frowned. “You’re a portrait,” he said, and opened the door.

The doorknob wrenched from his hand as the door slammed shut. The house shuddered with the force.

Remus turned slowly.

Felicity smiled. “I’m a Dark Artifact, darling. There’s a difference.”

*****

Remus stepped from the bright hallway into darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could see pinpricks of light above. Stars. He closed the door behind him.

“It’s charmed twelve hours ahead,” said Severus. “Albus thought it would be beneficial if I could get some sun no matter what time it was. I prefer it during the day, though.”

He made out a low couch. Severus was draped over one end. “It’s nice.”

“Sit. If you like.”

He did. The quiet folded around them. Remus was reluctant to break it. Finally, it became too great. “Why didn’t you tell them I was alive? When you found me?”

“Well, Lupin, I suppose I could have done, and watched idly by while they reclaimed you. Then I could’ve watched you die while a group of Healers spent hours and hours trying to diagnose you. Or I could have kept you here despite their clamoring. If you’d died, I would, of course, then have murdered you and engineered the entire scheme, and would end my days in a prison. As I wasn’t sure you were going to live, I opted to withhold the information. …Perhaps that sounds cold.”

“I’d probably find death a little colder,” said Remus.

“Perhaps.”

“How did you find me in the first place?”

“I didn’t bother to seek you out through clues, I’m afraid. I simply offered top dollar for a male werewolf. I have a few old acquaintances who won’t say no to a hefty finder’s fee, no matter the nature of the item being found.”

“Lucky thing I hadn’t been sold yet.”

“You were dying. That helped a great deal in slowing your sale.”

Remus snorted.

“What?”

“It just fits.” He chuckled. “Oh, it fits.”

“You’re a weird sort of person, Lupin.”

“So I’ve been told. …Sometimes, when things get bad, they get… funny.” He let himself look at Severus, then. His eyes did tend to adjust to the dark rather more quickly than a normal person’s would.

Snape’s elbow was propped on the edge of the couch. His head rested on his hand. He wore a set of spectacles.

“Since when do you wear glasses?”

He slipped them off and handed them to Remus.

“Wh…?”

“Put them on. Look.” Severus gestured to the stars.

Remus did.

He could see… everything. “That’s amazing.”

“An old relic, like everything else in the house. Carry the kind of focusing charms Occulists don’t bother learning anymore.”

He could see burning stars. Rings on planets. Asteroids hurtling through the cosmos. All around them, the inky swell of infinity.

“I can lose days here.”

Remus nodded. “I see why.” He turned to look at Severus.

For a moment, he saw the man’s face clearly. In the next instant, he was trapped in the brilliant black sparks of an iris.

He took off the glasses and handed them back.

Severus set them in a case next to the couch. He closed it. “They’re rather excellent for… perspective.”

It was quiet again. “Your portrait threatened me.”

“Which one?”

“Felicity.”

“Was it specific, or vague?”

“…Vague.”

“She probably won’t go through with it, then.”

Remus nodded. The stars shone down. The moon tugged at him, but only in the small way pictures of it did. “…Was that… really you? In my dream? In the moat?”

Severus swallowed.

He bit his lip. “…What did you mean? Undeclared?”

“Lupin.” He shook his head.

“Do you mean bisexual?”

“I mean asexual, Lupin,” drawled Severus. “Give me a few more years and I daresay I shall drop spores.”

He spoke softly. “Didn’t seem that way in the dream.”

“Dreams are dreams.” Long fingers drummed slowly on the arm of the couch. “Thank Merlin I’m not eighteen anymore.”

“Speak for yourself. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You were beautiful.” It was flippant.

He was warmed by it for a moment. Then Remus furrowed his brows. “Severus. Have you been in my dreams before?” Drinking wine, holding hands—

“I’m sure I don’t recall.”

There was a smell beside the usual. Fear.

Severus’ bare toes were kneading the carpet. “…Suppose I did hire you.”

Remus folded his hands. “Suppose you did,” he prompted, after a quiet moment.

Severus suddenly turned to him. His mask dropped. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather take money? I’ve got a lot of it,” Severus said earnestly.

Remus smiled and shook his head.

*****

Fic: A Soft Place to Sleep (6/?)

Tue, 22 Nov 2005 11:54:57 GMT

FIC: A Soft Place to Sleep (6/?)
AUTHOR: Calligraphy (Caligryphy@yahoo.com)
RATING: The light edge of Mature. Not graphic yet.
PAIRING: Lupin/Snape.
SUMMARY: Our favorite werewolf gets help in the unlikeliest of places... but is his savior really on his side?
DISCLAIMER: Don't own it, making bits up. Yay!
WARNINGS: AU, half was written pre-HBP, will continue in this vein.

Link to Chapter One.

*****

Later, he supposed it might have gone a number of better ways.

“That bastard!”

“Harry,” he said.

“That evil-minded bastard! Who does he think he is?” Harry screeched. “Does he think this was funny? Was this a joke?” Harry’s nostrils flared. “That’s it. He thinks he can get away with whatever he wants—no more.” The Auror took a pinch of floo powder, tossed it into the fireplace, and spat, “Snape’s house.”

The fireplace gave a non-committal crackle, then let out a slow fizzle of sparks.

Another pinch. “Albus Dumbledore’s house!”

Fizzle.

“I want Severus Snape—is that so hard?”

Apparently, it was.

“Harry, mate, stop.” Ron grabbed him by the shoulder and whispered into his ear.

Harry shook his head furiously.

Remus sank into a chair. His head hurt.

“Welcome back,” said Tonks. She perched on the arm of the chair and smiled down at him.

*****

“You never felt the need to question him?”

He folded his hands and tried not to fidget. The metal chair was beginning to make the lower half of his body fall asleep. “No, I—I did. I asked. A couple of times. I think I did.”

“His response..?”

“Look—I wasn’t well.” Remus wanted to sip from the glass of water on the table, but he didn’t dare if it was laced with a potion. He felt uncomfortable in the room with the unfamiliar Aurors. He supposed that was their job, though, to make people uncomfortable.

“So you’ve said. Perhaps we should go back over the day you purchased your potion?”

“Again?”

“If you’d be so kind.” They smiled. They were a very toothy bunch.

“The day before, I’d taken a dose with my usual brewer—I don’t know her real name. I call her Ann. She has red hair and smells like gardenias. Keeps her booth in the west quarter. I got to the Exchange early—two o’clock-ish. She wasn’t there. I checked around—no one had seen her. I waited for a while. Then I got desperate.”

“That’s a nice watch,” one of the Aurors commented.

“Thank you.” Remus clasped his hand over it. Then it occurred to him that covering it might look suspicious. Then he wondered if uncovering it and trying to look nonchalant would only make it seem more suspicious. He twitched involuntarily. “So I asked around. Day of the full moon, someone in the exchange was bound to have Wolfsbane.”

“Why didn’t you go down and have yourself registered at a clinic?”

“I’ve said.” He swallowed. “I’d rather take care of myself.”

“But, obviously, you can’t,” one of them observed.

Remus said nothing. He tried to feel more ashamed than he already did. It was tough, but he managed.

“Continue, please.”

He swallowed. The water glass was mocking him. “So I wound up on the south side of the Exchange with a new brewer. Short, brown hair. I didn’t remember him—but there are always new people around there. It’s a big place. He had Wolfsbane. At that point, I didn’t have much choice. I paid him, went home, warded the house, and took the potion.”

“You warded the house? How did the kidnappers get in?”

“I had the wards set to release at dawn. …Sometimes I don’t have the energy to cast after I change.”

“Why not let the wards go later, when you’ve recovered your energy?”

He paused. “…I don’t like being in closed spaces.” The more he said it, the flimsier it all sounded.

“That’s a nice jacket,” said the third Auror.

“Thank you.”

“Who bought you the jacket?”

Now they were just being malicious. “I’ve said.”

“It pays to be thorough.”

“Severus Snape.”

“Why do you think he did that?”

“I needed clothes.”

“Why did you need clothes?”

“He had to throw out the clothes I was wearing.”

“Why did he have to throw them out?”

“When I was being held—I tried to escape. After that, they kept me chained to a cot. My wrists were shackled. I didn’t have the privilege of washing up.” He felt sick all over again. “I was disgusting and ill and probably infested.”

“That’s no reason for him to destroy evidence.”

He didn’t have an answer for that. The more they asked, it seemed he didn’t have an answer for anything. These Aurors were even better than Harry, Alastor, and Kingsley at pointing out his idiocy. ‘What do you mean, you didn’t ask Snape how he found you?’ Harry had shouted.

“They were old.” Remus said. “I didn’t mind.”

“Are you sure you weren’t under a charm?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t remember a charm.”

“We’d like to examine your memories in a Pensieve,” suggested one of the Aurors—for the third time.

He shifted. “…No. I don’t think so, no. Sorry.” Remus folded his hands.

“You’re more than welcome to observe the process.”

“We’d also like to put you through a battery of anti-obliviation spells,” said the first Auror.

“And run a trace test. Basic blood work is all well and good, but hair, skin, spinal and seminal fluid—”

“No.”

“We could get an order for it.”

He pressed his palms flat against the table. “I’m a werewolf, not a guinea pig.”

“Aren’t you at all interested in the exact nature of the potions you’ve been imbibing?”

His palms left damp handprints on the surface of the table. He wiped them away with his sleeve. “I don’t have a flat or a job. I’d rather not put them off for another week while I’m being examined.”

“Isn’t Harry Potter looking after you?”

“No one looks after me but me,” Remus said softly. “Thank you,” he added, for no reason other than to fill up the silence. It was funny—until Snape had pointed it out, he hadn’t realized just how much he relied on thanks and apologies. “Why are we spending so much time on Snape? He didn’t have anything to do with this.”

He watched the Aurors glance at each other, each communicating volumes with barely-perceptible facial twitches.

Finally, they turned back to Remus.

“…Why don’t you tell us the story again? From the beginning.”

“More details,” added one.

*****

His return made the Prophet. A few dozen letters of support arrived at Grimmauld Place along with his meager clutch of possessions.

Remus hung his jacket on the back of the door instead of in the closet. He didn’t want to unpack. He’d be leaving soon. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. The house made him clench his teeth. “I’ll only be a couple of days, Harry.”

“Take as long as you want,” his new host offered. “It’s sort of your house, too. It’s no bother. I’m sure Sirius would’ve liked to know you had a place to stay.”

Remus sat down on the mattress. It was hard as a rock. “I’ll only be a few days.”

Harry nodded and remained diplomatically silent on the issue. “Dobby is making us dinner. And Tonks said she might stop by later,” he said.

“Oh.” He nodded.

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Fine. Little tired.” Remus folded his hands in his lap.

“…We could stop at St. Mungo’s tomorrow. Get you checked out.”

“I have to sign with the Registry for that.”

Harry cocked his head to one side. He hesitated. “Don’t you think it’s time? Everyone already knows anyway. You’ve been a big story. You’re out to all of the wizarding world,” he said.

Job-hunting was going to be a nightmare. “Right.”

“Great, so we’ll take you in tomorrow?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“…You know, there’s a Potions master at Hogwarts who—”

“Won’t do it. I’ve asked, Harry. I have been living with this since I was six years old.”

“Okay.” He backed off a bit. “I don’t mean to upset you.”

“You’re not upsetting me.”

“You look like you’re upset.”

“I’m tired. I’ve had a very long day.”

“Okay. No pressure.” Harry paused in the doorway. “Remus?”

“Yes?” He began slipping off his shoes.

“Just between us. I have to know.” He paused. His eyes flashed. “Did he do anything to hurt you?”

“No.”

Harry’s frown deepened.

“Honestly, Harry. Sometimes he was a bit insulting, but that’s Severus.”

“I don’t know how you can be so casual about him. He killed my parents.”

Remus stilled.

“He could’ve killed Professor Dumbledore, for all we know.”

“Voldemort killed your parents,” said Remus. Because Peter had betrayed them. Because Sirius, once again, had got something perfectly wrong. If Remus had agreed a little more fiercely that year, if he’d… If only he’d been more outwardly trustworthy, Sirius might’ve passed on the secret to Remus, instead of Peter. Everything would’ve been different. James and Lily would’ve lived.

Somewhere in the house, a portrait began to wail.

“I’m going to take a nap,” he told Harry, and put his head down on the thin pillow.

*****

There were no leads in his case.

It helped that the Exchange was host to all sorts of illegal activity. The cashiers and guards weren’t interested in faces or intentions so much as coin. Anyone could set up a booth, so long as they paid in cash at one of the gates.

Remus had given the Ministry sketchy descriptions of the thugs that attacked him—well, not attacked. He’d barely been able to move. They hadn’t needed to attack. He also couldn’t clearly recall their faces. His keeper in the cell, however, had been described in detail, right down to the mole on the knuckles of his right hand. From his pallor and smell, though, Remus didn’t figure that man to be the type to spend much time in public places where he might be recognized. At least, no one had recognized him so far.

The only thing anyone seemed to be genuinely interested in was Snape. Where Snape was, what he was doing, how he found a missing werewolf where the entire Order and a good bit of effort from the Aurors had turned up nothing.

But Snape wasn’t involved. He couldn’t be. He padded around his big house barefoot, read books, went out to Muggle class—

Why did Severus go to Muggle class?

Remus wished he’d asked more about how the taxi exam went.

After the Battle at Malfoy manor—the rubble of which was now a popular picnic stop on the ‘Dark Wizards of the UK’ tour—Snape had literally crawled out of the crumbling house. He’d killed Malfoy that day, and saved many of their lives—at high cost to himself. Severus spent the next few months in hospital recovering from curse damage. He’d preserved his cover as a spy; none of the Dark Lord’s followers who discovered his secret that day had survived long enough to tell it.

Severus wasn’t fully recovered when the political tide swelled and the Ministry began rounding up and imprisoning former and suspected Death Eaters, including one convalescing Severus Snape. He broke out seven months later when Voldemort liberated his followers from the Ministry’s newest detention facility, took his place at the Dark Lord’s side, and from what Remus understood, had used his position to ruthlessly kill off key members of Voldemort’s inner circle.

It had been a major point of contention between Harry and Severus—Bellatrix Lestrange fell to a rather nasty smothering hex in her bed while she slept. Harry had wanted her to pay publicly for what she’d done to Sirius—or, at least, at Harry’s own hand.

On the night of a large-scale Auror raid, nearly half the Death Eaters in Voldemort’s southern fortress were asleep at the dining room tables. Potions had tainted the food.

Severus had appeared at the Headmaster’s side for the Battle of Hogsmeade, and again at the Death Eater raid near Ottery St. Catchpole (aimed at removing a decidedly redheaded pocket of resistance). Finally, he’d stood at Harry’s side during the Battle of Hogwarts, where the Dark Lord was finally destroyed by the Boy Who Still Lived—with no small amount of help from the former Death Eater.

Severus Snape wasn’t Harry Potter. He didn’t receive invitations to parades and receptions. He’d spent months in front of the Aurors answering questions—or not answering questions, if you believed the rumors. Unable to cast him in the role of villain, they’d tried to make him a hero. Snape hadn’t fallen for that, either.

Eventually, the Ministry once again released him into the care of Albus Dumbledore, who quietly stepped down as Headmaster and faded from the spotlight. In his latter days, the Headmaster’s health had also faded. Despite throngs of well-wishers and close friends clamoring to hold one last audience with the great wizard (including a certain Boy Who Lived), he’d chosen to die in the sole company of his caregiver, Severus Snape—who hadn’t shown up at the funeral.

He was probably a darker wizard than light, true. He was possibly suffering from some mental disorder—and he’d never been the easiest person to get along with. None of those made him a criminal though, and Remus wasn’t going to treat him like one. Not after everything Severus had done for him.

The last time he remembered seeing Severus in the old days, they’d been sitting up late in the library at Grimmauld Place before the last battle. He’d looked very much like he had in his Order of Merlin portrait. He’d been restless and snappish. They hadn’t said much to each other.

Remus had been at the final battle, too. He’d only killed three people the papers didn’t find it interesting enough to mention. He hadn’t even meant to kill them, really. His job been to block curses and de-curse the wounded—they’d suddenly surrounded him.

He’d been given a medal for it. Order of Merlin, Second Class.

He’d sold it.

*****

The weather was cold. Rain drizzled like syrup over the streets and their occupants.

It was the wet that finally drove him inside the clinic. Remus shook the water off his jacket and glanced around the waiting room. In one corner, a witch clutched her sleeping child. The boy wore binding spells on his arm. They both looked like they’d rather be somewhere else. Remus knew how they felt.

“Excuse me,” he said, approaching the woman behind the counter.

“Yes, sir? How can I help you?”

“Um.” He paused.

“Do you have a medical emergency?”

“…No.”

She leaned forward. “Is it a personal matter, sir?”

“Ah—well. I’d like…” He breathed out, in, out. “I need some information on signing up for, ah… Wolfsbane.”

“Oh.” She straightened. “Oh, I see. Let me get you the paperwork.” She turned and rifled through a set of cabinets, finally producing a packet. “Here we are, sir.”

“Thank you. I don’t have to fill it out now, do I?”

“There’s a two-day processing wait. You’ll have to come at least three days before to file before we can authorize your dose. Say—haven’t I seen you somewhere bef—”

“Thank you,” he said. “Is there a public floo nearby?”

*****

“…scheduled for two doses once a month. By signing, the recipient agrees to adhere strictly to the—”

“Remus. What’s the point?”

He set down the pamphlet. “The point is that if I ever miss a dose, I’m committing a crime.”

“You’re not going to miss a dose. They’ve got provisions for having the potion delivered, allowing for third parties to pick it up—”

“Once I sign up, I can’t un-sign.”

“You won’t need to.”

“Harry—basically, it’s saying I can never break the contract, I can never get my potion somewhere else without the approval of a committee—what if I want to leave the country?”

“Have you ever left the country?”

“Once, during summer holiday with Sirius and your father, but—that’s not the point.”

“I understand that it may not be the most ideal situation—“

“It says they encourage werewolves to disclose their conditions. That social wizards may be sent around to make sure their work situations are—”

“There’s been a lot of prejudice against werewolves. A lot of bad feelings on both sides. They’re trying to counteract it. Anyway, who doesn’t know you’re a werewolf?”

“After the publicity, very few, I’m sure.” The news coverage was going to make finding a job very hard. He had to, though, and soon. If he couldn’t leave Grimmauld Price—well. The glimmer of hope was all that kept him going.

“Minerva wants to talk to you.”

Remus shook his head and bit his lip against saying something cruel. “Why?”

“I’m not supposed to say.” Harry grinned at him. His eyes were worried, but his smile was genuine.

“Oh?”

“I think she might have a job for you.”

His heart leapt for a moment, then settled back down. “I can’t teach again,” he said.

*****

“I’m not asking you to teach.”

“Yes,” he nodded. It hurt a little. In spite of everything, a small part of him had hoped.

Minerva set her teacup on its saucer. “Hagrid will be leaving us at the end of term. He’s accepted an offer from the Romanian Dragon Nursery. I wonder if you’d be interested in becoming our new gamekeeper?”

He blinked. “I’ve …never been a gamekeeper.”

“I think you could learn. And if it sounds like work you might enjoy… to be perfectly honest, Remus, I want as many on my staff as possible that I’m sure I can trust. Alastor is in line for Defense. Harry may join us in a few years in a coaching capacity.” She paused. “If I felt I could offer you the Defense position, I would.”

“No, I understand. Defense is one thing. A half-giant for a werewolf is another.” Some might even see it as a trade up.

She smiled ruefully. “I wish circumstances were different. Will you consider my offer? The pay isn’t all that much, but you’ll have room and board—and I believe Hagrid made quite a tidy sum breeding his creatures on the side.”

“Might be a few years before I’m up to that.”

Minerva smiled.

Everyone was smiling at him. Poor Remus. He’s had such a hard time.

He dug his nails into his palms. “I’ll need to think about it.”

*****

Barely three weeks had passed since his ‘homecoming’. If you could call Grimmauld Place a home.

“Hello, Dobby,” he called softly as he entered, stepping carefully to avoid being shouted at by Mrs. Black.

The house elf popped into view soundlessly, waved, and popped back out. He seemed cheerful enough—the house certainly looked more polished than it had in years—but Dobby’s curious response to the shrieking portraits had been to become a stealth elf.

Remus understood the reaction, but the downside was that Dobby would hardly dare a bit of conversation.

No conversation was the hardest part.

In only a few days, Severus Snape had managed to utterly spoil him.

Or maybe it was just the house full of bad memories—of betrayals, heartbreak, death. Every time he walked down the hallway, his mind dredged up memories of sneaking in with James, Sirius—Peter.

Merlin, they’d all been so stupid. And so very young.

Remus let himself into his room—a guest room, in the days when Grimmauld Place had been occupied. It was smaller than some of the others, but near the front door and one of the only ones with a decent window.

He changed into a pair of pajamas and got into bed.

His watch read four-ten in the afternoon. He watched the second-hand sweep along. It made him feel better.

Dobby appeared at the door. “Professor Lupin will be wanting to wake for dinner?” he whispered.

“No, Dobby, that’s okay. I’m just a little tired. Think I’ll sleep. Could you close the door, please?”

Dobby nodded uneasily.

“And it’s not Professor.”

*****

The thing about Grimmauld Place—the unspelled walls weren’t that thick.

“Dobby says he’s not eating.”

“He’s just been kidnapped. Then all that time with Snape. That’s a little traumatic for anyone.”

“There’s something he’s not telling us. I trust Professor Lupin as much as anybody here. I do. But it doesn’t add up.”

“What doesn’t?”

“His story. Our eyewitness accounts and his story don’t—”

“Eyewitness accounts are unreliable.”

“No one else has seen this mysterious second brewer.”

“If Remus did, there must be someone else.”

Harry’s voice cut through the debate. “What I can’t understand is that he won’t give up Snape.”

“Harry—”

“Are we back to that again?”

“Snape doesn’t do anything without a very personal reason.”

“Yeah, his reason this time was to make us look like idiots.”

“It’s more than that.”

“It is not. Look, mate,” Ron said evenly, “if I was Snape, right, and I wanted to settle up with the last living Marauder, I sure as anything wouldn’t hire a couple of thugs to take him. I’d do it myself. Not that I—I’m speaking as an example, understand. I wouldn’t do it so it’d be traceable. And I wouldn’t give him back.”

“That’s exactly what Snape wants us to think—”

“I’ll join you in a firewhiskey, Kingsley.”

“If you were rescued, would you give your rescuer up to the Aurors?” Luna asked softly. “Seems like a nasty way to repay kindness.”

“It wasn’t kindness. Snape wants us to think it was kindness.”

“Harry, mate, sit down.”

“Gringotts records have Snape making a large withdrawal from his account—”

Fifty thousand galleons, Remus thought. The ransom. Except that he’d only needed to pay fifteen.

“I know it sounds a little far-fetched, but think about it. Snape’s been to the Exchange. If he’d been watching Remus, it wouldn’t have been hard to polyjuice himself, get rid of Remus’ usual brewer—”

“Harry, sit down.”

“The first brewer works the Wolfsbane circuit only. She’ll show back up soon, or she won’t. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves and start making accusations before we can question her—”

“Or find the body.”

Kinglsey’s rumble interrupted everyone. “I don’t like Snape for it.” A pause.

Remus assumed he was sipping.

“I think Lupin doesn’t want us near Snape because Snape is still barking.”

“He seemed perfectly normal when I called him to the castle,” said Minerva. “As normal as he’s ever been. Calmer, actually.”

“Snape’s been in for questioning twice since the end of the war. Both times, he was borderline. A sickle says Severus got the idea from your chat that the war was still on. He was being given a new mission. Remus isn’t protecting a kidnapper. He’s protecting a nutter.”

Remus mulled it over. It sounded plausible; he had to give Kingsley that.

“But we still need to question Snape. He’s the only one who knows where he found Remus.”

“Agreed.”

“Good luck finding him,” Harry piped up again.

“We know where the Headmaster’s house is, don’t we? The general area, at least?”

“It moved.”

“Moved?”

“It decided to move. It’s enchanted.”

It’s more than enchanted, Remus thought.

“Enchanted to move? Why did it move?”

“I don’t know why it moved. Or why it’s unplottable. Or why the tracking owls don’t work. This is why everyone needs to be at every meeting, people; we’ve gone over this.”

“Headmistress, how did you—“

“Fawkes delivered the message.”

“Fawkes can find him, then. Let us know where—”

“He wouldn’t do more than deliver a message.”

“The phoenix—priceless, ancient, not a snitch. Who knew?”

“I’ve already sent three more letters requesting his presence. He hasn’t responded.”

Remus listened to them bicker for a few more minutes before forcing himself to go back to his room and get into bed.

*****

“More wine?”

“Please.” Remus offered his glass. A splash of red swirled in the bottom. He held it to his nose. “Good year?”

“An excellent year.”

He lifted it to his mouth. “Tastes bitter.”

“Just because it isn’t sweet doesn’t mean it’s bitter.”

“I don’t drink much wine. I always expect fruit juice when I do have it. Something cherry or raspberry.”

“More?”

“All right.” Remus watched the glass fill. His smile faded. He saw his hands—the glass—the edge of the table—“What is this?”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“Anything.”

“Anything in particular?” he pressed. The smile kept drifting back onto his face. There was something—wrong. But did it really matter?

“No. You could choose, if you like.”

“Hm. To…” He sipped while he thought. “I can’t think of a toast. I’m not much for ceremony anyway.”

“It’s for the dull.”

“I am dull,” Remus laughed.

“You’re not dull.”

“I am. I’m dull. But it’s not—necessarily a bad thing. Just a different thing. I find books exciting. Bargain shopping. I like a good midday rest when I can get it.”

“Chocolate?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. Long fingers wrapped around the stem of the wine bottle and tipped it to fill his glass again. “I love chocolate.”

“You’re not dull. Look at you. You’re beautiful.”

He grinned. “You’re a liar.”

“More wine?”

Remus tipped back his glass and offered it again. “You’re trying to get me drunk.”

“What if I am?”

“”Well,” he said, “I’d have to warn you that I burn off alcohol faster than normal people.”

“Fascinating. More wine?”

“Let me finish a glass before you offer more, all right?” He chuckled, then sipped. “Thanks for this. I didn’t want to be alone tonight. I’m alone, most nights.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“No, I don’t. I could go down and interrupt the argument.” He blinked. “There’s an argument.”

“L—Remus.” The hand left the bottle and clasped his. It was warm.

“They’re fighting about me.” Fingers threaded between his own. “I told them too much. And not enough. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want to know the answers. I didn’t care who took me—I just wanted to be saved. Safe.” He shrugged. “I’m not particularly interested in justice anymore. Do you think that makes me less a person?”

“I think it must be a gift.”

“I’m just—tired of fighting. It takes so much energy. Energy that I don’t have anymore. Not like I used to.” He shook his head. “Some days… it’s like trying to ford through quicksand. I’m stuck and sinking fast. And there’s no way out. …You have beautiful hands.”

A thumb stroked his palm. “Remus. Do you want to go upstairs…?”

He looked up at his companion.

A dazzling, white smile flashed. “I could make it the way you always dreamed it.” His companion lifted Remus’ hand and pressed full, soft lips against his wrist. “I’d make it perfect.”

“Severus.” Remus jerked his hand away. “You’re wearing the wrong face.”

*****

He woke up.

From deep within the house, he could hear the members of the Order hollering at each other.

He stared at the ceiling.

His packed bag stood silently. He could go whenever he liked. Nothing held him here. Nothing he couldn’t slip around, anyhow.

*****

He started the next morning.

“I noticed you’ve a hiring sign out front…”

The shopkeeper looked at his clothes first. “Well, we are—” Then the man saw his face.

Remus tried not to duck his head.

“I’m sorry. I was looking for someone a bit….”

“Younger?” Remus supplied. It was easier than hearing that they didn’t want to hire the scarred werewolf.

“Ah, well—you’re welcome to fill out an application, but…”

“That’s all right. Thank you,” Remus said, and left.

******

“Do you have any experience?”

“…No. But I’m a fast learner. I really am a …dedicated…” He watched the witch fold his application and place it in her desk drawer.

“We currently don’t have any openings.”

*****

“References—Harry Potter?” The wizard threw the parchment back at him. “Get outta here.”

*****

“Why are you looking for a job in the first place?” Harry asked. His eyes kept darting to the clock on the wall. “Aren’t you going to take the job at Hogwarts?”

“It’s all right, Harry, if you have somewhere else to be.” Remus tried not to sound like he wanted Harry gone.

“Where are you applying, exactly?”

“I don’t know. Shops in the area.” Outside the area. Within apparating distance. Within long-distance floo.

“If you need some pocket money, I can give you some. Or leave a list with Dobby. He’ll pick up whatever you need.”

Remus shook his head and picked at his dinner. “It’s not about money.” It was about money. “I need to do more than sit in this house.” He needed to get out of the house permanently. Pocket money—for the love of Merlin. “I’d like to feel useful.”

“You need to recover.”

“I’m recovered.”

“You don’t eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“What, did Snape have better food?”

Remus put down his fork. “No.” Well, yes, but—“Harry, what’s between you two is between you two. Don’t put me in the middle of it.”

“That’s why he did this. To get back at me. Us,” Harry grudgingly amended.

His brow furrowed. “Has he even contacted you lately?”

“He doesn’t need to. He’s Snape. You should eat.”

“You don’t have to treat me like a child, Harry.”

“Then don’t act like one. Let us protect you. Let us help you. We’re your friends. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to us.”

Remus rubbed his eyes.

“Tonks came by earlier.”

He put his head in his hands.

“What? What’s wrong with Tonks?”

“Nothing.”

Harry sawed his meat in half. “Then why don’t you date her?”

“I don’t know. Lots of reasons.”

“The fact that you’re gay?”

He didn’t know immediately how to respond. Years ago, he would’ve utterly denied it. Hard enough to be a werewolf. Today, he still wanted to deny it. Or qualify it, at least. All right, he was gay, but only in the way that he thought about men when he had a wank. He wasn’t a snappy dresser, he didn’t like dance clubs, and he’d never had an eye for decorating.

“We’ve been turning up a lot of things over the course of the investigation. …You should tell her,” Harry said. “Of course, it isn’t like you told any of us, so…”

“It’s not something I like to broadcast.”

“Or even mention.”

“No.”

“Did my Dad know?”

“No.” A blush rose, unbidden, on his cheeks.

“Sirius?”

“If he did, he never said. Which makes me think he didn’t.” He cleared his throat. “They must be digging pretty deeply into my past if they figured that out. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”

“No stone unturned,” he muttered, then fixed his eyes on Remus. “…Is there anything else you want to tell us? Anything else you may have been—keeping back?”

He wiped his lips with his napkin. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?’ Harry met his gaze without a twitch.

“Yes.” He swallowed.

*****

“…Snivellus,” he whispered.

Sirius peered over his shoulder. “Yeah. What a disgusting little freak. We ought to give him a bath in the lake. Wash some of that grease out of his hair.”

Remus stared.

Severus’ eyes cut to the right.

Everyone else was talking or bent over their cauldrons. No one noticed the way the Slytherin’s lips were a deeper pink than usual, the light sheen of perspiration at his temples, or the scent.

He shifted on his chair and discreetly nudged his textbook into his lap.

Severus Snape. Snivellus. Smelled quite strongly of his own come—and someone else’s, as well.

Ugly, greasy, hook-nosed Snape—who wasn’t really that ugly or greasy, if you looked at him the right way. If you smelled him. He had a good smell.

He had a good smell, he was smart, and he…

Remus swallowed.

If Severus did… that…. he must like boys, too.

*****

The bell tinkled above the shop door. It startled him a bit.

Remus made a show of circling the display cases, noting the array of secondhand jewelry. Finally, he made his move. He flagged over the shopkeeper.

“How much would this be worth?” He held out his arm and raised his sleeve.

The old man whistled low. “That’s a little rich for my blood, squire. Try a jeweler.”

Remus put the watch a little further forward on his wrist. “Say this was purchased new… how much would you expect to pay for it?”

“Dunno… best guess…” The shopkeeper told him.

His mouth dropped open. He recovered ungracefully. “Um. Really? Thank you.” One of the cases caught his eye. “Could I ask… that bracelet, there. It’s copper?”

“Think it’s just tin with a little paint.”

He looked at it for a long moment. “…How much?”

*****

A tiny jeweler with a moustache bought the watch for a little under half the retail price. It was more than Remus expected. If he were a jeweler, he wouldn’t believe it hadn’t been stolen.

He stopped back by the first shop briefly, then hurried back to the house and shut himself in his room.

It took him two hours with his wand, but when it came out, the bracelet was excellent. It wasn’t so heavy as the watch, though, and Remus missed the hypnotic sweep of the second hand over the face of the dial. However light, the smooth, copper circle was utterly reassuring in its glorious fakeness.

He put the clinic paperwork in the fire and watched until it burned through.

*****

“How are you, Remus?”

There wasn’t a soft bed in Grimmauld Place. Maybe Sirius’ had been soft once, but now Harry slept there. Remus wasn’t about to be so ungrateful as to complain about the accommodations, so he put up with tossing and turning, and dreaming of strange hands pawing a body he couldn’t control.

His nights were interrupted. His days were fatigued.

The worst part? Knowing he deserved it.

“Fine.” He couldn’t sleep.

“…You should owl Minerva.”

Remus nodded and tried to keep smiling.

Harry looked less like his father every day. Perhaps that was because James never had the chance to become old. Harry already had the beginnings of lines around his eyes, and had presence without making an effort. They said he was as powerful as Dumbledore.

They said Snape was, too. Funny, how neither of them seemed to smile very much.

Then again, neither did Remus, and he wasn’t powerful at all.

*****

Remus watched the clock. If he begged off early, he could still make the Exchange on time. It would be tricky. Tonks was over.

Again.

Harry was also there, though, which made the whole business of tactful deflection easier.

“Salad?” she offered, threatening to upend the bowl onto the table.

“No, thank you. I’m all right,” he said.

She offered some to Harry, who accepted, and received a generous helping of it in his lap. A flurry of apologies followed. Cheeks blushed. A clumsy joke was made.

Remus chewed at a small piece of steak. It would not be tactful to blurt, ‘Why not Harry? He’s more your age, more attractive, well-off, in good health, and adores you. Why not Harry?’

Eventually, things settled down a bit. The usual conversation faire was presented. Weather. Current events. Current Weasley-related events (they deserved their own category). Work. The Ministry. Criminals. Dark Wizards.

“Bloody Snape.”

Remus didn’t comment.

“I hate to say it, Remus, but if we don’t find him soon…” Harry swallowed his mouthful. “I don’t blame you for not being able to tell us more. Your job was to survive. But Snape? He’s got some explaining to do, and the longer he waits to do it, the more it makes me think he was behind the whole thing.”

He sawed at his meat carefully.

“It’s been weeks, now. Almost two months since you went missing, almost a month since Snape gave you back.” Harry shook his head. “The trail is so cold.”

“S’all right,” he murmured.

Tonks beamed at him for no apparent reason.

Remus resisted the impulse to sigh.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him,” Tonks assured them both. Then she steered the conversation back to calmer waters.

Remus poked at the rest of his dinner. The dining room at Grimmauld Place was as far short of dazzling as a room could be. It was dark, oppressive, and reeked of decay. “…What? Sorry, what was that?”

Tonks beamed. “I was just asking how it went today. Getting your dose of Wolfsbane?”

Remus paused. “Fine. It went fine. No problems.”

“It’s really a brave thing, signing up. Now you’re out in the open. You’re official.”

Remus managed a laugh. “I was official, I think, when the Prophet ran the stories.”

“We had to do it,” Harry put in.

“I know.”

“You ought to think about writing a book,” Tonks said, nodding. “It would be great. I’d read it, anyway.” Her blue, bobbed hair framed her face. “You could talk to those blokes who’re always after Harry to write one.”

“Last thing I need is to be more famous,” Harry mumbled.

Tonks beamed at Remus expectantly.

“It’s a thought,” he said.

Merlin, a book about the kidnapping? He liked reading and writing, but how would a book about it all go? ‘My name is Remus Lupin. I don’t remember most of how this story happened, and they never caught the poachers who did it, but do continue on if you’d like to read about the life of the most boring werewolf on the planet.’

“Or you could do the one about the war, since Harry’s never going to write his.”

Harry stilled.

Remus cleared his throat. “That’s not really my story to tell. I doubt I’d be much of a writer anyhow. Could probably turn out a decent pulp romance, if I studied up.”

“What about a textbook on Defense Against the Dark Arts?” she pressed.

He meant to laugh. He really did. He tried.

“Tonks, I know you’re trying to be encouraging, but at a certain point it becomes both absurd and embarrassing. Will you please, please stop?” he snapped, and rose from the table.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Harry said. “Remus. Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer, and he didn’t allow them time to catch up, either. He made straight for the front door.

The moment he was out of the boundary, he apparated with a crack.

*****

He kept his head down. “Wolfsbane.”

The witch appraised him from behind the booth’s counter. “John. You didn’t come, last month. I heard you’d taken the bracelet.”

“You heard wrong.” Remus shoved the wrist bearing the fake bracelet further into his pocket.

She nodded. “You’re lucky I stayed late.” She measured the potion out into a flask and stoppered it. “Had a feeling you might be back.”

Torches began to flare around the Exchange. At night, the place abandoned all pretext of being an honorable establishment.

She held the potion back for a moment. “You’re also lucky I’m serving you at all, after the fuss you made two months ago.”

His smile was very faint. “I was having a rough day.”

“My brewing costs go up, the cost of the potion goes up. You can always get it free from the Ministry,” she added.

He frowned. She still hadn’t passed him the potion. “I know.”

“Hm.” She nodded. “There’s something I’d very much like to know.”

“What’s that?” He put his coins on the counter.

“If what I’ve read in the papers is true, someone else here sold you your second dose. I want to know who.”

He wouldn’t make a scene. “I don’t know. Just like I told the Aurors, I’d never seen him before.”

“You sure?” She rolled the bottle between her fingers. “I make the Wolfsbane, here. It’s a niche, you understand, but it’s my niche.” She paused. “If you see your mysterious brewer again, you’ll let me know. Won’t you, Remus?” She lingered on his name.

He nodded.

“By the way, if a pack of Aurors ever show up here to question me again, you won’t need to worry about where you’ll be getting your potion. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Remus nodded. “Sorry.”

She set his dose down and swept away the coins.

He pounced on the flask.

“I don’t get a thank you?”

He flinched. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she purred.

*****

On to Chapter Seven.

Sat, 19 Nov 2005 10:21:47 GMT

I went to the theatre to see Goblet of Fire. I stood in line. I looked at my watch. I looked at the crowds. Eight teeny-boppers (I'm not that old, but there's an adult/teenybopper line, and I have definitely crossed it) in front of me all shrieked out about 'Harry Potter!' Five of them had cell phones in use. They got their tickets, stampeded off, I got to the window and said,--

"Walk the Line, please?"

IT WAS FUCKING BRILLIANT.

I shot a man in Reno, yo. Just to watch him die.

Yeah, I'm going to see GOF this weekend sometime, but I'll probably wait for a way-late show. Hopefully the thirteen-year-olds will be in bed by then.

I'm a failure as a fan. *Hums 'Ring of Fire'*

House is a total bottom.

Wed, 09 Nov 2005 21:04:24 GMT

I didn't want to be the only one who didn't post about how much money I'd pay to see House and Wilson make out.

Because I would. Like, everything in my wallet.

Do the ratings have to dip harshly before we get the maybe-that's-why-my-relationships-with-women-don't-work-hmm-perhaps-I-have-unresolved-feelings-for-a-close-personal-friend-like-oh-I-don't-know-House plot? Come on, studio! You know what? I won't even demand that you make them gay, just, you know, confused enough to get drunk and make out. Look, studio, don't give me that. We all know that's happened to you before. Todd, in college? You were taking turns playing Doom together, doing shots and drinking cheap beer, suddenly his hand covered yours on the mouse--

Don't lie to me, studio. I have pictures. I want emotionally vulnerable doctors kissing. Possibly a nipple in there, somewhere. I want are-you-tired-let-me-give-you-a-shoulder-rub-why-am-I-leaning-down-oh-we're-kissing. I want can-I-sleep-on-your-couch-oh-your-bed-will-fit-both-of-us-oops-how-did-I-get-so-warm-and-naked-and-on-top-of-you. I want lab coat ripping!

Anything involving the motorcycle would be good, too. You know Wilson won't be able to resist the lure of a ride forever.

Dies

Fri, 28 Oct 2005 17:04:33 GMT

Someone in the fic I'm reading is 'drowning in a minefield of pleasure.'

EDIT: Thought I'd update with another favorite fic line that I've never shared: "He pressed his lips against (censored)'s, cleverly opening the clamshell mouth and slipping his tongue inside like an echinoderm's everted cardiac stomach."