Aftermaths, Part 82
by Geri ([email protected])
Rating: Mostly PG-13, but NC-17 for overall story
Pairing: Snape/Lupin, Theodore/Blaise
Warning: AU; events that occurred at the end of Order of the Phoenix were
significantly altered from the book.
Sequel to: Always, Summer Vacation, For Old Time's Sake, Three's a Crowd, Return
of the Raven, Phoenix Reborn, and Phoenix Rising.
Summary: The various characters deal with the aftermath of the war, and Snape
and Lupin try to build a family together with Theodore and Dylan. However, some
people are unable to let go of the past...
Author's note: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except Hob, who belongs to
William Mayne; no money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish
fulfillment on my part.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Selima gazed out of one of the upstairs windows, unnoticed by her son and his
companions as she watched them play in the snow together. It was an extremely
odd sight, to see her dour and sullen son laughing and throwing snowballs at the
werewolf as if he were no older than Dylan and Theodore. She could not recall
ever seeing him do such a thing as a child, but then, he'd had no siblings and
few playmates as a young boy, and besides, Severin had not approved of children
shouting and running wild around the estate. He had always found the Rosiers'
visits to the estate annoying, mostly due to Evan, who had been nowhere near as
quiet and obedient as Severus. And then Selima suddenly remembered how magical
and exotic snow had seemed to a young girl who had lived mainly in a desert
country before moving to England. Her parents, like Severin, had not approved of
such nonsense as snowball fights, but she'd had the opportunity to play in the
snow once she started going to Hogwarts...
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
She was walking across the courtyard one morning in December during her first
year. Cynric Diggory, then a mischievous second-year boy, was hiding behind a
pillar with a stack of snowballs, waiting for unsuspecting victims to stroll by.
Before she knew what had happened, Selima was struck in the back of the head
with a snowball, and she stumbled and fell forward in the snow. Cynric burst out
laughing, and Anya Gravenor, Selima's yearmate, hurried forward to help her up
and brush the snow from her robes. "That was mean, Cynric Diggory!" Anya
shouted.
Cynric, who had not yet discovered the charms of women, just laughed at his
future wife. "And what're you going to do about it, little girl?" he asked, but
there was no real malice in his grin.
Selima drew herself up, straightening her spine and attempting to project an air
of dignity. "Nothing right now," she replied coolly before Anya could answer.
"But I will remember this incident."
A tall, black-haired boy, a handsome third-year Slytherin named Prospero,
approached the trio of younger students and gave Selima a smile that held both
amusement and respect. "You should apologize, Cynric," he said. "I sense that
this young lady would make a dangerous enemy. Besides, a gentleman should never
be so rude to a lady."
Anya sniffed disdainfully. "And is he a gentleman?"
"Of course!" Cynric said indignantly. "I am the heir to one of the wealthiest
and most respected pureblood families in the wizarding world!"
"Then act like it," Prospero said sternly, and placed his hand on top of the
younger boy's head and pushed down.
Cynric did not fight him, but allowed Prospero to propel him forward into a bow,
and even added a little courtly flourish by placing one hand over his heart. "I
apologize most deeply for my rude behavior, ladies. Can you find it in your
hearts to forgive me?"
Anya giggled, and Selima replied lightly, "This once I shall forgive you, sir."
It would not do to make an enemy of a member of such a prominent family, after
all.
The boys laughed good-naturedly. "Perhaps we should allow the ladies a chance at
revenge?" Prospero suggested. "A snowball fight, girls versus boys."
"No fair!" Anya objected. "The two of you are bigger and stronger than us!"
Cynric looked pleased and flattered by that statement, and seemed to stand a
little taller; Prospero looked amused by his reaction. "You are correct, Lady
Anya," he said keeping up his courtly demeanor. "So why don't you partner with
Cynric, and I shall partner with Lady Selima, and help her take her revenge on
this rogue!"
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
And that was how she had met her three closest friends at Hogwarts. Prospero had
been a bit of a clown, and rarely took things seriously, but even so, Selima had
still been flattered that the older boy had not only defended her, but had known
her name when she was, after all, merely a first-year from a family of no
importance--at least, not by the standards of the snobbish Slytherin elite. She
remembered how cold and crisp the air had been that day, remembered the
exhilaration she had felt (enhanced slightly by the thrill of indulging in a
game forbidden at home) as she flung snowballs at her companions, not minding at
all the cold wetness of the snow, not even when it trickled down her neck or
seeped through her wool robes as it melted. Her parents would not have approved,
but they had not been there to forbid it, and she had rationalized that she was
forming alliances with children from three old pureblood families.
She felt tears sting her eyes, and she closed them until the sensation died
away, telling herself that it was foolish to go maudlin over a simple childhood
memory. When she opened her eyes and looked out the window again, Severus and
the others had abandoned their snowball fight, and were building a snowman on
the lawn. She watched the four of them laugh together, watched Lupin
affectionately brush some snow off Dylan's hair, watched Severus pat Theodore on
the shoulder when the snowman was completed, and suddenly she recalled what
Lupin had told her on the day of the funeral: "It's too late to forge the kind
of close relationship the Weasleys have with their children; that needs to be
built up over a lifetime." She had never before desired that kind of close
relationship with her son, but as she stared through the window, watching
Severus interact with his own son and foster son, she felt a sudden pang of
regret for lost opportunities, for what-might-have-been. What would her life be
like if she had married Prospero? Perhaps then she would not have closed off her
heart, and Severus would have had a loving mother and father...except that
Severus would not be Severus if she had married Prospero. She told herself that
it was Prospero's fault that she had not been able to love Severus as a mother
should, but a niggling little voice in her head told her that she was not being
completely honest. There had been one moment in her marriage when she had felt
something akin to passion, something that was almost affection, the night that
she and Severin had been elated over his promotion, the night that they had
conceived Severus. She realized now that if she and Severin had tried, they
might have been able to build a real marriage together, but they had let the
moment pass, and returned to their comfortable, impersonal routine, their lives
running on a parallel course--living alongside each other, yet always apart. She
had told herself that there was nothing left for her but duty after she and
Prospero parted, but that was not entirely true--there had still been room in
her heart for Anya, her childhood friend. Perhaps if she had tried harder, she
could have loved Severus, too. And even if she was incapable of love, she could
have protected him better. For the first time, she truly felt remorse for not
protecting Severus from his father's punishments, for doing nothing when he had
been accused of being a Death Eater. She had told herself that it was her duty
to obey her husband, but it was also a mother's duty to protect her child. She
had made the choice to follow the path of duty and marry Severin, after all--as
bitter as that choice was, and as limited as her options were, it had still been
her own choice--while Severus had never chosen to be born into a pureblood
family, to parents who were bound to each other by duty and politics, not love.
No more than Selima had chosen to be born into a family that saw her as nothing
more than a pawn to be bartered off to gain an advantageous marriage alliance.
She suddenly felt very weary, and leaned against the window for support, the
glass cold beneath her cheek and hands. She gazed down at her son and whispered,
"I'm sorry," although she knew that he could not hear her. She wasn't sure if
she would ever have the courage to say it to his face.
She just stood there, leaning against the glass for--she did not know how long;
most likely several minutes, although it felt like hours--until an anxious voice
said, "M-Mistress?" Startled, Selima turned around to see a worried-looking
Vorcher standing in the doorway. "Is the Mistress ill?" the house-elf asked.
"No, I am fine," Selima said briskly. "I am--a little tired, that is all."
"Shall Vorcher prepare some tea for the Mistress?"
"Yes, thank you," Selima replied distractedly, not noticing that she had thanked
a servant who wasn't supposed to warrant thanks. Nor did she notice that Vorcher
looked even more worried by her response, because she was looking out the window
again; Lupin seemed to be indicating to the others that they should head back to
the house. "And prepare some hot cider as well," Selima added, turning back
towards the house-elf. "Likely Severus, Professor Lupin, and the boys will be
chilled after spending so much time in the snow all morning."
"Yes, Mistress," Vorcher said, bowing. "Vorcher will see to it at once. And
lunch will be ready in five minutes, Mistress."
"Good," Selima said. "You may bring the tea and cider, along with lunch, to the
dining room as scheduled."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
Lupin, Snape, and the boys ran up to their rooms and stripped off wet outer
robes, cloaks, gloves, and scarves; cast a few quick drying spells; then hurried
downstairs to the dining room just as the clock struck noon. They were
pleasantly surprised to find Vorcher not only serving lunch, but setting out
mugs of hot, steaming cider.
Lupin cradled a mug in his hands, taking a moment simply to appreciate the heat
seeping into his still-cold hands. Then he took a sip of the cider and sighed
with satisfaction as the warmth spread through the rest of his body. "Ah,
Vorcher, this really hits the spot!" he said gratefully. "Thank you very much."
Vorcher smiled, looking pleased. "You're welcome, Master Lupin. It was the
Mistress's idea."
Lupin smiled at Selima. "Then, I must thank you also, Lady Selima. It was a kind
thought."
Selima looked embarrassed, and Snape quipped, "There's no need to be so
offensive, Lupin. Most Slytherins consider 'kind' an insult rather than a
compliment."
Lupin laughed. "I assure you, Lady Selima, no offense was intended!"
"Then I shall take none, Professor," Selima said, graciously inclining her head.
"Although I would consider it more practicality than kindness--I would not wish
the Lord or his heir to catch a cold, after all."
"Of course not," Lupin said gravely, although his eyes were still sparkling with
laughter. "But you need not have worried, since I suffered the brunt of the
attack in our snowball fight. I'm afraid that one Gryffindor werewolf is no
match for three wily Slytherins." The three Slytherins exchanged wicked grins.
"That goes without saying," Selima replied, and everyone laughed, including
Lupin. "Well, go ahead and eat," Selima added, "before the food gets cold."
Lunch was surprisingly simple fare (at least by Snape Manor standards), and was
perfect after a morning spent playing in the snow: hot soup and fresh bread,
still warm from the oven. There was sweet, creamy butter to go with the bread,
and also platters of sliced cheese and fruit on the side. Snape, Lupin,
Theodore, and Dylan all ate heartily, having worked up an appetite from their
snowball fight and snowman-building, and did not notice at first that Lady
Selima seemed oddly subdued.
It was Lupin, of course, who finally did notice that while the rest of them were
almost finished eating, Selima's bowl of soup was still more than half-full, and
that she was absent-mindedly shredding a slice of bread into crumbs without
eating any of it.
"Lady Selima?" he asked in a concerned voice. "Are you all right?"
She looked up, startled, and dropped the remainder of the bread onto her plate.
"Of course, Professor," she replied. "Why do you ask?"
"It's just that you've barely touched your food," Lupin said. "I was wondering
if you might be feeling ill."
By now, Snape, Theodore, and Dylan were staring at Selima as well, and she
looked a little flustered, then gained control of herself again. "Of course
not," Selima replied in her usual cool voice. "I'm just not very hungry at the
moment. After all, I didn't spend all morning running around in the snow like
the rest of you."
Snape, who had begun to look worried, relaxed and said, "Mother has better sense
than you, Lupin."
"You were running around in the snow, too, Severus," Lupin pointed out with a
smile.
"Only to protect the boys from you," Snape retorted.
"They were the ones ganging up on me!" Lupin protested as Theodore and Dylan
laughed.
"You know, Severus," Selima said, changing the subject, "now that Theodore is
your heir, we should consider introducing him into society."
"Not more dinner parties!" Snape groaned.
"He needs to begin building alliances and forming connections," Selima said
firmly.
"He's already doing that at school," Snape argued desperately, "by socializing
with his classmates."
"All well and good, Severus, but we should also be making allies of their
parents. And there are other pureblood families whose children do not attend
Hogwarts--"
"It's his final year at Hogwarts!" Snape insisted. "He needs to concentrate on
his N.E.W.T.s!"
Theodore glanced nervously back and forth from his father to his grandmother,
who both looked equally stubborn and determined. "Um...perhaps we could keep the
socializing minimal until I graduate?" he suggested diffidently. "Then maybe
later, in the summer..."
"Well, perhaps you're right," Selima conceded. "Your N.E.W.T.s are important,
but you will also find that well-placed connections can be more valuable than
good grades."
"Yes, Grandmother," Theodore said meekly. "But the Snape family does already
have some valuable allies: Harry Potter, the Weasleys, the Donners, and
Professor Blackmore and her husband." If he felt any distaste about claiming
certain Gryffindors as allies, he kept it well hidden.
"True," Selima agreed, looking much calmer. "I suppose we can keep the
socializing minimal for now." She turned to her son and added sternly, "But not
cut it off entirely. You cannot afford to be a recluse the way your father was
if you want your son to hold a proper position in society."
"Yes, Mother," Snape growled reluctantly.
"And after Theodore finishes school," Selima added happily, "we can hold a
graduation party for him!"
Lupin smiled, looking amused, and Snape repressed a groan. They had won a
temporary reprieve, but had only delayed the inevitable. Theodore did not look
entirely happy about the prospect of parties and socializing, but he seemed
resigned to it, and not nearly as dismayed as Snape was. But then, as a Nott, he
had taken part in such socializing and political maneuvering for all of his
young life, doing his duty as a pureblood heir even if he did not particularly
enjoy it. He took it for granted, the way most of his peers did, and was really
much better suited to being the Snape heir than Snape himself had been.
"I would be honored, Grandmother," Theodore said politely, and Selima gave him
an approving smile. And in the end, Selima agreed to hold no parties during the
holidays, although she intended to invite some of her acquaintances over for
tea. It was agreed that if Snape would greet her guests politely as the Lord of
the Manor should, he would be allowed to excuse himself from the actual tea,
pleading a heavy workload of preparing lesson plans and tending to the affairs
of the estate. A private feast for the family only would be held on Christmas
Eve, since Snape, Lupin, and the boys would be attending the Yule Ball on
Christmas night. Snape and his mother relaxed and finished their meals, having
achieved a bargain that was satisfactory to both sides. Snape mused to himself
that perhaps he did inherit some of his mother's merchant instincts, after all.
The rest of the day passed by peacefully: Selima went out to do some shopping;
Dylan and Theodore went to the library to read more of the old Snape histories,
and later played some chess; and while Lady Snape was gone and the boys were
preoccupied, Snape and Lupin locked themselves in their room and made love. By
the time Selima returned home, Snape and Lupin were dressed and decorously
sipping tea in the drawing room with the boys, the very picture of
respectability. Dressed in the expensive dark blue robe Snape had given him one
Christmas, with his gold-and-silver hair pulled back into a neat tail, Lupin
could have passed for a pureblood Lord himself, if one had not known his true
identity. Perhaps they looked a little too respectable, because Selima gave them
a suspicious look, but she joined them for tea without comment.
Later that night after dinner, they went to the drawing room, and as promised,
Selima lit the Christmas tree candles with a sweeping wave of her wand. Each
facet of the crystal star at the top of the tree reflected and magnified the dim
flames of the candles, sending a blaze of light through the darkened room.
Lupin, Theodore, and Dylan gasped in awe. "It's so beautiful!" Lupin exclaimed.
This sight was familiar to Snape, of course, but he had never really appreciated
it until now. Christmases at Snape Manor had not been particularly happy
occasions for him as a child; they had merely been another excuse for his mother
to throw one of her parties and do more political maneuvering. But seeing the
awe and delight on the faces of his lover and sons made Snape regard the tree in
a new light. Even Lady Selima was smiling slightly, looking almost mellow--a
dramatic change from her normal stiff, dignified manner, although a stranger
probably would not have noticed the difference. He wondered if it could be
possible that even Selima was not immune to being infected by the werewolf's
Gryffindor sentimentality.
"Yes, Lupin," Snape said softly. "It is beautiful."
Selima lit a fire in the fireplace, and they sat in the drawing room together,
admiring the tree. Vorcher served them mulled wine and squares of freshly-baked
gingerbread cake topped with dollops of whipped cream. He then quietly retreated
to the far corner of the room, waiting unobtrusively to clear away the dishes
when they were done, or to obey any other instructions the Master or Mistress
might give. Even the house-elf looked blissfully content as he gazed not just at
the tree, but at the five humans in the room. They said little as they sipped
their wine and ate their gingerbread, but the silence seemed comfortable rather
than awkward.
After everyone said goodnight, and Snape was alone with Lupin in their room, he
said what he had been unable to say earlier in front of the others. "The tree is
beautiful, Remus--and so are you."
Lupin smiled at him tenderly. "You're such a sweet-talker, Severus Snape."
"It's true," Snape said, reaching up to loosen the ribbon holding Lupin's hair
back. The werewolf didn't often wear his hair in a ponytail, and Snape much
preferred it loose, but there was a certain pleasure in watching Lupin's
golden-brown hair suddenly spill across his shoulders. He couldn't resist
running his hands through Lupin's hair, reveling in the sensation of silk
sliding through his fingers. Lupin sighed, his eyes closing with pleasure, and
he tilted his head back slightly to encourage the motion.
"The tree looked beautiful to me," Snape continued, still stroking Lupin's hair,
"because I could see it through your eyes. I always hated coming home to Snape
Manor, but now I find that I'm happy to be here, because you and Theodore and
Dylan are with me."
Lupin opened his eyes. "I'm glad, Severus," he said softly.
Snape let his hands drop to Lupin's shoulders, and gently pulled Lupin towards
him; the werewolf leaned willingly into his embrace. He pressed his mouth
against Lupin's, and slid his tongue between Lupin's parted lips; Lupin's mouth
tasted of cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg--the spices in the mulled wine they had
been drinking earlier. They stayed like that for a long time, lips pressed
together, tongues entwined, until they finally had to come up for air, gasping
for breath.
Snape began to undress his lover at a much less hurried pace than he usually
did, pausing to kiss every inch of exposed skin as he slowly peeled back Lupin's
robe and shirt. As always, he paid special attention to Lupin's throat as the
werewolf tilted his head back again, lightly kissing the hollow of Lupin's
throat before catching the skin there between his teeth, gently nipping and
sucking; Lupin moaned. Snape remembered to stop and cast a silence spell on the
room before they proceeded any further, although at the moment, he didn't really
care that his mother was upstairs or that the boys were just a few rooms down
the hall.
By the time Lupin's robe and shirt lay discarded on the floor, and Snape was
kneeling before him unfastening his trousers, Lupin could no longer stand that
excruciatingly slow pace and growled impatiently. He pushed Snape's hands away,
and quickly divested himself of the rest of his clothing, then set to work on
divesting Snape of his, growling as he fumbled with fastenings and buttons, his
fingers made clumsy with eagerness and lust.
"Down, boy," Snape said with a smile, and Lupin snarled at him playfully. That
snarl and the sight of Lupin's canine teeth, sharp and pointed, almost but not
quite fangs, excited him further. He kissed Lupin again, running his tongue
across those teeth, and Lupin let out a muffled whine. Snape struggled out of
his clothes with Lupin's help as they stumbled towards the bed, their kisses and
caresses growing more urgent. Moving backwards blindly with Lupin in his arms,
Snape felt the backs of his knees strike the bed, and he allowed himself to fall
back in a sitting position, and pulled Lupin down onto his lap.
Lupin growled, his voice low and soft, his breath tickling Snape's ear and
sending a shiver down his spine. Then he felt Lupin's sharp teeth pressing into
the skin of his neck, and desire pulsed through his body, as his blood pulsed
through the vein that rested just beneath Lupin's mouth. He sighed, wrapping one
arm around Lupin's waist, holding him close, and reaching up with his free hand
to firmly entwine his fingers in Lupin's long hair, filled with complete love
and trust; he wondered now how he could ever have feared Lupin, werewolf or not.
Then the pressure of Lupin's teeth eased, leaving a bruise but not puncturing
the skin, and Lupin lifted his face so that their lips met again.
They continued to kiss and caress, hands and mouths roaming freely over each
other's bodies until they were both dizzy with desire and need. "Now, Severus,
please," Lupin groaned. Snape reached over to the nightstand drawer, still
keeping one arm wrapped around Lupin, and pulled out a familiar-looking jar of
lavender oil; Lupin grinned. "My, how foresightful of you, Severus, to have that
so handy, considering that we just unpacked and moved in this morning."
"One of us needs to be practical, my love," Snape purred, a wicked grin
spreading across his face. "And since you're a Gryffindor--" His voice managed
to turn the word into a loving insult. "--that leaves only me."
"How fortunate that you're a Slytherin, then," Lupin laughed, then gasped as the
scent of lavender filled the air and he felt Snape's fingers, cool and slippery
with the oil, sliding inside him. Snape kept his eyes fixed on Lupin's face,
drinking in the sight of his lover moaning with pleasure and abandon, face
flushed and eyes squeezed shut with ecstasy--it was far more intoxicating than
the wine they had been drinking earlier. He wanted to throw the werewolf down on
the bed and take him right then and there, but all the years he had spent as a
pureblood heir and a Death Eater had taught him a few useful things--patience
and discipline among them. And besides, the anticipation would only make
fulfillment sweeter when it finally came. So he kept a rein on his own desire
while he pleasured his lover, the werewolf rocking back and forth on his lap,
until low, drawn-out moans gave way to quick pants, and Lupin gasped, breathless
with desire, "No more, Severus! I need you now, please!"
Snape grinned, withdrew his fingers, and reached for the jar again. He slicked
the oil over himself slowly, enjoying the sensation, although it would be much
more pleasurable to feel himself buried deep in Lupin's body. Still, he took his
time about it, because he was enjoying the way that Lupin was staring at him
with hungry, dilated eyes, whimpering and licking his lips impatiently.
Apparently he was taking too long, because the werewolf suddenly growled and
pounced on him, and before Snape knew what had happened, he found himself flat
on his back with Lupin straddling him.
Hmm; he would have to remember that a werewolf could only be pushed so far--not
that he minded the position he found himself in. "It's not the full moon yet,
Lupin," Snape laughed. The werewolf's only response was another growl, and then
he kissed Snape hard, sealing their mouths together, driving his tongue between
Snape's lips. Snape arched up off the bed, raising his hips while Lupin lowered
himself down, and Snape found himself sliding into his lover's warm and willing
flesh, and both of them broke off the kiss to groan. Lupin placed his hands on
Snape's chest, bracing himself as he slowly lifted himself up, and then lowered
himself back down again. Snape lightly raked his nails down Lupin's back, and
the werewolf whined and increased the pace slightly. Encouraged, Snape thrust up
into Lupin with a quick, sudden snap of his hips, and Lupin cried out wildly,
his blue eyes flying wide open with shock and pleasure, but they were glazed and
unseeing. And then those eyes did look down and focus on Snape, but there was
little human awareness behind them, only the animal instinct of the wolf. Lupin
snarled, baring his teeth, and they both lost control, Snape thrusting up as
hard and fast as he could, and Lupin slamming his body downwards to meet those
thrusts with just as much urgency. Fighting the urge to close his eyes and let
the pleasure simply wash over him, Snape forced himself to keep them open so
that he could watch Lupin and see the love and need and sheer lust in those pale
blue eyes. The werewolf was growling incoherently, and Snape could hear himself
calling out Remus's name over and over again as he reached up and began stroking
Lupin's erection, trying to match the rhythm of his thrusts, but his brain was
fogged with lust and it took too much effort. So he simply lay back and let
Lupin ride him, focusing his energy on stroking Lupin and bringing him to
climax, which happened quickly enough. Lupin slammed his hips down one last
time, then threw back his head and howled as he came, and Snape found himself
coming too, as the howl of the wolf still echoed in his ears.
A few minutes later, they lay wrapped in each other's arms, sticky and sweaty,
but extremely happy and sated. Lupin nuzzled Snape contentedly and whispered,
"It's sort of naughty when you think about it, isn't it? Making love in your
childhood bedroom, I mean."
Snape chuckled. "If I had known you would find it so stimulating, Lupin, I would
have brought you to Snape Manor sooner."
"Still," Lupin said, "Lady Selima has been remarkably tolerant of us lately."
"Please, Lupin," Snape said with a pained look. "I would rather not discuss my
mother in bed, if it's all the same to you."
Now it was Lupin's turn to chuckle. "Sorry, Sev," he said, giving Snape a quick
kiss.
"I forgive you," Snape said magnanimously; he felt too lazy and content to
bother with scolding the werewolf, anyway. Lupin chuckled again and snuggled a
little closer. It suddenly occurred to Snape that he finally had everything he
had ever wanted, everything that had made him so jealous of Potter and Black: he
had a family that loved him--a very odd family, one of choice rather than blood,
but a family nonetheless; he had friends--Lupin, Branwen, Dumbledore, and
Kamiyama--and maybe even Bleddri and Black could be included on that list; and
most of all, he had Lupin. He was filled with joy, and at the same time, a sense
of terror that it could all disappear at any moment; for Snape, happiness was
still a relatively unfamiliar and fragile feeling. He pulled Lupin closer,
holding him tightly, trying to reassure himself that Lupin was real and not a
dream that would vanish in the morning.
It seemed that Lupin was not a Legilimens after all, because for once he mistook
Snape's intent, and sighed happily. He pressed his face against Snape's neck and
growled softly, "Mine," his voice barely audible, but smugly content and
fiercely possessive.
And then Snape relaxed, and the fear drained out of him as suddenly as it had
emerged. "I love you, Remus," he whispered.
"I love you, too, Severus," Lupin replied tenderly, and they fell asleep in each
other's arms, untroubled by bad dreams or memories of the past.