A/N: The challenge was to write for fifteen minutes with the word "tender" as inspiration. One of these days I'll do the revise-and-expand thing on this story to explain just how and why the arrangement described could work.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, and all their associates are characters belonging to J.K. Rowling. I claim no rights to them, their surroundings, or their situations. Much to my sorrow.
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He wound the bandages with care, covering up each ugly gash as though by hiding it from the world he could make it go away.
Folly to think that way, of course. Werewolves healed quickly and cleanly, but the deep self-inflicted gashes acquired on the nights of the full moon inevitably left scars.
In spite of his gentleness, there came a hiss of pain. "Careful!"
"Sorry," he muttered, shaking his head. "Bad night."
"Yes, it was," the other acknowledged flatly.
"It does get easier, though."
"I'm happy you told me. I hadn't noticed." The sarcasm oozed and dripped like venom, but he had begun to realize over the past few months that the poison was meant to defend, not to attack. With that understanding had come a fragile acceptance--at least on his part. Whether his companion shared the sentiment, he had yet to quite work out.
"Well, over time...it hasn't been so very long, you know." He carefully fastened down the end of one roll, and picked up another.
The wounded one shifted slightly to allow him easier access to vicious slashes which he himself couldn't reach. "I suppose not. But it seems an eternity, sometimes."
He could relate. Six months, it had been, since that night in the tunnel. Six months since James Potter had risked his life to save an enemy--and lost it. Six months since Sirius Black had been expelled from Hogwarts, barely escaping Azkaban. Six months since Albus Dumbledore had exhausted about twenty years' worth of favors to keep the two of them in school, and Peter Pettigrew had drifted away in search of bigger, bolder, more popular protectors.
In spite of the enmity that lay between them, the two who remained had little choice but to turn to one another. There was no one else. And the one needed the benefit of the other's experience, if he was to have any hope of surviving.
So here they sat in the dingy little shack, surrounded by heaps of sterile dressings and the aftermath of their own uncontainable fury.
"All done," Remus murmured, stepping back.
Snape turned and stretched carefully, wincing at the tenderness of the freshly-dressed injuries.
"Very well, Lupin. Your turn."