WARNING: This is a slash story, which means it contains male/male erotic content involving consenting adults. If you're not of legal age or are offended by such material, please go find something else to read.

Title: Faithless
Author: Ahzraelth
E-Mail: ahzraelth@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Snape muses on the road not taken, the end of love, and of his own descent into darkness and disbelief.
Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling. The myth was based on the song "The Origin of Love" by Stephen Trask.

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Contrary to popular belief, lycanthropy is fatal.

How typical of you to only take those words at face value. It isn’t just life that lycanthropy ends; it is love, faith, belief in anything, belief in everything. It rips out your heart and turns your innards inside out, until you face the truth. What is that truth, you ask. That there is no truth, that there has never been truth, that the quest you are on is nothing more than a well-fabricated lie.

I hail from a small village in northern England. My father was a tax auditor for the Ministry of Magical Monetary Business. Our family lived well off of bribes – and believe me, it took quite a sum to bribe Osiris Snape to not call an audit. We brought many families to their knees, most notably the Crabbe and Goyle households, although Malfoy delivered the sum. Damn him; I’m sure it was the ransom that gave Lucius the cocky air that he later passed on to his misbegotten son. I suppose that’s getting ahead of the story, which, according to one Professor Binns, is a fault worthy of Azkaban.

Nor should I make jests about Azkaban. Or even Professor Binns. My first year at Hogwarts was his first year teaching as a ghost. The rest of the faculty was on edge. Anyone could have discerned that. Dumbledore – the brand spanking new Headmaster, if I may use Remus’ vocabulary – had a good deal to worry about: a slough of Slytherins that were shaping up to be a gang of mass murderers, a ghost teaching History, a werewolf student, and, of course, Sirius Black.

Out of all of the trails and tribulations, I do suspect that Sirius Black was the one that threatened the school the most. Even those of us in the Slytherin Class of ’77 had some idea that if we were to ever put our schemes into full effect, we had to graduate and not lose our wands. Remus Lupin wasn’t a threat until the Incident. Need I describe what happened that night? I’m sure that it’s been added to Hogwarts: A History under the chapter of "Unexpected Happenings." How quick people are to forget the past, and the more fool I am to be a part of them. Soon, I have no doubt, my name will be thoroughly romanticized, my reasons for joining with Lord Voldemort justified, and some Ravenclaw second year will develop a sick feeling for the remainder of my spirit in a hundred years’ time.

That should never be the case. There was no justification for aligning myself with the Death Eaters, and anyone who disagrees is foolish and should have his or her wand broken immediately. We were not stupid when we took the Dark Mark. We knew full well what we were getting ourselves into, and we were happy about it. We all had different reasons for joining. Seth Lestrange wanted retribution for some Muggle-inspired torching session that had destroyed his grandmother’s mansion. His wife, Veronica, followed his lead on the promise of being a worldwide icon of power and beauty. Lucius Malfoy wanted an excuse to kill larger creatures than rabbits by magical means. Crabbe and Goyle wanted revenge on the Snape clan for the audits in some more discreet, double-crossing type stunt. I had a good chuckle over that twist of fate.

Then there was Evan Rosier and myself. To explain the situation in its entirety, one must go back to the very beginning, which began the moment we were both Sorted into Slytherin. How odd it was; our names were next to one another on the roster of incoming first-years.

Rosier.

"Slytherin!"

Snape.

"Slytherin!"

Snape and Rosier, bosom friends. Roommates, conspirators, lovers – no one seems to remember the obvious. In our first year, casual similarities were found. We both enjoyed listening to the same music, we both agreed that the Ministry of Magic was nothing more than a contrived illusion of order and government, and we both hated James Potter and Sirius Black.

Like so many other things, that hatred was entirely unjustified. James Potter had, after all, been somewhat decent to me. It was Black with whom we had the real quarrel. When one is eleven, it is difficult to forgive anyone who calls your nose big, your skin a queer sort of yellow color, and your hands spidery. Those taunts developed over the weeks. My hygiene was poor. My mother’s uncle was a rat. I was doomed to a janitorial job as my professional career.

James took the brunt of the blame because he watched it happen. Where was this Gryffindor sense of honor when it came to the persecution of (mostly) innocent Slytherins? I hated Sirius because I had a reason to. I loathed James because that was unjustified.

Back on topic. Rosier meant everything to me. By our sixth year, we were even beyond words of communication – it was as if we just knew what the other thought. He never spurned me for my feminine features, never said I was the ugly duckling who forever remained an ugly duck, never insulted my fascination with the Dark Arts, never scorned my love of Potions. By our sixth year, it was clear that we were on a road to be more than friends, but I ignored that. Evan pined, I ignored him. I dropped a few comments about Lucius, Evan smiled.

He smiled. I once heard that a famous photographer of the wizarding world – Robert Filmus – used to tell his subjects to think of the poor, starving children in the Middle-east, to think about crime and pointless revenge, to think about the most horrible curse imaginable being used on their favorite person in the world, and then to smile. His images haunted all that beheld them.

Evan had smiled one of those smiles.

I remember, from so many years ago, how my mother used to tell me stories, in particular, the tale of how love originated. As I had only been seven, I had cared little, but by the time I was sixteen, it had become the most important philosophy governing my life.

"All people used to be two people," my mother had explained, braiding her long, silky masses of onyx hair. My mother was not a beautiful woman: she had my sallow skin and an oversized nose. She was tall, awkward, ungainly, and terminally sneering. I suppose that she imparted most of that to me.

"I don’t understand," I had retorted, enviously admiring her midnight tresses as I fluffed my pillow. "How could two people be one person?"

"They were glued up back to back," she had explained.

"Then how many legs did they have? I don’t think that logistically it would –"

"Be quiet, Severus, or you’ll go to bed with no story."

That had silenced me.

"Now, all people used to be two people. Some looked like two men glued up back-to-back. Others were two women stuck together. And then there was this third combination: the beings who were half woman, half man. They were happy then, content to just be. They were never lacking for anything. But they grew powerful, so strong in force and numbers that the gods felt threatened. One day, a meeting between all of the deities was called to discuss the nature of Mankind. Thor threatened to kill them all, but Zeus thought it would be better to see them suffer."

"Was Zeus the one with the thunder?"

"Hush. That evening, Zeus took his lightning bolts, and while all of the Men were sleeping, he sheared them right in half. That’s why there is only one person today and not two. His children cried and bled and begged for death, but he hired a cunning seamstress to sew them up so they wouldn’t die. And then, he scattered them all about the face of the world so that they would be alone for all eternity." I remember being bored, but I listened to the story carefully. It seemed to have special significance to Mother.

"But a clever Man decided that he would not live his life as one half of what he was, and so he set out on a quest to find the one he had been bonded two before the separation. All of the other Men thought this to be a wonderful plan, and so they began their own quests. He finally found his partner, and he knew him, but there was a terrible pain in his chest. Do you know what we call that pain? Love. That’s why we live, Severus. To find the one person who will make us whole again. And if everyone can do this, we can overthrow the gods and live in peace and happiness."

She then patted my head and turned out the lights. When I slept, I dreamt that I had found this mystical partner that Fate had set aside especially for me, and that we were in control of the universe.

At Hogwarts, it was blatantly obvious that this impossible quest was being overridden with such trivial nonsense such as Beginner Charms and Elementary Potions. It is true that I arrived at the school knowing far more about the Dark Arts than most eleven-year-olds do, but I attributed that to the stories that my mother would tell me. Moreover, once I actually gave the Story of Love serious thought, it seemed highly implausible that I would ever find this other half in such a small, confined space. By my fifth year, I had successfully ruled out Seth Lestrange (he had Veronica Malbien), Lucius Malfoy (who was dabbling with Narcissa Greenwood), James Potter (Gryffindor), Sirius Black (ditto), Gregory Nott (self-righteous bastard), Robbie Wilkes (too many boils), and all male residents of the Hufflepuff House. There was still a question mark attached to Evan, but only on the grounds that he was the closest thing that I had to a best friend.

And then there was the bloody Dark Arts Education term project in the sixth year.

Back then, it wasn’t Defense Against Dark Arts. We didn’t need defending. We just needed to know about it, be aware that it existed, and know that it was wrong. Our term project had to be done in partners researching a specific topic. We drew names out of a magic hat. I drew Remus Lupin. Brown-haired, soft-spoken, smile-of-genuine-beauty Remus Lupin. Sirius’ friend, although the two were not as close as Black and Potter.

Surprisingly enough, there were no hexes that we cast on one another. Remus was adamant about staying away from researching werewolves and zombies, and I was only too happy to oblige. My interest lay in potions, and together, we decided to research the peculiar Fiddler’s Poison, a common concoction to "kill" the undead. I found Lupin charming, sincere, and intelligent – if a bit on the pasty, sickly side. I found myself spending increasing amounts of time with him, working, for the most part, but occasionally we would adjourn from our studying to take walks about the courtyard. Something along the lines of friendship grew between us.

Evan, of course, was jealous, but he was also powerless. He had Quidditch practice every day, and he could not be excused to keep an eye on his errant friend. He tried to warn me so many times of what I was getting into. I never listened.

"What if Black catches you on one of your strolls?" Rosier hissed at me one night as I prepared for bed. "Suppose that it’s Potter, or Potter’s girlfriend, who sees you two, head to head, ‘working’. They’ll try to kill you, Sev. Slytherins don’t make friends with Gryffindors. That’s the way it works."

I only sneered. "Friends? Acquaintances, Evan. That’s all Remus and I will ever be. There’s no reason to get possessive."

Evan’s brilliant sapphire eyes had flared when he heard me say that. "There’s bloody good reason to get possessive! If they kill you, whose Potions homework will I have to copy off of?"

The words were meant to be light, but there was a deeper sort of desperation in his voice.

I remember the night that touched it all off. It was a Saturday, and instead of going to Hogsmeade with the majority of the students, Remus and I had decided to stay in and complete our project.

"I’m sorry to do this, but my mother has taken extremely ill," Remus said as I joined him in the empty library. "I have to leave tomorrow. I know that this means you’ll have to present on your own…" A stab of bitterness welled inside of me. Remus’ mother was more important than a measly grade, I understood that, but part of my heart only wanted the boy to care about spending time with me.

"Very well, then," I said coldly. "Let’s continue working."

One of his large browned hands caught my own pale one. "Is something the matter?" he asked softly in his raspy voice. I gazed into his hazel eyes, and for the first time, saw some sort of affection peering back. My other half, part of me whispered internally. I swallowed, trying to squash that tiny voice, but it would not be repressed.

"Not at all," I replied, amazed that my own voice did not crack and break.

"You looked a bit… pained there, Severus."

In truth, had my life been a musical, I would have burst out into song.

"No, no," I replied, a warm burning feeling in my chest. Tentatively, both of us leaned forward. I shut my eyes as my lips grazed Lupin’s. It was the beginning of a kiss, a gentle, exploring one, and to my shock, Remus did not shove me away. Instead, he leaned in and brought his other hand to stroke my cheek. We remained there, frozen, for several long moments of bliss, before I finally broke away, needing to breathe. Lupin chuckled.

"Perhaps we could do this somewhere more suitable," he suggested, giving my hand a squeeze. "We wouldn’t want to give the books any ideas, would we?"

Numbly, I shook my head, sparing but one glance down at the papers. "I can finish the title page tomorrow in Transfiguration," I murmured.

"Good," he said, and leaned forward…

… right as Evan Rosier waltzed into the library, making a beeline for our table. With him was Sirius Black. Remus immediately pulled out of our would-be kiss, a startled look twisting his face.

"Lupin," Evan said curtly. I felt my face turn scarlet. "Sev. I need help with the Potions essay."

"Snape," Black growled simultaneously. "Re. I caught James and Lily going into this truly incredible store and I need to tell you about it in private."

Both Remus and I knew where this was all headed, so we shrugged and rose to our feet, heading out of the library with our respective companions.

"You don’t need to incriminate yourself," Evan said coldly once we were back in our room. "I know what you were doing. Disgusting. Remus Lupin is a monster, Severus. He’s friends with Sirius Black."

"It’s wrong to judge based on association!" I retorted, collapsing on my bed. Evan walked over, but I was blind to his pain.

"This isn’t about moral objectives, Sev," he said softly. "This is about you impaling yourself on a poisoned sword."

"Remus Lupin is not in any position to–" I began to say before Evan sealed his lips over mine.

There was no gentleness, no exploring, just desperation and neediness. I did not try to push him away, and a small part of me did not want him to stop. Reluctantly, he pulled himself away.

"That’s why I don’t want you to waste your life with Remus Lupin," he said quietly, backing up a few steps.

"I see," I said shortly, bringing my knees up to my chest and hugging them closely. Evan was the only one to ever see me perform such a gesture of weakness, but such things happen when you live with someone for years on end. "How long?"

Evan shrugged. "End of last year, middle of last year – I can’t remember. Do you want to discuss this?" If I had been looking at his face, I’m sure that I would’ve seen concern.

"No, not tonight," I said, turning away. "Goodnight, Evan." It took a simple wave of my hand to close off the curtain surrounding my bed, leaving me in blessed darkness.

The next morning, Evan was unusually distanced from me, staying closer to the likes of Seth Lestrange. He guessed – rightfully so – that I needed space to myself. I mulled over my thoughts for the remainder of the day. One the one hand, there was Remus, and with him, there was a burning sort of passion that made me want to abandon practicality and reason. It made me want to serenade him under the Gryffindor Tower, to bring him such useless trifles as flowers and chocolate. It made me want to humiliate myself – for him. Then there was Evan, whom I had loved quietly since I was eleven. There was no passion, no serenading, no chocolate attached to those feelings for him. I knew that Evan and I were a good match; we hadn’t killed each other in all of our years of living together. We respected one another’s integrity and space. I knew Evan and he knew me.

My decision was made for me that night.

"Severus," Black addressed me after the evening meal, as I was about to head back to the dungeon dormitories. There was a small sort of quirky smile on his face. "Ah, Severus, Severus, Severus. You don’t mind if I call you Sev, do you? I rather think that we’re on first name terms, now that you’re with Remus."

Half of my heart sang with joy. Remus had told Black of all people that we were together! The other half cautioned against this smarmy side of Sirius.

"What do you want?" I asked, folding my arms over my chest. He chuckled.

"Oh, it’s not what I want, Severus. It’s what you want. It’s what Remus wants."

This was not the song and dance number I had imagined.

One of Sirius’ arms snaked around my shoulders, fixing me there at his side. I tried to recoil, but I was only a weak, academic scholar; Black was the Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "You’ve been following us around, Snape," he hissed in my ear, one hand claming down around my mouth to muffle my squeaks. "Trying to get us expelled, I’ve heard. I expect that before it was only James and myself, but now you’ve got to be wondering where Remus is."

In truth, I had trusted Lupin. I thought he was at his mother’s house.

"I’ll tell you. He’s at the Shrieking Shack, dying to make love to you right now. I bet that you’re a virgin, Snape. I bet that you’re hard right now thinking about losing your precious virginity to Remus Lupin, that sexy beast."

There was some smoky tone in Sirius’ voice that spoke directly to my cock. Damn hormones.

"Now, why don’t you be a good Slytherin and meet him there, hmm? Get a long… stick… to poke the second knot up on the Whomping Willow. Follow the tunnel to the Shack." He unclamped his hand over my mouth and released me from his suffocating grip.

"How do I know you won’t set Filch on me once I’m off of the grounds?" I demanded breathlessly.

Black raised his right hand. "I do solemnly swear, on the friendship that I have with James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin, to not alert any teacher of your whereabouts or intentions." He winked. "Anything to make Remus happy."

I nodded. "Thank you," I spat out, and ran back towards the dormitories. I didn’t hear him laughing in the background.

The rest, they say, is history. I don’t want to detail the horror I beheld when I saw the wolf. I don’t want to remember how I cried like a baby into James’ shoulder when he told me that the monster was Remus. Remus was not my other half; he couldn’t be. I could never become whole with a werewolf. I don’t even think James knew what I was talking about, but he managed to walk me back to the castle. That night, as I lay in the hospital wing, Evan’s words came back to haunt me. Remus Lupin. A monster.

Dumbledore came in the next morning, a sad sort of smile on his face.

"Severus," he said gently. I blinked at him, not yet trusting my voice to words. "I heard that you had a rather interesting adventure last night."

"Sirius Black tried to kill me," I said coldly, trying desperately hard to keep womanly tears from flooding my cheeks. "Along with Remus Lupin. And probably James Potter. They should be expelled, all of them. Attempted murder of a student- that’s a crime, Headmaster. Remus Lupin should be locked up, or destroyed – he’s a threat to this school and you know it; you let him in!"

I ranted like that for minutes, then finally stopped. The tears had been scorched away by a rage – a burning rage – that had begun in the cockles of my heart. I was so angry; angry at Remus for not telling me, angry at Dumbledore for not giving me the protection I thought I was entitled to, angry at Sirius Black for existing, angry at James Potter for making me live… Throughout it all, Dumbledore nodded, but a glass wall slid over his eyes.

"Severus," he said, once I had finished, "I understand entirely where you’re coming from. You have no idea how difficult Remus’ life has been."

Didn’t I? Didn’t I know how terrible my life had been, always playing in the shadows? There was my mother, my loving, but distant mother, who married the auditor who knocked her up. There was my father, the cold, domineering force of my life who seemed bent on binding me to that hellhole in the north, to repress my talents – if I had any – so that I would never amount to anything greater than he ever was.

"You must believe that Remus is innocent. He would never deliberately attempt to kill anyone," Albus continued.

"That doesn’t mean that Black wouldn’t," I responded bitterly.

"And for that, he will be punished, I can assure you of that. But I will not let you ruin what chance of happiness Remus has." His kindly eyes turned harsh. "You will not tell anyone about Remus Lupin’s condition, or you will be expelled. Should anyone inquire about last night, you are permitted to tell them that you had a brief encounter with a werewolf, but Hagrid disposed of the problem."

My anger towards the Headmaster increased tenfold. My heart had been ripped out, and now I was being punished for it.

"I understand," I said softly, not daring to look into his eyes.

He patted my hand. "You will be excused from classes for the rest of the day. Do try to talk to Remus and sort out your differences."

Without another word, he was gone. He took all faith I ever placed in love and justice with him.

I remained in the infirmary for the remainder of the day, but I did return to the dormitory after dinner. Rosier was sitting on my bed, staring at his limp, elegant hands. He looked beautiful in that moment, his dark brown hair pulled back into a short ponytail, his thin lips pursed tightly. He glanced up when I entered, but he made no move to leave my bed. It was I who took action and sat down next to him.

"You were right," I murmured tiredly. "Gryffindors are monsters."

"Where were you?" he whispered, turning to face me. "Professor Sechezer told us that you had suddenly taken ill. I didn’t believe him." "I had an encounter with a werewolf," I dutifully repeated Albus’ words, "in the Forbidden Forest last night. A dare, from Sirius Black. My pride would not allow me to turn away."

"Were you bitten?" Now there was fright in his voice, but he did not inch away.

I struggled to contain an ironic laugh. "No, worse: I lived." I lapsed into silence for a few moments, desperately wanting to believe these lies. "I don’t think that I believe in anything anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Life. Why are we here? What if we don’t find our other half? What do we do then? Continue living as if we weren’t only one half of a person? Keel over and die? Do we even have souls?" What a weakling I was, to spout my insecurities off. I’ve learned better since then. "I believed in life. Life just doesn’t seem to believe in me."

"I think it might be best if I spent the night," Evan said in a low voice, one of his muscular arms wrapping around my narrow waist. I made no effort to push him away. Gently, with the utmost tenderness and care, he undressed me and got me into my nightclothes before laying me down on the mattress. A few moments later, he joined me, clad in little more than his boxers, and magically snuffed out the lights. I curled into his embrace, hungry for the human contact that I had so long been denied by my family, that I would never receive from one R.J.L. Within minutes, Evan was asleep, but my mind would give me no rest for hours.

The contentedness that I found in later years with Evan was no more than a fanciful illusion. In an age when men’s minds deceive them, I find it hard to pinpoint where exactly I betrayed him and the Slytherin dogma. Was it when I was first Sorted into the cursed House? Was it when Remus and I kissed? Or was it the more obvious incident, when I defected from Voldemort’s shield of protection against a cruel world and returned to Hogwarts, begging for forgiveness? I can say rightfully now that Evan betrayed me in a far worse way, one that transcends the human power of acceptance. It wasn’t until years after his death that his diaries – his own personal Pensieve – were released back to me from the Ministry, where they’d been kept in a box full of "evidence" from the Death Eater trials. Evan was a terrible writer; he could ramble on for pages about the most trivial of items. There were snapshots that led to my ultimate downfall.

Severus has taken to washing his hair on a daily basis.

Severus has stopped insulting Roni for her incessant blathering.

Severus didn’t return to the dormitory until well after I had come back from Quidditch. I thought that he had become sick. He only said that he had been in the library, but his voice didn’t have that tone that begged for me to ask what he’d been doing in there.

I caught Severus staring at the Gryffindor table. His eyes seemed to glaze over.

Robbie claims that Sev has been in the library quite a bit with Remus Lupin.

Robbie and I talked to Sirius about what’s about to happen between Sev and Lupin.

Sirius and I went to the library. He said that he wanted proof that Lupin was dallying with Sev. Sure enough, they were sitting there, together, for hours on end – it could not possibly have taken Sev that long to finish his weekend homework. They were just… talking. And then, they leaned forward and kissed. Sirius looked capable of murder, and quite frankly, I felt like wringing Sev’s neck myself. We both decided to preserve the ancient hatred between our two Houses, even if it meant a brief alliance. Black is going to talk to Lupin, who can be manipulated into calling everything off. If that doesn’t work, Robbie, Seth, and I have ideas to get Sev to crumble.

Slytherins have an odd way of showing affection. I believe that Seth Lestrange bought two plots in a graveyard next to one another for Roni’s birthday. Lucius Malfoy serenaded Narcissa with tales of the wicked things he intended to do to Muggle-lovers once he was Minister of Magic. Evan destroyed my life and rebuilt it single-handedly, reconstructed my entire existence around his persistent – if entirely incorrect - opinion that he was saving me from self-destruction. In a thousand other universes, he never collaborated with Sirius Black, the Shrieking Shack incident never occurred, and perhaps in one of those worlds, I never aligned myself with Lord Voldemort, never condemned myself to teaching ungrateful brats, never broke whatever it was that happened between Remus and myself.

But I don’t live in one of those universes, as I reminded myself every morning in the mirror once he came back for the first time. Some remnant of Evan’s ghost remained with me still. I never would have suspected that I was the type to keep a dead lover’s ghost lingering on my shoulder. That bitterness struck at the most inopportune times, namely when I was in the presence of Albus Dumbledore. With control, I could have been perfectly neutral about my situation, yet I insisted – if only for the sake of pride – that Remus Lupin should be cast out of society, that he was not to be trusted, that he was helping a convict break into a safe hold for children. Yet that mask was never allowed to be worn inside my private quarters, where I could brood and muse to the desires to my treacherous heart.

Now, stationed by his side on the brink of the final war, I wonder if I will never get rid of this mockery of the fallibility of the human condition. Did Albus accept Lupin back to Hogwarts to once again drive home the lesson that I will never find my other half, that I will never overthrow the gods and control the universe? Is my punishment for being what I am never to cease? The star that fell from heaven and plunged into the depths of my own personal hell is now having difficulty illuminating even himself. Remus Lupin’s time is drawing to a close, and it seems the will of the Furies to have me witness the last days of his life. Perhaps they are even urging me to betray Evan’s ghost and admit that I have been in the wrong for the past twenty-five years.

"There is no mystical design," Evan told me bluntly one morning before my defection. We were sharing breakfast, which was little more than tea and toast to save expenses that, as recent graduates with low-salary jobs, we could not afford. "The story that your mother told you isn’t true, Sev. We, in ourselves, are whole entities. We’re all that we have to believe in. Look at Roni and Seth. They’re perfectly in love, have a happy marriage, but they’re still separate people."

I had to concede that fact. Lucius and Narcissa were the same way, except, perhaps, for being in love.

After a moment, Evan added in a soft, gentle voice, "Besides, Thor was a Norse god. Zeus was Greek. How the hell could they collaborate on such a huge project? Egos would’ve gotten in the way. They’d’ve tried to kill each other before cutting their own children in half."

"Only an idiot like you could ever interpret that on a literal level," I replied sourly. Could Evan Rosier, who had been wrong on every other count, have been correct in that philosophy? Have I been lying to myself for the past thirty years, rationalizing that it was not my fault for being such an apathetic bastard because I had not found the one person who could make me believe?

Voldemort made you believe, the chorus of Death Eater voices whispered.

I hear footsteps mounting the Astronomy Tower, where I am comfortably seated in a chair, watching the sun set, well aware that this may be my last chance to make peace with nature. I feel my scowl deepen as I recognize my intruder, the man of my thoughts. Nearly all of Remus’ hair has gone white in the four years since I last saw him, and I know that his body is unhealthily gaunt beneath his concealing robes. He smiles, and is suddenly transformed into the impish Gryffindor I once knew and worshipped. Only his eyes remain the same, golden pools that are seeped in sorrow and age. He does not heed my glare, but instead claims a seat in close proximity to mine.

"Severus," he says, his rich voice now no more than a hoarse whisper.

"Yes?" I ask, fighting to keep the customary edge from my voice.

"It will start tomorrow," he continues softly. "The final battle."

"Indeed," I murmur. Remus’ eyes search my face.

"I try not to be ruled by ‘what ifs’, but I have always wondered…" His voice trails off. I lean in, desperate to catch a whiff of his scent, so long denied to me, to pinpoint what exactly the attraction of Remus Lupin is. At that moment, he shifts forward, his skeletal hands reaching to caress my cheeks. Trembling, he brings his face closer. Our lips meet. No fireworks explode behind my closed eyes. I do not feel the world spin off its orbit. The moment ends, leaving me with more answers than questions. The moment ends, and Remus Lupin is gone from my life and from my heart.

As I stare into the blood-red rays of the setting sun, I am unsure if I can even believe in myself.