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: Love Changes Everything
Author: Maureen
E-mail: mojo239@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: JKR owns them all :(
Feedback: appreciated, please
Dedication: Griet - with thanks

Candles burn in the sconces, casting shadows over the walls, the floor, the table where he sat hunched over the parchment. Quill seemingly never ceasing, essay after essay was read, corrected and graded. The never-ending parade of ignorance extracting snorts of derision at regular intervals. Beetle eyes are ground and not chopped; add ground acorn to that potion and you will kill someone you idiot; it's 'i' before 'e' except after c. Knowing that relaxation would be untenable until the task was finished, onward he ploughed, replenishing his supply of red ink before finally laying the final essay aside, sighing with relief.

"Now for some real work" he muttered to himself massaging some of the tension out of his temples with his slender fingers. His heart, and his head, lay in research. Always had. Life though, had a habit of leading you down paths you never expected, until one day you woke up and realised that you had missed the vital turn-off to that long-ago vanquished dream.

This project, more than any other, was close to his heart. It was for the one he loved, perhaps the strongest motivation of all. Ignoring the headache burning at the back of his eyes, he pulled a slim tome from his bookcase and opening it at the marked page. There just had to be a way, if you loved someone enough, then there were no barriers. The book was old, had cost him a small fortune, but what good was money, without his happiness? As much use as leprechaun's gold.

He did not need a window to know that the moon was full in the midnight sky. His lover's absence was testament to that. The thought magnetically pulled his eyes back to the page, even though fatigue caused the words to swim, dance a mocking ballet before him. He lowered the book, and closed his eyes, just for a moment, to ease the tension.

He greeted the morning with a start. Another wasted night. He whispered an apology to Remus, and rose to shower, change and face the day. His cramped muscles screamed in protest as he made his way to the bathroom, the hot needles from the shower massaging away the worst of those tensions. He soaped and rinsed somewhat absently, his mind still with Remus, and the pains he has, as yet, not been able to prevent him suffering.

No matter how much he begged and pleaded, and he had, so many times, Remus insisted in spending his times of enforced transformation in isolation. The only succour he could take, was in brewing the Wolfsbane potion, which allowed Remus to hold on to most of his human sensibilities during this time.

Breakfast in the Great Hall, his presence required by his position as Head of Slytherin House, then first year Gryffindors and Slytherins beckoned. A vague smile played over his lips. Hmm yes, he set himself a target of 30 points from Gryffindor today &endash; and, lets say 15 to Slytherin. Oh Remus, you do not approve of my little game do you? My 'little indulgence' you call it.

Minerva, sitting on my right, is droning on about this Saturday's Quidditch match. Smug Minerva? Enjoy it whilst you can. My team will not dare let me down. They will be well warned of the consequences.

My eyes drift to that empty chair. I cover his classes when he is, "unavailable". Much as I dislike more contact that I have to have with the little darlings, I consider it a labour of love. It helps keep his job here; it helps keep him with me. I love him. My love for him knows no limits.

Dumbledore is just dismissing us all to class. Just need to get through the day, he'll be with me tonight. In need of ministration &endash; the transformation always drains him, but I'll have the nourishing potion ready, as always. He tells me falling asleep in my arms is succour enough. Romantic fool.

Where are the little ones? At least three Gryffindors missing. They do make it too easy for me. The breathless latecomers bring me 15 points nearer today's target. They don't argue with their punishment. I long ago perfected a tone that brooks no backchat &endash; at least none without dire consequences.

By the end of, what seems like a never-ending class, they are just about able to make the boil inducing potion, and antidote, and I have exceeded my little target. Gryffendor's filed out 40 points lighter, whilst the Slytherins managed 20 for outstanding work.

Fourth and sixth years come and go, I have less sport with them. This damn headache has reappeared. Maybe I should visit Poppy. That would shock the living daylights out of her &endash; me asking her for a potion. I laugh at the thought, looking up to find the second year Hufflepuffs thinking that their temporary DADA teacher has gone soft. Extra homework soon persuades them otherwise.

Dinner and the seat is still vacant. House duties again demand my presence, damn this headache. Soon as I can, I slip back to our rooms, though for propriety's sake they are mine, and find him asleep. He looks so pale, drawn, exhausted. A silent tear escapes in his honour.

I'm torn between my studies and crawling in to bed beside him. In the end, the headache wins, bed it is. He stirs only slightly when I get in beside him, dropping a kiss on his exposed neck as I do. Draping my arm over him, sleep overtakes, my last thought being that I hope he took the potion I left ready for him. He needs the replenishment. I love him.

Next day is Saturday, so we can afford to lie in just a little longer. Breakfast being served an hour later than usual. He wakes me with a smile, a kiss and, oh you randy werewolf. I've missed him, and after he assures me he took the potion, and that it has indeed nourished his strength during sleep, do I start to do something about his latest 'trouble'.

My lips know exactly how to deal with him, and his groans tell me that's the truth. He seems to have inspired my own body to betray my feelings for him, but he obligingly allows me passage to relieve the ache. He reminds me he is hungry, and we're soon respectably on our way to the dining hall, dropping hand contact just before we enter. Being together is one thing, but not in front of the students. Little delicate minds mind be shocked at the thought of their professors actually having sexual relationships, and Dumbledore did ask us, so nicely, to be 'discreet'. Pity some of these little bundles of hormones don't exercise the same discretion.

Breakfast is uneventful, until that is I am taking my leave. If only I could have him in detention and miss today's match. What is that tune he hums as I go past? He seems to find it amusing anyway. (Harry hums 'Love Potion No 9' &endash; the only good thing about life with the Dursleys &endash; Muggle music). "Five points that has cost you, Mr Potter." I boom at him. "What has Professor?," he asks with what he hope is an innocent face. Curse your father, Potter for your face &endash; apart from the eyes it's so like his. Years of cruel taunts imprinted on me exactly what that face looks like when it is mocking. I might not know exactly what you hum, but I know it is derogatory. "You know, Potter, you know," I spit at him and leave.

Thankfully most of the students will be off outside, anxious for some freedom, and later to the Quidditch. I can catch up with some work, and some fun of my own. Still this damn headache dances just behind my eyes. A different potion will perhaps chase it away. I quickly mix one and it seems to do the trick at last

Back to my research. He never asks &endash; and I never say. Taciturn agreement. No expectations, no disappointments. That's the theory. He manages to be so cheerful, long ago accepting what he cannot change. I do not have his fortitude. I have a brain for potions, though sometimes I find it more of a curse than a blessing.

Remus is eating with Potter and Black, who is here for the Quidditch, and I welcome the time to myself. The book is once again in my hand. Can it be believed though? Is my desperation clouding my judgement? Is my heart ruling my head? Possibly. I select my favourite cauldron and begin what is going to be a delicate processÉ but oh the lure of a reward is just too strong. I begin chopping, as carefully as I have ever done in my whole life.

It's late when he gets back. I sit in the armchair, arms folded like a stern father awaiting the overdue arrival of his miscreant offspring. He throws me a questioning look. Wonders why I have waited up. Well, I never did trust Black. Instead, I tell him exactly why I waited up. In Muggle clothes, he cannot hide the growing bulge as I describe everything I intend doing to him, right down to the last suck. We move to the bedroom. I make good my promises, and he rewards me in turn.

I am glad to see Black had the good grace not to wait around for breakfast. Potter seems to have learned another Muggle tune, which he practices as I approach (`Grease'). A most enjoyable meal, but yet again Potter mocks me with his infernal humming. One I know too. I ignore him, choosing instead to send an owl with the message "20 points from Gryffendor, Mr Potter. You were off-key." I forgo the pleasure of seeing his face. Just knowing that the smug 'I got away with it' look will be wiped is enough for me.

Remus has prepared a picnic lunch for us. We both prepare the next day's lessons, before heading out to enjoy it. We long ago found a huge oak whose branches offer us some privacy. That and an exclusion spell mean blissful hours on that blanket. The wine is crisp and chilled, the fruit pleasantly acidic, and the cold cuts are filling. We pass pleasant hours, talking laughing, eating, drinking. Somehow I ended up with my head in his lap, with him gently stroking my hair. Though my eyes are closed, I feel his soft gaze on me, and that brings a contented smile to my lips.

Something brushes lightly across my lips. Again. The third time, I catch it with my teeth. A grape. I laugh. He feeds me another, pulling it higher so I have to lift my head and reach for it. So we play this game. When the grapes are gone, it's a strawberry that finally tempts me high enough to reach his lips. Once I have eaten it, I share the taste with him. He sucks my tongue in the midst of that kiss. Groaning, my hands wander his familiar body. Not something I ever tire of doing. Finding clothing an obstruction, I remove his t-shirt, which leaves his nipples free for some attention. I suck them and feel them harden. His fingers are tracing patterns in the nape of my neck. Sending a message to every vertebra &endash; the way he knows I like it. I kiss him from his collarbone right to his navel before finding his trousers are now the obstruction. Easily dealt with. He never wears underwear. Just one more reason I love him. He stops me whilst he removes my shirt &endash; teasing me button by button, and takes revenge on my own swollen nipples. Such a soothing tongue.

My eyes are fixed on his swollen prick. Hungry again, I lick my lips. He laughs, shakes his head. Tells me it's not time for desert just yet. Damn tease. He started this seduction after all. He pushes me flat on the blanket and straddles me. His erection pressing my stomach. I just want it in my mouth now, but his lips are on mine, and his tongue is dancing delightfully in my mouth. Greedy git is just trying to get the last taste of strawberry from me. We'll see about that.

I flip him over and have my lips clamped to his cock before he can object. Sweet nectar. I suckle him gently, fingers idly brushing his balls. Oh he likes that he tells me. I slowly inch as much of him into my mouth as I can, with nips to his foreskin on the way, and then release him, only to attack his underside with my tongue. Back for some more of that nectar. His hips buck when I rake his tip. More sucking and oh yes, he cannot still his hips now. His taste obliterates that of the strawberry. No complaints from me.

He hands me the oil he packed &endash; thinks of everything. I coat two fingers for just now, lazily tracing the arc leading to that sweet hole. A gentle push and he allows me in, urges me for more. I push deeper, then add that second, slick finger. It knows were to go. Hits first time. Much to his enjoyment. What's that Remus? You want me to fuck you? Oh well, if you insistÉjust let me use some more of that oil. Arranging his legs to my shoulders I enter him with a sharp thrust, which extracts a pleasured scream from him. I pull out and thrust in again, this time angling for his prostate. Just graze it. He bids me go faster, harder, and I fuck him like it's going to be the last time. My mind wanders to the brewing potionÉand harder still, ramming him with all my might, assaulting him with my balls. His own cock needs attention so I close my fist around it, pulling hard, fast..just what he wants. He comes a second time, clenching my prick so tight that I join him in that crest of euphoria, secretly hoping that if I spill my seed deep enough within him, the love it represents will magically cure him, knowing all the while that it won't.

We cleanse ourselves and nap, his head nestling into my chest. The cooling air is our cue to return to the castle. Everything packed we share the burden of the hamper on the meander back.

He goes to the staff room whilst I busy myself with the potion. It is ready&endash; so quickly brewed for something so potent. If indeed it is what it claims to be. The bottle I use is green, with an ornate gold stopper. A gift from Dumbledore when I graduated from Hogwarts. A lucky charm he told me with a smile. I have never before felt the need to use it. I move it to my private store, locking it with every conceivable charm &endash; unable to risk the consequences of it being misused. A glance at the calendar tells me I have just over two weeks in which to decide. Or have him decide.

Before I know it, I have just two days. Still undecided. It's out of sight, but not of mind. A lucky charm indeed. If only I could allow myself to believe that. I glance at the clock. It's almost one in the morning. Remus left me for bed two hours ago. Glancing at his sleeping form, I take a deep breath, and take the short walk to my cabinet, and begin reciting the unlocking charms. I reach for it. An empty space mocks me. Now I know what that candlelit dinner was all about the other night! He has the cunning of a Slytherin.

I slump in my armchair, and I am not afraid to admit I wept, hot, fat salty tears. I weep for him, for me, for us, you name the hurt and you would have found a watery drop to represent it. Exhaustion overtook me and I slipped quietly into bed, spooning myself against him, clinging to him as if for life.

Surprisingly I sleep soundly. When I wake, he is propped on one elbow watching me. Smiling. Not smugly, in fact he just looks, randy. Oh well, full moon is approaching and we will be apart. My eyes flick briefly to the right. He assures me we have plenty of time, at the same time conveying that even if we did not, it would not stop him.

He pins me to the bed and mounts me with an urgency, which once would have shocked me, but now excites me. We long ago agreed that sleeping naked was the best, especially in times of just such lunar induced 'urges'. Though desperate to ask him how he broke my charms, I seem to be too distracted, by a hot mouth sucking me so hard, my shoulder will bear the mark for a couple of days. He fucks me so hard and fast, and thoroughly that I can scarcely draw breath, never mind question him. We arrange to meet in the bedroom at lunchtime, and I decide to leave my questions until then. If he leaves me any breath.

About to leave the breakfast table, Dumbledore bids me visit him in his office. We walk in almost silence. He knows I don't like morning conversation very much. Only once we are alone does he reveal the contents of his pocket. A familiar bottle. 'Sorry Remmy, I should have known you would have talked to me, calmly and rationally, the way you always do.' A silent litany.

"I always knew you would use this one day, Severus," he looks at me sadly "and that when you did, it would be for something self-destructive."

He bids me tell the story. I cannot lie to Dumbledore. So, I sit there, like a first year before the headmaster, and I pour my sorry heart out to him. About the book, the Dark Magic it details, about the promises it tantalises me with. A possible cure for Remus? Do I believe?

"No, not a cure, just a chance that the transformation might not be so painful, that he may remain in almost human. An accompaniment to Wolfsbane if you like. One that, if it works, could mean an end to his lunar isolations."

Dumbledore visibly relaxes. "You think it will work? Have you told him yet?"

"Yes and no" I answer, adding that I would never risk anything on Remus that I was not sure of.

"But still you hesitate. Why?" We've known each other too long to procrastinate.

"Fear." I am not afraid to admit fear to those ice-blue eyes. It would not be the first time they had witnessed such an admission from me.

"Of failure or success?" How does he do it? Yet again I speculate on his mind-reading abililties.

"Both," I make the redundant admission. He already knows that.

Gently he strokes my head, a gesture he has not done for many, many years. Not since I came to this office seeking salvation. Since he granted me that chance. His fingers convey so much strength, as he raises my lowered head, makes me face him again.

"You must give him the choice, you know that don't you?"

I nod, mutely. "Then go."

And I do.

And he drinks it.

And the full moon bursts through the clouds.