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: Perdition
By: Adrienne
Email: ar895@ncf.ca
Category: Drama/Extreme Angst
Pairing: Severus/Remus, Severus/OMC
Rating: NC-17 for language, explicit sexual scenes, child abuse, non-consensual sex, rape, and a lot of other nasty things.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and no copyright infringement is intended
Warning: This is a seriously angsty, nasty fic. Please heed the warnings carefully; this is a VERY, VERY dark piece of fiction and is not suitable for the even slightly squeamish. This is a prequel fic to Redemption.

One great advantage to his creepy, unwashed looks, his not greatly overrated reputation for dark arts, and the dark temper to match, was getting a compartment to himself on the way to school.

How many times had he made this journey? How many times had he cried with relief, knowing that for seven solid months he was free? He hated what he had to become to survive at home, hated that he had never entirely broken free from that boy.

He was scarcely a boy anymore, though. He was nearly sixteen, entering into his fifth year at Hogwarts. One would think that, at his great age, his father would have found someone else to torment by now. Yet, the moment he had set foot in the magnificent mansion in Northern Wales, Julian Snape greeted him with a munificent embrace. The glint in his eye, the one Severus knew so well, was still there.

He wiped the tears away long before anyone could see them, and started absently untangling a knot in a stray lock of hair. Although he knew that he was too thin and pale and his nose was far too large for him ever to make the cover of Witch Weekly, he knew that he cleaned up fairly well. With the sharp contrast between the pale complexion, hair black as raven's wings and eyes to match the hair, he could achieve exotic and interesting. The hair, now reaching most of the way down his back, was his one vanity. Right now, it was a greasy mouse nest, not crawling with insects, but looking very much like it would like to. Once back at Hogwarts, and once he could shake off the need to make himself as unappealing as possible, it would flow in clean, shiny waves down his back.

While he could take a little pride in his appearance, no amount of internal scolding could ever shake the revulsion he felt at being touched. Long after the bruises faded, a simple touch could easily trigger the fear and anger that simmered so close to the surface.

His schoolmates, after four years, knew better than to invade his personal space. He had arrived at Hogwarts knowing a great many hexes and curses, and he was perfectly willing to use them. No amount of detentions or loss of points to his house would stop him from protecting himself. Not even Headmaster Dumbledore's obvious disappointment in him could stop the reflex.

Dumbledore had managed to get him to think before hexing, though, and it was a toss up as to whether this was a good thing or not. On the one hand, he no longer overreacted to attacks. On the other, the few seconds of thought allowed his revenge to become considerably more inventive and, often, more hurtful.

He shifted uneasily, wincing a little. Father had also learned to be more inventive and more hurtful. Nobody ever accused the Snapes, father or son, of being stupid. He knew from long experience that the aches and pains would fade with time, and that, if he asked very nicely, he might be able to brew up a potion to speed the process.

No, he couldn't ask. He'd have to explain why he wanted to brew the potion and he could not talk about it to anyone. Ever.

-------------------

Anita was itching to braid his hair. She sat behind him in History of Magic class and was forever looking for something more interesting to do than listening to Binns drone on endlessly. He knew she wanted to do it, and that she'd keep her hands to herself. Last time she tried to braid his hair, he had magically elongated her fingers and braided them together. He had gotten a week's worth of detention and she had gotten the message. No touching, not even his hair.

His house mates thought he was insane for not letting Anita run her fingers through his hair. Miss Lestrange was a scion of one of the oldest wizarding families, they said. He never bothered to point out that his family was older and richer than hers. He had been brought up believing it was vulgar to mention money. It was harder to refute the obvious statement that Miss Lestrange was a remarkably beautiful young woman. He merely looked at them with that look of superiority that they hated so much. Eventually, they let him alone, as they always did.

He tried to alleviate his own boredom by trying to think of what to do next to Sirius Black. He and Black had been enemies pretty much from the first moment they had laid eyes on each other, way back in first year.

He had been terrified of leaving home, almost as terrified as he was of staying. Sirius Black, big, healthy and noisy, had teased him mercilessly. Black had taken one look at his thin, scrawny frame, his big nose and his mop of untidy, unwashed hair and read 'victim'. The teasing stopped abruptly when he had hexed Black with painful stings. Black had narrowed his eyes, revised his first impression and, from then on, had tried in various ways to make his life miserable.

The score was usually even by the end of the year. He knew more hexes than Black did, but Black possessed quite the imagination. They were pretty much equals in intelligence and magical ability, so neither of them were able to claim superiority.

Black was talking to James Potter, utterly ignoring Binns. Potter annoyed him almost as much as Black did. Potter had everything. He was smart, popular, passably good looking and happy. He even had a girlfriend, from the looks of it. Lily was a nice enough girl, he supposed, but nothing to write home about. It gave him a smug feeling of superiority to know that she was the best Potter could do; he didn't have Anita Lestrange chasing after him.

The smug feeling usually only lasted until he saw the way Potter and his girlfriend looked at each other. The love that shone around them gave him a funny feeling, and fed a hopeless, helpless rage. He envied Potter his easy charm and his effortless happiness so much it made him ill at times.

Potter and Black, half of the Gryffindor Marauders. The other two were nowhere near as bothersome. Peter Pettigrew was simply beneath his notice. Pettigrew was an annoying little pest, without any backbone or brains to speak of. He was the obligatory hanger on of a popular clique.

The last member was Remus Lupin. Shabby, gentle Lupin was someone he thought he could have liked, if he had ever gotten the chance to know him. They had worked on a couple of projects together and had gotten along fairly well. Lupin was often ill, and he tried hard to hide his rather fragile health from his more robust friends. He knew about hiding pain. Oh, yes.

-------------------

He was grateful that nearly everyone had scattered to their various homes during Christmas. He always gave a thankful prayer that he was allowed to stay at school. His parents entertained a great deal over the holidays and didn't really want him underfoot. They had given up on his participation years ago, since he was sulky and uncooperative towards any attempt to make him play the part of precocious, precious child, suitable for showing off. His mother had been deeply disappointed, but his father merely narrowed his eyes and punished him more severely than usual. Eventually, they agreed to let him stay where he wouldn't embarrass them.

This year, he was even more grateful for the chance to be alone. A few days before Christmas he suffered a huge shock to his system and he wanted to hide from the world.

It had all started with Anita playfully holding a fresh bunch of mistletoe above his head, just as the ones going home for the holidays were gathering in the great hall.

Much as he didn't want to, he dutifully braced himself and allowed her to kiss him. She did so warmly, without being too forward about it. She knew better than to push him. When they parted, she had her eyes closed and her face was flushed. He had felt nothing but embarrassed and slightly repulsed.

The rest of the students had whooped and hollered, laughing, but then Black snatched the mistletoe out of her hand and held it over Lily's head. Everyone turned their attention to the sight of Potter elbowing Black out of the way in a not quite friendly manner and taking his girlfriend in his arms. Under cover of the noise, he escaped to the dorm.

-------------------

What was wrong with him? He was just past sixteen; he should be interested in girls. He was aware - more than aware - of the so called facts of life, but had ignored the subject for longer than was considered normal. That was understandable, all things considered, but Anita and a few of the other girls had made it plain that they found him interesting. Girls didn't scare him, but they didn't interest him, either.

He tried hard not to think the next thought, but it was inescapable. If he wasn't interested in girls, then perhaps, just perhaps, he was interested in boys. No, not perhaps.

He folded his arms across the table and put his head down. What sort of cosmic sick joke was this?

He knew what men did with each other. How could he not? For more years than he could accurately count, his father had done all of them with - to - him.

He had never enjoyed any of it; his father's ministrations disgusted and hurt him. The thought of anyone touching him intimately made him fearful and ill. At the same time, he wanted someone to hold sometimes, wanted to break out of his self imposed physical and emotional isolation. He longed for the touches that he feared so much. And it wasn't Anita's or Lily's touch he wanted.

It was too quiet here and the walls were starting to close in. He snatched up his winter cloak and fled.

-------------------

The cold was comforting. He had grown up in Wales, where the only way you could tell that it was summer was when the rain got warmer. It was colder up here in Scotland, but the wild landscape was soothingly familiar.

"You okay?"

He lifted his head from arms folded across his knees. Wrapped in a warm, if patched, cloak, was Remus Lupin.

"Yeah."

"You don't look okay to me," Lupin commented. "They're serving hot chocolate in the hall. With marshmallows."

"I don't want any."

"Everybody's gone, you know," Lupin said softly. "The train left an hour ago."

"Good." A world of resentment escaped in that one word. He wished Lupin would go away, yet he didn't have the energy to nail him with the basilisk stare he had nearly perfected. He just wanted to curl up into a ball in the snow and let the cold seep so far into his bones that nothing could ever touch him again.

"We don't have to talk to anybody," Lupin said, this time coaxing. "We can sit by the fire all by ourselves if we want to."

We? Since when was there any kind of friendship between them? He looked up at Lupin, searching for cruelty.

He found none. The grey eyes met his, full of soft friendliness. And loneliness. Dear God, Lupin was lonely. How desperate must he be, to come to the school's most prominent loner?

"Why?" he asked suspiciously. Lupin didn't speak for a moment, seemed to be hesitating.

"I haven't anyone else to talk to," Lupin finally answered. "Since most of your house mates are gone, too, I thought that maybe..."

It was the hesitation that decided him. Lupin was trying to reach out a hand to him. With a certain amount of trepidation, he took it.

-------------------

The fire was comforting and the chocolate sublime. He curled up in one big, overstuffed armchair, close enough to Lupin's to be cosy, yet with enough personal space to alleviate the oddness of being near another person.

They talked for a while about classes and professors, just simple, light conversation, but he found it extraordinarily pleasant. Lupin was good company, with gentle humour just biting enough not to cloy.

He exerted himself to be sociable and it wasn't as difficult as he thought it would be. It seemed that they shared a fondness for Muggle music. He found himself admitting, with a laugh, that he was a true Welshman and would sometimes terrorize the countryside with close harmony singing.

Lupin laughed as well and admitted he could not sing a note. He loved music, but could not produce it. It gave him a funny feeling to see a sparkle of respect in Lupin's eyes.

The evening wrapped up with a most challenging game of chess, which ended in a draw.

-------------------

He found himself spending much of the next few days with Lupin. They were the oldest of the students there, and the only ones in their year. It was nice to have the dorm all to himself, but it was even nicer to have someone to share the days with.

He even participated in a snowball fight against the teachers, with the students routing them easily. McGonagall, her cheeks glowing with cold, tried to be stern, but Lupin wheedled her out of her anger. She smiled at him, just as he shoved a handful of snow down her back. She shrieked.

"Fifteen points off..." She broke off as a soft snowball hit her in the face. She whirled to see Dumbledore standing there in a most remarkable pair of fluffy earmuffs.

He noticed that Dumbledore was looking at him with a twinkle in his eye and beaming approval. He felt an unaccustomed warm glow in his heart.

Cold, wet and laughing, everyone went back inside for tea, dripping melted snow all over Filch's nice, clean floor. Even McGonagall was laughing as she conjured up some fluffy towels to dry off and supervised the hanging up of wet cloaks.

-------------------

"Can I ask you something?" Lupin sat down beside him on the hearth rug, a little too close. He forced himself not to move away.

"Sure."

"Anita Lestrange..." Lupin hesitated a little. "She likes you."

"She likes the name and the fortune," he replied calmly. He knew damned well what Anita was after. Lupin looked at him speculatively.

"No, I think she likes you," Lupin said quietly.

"So?"

"She's been throwing herself at you for ages. Why haven't you taken her up on the offer?"

"I'm not interested."

"She's a very pretty girl."

"Yes, she is."

"And quite nice."

"That, too."

"So?"

"As you said, she's a very pretty girl." He put a deliberate emphasis on the last word. Lupin wasn't stupid; he'd work it out. Then he'd move away, ever so politely, since Lupin was always polite, and he'd have driven Lupin away.

"Oh." Lupin did catch on, but he didn't move away. He didn't say anything, just sipped his chocolate and watched the flames for a while.

He watched the flames as well, feeling a sense of unaccustomed peace wash over him. Just saying it somehow lifted the heavy weight on his heart. The ease at which the revelation came out surprised him; he had thought it would be harder than that to admit to something that had so devastated him a few days ago.

He was gay. It was as simple - and complex - as that. What he was going to do with that insight into himself, he didn't know. For now, the admission to himself and to Lupin was enough to ease some of the internal pressure.

-------------------

The revelation did not change a thing. He wondered why Lupin was still hanging around, still keeping him company. He half expected Lupin to shrink away, afraid of being tainted, or worse, with the spectre of homosexuality.

He had heard the taunts used by schoolboys. Gay equalled weak, effeminate and girlish; and vice versa. It was an insult, particularly at sixteen. Tolerance and understanding for difference was never present at sixteen.

Yet Lupin continued to hang around, being friendly. It didn't seem to matter to Lupin, even when a couple of the Slytherins made rude noises when they walked by, immersed in discussing Dumbledore's latest startling sartorial effort.

-------------------

Christmas day dawned bright and clear. He woke late, luxuriating in the silence and peace of the empty dorm room. He got along well enough with his roommates, once he taught them not to bother him in the morning, but the blessed silence and solitude was a gift in and of itself.

The pile of beautifully wrapped and expensive gifts was not a surprise. He always got expensive and, for the most part, splendid gifts from his parents and their friends.

Opening the one from his mother, he ran his hand along the fine fabric of the new robes. Mother always sent him warm robes, knowing how easily he got chilled. He could almost feel the love she sent wrapped in the soft cloth.

The other gifts - chocolate, a humorous mug and several books - were nice, too. Mother was a genius at dropping hints to her friends as to what he wanted.

The last gift was from his father. He dreaded opening that one. The gift was always hideously expensive, beautiful and unnecessary. It felt like payment for services rendered.

This year, it was a magnificent cloak. It was warm and fur lined and beautiful. It was also not his preferred style and the rich honey brown did not suit him at all. Another vaguely subtle message as to how little he meant to his father.

Well, not all that subtle, when matched with the snidely affectionate note. His father was a true gentleman. He never insulted anyone accidentally; the insults and threats were quite clear and deliberate.

Screw this, he thought, bundling the cloak back into the box. With a quick flick of his wand, he rewrapped the gift, minus the note, and wrote another on a scrap of parchment.

-------------------

"I can't take this." Lupin looked at him with wide eyes, his arms full of the beautiful garment.

"Why not?"

"It's too expensive."

"Is it?" The languid tone of the aristocrat was one he knew very well, as was the arched brow of the wealthy who knew little and cared less about expense. Just take the damned cloak, Lupin. You need it a hell of a lot more than I do and I don't want it.

Lupin seemed to understand the unspoken words and wrapped himself in the cloak. He smiled; it suited Lupin very well, although it was a touch too long, and he had a minor bit of revenge on his father. His carefully chosen gift was now a cast off to a poor unfortunate.

"I got you something, too." Lupin smiled, holding out a roll of parchment, tied with a jaunty red ribbon. Snape took it, startled. Nobody outside his parents and their circle of well bred friends ever gave him anything.

The package contained a drawing of the great hall. It was exquisitely detailed, with caricatures of their schoolmates, each drawn in characteristic, unflattering poses. He burst out laughing at his own image, his exaggerated nose stuck proudly in the air as he hexed a cowering Peter Pettigrew. Lupin grinned.

"I take it you like it?"

"Very much. Thank you." He rolled it carefully. "Want to go for a walk? Test the new cloak, so to speak?"

"Sure." Lupin waited until he pulled his old cloak on - impeccably tailored and, of course, in black - and took out a pair of gloves.

"Here." He handed the gloves to Lupin. "Hold these while I put this away." He carefully placed the gift under the huge tree in the Great Hall, where it would be safe until he retrieved it, and turned to his companion.

"Your gloves." Lupin handed over the gloves.

"Keep them. Your old ones don't go with the cloak," he replied, taking out the new gloves his mother had sent with the robes and putting them on. Lupin looked like he was going to protest, but smiled instead.

------------

It was snowing rather heavily, but the walk was very pleasant. They wandered by the Forbidden Forest and, uncaring of the warnings about it, kept going.

"You're not afraid of the forest?" Lupin asked, looking sideways at him.

"No."

"There may be monsters in here," Lupin said, laughing and pitching his voice in a weirdly gruesome way.

"Not as many as there are in Slytherin House," he replied evenly. "Don't worry, Remus. I know how to protect myself. We can go back if you're scared."

"I'm not," Lupin replied, catching snowflakes on his tongue. "The creatures here don't bother me."

"You're turning into Hagrid," he retorted.

"I am not. I'd have to grow twice my size to do that," Lupin responded. "And I really don't want a pet that slobbers as much as Fang does."

"Fang's a pussycat," he said dismissively. "A total coward."

"I know. He growled at James and James growled back. The silly beast ran off whimpering."

"For some reason, Fang adores me," he said with a grimace. "He hides behind me when there's anybody else around."

"Well, you are pretty scary, Severus." Lupin grinned. "Not to mention utterly adorable."

"Bite your tongue, Lupin," he shot back.

"No, I don't think I will. I have better things to do with it than inflict pain on myself."

"Such as?"

"This." With a whirlwind movement, Lupin planted himself in front of him and kissed him.

He felt the first touch of Lupin's lips on his and shivered. It was light and gentle and very, very sweet. So very different from his first kiss. He lifted a hand and touched a finger to his lip in wonder.

Lupin was looking at him with a bit of a smirk. Then he kissed him again, a little more firmly, and wrapped his arms around him.

Lupin did seem to have better things to do with his tongue, such as gently thrust it between his lips and stroke his own with it.

God, it was glorious. Kissing Remus was indescribable. Nothing in his entire life had felt as warm, and beautiful, and glorious as this. He felt as if he could fly, except that flying would mean having to part from Remus and his wondrous kisses.

Breathing was vastly overrated, he thought, as the kiss went on far longer than he thought a kiss could. He could do this forever, locked in an embrace with his newfound friend.

They broke apart suddenly as they both heard a snap of twigs behind them and a roar of something large and nasty.

Both of them turned to see a large, angry looking beast. It wasn't anything he recognised, but it was big, ugly and mean. It seemed to be undecided as to which of them to go after, looking from one young man to the other speculatively, growling. Lupin ran to the side, waving his arms and yelling, distracting the beast.

"Are you insane?" he shouted, whipping out his wand and pointing it at the beast. "Quietus!"

The beast stopped, looked puzzled for a moment, then crawled forward on its belly to lay down in a submissive position at his feet. Lupin ran back, stopping a few feet away.

He ignored him, although he could feel Lupin's eyes boring questions into his back. He knelt and murmured softly to the beast, his left index finger resting directly between the beast's eyes.

"Go." At the single word, the beast lumbered to his feet and wandered away. He watched it go, then sent a stinging magical slap on its hindquarters, prompting it to move a little faster.

"Just what the hell was that?" Lupin demanded.

"Haven't a clue," he shrugged, tucking his wand back.

"I meant that spell."

"It's a controlling spell," he explained. "It works on most animals. Those with eyes, that is."

"I don't get it." Lupin shook his head. "How does it work?"

"First of all, it won't work if the beast senses fear of any kind. I'm not afraid of animals, so I could cast it." He clarified. "It tells the animal that you're stronger, bigger and meaner than it is, so the animal submits. Then you tell it not to bother you and let it go. Then you hit it with a boot up the backside to get it to remember that messing with you hurts."

"I've never heard of anything like that."

"It's considered Dark magic."

"Why?"

"It works on some people, too," he replied. "I think they may teach it in the more advanced Care of Magical Creatures courses."

"So how do you know it?"

"I've studied all sorts of controlling spells. I was Sorted into Slytherin for a reason, you know."

"What happens if you do show fear?"

"It backfires. The animal then controls you."

"Ick."

"Exactly."

-------------------

They decided that walking in the Forbidden Forest was a bad idea and wandered back to Hogwarts. Lupin seemed a little shaken by the encounter with the beast, but he was considerably more shaken by the events just prior.

Animals didn't frighten him. People did. His own emotions did. And, right now, Remus Lupin frightened him. His reaction to Remus frightened him.

Somewhere between the first footfall on this walk and the last sweet, hot kiss, he had fallen in love with Remus.

-------------------

Of course, the moment they arrived back at school, there were three teachers waiting for them. McGonagall, Headmaster Dumbledore and Alonzo Dippet, the head of Slytherin House.

"You were out of bounds, gentlemen," Dippet said, with sneer. He sneered back; he held Dippet in utter contempt and Dippet knew it.

"You're not supposed to go into the Forbidden Forest," McGonagall added severely, with a stern look at Lupin.

"That is why it's called the Forbidden Forest," Dumbledore said kindly, motioning them towards his office. "If you two would explain why you felt it necessary to go?"

He looked at Lupin and Lupin nodded. Lupin would explain; he was not good at placating anyone, far less teachers.

"We didn't realize where exactly we were going," Lupin said respectfully. "We weren't paying attention."

He looked down, letting his hair hide the sudden blush. They had been... distracted.

"You could have met up with something very dangerous," McGonagall scolded.

"We did," he said suddenly. "We took care of it. We aren't helpless."

"What happened?" Dumbledore waved his hand to silence the other two teachers. Lupin explained briefly.

"What kind of beast was it?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't know, Sir." Lupin shook his head. "It looked a bit like a shaggy, hunchbacked dog."

"Severus?"

"I don't know. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"And the spell you used?"

"Quietus," he admitted. Professor McGonagall and Professor Dippet both stiffened at this admission.

"That's Dark magic," Dippet said sternly.

"Yes, Sir," he said, almost respectfully. "I felt it was more appropriate than the other curse that occurred to me."

"Which one?" Dippet snarled sarcastically. "The Avada Kedavra?" He nailed him with a direct stare from his black eyes, the one that intimidated most of Slytherin House.

"Yes."

"Alonzo." Dumbledore's gentle warning stopped the glaring contest. Dippet hated him for just that type of direct insolence. "Severus, you are not supposed to know that spell."

"But I do. And I wasn't going to let some beast chew on Remus or me because I'm not supposed to know how to prevent it," he argued.

"How do you know the Quietus?" Dippet demanded.

"We have a menagerie at home. The groundskeeper taught me," he replied stiffly. "Would you like a list of what spells I know that you don't think I should?"

"Yes." Dippet snarled back.

"That won't be necessary," Dumbledore said at the same time. "Severus, your actions today were appropriate to the situation and you prevented a tragedy from taking place. Twenty points to Slytherin. Remus, you tried to lure the beast away so your classmate could get away. Ten points to Gryffindor."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Severus, would you give me your word that you will not cast any spells that are not on Hogwarts' curriculum for as long as you are a student here, unless it is a life and death situation?"

"Yes, sir."

"And both of you will stay away from the Forbidden Forest?" Dumbledore demanded. He exchanged another glance with Lupin and they both nodded. Dumbledore smiled.

"Then both of you may go. It's almost time for the Christmas feast."

-------------------

"If you know the, uh, killing curse, why didn't you use it?" Lupin asked hesitantly.

"Are you kidding? Go to Azkaban for using an Unforgivable curse? Proving that I know how to do it would get me expelled," he exclaimed, then grinned. "Did you see how purple Dipshit went when he accused me of knowing the Avada Kedavra?"

"So you were yanking his chain?" Lupin looked relieved.

"It's so easy to do. He won't do anything to me unless he can prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt, so I can hint at all sorts of things whether I can do them or not."

"You should be careful. Dippet hates you."

"I'm Julian Snape's son, Remus," he reminded him. "Nobody takes on Julian Snape and lives to tell about it."

"You know, I've never heard you mention your family before."

"Bragging about one's relatives is gauche."

"Doesn't stop Lucius Malfoy."

"Lucius has no manners." he replied loftily. "See you at dinner."

-------------------

After a magnificent meal, the Headmaster rose and cleared his throat.

"Since it is Christmas, I think we should all gather about the tree and think about the blessings each and every one of us has," Dumbledore said, with a fatherly smile. "I, for one, am grateful for each and every one of you. You are a credit to Hogwarts and to the wizarding world. I'm proud of all of you."

The teachers and students gathered around the table looked at each other, exchanging smiles. Dumbledore meant it, too, which lifted the moment from merely sentimental to poignant.

"I'm grateful for the friends I've made here," Lupin said quietly. He caught the sideways glance and looked down at his plate.

"I'm grateful for the custard," little Gerry Parsons burst out, to general laughter.

"What are you grateful for, Severus?" Lupin asked, with a smile.

"A reprieve from Transfiguration for two weeks," he said, darting a glance at McGonagall.

"And I am grateful for the reprieve as well, Mr. Snape," McGonagall retorted. "And for the custard. The house elves outdid themselves. Mostly, I agree with Mr. Lupin and the Headmaster. To friends and to Hogwarts."

She raised her glass and they all drank a toast. Not entirely sure what prompted it, he looked over at the tree, then at the enchanted ceiling.

"Oh, Holy Night, the stars are bright shining...," he began to sing, much to his own surprise. He heard a few others start to join in, but he closed his eyes and sang as if alone, his voice effortlessly overpowering the others. When he opened his eyes at the end of the song, he realised that had been singing alone, and everyone was staring at him. He looked down at his hands, suddenly embarrassed.

"That was beautiful," McGonagall said, into the hushed silence. "I didn't know you could sing."

"Yes, well...," he muttered awkwardly. He rarely sang where anyone could hear him, particularly not his father.

"Let's go sit around the tree," Dumbledore suggested gently, with blessed good timing. "It's time for your stockings."

-------------------

The stockings were filled with small toys, little games and candy. He watched Lupin playing exploding snap with Gerry, while Professor McGonagall was playing jacks with one of the Hufflepuff girls. He stayed slightly aloof from the games, but for once, he felt included in the warm and happy atmosphere.

This was the happiest Christmas he'd ever had. For that matter, it was the happiest four days he'd ever spent. He was still looking at Lupin when Lupin caught his eye and smiled. He smiled back, with a thankful prayer for the blessings he had been given.

Walking back to the dorms with Lupin was wonderful, too. At the Slytherin portrait, they parted company, exchanging a sweet, leisurely goodnight kiss.

He went in and straight to bed, where his dreams were filled with images of a grey eyed boy.

-------------------

The next day was spent lounging around, although everyone seemed to congregate in the Great Hall. Hagrid was there, with Fang snoozing at his feet, and he was knitting something fluffy, shapeless and pink. Not even the bravest and most snide of the Slytherins dared to make a comment.

Professor McGonagall was also doing needlework. She was humming softly to herself as she cross stitched a small tapestry, having enchanted the printed picture to sit still. Most of the students were playing board games, but Lupin was drawing. He watched for a minute or two, then picked up his book again.

"What are you reading?" Lupin put down his pencil and flexed his fingers.

"Marlowe's Dr. Faustus," he replied, showing the title to Lupin.

"Muggle literature?"

"It's educational."

"What's it about?"

"A man who sells his soul to the devil," he replied with an absolutely straight face. "Haven't you read any plays?"

"No."

"You should."

"I don't think I have to keep up with the latest Muggle fashions, Severus."

"Considering it was written nearly four hundred years ago, reading this won't help," he replied. "Marlowe happens to be one of the greatest poets of English literature, right after Shakespeare. You have heard of Shakespeare, haven't you?"

"Of course."

"This was written by one of his contemporaries."

"Read some to me, then."

"Very well." He turned to the beginning of the play and began to read.

-------------------

"Wow," Lupin said, once he shut the book. "That's quite the play."

"I like it," he said, his voice almost gone. He had read non stop for over two hours.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Your poor throat." Lupin looked guilty. "Let's get something to drink."

After rehydrating, he felt better. More than better. He had just kept Lupin enthraled for a couple of hours, reading one of his favourite plays and now they were strolling companionably down the corridor toward the dorms.

"Come up to the Gryffindor tower. I want to show you something," Lupin offered. He hesitated for a moment, then agreed. After all, there was nothing scary in the Gryffindor rooms now that Black was safely ensconced at his family home.

-------------------

The common room was an almost exact replica of the Slytherin common room, except for the windows, which Slytherin didn't have, and the colour scheme. The fireplace burned just as brightly and the chairs were just as plush and comfortable.

Lupin went through the common room and to a set of stairs.

"Come on. Gerry and some of the little kids will be back soon." Lupin beckoned. He felt a little curl of excitement in his belly, equally divided between fear and elation. Lupin hadn't invited him here to see anything, except - in the words of that old cliche - his etchings.

He looked at Lupin, who had gone up a couple of stairs, wondering if this was really such a good idea. It was too fast, to sudden, and too much. Yet, he wanted this, too. This brown haired boy with the gentle grey eyes was no monster, no Julian Snape. With an admiration for the Gryffindor courage to take the initiative, he smiled and followed.

-------------------

He was not wrong in his assumption of Lupin's intent. As soon as the door closed behind them, Lupin took him in his arms and kissed him.

"I've wanted to do that all day," Lupin whispered, threading his fingers through his long hair. "I've wanted to run my hands through your hair for a lot longer than that."

He didn't know what to say, so he shyly initiated a kiss of his own. He felt amply rewarded by the response. Lupin opened his mouth and their tongues met and battled.

He could taste the arousal on Lupin's tongue as well as feel the beginnings of an erection pressing into his body. He was starting to get aroused as well, and he tried to suppress a shiver.

Arousal was difficult for him; it rarely happened and when it did, he did everything he could to will it away. It was hard to disconnect that instinct, to let himself relax and feel the sweet throb of desire going through him.

Concentrate on the kissing, he thought, desperately trying to banish the past. You like that part. Lupin still had his hands tangled in his hair, and somehow he found himself holding Lupin around the waist. Yes, this was safe; this was good.

He moaned as Lupin's lips left his to trail across his cheek, latching onto his neck. Yes, that was good, too. He started to relax, to uncoil the knot of fear inside. This felt good; no revulsion, no impulse to flee.

With a sigh, he let his head fall back, allowing Lupin access to his throat, pulling Lupin closer. Yes, he could do this.

Lupin's hands ran a final time through his hair, then moved to caress his back. He wasn't quite so comfortable with this; his arms were now encircled by Lupin's. Lupin tightened his hold and he gasped as Lupin's hardness brushed against his own. One of Lupin's hands had wandered down to his ass, gripping gently.

"You feel so good," he heard Lupin whisper in his ear. "You want this, don't you?"

The words, doubtless meant to arouse, were an unfortunate choice. The echo of a deeper voice rang loudly and he froze. Lupin captured his lips again and he swallowed convulsively, suddenly feeling trapped. It had been good, and gentle, but now it was changing and it would hurt. He'd find himself with Lupin on top of him soon, with that frighteningly intense look that never saw him at all. Then the pain and the humiliation would begin.

"No." He pulled away suddenly, wrenching himself from Lupin's arms, gasping for breath.

Lupin let him go instantly, then stood there looking at him with a very puzzled expression.

"Severus? What's wrong? I thought you..." Lupin sounded hurt.

"I..." Oh, God, what could he say? Sorry, love, but I have too many memories of being raped to let you do this? "I'm sorry. I just..."

"I'm sorry." Lupin apologised. "I guess I came on a little too strong. Too much, too fast?"

"Yeah." He drew a grateful breath. "I'm not used to... I mean..." I'm just not used to the idea of sex not hurting.

"It's okay." Lupin tried to smile, to be kind, but it obviously wasn't okay. Lupin still looked hurt and disappointed.

"I should just go."

"No!" Lupin looked as if he was about to grab him, but just touched his hand. "I know you don't like being touched. I'm sorry."

What in God's name could he say to that? What could he say to reassure Lupin that he did want him, that his fears weren't of Lupin, but of another man altogether. He could not tell him about his father; that subject was absolutely taboo. He couldn't tell anybody about that. He searched for something he could say, some way to reconnect to someone who had befriended him less than a week ago. Someone he had fallen in love with.

"I'm not used to much attention," he said slowly, moving to sit down on the nearest bed. Lupin slowly moved to sit beside him, far enough away not to startle him. "I'm an only child, so I'm not used to being around other people much."

"So am I," Lupin replied, with a tiny smile. "We have that much in common."

"You're from Hertfordshire, aren't you?" he asked. They had never talked about their families before.

"Right on the Welsh border," Lupin agreed. "There's me and my mom. My father left us when I was little."

"I'm sorry." I wish my father had.

"It's okay. He's a great guy, actually. He pays for my schooling and all that. It's just that he and mom couldn't make their marriage work. You're from that area as well, aren't you?"

"No. Northern Wales. The family seat is in Caernarvon, near Llandpwyll," he said, giving the place names their proper pronunciation.

"You speak Welsh?"

"Yes. It was actually my first language. All the house elves and the servants are Welsh, so I learned to speak that before I learned English," he replied. "My parents insisted that I learn to speak English properly, so I had a tutor from Oxford until I started here. I still count in Welsh, though."

"Mom couldn't afford tutors or anything like that," Lupin said thoughtfully. "I went to a regular school until I came here. We had some really good teachers there."

"Gavin was hopeless," he said, with a reminiscent smile. "Practically a squib and he had no idea what was and wasn't appropriate for a kid my age. I learned a lot from him, and not just what was on the curriculum. I think by the time I was nine, he was terrified of me."

"Imagine my surprise," Lupin said dryly. "I, on the other hand, was a good kid. Teacher's pet, in fact."

"And never took home a bad report, I'll wager."

"Nope. Did you?"

"Never. Gavin was too scared to lose his job. As long as I could pass the standard tests, he didn't care," he replied. "If you're such a good boy, why do you get in so much trouble?"

"I'm impressionable." Lupin grinned. "It's all James and Sirius' fault."

"I can believe that," he said emphatically. They talked for a while longer, the awkwardness now gone. It returned, briefly, when they went down to dinner.

"Severus, I hope you don't think...," Lupin began awkwardly. He smiled at him.

"I think we need to slow down a little," he said softly. Before he could give himself a chance to think about it, he leaned forward and kissed Lupin. "Let's go eat."

-------------------

The next week was the sweetest he could remember. By now, he and Lupin were practically inseparable. They talked and laughed together from the moment they got up from the moment they parted long enough to get some sleep, all under the benevolent gaze of the Headmaster. Even McGonagall smiled fondly at the boys, and Dippet took to glaring at Lupin almost as often as he glared at Snape.

He frowned less and laughed more, and Lupin had brightened up a great deal. Not a day went by when a honey brown cloak and a black cloak weren't seen close together, taking long walks in the crisp winter air.

Despite his sensitivity to the cold, he liked winter; the cold, crisp air exhilarated him. As long as he bundled up warmly, with many layers of clothes, he loved those long walks in the twilight, close by the side of someone he cared about.

Sometimes, late at night, he wondered why Lupin had befriended him, what Lupin saw in him. He never asked, lest the answer was something he didn't want to hear. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that Lupin returned his feelings, but he knew Lupin liked him. He also knew Lupin wanted him.

Lupin did not approach him as directly as he had on Boxing Day, but he was very affectionate. He slowly began to relax and accept the caresses, even initiating a few shy touches himself.

It was as if he was some kind of wild beast, needing careful taming. He was aware of how carefully and subtly Lupin was treating him and, rather than being resentful, was thankful that Remus seemed to understand. He knew Lupin wanted to sleep with him and, to be honest, he wanted that himself. He just didn't know how to disconnect the fear that too much intimacy evoked.

His dreams and fantasies were all centered around Remus and sometimes that frightened him so much that he had to flee to his empty dorm room to calm himself down. It had not taken long for Remus to become the centre of his world and he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was setting himself up for terrible heartbreak.

-------------------

Black and Potter and Pettigrew would be returning in less than a week; the romantic idyll was over. Black and Potter would not be happy at their friendship, Black especially, and Pettigrew would follow wherever Black and Potter led. And his own Slytherins would not leave them in peace, either. They were merciless. He could protect himself well enough, since he had most of his House mates thoroughly cowed, but Lupin would be vulnerable to their taunting. With Black there as Lupin's defender, there was an ugly situation just waiting to happen.

The spectre of the return of the rest of the school seemed to be preying on Lupin's mind as well. As the time grew shorter, Lupin grew more withdrawn. Lupin was as kind as ever, but he could feel the closeness starting to unravel. Still, they did have a few days left.

"I'm sorry, Severus," Lupin said, apologetically. "I'm feeling a bit under the weather. I think I'd rather just sit by the fire and read or something."

"We can get our holiday assignments finished, I suppose," he replied. For the first time since coming to Hogwarts, he hadn't finished his homework within days of classes ending.

"No, you go ahead. I know how much you like walking in the snow." Lupin smiled, but he felt a foreboding chill. Lupin did look tired and ill.

"Are you all right, Remus?" he asked quietly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No." Lupin shook his head. "I just need to be alone and rest for a while."

"Okay." He backed off, feeling rather hurt. Lupin did not want him around and he felt a chasm starting to open between them.

He went back to the Slytherin common room with a sense of dread. This was a holiday friendship, a way to pass the time until Lupin's real friends came back. He went up to his empty dorm room and cried bitterly for what he had lost.

-------------------

Two days later, waiting for the hallways to spill over with students, he had himself under control. He could see Lupin without feeling as if he was going to cry; he was proud of that. He was good at hiding his feelings and he hid his heartbreak with a vengeance.

Lupin, who had kept to his rooms for the last two days, came into the hall and started to approach. He saw him coming, but refused to move.

"Hey, Remus." The front doors suddenly burst open and, right at the front of the crowd, was Sirius Black. Lupin changed direction and was caught up in a fierce embrace by his old friend.

"Sirius." He had to listen carefully to hear Lupin over the noise. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"It was spectacular," Black replied, and it took no effort at all to hear him. "The whole clan was there..."

He curled his lip into a sneer and walked away. He had no desire to hear Black go on about his holiday.

-------------------

Dinner wasn't fun. Adam Fletcher kept making eyes at Lucinda Avery, telling whoever would listen that she had spent her holiday at the same resort. They had, Adam winked, gotten very close over the holidays. He was tired of the smutty innuendo and felt perfectly justified in being beastly.

"Imagine my surprise," he drawled nastily. Adam looked flabbergasted and Lucinda glared at him.

"What do you mean?" Adam asked, bewildered. Lucinda, who knew exactly what he was talking about, smiled sweet daggers at him.

"What's the matter, Sev? Jealous?"

"Of course not. I'm not hankering for a three month case of the clap."

"Severus!" Adam was shocked and Lucinda turned purple.

"How dare you!"

"Lucinda, everybody - except apparently Adam - knows that you'll be buried in a y-shaped coffin," he replied. "Tell me, are there any boys besides myself that you haven't been with?"

Adam buried his face in his hands, Lucinda got up and left the table after dumping the contents of her salad over his head, and Inky Rosier started to count on his fingers.

Snape brushed off the lettuce, waved his wand to clear away the drip of dressing on his forehead and calmly went on with eating.

"Well, other than you, Sev, I've never seen her with Potter, Lupin or Halliday," Rosier finally replied. "I'm not real sure about Lucius, though. Lucius?"

Malfoy declined to answer, after a sharp elbow from Narcissa desLisle.

"At least I've been with girls, Sev," Adam said, lifting his head. "I've never seen you show any interest in girls." He nodded significantly towards Anita, who was pretending not to listen.

"He spent a lot of time over the holidays with Loopy Lupin." A little first year, who had also stayed over, piped up.

"Lupin has an IQ higher than his shoe size," he replied composedly, pouring half the contents of the gravy boat over his potatoes. "Which is more than I can say for most of this House."

"You think you're better than us, don't you, Severus?" Adam accused.

"I try not to go against public opinion, especially when it's so manifestly right," he replied, looking down his nose at Adam.

"Snob."

"We're Slytherins. We're all snobs." Anita leaned over, joining the conversation to play peacemaker. "Sev, why did you pick on Lucy like that?"

"I didn't say anything that we all don't already know."

"Still. It's rude to talk like that," Anita replied, primly. "If you and Lucius are going to play the school aristocrats, act like it."

-------------------

Anita was still picking apart bits of orange peel when the table cleared. With a sigh, he stood and put his chair into place. Anita wanted to talk to him, he knew, and she wasn't going to let him get away until he did.

"Sev, can we talk?" she asked, as he passed her.

"Anita..."

"I promise I'm not going to attack you, Sev," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. You should have told me."

"Told you what?"

"Told me that you were gay." Anita was perfectly serious. God, was it that obvious? "I know everybody laughs at me for throwing myself at you, and I know I come on a little too strong sometimes, but I really like you. When Devlin told us about you and Lupin..."

"What about me and Lupin?"

"God, Sev, you barely tolerate the rest of the human race, yet you spent all of the holidays practically joined at the hip with Lupin. I never had a chance, did I?"

"No," he admitted. No, she had never had any chance with him.

"You know, I thought that you pushed me away because you pushed everybody away. I know you hate to let anyone close to you, but I thought that maybe you'd let me if I tried hard enough."

He could hear the tears in her voice. She really did care about him. His own recent hurt feelings didn't help any; he felt an unaccustomed urge to comfort her.

"When Devlin told me about Lupin, I wanted to scratch his eyes out," Anita continued wistfully. "I hope you two will be happy together."

"There's nothing between Lupin and me," he said, willing himself to believe it. "Nothing at all. He was just someone to talk to over the holidays."

"If you say so." Anita shrugged and tidied the shredded peel into a neat square on the table. "Devlin put the rumour out, though."

"I'll take care of the rumours, Anita. Trust me on that," he assured her. She grinned, knowing that he spoke the truth and that it would be rather entertaining around Slytherin House for the next while.

-------------------

That night, he went into the Slytherin common room, knowing exactly what he would face. For all their well trained fear of him, his house mates weren't about to let this slide.

"Hey, Sev." Paul Wilkes nodded to him absently. Paul never noticed anything unless you pounded it into his head a half a dozen times and then added a refresher course twice a week.

"Paul." He nodded cordially. Paul was, for lack of a better description, a friend. "Where's Inky?"

"He has detention with Dipshit. How he can get detention within two hours of coming back, I don't know," Wilkes said. "Adam and Lucinda are pissed at you, by the way."

They must be extraordinarily upset if Wilkes noticed, he thought. With a nod, he started toward the stairs to the dorm.

"Hey, Severus. Where's your boyfriend?" Adam taunted, just coming in. "Oh, that's right. He's in the Gryffindor tower."

He really didn't feel like answering, so he kept going.

"Where do you think you're going?" Alun Lestrange, Anita's older, stupider brother, stepped in front of him and put a hand to his chest. "We don't want any Gryffie faggots here."

"Good," he said, with a very unpleasant sneer. "Since all the Gryffie faggots are over in Gryffindor tower."

"I'm talking about you, nancy-boy." Lestrange gave a little shove. He refused to back down.

"Nancy-boy? Is that the best you can come up with?" He allowed one brow to rise. It was one of his most effective condescending looks.

"We don't want any fucking pillow-biters here, Snape," Lestrange snarled. "No Slytherin would let some pansy near them."

"Slytherins take what they want, Alun. And I don't give a damn about your opinion of what I want. Get out of my way," he advised. "Now."

"No fucking way, Sev," Lestrange spluttered. "We're not letting some faggot in here."

He sighed. So it was to be a magical battle. Well, so be it.

"Alun. Get your fat arse out of my way." He enunciated very clearly. He noticed Wilkes, out of the corner of his eye, frantically motioning Lestrange to get out of the way. Wilkes had had enough refresher courses to know what that particular tone of voice meant.

"I'm not afraid of you." Lestrange stuck out his chest and he smiled. The opening was too perfect to resist. He pointed his wand and muttered the spell.

The look of utter terror was just too good. Lestrange went white, his mouth opened and closed in fright, and he scrabbled to get out of the way.

"Good to hear it, Alun. Sweet dreams." He smiled nastily as he sailed past him.

-------------------

"How long is Alun going to be afraid of you?" Wilkes asked, as he got ready for bed.

"For the rest of his natural life," he replied, putting aside his homework.

"No, I mean, how long does that spell last?"

"A couple of hours."

"Can you teach me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not your teacher." He picked up his book again.

"Sev, is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"That you're queer?"

"Does it matter to you?"

"Nah." Wilkes shook his head. "If you were going to do something to me, you'd have done it a long time ago."

"If I were going to do something to you, Paul, I'd have to blindfold myself first."

"That, too." Wilkes nodded. He was butt ugly and he wasn't sensitive about it. "I don't blame you for going after Loopy Lupin, though. He's a nice enough guy for a Gryffindor. A little weird, but so are you."

"Thanks." The sarcasm went right by Wilkes, which was to be expected.

"I dunno what Black's going to say about it, though," Wilkes continued.

What, indeed? He went back to his Transfiguration essay, which he still hadn't finished, but his concentration was shot.

-------------------

It was very cold that night, and he shivered under his cloak. The coldness was more internal than external; he felt chilled right to the depth of his soul. The holidays had been a moment out of time. He had been so happy with Remus. It was as if nothing bad had ever happened to him and nothing bad could ever happen to him again. It had felt so... normal. Friendship, such as he'd never known before. He had freely given his affection, something no one had ever asked or wanted from him.

Except it wasn't a normal friendship. He wasn't normal. He wanted... He didn't know exactly what he wanted, but it sure the hell wasn't a deep, masculine voice telling him he truly wanted rough hands opening him, or to lie in a pool of his own blood and someone else's fluids. It wasn't harsh grunts and a heavy weight over his slight frame. It wasn't any of those things.

He wanted the feeling of closeness, and the sweetness of kisses that had nothing whatever to do with the grotesque parody of loving kindness that he knew all too well.

He had admitted that he was gay; that had been easy. The admission relieved him of the burden of Anita's affection; of trying to deny his utter disinterest in girls. He loved and wanted love from someone of his own gender. That was fine; he had no real problems with that.

Except that being gay meant more than sweet kisses. Eventually, he would have to face the concept of having sex with another man or resign himself to a life of celibacy. The latter didn't sound all that appealing; he had already spent too much of his life alone in his own head and he honestly didn't think anyone would put up with a strictly hands off relationship.

The former terrified him. He had heard that gay sex could be pleasurable, but he sincerely doubted it. Even if it was, he wasn't sure he could get past his fears long enough to find out. After all, he had put the brakes on that little interlude with Remus long before anything occurred. If he couldn't even face being held, how could he even contemplate a relationship?

And it was not going to happen with Remus anyway. Remus had his friends back and didn't need him anymore. Why Remus had approached him in the first place was a bit of a mystery. Remus was popular wherever he went, even with most of the Slytherins. Maybe it was just as Remus had said; he didn't have anyone else to talk to. Maybe Remus just needed to have someone on hand at all times to keep him company.

Whatever the reason, he was no longer needed. Remus had plenty of company with his Gryffindor friends.

"Severus?" Headmaster Dumbledore's kind voice broke through his introspection. He suddenly realised that it was after midnight and he was so far out of bounds that Dippet would ground him for the rest of his Hogwarts career. He scrambled to his feet and brushed off the snow from his cloak.

"Yes, Sir."

"It's a little cold for you to be out here, isn't it?"

"I'm fine," he said hastily, not bothering to defend himself. None of his teachers ever believed him anyway, even when he told the truth. "I just wanted to be alone for a while, Sir."

"There are warmer places to do that, Severus," the Headmaster admonished gently. "Come inside and have a cup of tea to warm up."

"It's fine, headmaster. I'll just go back to the dorm."

"Very well. Please come back in before Professor Dippet does his rounds at two."

"He does his rounds at one," he objected automatically.

"He has a previous engagement. He'll be a little late in checking that his little clutch of serpents are safely tucked in," Dumbledore replied, with a twinkle in his eye. "Enjoy your walk. There's something peaceful in walking at night when everyone else is in bed, isn't there?"

-------------------

Thanks to the Headmaster's tactful intervention, he managed to get back in without getting caught, but that was the only bit of good fortune he had. Dippet had, naturally enough, heard the rumours and tormented him about it.

"Mr. Snape, please pay attention to the class and not to your partner's anatomy. If you can." Dippet sneered.

"I'm not sure I can, Sir," he replied, with an answering sneer. "After all, it is a great deal more interesting, not to mention more informative, than anything you've said in the last fifteen minutes."

The class gasped in shock. Although he was known for his sharp tongue and inability to back down from a fight, he was usually somewhat more respectful than that.

"Fifteen points off Slytherin, Mr. Snape, and detention. See me after class."

"Gladly, Sir," he replied, licking his lips and leering at Dippet, enjoying Dippet's automatic recoil. He had decided not to deny any of the rumours. After all, they were true enough. Dippet turned purple, but didn't back down, either.

"Mr. Snape, please give the class a review of the last fifteen minutes of the lecture. Try not to bore the class, if you will."

He promptly gave the highlights of the last fifteen minutes, adding his own editorial comments. He had an enormously flexible voice, with an inborn talent for holding attention. When he finished, Wilkes looked enlightened.

"So that's what that means," he exclaimed, in a tone of wonder. "I didn't get that first time round." The whole class roared with laughter.

"I'm not even remotely surprised, Mr. Wilkes." Dippet continued the lecture, paying no attention to him for the rest of the class.

------------------

The detention wouldn't be that bad. Dippet told him to report to Filch that evening and do whatever Filch told him to do. He had served many detentions with Filch and they had come to an arrangement; he would help with the heavy work, using magic that most of the other students didn't know how to do. In exchange, Filch would mutter dire hints about the torture he had put him through. It worked well for both of them. He could practice spells without interference and Filch got some badly needed repairs done without having to do the work himself.

Dinner was a rather silent meal. Alun was still flinching away from him, although the spell had long since worn off. Inky was still sulking about the detention the previous day and Lucinda still wasn't speaking to him. Well, he thought with an inward smile, no Valentine for me again this year.

He made sure he sat with his back to the Gryffindor table. He didn't want to see Remus any more than he had to. They didn't have a class together until later in the week, and he was dreading that one.

He was startled to have a hand rest on his shoulder as the hall emptied out after dinner.

"Severus?" Remus was standing there. "I was going to go for a walk. Want to come with me?"

"Sure," he said quietly, although he wanted to shout for joy. Remus still wanted to be friends.

-------------------

The walk was silent for the first little while. Near the grove of oak trees, Remus stopped and touched his shoulder.

"Severus, I..." Remus stopped and bit his lip. "I've missed you."

He couldn't speak. All the pain and heartbreak fled when he looked at those beloved grey eyes. He smiled, his whole heart in that smile. Remus smiled back, although he looked a little startled.

"I've missed you, too," he said softly, still smiling. "I suppose you've heard the rumours."

"About us? Sure." Remus shrugged. "They don't bother me. They're true, aren't they?"

"Depends on which ones you hear," he replied offhandedly. "The one about the chocolate sauce is not true."

"I know, more's the pity. I'm very fond of chocolate. How's your house taking it?"

"They've learned not to cross me," he shrugged carelessly. "Dipshit's been on my case, but..."

"Yeah, I heard. Did you really flirt with him in class?"

"It made him really uncomfortable. I think he hates gays."

"Really?"

"Actually, I think he hates everybody."

"Especially you."

"Especially me," he agreed. "The only one who hates me more is Sirius Black."

"Sirius doesn't hate you," Lupin protested. At his look, Lupin looked away. "Okay, yes, he does. You haven't exactly gone out of your way to make friends with him."

"He's picked on me from the moment we met," he replied, in an injured tone. "I didn't start this feud."

"You have kept it going, though," Lupin replied, a little sharply. He looked keenly at Lupin. Lupin didn't usually snap like that.

"He's been giving you a hard time, hasn't he?"

"Yeah." Lupin sighed. "He doesn't like you and he doesn't like me being friends with you."

"I could have predicted that," he said, surprised at how steadily his voice came out. So this was goodbye, then.

"Sirius doesn't choose my friends for me, Severus," Lupin replied angrily. "He's afraid that..."

"Afraid of what? That I'll have my wicked way with you?"

"No! Well... Yes, I think that's the gist of it," Lupin agreed. "I didn't bother to point out that I made the first move."

"Not that he'd believe you if you did."

"No, he wouldn't." Lupin shook his head. "I don't know why he's getting so bent out of shape. It isn't like I didn't tell him about being gay."

"Maybe he's jealous."

"Sirius? Not a chance." Lupin shook his head again. "Sirius has been harping at me for months to find myself a boyfriend."

"Then it's me."

"He's being an ass." Lupin kicked at a snow drift, showering them both with light snow. "James hasn't said anything about me going after you."

"Why me?" he asked, finally unable to keep the question in.

"Are you kidding? You, my friend, are probably the sexiest guy in school. Anita isn't the only girl who thinks so," Lupin exclaimed. "I saw you were staying here... And there wasn't anyone else around... I thought I'd try."

"Wait a minute." He could feel a frown forming between his brows. Lupin had been after him deliberately? Before the holidays? "How did you know...?"

"I didn't for sure." Lupin smiled. "But I thought you might be."

"I didn't know myself until a few days before Christmas," he murmured, almost to himself. He knew he had been in deep denial about it, but surely he'd be the first to notice something so fundamental about his own nature.

"Really?" Lupin looked concerned. "God, no wonder you were so... reluctant. I really did come on too fast. Poor you."

He dropped his eyes down to his toes, lest Lupin see the sudden tears threatening to fall. No one had ever shown much consideration for his feelings, no one at all. God, he loved this lad.

"Hey." Lupin moved closer. "It's going to be fine. Sirius can bugger off." With a quick kiss, Lupin took his hand and urged them to walk again.

"Oh, shit." He stopped suddenly after only a few steps.

"What?" Lupin stopped as well.

"I have detention with Filch and I'm late."

"Detention? Already? What for?"

"Mouthing off to Dipshit." He framed Lupin's face with his gloved hands and kissed him quickly, then fled.

-------------------

"Ah, it's fine, lad," Filch assured him when he arrived, breathless. Filch was looking up the flue of a fireplace. "I think this one needs a good cleaning and I wasn't in any hurry to get started with it."

He took out his wand and tried to think of a spell to clean a fireplace. A scrub spell, followed by a small rainstorm would probably do the trick.

"Hang on, lad. Can you also keep the soot and crud from getting all over the floor at the same time or would that be two different spells?"

"Separate spells, I think," he said, thoughtfully. "Maybe If I..." With a wave of his wand, he transformed the brick hearth to Muggle type linoleum. Then he did the cleaning spell. With a tremendous bang, great clouds of wet soot and clumps of creosote fell to the hearth, covering both of them.

He didn't know quite what to say. He wanted to laugh at the sight of Filch covered in soot, but he didn't dare. To his surprise, Filch took it philosophically.

"Well, that was better than doing it by hand," he commented, crawling into the fireplace and looking up. "Here, put a light spell up so I can see what we've done."

The chimney, as it turned out, was clean, but needed a few repairs. Filch held a Muggle torch while he repaired the bricks, then cleaned up the mess. The hearth went back to being stone before Filch nodded.

"Well, that was a good night's work, lad," Filch finally pronounced. "That fireplace hasn't been lit in fifty years. Headmaster'll be pleased. Now go clean up. No using magic, mind."

He grinned, knowing that the filth all over him would convince Dipshit that he had been hard at work scrubbing a chimney himself.

-------------------

Dippet met him on the way back and smiled tightly.

"Not so aristocratic now, are we, Mr. Snape?"

Not wanting another detention, he let that pass. He was just about to the Slytherin common room portrait when Dippet spoke again.

"You may want to stay away from your little friend now that Christmas is over, Snape. I doubt your father would approve of such a friendship."

Father. Oh, shit. No, Father would decidedly not approve of his friendship with Remus. Father did not approve of him making any friends at all. Inky and Paul were fine; neither of them were the kind of boys you could confide in, but Remus was another matter altogether. And Dippet would mention his new friend, with heavy handed hints of the exact nature of the friendship, in a letter containing his marks. Damn.

-------------------

The problems within his own house calmed down within a remarkably short period of time. It took less than two weeks for the boys to recall that he was still Severus Snape, and that he was still capable of magically beating the crap out of any of them without overmuch effort on his part. Granted, the eight or ten detentions kept his contact with the house to a minimum, but the old rule still held. Don't annoy Severus; the consequences were bound to be unpleasant.

The boys finally settled for outing him to the entire school. Since he really didn't care that much about what other people thought of him, that wasn't a problem. In fact, he was amused and rather pleased that some of the boys were hesitant to get too close to him; another weapon in his arsenal of intimidation.

The bigger problem of Sirius Black was harder to overcome. Black was, to say the least, not happy about the situation, although he kept his displeasure somewhat in check. Black didn't really want to out his friend; that much was obvious.

Lupin himself serenely ignored the rumours, Black's glowers and the odd looks from some of the other students. The rumours were beginning to mutate to Lupin being the oblivious target of Snape's determined seduction, and Black began picking fights at every opportunity.

-------------------

"Dammit, Remus, do you have to make friends with absolutely everybody?" Black demanded one afternoon, coming up behind them while he and Lupin were comparing notes from Charms class. Lupin levelled a direct gaze at Black, very different from his usual laughing glances.

"Yes," Lupin replied evenly, then turned back to pay attention to the conversation. Black growled dangerously.

He found himself being turned around, a large fist impacting his nose. He shook his head, then launched himself at Black, fists flying.

He was taller than Black, but Black was bigger around and stronger. The fight was horribly mismatched, even with Lupin trying to pull Black off.

"Just what do you to think you're doing?" McGonagall's sharp demand stopped the fight immediately. He untangled himself from Black, gingerly fingering his bloody nose.

"Black hit me," he said, truthfully and without expression.

"And what did you say to goad him into it?"

"Nothing," Lupin put in, as he was about to respond. "Severus didn't say anything. Sirius just grabbed him and punched him."

"Oh, thanks, pal," Black murmured, glaring at Lupin.

"Anytime," Lupin replied, evenly.

McGonagall looked unsure as to whether to believe Lupin, but finally nodded briskly.

"Ten points from Gryffindor and detention, Mr. Black," she ordered crisply. "No more fighting in the halls, gentlemen. Is that clear?"

He joined half heartedly in the chorus of 'yes, ma'am' and stalked away. How like McGonagall to believe that he had somehow been at fault for Black punching him. And how like Black to think that physical prowess was all that was important.

-------------------

The expression on Black's face when he tried to eat dinner was priceless. A simple bending charm on his knife and fork, and he was unable to eat anything. A minor revenge, to be sure, but one he could keep up indefinitely as long as he had a clear line of sight. He grinned to himself as Black got another five points taken away for eating with his fingers. He almost wished he could witness the expression on Black's face when he got ready for bed that night, too, to find that his clothes were charmed not to come off.

With Black off at detention and Potter at Quidditch practice, he got Lupin all to himself for a couple of hours. They got most of their homework out of the way before going off for another long walk.

"Aren't you afraid that going for a walk with me will ruin your reputation?" he asked, as Lupin pulled on his new cloak.

"Ah, but just think of what it does for yours," Lupin retorted. "I need to talk to you about something, Severus. In private."

He was not immune to the stab of fear everyone experienced with that phrase, but he went willingly enough. They were halfway toward the lake before he ventured to ask.

"What is it?"

"I... I have an illness...," Lupin began awkwardly, tugging on the hem of one glove. "Last time I had an... attack... you stopped talking to me. I just wanted to warn you... To let you know that it's not you. When I get sick, I really can't have anyone else around me."

"Is there anything I can do? Is there some kind of treatment?" he asked, a little scared. He could see the lines of fatigue, alarming lines, all over Remus' face.

"No." Lupin shook his head. "It's chronic. I've seen specialists and there's nothing anyone can do."

"Is it... fatal?" The bottom of his stomach dropped and he felt a fierce tenderness shoot through him.

"No, of course not." Lupin looked surprised. "I just didn't want you to think that I didn't want to see you or that I'm mad at you or anything."

"Okay," he nodded, relieved. "Are you sure there's no way I can help? I do have the resources..."

"Yes, I know that you're disgustingly wealthy, Severus, no matter how polite you are about it." Lupin smiled. "And I appreciate the offer, but there really isn't anything anyone can do."

"Is this condition painful?"

"Yeah, it can be. And the worst part of it is, at the height of the attacks, it can be contagious. I don't want to infect you with this."

"What exactly is it, Remus?"

"I don't want to go into the technical details, Severus. I'm fine, except for the attacks. Please don't treat me any differently because of them."

Remus was lying. He knew that Remus was lying about something, but the heartfelt plea not to be treated differently was sincere. He tried to be angry about the lies, but he couldn't. It was obvious how painful it was to admit to the illness at all; further details would be harrowing. And it wasn't like he didn't have secrets of his own that he would rather die than admit to Remus.

He didn't quite know what to say, so he took Remus' hand in his and squeezed it tight, pulling him close. The kiss was inevitable - and necessary - and he didn't want to let his would-be lover go.

-------------------

What illness could Remus possibly have? He leaned back on his bed and put his arms above his head, thinking. It was something that caused recurring bouts of illness that was contagious. He thought back to the times when Remus was out of class and thought he saw a pattern. It was about once a month, if memory served correctly. Once a month. On the full moon. He'd come back to class looking exhausted and occasionally bruised.

Shit. Was it lycanthropy? Was Remus Lupin a werewolf? No, that couldn't be right. Even if he did hear wolf howls on his late night walks when he couldn't sleep. Even if Remus did wear sweaters that covered his throat.

He faced another sleepless night, wondering if he assumptions were correct. Had he fallen in love with a werewolf?

Over the next few days - while Remus was not in class - he scoured the library for information. The signs fit quite well, but he couldn't be sure. He wished Remus trusted him enough to tell him right out. Surely Potter and Black and Pettigrew knew; they were his very best friends...

Friends. Despite the closeness and the undeniable sexual attraction between them, he and Remus were not close friends. Most of their conversations were casual, skimming only the surface of their lives. Only once in a long while did they talk about matters that were important.

Granted, he was just as reticent, lest Remus caught any hint of the state of his home life. Remus thought he was a reluctant virgin, not yet ready to delve into the adult world. Remus had been remarkably patient with him and there were times when he wanted to scream out the truth, that he didn't really want to take their relationship any further, that he was content with the soft kisses and small touches, that he didn't want to face the look of disgust and disappointment when Remus knew that he had been used for years, that he was cheap goods, unworthy of Remus' regard.

Remus would not want him anymore if he knew. No one would. Did Remus feel the same way about the lycanthropy? Did he, too, feel cheapened and worthless and afraid?

They had to talk about this. He had to tell Remus what his home life was like, what his father did to him. Then and only then would Remus trust him enough to tell him why he was so often ill. Or would leave him, heartbroken and without hope.

-------------------

The next month rolled by without the topic ever coming up. Remus divided his free time between his Marauder friends and his would be lover, without quite satisfying either. Black continued to taunt him, leading to fights that more often than not got them both in a great deal of trouble.

His own house now accepted both his orientation and his sort of friendship with Lupin. They had even placed bets on when he would score with Lupin. Inky rather apologetically admitted to it on pain of zits on his butt for a month.

"Well, um, yeah," Inky said, twisting his hands a little. "We figure that you haven't managed to score yet, since Black hasn't seriously tried to kill you. You will tell me when you finally get him, won't you, Sev? I've got twelve sickles down on March 23."

"Put me down for ten galleons," he said, much to Inky's surprise. The others in the common room stopped to listen, although they were supposedly not paying attention to the conversation.

"Sure, Sev. For when?"

"Never," he bit out. "What is it with you lot? A guy can't have a friend without it being some kind of hormonally induced infatuation? Unlike you lot, I am not constantly thinking with my gonads."

Inky's eyes widened and he nodded, going rather red.

"Sorry. We just assumed..."

"Assumed what? That me being gay means I'm going to leap on any male that walks by? It was fun to watch you guys twist yourselves into knots at first, but it has to stop."

And, much to his surprise, it did.

-------------------

He was telling the truth, though. It was becoming more and more evident that Remus wasn't going to make any more moves on him. It was up to him to make the next move and he just couldn't. It wasn't his suspicion of the nature of Lupin's illness; it was his own fears. He had tried to push them away, but the spectre kept coming back, stronger and stronger.

His father's letters didn't help any. Just when he thought that he might be able to accept the soft caresses, or at least explain why he couldn't, an owl would arrive like clockwork.

His father never referred to his friends or gave any hint that he knew about the rumours surrounding his son, but the warm facade of affection and the constant referrals as to how much he missed him were clear enough. What Julian meant and didn't say was unmistakeable - you belong to me, not to some poor, shabby boy who's caught your fancy.

The letters made it impossible to take comfort in the fact that homecoming was months away. The reminder of what awaited him when he got home ate at him like a cancer.

-------------------

"Snape." Sirius Black had caught him alone, something he had avoided for as long as he could. He didn't like being pummelled and he didn't dare flout the Headmaster's prohibition on using spells not already on the curriculum when the Headmaster had any chance of finding out about it.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to apologize," Black said, with an almost sincere smile. "I've been a real girl's blouse about this whole thing with you and Remus."

"You have," he conceded, wincing a little at the not very clever slang.

"Anyway, Remus asked me to give you a message. He wants to meet with you tomorrow night."

"Where?"

"There's a knot in the Whomping Willow. If you poke it with a stick, the tree freezes and lets you into a tunnel. The tunnel leads to the meeting place," Black explained. "Remus said he had something he wants to, um, discuss with you. Alone. In private." With that, Black walked away.

He didn't believe Black for a minute. Tomorrow night was the full moon and Remus would be ill. Or a wolf. Black must have finally decided to get rid of him once and for all.

Yet, he was tempted to go. After all, he wasn't afraid of animals and he did have an arsenal of spells to protect himself. And he wanted - needed - to know for certain that Remus was indeed a werewolf.

And - the thought came without volition - if Remus infected him, he would have to be removed from his family. His father would never accept a werewolf in the family. If he died...

If he died, he'd be free.

Yes, he would go.

-------------------

Black had not lied; the knot in the Whomping Willow did freeze the tree, allowing him to see a well hidden entrance to a tunnel. With a moment to reflect as to whether he really wanted to do this, he decided to go ahead anyway. He had to know.

The pathway was dark and low. He had to bend a little to avoid bumping his head.

"Lumos," he murmured, using his wand to lead the way. He walked for what seemed to be a very long time. Just how long was this damned tunnel, anyway? And where was it going? His sense of direction and distance wasn't good enough for him to even hazard a guess as to where he would end up.

He was nearing the end of the tunnel, which led to a door, when he heard someone else coming down the tunnel.

"Snape! Severus!" The voice was faint, but perfectly audible. He cursed. Potter. Potter had followed him here. This was Black's plan. Get him far out of bounds and send Golden Boy Potter after him to get him in trouble. It had nothing to do with Remus after all.

Another noise, this one much closer, caught his attention. He had always had very good hearing, and he had the reflex to pay attention to any noise that might herald danger.

The odd noise was coming from behind the door. Was this, perhaps, a way into the middle of the Forbidden Forest? Well, the Forbidden Forest held no terrors for him. Bugger Black's attempt to get him in trouble. He'd go back via the forest and to hell with Potter.

He opened the door and stepped out silently. He had expected to see the forest, but instead found himself in the cellar of an old shack. The odd sound was clearer now; the snuffling growl of a beast. Holding his wand a little more firmly, he walked slowly and carefully toward the cellar steps, keeping well away from the bottom in case the beast bounded down.

He was half expecting it, but when the huge wolf leaped down the stairs to land at the foot, he stepped back involuntarily, several spells coming to his lips.

He was about to cast the Quietus when he heard James arrive at the door.

"For God's sake, Snape, get out. Get out now," James hissed. The wolf turned to look at him, golden eyes shimmering weirdly in the moonlight. The spell died on his lips. He knew those eyes. It was Remus.

Dear God, it was Remus. A hundred different spells ran through his mind in the fraction of a second he had to think, from the killing curse to a body bind. Not the Quietus. Yet, he didn't cast any of them. He just waited for the wolf - Remus - to attack, to turn him into a beast. To kill him.

"Are you out of your mind?" James was beside him now, dragging on his arm. Remus growled and tensed.

Just before Remus pounced, James pulled him through the door and slammed it shut. He winced when he heard the thud of the wolf against the door.

"Dammit, Snape, help me bar the door. He'll break it down in a minute," James ordered, waving his wand and muttering spells. He could only stand there, stunned.

Remus really was a werewolf. All his speculations and assumptions were true; he had suspected that Remus was a werewolf, but that was entirely different from seeing the beast with his own eyes.

"Sirius was crowing about telling you how to get in here," James said, once the door was firmly latched. "I had to get you out of there."

"Why?" His voice sounded very strange to his own ears.

"You saw." James replied grimly. "That was Remus. He's a werewolf."

"I know."

"You knew? And you still went? Why? Remus could have killed you."

"I know." He tried to stop the shaking. "I had to know... I had to see...." His voice broke and he looked away, at anything but James.

"You really do care for Remus, don't you?" James spoke very gently. He felt James touch his arm and, to his horror, he began to cry. He could not look at James, even when James put an arm around him.

"Let's get back to the school."

-------------------

Once out of the tunnel and away from the Whomping Willow, he pulled away from James, wiping his eyes and squaring his shoulders. He fiercely resented James for seeing him in a moment of weakness; no one else would see him break. The look of sympathy from James hurt.

James practically dragged him up to Dumbledore's office, yelling at some little second year Gryffindor to fetch Black and tell him to get his arse up here. The kid paled and fled.

Dumbledore raised his silvery eyebrows as he let them into his office.

"May I ask what this is all about?"

James looked at him, but he didn't think he could speak. Not yet.

"Sirius told Severus how to get past the Whomping Willow tonight," James said bluntly. "Severus went. He saw Remus. I pulled him out before... before anything happened."

Snape watched the habitual twinkle go out of the Headmaster's eyes and felt as if his heart was made of lead.

"Are you all right, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, and he squirmed away from the gentle hand descending on his shoulder.

Dumbledore said nothing more until Black arrived. When Black walked in, Dumbledore looked at him sternly.

"Just what were you thinking?" Dumbledore demanded.

"Sir?"

"Did you or did you not tell Mr. Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow?"

"I did."

"Why? Your friend's safety and the safety of the school depends upon your discretion about his condition."

"I didn't think he'd really go. Him? Take my word for anything? Please." Black's sarcastic sneer was almost worthy of a Snape. "If he'd stayed in, like we're supposed to, nothing would have happened."

Bastard. How dare Black try to shift the blame to him?

"You tried to kill me," he retorted, anger breaking through the shock.

"You already knew about Remus," Black hissed back, with venom. "I mean, the two of you are practically braided together half of the time. Remus wouldn't keep something like that from his lover, would he? Lovers don't keep secrets like that, do they?"

"Did Remus tell you about his lycanthropy?" Dumbledore turned to him, forestalling the hot retort that leapt to mind.

"No," he replied softly, biting a thumbnail. "Remus never told me about being a werewolf."

"Liar."

"I am not." He drew himself up to his full height, pride stiffening his spine. "He told me he had a chronic illness. That's all."

"But you knew, didn't you?"

"I suspected," he snapped angrily. "That doesn't change the fact that you set me up to get killed."

"You know how to protect yourself, Snape," Black snarled. "Don't play the martyr here. You aren't scared of animals, even wolves. You could have just done that Quietus spell, so stop whinging."

"Quietus?" James broke in. "Sirius, that spell is permanent."

"It is?"

"Yes, it is."

"Boys," Dumbledore warned. "Sirius, did Remus know anything about your actions tonight?"

"No."

"Mr. Black, you were clearly in the wrong tonight. You betrayed your friend and put another student in extreme danger. I shall have to think carefully what an appropriate punishment would be," Dumbledore said sadly. "Go back to your dorm and stay there until I send for you. You will not talk about the events of tonight with anyone. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Severus, it is only three days until Easter break. I think it would be best if you went home for the holiday now," Dumbledore said, softening his voice.

Home? He was being sent home? No, that couldn't be true. He couldn't go home.

"I would prefer you did not discuss the specifics of this incident with your parents, but they will be informed that you were put into danger and need some time to recover."

"I'm being sent home?" He could hear the hysteria starting to creep into his voice. "Black gets sent to his room and I get sent home? He tried to kill me."

"I don't think that Sirius meant to harm you. It was thoughtless and careless, but I don't believe that was his intent, Severus." Still, that hateful gentleness. "Getting away from here for a while will help. And you were out of bounds."

He felt as if he'd been hit solidly with a Bludger. Dumbledore blamed him. He stared at the Headmaster, hating the faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"You're sending me home in disgrace," he said thickly. "Black tried to get me killed and I'm the one being punished?"

"You're not being sent home in disgrace and I'm not punishing you. I just thought you'd rather get away for a while," Dumbledore said soothingly. "Is there some reason why you'd rather stay here?"

Yes. Yes, there is. Can't you see what happens when I go home? Can't you tell just how much I hate to go? Do I have to spell it out for you? Dammit, do I have to show you the scars? He glanced at James, who was looking somewhere between scared and sympathetic, then at Sirius. Black was unrepentant, practically crowing. He could not say anything with him in the room.

"No."

-------------------

The train ride was too short. It was a long, tiring journey from Scotland to London, where his parents were spending the winter, yet the trip was far too short for his taste. If only he could spend the entire holiday on the train, soothed by the rocking motion of the cars.

As he expected, there was a car waiting for him at King's Cross station. His parents had not bothered to come meet him.

The car ride was too short as well, as it slipped smoothly through the crowded streets to the Kensington townhouse.

"Severus." His mother was at the door was he came in, and she embraced him warmly, kissing his cheek. "Did you have a good trip?"

"It was fine," he said, tiredly. He was happy to see her, but it was difficult to work up any enthusiasm at all when he knew that his father would be along any minute.

His mother was looking her usual chic self. She had a cloud of black curls fluffed up around her head, reaching to her shoulders. It was an unfashionable style, but the only way, really, she could counterbalance the huge nose, which he had inherited. Her face was small and thin, but her eyes, rimmed in black kohl, were arresting. She was dressed, as she always did while in Town, in the height of Muggle fashion and taste. She probably did not want to meet him at the station lest her perfect outfit got smudged with something.

"Your father is in the parlour, Severus. He would like to see you as soon as you freshen up."

He allowed his mother to lead the way to his room, but he was damned if he was going to change or wash up for his father.

-------------------

Father looked the same. Handsome and aristocratic, his fine features the template for his own, more crudely drawn visage. The smile was the same, too. The same sharp edged, predatory baring of teeth that so many people found charming.

The voice was the same, too. Harsher than his own, but still with a silky note in it.

"Severus." The smooth, long fingered hand that had never done anything useful, reached for him. He knew better than to ignore it and stepped forward. "I understand there was a little incident at school."

"Yes." The thin note in his voice was troubling; he could not find his normal confidence.

"What happened, son?" Ah. It was the concerned father. Well, that was an unpromising start. He would have preferred outright anger; he didn't have to pretend to like that.

"I encountered a werewolf," he replied softly.

"A werewolf?" One of Father's brows rose. "I always said that the Forbidden Forest so near to the school was a bad idea. Were you hurt?"

"No. I just got a bad scare." No, Father, I did not get bitten and, thus, I'm not infected.

"You? Scared of a wolf?" Now it was derision, as he half expected. "I would have thought that you could handle yourself well enough."

"It... surprised me," he said carefully, watching to gauge which of the many mercurial moods his father would finally settle on for the evening.

"Poor lad." Julian put his arm around him and he tried to suppress the shudders. It was the affectionate, sympathetic mood, the one he hated the most.

The embrace was almost innocent. It would have been innocent, if it hadn't been for the feel of a growing erection on his thigh; they were almost the same height now, he and Julian, and still it made no difference. Julian still touched him and he was still too afraid to resist.

He knew what he was supposed to do. He knew that he was supposed to get down on his knees and reach inside Julian's robes. It wasn't like he'd never done this before. Maybe this time he could make it bearable; perhaps he could pretend it was Remus he was kneeling in front of, Remus he was pleasuring.

He knelt gracefully. Remus admired his grace. Reaching inside his father's robes, he drew out the huge, hated organ and softly kissed the tip. He could taste the fluids that had gathered there, but he was too used to it to let his disgust show. Julian did not move or make a sound. He would have to do all the work. That was good; it was always worse when his father decided to merely fuck his mouth.

Using his hands, lips, tongue and mouth the way his father liked, he knew he could have it all over in a few minutes. Fellatio was the least revolting of the acts his father demanded of him.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that he was in the red- gold Gryffindor dorm room back at Hogwarts. The fire warming his back was not the elegant fireplace in the study at Snape House, it was the warmth of the flue that kept the chill of the stone out of the dorm. The hard cock in his mouth did not belong to the man in front of him, but to the grey eyed gentle lad who went for walks with him.

He found himself getting aroused by the fantasy; he would not have minded, after all, doing this for Remus. He wondered, in the back of his mind, how it would feel to someone do this for him.

The fantasy was strong. He listened eagerly for the soft sounds of pleasure, the cries of passion. The fantasy shattered when an all too familiar voice cried out in Welsh, and there was a rush of warm, bitter fluid in his mouth. The revulsion and disgust came roiling back and he coughed, nearly choking.

"You're thinking of him, aren't you?" his father said, in a dangerous purr. A hand shot out and caught across his face. Another source of wetness - blood from his nose - dribbled down his chin. "Yes, I know all about you, Severus. You and your whoring around school. Have you no pride, boy? Lifting your robes for a nothing like that Lupin boy?"

He said nothing. He knew better. He just stayed there, on his knees, with blood still dripping from his nose, which was probably broken, and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

He flinched at the sound of his robes being torn from his back, but bore the whipping stoically. There were so many scars on his back already that it took a much harder stroke to make him cry out.

Julian was thorough, though, and he ended up screaming and crying helplessly into the ruin of his robes. Julian was also very, very precise. Despite the pain, he knew that the skin had not been broken; there was no telltale tricking of blood down his sides.

He didn't know how long he lay there, gasping for breath. The gentle touch on his shoulder made him shudder.

"Severus?" Mother was kneeling beside him, with a cloth in her hand and a basin of water beside her. He allowed her to press the soothing coolness of the cloth against his back and to wipe the tears, blood and other grime from his face. He wrapped his arms around her, holding tight.

"Why can't we leave?" he whispered to her. "Can't we just get up and go?"

As always, she said nothing. She just brushed her hand lightly across his forehead, kissing him. He tried to quell the rage inside and held her closer.

He wanted to hate her; he did hate her. And he loved her. She always came to him after, to comfort and offer her love to him. She never came before, never tried to stop his father. Much as she loved him, he knew and had known for years that she could not - would not - help him escape.

-------------------

Dinner was bearable. They had guests, so Father never looked in his direction. Gwendolyn and Sebastian Lestrange chatted lightly to him, asking about Alun and Anita. Sebastian dropped many heavy hints about the hopes that his lovely daughter would be welcomed into the Snape family, but he ignored them as easily as he ignored Anita's less than subtle hints in that direction. So Father hadn't told him about the rumours. He knew Anita wouldn't say anything, but he thought Alun would have bitched to his parents. Maybe his fear spell worked better than he expected.

Other than adroitly avoiding the Lestrange's determined attempts to include him in the rather dull conversation, he made it through dinner and escaped to his room.

The house elves, bless them, had remembered. The half full wine bottles were waiting for him. He was allowed a glass of wine with dinner, but never anything stronger. His parents never asked what happened to the half bottles of wine left over, and the house elves knew exactly how the rest of the evening was going to unfold.

He curled up in the chair by the window, looking out into the street. He drank steadily from a wine glass, idly speculating on the lives of the Muggles rushing to and fro. He knew the Lestranges wouldn't leave until late; he would be good and drunk by the time he had to go to bed.

-------------------

Drunk or not, the late night visit was as humiliating and painful as he remembered. Only five more days, he reminded himself. Only five more days and he could go back to school.

And it wasn't that bad this time. Being drunk helped a great deal with being able to relax enough to prevent tearing and it was late enough that Father was too tired to play any of his sick little games. Not too tired for a quick violation, of course, but too tired to linger.

Once alone, he reached under his pillow and took out the vial of sleeping potion he had stolen from the potions classroom. Without bothering to clean up or even move beyond the absolute minimum necessary to swallow the potion, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

-------------------

Thank God it was Holy Week. He could escape for a little while by going to church. The Snapes were ostensibly staunch Christians. For centuries, his family had hidden their wizarding blood in plain sight, joining the Church of England with ostentatious donations. It was appropriate for such a rich and powerful family and most of the Snape patriarchs liked playing Lord of the Manor. Few ever actually set foot in a church more than once or twice a year.

He liked going to church partly because it meant several hours away from home and partly because it gave him the opportunity to sing. Father only ever attended on Easter itself and sometimes not even then, so he usually went alone.

Despite his regular attendance, he had no faith in God or the church. It was merely a temporary respite. He had tried to believe, but belief could not be forced. None of his prayers had ever been answered, no divine voice had ever spoken to him, no spiritual epiphany had ever descended upon him.

Yet, he rather liked going to church. The austere vastness of the cathedral - no mere parish church for the Snapes and, besides, St. Paul's took an hour to get to - comforted him. It reminded him a little of Hogwarts. He found it soothing and peaceful, far removed from his inner turmoil.

He chanted the responses automatically, left a generous offering in the plate and lit a candle for no other reason than the fact that he liked lighting candles. No one noticed that he eschewed the matches in favour of conjuring a small flame from his fingertips.

Rather than leaving, he spent an hour wandering around the crypt. He found the tombs scattered about with no real rhyme nor reason interesting. He stopped for a moment to genuflect at his grandfather's tomb. It was small and in an out of the way corner, very much overshadowed by the monstrosity of Wellington's crypt. He often wondered just what old Augustus Xavier Snape had done to get buried there, but the family histories were rather vague on that point.

"Well, grandpa, I suspect that after me, there won't be any more direct descendants of old Salazar," he murmured to his grandfather's plaque. There were distant cousins, but he was the last of the direct descendants of Salazar Snape, grandson of Salazar Slytherin through his daughter Morgana, who had married into the Snapes.

His grandfather's plaque refused to answer to this startling statement, so he explained.

"I'm not going to marry and produce offspring," he said softly. "I know it seems absurd to say that at sixteen, but I don't think I will. You see, I've fallen in love with another man. I don't know if that will go anywhere, but..."

He stayed there much longer than he planned. He often did, since he found that his grandfather's plaque listened better than anyone else ever did. He had vague memories of the old man and fancied that, if he had not done something so spectacularly stupid as to get killed in a way to get buried here, he'd listen every bit as well as his plaque did.

-------------------

The conversation with his grandfather, one sided though it was, sustained him through the interminable dinner that night. His mother had gone shopping or visiting or something, so he was alone in the dining room with his father.

Julian had several glasses of wine with the meal and a hefty snifter of brandy afterwards. That, combined with his mother's absence, was not a good sign. Not good at all.

He moved the food around on his plate, unable to eat anything, but he did manage to curb the sharp, sarcastic retorts that ached to be said in response to his father's questions about school.

"I sincerely hope I will be getting a better report at the end of this year than I did last year." Julian swirled his brandy around the glass. "No other Snape has ever suffered from exam anxiety the way you do. Perhaps a concentration charm...? Then again, you're not very good with charms, are you?"

"I guess not," he lied. His charms marks were usually low, since Flitwick marked heavily on the finals. He was actually very good at charms, but never when it counted on the exam.

"Severus, we need to have a serious talk."

What? They never, ever talked about anything. Julian pontificated, he listened for the danger signs and kept his mouth shut to keep the rejoinders from coming out.

"Sir?"

"I spoke to Sebastian last night at length. He wishes to have things settled."

"Things?"

"After graduation, you will be marrying Anita Lestrange. It would be well if you paid appropriate attentions to her over the next year."

"You arranged my marriage?"

"Considering that the only person you have shown any interest in is that Lupin boy, I felt it best to have the whole affair settled. The Snape line must not be allowed to die out and Anita is a suitable mother for your children."

-------------------

Later that night, lying awake and waiting for the inevitable visit, he wondered what the hell tonight was all about. He was only sixteen, for God's sake. Far too young to be contemplating marriage. Then again, once he turned eighteen, his father would lose control over his fate. In a year and a half, he could leave his family forever and there wasn't a damned thing anyone could do about it.

The last time he had run away from home, his father had tracked him down and forced him to return. The law and the authorities had been so far on his father's side that no questions were ever asked about why he had left in the first place. He just had to be patient and endure; he would be free eventually.

Of course Father had to be aware that he had no intention on staying beyond the legal requirement and there was nothing Father could do to make him stay. His grandfather had left him a healthy trust fund to be turned over to him at eighteen, and he would be a full wizard, able to use magic whenever he wished.

Marrying Anita was not part of his plans, although he had to admit that, if he were to marry anyone, Anita wasn't a bad choice. She was pretty and nice, and she liked him. As a trophy wife, he could do worse. As for children, well, there were ways that didn't require actually touching her intimately. And Father knew that.

Maybe that was what Father was up to. If he did marry and have children, he would have to stay. Anita would not put up with living on the trust fund; it was no more than adequate for a Lestrange. And he would not leave his children to the tender mercies of their grandfather. Father was attempting to perpetuate his sick and twisted lifestyle. As his son got too old to abuse, he would make sure that there were grandsons to carry on the old family tradition. And he wasn't sure that Anita wouldn't follow in his mother's footsteps and turn a blind eye.

No. That was not going to happen. He would rather live in abject poverty and alone for the rest of his life than have that happen.

-------------------

The rest of the week dragged interminably. The days were nothing more than time spent anticipating and dreading the nights. However, between the blessed forgetfulness of doing his lessons and escaping to attend church, the time eventually passed.

Mother badgered him out of the fog of depression and apathy long enough to actually clean up and dress properly for church. She had a new, amazingly becoming, outfit for services and wanted him to at least look respectable.

Well, he wasn't sure how respectable he looked in the well tailored grey Muggle suit, with his long hair flowing free down his back. She thought he looked fine and adjusted that absurd bit of cloth around his neck.

"You look wonderful, Severus," she whispered as she tiptoed to kiss his cheek. Wiping the traces of lipstick off with her fingers, she smoothed her hands down his lapels. "It's just one more day, Sev. You'll be back at school tomorrow, with your friend."

With his friend that could have killed him. Memories of his all too brief, all too tentative time with Remus had sustained him through the nights he hated so much, but those golden eyes - Remus' eyes - in that wolfen face haunted him.

Yes, he had fallen in love with a werewolf. Remus was a wild animal, at least part of the time. A beast in human form... No, that was his father, the great Julian Snape. Remus was less of a beast, even in wolf form, than Julian.

He wondered what he'd face when he got back to school. Did he still want Remus? Yes. But would Remus still want him, now that he had seen him in wolf form? And how far would Black go, in trying to destroy him? Well, Father hadn't managed to break him yet. He could deal with Black.

Whether he could deal with Remus, well, that was another matter.

-------------------

The service almost brought him out of his introspection. It was lovely. Despite the black looks he got from his father, he did sing with the congregation, causing some to look at him oddly. When he was home, he sat quietly in church, a silent and aloof petitioner. They seemed to be surprised that he would open his mouth, far less easily overpower the weaker voices around him.

He knew he would be punished for calling attention to himself, but he was going to be punished anyway. He felt almost happy when he stepped out onto the steps of St. Paul's.

The pigeons took to the air as he stepped by them, along with an owl. The owl fluttered a little and dropped a bit of parchment near his polished shoe before taking flight, unnoticed in the flock of birds.

He bent to pick up the note, but his father was faster. He straightened to see his father tuck the note into his breast pocket.

"You're a disgrace, Severus," Julian hissed to him, baring his teeth in what could have been mistaken for a smile. "First you call attention to yourself, then this. Why not wear robes and wave your wand? Do you want these Muggles to suspect that you're a wizard?"

He said nothing, although he could scarcely be blamed for someone sending him an owl.

-------------------

He skipped dinner, feeling reckless. The Malfoys and the Averys were there, along with a few other less luminous names in the wizarding word, sharing a magnificent repast. He didn't want to socialize with them. Besides, the house elves had prepared lamb, which he didn't like. And it seemed somewhat cannibalistic to eat lamb on Easter.

The house elves sent up a nice meal, but he ate less than half of it. He felt sick. This was his last night at home until June and the farewell was always the worst. It was as if his father wanted to remind him of his own helplessness. As if he could forget.

Father arrived right on time. The faint sounds of guests taking their leave had just echoed away when the door of his room opened. Julian was holding out the letter that the owl had dropped at his feet earlier.

"Your mail." Julian held it out to him, but he didn't take it. "Take it, Severus. It's addressed to you."

He knew he had to take it. He looked at the outside of the parchment. The curving letters of his name was in Remus' handwriting. He turned the parchment over and realised it was still sealed. He glanced at his father in surprise.

"No, I haven't read it. Why would I? I'm not interested in the puerile ramblings of your adolescent lover."

"He's not my lover," he said, tossing the letter on the desk. He'd be damned if he opened the letter with his father standing right there.

"No?" One eyebrow shot up. It was an intimidating look, one he had perfected himself. "Why not? You need it. I know you. You need to be fucked on a regular basis."

No, you don't know me. You don't want to know me. He stayed silent, though.

Julian ran his hand through his long hair, fingers catching on a stray knot. It hurt. He jerked away without thinking.

"No, Severus." Julian sounded amused. "No running away. You want this."

The hands touching him were gentle, for now. It was the same old, same old. Julian murmuring about how much he wanted these attentions. Was he trying to convince himself or did he really believe that? He didn't know why his father did these things, nor did he want to. From the time he was six, he knew the feel of those long fingered hands on his body, the agonizing pain of being violated, and the humiliation of being told how much he wanted it.

It was too much. He had not rebelled for years; the price was just too high. Yet he couldn't bear it tonight. He could bear much, but the thought of his father kissing him... His lips belonged to Remus. Not to this grotesque monster.

"Stop." He squirmed away, his hand grabbing his wand and pointing it at Julian. "Imperio. Stop. For God's sake, stop it." Although he knew the spell, the magical force behind it was weak.

Julian went still. For a moment, he thought it had worked. Then Julian laughed.

"Foolish boy." The tone was almost fond. "You think you can actually curse me? I'm a wizard, too, Severus. A stronger wizard than you could ever hope to be. Accio wand."

His wand flew from his fingers and Julian caught it easily. Setting it down on the desk, Julian turned to him and smiled.

-------------------

His entire body was aflame with pain when he woke. His throat hurt from the screaming and he had trouble breathing. The hiss of agony that went through him with each breath indicated that one or more of his ribs had been broken.

He didn't recall all the events of the night before, nor did he want to. It was enough that he was still alive. Still alive and, as soon as he could convince his pain wracked body to move, leaving for school.

He had lost count of the ways his father had violated him. He had experienced all of them before, but never all in one session. And the beating was one of the worst in living memory. Father had never broken any of his bones before.

He chanted a self healing spell under his breath and the pain lessened a little.

"You're awake."

Well, shit. Julian was still here. Not content to rape and beat, he had to sit and watch the aftereffects of his handiwork.

"You can't go back to school looking like that," Julian said softly. He felt a hand touch his side and bit his lip trying not to scream. A few seconds of pure agony and he could breathe freely.

A hand across his face, gentle and soothing, and he could open his previously swollen eye. He didn't, though. He didn't want to see his father at all.

The gentle touches went on for a few more minutes, then he heard Julian leave the room. The pain had lessened to a mere ache.

He moved a little, experimentally. Yes, it was true. Miracle of miracles, his father had healed him. Not everything, but enough so he could move.

Getting up gingerly, he made his way to the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, he checked his appearance. His face was a little swollen, but other than that, he looked perfectly normal. Glancing down and seeing the red marks all over his torso, he realised why he had been healed. He had to return to school today and there would be awkward questions if his face looked as if he'd been beaten. The ends of his hair were wet, though, and it stung as the strands pulled away from where they had stuck to his back.

He dared not shower; the hot water touching the welts would hurt like hell. Taking up a soft cloth, he rinsed it with water and carefully bathed the cuts and abrasions he could reach. He dared not do even the simplest of healing spells until he was sure the wounds were clean.

It took nearly an hour to clean up and get dressed. He was still bleeding in spots, but not so much that anyone would notice. Soft flannel underclothes would absorb it and keep him warm at the same time.

Packing took no time at all; the house elves already had his trunk packed. All he had to do was pick up his wand and he was ready to go.

He glanced around the room to see if there was anything else he wanted. He tried not to look at the bed. The bedclothes told the tale of the night before with eloquence; he had no need or desire to relive any of it.

His wand was sitting on top of the letter. He picked up both and left.

-------------------

Travelling was uncomfortable. It was hard to find a way to sit that didn't hurt. Once on the train, he found an empty compartment and used a locking charm on the door. To hell with the rules; he could not face sharing.

Since the train was only half full and his reputation preceded him, no one even tried the door.

He spent the first many hours of the journey in numb silence, too hurt even for tears.

"You're an idiot, Severus," he told himself softly. "You let him do this and you're too much of a fucking coward to tell anybody."

Then again, who could he tell? Dippet, as head of Slytherin, would be the obvious choice, if Dippet wasn't such a complete arse. Dippet barely noticed what went on in Slytherin House and really didn't care. Hanging onto the coattails of his famous father, Armande, former Headmaster of Hogwarts, Dippet was the perfect example of the results of inbreeding.

Then again, so was his father. Two thousand years of powerful wizards and witches, and the line ends with a boy too scared to stand up to his father.

He thought briefly of telling Dumbledore. Unlike Dippet, Dumbledore seemed to care about the students. Yet, he always favoured the bright, popular ones. He joked and twinkled at them; jokes that he never found funny even when he did understand them. Dumbledore was almost omniscient in a way. He saw practically everything that went on in the school. Yet he never once gave any indication that he saw what was happening to him.

And Dumbledore would ask why he had said nothing until now. He wouldn't understand that he had been thirteen before he knew that what his father did wasn't normal, that all boys didn't have fathers who were incestuous paedophiles.

Dumbledore wouldn't understand why he had never fought back.

-------------------

The rocking of the train lulled him into a nearly somnambulant state. It was easier to watch the county side go by without thinking than it was to contemplate anything at all.

The letter from Remus sat on the inadequate table, untouched. He didn't want to deal with the letter yet. Still, he really should read it before the train got to station. They were already across the Scottish border; there was less than an hour to pulling in near Hogsmeade.

He picked up the letter and unfolded the parchment. He read it quickly, once. Then he read it again, slowly and carefully. The he carefully folded it back up and set it very slowly on the tiny table.

Remus had started the letter apologising for the unfortunate incident, reassuring him that Sirius Black really didn't mean any harm. He wrote that James had told him everything that had happened. And that he would understand if he didn't want to be friends anymore.

He wrapped his arms around himself and keened softly. The physical pain receded in the tidal wave of the agony in his heart. Until now, he had not entirely realised how much he needed to return to school; how much he needed Remus to be there for him. He knew he loved Remus, but not that he loved him that much.

He rose abruptly and leaned his forehead against the window of the train. One hand, without conscious volition, started banging rhythmically on the window, heel striking harder and harder with each blow.

He had no idea how long he had been standing there, tears flowing freely down his face, but he was abruptly brought back to the real world when the window suddenly gave way under his hand.

Muggle trains had shatterproof glass, but the Hogwarts Express was a much older train. The glass shards bit deeply into his forearm and he watched in fascination as the shattered remains of the window, the ledge, half the seat and his clothes turned bright red. The sound of the window breaking felt good and he glanced at the glass in the doors of the compartment. They obediently burst into fragments, showering him with sharp glass shrapnel.

He slid down into the seat, his arm resting on his knee and watched as the blood poured out of his arm. There was, surprisingly, no pain. No pain at all.

-------------------

The pain had returned when he next opened his eyes. He was in a white bed, in a white room; the hospital wing at Hogwarts. He wondered fuzzily how he got there.

His arm was wrapped in a heavy bandage and his face stung. He reached to touch the stinging parts with his good hand and felt the scratches. He must have been hit by the glass. Neither his face or the wrapped arm were particularly painful. The places where his father had touched him were still very tender.

Poppy Pomfrey bustled in a few moments later, her placid face puckered up into a worried frown.

"How are you feeling, Severus?"

"Okay." He appreciated her not using the mediwizard's standard 'we' with him.

"Good." She fussed for a moment with his blankets, tucking them firmly around him. He flinched away from her and she stepped back. "Care to tell me about it?"

"About what?" he snarled, suddenly very afraid. She must have examined him. What had she seen?

"Severus, I saw your back," she said softly. "You didn't fall down stairs or accidently hex yourself, did you?"

He flinched and looked away, but she pressed on, relentless.

"Severus, you were beaten. And I suspect that this isn't the first time it's happened," she said gently. "Severus, please tell me what happened. I promise, I won't tell anyone else."

"Not even the Headmaster?" he whispered. He couldn't deny it anymore. Madam Pomfrey was no idiot and she had seen.

"No one, Severus. Not unless you give me leave to do so." Pomfrey promised. "Please, Severus. Let me try to help."

"My father." There, it was out. He had, for the first time in his life, spoken of the unspeakable. He had accused his father. He half expected the world to end. When it didn't, he ventured to look at the school nurse. She was looking back at him with kindness and compassion.

"I thought as much." She shook her head. "You need to tell the Headmaster, Severus. He can help you."

"How?" The question came out as a short, sharp bark.

"Honestly, I don't know." She sighed. "Your father's a very powerful man...."

"Yeah." The tiny, infintismal spark of hope flickered briefly and died.

"I wish I could say otherwise, but I won't lie to you," Pomfrey said gently. "I can't get you out of the horrible situation you're in. We both know that. But I can help with the pain and the injuries. Please don't lie to me, Severus. You're still in pain and I want to help you with that."

He wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to trust her. He really did. She knew part of the truth, but could he trust her with the rest of it?

"Please?"

"I want to be by myself for a while," he said, almost calm. She nodded immediately.

"I'll spell lock the door so you can have some privacy. I will be the only one who can come in and I'll knock first," she said. "I need to check up on you later, but I'll leave you be if that's what you want. Call if you need me."

With that, she waved her wand and left.

-------------------

He wasn't sure if she really had spelled the door, so he got up gingerly and waved his hand over the latch, concentrating. The door was spell locked, he finally concluded. But would it keep out the Headmaster? And Dippet?

Not sure how to check that, he returned to the bed and sat down. He felt, not surprisingly, quite lightheaded. Looking down at himself, he realised that he was still wearing his trousers, although his boots, socks, shirt and robe were gone. Someone had gone to the trouble of cleaning the trousers; they were free from blood.

Why hadn't Pomfrey taken them off as well? He had obviously lost enough blood to lose consciousness. Did she suspect?

Carefully, he undid the fastenings and lowered the trousers and then his pants. Checking carefully, he discovered that he was still bleeding a little. The skin was tender, as if bruised and some spots caused him to cry out softly in pain.

He took off the garments altogether and lay down again, pulling the sheets over himself. Julian had really hurt him this time. Judging by the height of the sun, it had been most of a day since, and the rectal bleeding still hadn't stopped.

"Madam Pomfrey?" It took three tries before he could produce enough volume for her to have any chance of hearing him. A few moment later, she opened the door, still talking to someone outside.

"No, you can't come in and, no, I will not give you the counterspell," she was saying. "The last thing he needs right now is you hovering over him. He's not dying. Go away."

With a not so gentle push, she closed the door behind herself and approached.

"Honestly, that man is so persistent." She shook her head. "Now. What can I do for you, Severus?" The tone changed from exasperated to tender in a blink of an eye.

"I..." He tried to be matter of fact, but he failed. "There's other places where it hurts."

"Will you let me look?"

"...Yes..." The word came out very, very small. He rolled onto his side, away from her.

She pulled back the sheet and looked. He heard the gasp and winced. She knew what those injuries meant. There was silence for a long while; he could net even hear her robes rustle.

"Severus, you will probably find the exam and the treatment very... uncomfortable," she said finally, coming around to face him. "I can give you a sleeping potion."

"NO!" No, no potion. No poking and prodding when he didn't know what was being done. No more violations.

"Of course. May I at least numb the area so I won't accidentally hurt you?"

He nodded quickly before he could change his mind.

-------------------

She had left a sleeping potion for him, in case he wanted it, but otherwise left him alone. Through the long and wrenching exam and treatment, she had told him in a matter of fact voice exactly what she was doing. She treated him the entire time with gentle kindness, never once condescending or demanding.

He knew, as soon as she finished and asked him if he wanted a sleeping draught or not, that he could trust her. She had carefully and consistently left all the decisions up to him. She had left him in control.

He still ached in spots, but it was a good ache, a healing ache. He picked up the goblet and sipped slowly, analyzing the potion by taste. It was fairly standard; a little too much wormwood and a little too little chamomile, but effective nonetheless.

As he started to drift, he wondered idly why the windows on the train exploded when they did. He hadn't consciously wanted them to. He could do magic without a wand, but he hadn't done so for years, not since coming to Hogwarts.

As he finished the last drops of the potion, he tried again. He let go of the goblet, letting it hang in midair for a moment before making it move to the table and set itself down. Then he snuggled under the blankets and closed his eyes.

-------------------

He felt much more himself in the morning, at least physically. His arm was nearly healed and the other aches and pains were pretty much gone.

Emotionally, however, he was not doing so well. Along with the helpless rage and fear from the assault, the shame of having someone else know about it and the depression that usually descended on him, there was Remus.

He could read between the lines; Remus wanted out. Oh, he had phrased it in the kindest way possible, but the message was clear.

So Potter had told him everything, had he? Had told him about how he had snivelled like a baby when he was confronted with Remus' affliction, had he? He recalled the look Potter had given him in Dumbledore's office; that look of pity.

A surge of rage shot through him. How dare Potter take it upon himself the talk to Remus about this? About him?

The rage drained away on tidal wave of despair. Of course Remus would listen to his friend. Of course Remus would think that Black hadn't intended to harm him. Even the Headmaster believed Black. Naturally, Remus would believe his friends over the boy who had so consistently and puzzlingly refused his advances.

And what if Black had, wonder of wonders, told the truth? What if Remus had known what Black was up to? Potter certainly knew; had he not, he would not have gone after him.

Did Remus know? Did Remus use his friend's penchant for thoughtlessness as a way to let him know about his affliction without having to actually admit it? Had Remus tired of him, and gone along with this, thinking that he could protect himself?

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. If Remus did care about him, even a little bit, where was the get-well note? Madam Pomfrey had mentioned that Dumbledore was concerned and wanted to see him, and that Dippet had made a half hearted attempt to show that he gave a damn about one of the students in his House. Inky and Paul had both asked after him and there were flowers from Anita on the bedside table. Even Lucinda had sent best wishes. But from Remus? Nothing. Nothing at all.

-------------------

"Before you go, there is something I wanted to talk to you about, Severus," Madam Pomfrey said, as she watched him brush out his hair. He had not wanted to touch it at all, but she had insisted that he leave the hospital wing looking as if she had actually taken care of him.

"What?" One final swipe of the brush and he was done.

"Have you thought much about what you want to do when you graduate?"

Other than not marry Anita? "Not really."

"You're good with potions." She stated the patently obvious. He had told her about the sleeping draught and how it could be improved.

"And?"

"Have you considered working in that field?"

"I would need to apprentice to someone from the College, wouldn't I?"

"Yes."

"They don't start recruiting for apprentices until seventh year."

"I am a member of the College of Apothecaries, Alchemists and Magical Brewers, Severus. Not a Master, but a member nonetheless," Pomfrey said slowly. "I make my own healing potions and I am permitted to take an apprentice if I wish. Would you like to apprentice to me?"

"Well, I..." He wasn't sure how to answer that extraordinary offer. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, but she was not exactly what he had in mind as a mentor. She was a nurse, not even a fully qualified mediwitch. She could teach him about simple healing spells and potions, but not much more.

"Yes, I know you're not interested in becoming a mediwizard or an institutional nurse." Pomfrey smiled at hesitation. "However, once you're a member of the College, even as an apprentice, you have access to more suitable mentors in whatever aspect of potions you like."

"In other words, you're offering to get me into the College." He forced back a lump of emotion clogging his throat.

"Yes. At sixteen, no less," she replied. "Of course, the initiation fee is quite high. You'll have to owl home for the money."

Yes. He would. At the moment, he felt a bizarre urge to wrap his arms around her and waltz her around the room. To kiss her and marry her and devote his life to her. Wonderful woman.

Julian wasn't stupid. He could not reasonably object to him taking apprenticeship into the College. And he would know that Poppy Pomfrey, friend and colleague of the great Albus Dumbledore, knew. Julian couldn't touch her, a school nurse, a nobody, without ending up looking like a fool or worse.

There were many in his social circle who wouldn't care that Julian was abusing his son, but all of them would be shocked at any open discussion of it. Julian would be cut dead socially if that happened.

Where the law had failed him, gossip and innuendo might work. Julian Snape, while immune to prosecution, was not immune to common gossip.

"I accept," he told her, with a rare smile.

"Good. I'll send the application today. As soon as you get your confirmation, I'll be working you to the bone." She tried to sound severe, but amusement laced her words. "You'll have to prove to me that you can make a better sleeping draught than that old skinflint in Hogsmeade."

-------------------

Getting back to the routine of school was a bit difficult. He had expected a certain level of derision for putting his hand through the train window, but there was none. No one mentioned it. At all. It was creeping him out.

"Inky, you can mention it, you know," he finally said, as they went down to dinner. Inky looked at him, at the still red marks along his arm.

"I'm not sure what to say, Sev. I'm not used to you losing control. Losing your temper, sure, but I've never seen you lose it like that," Inky replied.

"I was a little upset," he said, with considerable understatement.

"You broke every goddam window in six compartments, Sev," Inky said quietly.

"What?"

"Every window in your compartment and every window in the compartments around you broke," Inky confirmed. "I don't know how you did it, but I'm not about to have that temper unleashed on me."

"Was anyone hurt?" He had broken that many windows?

"Not really. Everybody on the train was pretty shaken up, though," Inky said, in a very subdued voice. "Especially when they saw your arm, Sev. Your whole compartment looked like it had been painted red. I heard that they tested your wand for the last spell it cast, too. And it wasn't a glass shattering spell."

-------------------

After dinner, where most of the Slytherins treated him with almost comical respect, he had to face seeing Dumbledore.

As she promised, Pomfrey had put a spell on the door of his room in the infirmary that even the Headmaster could not undo. Dumbledore had tried to get in to see him, but he refused any visitors and Pomfrey had backed him up.

"Ah, Severus." The Headmaster was, as usual, beaming benevolently at him. "Come in. Do sit down."

He perched uneasily on one of the chairs. He remembered vividly which spell had been last cast with his wand and cringed inwardly. That was a one way ticket to Azkaban.

"Are you feeling better?" the Headmaster asked, passing him a cup of tea without asking whether he wanted one or not.

"Yes." It was mostly the truth. He was feeling better than he had, which wasn't saying much.

"There are a few small details that we need to clear up about that unfortunate incident of last week."

Last week. God, had it been less than a week that he'd been confronted with Remus' eyes in that wolfen face?

"Did you talk to your parents about what happened?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, not really." He shrugged. Dumbledore already knew the answer to that one. If he had mentioned that Remus was the werewolf he'd encountered, there would have been a huge fuss about it already. "I just said that I had encountered a werewolf. I didn't mention any names."

"Good. I would appreciate it if you would continue such discretion about that incident." Dumbledore nodded with approval. "As for the incident on the train, I have a few questions."

"I was upset and I put my hand through the window," he said bluntly, suddenly tired of all the half hints and odd undercurrents. "I honestly didn't mean to break all of the windows around me. I'll pay for them."

"That isn't my concern." Dumbledore leaned forward, his blue eyes shining with the kindness he was so famous for. "I'm a little more concerned with why you were so upset."

He bit his lip to force down a flood of rage. Had Pomfrey told him? Had she gone behind his back and broken her promise to him?

"I was upset," he said stubbornly. "That's all."

"It's about Remus, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he admitted, giddy with relief. Pomfrey hadn't told after all. "He sent me a letter."

"And that upset you."

"He broke up with me. And I lost it." It was the truth. The letter had been what precipitated the whole thing.

"I am so sorry, Severus." Dumbledore looked at him with compassion - not pity - and gave a small, sympathetic smile. "I thought you two were very good for each other."

"Yeah, well, so did I." He tried for indifference, but it came out as hurt.

The kindness in the old man's eyes was impossible to resist and he found himself telling Dumbledore all about his poor, pathetic attempt at romance. He left out a great deal of it, but it felt good to talk about it, to feel the waves of sympathetic understanding that emanated from the Headmaster. He was nearly in tears when he finished, mentioning the utter lack of any response from Remus during his convalescence.

"You are both so young, Severus," Dumbledore replied gently, so gently that he forgot to bristle. "Youth has many advantages, but patience and understanding aren't among them. But, there. I won't make you listen to the ramblings of an old man. Platitudes don't make the pain go away. All I will say is that I'm sorry that your first foray into romance hurt you."

"Thank you." Only pride kept the tears away this time.

"There is one other thing that I do have to mention," Dumbledore said, after refilling teacups and giving a few minutes for him to regain control. "I tested your wand after the incident on the train. The last spell you cast..."

"Imperio. I know." Get it over with. Expulsion or worse.

"I was fairly certain that you knew that spell, Severus. I was a little surprised at how weak it was." The twinkle in the headmaster's eye belied the deep disappointment in his voice. "Before you cast it again, I would suggest that you work a little more on your spell casting. I know you have the talent to do better than that."

"It's an Unforgivable." What the hell?

"Which you failed to cast correctly," Dumbledore replied, amused. "Most students try the Unforgivables at one time or another, and it's almost always the Imperious Curse. If I were to call in the Ministry every time that happens, there would be no students left at Hogwarts. The Imperious is a dangerous spell, with consequences that are much greater than most people can possibly imagine. Promise me that you won't try again and I will promise that I won't tell Professor Flitwick how badly you failed at casting it. He'd be quite disappointed. You're usually a better student than that."

"It isn't on the curriculum, is it?"

"No, of course not."

"Then I've already promised. I won't cast it here and I'm not supposed to cast any spells while at home, so I think we have that covered."

"So we do. Consider yourself chastised for using magic during the holidays."

"Yes, sir."

"And, to assuage my curiosity, how did you break those windows?"

"I don't know."

"Hm."

The room fell silent and he felt uncomfortable at the speculative gaze of the Headmaster. However, Dumbledore said nothing more, and simply offered more tea.

-------------------

On the way back to the Slytherin common room, he saw the Marauders standing in a group, talking. Pettigrew was telling some kind of story, and Potter was adding his own comments. Black, one arm casually draped around Remus, was laughing and Remus was laughing as well.

Well, sending him to be killed by a werewolf hadn't affected their friendship much, had it? He walked on by, not willing to give them the satisfaction of avoiding them. As he walked by, he noticed Remus ducking out from Black's arm and approaching. he kept walking.

"Severus?" No, those soft tones were not going to affect him.

"What?" He whirled around, facing Remus. "What do you want?"

"Did you get my letter?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"You set me up," he said harshly. He was glad he was tall; it made it ever so much easier to look down his nose at the little bastard.

"Severus, I didn't know..."

"Go to hell, Lupin." Yes, you can rot in hell along with me, but I won't let you hurt me again. He turned on his heel and stalked away before his treacherous heart convinced him that the look on Lupin's face was one of hurt.

-------------------

The rest of the year flew by. Between school work and his new apprenticeship, he was busy. Too busy to dwell on his broken heart more than six or seven times a day. Exams arrived sooner than he believed possible and, for the first time, he wasn't in a panic about going home.

He had done well on them, he knew. So well, in fact, that even Dippet stopped picking on him. He knew he was comfortably near the top of the class, if not at the very top. It would be a close race between him and those fucking Marauders, who always seemed to pull miracles at exam time.

When the exam results were posted, just before they packed up and left for the year, he felt a sharp pang. There, at the top of the list, was his name. Right beside it, with an identical average, was the name of Remus Lupin. Somehow, their names coupled together, even on a pass list, seemed wrong. And so very right.

He had hoped, and tried to believe, that the sudden infatuation would die as quickly as it had been born, but it hadn't. The ache in his heart since Easter was still there. He knew, somehow, that the ache would always be there, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

He still loved Remus. And he would love Remus for the rest of his life.

-------------------

His mother was delighted with his marks; so delighted that she met him at the station.

"Your father was very pleased." She beamed at him in the confines of the car. "As was I. I'm so proud of you, Severus."

"Thanks, Mother," He grinned at her. "I'm rather proud of myself."

"You should be, dear." She smiled at patted his hand. "We'll be having an important guest coming tomorrow, but tonight is just for you."

-------------------

His mother had arranged a special dinner and he enjoyed every bit of it. His father, playing proud patriarch, had playfully toasted him on his success. All in all, it was a delightful evening, for once free of the usual tensions.

He had thought his father would be angry about the apprenticeship and what it implied, but he didn't seem to be.

At least, not until his mother had excused herself and gone to attend to some household business.

"So. An apprenticeship. At sixteen. How unusual." Julian bit out each word precisely.

"I'm good at potions," he managed, around the increasing well of fear in his heart. "Madam Pomfrey knows that."

"And what else does she know? What did you tell her?"

"Nothing."

"What did you tell her?" Julian did not shout and the soft near whisper was worse than any bellowing would have been.

"Nothing. I swear it." His own whisper was much weaker, laced with terror.

"Good." Julian approached and took his chin in his hand. "And you will continue to tell her nothing. Do you hear me?"

"Yes." He could barely speak.

"Answer me, Severus. Do you hear me? Do you understand?"

Yes. I understand. Nothing changes.

-------------------

No, nothing changed. The house elves still left the remnants of wine for him. Father still came in the quiet hours of the night. He still endured the violation. He still lay in bed after, not daring to cry.

-------------------

He went unwillingly when he was summoned to meet the important guest. The house elves were in a positive tizzy about the newcomer, but he ignored it. He had sunk back into the mire of depression and anger and fear. He would do his usual trick of being sullen and brooding and his parents would shrug and say something vaguely humorous about teenagers. And he would be left alone until it was time to be used again.

Still, it would be rather funny to watch his father trying to impress this guy. Usually, Julian was the one who did the impressing; he rarely made the effort for anyone else.

The guest was a tall man, taller than himself, and about sixty. He had black hair, shot at the temples with a becoming silver, and amused hazel eyes. And he had a charisma around him that was like a blow to the gut. He had taken one look at the guy and he couldn't take his eyes off him. It wasn't that the man was particularly attractive, or that he was specifically attracted. It was another phenomenon altogether. He had never met anyone who had such a natural air of fascination. It was as if a glamourie had been cast on the room, making him the center of it.

"Ah, Severus." Julian's words made him tear his eyes from the man. "My Lord, may I present my son, Severus? Severus, this is Lord Voldemort."

Lord Voldemort. The wizard everyone was talking about, the one who had power and influence far beyond anything the Snapes could muster with their money and lineage. The wizard, it was rumoured, who embraced the Dark Arts.

"Sir." He shook hands with Lord Voldemort. Voldemort smiled and murmured something kind, then went back to talking to his father.

Through the pre dinner chatting, he watched with bitter amusement as Voldemort effortlessly charmed Julian, displaying an intelligence that Julian could not hope to match. Although his conversational attention was on Julian, Voldemort often looked in his direction, catching his eye, and they carried on a silent conversation of their own.

By the time dinner was over, he realised that Voldemort knew. He knew exactly what Julian was and he knew exactly what was happening. What Dumbledore had failed to catch over five years, Voldemort had picked up on in less than three hours.

He trembled to think what this meant. Until Voldemort caught his eye and they had another of those odd, silent, eloquent exchanges.

I can help you escape, Voldemort's eyes told him. I can set you free.

If that is true, he sent back, I will follow you to the ends of the earth.