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: Shadow of the Wolf
Author: Seeker
Email: seeker@pridemail.com
Site : http://www.pridesites.com/avs/seeker/
Rating: NC17
Summary: Snape can't see past the wolf to the man ... can he?
Disclaimer: Just borrowing, don't own them. Hopefully nobody who owns these characters will ever read it. I blame Alan Rickman for being so damned sexy.

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Two years before the end of the world, Remus Lupin got a second chance. He did everything he could to deserve it. He taught the children well, looked after Harry as best he could, did everything Dumbledore asked. He even drank the swill Severus Snape tried to poison him with every full moon, and thanked the man nicely for it. It did work, of course. Snape was too much a perfectionist in his work, and to protective of the school, for the potion to be anything less than effective.

The fact that it tasted like shit in soup was strictly personal.

Lupin knew for a fact there were ways of covering the taste of wolfsbane without affecting the effectiveness. Snape simply didn't bother. After all, to him, Lupin was a monster, and what was a dose of gratuitous unkindness to a monster, after all? He took the anger building up in him, recognized it for what it was and released it. Or tried to.

But he was a pack creature, too used to living alone, and too soon relying too heavily on being one of many again. Beta to Dumbledore's alpha, he shared rank with Snape, and the disrespect inherent in the deliberate slight with the potion rubbed him the wrong way every time it happened. It was tough to let go of an insult that was repeated on a monthly basis by one his nature recognized as his family, even as his brain informed his wolf-side that it was insane. Snape hated Lupin. With family like that, who needed enemies?

Still, he bore with it. Kept calm. Did what had to be done. All the way through the Christmas holidays and into the cold drudgery of the new year. Until the Storm Moon shone, and Lupin made a discovery.

Scent was always keener for him than for others, due to his illness, but the stench of the potion was such that it masked all other smells, lingering sometimes for days afterward. Early in February, Snape was late bringing his potion to him, and Lupin made his way down to the dungeons, happy to be further from the reach of the moon as well as curious about the delay.

He found Snape feverishly cutting ingredients and shoveling them in a cauldron, muttering under his breath about foolish children and incompetent idiots. Lupin glanced through the doorway, stepped back to allow a very downcast Ron Weasley to scoot past him, and raised his hand to knock on the door frame. Snape obviously hadn't noticed him, because he was still muttering under his breath, cutting and mixing so quickly his hands were a blur.

Before his knuckles could rap the cold stone, a scent, for once not blanketed by wolfsbane, tickled his nose. Snape, a scent he knew from old, impatience and frustration making it acidic, the plants and animal bits he worked with adding layers of both freshness and decay. Beneath the complexity of mood and profession was the earthy scent of Snape himself, something like stone and musk and cinnamon mixed together. He smelled good.

Shaking off his preoccupation, Lupin knocked politely. Snape shot him a glance then sneered at him.

"Had you waited I would very shortly have brought this to you. As commanded."

"It's later than usual, Severus," Lupin told him quietly.

"Have I ever let you down?" His tone made it quite clear who'd done the disappointing in their strange relationship, and it wasn't Snape. Lupin smiled.

"No, you haven't. But the moon is rising early tonight, and the pull is strong."

Snape opened a pouch and pulled out a wad of wolfsbane. Lupin caught a whiff of it and gagged. Snape smirked at him. "I'll soon have you fixed up."

When he could breathe again, Lupin felt a shudder go through him. "Better hurry, Severus," he choked.

This time the glare came without benefit of the smirk. Cursing under his breath, Snape concentrated on the cauldron, adding pinches of this and that deftly, counting time in between curses. Then he snatched the cauldron off the tripod and hurriedly slopped the potion into a goblet.

"Here," he ordered Lupin, "Drink it while it's hot. It's not as fancy as it would be if I'd time to prepare it properly --"

"Thank god," Lupin couldn't help inserting. Snape glared harder at him.

"But it won't kill you. Now shut up and drink."

Lupin did just that. For once, it wasn't disgustingly vile tasting, merely unpleasant, and the steam didn't clog his sinuses up completely with its stench. In fact, once he'd bolted it past his tongue to avoid searing his taste buds, his nose felt weirdly clear. He sniffed once, just to make sure, and caught a scent he hadn't noticed before. Two, in fact.

Fear. Bones-deep and very old. And lust. Equally as deep and even older. Both entwined with the musky scent that was Snape.

Oh.

Lupin licked his lips absently, catching the last drops of the potion, and the scent peaked. He looked down into the empty goblet, then over to the cauldron, then down at his feet before taking a deep breath, nearly making himself dizzy on the intoxicating scent, and looking straight at Snape.

No wonder he usually made the potion so gruesome to the senses. He was hiding his emotions in a cloud of misleading herbs. Leave it to the Potion Master to find a way to skirt the issue without letting Lupin know there was an issue to skirt.

Setting the goblet on the table, he burped gently and apologized. Snape waved irritably at him.

"Well, you've got what you came for, now go away." He looked tense.

"Thank you," Lupin meant to say. What actually came out was, "Not quite." Snape gave him a strange look, three parts sarky to one part bewildered.

"What, then?" he asked, in a long-suffering tone that no doubt worked well on the students. Lupin shrugged.

"I had no idea. You really should have said something."

This time, the look was nearly all bewilderment, with a hint of anger. He opened his mouth, probably to say something nasty, but Lupin didn't give him the chance. With a quiet whine, he stalked up to Snape and grabbed hold of his robes. Snape gave him an alarmed look.

"What do you think you're doing, you bloody lunatic?"

Not bothering to explain the obvious, going on scent, not protestations, Lupin stepped close and rubbed his jaw lightly along Snape's, closing his eyes in bliss at the slight draw of beard catching against beard. A strangled squawk next to his left ear made him wince, but there was no movement to escape. Rather the opposite.

Snape's right hand came up to bury itself in the short thick hair at the back of Lupin's head. Instead of using the grip to push him away, Snape used it to hold him in place. Then Snape tilted his head to the side and bared his throat to Lupin. Neither knowing nor caring what prompted the move, Lupin growled softly and began to lick the soft skin over Snape's jugular.

Scent peaked again, a sharp spike of fear overpowered by a torrent of arousal. Snape was afraid of this touch, yes, but he wanted it more than he feared it. Lupin reacted to both, stropping his body against Snape in a manner intended to comfort. A happy coincidence, then, that it turned Snape on as much as it calmed him down.

He was shaking, but not from fear, when Lupin opened his robe, slid his fingers between buttons and laid open shirt and trousers to his touch. Snape made noises, a real try for coherency and attitude, but since he was speaking gibberish, Lupin didn't bother trying to decipher it. His body was making its desires quite plain indeed. Who needed words?

Their descent to the floor was practically unnoticed, caught up as they were in one another. Robes made adequate bedding, and clothing was no obstacle to determination. It had been a long time since Lupin had touched anyone, even longer since that touch had been an intimate one, but instinct was a sure guide. When Snape convulsed against him, Lupin's mouth followed his hands' lead, and he lapped the skin clean.

Very little urging was required to move Snape to his belly, only a simple "Please, Severus," and a light touch to signal his intentions. With a sound like a sob, Snape pillowed his face on his arms and raised his flanks to Lupin's thighs. The first touch was fingers again, followed soon after by a deeper one, and with the connection complete between them Lupin felt for the first time in over a decade that he was home.

How utterly surreal that he should find his way home buried to the hilt in Severus Snape.

Thrusting lazily, prolonging the contact for as long as he could, Lupin felt Snape stir under him. Another sound, a moan this time, and Snape began to thrust back. Draping himself over Snape from knees to nape, Lupin reveled in the feel of skin against skin, muscles moving together. His hand slid around Snape's waist and found renewed evidence of desire. They moved together for several moments, Lupin matching the rhythm of his hand with his hips, Snape rocking between both.

Awash as he was in sensation, his approaching climax took Lupin by surprise. It was simply one more layer of feeling, one more connection between them. He felt his flesh swell within Snape, locking them together, holding him in place. Snape cried out, squirming in Lupin's hold, as they lay folded tightly together, panting. Forcing his hand to move, Lupin worked the weeping erection until, held fast as he was and unable to move, Snape came over his hand.

The contractions around him were agonizing and wonderful. Lupin buried his face against Snape's back and howled as the tension dissolved all at once, sending him flying. Body shuddering, hands clenching on Snape's hips, sweat and tears and saliva making the skin beneath his face slick to the touch, it took a long time for Lupin to come back from where he'd been flung.

When he did, he found himself wrapped in Snape's arms. The room was dark, the duvet felt like heaven over him, and a single sliver of moonlight made its way down the stairs to where he lay. Reaching up, he pressed a single soft kiss on Snape's lips.

"Thank you, Severus," he whispered. The words didn't disturb Snape, who was deeply asleep. Lupin carefully slipped out from the long arms wrapped around him and padded barefoot over to the light. Holding his hand out, he placed it in the direct path of the light from the Storm Moon.

Moments later, a groggy wolf made its unsteady way to the foot of the bed where Snape slept. It circled a few times, making a bed on the covers spilling off the bed, then settled wearily down, wrapped its tail over its nose, and joined its mate in slumber.

Sunlight seldom made it as far as the dungeons. Lupin didn't have to rely on it, anyway, because his change woke him up. It hurt as badly becoming human-form as it did to take wolf-form, and when it was over, he lay tangled in the sheet on the floor, panting harshly.

When he finally had control over his breathing, he lifted himself on shaking legs and turned to crawl into bed. Snape sat upright, duvet puddled around his waist, thin scratches and bite-shaped bruises dotting his torso making plain how they'd spent the previous evening. Lupin put one knee on the bed, his hand reaching out toward his mate.

Snape recoiled.

Lupin froze. A tiny spot of warmth that had kindled the night before flickered and went cool. His hand dropped to the bed linens, cotton crunching under his fingers as they curled into a fist.

"Severus." A name, a question, a plea all at once. Snape stared at him, unblinking.

"We cannot," he finally said.

Lupin swallowed before he could trust his voice enough to ask, "Why not?"

The cold answer cut him to the heart. "I cannot take a monster for a lover."

He had no response to such knife-edged logic. Withdrawing slowly, his joints aching more from the ice forming within him than from the physical strain of the change, Lupin climbed off the bed. Found his clothing, separating it with deliberate care from Snape's, all in a tangle together as it was. Dressed himself, finger-combed his hair and straightened his spine. All without once looking at Snape.

Turning to leave, he saw the goblet sitting on the table a few feet from where he'd first touched Snape. The memory hurt like a fist to the gut. Waiting a moment for his muscles to unclench, he turned back long enough to look Snape in the eye one more time.

"Thank you for the potion, Professor," he said with quiet dignity. Snape stared back at him silently, and Lupin nodded once before turning back to the stairs.

His foot was on the bottom step when Snape said, equally quietly, "You're welcome. Tonight, I will bring it to you in your study. Please do not come down here again."

Grinding his teeth against the angry words he wished he could use, Lupin simply answered, "Don't be late." Then he walked up the stairs and out of the dungeons without another word.

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For the next four months, Snape was religious in bringing Lupin his wolfsbane brew. The formality between them wore on Lupin, but he bit his lip and let it go. Snape had made his decision, and as much as it hurt, Lupin would do no more. If Snape didn't know by now, or more likely refused to admit, that there was more to Remus Lupin than the Wolf, then nothing Lupin did would convince him.

Things went from bad to worse when Sirius came back. Lupin completely forgot to take his potion in his haste to protect Harry, then matters got completely out of hand with the revelation of Sirius' innocence, Pettigrew's guilt, the unfortunate affair of the Hippogriff, and intervention by Snape that was both fortuitous for the children and incredibly unfortunate for Lupin. The morning after Sirius' escape, again, things went from worse to worst, as Snape made certain Lupin would never forget to take his wolfsbane at Hogwarts again... by telling the entire Slytherin house that Lupin was a werewolf.

Lupin resigned that morning. Left that afternoon without laying eyes on Snape again. With an address on a scrap of parchment, a small sack of money from Dumbledore, and strict instructions on his part in the war against Voldemort, he left for the wilds of Scotland. From there, he was to recruit support from amongst the Magical Creatures against the day when Dumbledore would call for an all-out defense against the Death Eaters and their Leader.

He would also spend the next several months trying to get used to not having a pack again. Lupin was a social being, most at ease when around people, if he trusted them and they knew him. Only twice in his life had it ever been the case when he could relax with a family, a pack of his own. The first pack had been decimated by Voldemort, with James and Lily's deaths, Peter's betrayal and Sirius' incarceration. The second time had come a decade later, when he'd found at least partial acceptance, duties to perform in the service of a higher good, and for a brief, glorious night, a mate.

Then the first pack had collided with the second, and he'd ended up losing both.

In the course of the summer and fall, fraught with suspicion and danger, he reached out to the variety of creatures living in trepidation under the noses or on the fringes of wizard society. His days were full and his work worthwhile. The owls he sent to Dumbledore carried coded transmissions full of solid support, realistic projections and high hopes.

At night, he stared at the ceiling and licked his emotional wounds.

Every full moon, a packet would arrive. He would follow the directions, drink down the results, and wish with all his being that he was back in that damned dungeon with Snape. And every time, by return owl, he sent a single small scroll containing three words.

Thank you, Severus.

The winter was hard, full of the blinding blizzards and bone-chilling winds that coated the Highlands in ice. Christmas came and went, during a full moon that year, so he didn't pay much attention. Dumbledore sent him a new robe, Harry sent candy, Sirius stopped by for a night and they talked until they were both hoarse. He couldn't stay long, but that brief contact brightened Lupin's life considerably. Still, the new year found Lupin worn to the bone. It had been more difficult, this time, leaving the pack. Quieter, no sudden death or great tragedy, simply expulsion.

At the hand of his mate.

The fact that Snape had no idea Lupin considered him his mate was beside the point. The fact was that Snape had made his choice, as Lupin had made his. The choices were irreconcilable, but to be fair, and Lupin tried to be fair, it wasn't Snape's fault that he couldn't allow himself to be in a relationship with a werewolf.

Wasn't Snape's fault he was a short-sighted, self-righteous, irritating, phobic git who couldn't see past the end of his nose to the human being who wanted him, standing there right in front of him, in the shadow of the wolf.

Of course, not being his fault didn't mean Lupin couldn't mentally curse him for it. Even as he was wishing himself right back in the middle of it.

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Coming home from several days spent in talks with the local representatives of the kelpies, water horses and sea serpents, Lupin felt optimistic about their chances. True, the kelpies were a mischievous lot, but they listened to the serpents, and those of the sea had no fondness for Voldemort and his minions, regardless of the common ancestry between them and the totem animal of the Slytherin. If anything, the sea serpents thought the Slytherins gave snakes a bad name. And the water horses were always up for a rumble. Fighting alongside the mer people, they assured him, would be 'just like old times.'

Still, he was chilled to the bone and glad to be back to the cottage by the time he made it home. As he stepped in the front door it struck him that the place was oddly warm for having been empty over a week. Standing in the doorway, closing it silently behind himself and reaching for his wand, he took an exploratory sniff.

Snape.

He nearly dropped his wand.

Stumbling a little, either from the fact that his feet were like blocks of ice or from the shock of his unexpected visitor, he made it to the door of the sitting room and stared. Snape sat in a chair next to a roaring fire, a book in his lap. Staring right back at him.

"Severus," Lupin murmured. Snape blinked.

"You look like the abominable snowman."

Shrugging, dislodging a stone's worth of snow from his shoulder, he answered absently, "No, the Yeti were last month. Kelpies this month."

That earned him another blink, and a frown to go with it. Stepping out of his cloak, he walked forward to hang it next to the fire. Holding his frozen hands out to the warmth, he tried not to stare at Snape. He failed. Snape looked down at his book, the closed it with a thump and set it on the table. He looked at Lupin's hands, then up at his hair, then down at his feet.

"Why are you here, Severus?" Lupin asked quietly. Snape's roaming glance shot to his face and stayed there.

"I'm... I have some messages. From Dumbledore. Important."

He was still talking but Lupin wasn't paying much attention. The fire was playing off Snape's hair, blue light shining in the black, like the sky on a moonless night, Lupin's favorite kind. His hand reached out to touch it before he could stop himself. It was as silky to his fingertips as he remembered. Snape's voice stuttered to a stop and Lupin came back to himself with a start.

"Uh," he gulped, then snatched his hand away and held it back to the fire, stepping an uneasy few inches further away from Snape. "Sorry, what was that?"

Snape stood, and Lupin froze in place, not sure what to expect. Leaving would be the best, he supposed. A tantrum was probable. Another hateful tirade, perhaps. He certainly didn't expect what he got.

Which was Snape taking hold of his cold hands, drawing them up to his lips, and placing a kiss in the center of each palm.

Lupin stood there, staring stupidly at his hands. Snape then dumbfounded him completely by sliding his hands up Lupin's arms until they reached his shoulders, then drawing him forward into an embrace. Lupin stumbled a little.

Snape caught him.

Then there was that wonderful scent again, musk and cinnamon and snowflakes this time instead of dust, a distinct improvement. Lupin couldn't have drawn away to save his life. Snape muttered as his hands worked at Lupin's robes, but none of the words made sense, and the feel of his hands on chilled skin, setting it ablaze, was too overwhelming to bother with mere words anyway. Looking down wildly at Snape, now kneeling at his feet as he stripped the boots and heavy socks away from his feet, Lupin wondered when he'd died and how he'd managed to make it to heaven.

A few moments later he knew he hadn't been in heaven quite yet, because the next step was indeed heaven. If his everlasting reward could be granted in the arms of a man intent on covering every inch of his body with kisses. On touching and stroking and caressing him until he was babbling, until he was howling. On holding him against heat and need and strength, pushing him higher until he flew, then catching him as he fell, only to move against and into him, pushing him higher yet again. Sending him reeling then steadying him as he collapsed, panting and whimpering and nuzzling the sweaty body beneath him.

This time, there was no full moon to interfere with their pleasure. No alarm from his lycanthropic nature to pull them apart. No avoidance of the truth when they lay still together in the aftermath. Snape didn't fall asleep. Neither did Lupin.

Shifting away a few inches, far enough to see into Snape's eyes, read his expression, and close enough to smell any emotions he couldn't see, Lupin had to ask the one question he most wished never to have answered. Clearing his throat, he whispered, "Severus." Dark eyes met his, unflinching. "How can you touch a monster like me?" Using Snape's own words, not against him, but in challenge to him.

A flinch then, but only a quick one, and Lupin smelled shame along with satiation. The expression on Snape's face might have been carved in stone, so it was a good thing Lupin had such a keen nose. Or he might not have waited to hear the answer. He might have simply belted Snape right then and walked out. But the fact that Snape was ashamed, and still beside him, stilled his temper and gave him patience to wait.

Licking his lips, Snape unwrapped one arm from around Lupin's shoulders and held it out. A black mark, the sign of the Death Eaters, glowed from his forearm. It looked painful, swollen and enflamed, almost burnt. Lupin sniffed at it warily, then glanced up at Snape, his eyes curious.

"You should be asking me that," Snape finally told him. Lupin curled a lip at him.

"Don't be an idiot. You're no monster."

"Neither are you," Snape answered readily enough, shocking Lupin into silence. "I know that. But I was a fool, and a frightened one at that. I was trying to protect myself by hurting you."

Absorbing that for a moment, Lupin asked gently, "What changed your mind?"

Snape ran his fingertip over Lupin's mouth, outlining his lips, lingering there before reaching down to lay a soft kiss where his finger had played. Lupin was starting to kiss him back when Snape broke away and whispered against his cheek, "The final battle is coming. Soon. I am selfish. I wanted one last taste of happiness before it all comes to an end."

The only answer Lupin had to that was to hold him. They lay for some time, holding one another in front of the fire, touching and kissing, as if storing up tactile memories to guard themselves against the coming cold. Finally with a last kiss, reluctantly broken, Snape pulled himself away. Reaching out to snag a dispatch satchel from beside the chair, he handed it to Lupin.

"The messages from Dumbledore. Once you've memorized the contents, burn them completely."

Lupin nodded, and Snape dropped another quick kiss on his lips. Then he stood and dressed. Lupin watched him, silently asking him to stay, knowing it would do no good, so not bothering to speak out.

Once ready to leave, Snape reached down and cupped Lupin's chin, staring into his face for a long moment.

"Don't contact me. There are spies everywhere, particularly in my House."

With a tiny growl that made it clear how much he didn't like it, Lupin nodded agreement. "When do you suppose you'll make it back to me again?" He tried not to sound needy. He tried to sound philosophical. He had a feeling he'd missed on both counts.

"I don't know." Snape's hand dropped reluctantly. "I'm sorry," he blurted. The words sounded like they hurt.

He didn't have to say for what. There was too much. Lupin knew. He nodded, then brushed the tips of his fingers over Snape's mouth in turn. Then he stepped back, and watched Snape leave.

The world got a little colder when the door shut behind him.

Six months of hard work later, on a cool June evening, an owl came diving out of the sky, hooting loudly. It was an express scroll, from Snape. One word.

Now.

Staring at the familiar scrawl, Lupin felt his blood begin to heat, the echo of the wolf howling in the back of his mind. His anticipation wasn't all for the upcoming battle. Turning toward the cottage, he prepared to return to Hogwarts, an army at his side. There was a smile on his lips. One that showed his teeth. The wolf was ready to return to his pack.

It was time.