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sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 03:23 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 03:23 pm
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Three Galleons, 2 of 4
Summary: After the war, Hermione has settled into a quiet if unorthodox life with Severus -- until a small problem in the form of a refugee spy calls for an even more unorthodox solution.
Rating: R for sexual content.
Notes:arsenicjade challenged me the other day to write Snape/Hermione/Lupin in a hurt/comfort scenario, and VOILA. Blame her. :D
Originally Posted 12/16/2006
Chapter 2
Remus' bristling hair spoke of a recently-shaved head, and his head itself spoke of utter starvation, little more than a skull with skin stretched over it. He was bare-chested under his coat, and the trousers he had on had gaping holes in the knees and across the thighs. Hermione could see each rib as he sat in her kitchen chair. The muscles on his arms stood out sharply like ropes under his skin. His hands looked as though they would break if they grasped something too tightly.
His eyes were sunk deep in their sockets but still sharp, and they met hers unflinchingly.
"Hello, Hermione," he rasped.
"Remus?" she asked.
"Not a very good imitation of my former self," Remus replied. Hermione crossed the kitchen floor and hugged him, wary of his sharp-collarbone and fragile-looking jaw. He smelled foul, but she inhaled anyway. There was a click behind her, and then a hiss.
"Molest him later," Severus said, his voice snapping her back to reality. "Get him a shirt, woman, before he freezes to death."
Hermione turned and saw he was standing at the stove, cracking eggs in half of an already-hot pan and placing bread in the other half to fry. She ducked out of the kitchen and ran down the hall, rummaging in the odd assortment of Severus's clothing that was the result of sharing-a-flat-without-really-sharing-a-flat. When she returned, Remus was holding his head under the kitchen tap, scrubbing his short hair with dish soap. She hadn't realised he was quite so dirty, but when he emerged from the dishtowel he was drying with, his skin was two shades lighter. It did nothing for his appearance.
Severus was not a big man, but the shirt hung on Remus' bony shoulders, making him look childlike and small.
"Sit," Severus ordered, putting the fried eggs on a plate and topping them with the bread. Remus sat and watched the plate with hungry eyes as it was placed before him. "Eat slowly. I'm not about to clean up your vomit," Severus added.
Remus picked up the bread, tore off a piece of crust, and put it in his mouth. His hands shook as he cut the egg with a fork, and when the bright yellow yolk poured out and pooled on the plate he turned green.
Hermione sat down next to him and tore off another piece of bread, dipping it in the egg and holding it to his lips. Severus snorted derisively, but Remus ate from her fingers and shot her a quick, furtive, sidelong look of thanks. She fed him another piece of bread and then a small piece of egg, while Severus strode about the kitchen.
"Your pantry is ridiculous," he informed her. "What precisely am I supposed to brew with this paucity?"
She ignored him, dipping another piece of bread in the yolk. Remus ate it, tongue darting out to lick a stray drop from his cracked and bleeding lips.
"When did you eat last?" she asked softly.
"Two days ago," he answered. She fed him another piece of bread. He was chewing it when he made a choking noise and shot out of his chair, knocking it over and running to the sink, where he was promptly ill. Severus sneered from his position in front of a hot stewpot. Remus leaned on the edge of the sink, cupping one hand and drinking from it. Hermione led him back to the table and tried again. This time he managed an entire slice of bread, dipped in egg, before he put his fingers to his mouth to block her next attempt. A cup of steaming liquid was thrust under his nose.
"Drink," Severus commanded. "It's a restorative."
"Thank you," Remus replied, sipping it. It couldn't taste very bad, because after a few sips he drained the cup greedily, tipping his head back (oh, it hurt to see the line of his jaw) before setting it next to the half-eaten food. He looked down at the second egg, scooped it up with his fingers, and devoured it like an animal, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He fell on the bread next and ate so quickly she was worried he'd choke, but when he was done he seemed to come back to himself and picked up the napkin next to the plate, wiping his fingers on it.
"Severus," Hermione said, "Draw a bath, please?"
He nodded and strode out, leaving them alone together in the quiet kitchen. Remus looked at the plate as though he'd like to lick it clean.
"We thought you were dead," she said quietly. Water ran in the bathroom. "What happened? When we finally caught Fenrir -- "
He looked up at her, unspeakable horror in his eyes.
"He's dead," she said hurriedly, and the horror faded. "When we caught him, he said..."
She covered her mouth, remembering what Fenrir had said, sitting in his own stink, bound to a chair, wild with fury.
"He said they'd eaten you," she managed, feeling as if she might throw up herself. She had, when they were told, though she'd waited until she was home and Ron could hold her hair back for her.
"He would," Remus answered bitterly. Snape appeared in the doorway.
"Lupin," he said, and Remus stood, making his slow and creaky way to the bathroom. He shed Snape's shirt and his hands fumbled with the twine that held up his tattered trousers; he undressed without the slightest modesty, and they had to help him over the lip of the tub and into the bath. The water was scaldingly hot, but his teeth chattered.
Over time, Hermione and Severus had evolved a comfortable domestic arrangement that suited their skills. He cooked, kept her bills in order, and did the marketing; she cleaned, washed the clothes, and bought the other incidentals like razors and soap. Now he looked at her and this, his look clearly said, fell under her half of the arrangement.
"I'll notify the Order," he said, but Remus' hand shot out and grabbed his leg just below the knee, the only place it could reach.
"No," he rasped. "Spies."
"In the Order?" Severus asked, sardonically.
"No post," Remus said, his jaw set. "Floo only. And only the ones you trust."
Severus pulled his leg away, frowning at the wet mark on his trousers, and strode out of the room. Hermione picked up the soap and a washcloth, offering them to Remus.
He moved arthritically, and he couldn't quite reach his feet or the back of his neck. She washed those places for him, scrubbing behind his ears and down his spine. His body was cris-crossed with scars, some badly healed. When she was finished he leaned back with only his head above the water, resting on the edge of the bathtub, and looked at her.
"Lock your doors and ward them," he said. "Before you sleep tonight."
"Remus..." she began, then had to start again, staring down at the damp washcloth in her hands. "I don't know where you've been or what you know, but the war is over. Things are safe now. There aren't any spies -- who would they spy for? Voldemort's dead. Maybe there is still danger, but maybe...maybe you're stuck in the past, a little -- "
She looked up then, but his eyes were closed; he'd fallen asleep, his gaunt chest moving slowly and evenly under the water.
She pulled the plug and woke him so that she could put one shoulder under his arm and help him stand; muck collected around the drain as the water disappeared. A drying charm was faster than a towel and she kicked his filthy trousers out of the way, helping him naked down the hall to the bedroom. She put him in the overstuffed chair by the bookcase, quickly stripped the bed, and laid on new sheets and pillowcases, all the while listening to the comforting quiet hum of Severus' voice at the floo in the living room.
He managed to tumble into the bed under his own power, but his eyes were closing again before she even pulled the blankets up. It was only just growing dark outside.
She walked to the windows and looked out; her little corner of London was spread before her, calm and quiet in the dusk. Clearly Remus believed there was danger there, but how could he be in his right mind? A few hours ago he'd been begging on the street and starving to death.
Still, she latched the windows and warded them, then went into the bathroom and did the same there before going into the living room. Severus was dusting the ashes from the knees of his trousers.
"I've told McGonagall, Longbottom, and Creevey," he said. "Longbottom will pass the word to Potter."
"Thanks," she said, hugging him. As always, his returning hug was awkward and hesitant, but one hand tangled in her hair and held her face against his chest.
"He's sleeping," she said, leaning back. He tipped her chin up so that he could kiss her.
"In our bed, no doubt," he replied, but he couldn't summon up the amount of resentment he no doubt wanted to.
"My bed," she reminded him.
"Is that intended to comfort?" he asked. "Or merely a subtle hint to sod off for the evening?"
"No, you had better stay. We'll transfigure a bed, but I think we should sit up in shifts. He might wake up in the night."
"Blasted wretch."
She ignored him and instead asked, "What did McGonagall say?"
"As per his immense paranoia, which the old biddy agreed with, she will not be in attendance until tomorrow evening, which for all anyone knows will be a quiet dinner with old comrades," he replied. "She and Richard will dine with us at seven."
Hermione had once been startled to learn that McGonagall was married; a convenient arrangement where she taught at Hogwarts and he taught at Glasgow University, meeting only in the summers and yet managing to produce three children before Hermione had even been born. Since then the stories Severus had told her of her professors would have been enough to curl her hair if it was not, as it were, pre-curled.
She transfigured a bed out of the sofa while he crept into the bedroom to retrieve their pyjamas, reporting back that Lupin was buried under the blankets and dead to the world.
He took a book from the shelf and lit the lamp, sitting up crosslegged in their makeshift bed while she got under the covers and tried to sleep. After a few minutes, she moved her head to rest in the crook of his leg and he set down the book.
"Tell me about Remus Lupin," she said quietly.
"After that bath, I can't imagine he has many secrets from you," Severus replied.
"I mean..." she shifted slightly, getting more comfortable. "He kept his distance from us during the war. We were always his students. You knew him when he was a boy, you at least spoke with him the year he taught at Hogwarts. I don't know if he has a history of being mentally unsound, or if the scars are from the full moon. I don't know if he has parents we should find. I do know you didn't call Tonks."
"Time enough for that later," he replied.
"Time enough now to tell me about him."
Severus pinched the bridge of his considerable nose, the first sign of strain he'd shown all evening.
"I'm not sure there's much to tell. At school he was quiet, did his work well, was dominated completely by Sirius Black, though he never worshiped him as Pettigrew did. Carried out his duties as best a shy, bookish boy knows how. I can't imagine him breaking under this strain, not after '81."
"When the Potters were killed?"
"His four friends all in a go. He fared well then, considering. When he came to teach he was standoffish, which was a relief, though he seemed amiable enough. I imagine he cherished the idea of he and I somehow becoming friends."
The last was spoken with great bitterness, and Hermione knew that they were touching on sore spots that she had studiously avoided in the past.
"And the scars?" she asked. He shrugged.
"His immodesty is new; as a student he was excruciatingly careful never to be seen with so much as an open collar. That I could not tell you. He is an independent, intelligent man with far too much pride and far too little occupation. Or was."
He picked up his book, but almost immediately laid it aside.
"He will need help," he said.
"Yes, I rather thought that much," Hermione agreed.
"Months' worth. Do you propose to keep him here like a pet?"
Hermione looked up at him. Their eyes held for a long moment, and then he took up the book again.
"I merely ask because I shall need to know whether to buy food for two or three," he said stiffly. "And whether I am to be thrown out of my lover's bed for a half-starved, half-mad werewolf with no better sense than to remain dead."
Hermione smiled.
***
"Hermione. Hermione, wake up at once."
Hermione opened her eyes not on her bedroom ceiling but on the dusty, cobwebbed lamp in her living room. I really must dust that soon, she thought, before realising that she had been woken and there was actual worry in Severus' voice.
"What is it?" she asked, blinking at him.
"Lupin," he replied. "Come and see."
She rose, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and following him to the bedroom. Remus was there, apparently still asleep, piled under what looked like every blanket she owned. She could see him shaking from the doorway.
"He's freezing," Severus said. "I've tried a warming charm and, as you can see, wasting your blankets on him, all for naught."
"It's probably hysteric," she answered, going to the bed and pulling most of the blankets off. Remus was curled into a ball, face pressed into the pillow. His cheek was clammy to the touch. She pulled off the last blanket and knelt on the bed.
"What do you think you're doing?" Severus demanded as she pulled the blankets up again.
"If the warming charms aren't working it's probably psychological," she replied. "It might help if he thought he wasn't alone. Go on, get in if you're so jealous."
"Yes of course, why on earth would I be jealous of you lying in bed with a naked man," he said, crossing his arms. Hermione curled up against Remus, resting her forehead against his. After a few seconds, his teeth stopped chattering so loudly. Another minute passed, then two, and finally she heard the bedsprings creak as Severus circled the bed and lay down on top of the blanket.
"I will have you know," he said, pulling another blanket over himself, "that this -- this farce of a sleepover -- "
"Shh," Hermione said. The trembling had stopped. Severus lay with his back pressed against Remus', staring at the opposite wall.
" -- this utter travesty of my pride," he continued, "Could only have been accomplished by you."
Hermione felt Remus' fingers clutch at the fabric covering her arms, pulling her closer, and she smiled.
"Love you too," she said to Severus, who grunted and pulled the blanket tighter.
***
Severus was not a morning person. Some would say that he was not a person at any time of the day, but to Hermione -- who was used to his daily rhythm -- it was most evident in the period of time between waking and his second cup of tea. When one could wake him at all.
She crept out of bed the next morning, leaving the two men still sleeping, and set about preparing breakfast. On a good day, breakfast would be cold cereal or a piece of fruit, but she wasn't entirely inept at cooking and by the time Remus staggered into the kitchen, wearing a pair of Severus' trousers and a dressing-gown, bacon was hissing happily in the pan.
"Good morning," she said with a smile. "There's tea on the table. Is Severus up?"
"Still sleeping," he mumbled, easing himself into a chair. He poured the tea with a steadier hand than yesterday, which was something. "That smells good."
"There's bacon and sausage, or I can make oatmeal."
"I haven't had meat in weeks," he replied.
"It shows."
He smiled tiredly into his teacup. "Thank you for staying with me last night."
"You were cold. Body heat," she shrugged.
"Well, I appreciate it. I'm sorry for the shock. I wanted to be sure I wasn't found or followed."
She took the meat out of the pan, covered it with a plate, and laid some bread in the fat. She could hear her mother groan about cholesterol, but a steady diet of fried bread for a few days couldn't possibly hurt someone so gaunt-thin as Remus.
"Remus, can I ask who's chasing you?" she inquired, as the fat hissed and popped. "You do know the war is over, don't you?"
"Sometimes I think it never is, it just pauses so each side can reload," he replied. "I was -- my jailers -- " he hesitated, rubbed his face. "Fenrir turned me over to a branch of Death Eaters operating out of Belarus, near Minsk. Reluctantly, mind you. I think he wanted to eat me."
Hermione turned the bread, wondering how on earth she was cooking breakfast for a man who was calmly talking about being eaten.
"How long has it been since the war ended?" he asked.
"About two years," she replied. "Well, that was when Voldemort was killed. There was some cleanup afterwards, but that's all."
"They didn't tell me," he said. "But I could tell when things started going wrong for them. I don't know why they even kept me alive -- slung me in a cell and left me there, most of the time. They did -- use me," he said shortly. Hermione turned to look at him.
"Use you?" she asked.
"They're building an army. This is not some cult that dies when you cut off its head," he said. "Within the year they'll have the numbers to attack. When I escaped they tracked me all over Europe -- I've been six months just getting home. They fed me better than I could feed myself, on the run," he said, gesturing to his body with one slim, fragile hand. "I couldn't risk sending a message -- they were everywhere. We need," he added, all in a rush, "We need to call up the Order and...and start everything again, Christ..."
He buried his face in his hands and Hermione turned off the heat on the pan, crossing to kneel next to him and taking his hands from his face.
"It's all right," she said. "We won't need the Order. You can tell the Ministry, they'll take care of it -- "
He laughed bitterly. "They never listened before; why should they listen now?"
Hermione smiled. "Scrimgeour's not the Minister anymore."
"Some paper-pushing substitute -- "
"No, one of us. Us," she added for emphasis, holding his hands between hers. He looked at her with a glint of hope in his eyes for the first time since arriving.
"Who?" he asked.
"Minerva McGonagall," she replied. Remus stared openly at her, and then began to laugh. He laughed until he coughed and choked, until tears were streaming down his face.
"Min - Min - Minerva," he managed. "Oh god, of all good fortunes I never dreamed..."
He kept laughing, until Hermione began to worry about his mind. She poured him more tea and made him drink it.
"Stop that infernal fucking racket!" someone shouted from the other room. Remus breathed deeply, inbetween sips of tea.
"Severus is up," Hermione said, returning to the pan where the bread was soaking up the slowly-congealing fat. She filled three plates with a grease-lover's delight and brought them to the table. Remus began to eat, still slow and cautious, but with better colour than the day before.
"Hermione," Remus said, breath still hitching from laughter, "if I can ask a personal question..."
"Yes," she answered before it could be asked. "We are. For some time now."
"I see. It's...incongruous," he said. "Though it makes an odd sort of sense."
"The only kind he ever makes," she said, rolling her eyes in the direction of the bathroom, where water was splashing.
"You seem happy," Remus ventured. "In a very...miserable sort of way, given that it's Severus."
"We understand each other," she replied, and felt warm to realise that it was true. "He respects me."
"HERMIONE! WHERE IS MY BLOODY RAZOR?"
"Even if it doesn't always seem like it," Hermione sighed.
"A person should have respect," Remus murmured, nodding.
Continue to Chapter 3
Rating: R for sexual content.
Notes:
arsenicjade challenged me the other day to write Snape/Hermione/Lupin in a hurt/comfort scenario, and VOILA. Blame her. :DOriginally Posted 12/16/2006
Chapter 2
Remus' bristling hair spoke of a recently-shaved head, and his head itself spoke of utter starvation, little more than a skull with skin stretched over it. He was bare-chested under his coat, and the trousers he had on had gaping holes in the knees and across the thighs. Hermione could see each rib as he sat in her kitchen chair. The muscles on his arms stood out sharply like ropes under his skin. His hands looked as though they would break if they grasped something too tightly.
His eyes were sunk deep in their sockets but still sharp, and they met hers unflinchingly.
"Hello, Hermione," he rasped.
"Remus?" she asked.
"Not a very good imitation of my former self," Remus replied. Hermione crossed the kitchen floor and hugged him, wary of his sharp-collarbone and fragile-looking jaw. He smelled foul, but she inhaled anyway. There was a click behind her, and then a hiss.
"Molest him later," Severus said, his voice snapping her back to reality. "Get him a shirt, woman, before he freezes to death."
Hermione turned and saw he was standing at the stove, cracking eggs in half of an already-hot pan and placing bread in the other half to fry. She ducked out of the kitchen and ran down the hall, rummaging in the odd assortment of Severus's clothing that was the result of sharing-a-flat-without-really-sharing-a-flat. When she returned, Remus was holding his head under the kitchen tap, scrubbing his short hair with dish soap. She hadn't realised he was quite so dirty, but when he emerged from the dishtowel he was drying with, his skin was two shades lighter. It did nothing for his appearance.
Severus was not a big man, but the shirt hung on Remus' bony shoulders, making him look childlike and small.
"Sit," Severus ordered, putting the fried eggs on a plate and topping them with the bread. Remus sat and watched the plate with hungry eyes as it was placed before him. "Eat slowly. I'm not about to clean up your vomit," Severus added.
Remus picked up the bread, tore off a piece of crust, and put it in his mouth. His hands shook as he cut the egg with a fork, and when the bright yellow yolk poured out and pooled on the plate he turned green.
Hermione sat down next to him and tore off another piece of bread, dipping it in the egg and holding it to his lips. Severus snorted derisively, but Remus ate from her fingers and shot her a quick, furtive, sidelong look of thanks. She fed him another piece of bread and then a small piece of egg, while Severus strode about the kitchen.
"Your pantry is ridiculous," he informed her. "What precisely am I supposed to brew with this paucity?"
She ignored him, dipping another piece of bread in the yolk. Remus ate it, tongue darting out to lick a stray drop from his cracked and bleeding lips.
"When did you eat last?" she asked softly.
"Two days ago," he answered. She fed him another piece of bread. He was chewing it when he made a choking noise and shot out of his chair, knocking it over and running to the sink, where he was promptly ill. Severus sneered from his position in front of a hot stewpot. Remus leaned on the edge of the sink, cupping one hand and drinking from it. Hermione led him back to the table and tried again. This time he managed an entire slice of bread, dipped in egg, before he put his fingers to his mouth to block her next attempt. A cup of steaming liquid was thrust under his nose.
"Drink," Severus commanded. "It's a restorative."
"Thank you," Remus replied, sipping it. It couldn't taste very bad, because after a few sips he drained the cup greedily, tipping his head back (oh, it hurt to see the line of his jaw) before setting it next to the half-eaten food. He looked down at the second egg, scooped it up with his fingers, and devoured it like an animal, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He fell on the bread next and ate so quickly she was worried he'd choke, but when he was done he seemed to come back to himself and picked up the napkin next to the plate, wiping his fingers on it.
"Severus," Hermione said, "Draw a bath, please?"
He nodded and strode out, leaving them alone together in the quiet kitchen. Remus looked at the plate as though he'd like to lick it clean.
"We thought you were dead," she said quietly. Water ran in the bathroom. "What happened? When we finally caught Fenrir -- "
He looked up at her, unspeakable horror in his eyes.
"He's dead," she said hurriedly, and the horror faded. "When we caught him, he said..."
She covered her mouth, remembering what Fenrir had said, sitting in his own stink, bound to a chair, wild with fury.
"He said they'd eaten you," she managed, feeling as if she might throw up herself. She had, when they were told, though she'd waited until she was home and Ron could hold her hair back for her.
"He would," Remus answered bitterly. Snape appeared in the doorway.
"Lupin," he said, and Remus stood, making his slow and creaky way to the bathroom. He shed Snape's shirt and his hands fumbled with the twine that held up his tattered trousers; he undressed without the slightest modesty, and they had to help him over the lip of the tub and into the bath. The water was scaldingly hot, but his teeth chattered.
Over time, Hermione and Severus had evolved a comfortable domestic arrangement that suited their skills. He cooked, kept her bills in order, and did the marketing; she cleaned, washed the clothes, and bought the other incidentals like razors and soap. Now he looked at her and this, his look clearly said, fell under her half of the arrangement.
"I'll notify the Order," he said, but Remus' hand shot out and grabbed his leg just below the knee, the only place it could reach.
"No," he rasped. "Spies."
"In the Order?" Severus asked, sardonically.
"No post," Remus said, his jaw set. "Floo only. And only the ones you trust."
Severus pulled his leg away, frowning at the wet mark on his trousers, and strode out of the room. Hermione picked up the soap and a washcloth, offering them to Remus.
He moved arthritically, and he couldn't quite reach his feet or the back of his neck. She washed those places for him, scrubbing behind his ears and down his spine. His body was cris-crossed with scars, some badly healed. When she was finished he leaned back with only his head above the water, resting on the edge of the bathtub, and looked at her.
"Lock your doors and ward them," he said. "Before you sleep tonight."
"Remus..." she began, then had to start again, staring down at the damp washcloth in her hands. "I don't know where you've been or what you know, but the war is over. Things are safe now. There aren't any spies -- who would they spy for? Voldemort's dead. Maybe there is still danger, but maybe...maybe you're stuck in the past, a little -- "
She looked up then, but his eyes were closed; he'd fallen asleep, his gaunt chest moving slowly and evenly under the water.
She pulled the plug and woke him so that she could put one shoulder under his arm and help him stand; muck collected around the drain as the water disappeared. A drying charm was faster than a towel and she kicked his filthy trousers out of the way, helping him naked down the hall to the bedroom. She put him in the overstuffed chair by the bookcase, quickly stripped the bed, and laid on new sheets and pillowcases, all the while listening to the comforting quiet hum of Severus' voice at the floo in the living room.
He managed to tumble into the bed under his own power, but his eyes were closing again before she even pulled the blankets up. It was only just growing dark outside.
She walked to the windows and looked out; her little corner of London was spread before her, calm and quiet in the dusk. Clearly Remus believed there was danger there, but how could he be in his right mind? A few hours ago he'd been begging on the street and starving to death.
Still, she latched the windows and warded them, then went into the bathroom and did the same there before going into the living room. Severus was dusting the ashes from the knees of his trousers.
"I've told McGonagall, Longbottom, and Creevey," he said. "Longbottom will pass the word to Potter."
"Thanks," she said, hugging him. As always, his returning hug was awkward and hesitant, but one hand tangled in her hair and held her face against his chest.
"He's sleeping," she said, leaning back. He tipped her chin up so that he could kiss her.
"In our bed, no doubt," he replied, but he couldn't summon up the amount of resentment he no doubt wanted to.
"My bed," she reminded him.
"Is that intended to comfort?" he asked. "Or merely a subtle hint to sod off for the evening?"
"No, you had better stay. We'll transfigure a bed, but I think we should sit up in shifts. He might wake up in the night."
"Blasted wretch."
She ignored him and instead asked, "What did McGonagall say?"
"As per his immense paranoia, which the old biddy agreed with, she will not be in attendance until tomorrow evening, which for all anyone knows will be a quiet dinner with old comrades," he replied. "She and Richard will dine with us at seven."
Hermione had once been startled to learn that McGonagall was married; a convenient arrangement where she taught at Hogwarts and he taught at Glasgow University, meeting only in the summers and yet managing to produce three children before Hermione had even been born. Since then the stories Severus had told her of her professors would have been enough to curl her hair if it was not, as it were, pre-curled.
She transfigured a bed out of the sofa while he crept into the bedroom to retrieve their pyjamas, reporting back that Lupin was buried under the blankets and dead to the world.
He took a book from the shelf and lit the lamp, sitting up crosslegged in their makeshift bed while she got under the covers and tried to sleep. After a few minutes, she moved her head to rest in the crook of his leg and he set down the book.
"Tell me about Remus Lupin," she said quietly.
"After that bath, I can't imagine he has many secrets from you," Severus replied.
"I mean..." she shifted slightly, getting more comfortable. "He kept his distance from us during the war. We were always his students. You knew him when he was a boy, you at least spoke with him the year he taught at Hogwarts. I don't know if he has a history of being mentally unsound, or if the scars are from the full moon. I don't know if he has parents we should find. I do know you didn't call Tonks."
"Time enough for that later," he replied.
"Time enough now to tell me about him."
Severus pinched the bridge of his considerable nose, the first sign of strain he'd shown all evening.
"I'm not sure there's much to tell. At school he was quiet, did his work well, was dominated completely by Sirius Black, though he never worshiped him as Pettigrew did. Carried out his duties as best a shy, bookish boy knows how. I can't imagine him breaking under this strain, not after '81."
"When the Potters were killed?"
"His four friends all in a go. He fared well then, considering. When he came to teach he was standoffish, which was a relief, though he seemed amiable enough. I imagine he cherished the idea of he and I somehow becoming friends."
The last was spoken with great bitterness, and Hermione knew that they were touching on sore spots that she had studiously avoided in the past.
"And the scars?" she asked. He shrugged.
"His immodesty is new; as a student he was excruciatingly careful never to be seen with so much as an open collar. That I could not tell you. He is an independent, intelligent man with far too much pride and far too little occupation. Or was."
He picked up his book, but almost immediately laid it aside.
"He will need help," he said.
"Yes, I rather thought that much," Hermione agreed.
"Months' worth. Do you propose to keep him here like a pet?"
Hermione looked up at him. Their eyes held for a long moment, and then he took up the book again.
"I merely ask because I shall need to know whether to buy food for two or three," he said stiffly. "And whether I am to be thrown out of my lover's bed for a half-starved, half-mad werewolf with no better sense than to remain dead."
Hermione smiled.
***
"Hermione. Hermione, wake up at once."
Hermione opened her eyes not on her bedroom ceiling but on the dusty, cobwebbed lamp in her living room. I really must dust that soon, she thought, before realising that she had been woken and there was actual worry in Severus' voice.
"What is it?" she asked, blinking at him.
"Lupin," he replied. "Come and see."
She rose, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and following him to the bedroom. Remus was there, apparently still asleep, piled under what looked like every blanket she owned. She could see him shaking from the doorway.
"He's freezing," Severus said. "I've tried a warming charm and, as you can see, wasting your blankets on him, all for naught."
"It's probably hysteric," she answered, going to the bed and pulling most of the blankets off. Remus was curled into a ball, face pressed into the pillow. His cheek was clammy to the touch. She pulled off the last blanket and knelt on the bed.
"What do you think you're doing?" Severus demanded as she pulled the blankets up again.
"If the warming charms aren't working it's probably psychological," she replied. "It might help if he thought he wasn't alone. Go on, get in if you're so jealous."
"Yes of course, why on earth would I be jealous of you lying in bed with a naked man," he said, crossing his arms. Hermione curled up against Remus, resting her forehead against his. After a few seconds, his teeth stopped chattering so loudly. Another minute passed, then two, and finally she heard the bedsprings creak as Severus circled the bed and lay down on top of the blanket.
"I will have you know," he said, pulling another blanket over himself, "that this -- this farce of a sleepover -- "
"Shh," Hermione said. The trembling had stopped. Severus lay with his back pressed against Remus', staring at the opposite wall.
" -- this utter travesty of my pride," he continued, "Could only have been accomplished by you."
Hermione felt Remus' fingers clutch at the fabric covering her arms, pulling her closer, and she smiled.
"Love you too," she said to Severus, who grunted and pulled the blanket tighter.
***
Severus was not a morning person. Some would say that he was not a person at any time of the day, but to Hermione -- who was used to his daily rhythm -- it was most evident in the period of time between waking and his second cup of tea. When one could wake him at all.
She crept out of bed the next morning, leaving the two men still sleeping, and set about preparing breakfast. On a good day, breakfast would be cold cereal or a piece of fruit, but she wasn't entirely inept at cooking and by the time Remus staggered into the kitchen, wearing a pair of Severus' trousers and a dressing-gown, bacon was hissing happily in the pan.
"Good morning," she said with a smile. "There's tea on the table. Is Severus up?"
"Still sleeping," he mumbled, easing himself into a chair. He poured the tea with a steadier hand than yesterday, which was something. "That smells good."
"There's bacon and sausage, or I can make oatmeal."
"I haven't had meat in weeks," he replied.
"It shows."
He smiled tiredly into his teacup. "Thank you for staying with me last night."
"You were cold. Body heat," she shrugged.
"Well, I appreciate it. I'm sorry for the shock. I wanted to be sure I wasn't found or followed."
She took the meat out of the pan, covered it with a plate, and laid some bread in the fat. She could hear her mother groan about cholesterol, but a steady diet of fried bread for a few days couldn't possibly hurt someone so gaunt-thin as Remus.
"Remus, can I ask who's chasing you?" she inquired, as the fat hissed and popped. "You do know the war is over, don't you?"
"Sometimes I think it never is, it just pauses so each side can reload," he replied. "I was -- my jailers -- " he hesitated, rubbed his face. "Fenrir turned me over to a branch of Death Eaters operating out of Belarus, near Minsk. Reluctantly, mind you. I think he wanted to eat me."
Hermione turned the bread, wondering how on earth she was cooking breakfast for a man who was calmly talking about being eaten.
"How long has it been since the war ended?" he asked.
"About two years," she replied. "Well, that was when Voldemort was killed. There was some cleanup afterwards, but that's all."
"They didn't tell me," he said. "But I could tell when things started going wrong for them. I don't know why they even kept me alive -- slung me in a cell and left me there, most of the time. They did -- use me," he said shortly. Hermione turned to look at him.
"Use you?" she asked.
"They're building an army. This is not some cult that dies when you cut off its head," he said. "Within the year they'll have the numbers to attack. When I escaped they tracked me all over Europe -- I've been six months just getting home. They fed me better than I could feed myself, on the run," he said, gesturing to his body with one slim, fragile hand. "I couldn't risk sending a message -- they were everywhere. We need," he added, all in a rush, "We need to call up the Order and...and start everything again, Christ..."
He buried his face in his hands and Hermione turned off the heat on the pan, crossing to kneel next to him and taking his hands from his face.
"It's all right," she said. "We won't need the Order. You can tell the Ministry, they'll take care of it -- "
He laughed bitterly. "They never listened before; why should they listen now?"
Hermione smiled. "Scrimgeour's not the Minister anymore."
"Some paper-pushing substitute -- "
"No, one of us. Us," she added for emphasis, holding his hands between hers. He looked at her with a glint of hope in his eyes for the first time since arriving.
"Who?" he asked.
"Minerva McGonagall," she replied. Remus stared openly at her, and then began to laugh. He laughed until he coughed and choked, until tears were streaming down his face.
"Min - Min - Minerva," he managed. "Oh god, of all good fortunes I never dreamed..."
He kept laughing, until Hermione began to worry about his mind. She poured him more tea and made him drink it.
"Stop that infernal fucking racket!" someone shouted from the other room. Remus breathed deeply, inbetween sips of tea.
"Severus is up," Hermione said, returning to the pan where the bread was soaking up the slowly-congealing fat. She filled three plates with a grease-lover's delight and brought them to the table. Remus began to eat, still slow and cautious, but with better colour than the day before.
"Hermione," Remus said, breath still hitching from laughter, "if I can ask a personal question..."
"Yes," she answered before it could be asked. "We are. For some time now."
"I see. It's...incongruous," he said. "Though it makes an odd sort of sense."
"The only kind he ever makes," she said, rolling her eyes in the direction of the bathroom, where water was splashing.
"You seem happy," Remus ventured. "In a very...miserable sort of way, given that it's Severus."
"We understand each other," she replied, and felt warm to realise that it was true. "He respects me."
"HERMIONE! WHERE IS MY BLOODY RAZOR?"
"Even if it doesn't always seem like it," Hermione sighed.
"A person should have respect," Remus murmured, nodding.
Continue to Chapter 3
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God, I am loving your Snape. Such a great read so far! :-D
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And that's my favorite line from this part. ^_^
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I think perhaps you possibly forgot the "not" here or meant to say "psychosomatic" instead? /quibble
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And I must tell you that I love this scene so, so much that I almost didn't quibble at all. It's hard for me to shift out of editor mode sometimes. :(
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Don't worry about the edit suggestion -- I'm glad to have the services of so many, I LIKE my work to be as polished as possible :D
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Perfect. Just absolutely perfect.
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Priceless. Perfection. Bravo!
another great one
"We understand each other," she replied, and felt warm to realise that it was true. "He respects me."
"HERMIONE! WHERE IS MY BLOODY RAZOR?"
"Even if it doesn't always seem like it," Hermione sighed.
You are my hero!! Keep it up, and I hope you have some more recent long stories...
Regina
P.S. If you wouldn't mind reading some of my writing when you have the time, I would so love it! My stories are published on Fanfiction.Net and HarryPotterFanfiction.Com, both under the pen name of Regina Noctis. Thank you! :D / RN
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