FIC: Just Like Strangers Here (part 2 of 2)

[bronze_ribbons]

Title: Just Like Strangers Here (part 2 of 2)
Author: bronze ribbons
For: ymfaery, for the 2006 Fantasy Fest at lupin_snape
The prompt: "Post-War. S had fled UK to live in ancestral non-English speaking home country w/o knowing AD left behind findable evidence of S acting under orders. R finds him some unspecified time later--how/why up to author. Asian home country a plus. Smut optional."
Also for: sor_bet, whose response to "Stoppered" got me thinking...
Betas: aunty_marion and Gramarye
Primary pairing: Lupin/Snape
Words: This part 5K (around 9K total)
Rating: R
Warning: rape
Disclaimer: No malice intended, no profit expected.
ETA: Soundtrack



Prequel

Part 1



Fourteen months after his arrival in Japan, Snape secretly began to study magic again. He didn't plan to resume living as a wizard -- his wand remained threaded through the silver loops of the pennant -- but he no longer trusted his reflexes, given how dull and exhausted he often felt as he performed his chores. He had tested a plethora of enticingly packaged gadgets and beverages during the previous year, hoping to discover adequate substitutes for labour-saving spells and energy-enhancing potions, but nothing had come remotely close to the time-cheats he'd relied upon so much in the past. He'd even resorted to chanting "Mudblood" at himself when he felt especially sluggish; when he felt completely polluted with weariness, the surge of emotion the mere word could elicit from him was sometimes enough to kick his overtired mind back into gear. Too often, however, there was no fooling his brain or body regarding the many nights he stayed up too late -- sometimes working, sometimes reading, and sometimes stewing over the magical slip-ups he regularly observed in his perambulations around Tokyo.

In theory, the Japanese Ministry of Magic sought to maintain the same separation of magical and Muggle environments that its British equivalent strove so mightily to enforce. In practice, however, the city was far too crowded and chaotic for its Obliviators to detect every infraction, never mind chasing after all the perpetrators and witnesses. It helped, Snape mused, that the vast majority of his fellow city-dwellers were so absorbed with their own goings-on -- who they were with or where they were hurrying toward -- that they habitually failed to notice the stray charms and sleights of hand he often glimpsed in the periphery of his vision. It helped that most of his fellow passengers on buses and trains chose to nap during their commutes, thereby dozing through the occasional shimmer or hiss of an absently uttered curse. It helped that Western spells tended to go shockingly awry when cast in Japan: the wizards hapless enough to attract attention were tourists who, having failed to do their homework, attempted Accios in Akihabara or grooming spells in Ginza. The results of such incantations tended to be disproportionately gruesome.

Snape was fascinated by the power unleashed by such minor transgressions. Moreover, he realised it was likely he would commit some such error himself someday. It would be second nature for him to defend himself with magic if physically attacked, and he was more likely to resort to an European curse than a Japanese one when startled or groggy. Snape didn't dare practise the actual magic -- he hadn't forgotten why he'd retired his wand in the first place -- but, after beholding an unfortunate incident in Shinjuku involving serrated clamps, he began his mornings by mentally revisiting the old hexes his mother had taught him.

To his surprise, the act of doing so had the effect of a tonic, causing him to feel more alert and alive as he went about his daily routines. To his dismay, it also intensified his yearning for more knowledge -- knowledge from which he had exiled himself both as a Muggle and as a fugitive. To assuage the cravings as best he could, he spent hours at the Tokyo Metropolitan Library, poring over all the writings on magic in its collection. They were all almost entirely dross, of course -- it was mindnumbing, the extent to which Muggles enjoyed dressing magic up in sentimental vulgarities -- but there were also slivers of truth scattered within them. Snape seized upon every one he could find, analysing it from all the angles he could conceive in order to derive fresh postulates and piece together new possibilities.

He was grateful for the library's policy of discretion ("Users... do not have to sign or make their names known in any manner, nor leave any records of what books they have used"), but he was also careful to intersperse novels and newspapers in between the monographs on dragons and potions, the better to distract anyone potentially spying on his routines. There was no reason to believe he currently attracted such attention, but Snape couldn't shake the sense that something -- someone -- was lingering in his vicinity, waiting for him to reveal himself. He couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease, never mind whether it was something ultimately out for his blood or not, but he hadn't survived two wars by disregarding his instincts.

And even if he had wanted to continue ignoring them, there were constant reminders of the world from which he'd fled: the ubiquitous courier trucks featured a black cat logo that he automatically associated with Minerva McGonagall every time they careered past him. The bookstores were virtually portrait galleries of Nymphadora Tonks, their displays crowded with novels featuring fuchsia- and violet-haired heroines with heart-shaped faces. There was a short blue cartoon creature who triggered flashbacks of Filius Flitwick's antics, and the schoolgirls he skirted around called up memories of his run-ins with Sybill Trelawney, what with the jangle and clack of the trinkets ornamenting their cellular phones.

Weirdest and worst of all, he constantly felt as though Remus Lupin was nearby -- a maddening, bone-deep conviction that both frightened and comforted him, and he wondered if his mind had taken to manufacturing Lupin's presence to guard itself against succumbing to loneliness and paranoia. As much he liked to imagine himself needing and wanting less than ordinary humans, he knew that being always alone and always on the run had warped the edges of his sanity, but compared to the behaviour of Alastor Moody and other operatives he'd known, he considered his mind's games with itself pleasingly benign: conjuring an imaginary friend with the face of a dead wizard was vastly preferable to hissing "Constant vigilance!" at mirrors or pre-emptively hexing tourists who happened to resemble Malfoys or Blacks.

He allowed himself to believe this until one of them hexed him first.

As he staggered backwards into a Hibiya Park boulder, Snape scolded himself -- "Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood" -- for letting the whimpering from the copse get the better of his curiosity. What he should have done -- what all the other night-time passersby had done -- was to continue walking toward the subway station rather than stealing up to the trees for a closer look. And when he'd seen a Japanese man viciously pounding into another one, with a Caucasian businessman cheerfully looking on, he should have realised there would have been no help he could have provided without a wand, and that no amount of theory could have compensated for lack of actual practice, and got the hell out of there before his presence had been discovered.

Instead, he found himself trussed up and suspended upside down, the Japanese rapist having cast upon him both a shibari spell and an equivalent of Levicorpus. The businessman happily told the native wizard, "You'll have to teach me those as well, once we're done."

This was not how I wanted to die, Snape frantically thought, even as he refocused on the man pinned to the ground. During the distraction Snape had unintentionally provided, the man had desperately attempted to buck off his assailant, his fingers clawing at the ground ahead as if he could pull free and somehow crawl to safety. With Snape immobilised, however, the Japanese wizard resumed battering and buggering his victim in earnest, and the man soon collapsed into unconsciousness.

Not acceptable, Snape thought, as the businessman began to fondle his groin. Think, man, think, he ordered himself, trying to dredge up his old ability to disassociate his mind from whatever was being perpetrated on his body. But with the laboured gasps of the man on the ground, and the grunting of the rapist, and the businessman's confident fingers undoing his trousers -- Snape vowed he wouldn't beg for mercy, even before the businessman squeezed his cock and gloated, "What an unexpected bonus, Snivellus. I had no idea Abe-san would be such an accommodating host. This easily ranks as the best corporate entertainment I've ever been provided."

Fuck. Snape couldn't remember the man's name, but he recognised the voice as that of a former classmate and fellow Death Eater. It was impossible to miss the resentment colouring the man's speech, even though he appeared well-fed and well-clothed, and had clearly managed to escape the post-war roundup of Voldemort's supporters. Cadogan on a candlestick -- for this I gave up magic?

As his molester jerked a pocket knife along his trouser-seams, weakening the fabric enough to rip it away from Snape's legs, Snape continued ransacking his mind for wandless curses. None of the spells he could remember, however, offered him escape from imminent violation, and his head thrummed with pain and nausea even as he struggled to clear it.

It didn't help that the irrational sense of a nearby ally hadn't vanished. You're alone, Snape admonished himself. You always have been, you always will be, and no one is coming to save you.

Just as the businessman gagged Snape with his tie, Remus Lupin rushed into the clearing.

That's it, Snape thought. Completely around the twist. But he couldn't tear his eyes away as Lupin swiftly stunned the businessman and his host with a basic Japanese spell. I didn't know he could -- where have I seen him do that before?

Lupin grimaced at the third man's insensate form for only an instant before turning to Snape and casting a Japanese Liberacorpus. His feet back on the ground, Snape immediately lurched forward, violently sick. Lupin hastily Vanished both the tie and the magical bindings with another Japanese spell but kept his wand trained on Snape.

After Snape finished heaving, he sat up, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and then looked directly at Lupin. "For a figment of my imagination," he croaked, "that was impressive. I don't suppose you could mend my trousers while you're at it?"

Lupin quirked an eyebrow. "The last time you saw me, you were hardly impressed with my robe-repair skills. I quote, 'Lupin, why bother with garments at all?' And then you stalked off in your usual huff when the usual entendres were doubled."

Snape flushed. "Needs must," he said. "Could we continue this after I'm dressed?"

"We will continue this," Lupin said, "but I honestly can't help you with the trousers. The sewing charms I know don't work over here. He's got to be at least two stone heavier than you, but I fear your best option's Mr. Tennant's bags."

Snape reached for Tennant's belt buckle, hating how his hand trembled. When Lupin hurried forward after only a few seconds, he snapped, "I'll do it! I just need more time."

He jumped as Lupin clamped a hand onto his hip. "Of course you can," his rescuer said, "but we don't have more time. The Metsuke gave me only ten minutes."

A Metsuke was a Japanese Auror. "The --" Snape was sucked into the Side-Along Apparation before he could turn his head. When he could breathe again -- when they'd stumbled into a hotel room, Lupin dropping him onto one of its beds -- he grated out, "Why bother, Lupin? Does it truly matter who gets to spit on my corpse -- or did the Ministry set a higher bounty fee?"

"Bounty fee?" Lupin looked amused. "The Ministry can barely afford to hunt active Dark Wizards. They're relying on the kindness of strangers to collar the others." He summoned a towel in Japanese and dropped it into Snape's lap. "Lucky for you, I'm not kind."

"No, just strange," Snape said, securing the terrycloth around his hips. As Lupin seated himself carefully on the other bed, Snape sneered, "Getting old?"

Lupin said, "Merely decrepit. Being presumed dead can do that to a man."

"How long were you buried under those rocks?"

"Long enough for a full moon to come and go. Long enough to learn more distinctions between 'trapped' and 'immobilised'." Lupin's smile was sour.

"Sans Wolfsbane, I suppose."

"You suppose correctly." Snape could tell his face was revealing far too much, because Lupin quickly added, "Hermione Granger supplies it to me when she can. When she isn't herself on the run." A hint of humour crept into his voice as he said, "At least now I know you had nothing to do with how foul it tastes."

Snape demanded, "How often is Granger on the run?"

"Eight months out of twelve," Lupin admitted. "And I'm out of pocket two of the other four." He held up a hand. "Leave be, Severus. We both knew what we'd be in for."

Snape fisted his hands on the towel. He didn't speak, but the mirror hanging on the door unexpectedly shattered.

"Well," Lupin said. "I hope you know how to put it back together again."

"Too good for foreign mending spells, are you?"

"There wasn't time," Lupin said. "I had one week to prepare for this jaunt, and I've been busy since I got here not accidentally turning my shoes into sea urchins. Basic combat spells were much, much higher on my list." He bestowed on Snape a piercing look. "It was a shock to discover I knew quite a few of them already. Thanks to a certain study partner, back before he discovered why I knew so much about painkillers."

Snape was taken aback at the intensity of Lupin's gaze. "I don't remember studying with you," he whispered.

"I know you don't," Lupin said. He pushed himself up from the bed and walked to his suitcase, pulling out from it a container swathed in silk. He tossed it at Severus, who automatically caught it, his fingers closing around the flask.

Watching him closely, Lupin softly said, "Remember, Severus?"

Snape tugged away the fabric. The silver was stained and scarred.

Seeing Snape frown at the blemishes, Lupin said, "Hermione donated the scarf."

Snape knew he had no right to ask, but... "What is she, to you?"

Lupin shrugged. "An ally. An irreplaceable one. But no more so than you."

"You can't be serious." Snape bit his lip. "It's high time I remembered I've merely imagined this."

"So, better dead than in debt to a werewolf? And here I thought you and Ron Weasley had nothing in common." Lupin's laugh was mirthless. "He insisted Hermione could have found some way not to accept my help."

"Do not lump me with that lummox," Snape said. "What did you save her from?"

"Oh, another executive with an overambitious penis," Lupin said, a trifle too casually.

"Is that your current specialty?" Snape enquired. "Saving the Muggleborn from marauding men?"

"Hardly," Lupin said, his voice tight, "but wouldn't you say I owe it to you? Considering how often I failed to help you before?"

Snape stared at him for a long moment. He finally asked, "For Ron to hate you, to that degree -- why were you a witness at the trial?"

Lupin eased himself back onto the bed and lay down, his face creased with weariness. "Charlie fed werewolves to dragons. Dozens of them. Saved his employer thousands of Leus they would have had to spend on proper meat."

Snape had never heard Lupin sound so bitter. "The Prophet vaguely mentioned 'profiteering.' It didn't mention murder."

"The press wasn't allowed inside Courtroom Eight. The 'profiteering' happened to be a brisk trade in humans." Lupin's lips twisted. "Not that werewolves make good slaves. We're far too much bother twelve times a year. But pretty Romanian girls to route to brothels and farms --"

"Arthur condoned that?"

"He thinks his Charlie was helping orphans find gainful placement." Lupin spoke as if he couldn't wait to rinse out his mouth. "'Poor little Muggles, so clever yet so helpless. Such a splendid thing, Charlie's connections helping them out...'"

"Connections thanks to the healthy 'commissions' he collected."

"Exactly," Lupin said. "Charlie never got over growing up poor."

"As opposed to parading about in the rags of noble perseverance?"

"You're the expert on assumptions of nobility, Professor Prince."

Snape shot back, "Ever hear of 'tyranny of the masses'?"

"Story of my life," Lupin said. His tone abruptly less flippant, he added, "Story of yours, too, I know. And I will be sorry about that for the rest of my life."

After a pause, Snape said, "For over twenty-five years, I have dreamed of hearing you say that. Which all the more convinces me this is a hallucination."

Lupin looked pale. Almost like a ghost, Snape thought, as the werewolf extended a hand toward Snape but then dropped it.

"Why do I bother trying?" Lupin said, his voice harsh. "If you don't think I'm real, and Muggles don't believe in werewolves --"

"That's even more of a proof, there: I'm living as a Muggle. Therefore, you can't be real."

"Oh, for the love of Vector -- is that what you have to do to your mind to keep going?" Lupin sounded strangled. "Or is that what keeping on as you have does to your mind? Most wizards don't last even a week away from magic -- they end up thinking, what would be the harm of a wee fix-it charm, or a quick little swish, or they simply lose control --"

Snape glanced at the shards of the mirror and pursed his lips. "Even if I believed in object-prescribed luck, I doubt my odds for surviving another seven years."

Lupin's face was white. "You've outwitted the odds all your life, Severus. Surely you're not going to let them catch you out now."

"It isn't always up to me, Lupin." Snape shifted the flask in his hand, eyeing his distorted reflection on the metal; if he tilted the container to a certain angle, a deep scratch on its surface resembled a gash across his throat. "You seemed so weak so much of your life. And yet, here you are. Instead of in the bosom of the Burrow. You could have concocted excuses--"

"I assure you, Charlie's family came up with plenty."

"And yet you weren't moved."

Lupin gazed up at the ceiling. "Not after identifying the remains. Not to mention identifying with them."

Snape had glimpsed hair, teeth, and other undigested elements in Nagini's scat too often as it was; he didn't care to dwell upon the leavings of larger reptiles. "And the Weasleys still stood by Charles?"

Lupin sketched a pattern in the air that Snape couldn't quite make out. "The excuses made it worse. It would have been rotten no matter what, but I could have understood it if they'd simply said, 'We don't care what he's done, he's our Charlie, and we love him right or wrong.'" Lupin let his hand fall. "The excuses --when they tried to get me not to testify -- I hadn't truly realised until then what snobs they are. They like to say they're fond of Muggles, they like to believe they don't care about bloodlines, they see themselves as generous to a fault --"

"Ah, yes," Snape said. "Molly and her sacrificial coddling. So easy to be generous to someone starved for attention. So easy to tether them to one's apron-strings. So easy to play the martyr when people refuse to be yanked along."

"You understand."

"Lucius Malfoy thought of himself as generous, too."

"Of course he did." Lupin lifted both hands above his face as if to compare them. "I almost have it in me to feel sorry for them both."

"Even if it fell within your powers, neither of them would value it."

"Not from an ingrate like me, at any rate." Lupin raised his voice to mimic Molly's. "'Do all the meals I've fed you count for nothing, Remus Lupin?'"

Snape made a derisive noise. "If I'd known that soup and cake was all it took to make up for murder--"

"None of them were willing to call it murder, Severus. Not when they could rationalise it all as Charlie just following orders. Not when I don't count as a 'real' werewolf. 'Oh, you're not one of them, Remus! With you it's just a little health problem! We know you, Remus!'" Lupin's voice cracked. "There but for the grace of Albus Dumbledore. . ."

"Indeed," Snape softly said. "I, too, was following orders."

"Yes," Lupin said. "But you weren't expecting anyone to excuse you."

"Of course not. Unlike Charles, I am too old, too ugly, and too dangerous. Which begs the question of why you are here."

Lupin rolled onto his side, calm once more. "Half of Britain can't forgive me for sealing Charlie's conviction. The other half will never forgive me for clearing your name."

"What?"

Lupin looked as if Snape's reaction had answered a question. "I exaggerate. Most of the rest of Britain can't stand the sight of me. Fortunately, their loathing doesn't alter Dumbledore's testimony on your behalf." His smile was wry. "Doesn't mean they wouldn't string you up for something else, but as long as you keep yourself inconveniently out of their reach, they'll settle for more convenient prey."

Snape slowly said, "So now I owe you --"

Lupin sharply replied, "No, you don't. No one still alive gave more than you."

"That doesn't change that you didn't have to--"

"After Charlie's trial," Lupin said, "Poppy asked me to 'look over' her mementoes of Albus. She said she could finally trust me now that I had no friends left to lose." He placed a palm on the bedspread, crooking his fingers so that his hand fit within the borders of one of its hexagons. "The mementoes were dozens of phials, most of them sealed with double spells -- one of them Dark, and the other keyed to affection: the person breaking the seal had to be someone who'd loved and trusted Albus."

Snape caught his breath. "Very few wizards can command both types of spells."

Lupin nodded. "I know of only four. You. Me. Hermione, once she worked through your copy of Borage. And Harry Potter, because he eventually listens to Hermione."

Snape's voice rose in astonishment. "Granger could bear to peruse that book?"

"Curiosity won out, once grades no longer mattered." Lupin inclined his head at Snape's harsh guffaw. "Plus, she has a bit of a rescuing-people complex."

"Not unlike certain classmates of hers."

"Indeed," Lupin said. "And unlike her Elvish Welfare efforts, helping Poppy dispense Albus's bequests had Minerva's full blessing. Even after it became clear each bottle was a Pandora's cocktail."

"Which, being Gryffindors, you kept opening anyway."

"There's a certain satisfaction," Lupin admitted, "to distributing secrets people had counted on Albus taking to his grave. If they're going to hate me regardless, it might as well be for what I'm doing rather than who I am."

"Philosophical of you. Although I cannot picture Granger sharing your equanimity. She was always so desperate for approval."

"Being right matters more to her," Lupin said. "A priority I've come to appreciate. It's excellent company for one's thoughts during avalanches, as well as on fool's errands to Japan."

Snape rotated the flask between his hands. "Have you found it worth all the inconvenience, just to deliver a mouthful of poison?"

"Not just poison." Lupin's voice was gentle. "Pandora's cocktails always include hope, you know."

Snape's hands involuntarily tightened around the flask as Lupin uttered the word "hope." He compelled his fingers to loosen their grip on the metal before forcing himself to look back up.

Lupin met his stare with a cool, steady gaze. There was hint of something more -- a glimmer of heat Snape desperately wanted to believe was for him. His head was reeling from all of Lupin's revelations, however, and he wanted to stop caring about whether he was merely imagining it all. The silver flask felt solid in his hands, as did the stopper he yanked from its mouth, and the scents that greeted his nose -- the tang of vinegar, the spice of carnations, the citrus perfume of rue -- no dream has been this vivid since I stopped using magic, he thought.

He tilted his head back and drained the flask. Lupin lunged forward and caught hold of him as he began to convulse, the memories screaming through his veins as his blood reabsorbed them.

I wanted him to feel eaten alive. Like this. Like the werewolves Charles did feed to the dragons.

He remembered the gloves, now. Lupin's hands had never been beautiful, but Snape had studied them regardless. He had memorised how they traced the embossing on the cover of a book. How they petted the fuzzy surface of fresh sage leaves before breaking them from their stems. The way Lupin's index finger caressed the soft barbs of a feather before crooking around the quill. The dizziness he'd felt when Lupin had handed him the gloves in the greenhouse -- a gesture that should have been far too mundane to note, but which he'd treasured precisely because he'd craved such ordinary kindness. In his fantasies of Lupin, he'd imagined being handed other pairs of gloves -- in a cottage garden, over spires of larkspur and lavender, or at the door of a bookstore after a winter's afternoon of browsing.

He had dreamed of sharing a bed with Lupin, but not like this -- not with his body seized with cramps and his skin clammy from the memories overwhelming his system. Lupin's hand was on his hip again -- you helped me up, you helped me out, hold me harder -- but even through the haze of pain squeezing his skull and drenching his nerves, he could sense Lupin's caution, as if handling a wild animal --

If I bleed, will it stain you? If I claw, will it sting? If I kiss you -- Snape writhed against the bed in agony as yet more memories unfurled across his brain, each one rematerialising into a glowing, quivering strand. Snape clutched at Lupin's hands, howling as the memories crackled against his bones and seared his heart and scorched his throat with all the words he hadn't dared to think, much less say -- all magnified by what he felt for Lupin now. By what he now knew about how much Lupin could bear --

How did I think I could ever hurt you with this? You, whose bones break apart every month? You, who the moon shreds and the world dreads -- Snape collapsed against Lupin, panting, his eyes streaming with tears. Salt... tansy... meadowsweet...

Meadowsweet?

That hadn't been among the ingredients the Room had supplied to him.

Snape furiously scrubbed at his eyes with a sleeve. "Meadowsweet?" he croaked.

Instead of answering, Lupin Summoned another towel, using it to mop up more of the damp on Snape's face and neck. Snape sighed in relief as the rough but clean fabric travelled over his skin.

"Your shirt's soaked through," Lupin huskily said. "If you wouldn't mind..."

Snape unbuttoned the garment without hesitation, peeling it off and dropping it over the side of the bed. Lupin immediately draped the towel around him, but then drew away as if afraid to presume too much.

Snape let his body fall forward. Let me trust --

Lupin caught him. Yes. Their eyes met. Once more, Snape demanded, "Meadowsweet?"

Lupin gruffly answered, "Hermione said she'd blended in antidotes to the venoms. Though it hardly looked like it, to me."

"She did," Snape confirmed. "That should have been far more unpleasant."

"More--?" Lupin's arms tightened around Snape. "You son of Mordred, I didn't come halfway around the world to watch you punish yourself."

Steeling himself, Snape asked, "Knowing all that you know, how can you bear watching at all?"

Lupin gave him a speaking look before lowering them both to the bed. Still cradling Snape, albeit loosely, he quietly stated, "I've been watching you all my life. It would be a relief not to have to disguise it. But now that you know -- now that you remember -- it's going to be up to you. With all your knowledge, you're more than capable of taking care of yourself."

Capable? I suppose. But I'm so damned tired... "The Metsuke gave you ten minutes," Snape recalled. "Ten minutes for getting me out of there?"

"Ten minutes to make you not his problem," Lupin said. "You'll never be off the hook, you know, even with Albus's wishes known. You'll always have to watch your back and double your steps and ward your rooms. But I could help you with all of that." Lupin's smile was shy. "Plus, I want to see what you've devised from all those notes you've been taking."

Snape searched Lupin's face. "You would stay here, for me? Here, where you'll always be a foreigner -- always under suspicion?"

Lupin said, lightly, "As if it would be any different back home. Here, at least, I stick out because I'm white. It'll be a refreshing change from the 'Kick Me, I'm a Werewolf' games."

Snape raised a hand to Lupin's cheek. "I want this," he confessed, "but I don't trust it. Because I want it. How do I know you're not one more joke?"

Lupin's expression was wry. "I don't know if I'm a joke. The universe certainly seems to act like it, wouldn't you say? I can't even promise I'm truly what you want." He leaned in close, so that his lips were but a breath away from Snape's. "But I should like to stay long enough to find out."

Snape let his hand trail down from Lupin's cheek to his neck, pressing his fingertips against the hollow to the side of Lupin's Adam's apple. Lupin's expression didn't change, but Snape could feel the quickening of his pulse. The thrumming of blood against his fingers was as real to him as Lupin's hand against his heart.

"Then stay," he finally said. "As long as you wish. As long as you'll have me."

The joy that illuminated the whole of Lupin's face made him catch his breath. This -- so close -- this, truly mine to claim?

Snape slid his hand to the back of Lupin's neck and closed the gap between them.