Disclaimer's Notice: I do not own Harry Potter.
Chapter Six - Together
From Snape's PoV...
_____
My strength is slowly returning, wave after wave, I feel better. My whole body aches, my skin feels tighter, my muscles tingle softly. I don't feel sad or half as terrible as I thought I would, yet the reason makes me feel guilty. It's Lupin. His visits have helped me.
I'm out of Pomfrey's now. Apparently I had three broken ribs, a smashed elbow and a fractured nose; I can't remember much of it though. Only the scent of tea and chocolate drifting into my simple moments of consciousness. Perhaps I didn't want to remember anything else; they told me that I had some strange dreamer's deficiency, in which I crawled into my own mind out of my own free will. That was the main reason I spent two weeks at Pomfrey's; otherwise my other wounds were easy to heal. I can't stop thinking about him. His fingers drifting over my face, those pretty words he speaks to me when he thinks I'm sleeping, the very sound of his sweet voice, slight and husky as if tinted by the grief of angels. All he makes want to do is wrap my arms round him, hold the arch of his back, feel his hips and lips press against mine and lie with him forever. I wouldn't care if we died as long as we were wrapped up together, limb to limb, thought to thought, soul to soul.
He doesn't love me. He can't love me. I don't even know if I love him! Just because he brings me sweets and offers me tea and strokes my hair without reviling, and- and - he doesn't look at me with an unforgiving disgust like the others, doesn't mean I love him. He still cares about them! The bastards who beat me, humiliated me daily, forced me to stay away from quidditch and laughed at me when I was crying in the toilets. I hate them. Lupin did nothing to restrain them; he's just as bad. His fingers, his hands, his lips meaning nothing! He doesn't care at all! All he wants is to be patted on the back by his bloody friends and laugh at me when he can.
I try to block out the negativity, the gnarling suspicion, but I can't. I feel betrayed.
"Thanks for coming..." he bends down into a seat before me. His robes are slightly creased, just like the slight frown on his face and those peachy lips. The warming scent of tea resonates from his robes and in his hands he's carrying a small, leatherbound book on defence against the dark arts.
"Here's a copy of "Dangerous Beasts" I got for you...You know, to replace the last copy that James flushed down the toilet..."
That had happened two years ago; I was much more advanced in that subject now; it would be of no use to me. I take it anyway and mutter, 'thanks.'
I fear looking into his eyes just in case he's lying. Since I've been out of Pomfrey's, he's met me three times. Last time was in the library during quidditch practice, before that it was in the North Tower past midnight. He always has that nervous twitch about his mouth; that apprehension that simply burns off him like a raw flame. We only talk though, he sometimes squeezes my hand and I wish he'd hold me again. I like his fingers; they're elegant like a pianist's; I like every part of him.
"I'm sorry I'm late...Sirius was keeping me- well, it doesn't really matter," and his voice falters. It's hard for him to talk about his friends, as if he's ashamed, as if he'd rather not be here with me...
This is where the silence begins. We just sit and he sometimes fiddles nervously with his fingers, brushing one tip against the other. We shield our faces with our cloaks knowing that we should be two boys together, knowing that we're gryffindor and slytherin, social enemies and that everything about us is wrong. Remus is goodlooking while I'm a scaly serpent. I feel a thousand times more inadequate against him.
"Would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me?" he says, his eyes suddenly bright with a fire.
"I don't have permission from my parents to go..." It wasn't that they don't want me to go. It's just that they've been having a hard time at moment and they haven't signed my renewal form. I want to go to Hogsmeade; it's safe and warm, away from the world and I can drift away from the other boys and girls and admire the way the leaves catch the golden light from the lanterns of see watch all the people jostle about in their own little lives. At least I'm safe and I can disappear. I can't buy much since my parents don't give me much money.
In the past, I've had to rely on the 'kindness' of other boys, namely Lucius. I remember my first visit in my third year. Lucius took me under his wing and fed me with icecream and chocolate. I didn't think of any ulterior motives back then but things have changed since then. I'm less naive.
"Don't worry, I know a way to get out of here. You don't need anyone's permission..."
"What? You mean - sneak out?"
"Yea..." he said casually, his hair falling into his eyes with a small snowy shrug.
I shouldn't feel so shocked. I suppose I always had some idea that despite his friends, Remus was one to follow rules and be good. What if there were other things I didn't know? He's only asking you to sneak out, it's not as if he's a murderer or something...
"Oh, okay..."
I feel nervous; it's not as if I've been out of bounds before. What Lucius and I do is probably worse than sneaking out, and yet I must combat that damned voice at the back of my mind whispering, 'it's wrong...' I'm being a wuss; I swallow.
"We can sneak out whenever you like...When do you want to go?"
"It's up to you."
"Tonight. I want to go tonight...I-I won't be able to make it anytime next week." He becomes more jittery and nervous, an invisible heat creeping upon his cheeks. It's steely and warm, giving him a shy glow.
"Yes, okay, tonight." We look around us as if we're spies and we have to keep ourselves hidden from their horrible stares. "Where shall I meet you?"
"Do you know the humped witch on the fifth floor? Meet me there at ten, all right? Make sure you're alone."
___
Freedom, Remus beside me shuddering in the cool breeze. Fabric upon fabric, skin on skin, his fine, gold hair sometimes bristles against my right ear and I want to turn and kiss him till he's inside of me. Despite our robe sleeves pulled down passed our wrists, we clandestinely hold hands. Here we are two boys dressed in the usual black strolling in the Hogsmeade streets. I wonder what people think of us; perhaps they think we're best friends going out for a meal, or even lovers, not as queers or disgusting teens, but as two people in love. The idea makes my stomach flutter with excitement. I've never been on a proper date, unless the times Lucius took me out with the intention of more behind his sweet promises.
Most of the shops are closed and I begin to feel sad, as if we could never rest anywhere, talk and sit. Not that I mind, at least I'm not alone. I don't have money to pay for anything anyway, what was I thinking. I'm poor, poorer than most of the other boys. All I have are possessions that aren't mine, that have been 'bestowed' upon me by Prince Malfoy, the charitable Slytherin who uses his money to gain influence over his house. I don't even want to think about Lucius anymore; he doesn't speak to me much but I can tell he has that stony distaste in his eyes. His whole presence is cold and demanding, the smooth casualness of his previous favouritism has faded a little, for I'm someone else's and he knows it. He curses himself because I can no longer be his slave. I can be treated like dirt, but I won't feel it.
"Everything's closed..." I say, gently pressing Remus's warm knuckle. The very feeling of bone slipping beneath skin comforts me; he's real, this is really happening, I'm finally accepted.
"Don't worry, most of the pubs are open."
Another pang of that familiar apprehension; he has that confidence, that same raffish smugness that Black and Potter have, as if he's been here night after night. I've never noticed the slight swagger in his walk, the sad, melancholy of his his downturned mouth, those that eyes that never seem to look at you for a few seconds. I must be paranoid; he's looked at me a thousand times. What is it that I fear anyway? That he's hiding something? Impossible. He's too honest.
_
"What do you want?"
"I don't have any money..." a shrug, a meagre grin is all I can manage as he reaches for a small, gold pouch with some sickles inside.
"That's all right. My mum and dad give me an allowance anyway."
"That's nice." I try to force a smile, but he's looking at me quizzically as if he doesn't understand why I am so poor. It's not that we don't have much money, well, I suppose we do. It's just that my dad has this problem with money; I think he deals in illegal potions manufacturing, and, well, I suppose that means we lose a lot... I wonder what it's like to live in Remus's life, with his two parents. I expect he lives warmly and happily in a small cottage that isn't too big but not too small either. He has a garden, which is filled with wild roses and long grasses and inside his house, his rooms are made of pine and cosy sofas that have holes in them. I can just imagine the warm dinners, beginning with vegetable soup and ending in apple pie. For dinner, they have a stew, where they all clamber round the kitchen table and tell each other stories. Perhaps there's a crup or a kneazle that sniffs at their ankles and sleeps at the end of his bed.
Then I think of Remus sleeping peacefully, his baby blue pyjamas so thin and soft against his skin. The image transforms into that first night, of his legs over my shoulders, his hips almost touching mine, his sad eyes and my eager thrusts drawing moans and cries from his innocent lips. I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't be here with him. I don't deserve it. I destroyed his innocence.
"I'll have a butterbeer." I don't even notice the waitress wavering by our table. She's wide-hipped, adorning a head of long auburn curls and I feel a hint of motherliness about her. With her friendly green eyes, she turns to me and says, "And what would you like dear?"
I'm sixteen and she calls me 'dear'. I hate people who come up with any soft term to call me; my face constricts into a frown but it soon turns into apprehension. I don't know what I want. "I'll have the same please."
"Two butterbeers coming up then."
She must be able to tell we're young but she doesn't mention it. She looks at us from over her shoulder a couple of times and I can't help but ask, "do you know her?"
"Oh, yes. Rosmerta, she always serves us even though she knows we're not meant to be here. Don't worry about her. She won't tell on us even though she knows Dumbledore."
By 'us' he meant the marauders. He seems so at ease, so casual with everything that I feel inadequate against him. This is his time, he's in control here, yet there's a strange tingling of freedom about his lips.
"Okay."
"Are you all right, Severus?"
"I'm fine."
He looks up and Rosmerta's there again, this time with two butter beers clamped in her ringed fingers.
"Who's this?" she asks cheerily, eyeing me up with a humourous curiousity.
"Oh, this is Severus. Severus Snape."
Her eyes seem to darken with something, recognition, and Remus looks uncomfortable, as if he's ashamed of me.
"Nice to meet you, Snape-I mean Severus. I sometimes hear about you from the other boys. It's good to see you in person." She smiles sympathetically at me, so much so, that I could shrivel away forever. Jetting Remus a look of suspicion or maybe even warning, she clogs away, but I can still feel her ears listening.
Remus laughs nervously and says reassuringly, "Oh, you know Sirius and James. They're always joking about. Sometimes your name is mentioned here and there...It's not a big problem, really, it's not."
She thinks I'm an idiot. She thinks I'm weak. That sympathetic smile is all too clear now. They probably brag about how they jinxed my broom or made my potion explode at school. I want to leave.
"Aren't you going to taste it?"
I've had butterbeer before; all I remember is that it's sweet and thick, a beautiful golden colour that slips down your throat and makes you feel better. I take a sip. I don't even notice my eyes closing or the moan from my throat, but I must have done, for Remus is looking at me in -that- way. As if he loves me. He presses his fingers against my knee and a tingle of pleasure shoots up and down my leg. I want him. I want to swallow him; to be with him; to be inside of him. I want to lift that hand from my knee and place it between my thighs. I want to lower him from his seat opposite me and feel his hot tongue on my cock, feel him all over me. Instead, I muster a small, grateful smile and press his hand tighter.
____
Lips, ravenous, soft, pressing against me urgently, desperately with that sort of hunger you only envision in fantasies, those lovely pliable moans twitching from his mouth and into mine, his fingers roughly digging into my hair, pushing his whole being into me, burning. I press my hips against his, urgent for him, desperate for him. I lean him against the painted walls of Honeydukes, feeling his whole body resonate with pleasure. I want to give everything to him, to serve him, to love him. He arches his hips forward, his neck back and replies feebly, "Not outside...Not now."
I release him. He's ashamed. He wants to be back in his bed, surrounded by those idle marauders. He's nothing but a boy. He doesn't want me.
"Fine."
"It's not that I don't want to- it's just that...I- you know... Don't like rushing into things..."
And I want to hold him, to curl him in my arms and tell him it's all right. I want to tell him that I don't mind him being a boy, being apprehensive, being unsure of his own body. Yet he's still hard and it's painful to leave him like that.
"Let's go back." And I know we're going back to our own different worlds.
Tomorrow we'll be staring at each other coldly from the ends of classrooms, sneering and wearing the slytherin and gryffindor emblems proudly upon our chests. I want to grab his hand and run forever; till we're carried in the winds and the stars and we never have to care about who hates us, who disapproves and who wishes to hurt us. I kiss the corner of his lips shortly and we quietly enter the closed honeydukes and make our way back to Hogwarts.
___
Chapter Six - Together
From Snape's PoV...
_____
My strength is slowly returning, wave after wave, I feel better. My whole body aches, my skin feels tighter, my muscles tingle softly. I don't feel sad or half as terrible as I thought I would, yet the reason makes me feel guilty. It's Lupin. His visits have helped me.
I'm out of Pomfrey's now. Apparently I had three broken ribs, a smashed elbow and a fractured nose; I can't remember much of it though. Only the scent of tea and chocolate drifting into my simple moments of consciousness. Perhaps I didn't want to remember anything else; they told me that I had some strange dreamer's deficiency, in which I crawled into my own mind out of my own free will. That was the main reason I spent two weeks at Pomfrey's; otherwise my other wounds were easy to heal. I can't stop thinking about him. His fingers drifting over my face, those pretty words he speaks to me when he thinks I'm sleeping, the very sound of his sweet voice, slight and husky as if tinted by the grief of angels. All he makes want to do is wrap my arms round him, hold the arch of his back, feel his hips and lips press against mine and lie with him forever. I wouldn't care if we died as long as we were wrapped up together, limb to limb, thought to thought, soul to soul.
He doesn't love me. He can't love me. I don't even know if I love him! Just because he brings me sweets and offers me tea and strokes my hair without reviling, and- and - he doesn't look at me with an unforgiving disgust like the others, doesn't mean I love him. He still cares about them! The bastards who beat me, humiliated me daily, forced me to stay away from quidditch and laughed at me when I was crying in the toilets. I hate them. Lupin did nothing to restrain them; he's just as bad. His fingers, his hands, his lips meaning nothing! He doesn't care at all! All he wants is to be patted on the back by his bloody friends and laugh at me when he can.
I try to block out the negativity, the gnarling suspicion, but I can't. I feel betrayed.
"Thanks for coming..." he bends down into a seat before me. His robes are slightly creased, just like the slight frown on his face and those peachy lips. The warming scent of tea resonates from his robes and in his hands he's carrying a small, leatherbound book on defence against the dark arts.
"Here's a copy of "Dangerous Beasts" I got for you...You know, to replace the last copy that James flushed down the toilet..."
That had happened two years ago; I was much more advanced in that subject now; it would be of no use to me. I take it anyway and mutter, 'thanks.'
I fear looking into his eyes just in case he's lying. Since I've been out of Pomfrey's, he's met me three times. Last time was in the library during quidditch practice, before that it was in the North Tower past midnight. He always has that nervous twitch about his mouth; that apprehension that simply burns off him like a raw flame. We only talk though, he sometimes squeezes my hand and I wish he'd hold me again. I like his fingers; they're elegant like a pianist's; I like every part of him.
"I'm sorry I'm late...Sirius was keeping me- well, it doesn't really matter," and his voice falters. It's hard for him to talk about his friends, as if he's ashamed, as if he'd rather not be here with me...
This is where the silence begins. We just sit and he sometimes fiddles nervously with his fingers, brushing one tip against the other. We shield our faces with our cloaks knowing that we should be two boys together, knowing that we're gryffindor and slytherin, social enemies and that everything about us is wrong. Remus is goodlooking while I'm a scaly serpent. I feel a thousand times more inadequate against him.
"Would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me?" he says, his eyes suddenly bright with a fire.
"I don't have permission from my parents to go..." It wasn't that they don't want me to go. It's just that they've been having a hard time at moment and they haven't signed my renewal form. I want to go to Hogsmeade; it's safe and warm, away from the world and I can drift away from the other boys and girls and admire the way the leaves catch the golden light from the lanterns of see watch all the people jostle about in their own little lives. At least I'm safe and I can disappear. I can't buy much since my parents don't give me much money.
In the past, I've had to rely on the 'kindness' of other boys, namely Lucius. I remember my first visit in my third year. Lucius took me under his wing and fed me with icecream and chocolate. I didn't think of any ulterior motives back then but things have changed since then. I'm less naive.
"Don't worry, I know a way to get out of here. You don't need anyone's permission..."
"What? You mean - sneak out?"
"Yea..." he said casually, his hair falling into his eyes with a small snowy shrug.
I shouldn't feel so shocked. I suppose I always had some idea that despite his friends, Remus was one to follow rules and be good. What if there were other things I didn't know? He's only asking you to sneak out, it's not as if he's a murderer or something...
"Oh, okay..."
I feel nervous; it's not as if I've been out of bounds before. What Lucius and I do is probably worse than sneaking out, and yet I must combat that damned voice at the back of my mind whispering, 'it's wrong...' I'm being a wuss; I swallow.
"We can sneak out whenever you like...When do you want to go?"
"It's up to you."
"Tonight. I want to go tonight...I-I won't be able to make it anytime next week." He becomes more jittery and nervous, an invisible heat creeping upon his cheeks. It's steely and warm, giving him a shy glow.
"Yes, okay, tonight." We look around us as if we're spies and we have to keep ourselves hidden from their horrible stares. "Where shall I meet you?"
"Do you know the humped witch on the fifth floor? Meet me there at ten, all right? Make sure you're alone."
___
Freedom, Remus beside me shuddering in the cool breeze. Fabric upon fabric, skin on skin, his fine, gold hair sometimes bristles against my right ear and I want to turn and kiss him till he's inside of me. Despite our robe sleeves pulled down passed our wrists, we clandestinely hold hands. Here we are two boys dressed in the usual black strolling in the Hogsmeade streets. I wonder what people think of us; perhaps they think we're best friends going out for a meal, or even lovers, not as queers or disgusting teens, but as two people in love. The idea makes my stomach flutter with excitement. I've never been on a proper date, unless the times Lucius took me out with the intention of more behind his sweet promises.
Most of the shops are closed and I begin to feel sad, as if we could never rest anywhere, talk and sit. Not that I mind, at least I'm not alone. I don't have money to pay for anything anyway, what was I thinking. I'm poor, poorer than most of the other boys. All I have are possessions that aren't mine, that have been 'bestowed' upon me by Prince Malfoy, the charitable Slytherin who uses his money to gain influence over his house. I don't even want to think about Lucius anymore; he doesn't speak to me much but I can tell he has that stony distaste in his eyes. His whole presence is cold and demanding, the smooth casualness of his previous favouritism has faded a little, for I'm someone else's and he knows it. He curses himself because I can no longer be his slave. I can be treated like dirt, but I won't feel it.
"Everything's closed..." I say, gently pressing Remus's warm knuckle. The very feeling of bone slipping beneath skin comforts me; he's real, this is really happening, I'm finally accepted.
"Don't worry, most of the pubs are open."
Another pang of that familiar apprehension; he has that confidence, that same raffish smugness that Black and Potter have, as if he's been here night after night. I've never noticed the slight swagger in his walk, the sad, melancholy of his his downturned mouth, those that eyes that never seem to look at you for a few seconds. I must be paranoid; he's looked at me a thousand times. What is it that I fear anyway? That he's hiding something? Impossible. He's too honest.
_
"What do you want?"
"I don't have any money..." a shrug, a meagre grin is all I can manage as he reaches for a small, gold pouch with some sickles inside.
"That's all right. My mum and dad give me an allowance anyway."
"That's nice." I try to force a smile, but he's looking at me quizzically as if he doesn't understand why I am so poor. It's not that we don't have much money, well, I suppose we do. It's just that my dad has this problem with money; I think he deals in illegal potions manufacturing, and, well, I suppose that means we lose a lot... I wonder what it's like to live in Remus's life, with his two parents. I expect he lives warmly and happily in a small cottage that isn't too big but not too small either. He has a garden, which is filled with wild roses and long grasses and inside his house, his rooms are made of pine and cosy sofas that have holes in them. I can just imagine the warm dinners, beginning with vegetable soup and ending in apple pie. For dinner, they have a stew, where they all clamber round the kitchen table and tell each other stories. Perhaps there's a crup or a kneazle that sniffs at their ankles and sleeps at the end of his bed.
Then I think of Remus sleeping peacefully, his baby blue pyjamas so thin and soft against his skin. The image transforms into that first night, of his legs over my shoulders, his hips almost touching mine, his sad eyes and my eager thrusts drawing moans and cries from his innocent lips. I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't be here with him. I don't deserve it. I destroyed his innocence.
"I'll have a butterbeer." I don't even notice the waitress wavering by our table. She's wide-hipped, adorning a head of long auburn curls and I feel a hint of motherliness about her. With her friendly green eyes, she turns to me and says, "And what would you like dear?"
I'm sixteen and she calls me 'dear'. I hate people who come up with any soft term to call me; my face constricts into a frown but it soon turns into apprehension. I don't know what I want. "I'll have the same please."
"Two butterbeers coming up then."
She must be able to tell we're young but she doesn't mention it. She looks at us from over her shoulder a couple of times and I can't help but ask, "do you know her?"
"Oh, yes. Rosmerta, she always serves us even though she knows we're not meant to be here. Don't worry about her. She won't tell on us even though she knows Dumbledore."
By 'us' he meant the marauders. He seems so at ease, so casual with everything that I feel inadequate against him. This is his time, he's in control here, yet there's a strange tingling of freedom about his lips.
"Okay."
"Are you all right, Severus?"
"I'm fine."
He looks up and Rosmerta's there again, this time with two butter beers clamped in her ringed fingers.
"Who's this?" she asks cheerily, eyeing me up with a humourous curiousity.
"Oh, this is Severus. Severus Snape."
Her eyes seem to darken with something, recognition, and Remus looks uncomfortable, as if he's ashamed of me.
"Nice to meet you, Snape-I mean Severus. I sometimes hear about you from the other boys. It's good to see you in person." She smiles sympathetically at me, so much so, that I could shrivel away forever. Jetting Remus a look of suspicion or maybe even warning, she clogs away, but I can still feel her ears listening.
Remus laughs nervously and says reassuringly, "Oh, you know Sirius and James. They're always joking about. Sometimes your name is mentioned here and there...It's not a big problem, really, it's not."
She thinks I'm an idiot. She thinks I'm weak. That sympathetic smile is all too clear now. They probably brag about how they jinxed my broom or made my potion explode at school. I want to leave.
"Aren't you going to taste it?"
I've had butterbeer before; all I remember is that it's sweet and thick, a beautiful golden colour that slips down your throat and makes you feel better. I take a sip. I don't even notice my eyes closing or the moan from my throat, but I must have done, for Remus is looking at me in -that- way. As if he loves me. He presses his fingers against my knee and a tingle of pleasure shoots up and down my leg. I want him. I want to swallow him; to be with him; to be inside of him. I want to lift that hand from my knee and place it between my thighs. I want to lower him from his seat opposite me and feel his hot tongue on my cock, feel him all over me. Instead, I muster a small, grateful smile and press his hand tighter.
____
Lips, ravenous, soft, pressing against me urgently, desperately with that sort of hunger you only envision in fantasies, those lovely pliable moans twitching from his mouth and into mine, his fingers roughly digging into my hair, pushing his whole being into me, burning. I press my hips against his, urgent for him, desperate for him. I lean him against the painted walls of Honeydukes, feeling his whole body resonate with pleasure. I want to give everything to him, to serve him, to love him. He arches his hips forward, his neck back and replies feebly, "Not outside...Not now."
I release him. He's ashamed. He wants to be back in his bed, surrounded by those idle marauders. He's nothing but a boy. He doesn't want me.
"Fine."
"It's not that I don't want to- it's just that...I- you know... Don't like rushing into things..."
And I want to hold him, to curl him in my arms and tell him it's all right. I want to tell him that I don't mind him being a boy, being apprehensive, being unsure of his own body. Yet he's still hard and it's painful to leave him like that.
"Let's go back." And I know we're going back to our own different worlds.
Tomorrow we'll be staring at each other coldly from the ends of classrooms, sneering and wearing the slytherin and gryffindor emblems proudly upon our chests. I want to grab his hand and run forever; till we're carried in the winds and the stars and we never have to care about who hates us, who disapproves and who wishes to hurt us. I kiss the corner of his lips shortly and we quietly enter the closed honeydukes and make our way back to Hogwarts.
___