14th October
I am an idiot.
After staying up half the night writing in this bloody journal, and another half a night of fitful tossing and turning that could not really be called sleep, I staggered, yawning and disheveled down to breakfast.
I was the last of the faculty to arrive, and as I walked in, the first thing I noticed was Snape staring at me. His face held an expression of worry mixed with suspicion. I faltered slightly in my path to the head table, and my heart began to hammer inside my chest. He knew.
I didn't look at him as I took my seat, which was inconveniently (thanks to bloody Albus) right beside Snape's. I nodded briefly to the other professors, but kept my gaze from the black-haired man. I could feel his onyx eyes boring into me, and I felt my face begin to burn. The eggs and sausage could have been cardboard and hippogriff turds, for all the enjoyment I got out of them as I scarfed them down.
I wanted to eat and bolt, to get the hell out of Dodge, as the American Muggles are so fond of saying. I wanted to leave before Snape had the chance to speak his obviously-perturbed mind.
"Lupin, what happened last night?" the baritone voice rumbled softly beside me.
I choked. As I tried to dislodge a chunk of sausage from my windpipe, Snape's bony hand clapped me on the back a few times. The offending tidbit exited my trachea, and I gulped it down, whole.
"What?" I croaked nonchalantly, when the coughing subsided. "Last night?"
"Why did you come into my bedroom?" Snape asked quietly, obviously trying to prevent the oh-so-alert ears of others at the table from overhearing.
I closed my eyes briefly. "Your bedroom? What makes you think I was in your bedroom?" I asked, trying to sound confused, yet casual and flip.
Snape sighed a bit, and I glanced over at him. He was gazing into space, not at me, and I could see discomfort in his large, dark eyes. When he turned his gaze back to me, they held only confusion, not accusation.
"You left the goblet on my bedside table, Lupin. I know you were in there. Please tell me why."
Oh. Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
How could I have been so bloody stupid? Of course, now that he said it, I remembered setting the goblet on the table before taking him in my arms and... Fuck.
But wait...he still didn't seem to know WHY I had been in the room! He didn't remember! I breathed a sigh of relief, and turned toward him.
"I'm sorry, Severus," I began, gently reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. He didn't flinch or try to shrug me off, just watched me expectantly. I took a gulp of coffee for courage and pressed on, deciding to tell him a portion of the truth.
"I was on my way out," I said, "when I heard you scream. I naturally went into the bedroom to see what was wrong. You seemed to be having a nightmare of some sort."
As soon as I said the word 'nightmare,' an extraordinary thing happened. Severus Snape blushed. He didn't go red with anger, or white with fury. He blushed. Pink as a rose. Like a schoolgirl.
"I...I see," was the murmured reply. The black eyes were cast downward, darting nervously back and forth as he processed this information.
We were silent for a few moments, the chatter of the Great Hall and its occupants forming a cacophonic backdrop of cheerful noise.
"Did I...did I say anything...in my sleep?" Snape asked, sounding as if he did not want to know the answer.
I pondered for a moment. Perhaps it would be best not to tell him that he had screamed for me. I would be more likely to avoid suspicion if I left that detail out.
"Yes," I murmured, and I heard him stop breathing. "But just incoherent yelling, I couldn't make out anything that you were saying."
At this lie, Snape visibly deflated, the tension leaving his shoulders. This reaction was intriguing, but I was really too caught up in relief that he did not know just what I had done while a guest in his bedroom. It looked as if I was going to come out of this unhexed, after all.
"I shook you a little, and you settled down," I continued, tasting freedom. "But you never did wake up." I smiled a little half-smile and shrugged, popping another forkful of eggs into my mouth. "Does that happen often, the nightmares?" I inquired pleasantly.
His eyes snapped briefly to meet mine, and he opened his mouth to reply, but then paused. He busied himself pushing his untouched food around on his plate, before murmuring a barely-audible reply.
"Not in a very long time."
We sat in silence for several minutes. Then as the students began to gather their things to start to their first classes, Snape cleared his throat and rose fluidly to his feet.
"I'd appreciate it if this didn't get broadcast throughout the staff, Lupin," Snape said, the familiar scornful tone returning as he straightened his cravat. "And I'll thank you not to take it upon yourself to serve as my protector again."
With that, he turned on his heel and stomped away, down the two steps from the head table's platform, and out the great yawning doors. I sat there, feeling an odd mixture of sadness and elation. Sadness, because it seemed that Snape felt I had betrayed his trust. Elation, because he clearly had no idea just how MUCH I had betrayed that trust!
And under it all, I still had a stinging, burning urge to know what he had dreamt, and why it involved me.
13th November
Well, as you can see, dear journal, not much of interest has happened over the last month. I went through my change, and spent the night of the full moon sleeping, rather than scurrying through the forest, preying on rabbits, squirrels, and who knows what else. It was always troubling, the morning after the change, when I would find bits of fur and tiny claws stuck between my teeth. Thank heavens for Severus Snape and his blessed potion-making abilities.
Speaking of, we have not spoken again of the 'incident' involving me in his bedroom. He still has no idea what exactly occurred that evening, and I am of no mind to tell him. Honesty is not always the best policy, especially since it seems as though Severus is warming up to me.
He now greets me in the hall with at least eye contact, sometimes a nod, and one unbelievable morning, an actual half-smile. Oh he's still very much himself, the snark and sneers are still firmly in place. But I would go as far as to say that he no longer dreads the sight of me. We have established a mutual acceptance, or at least respect.
Well as I indicated above, an entire month has flown by since I last wrote. Two more nights until I enjoy (ha!) my once-monthly nocturnal jaunt as a member of the canine family. It's not nearly as much fun as it was when James, Peter and Sirius joined me. I briefly thought of asking Minerva to join me this time, but then decided against it. Her Animagus cat probably wouldn't be a good match for my canine form. Not that I really think she'd agree to it, she's far too prim and proper to go gallivanting through the forests at midnight.
Too bad Snape isn't an Animagus. At least...I don't THINK he is.
As is typical for the region, the start of November marked the end of anything resembling a warm day. I have gotten my winter robes out of the trunk, and noticed that many of the students are already wearing their house scarves between classes. The bite of winter crisps the morning air, and frost paints the early morning grass silvery grey and green.
Well, I think I shall stop here. I have begun talking about the weather, and that is a sure sign that I have nothing of substance to document. Good night, then.
14th November
I have had another encounter with Snape. I thought the last time was confusing, with him screaming my name out in his sleep. Well, tonight the Potions master suffered from another round of somnambular terrors, but this time they very nearly cost him his life.
Even now, hours later, my hand shakes as I think about what happened.
I had been unable to sleep, for reasons at the time I did not know. I thought it was due to the pounding rain and occasional thunder of a rare, late autumn storm that shook the castle. But I believe now that it was the wolf's intuition, sensing danger, as it were, that made me fitful and unable to rest, and sent me to the library in search of something to occupy my mind.
So in the wee hours of morning, I was en route back to my quarters. The storm was raging away, but several chapters of "The Big Book of Bezoars" had rendered my mind sufficiently numb to the point that I believed I would find sleep, at last.
I was crossing the small rotunda at the foot of the stairs circling up the Astronomy tower, when I felt a draft, and heard a faint banging noise. Curious, I tracked the sound, stepping into the center of the rotunda, and looked upward. At the top of the stairs, a rectangle of pale blue flashed on the wall, and the patter of blowing rain slapped the marble steps. The door onto the roof was open.
I paused, wondering if it would be worth climbing those stairs to close a door that would probably blow itself shut the moment I reached for it. But with a sigh, I started valiantly upward. As I neared the top, I saw the door swinging in the wind, and the lightning flashed in that rectangle of blackness, ropy rain strobed by the flashes of blue-white light.
As I reached the landing, the door banged against the wall, and sure enough, started to close. But before it did, the lightning flashed again, and I caught a glimpse of a figure standing on the roof in the downpour.
I peered out into the wet darkness, eyes straining, waiting for the lightning to flash again. When it did, I blinked in surprise. Snape was standing there in the rain, his back to me, wearing nothing but a cotton undershirt and baggy trousers. I knew him by the jet-black hair and the nearly white skin.
"Severus?" I called, curious. What in the world could he be doing outside on a night like this? I knew he enjoyed watching storms, but he had the sense to do so from the window in a cloudburst like this.
He showed no sign of having heard me. With a glare at the flickering clouds, I turned the collar of my sweater up and ducked out onto the roof. The rain was ice cold and driving, and the wind partly blew me along as I approached the motionless figure.
As I neared him, though, Severus suddenly began running. I cocked my head, perturbed. Was he afraid of me? Did he not recognize me?
"Severus! What is it?" I called, running after him.
He ran to the edge of the roof, leaned on the low wall, and looked over. Then, he turned toward me, and the lightning flashed again. His face was devoid of expression, eyes blank, and mouth slack. He didn't even blink at the near-blinding flashes of nature's wrath. I realized with a start of surprise that he was sleepwalking.
That explained why he was out in the rain. And also why he did not seem to notice my presence. But all those thoughts were pushed out of my head as he climbed up onto the wall. Oh god!
"Sev, NO!" I screamed, sprinting forward. He was teetering on the edge; a few inches forward and he would plummet over a hundred feet to his certain death. As I reached him, he stepped forward, one foot hanging in space. I lunged, seizing his wrist, and pulled him back, just in time.
He whirled, yelping, and instinctively tried to pull free. He was awake now, but completely disoriented. We were not out of danger yet; I had to get through to him before he fell.
"Severus," I said, loudly and firmly. "It's me. It's Lupin. Wake up." I tightened my hold on his thin wrist, waiting for him to make eye contact with me. The moment he did, the struggles ceased.
"Lupin?" He murmured bewilderedly. "What are you doing in my room?" He blinked then as he became aware of the rain on his face, and looked up. His eyes widened as he looked around, finally realizing where he was. He looked down at me in confusion, then at my hand coiled about his wrist. Then, he slowly looked down at his feet, saw that he was standing on the wall, and turned to look behind him.
As he stared down into the void, Snape seemed to understand what had almost happened, and I saw him begin to shake. He wavered, and I gave a sharp tug on his wrist, pulling him off the wall and into my arms. I lowered him quickly to the roof and wrapped my arms around him as he gasped for air, almost hyperventilating.
"What...what was I...what did I do...?" He rasped, knotting his hands in the front of my sweater.
I held him tightly, moving one hand to cradle his head. "Shhh, it's all right," I said reassuringly over a clap of thunder. "Don't think about it. Shhh...I've got you...you're safe."
He wrapped his arms around my neck and just clung to me, shaking from head to toe. I noted that he was absolutely soaked through. I was still only partially damp, but Snape was drenched to the bone. He'd obviously been out on the roof for some time.
I stroked the bare skin of his arm, and found it icy to the touch. As I held him, I became aware of his shivers slowing, fading. His hold around my neck was growing weaker.
"Severus?" I called abruptly, pulling back a little to look at his face. He looked blearily up in the general direction of my voice, eyes half-closed, his expression confused and disoriented as if he were drunk. These were all bad signs; he was wet, he had suffered a tremendous mental shock, and he was dangerously cold. A serious combination.
Setting my jaw, I lifted him into my arms and headed toward the door. I had to get him warm, and quickly.
As I carried him across the roof, the back of my mind noted that, painfully slender as the man was, he was still heavier than I expected. A funny Muggle phrase about an unusually thin person's weight 'soaking wet' came to mind, and I smiled a little, despite my worry. I was thankful that my time of the change was so close; it gave me the strength I needed to bear his weight.
I sidled through the narrow door with my burden and kicked it shut behind me with a thud. As I started down the steep stairs I mused, horrified, on the fact that I had very nearly NOT come up to close that door. If I hadn't, Snape would be dead now.
I shuddered at the thought, and cradled him a bit more tightly against my chest. As if in response, his arms tightened around my neck. He curled up against me, nestling as close as he could, pressing his cold face against the crook of my neck. I could feel his breath, warm, against my skin.
Well...one of us was certainly no longer cold.
I felt a twitch of interest from somewhere below my belt, and my mind coolly informed my body and my heart that Snape's sudden bout of snuggling had nothing to do with affection for me. It was the natural reaction of a near-hypothermic body to seek out and cuddle closely to the nearest source of warmth, and that happened to be me.
As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I hesitated. The hospital wing was at the opposite end of the castle. I would need to run there, wake Poppy...plus Snape was certain to be embarrassed by what had happened. Would he really want to suffer the perceived indignities of a hospital visit? On the other hand, my own chambers were just around the corner, where I could tend to him in private.
Making a decision, I hefted Snape a little higher in my arms and turned toward my room.
As I entered my private chambers I butted the door shut, then crossed quickly to the couch, where I laid the unresponsive professor down. His arms had, at some point, dropped from around my neck, and my heart was pounding with worry. I summoned the blankets from my bed in the next room and swaddled them thickly around his limp body, tucking them in. I placed a soft pillow under his head, brushing the soaked, black hair back from his face.
Moving quickly to the fireplace, I ignited the fire with a wave of my wand, and used an Engorging charm to make it burn higher and hotter. Then I returned to the couch, and levitated it and Snape carefully over in front of the blaze. Warmth was already spreading through my chambers, and I reached down to check my patient's pulse.
It was slow, but steady. I could feel it growing faster as I held his wrist, and relief flooded my senses. Leaving him, I quickly went into my room and stripped off my soaked clothes, replacing them with a warm, dry dressing gown. It would do neither of us any good if I, too, were to succumb to the chill.
I moved back into the living room, and went to the cabinet in the corner, which held my personal books and other small knick-knacks. I found what I was looking for; a bottle of fine brandy that had been a gift from my parents many, many years ago. I could never afford such a luxury myself, and I had sworn that I would save it for a special occasion.
As I held it in my hands, feeling the cool glass and the decorative little ridges around the neck, I reasoned that saving a friend's life certainly qualified as a special occasion!
I snatched up a small glass and returned to Snape's side, and knelt beside his head. He was becoming restless, now, groaning, and furrowing his brow. I knew he was close to waking up, and I finally began to relax. I poured a few fingers of brandy into the glass, set the bottle down, and carefully slipped my hand under his head to support him.
I gently massaged the back of his head and held the glass to his lips. The strong smell of the alcohol seemed to rouse him, and he sniffed. Then he opened his mouth slightly, and took a couple of small sips. Satisfied, I set the glass down and stroked his brow with my free hand. His skin was still so cold, but I could see faint tremors starting to shake him again. That was actually a good thing; it meant his body was starting to respond. As the shivers increased, I raised his head slightly to listen to his breathing.
He gave a small moan, and his brow furrowed, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. I brushed my knuckles tenderly along his jaw, and those black eyes, as deep as space, opened and gazed up at me. I smiled gently down at him, stroking his forehead, my other hand still supporting and caressing his head.
"Lupin?" he murmured, sounding confused.
"Yes," I replied softly, picking up the glass of brandy again. "How do you feel?"
"Cold," he murmured. "And stiff." He looked around, as if trying to figure out where he was. I brought the glass to his lips again, and he obediently swallowed a bit more of the potent spirits.
"What happened?" he asked as I pulled the brandy away.
"You're in my quarters," I explained. His right eyebrow went up, and I chuckled. "You were sleepwalking up on the roof...do you remember?"
His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to look inward. Then his mouth dropped open. He looked up at me. "I almost jumped off the roof, didn't I?" He nodded a little, lying back against my hand. "I remember."
I nodded faintly, swirling my fingers idly through his hair.
"Thank you, Lupin," Snape's voice said softly. "I owe you my life."
I looked at him. He was gazing up with gratitude, directly into my eyes. I just swallowed a little. It was the longest he'd ever looked at me, at least without glaring, and it sent little shocks of heat down through me to my toes, and back up. My heart was pounding so hard and so fast I was sure he would hear it.
"Anytime," I finally managed to rasp. He started to sit up, and I supported him with a hand against his back.
"Let me get you something dry to wear," I muttered, jumping to my feet so fast it made my head swim, and lurching like a drunken fool toward the bedroom. I heard him groan as he swung his legs around to sit on the couch, and hoped he didn't notice my strange behavior.
As I rummaged in my bureau for a spare set of pajamas, I thought the situation over. Twice now, Snape had suffered horrible nightmares. Tonight, they had almost killed him. I wanted him to be safe, but what would he think if I asked him to spend the night with me? It would be completely innocent, of course.
Well, at least to him it would appear so. I would enjoy my shameful, pathetic little fantasies, but as far as he was concerned, it was to be all innocence.
I chose a set of pajamas that were tight on me, figuring they'd be just about right for the especially-slim Severus. Then I popped into the bathroom and retrieved a large, soft bath towel, and then moved back into the living room. I found Snape sitting on the couch, wrapped in one of the blankets, his clothes drying on the hearth. He must have stripped while I was in the bedroom, and my face flushed as I pored over the fact that he was naked under the blanket.
He looked up as I entered, and I could tell by the look on his face that something was troubling him.
"What's wrong?" I asked, handing him the clothes and sitting beside him on the couch. He pushed the blanket down to his waist and pulled the pajama top over his head.
"I wanted to ask you something,' he murmured, voice muffled inside the fabric. When his head popped out, he glanced at me, then quickly away.
"What?" I asked, handing him the pants. He stood up, holding the blanket to him, and I took the hint and turned away. I heard the blanket hit the floor, and tried not to think about the fact that he was exposed, right behind me.
"I was going to ask...if you would mind... if I could..."
I smiled, knowing he couldn't see it. Who would ever believe it? Severus Snape...speechless.
Schooling the expression off my face, I turned cautiously back toward him. He was tying the drawstring of the pajama bottoms, the hem of the shirt tucked under his chin, giving me a glimpse of his flat, cream-colored stomach and the inky scribble of hair around his belly button. As he dropped the shirt back into place, he took a deep breath.
"Would you allow me to sleep here tonight?" he said at last.
I blinked in surprise. I looked up at his face and found him watching me uncertainly, hopefully. He looked intensely uncomfortable, and I realized how hard it was for him to ask anyone for help. It made my heart ache, and I wished I had the courage to tell him that he could ask anything of me, and I would do it.
"It's quite all right if you don't feel comfortable with it," Snape added quickly, mistaking my silence for unease. "I-I can just as easily..."
"No, it's fine, Severus," I said, trying to sound casual. "I was actually going to suggest the same thing." I smiled at him before turning back toward the fire. I knew I had a look of giddy joy on my face, and I didn't want to have to explain it to him. Rising, I moved the iron kettle from its spot on the hearth to the hook over the fire, and used my wand to fill it with water.
"How about a quick cuppa to help us sleep?" I said cordially, spreading my hands and smiling at him.
"I suppose," Snape murmured.
"Great," I replied, far too pleased over something as simple as the prospect of sharing an evening cup of tea with Severus. I moved to the cabinet again to collect the items I needed to make the tea.
"I think I shall need to set up some extra wards in my quarters tomorrow night," Snape said calmly. "It seems perhaps I should have them in place to keep me IN the room, as well as others out."
I made a small noise of agreement as I placed several teabags in a chipped, but serviceable teapot, took up a couple of cups, and place all on a small tray.
"I'd say that's a good plan, at least until you figure out what it is that is causing the nightmares," I suggested, coming back to the couch with the tea service. "But for tonight, just relax. I won't let you go out on any more rooftop expeditions tonight, I promise."
He gave a wordless snort from beneath the folds of the towel. I moved to check the kettle, and found it close to boiling. When I turned back to him, he was gently drying his hair by carefully pressing small sections of it between the folds of the towel, moving meticulously from the roots to the tips.
I couldn't hold back a chuckle at his odd, fastidious method of performing what is a fairly simple task for most men.
"You know, it dries faster if you just scrub it all over," I suggested. As I returned to his side, he eyed me uncomfortably and a bit annoyed.
"I know how to dry my own hair, Lupin," he muttered shrewdly. "It tangles like Devil's Snare when it gets wet. The only thing I can use to get it straight again is a smoothing potion, the base of which is rendered seal blubber. As you can imagine, it's vile and greasy, and I try to use it as little as possible."
I remained silent as I took the now-bubbling kettle from the hook and poured water into the teapot. Now that he said it, I realized that his hair HAD indeed lost that heavy, oily look it had all throughout our earlier days.
"Have you considered cutting it short?" I asked lamely, feeling bad for embarrassing him. I poured the tea into the two cups, and handed him one as he laid the towel aside. He gave me another of those odd, suspicious looks.
"I can't cut it short," he replied, morosely. "It hides the scars on the back of my neck from where The Dark Lord used to slash my flesh and drink my blood during our Death Eater revels."
I almost dropped the teapot, my heart leaping into my throat in horror. My jaw dropped, and my face paled as I turned to him, a mixture of disgust, sorrow, and sympathy creasing my brow. I knew he underwent dreadful rituals at those revels, but I had no idea the sort of sick trials He Who Must Not Be Named demanded of his supporters.
"Oh, Severus," I began softly, "I'm so..." I stopped, with mouth still partly open. Snape was looking me straight in the eye, his expression grim, stony, and resigned. But now his black eyes were crinkling at the corners.
"You're joking," I said, in both relief and wonder.
He remained stone-faced for a long moment, then smirked at me.
"Gotcha," he murmured smugly, taking a casual sip of his tea, bobbing his eyebrows once.
I sank back into the couch, heaving a great sigh. I took a sip of my own tea, snickering and shaking my head a bit. "That's one hell of a poker face you've got there," I muttered appreciatively.
"It's why I'm still alive," he replied softly, into his cup.
This time I knew he was completely serious, and my heart ached for him. If only I had the courage to reach out and touch him, to comfort him. Instead, I leaned down and retrieved the bottle of brandy from the floor. I added a generous splash of the liquor to my own cup, and held the bottle up, raising my eyebrows inquisitively at my houseguest.
Snape hesitated a bit, before slowly extending his cup. I poured a small amount of brandy into it, and he raised his other hand, gesturing for a bit more. And then a bit more. I chuckled, and topped the cup off.
"Do you take tea with your brandy?" I teased him. To my vast surprise, he chuckled in reply. Then he took a sip, and a look of bliss came over his face.
"Oh, that's lovely. That's just what I need."
I beamed foolishly at the scrap of throwaway praise.
We sipped together in comradely quiet for several minutes, the fire crackling and popping comfortingly before us. I could almost pretend that this was our nightly bedtime routine; my lover and I enjoying a hot toddy before climbing into bed together. Maybe we'd spent an hour reading together before the tea. I swallowed sadly at the painful, bittersweet pleasure this little imagined scenario gave me, and stole a sideways glance at him.
"So...do you remember what you were dreaming about up there?" I asked nonchalantly. I looked over at Snape, just in time to see him stiffen slightly. The defensive shield came down, and I could have kicked myself. I had to pry. I couldn't just have left a sweet, warm moment alone.
"I do remember," Snape replied quietly. He lifted the cup to his lips again. "But I would rather not talk about it," he murmured into his tea. After a beat, he looked over at me. "It's...nothing personal, Remus."
I waved a dismissive hand, but inside I was singing. He might not even have realized it, but Snape had just called me by my given name for the first time, ever. Well, not including that still-unexplained nightmare of the previous month, of course. But there was a moment, there, just for an instant, in which I felt he might consider me something close to a friend.
I would have to be very careful not to do anything to drive him away again.
After a few more minutes, I saw Snape's eyelids dropping, and the mostly-empty cup was tipping dangerously in his hands. I reached over and gently took it from him, and set it aside. He gave me a sort of embarrassed, sleepy little smirk, and I stood up as he lay down on the couch. He was asleep almost before his head made contact with the pillow.
I have been in such a state myself many times. So tired, that the moment you achieve something close to a horizontal position, you fall asleep. Smiling lovingly at the now-snoring Potions master, I knelt and lifted his legs onto the couch, and draped a blanket gently over him. As I straightened, I reached down and tousled his hair, just a little. He muttered something that sounded like 'good night', and snuggled under the blanket.
I locked us in for the night, casting a charm on the door that would wake me if anyone tried to exit. Then I moved to the bedroom, leaving the door ajar so that I could hear Severus if he needed me. I changed into my pajamas, and took up my journal and quill from its place on the bedside table to document the night's strange events.
14th November
No, I haven't entered the wrong date. It's still the 14th, around ten o'clock in the morning. Snape and I both slept in. Pity that the real situation isn't nearly as naughty as it looks on parchment.
What I mean is, being Saturday, and no classes for either of us, we both slept late in our respective rooms, me in my bed and he on my couch. He was already up when I came out of my bedroom, and had changed back into his own clothes, which had dried during the night. He glanced up at me, and I saw a hint of regret on his face. I suspect he was hoping to make good his escape before seeing me again.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Lupin," he said awkwardly, handing me the loaned pajamas, neatly folded. He ran his hand over his hair, which was sleep-tousled and wild. "And again, thank you for your assistance last night. You, of course, will keep it between us?"
"Of course," I replied, with a nod and a kind smile. The smile, I knew, did not touch my eyes, and I prayed he would not notice. I hoped he did not remember what had come to pass after we went to bed.
He studied me carefully for a long moment, as if waiting for me to say something else. My heart pounded nervously, but I played dumb. There was no way that I was going to bring up the subject that was currently burning in my brain.
At last, he gave me a small, curt smile, turned briskly on his bare heel and moved to the door. I pointed my wand over his head and released the charm on the door, and he exited without looking back. When he was gone, I moved slowly to the couch, sank down upon it, and buried my face in my hands.
After he and I had gone to sleep, the night did not pass without incident, as I would have him believe. For, some time after retiring, I was awakened by a noise. At first I did not remember that I had a guest in the next room, and I lay there in a cold sweat listening to the chilling moans and muffled cries echoing through my chambers. But a few moments later, I remembered, and I quickly threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, forgoing my robe and padding silently into the adjoining room.
As I reached the living room, I heard him cry out from the couch.
"REMUS!"
Here we went again. I hurried to the couch and stood over Snape. He was tossing fitfully, the covers kicked onto the floor, sweat beading on his brow, glistening in the firelight. I quietly closed the gate across the fireplace, reducing the amount of heat coming into the room, and knelt beside him.
He murmured my name again, followed by a small sob. I reached out and laid my hand softly on his forehead, stroking and soothing, crooning softly to him. After a moment, he settled, and snuggled back down into the pillows. I was relieved that he was so easy to calm this time. I did not have it in me to physically restrain him again.
When I was certain the nightmare was over, I picked up one of the lighter blankets and covered him. As I did, he gave a soft sigh, and rolled onto his side, facing away from me. I smiled gently, and reached out to softly stroke his hair, brushing it up off the back of his neck to make him cooler. I started to rise to my feet.
Then I froze, staring.
Beneath the black curtain of Snape's hair, the pale skin of his nape stood out sharply in the firelight. In the dim golden light, I could see the waxy, raised, spider's-traces of layers upon layers of scars.
I felt myself go cold, and tears immediately rushed to fill my eyes. I pressed my hand over my mouth and muffled my first sickened sob. Then I lunged to my feet and rushed into my bedroom, to collapse facedown on the bed. The pillow was far more affective at silencing my torment, and I sobbed into it for a long time.
The early morning sky was growing pale outside my window when I finally turned onto my back, spent and drained. My face was stiff with dried tears, my lips dry and my face chapped from the wet pillowcase. I didn't fall back to sleep until some time after the crowing of Hagrid's roosters, and when I did my dreams were filled with visions of Severus being bled, again and again, to satisfy his loathsome Master.
END CHAPTER TWO