Remus sat under the Whomping Willow, watching the branches whip around him. Jamie was off seducing Lily, and Sirius was doing the same thing, but with most of the Ravenclaw seventh years. He didn't really know where Peter was, but his dear, scurrying little friend had been disappearing quite a bit recently and whenever Prongs and Paddy tried to tickle his destination out of him, he'd blush and stutter out that it was, "N-nothing."

Remus smiled – it was just like Peter to find a girl and be too embarrassed to tell them. He hoped it was that cute Hufflepuff sixth year that Wormtail always fawned over. He would miss his friends, when they graduated. He missed them now, sitting alone on the grounds of Hogwarts with the gibbous moon taunting him from a cloudless sky. One more night, he knew, and he would again be at the Willow, but he would not be Remus. At least his friends would be with him, then, keeping him company and making certain that no one else accidentally found the truth behind the haunted Shack.

The fact that someone – hair like a new moon night, the faintest smell of bergamot and cardamom, long white fingers trembling in terror – had found him once still made his throat close up and his chest tight. A hairbreadth away from expulsion and imprisonment and death. A hairbreadth from murder. Remus shuddered, and tried to swallow the bile that had risen in his throat. He would never forgive Sirius that, not for as long as he lived.

The next day was seared into his memory, the blood under his fingernails, the thin boy lying on a cot in the Infirmary, dark eyes closed and pale face almost peaceful. Poppy had sedated him to clean out his injuries, and Remus had been free to stand there staring at the young Slytherin that James and Sirius had chosen as their worst enemy, at the eyelashes dark against skin that would have been golden if Severus ever went outside. He tried not to look down, to the bare chest and prominent rib cage covered in fresh scars. Scars Remus knew all too well: scars caused by werewolf claws. He refused to look at those, and so focused instead on Severus' sallow face, committing every flaw – deformities, his friends called them, but did he deserve to die because he was not as beautiful as Sirius? – to memory.

He'd stayed there until James came to find him, hours later, but Severus had never opened his eyes and the first time Remus saw him awake was a week later, when the Slytherin dragged him into an unused corridor and pressed him against the wall. Remus stayed limp, waiting for Severus to hit him, knowing he deserved whatever he got. He still didn't understand what had happened, though it had drained the other boy's face of color and made his hands shake.

"Where were you turned?" Severus hissed, close enough that his nose nearly brushed Remus' chin, and the young werewolf was so startled at not being hit that for a moment he simply stood there, confused.

"Cumberland," he finally responded, eyebrows drawing together. Why in Merlin's name would Severus care where he was bitten? Most people wanted to know things like 'Was he under control?' or 'Did he own a muzzle?' Especially people that he had tried to kill. But Severus seemed to be waiting for more details. "I was five, we were visiting cous-"

"What month?" Severus' tone was urgent, and Remus noticed for the first time that the slight boy looked very pale. "What did the woods look like?"

"Um, January, I think," came his hesitant answer. Severus should be ranting at him, or trying to get him expelled, or – going completely still and forgetting to breathe? Was there something particularly repulsive about werewolves turned in winter? Remus closed his eyes, attempting to recall what the forest had looked like, the memory overlaid with terror and regret. He didn't like thinking about it at all, but he owed Severus. Always would, he suspected. "There were –" he paused, hands automatically rising to help sketch out the scene "- oak, maybe?" Herbology had never really been his subject. "Old trees, almost seemed to glow." He snorted. "Though, it was a full moon, as you . . ." The sentence trailed off as Remus stopped focusing on himself long enough to realize that Severus had backed away from him, sucking air in like he was drowning, black eyes wide with – disgust? Horror? "Severus?" Remus said tentatively, reaching out one hand before reminding himself that a purebred Slytherin would not want to be touched by a poor werewolf. It didn't stop the hot wash of hurt when Severus leapt back, away from the comfort he offered. He knew what was coming next, and braced himself for the onslaught. Beast. Monster. He'd heard it all, and deserved worse from Severus.

Fists tightened as Severus opened his mouth, and Remus tried to tell himself that it wouldn't be personal, wouldn't be – "No," the slender boy gasped out, more to himself than to the other boy. "No, no, it wasn't – Sorry. Had to. I had to." Remus blinked at him, and that movement seemed to alert Severus to the fact that someone else was standing there. He fled down the hall and out of Remus' life for the next year and a half, leaving a puzzled lycanthrope with fists clenched to ward off insults that were never thrown. He had not seen the Slytherin since that afternoon, except in classes and at the dining hall, and had never told his friends what had happened between them. Indeed, they had barely regained their friendship this year, and it was only James' and Peter's pleading that had cooled his anger enough to speak civilly with Sirius. But he had ensured that the cocky Black left Severus alone after that, even as he himself began to study the lank haired boy in their classes, searching for some clue to the terrified boy that he'd seen in that hallway.

The boy who was now stumbling across the moonlit grounds toward the very tree he was leaning against. Remus' eyes widened, and he silently cursed to himself. What was Severus doing, coming to the Willow? Hadn't he learned his lesson the first time? And, more importantly, what would he do when he realized that Remus was there? It didn't take long to find out, as Severus hefted a large branch to quiet the Whomping Willow and then noticed the Gryffindor attempting to make himself as small as possible. Stick in hand, Severus froze. "Hi?" Remus ventured uncertainly, giving a little wave and a tremulous smile.

"You," Severus replied, in what Remus could describe only as an accusing monotone. The arm holding the branch began to tremble, and Severus set down one end of it and used it as a cane instead. Remus could smell the exhaustion rolling off the boy, and the guilt that he always felt around Severus was heightened.

"Are you all right?" he asked, before thinking that was a monumentally stupid question. He also thought that Severus looked like he belonged in moonlight, and frowned. As a rule, he did not like things associated with the moon.

Severus rolled his eyes, but did not turn away as Remus had expected him to. Instead he waved his other hand at the tree and said: "Well, are you going to let me in or not?" Remus wondered if Severus knew how confusing he was, suspected that he did and reveled in it before hitting an unobtrusive knot on the trunk with the flat of his hand, allowing Severus to slip between the angry branches. And sit down next to him, making him nearly leap out of his skin when he felt his arm brush Severus'.

"Don't you think I'm repulsive?" he blurted out before thinking about it, making Severus snort as the tree began to move again. The scrawny adolescent rested his head against the thick trunk and inhaled deeply, as Remus looked on – he'd found that the more he watched Severus, the harder the habit was to break.

"I'm Severus Snape," the dark haired wizard finally answered, voice too smooth for a boy of seventeen, "I find everyone repulsive." It took Remus a moment to see the humor behind that dry tone, and he chuckled belatedly and a bit nervously. He felt like he was approaching a wild animal, and if he made a faulty move he would scare Severus away and once more be alone with the mocking moon. Despite the fact that he had come to the Willow for solitude, Remus found that the idea of Severus leaving bothered him more than he wanted to think about. He was starting to feel like a stalker, watching the Slytherin's every move, cataloguing the way that the silver light seemed to absorb and reflect against sallow skin.

Remus' brow furrowed, and he touched the back of Severus' hand without thinking. "You're glowing!" he declared, and Severus jerked his hand away and pulled his sleeves down over his fingertips and let his hair fall around his face until Remus couldn't see any skin at all.

"Don't be an idiot," Severus snarled from behind his hair, spine going rigid. Remus could have smacked himself: clearly when it came to approaching wild animals, he needed practice.

"I'm sorry," he offered, knowing it was inadequate and not needing to see the glare Severus was directing at him. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just –" he tripped over his words "- it just, it was beau-" and he couldn't say that, because Severus Snape was not beautiful and Remus refused to think that he could be. "How does it do that?" he wondered instead, falling back on something that – while it might still anger Severus – at least wouldn't sound like a romantic overture.

Black eyes peered balefully out from under fine hair, probing Remus for darker motives. The seventh year Gryffindor could feel the touch in his mind – Legilimency at their age! – but clearly passed whatever test Severus had, because the Slytherin leaned back against the tree and released the death grip on his sleeves. Reaching into one pocket, he pulled out some papers and a pouch of something Remus' nose couldn't identify, rolled a cigarette and offered it to Remus who hesitantly accepted. Accepting seemed to be a necessary part of calming the wild animal, and it earned him a look of what might have been approval before Severus rolled his own and snapped his fingers to light it. Remus' eyes widened – wandless magic! Most of their teachers couldn't even do wandless magic! – but schooled his face back to what he hoped was a pleasant expression when Severus glared at him, practically daring him to make something of the display. He held out his own cigarette as a peace offering, and Severus grudgingly lit it.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and Remus would have found it awkward – he generally nattered on in situations like this – but he was beginning to realize that Severus spoke in his own time and that the silence didn't bother the other wizard at all. "It's the Romani blood," Severus told him at last, words edged by smoke that shone blue in the moonlight. Remus took a drag on the cigarette and choked, and through his tears he thought he saw the corners of Severus' mouth twitch. "Be careful," the other boy warned in that liquid voice, "It's potent."

"What is it?" Remus wheezed; stomach cramping from the coughing fit, knowing enough to realize that it certainly wasn't tobacco!

Severus shrugged one bony shoulder. "My own blend," was the vague response, and he knew he wouldn't get any more information than that. "Heady, isn't it?" Remus nodded, used his sleeve to wipe the tears off his face, and tried again. He only choked a little, the second time, and was filled with a pleasantly warm sensation. So this was why Severus always smelled of cardamom.

"You're Romani?" he asked, after recovering his breath and some of his dignity. Looking at Severus, though, he wondered how he had ever missed it. The skin that would be golden if it got any sun, the fine dark hair that hung in waves to the small of Severus' back, the large black eyes. Severus would have fit in perfectly with a Gypsy caravan, excepting his arrogance and his expensive clothes.

"On my mother's side," Severus explained, tone going cool in warning and Remus knew not to pry. That and whatever Severus put in those cigarettes was making him a bit lightheaded. He took another drag, and found it immensely entertaining when he failed to blow a smoke ring. This time he really did see the corners of Severus' thin mouth twitch, face hazy behind a cloud of bluish smoke and skin tinted by the moon and Remus watched, mesmerized by the sight of amusement flickering in dark eyes. Severus would never be beautiful, but –

He quickly shook the thought away before it could form, and tried to come up with something coherent to say. "Is that why the trees glowed?" he ended up asking, replaying the conversation that had nagged at him for over a year, "Because they were Romani?" And the question was so vague, so nonsensical that he assumed Severus wouldn't understand, that he would think Remus was crazy and black eyes would darken with mild exasperation because he was Severus Snape and he found everyone repulsive.

He did not expect Severus to stand in one, graceful movement, staying close enough to the trunk to avoid being hit, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot, blue smoke rising around his feet. "I think," Severus said smoothly, tapping one finger against the knot in the tree, voice suddenly cold, "that we have finished playing nice, for tonight." And then he was gone, little more than a black silhouette under the laughing moon as he strode across the lawn and into the castle. Remus could only sit there confused, just as he had over a year ago when they'd last spoken. And if he sat there watching Severus' shadow grow smaller and finally disappear through a side door into a hidden crawlspace, well, that was only because watching Severus was a hard habit to break.