Head's Up: More chit-chat about the Dante stuff. And very coy sexytimes. What a combination, eh?

"The just is close to the people's heart, while the merciful is close to the heart of God" is another quote by Khalil Gibran.

Severus didn't even bother to tell himself he wasn't hiding. Hiding was a time-honored tradition whether you were a Slytherin or an ornery old bastard, and he was both.

He wasn't just hiding from Potter, either; he was also hiding from Lupin. He needed some time to compose himself, away from the twin threats of Lily's son and Lupin's gentleness, so he could figure out what the fuck he was going to do.

Barring himself from Lupin's presence, however, barred him from figuring out Lupin's intentions, which he desperately wanted to do. It made him sound like a missish old spinster, but that wasn't really too far from the truth. He knew that even if Lupin was only looking for a one-off, he'd bloody well take it. He just wanted to know, first, so he could adequately prepare himself for the bitterness and self-loathing that would follow.

Lupin hadn't been helping matters, either—any matters, whether they were on the side of determining his motives or not throwing oneself on him. He wouldn't stop looking over at Severus as if his heart would stop if he weren't there, and smiling with a sweet happiness that was irresistible to a heart as empty and cold and battered as Severus'. He spent the whole morning with weak knees and a swelling heart, which cramped every time his rational mind reminded him that hope was only the enforcer for disappointment.

It was all so... cliché. Fuck.

Yes, Severus thought, irresistible was a good word to describe Lupin. It wasn't the sort of adjective one would obviously apply to someone who went about in tatty corduroy trousers and neglected to cut his hair on time, and who could thoroughly annoy a person by smiling at him when he was trying to be offensive. But perhaps that was part of Lupin's insidious charm: you recognized that he was charming, but you told yourself you couldn't be taken in by something so superficial, until you realized that charm was only a faint, outward symptom of unremitting goodness. And he was the sort of kisser that made your damn knees weak, and made every cliché thought of love and romance and desire wander openly through your head, as if you were the first person who'd ever thought them. And it didn't matter, because you half-believed no one else had ever felt those things justifiably before this, because they'd never been in love with Remus Lupin.

These were good thoughts for Severus to hole himself up in his room brooding over. Everyone else was indulging in post-traumatic happy togetherness—Severus could just see it now. Potter would be nancing about, and Narcissa would give Severus knowing looks, and Asteria's would hero-worship Draco while the wretched boy pretended this didn't make him giddy with delight. Severus was trying to summon the proper contempt for thinking all that rot seemed slightly more bearable than sitting in here alone, mooning over Lupin and wondering when he was going to show up—if he was—when someone knocked on the door.

It turned out to be Draco. This was deeply disappointing. Severus told his heart not to be a pathetic twat and stop wishing it had been Lupin.

"Would you come out here?" Draco said, with charm he might've learned from Severus himself.

"No," Severus said. "Why d'you think I'm in here, because I'm fixing myself up? I'm hiding, you dolt."

"Bugger that for a game of soldiers. Look, come out here and distract Potter, would you? He keeps trying to make polite conversation with Asteria and she can't handle it."

"Draco, the silly girl needs some exposure to other human beings."

"It's not that." (Severus could hear Draco's teeth grinding.) "It's because he's Harry Potter. Just now when he went off, she told me she'd gone to every single one of his stupid bloody Quidditch games. She's memorized his saves!"

"Ah," Severus said, as the mists of confusion parted. "You're jealous."

"Now aren't you clever," Draco snapped. "What are you doing in here hiding from him? You used to walk over his neck wearing spikes and you loved it! Come out here and do that again, would you?"

"What's in it for me?" Severus asked, hoping he didn't sound sulky.

"Lupin asked me to come get you."

Severus' heart turned over. "He can't get me himself?"

"Why don't you go ask him yourself," Draco said smugly, and left. Little bastard. There went all the most annoying parts of Lucius and Narcissa.

Regardless of this truly effective parting shot, Severus remained in the room a few moments more. When he realized he was sulking, he finally decided he was too disgusted with himself to be alone with himself a moment longer.

Everyone was cluttering up Narcissa's finest parlor, the one painted in baby powder blue and palest gold. While he'd been hunting the country for her son and dying, Narcissa had been manifesting the Christmas spirit. A massive fir reigned over one end of the room, its branches glittering with strings of silver and white and gold; boughs of pine hung from the ceiling; the room smelled of pine and incense; and white candles burned free of dripping wax on every surface. It reminded him unpleasantly of the church.

When he slunk into the room, Narcissa glanced up from her hushed conversation with her sister, who still looked much too tired for someone who had been living in luxury for the past few days.

"Ah, Severus," Narcissa said, preventing him from lurking behind the tree. "I thought you might come out when you were hungry. Shall I have Paddy bring you anything?"

"You might as well," Severus said, striving for dignity.

His attempt was somewhat impaired by the thing that collided with his legs. It turned out to be Lupin's son. He peered up at Severus from beneath white bangs, and then scampered off, fox tail bouncing, making Draco dodge out of his way with a stifled oath.

"There you are," Lupin said, beaming, as his son ran at him. Severus assumed this effusion was for the boy, but then Lupin said, "Severus, I said, there you are." He waved Severus over. Of course Lupin had to be talking with Potter. Ugh.

Telling himself that close proximity to Potter wasn't nearly the worst thing he had ever endured, even recently, Severus went.

Potter was now holding Lupin's unruly spawn, who had given himself panther-black hair with a matching, sinuous tail, and turned his eyes green-gold.

"It's good to see you, Snape," Potter said to Severus, beaming, too. It was highly disconcerting, being beamed at by Potter.

"You said that already," Severus told him coldly.

"Well... you disappeared since then," Potter said, his eyes wide and innocent behind his glasses. Severus glared at him. Lupin, of course, laughed and put his hand on Severus' arm, just above the elbow.

"Harry brought us a story," he told Severus, his eyes full of thoughts Severus couldn't see.

"They've already printed it in the papers. The confession of that Lancelot guy. I can't believe it was him," he said to Lupin, with the air of someone who'd said this a hundred times before. "He seemed so... nice."

"They've already printed it?" Severus said.

"You were unconscious for nearly a whole day," Lupin reminded him. "It'll be Christmas in a few hours, even."

"And they do have a national panic to quell, after all," Severus muttered. He rubbed at one of his temples.

"He didn't put up any resistance, either," Potter said quietly. "He gave a full confession as soon as they let him. I think he wanted to tell everyone what... what it was all about. You know."

"At least tell me Rita Skeeter didn't write it."

To Severus' utter shock, Potter actually laughed. "Thank Merlin, no. She's probably mad as fire right now. Remus's got it, when you want to read. I should probably be getting back," he said to Lupin. There was regret in his tone, but relief soared in Severus' heart. "I told everyone it was just a quick trip, to see you were all right and... everything." His gaze cut toward Severus at that, but then darted back to Lupin.

"Of course." Lupin accepted the bundle of his son, who was chewing sleepily on his own tail. "Give Hermione and all the Weasleys my love."

"Consider it given," Potter said. His eyes flicked toward Severus again and stayed a bit longer.

"We'll walk you to the Floo," Lupin said.

"Right. Let me say bye to Mrs Malfoy..."

Potter managed to conduct his goodbyes with something approaching good manners. Granger must have coached him, because that Weasley girl he was dating, in some grotesque parody of his parents' marriage, was as unruly as her brothers. He was naturally a bit stiff with Draco, but he smiled at Asteria as he shook hands and honest-to-God bowed to both Narcissa and her sister. Narcissa deigned to stand at his departure, and even accorded him the tiniest of curtsies.

While Potter was conducting these surprisingly well-mannered farewells, Lupin gave Severus a communicative glance that said 'Endure Potter a bit longer for me.' When Lupin looked at him like that, Severus really didn't have a choice.

"I hope you can come back to England when this is all over," Potter said as Lupin escorted him to the Floo, with Severus trailing as far behind as he could while still being nominally with them.

"I hope so, too," Lupin said. "But you're all more than welcome to visit."

Narcissa will love that, Severus thought, although he kept it to himself. He didn't want to do anything to encourage Potter to stay.

"I really do mean it, you know," Potter said. When Lupin poked Severus in the arm, he realized Potter was talking to him. The slight smile on Potter's face shot Severus back more than twenty years, to years Lily was still alive and still speaking to him; still smiling like that when she looked his way.

"That it's good to see you," Potter went on. "I was... it was over to soon. You know? After... everything."

"That's eloquent," Severus heard himself say.

Potter blinked, and then he grinned. It was faint, but still. Severus wished he would just get into the Floo and go. This was too... disorientating. He'd endured enough shocks recently, hadn't he?

He wished Lupin would say something, but he only stood slightly behind Severus, holding his dozing son and saying nothing at all, leaving Severus to the mercy of this ebb and flow of emotion as the past laid itself over the present.

"Yeah, well," Potter said, "I don't think eloquence was high on Gryffindor's Must-Have list, probably. I just wished I'd had a chance to say some things that I thought I wouldn't get to." Then he grinned more widely, his eyes cutting toward Lupin. "But I guess I'll get loads more chances, so I'll just leave it there for now. Bye, Remus. Happy Christmas—both of you."

"Merry Christmas, Harry," Lupin said. Severus didn't.

The Floo flared green with the eruption of powder. Potter called, "The Burrow." He smiled as he ducked into the fireplace, waved, and with a final flare of the fire, was gone. The memories he'd dredged up and given a brief, discordant life scattered in scraps across the landscape of Severus' heart.

Lupin's hand rested briefly on his shoulder blade. Severus wished Lupin wasn't holding his son. He really thought he would have turned around and kissed Lupin otherwise. Perhaps he'd even have asked, "Why does it still fucking hurt?"

"I wasn't sure if I was only dreaming all this after dying," Severus said flatly, staring into the fireplace, lightless once again. "But now I'm sure, because Harry Potter couldn't have just told me to have a merry fucking Christmas."

"Oh Severus," Lupin said. That was one of the things he now loved about Lupin, quite literally: he had a sense of when Severus was being serious and when he was not. He knew that a part of Severus wasn't yet sure this was real.

"Come with me," Lupin said, gentle and quiet. "I need to put Teddy to bed."

MYSTERY POISONER UNMASKED

December 24th, 1999

Ten days ago, when a dinner party of well-respected witches and wizards all had their heads turned backwards, the wizarding world felt the first uneasy stirrings of seismic activity that would shake our world to its foundations. But as this isolated case was rushed through St. Mungo's, no one had the slightest idea that we were looking at the first victims of a poison that would destroy the hard-won peace, not only of our holidays but of our lives after the War that split our country apart.

I was given the opportunity to interview Mr Cringe, the poisoner, to hear his story and report it to the people he left alive to hear it. I expected to meet a raving madman and to hear condemnations shouted in my face, or ravings of his genius. I did not expect to be told that he was sorry. I didn't expect it to mean anything.

Some of us may remember Lancelot Cringe, the well-spoken young man who featured prominently in a scandal back in '96. Suspected as the lover of the son of an influential politician, Lancelot was publicly discredited, dismissed from his apprenticeship at the Wizengamot, and black-listed throughout the Ministry. A few people probably noticed him distributing healing salves and potions on street corners during the darkest days of You-Know-Who's reign, but even fewer people are likely to be aware that he was imprisoned by You-Know-Who's regime for these attempts at helping the rebels. Mr Cringe remained in prison until June of '98, when his former lover, William Cauther (whose name is published at his own request), pulled the strings of his father's influence for Lancelot's release and offered him a job in the Department Accident & Catastrophes.

Mr Cringe tells me that it was his job in the Ministry that allowed him to spread the poison.

"I am skilled at Potions," he says to me, with a kind of tranquil modesty. He is a very serene person. "I used Polyjuice to move about the mail rooms, and applied the potions to pamphlets and papers that I sent out directly. For the targets in prison, I sent holiday cards. I had to deliver them myself, but it's not at all difficult to get into a prison, only out of one.

"I planned very carefully," he tells me. "I wanted no one to be hurt who had not done any wrong."

I said that I walked in expecting condemnations. What I got instead was a regretful culprit who spoke of contrition and retribution.

"The War was a very terrible time," he says. "Full of many dark days. I wanted to fight, but my only gift was brewing. And then I was sent to prison, and I could not help at all. All I could do was pray for the safety of those who fought. I prayed the War would end and the Light would triumph.

"But then I was released from prison, and it was not into a world of hope, but a world of injustice. All around me were people who had done nothing for good, who had fought for no cause, and yet who still committed evil every day around me. Everywhere I looked I saw callous hearts, uncaring faces. Good people had died for them, and they lived on in their pettiness.

"I felt they needed to feel sorry for what they had done. If it would not happen to them by divine grace, I would make it happen for them."

It intrigued me, this religious devotion. Most of us are not religious. Don't the Muggle books ask for witches to die and say that sorcery is evil? I ask Mr Cringe this.

"Even when you love someone," he says, "you do not believe every single thing they say, do you?

"I wish to be clear," he says. "I am not doing this for God. I have not done this for the sake of the souls of those who have done evil. I have done it for the sake of the people they have hurt."

He explains to me that he took the ideas for his potions from a famous Muggle text based on Roman Catholicism, The Divine Comedy, where sinners were punished in Hell according to the weight of their transgressions.

"It is called contrapasso," he says to me. "The counterpoise."

"But this seems to be about God," I say.

"It isn't," he says. "The actions of one man are never about an infinite being. Not even the actions of many thousands of men. God did not put malice in our hearts. We do that ourselves. We make our own choices. When we make the wrong ones, someone holds us accountable. That is the premise of our laws, is it not?"

"And what about Severus Snape?" I ask. "Harry Potter says that he's innocent."

"Harry Potter is an estimable man," Mr Cringe says. "I know that Severus Snape did many things for the War, and that his true allegiance was to the Light, yet I felt it did not redress the weight of other things he had done. But I forgot the truth of God's mercy. 'The just is close to the people's heart, while the merciful is close to the heart of God.' If a man truly repents in his heart, God will see it, and will reward him with forgiveness. As I may hope he will reward me for what I have done. Men will not. I would not. But it had to be done. It had to be.

"But it is over now."

"That's... peaceful," Severus said as Lupin lit a lamp that spiraled lighted shapes of benign sea creatures across the walls.

Lupin only smiled as he laid his son down.

Severus watched him in silence. He had never really thought of having children. He supposed he had assumed, when he was very young, that he would have them eventually; although later, when he thought about it seriously, he believed that inflicting his own genetics upon another human being would be somehow morally reprehensible. And then the greatest part of his life had become a shrine built on the twin precepts of his love for Lily and his own self-loathing, and there had been no opportunity for anything that now breathed in this room—not children, not someone to share them with—no one to share anything with; but most of all, none of that heart-aching tenderness that came over Lupin at times like these as if light from Heaven was real, and shining on him.

"I'm in love with you," Lupin said, looking up at him.

There was such simple grace in the way he said it. And the way the lamplight shone on the planes of his face, in the silver of his hair...

Severus' heart wanted to transform itself to motes of light, but his mind felt cracked, filled with shards of glass.

"Don't," he whispered, as his still-solid heart jolted in a panic that he wouldn't get the rest out, that this time Lupin wouldn't understand and it would all be ruined, all destroyed, all gone. "Don't—joke—about that."

"I'm not joking," Lupin said with utmost gentleness. "I understand, completely, if it upsets you—"

"Upsets me?" Severus heard as if from far away. "Who would—how could—what do you—" He made himself stop, because the thoughts wouldn't form themselves and be spoken.

Lupin left his son's bedside and came to sit within arm's reach. "Severus?" he said, still gentle.

Severus couldn't say anything; physically he could not. But he needed to communicate something. He did the only thing he could, and grabbed Lupin by the hand. His grip was probably crushing, but he was as unable to loosen it as he was incapable of speaking.

Lupin did not move right away. Severus watched the shape of a sea turtle swim brightly across Lupin's eyes, paling them to whiteness. He was looking straight into Severus' face.

Then he folded his hand over Severus', his touch full of that warmth that reminded Severus of sunlight filling the lands by the sea in the summer. It felt like a physical manifestation of hope, pouring possibilities into his heart; desires he might, he could almost, in this moment, purely believe might be fulfilled.

Lupin didn't say anything either. Perhaps he was letting Severus recover, for lack of a better word (it was a true word), or maybe he didn't have any words that he felt were appropriate. He just rested his hand over Severus' gripping his.

It felt as if the sea creatures had swum across the seven seas by the time Lupin said, "Andromeda's sick."

Severus had been staring at some part of Lupin the whole while—his shoulder, his knuckles, his silver-flecked eyebrows that could only be seen when a light-beam fish swam across his face. Now he looked fully into Lupin's face, which was turned toward the bed; toward his son.

"How sick?" Severus asked, even more quietly than his voice required.

"It's Lobelia's Disease."

Severus considered and discarded several replies as being completely inadequate means of comfort. "That isn't necessarily fatal."

"No," Lupin said, his smile visible in the light of a passing swordfish. "And it's early days yet, she was diagnosed well in time. Mainly I'm afraid she'll... give up."

Lupin didn't have to elaborate. Severus wondered if Nymphadora's ghost had just settled between them. Lily, even if she had come only into Severus' imagination, had made his feelings a matter of celebration. But the circumstances were, of course, so different.

"But Narcissa's invited her to stay here," Lupin said. "While she's getting treatment, and says she knows some very good Healers. There's a Baron or something, I understand?"

"Yes," Severus said. If anyone could turn the presumed defilement of an old flame's niece into a favor the uncle was only too happy to bestow, it would be Narcissa. "Your sister will be in good hands, if she agrees."

"She has. All things considered, it's best. If we're not in England, you know, there will be less... scrutiny. If a werewolf seems to be practically raising his son." Then he stopped, almost as if he were holding his breath.

"Especially a famous werewolf," Severus said quietly. "Whose son happens to be the godson of the famous Harry Potter."

"Yes," Lupin said, a smile in his voice. "Very public figure, that werewolf. It might be better for him if he relocates somewhere less conspicuous, for a while."

A tickling on Severus' hand made him realize that Lupin was tracing idle patterns with his fingertips on the back of Severus' hand. The sensation raised gooseflesh first along Severus' arms and then swept down his back and thighs.

"I was hoping you might know some good places," Lupin murmured, somewhere between inviting and shy. "To be inconspicuous in. Since you're rather an old hand at that."

"Old?" Severus said. "I'll have you know I won't be forty for another fortnight."

Lupin laughed, as though he was delighted by something more than what Severus had said. He leaned toward Severus as though he was going to kiss him, but at the last moment stopped, as if unsure it would be permitted, or appropriate. Severus curled his hand around the back of Lupin's neck and drew him in, wondering how dreadful he was at this, after so long without practice, and then not caring when Lupin kissed him so perfectly, and with such delight. Severus couldn't hope he was approximating such joy; his most powerful feeling was one of desperate yearning.

"Are you saying, Lupin," Severus murmured when Lupin drew back, but rested their foreheads together, "that you want me as a dubious influence on your child? You don't think he's badly behaved enough as it is?"

Lupin's laugh warmed his mouth. "I don't think you're quite as bad as George," he said, smiling broadly, and then he pulled back a bit more, cocking his head. It made his bangs feather across his eyes. Severus didn't realize that he had reached up and smoothed them out of the way until he wondered what was making Lupin smile at him like that, as though Severus had just done something perfect, exactly what Lupin had wanted before he even knew he wanted it. This was almost like having the power of Leglimency with him.

"Why won't you call me 'Remus'?" Lupin asked. "Can you tell me?"

Severus kept softly brushing at Lupin's bangs. He considered telling him the truth, and then decided he might as well. "I was afraid it would give too much away."

Lupin looked both surprised and curious. "What d'you mean?"

"I was afraid I would sound like a besotted old sod, and that you'd know the truth."

Lupin drew in a breath, his eyes widening slightly. "The truth that you were a besotted old sod?" he said, with an attempt at lightness.

"Yes."

Lupin's eyes roved over his face, and then he kissed him, with a sharper purpose than he'd shown moments ago; even more sharply than he had in the Greengrasses' drafty castle. "Say it now," he said, his hoarse voice low, almost commanding, and shooting straight to the core of Severus' arousal.

"Remus," Severus said softly, unable to stifle the feeling that Lupin had just asked him to do something intimate, and he'd agreed.

Lupin's breath rushed out of him sharply; his grip on Severus tightened, and then he kissed Severus in a way that made all his breath dissolve in a rush of heat. Lupin trailed a series of hot kisses along Severus' jaw, and then down his throat. Severus' head fell back; he couldn't help it. He slid his fingers back into Lupin's hair, feeling as if Lupin was stripping his sanity away with every kiss, every touch, every mote of heat from his body.

"Is that all it takes?" Severus murmured into Lupin's ear, pleased that he still managed to sound as if he possessed some feeble control; as if Lupin's touch and his passion and the fact that it was wrapping around Severus wasn't pulling him to pieces. He murmured, "Just the sound of your name? I'm not sure I can handle the thought of"—being fiercely, desperately, soul-consuming in love with "—you being so easy."

Lupin huffed a laugh into his hair. "It's your voice, I think," he said, his own voice muffled. "And the fact that it's you."

As little as Severus could really believe this, he so very much wanted, so entirely yearned for it to be true, that he didn't protest.

They were breathing heavily, and he could feel Lupin's excitement and arousal. It made his own strengthen with a sudden power that dizzied him.

"I'm suddenly aware that your son is asleep fifteen feet away," Severus said, although he didn't try to disentangle himself.

"Where is Andromeda?" Lupin muttered. "I hope she's feeling all right..."

"You're so nice," Severus said. "I was thinking she'd better not suddenly decide she was taking the bloody night off." He brushed his thumb just behind Lupin's ear to mitigate the sting of his personality, but Lupin only laughed softly and nuzzled his jaw.

"With our luck, she will."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Severus said. It was difficult being so close to fulfillment—emotional, physical, almost life-long—when you were too close to a sleeping infant.

"She should at least come in to say goodnight," Lupin said, and then, with an intense regret, "so we should probably... sit up."

At some point they had fallen back against the arm of the couch and slid down. Lupin was so warm, and the weight of him across Severus' body was intensely comforting in a way Severus would never have thought he'd find it. He hadn't thought he'd enjoy being pinned down, even if it was only nominally, but he liked it. "I really don't want to."

Lupin's smile was full of tender softness, and his kiss was full of that intriguing enticement to make Severus do the exact opposite of what he wanted. The way Lupin teased him upward by gently pulling away, but not all the way, so that Severus had to follow him up or lose the kiss, was quite ingenious.

"You're much better at this than I think anyone has a right to be," Severus said, and kissed him again. Lupin had said "sit up" but left out "no kissing," and Severus would milk every moment until it fully occurred to Lupin that his mother-in-law might be enraged by more than impropriety if she walked in on her widowed son-in-law kissing someone in front of her sleeping grandson.

"I'm trying very hard," Lupin whispered as if he were sharing a secret, his eyes full of laughter. "Of course, I could be lazier, if you'd like."

"False modesty is as irritating as groundless arrogance," Severus said, wishing they were far away from surprise discoveries by either mothers-in-law or sleeping children.

"I know I said to sit up," Lupin murmured a few minutes later, nudging his nose through Severus' hair, "but you're still being quite distracting."

"Slytherin," Severus said, pleased with the way Lupin bit Severus' lip in surprise when he scraped his fingernails over a particular spot on Lupin's back, beneath his shirt. "Opportunist."

"I think it's a quality I haven't fully appreciated until now," Lupin said, a bit short of breath. "Do you want to read the article Harry brought?"

"No," Severus said, his arousal banking slightly as if exposed to a chilled breeze.

"You were right," Lupin said. "About all of it."

"Joy. Now I can sleep at night."

"Well," Lupin murmured, tracing his fingers along the back of Severus' neck, under his hair; making him shiver. "I wasn't really thinking about sleeping, any time soon..."

Severus tried to remind himself that if he murdered Andromeda Tonks, then there would be no one to watch the boy. Or could he ask Narcissa? Surely she'd be delighted to do it.

At the sound of footsteps in the hallway, they both went still as cornered rabbits. Severus made a quick decision.

"I'll be in my room," he muttered. "Come if you can. If for some reason you don't make it—" He wanted to say I understand but couldn't quite manage it. He kissed Lupin instead, swiftly, and rose from the couch. He tried not to think how in the absence of Lupin's warmth, he felt cold; almost empty.

He felt Lupin's hand squeeze his once, and then he was slipping through the door into the adjoining sitting-room, with one last glance behind him, at Lupin. Remus. Who smiled at him.

Severus gently closed the door between them. He turned around, and almost collided with Narcissa.

She arched her left eyebrow. "You weren't supposed to leave with the boy. You were supposed to bring him back to me and Andromeda before you went off with Lupin."

"It wasn't my idea," Severus said. "What are you doing?" he asked as she turned him around and nudged him back into Lupin's—Remus'—room.

Remus looked up in surprise from the sofa. He blinked at the sight of Narcissa pushing Severus gently at his shoulders. "Hello again," he said, sounding puzzled.

"Andromeda is feeling quite tired. And seeing as tomorrow—today, actually," she said, glancing at the ormolu clock on the mantle, "is Christmas day, thought she might preserve her strength. Paddy is making an excellent feast, and I've invited Mr Potter to bring a few of his friends by, if he can spare the time."

Severus numb with horror. "You what?"

Remus squeezed his arm, smiling.

"Just for pudding," Narcissa said with maddening calm. "You're quite welcome to hide anywhere you like with Mr. Lupin while they're here."

"Thank you for warning me, at any rate."

"Oh, that was incidental. Actually, I came to watch Teddy for the evening. I do so miss having children around me, and Draco isn't nearly ready for fatherhood." She scooped Teddy up from the bed with the same practiced ease as his father, tucking his head with utmost gentleness against her shoulder.

"I hope you don't mind, Mr Lupin," she said tranquilly. "Severus can keep you company, at least."

She smiled one of her invisible smiles as she left carrying Remus' sleeping son in her arms. The door swung to its frame behind her without a sound.

Christmas

Remus' voice broke the silence that had settled around them in the light-tinted darkness. "Who'd have thought? Narcissa Malfoy doing something that seems... thoughtful. I suppose she has an agenda, though?"

"Narcissa always has an agenda." Even as he said it, he began to relax. In her own way, Narcissa was very straightforward. "She's most likely scheming for social rehabilitation. If she plays nicel with Potter and his circle, the Malfoys may look respectable again, in a decade or so."

"Mmmm." Remus looked pensive, and then kissed him. There was definite, renewed purpose behind it. Severus felt his spine tingle. "You know," Remus murmured, "I find I don't particularly care. About any of it."

"No?" Severus asked, with a credible assumption of nonchalance, not as if impulses of desire were sparking along every inch of his skin, radiating from each of Lupin's hands and his mouth.

"No." Lupin smiled at him. "I find I don't care about very much outside of this room."

"It's a very nice room, after all."

"The room's all right," Lupin said, kissing him once, twice, three times along his jaw, each kiss hot and lingering. Severus skated his fingers along the back of Lupin's neck in response. "But I like it infinitely more because you're in it."

Severus turned his head and kissed him properly. Remus' fingers were in his hair, and his heat was folding all around him; the bed seemed to come up behind him out of nowhere, and yet it wasn't a moment too soon. More skin was exposed, and then all of it. Remus' skin was hot to the touch, and his touch was like the language of desire. Severus thought about dousing the sea-creature lamp, the only light besides the fire; considered enveloping them in darkness so that Lupin wouldn't see how unattractive every bit of Severus was. But it was worth being exposed in all his ugliness if he could still see Remus, the expressiveness of his face, his eyes. He wanted, needed to see the manifestation of Remus' desire for himself, to make it real.

"Severus," Remus was murmuring, kissing hot along his hairline, and then over his cheekbone, across the bridge of his nose, back to his mouth. His hands moved across Severus' skin, mapping the contours of his face, his chest, his thighs.

There were scars knitted across Remus' body, a chronicle of full moons. Severus traced along them with the pads of his fingers, and then the tips of his nails, making Remus gasp.

"Remus," Severus replied, trailing his hand down Remus' ribcage, over his thigh, and between.

Remus huffed a laugh into Severus' hair. How insulting. Even if it did trail off into a groan when Severus bit his shoulder.

"Don't you know not to laugh at a man in bed," Severus said, curling his hand up the back of Remus' other thigh, to where it met his back.

"Don't you know not to tease?" Remus shifted his hips slightly and rocked, and Severus' dug his nails into the flesh beneath them, refusing to let out the gasp that had leapt into his throat. Remus did gasp, a lovely sound.

"A Gryffindor wants directness? I'll endeavor to oblige, then."

Remus laughed again. "I think using words of that many syllables in bed qualifies as its own insult, don't you?"

"Says you," said Severus. When Remus laughed again, Severus took his face in his hands and guided Remus' eyes to meet his. "What do you want?" he asked, quiet but yes, direct.

Remus looked down at him, and smiled. "Other than you?"

Well, if a Gryffindor wanted to be evasive, a Slytherin could be direct. Severus rolled Remus beneath him and slid down to—

"Ah," Remus gasped. Severus smirked to himself. Emotions were messy—well, so was this—but this he could deal with; this he knew how to do, even if it had been so long since he'd even wanted to.

He very much wanted to, now. All of it.

Remus tugged gently on his hair. When Severus raised his head, Remus pounced on him, kissing him almost fiercely, rolling them around on the bed. Severus almost wanted to laugh, because this was almost like joy.

"I am tempted," Remus said between kisses, which were migrating down Severus' body, "to call you a minx."

"Now... who's a... tease?" Severus managed, as the kisses took a needlessly circuitous path, each one of them winding his arousal more and more tightly.

Remus' laugh sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Severus would have made fun of him for it, but Remus' mouth had finally found its target, and even Severus couldn't manage mockery in the wake of that much direct pleasure. He didn't even remember what he was supposed to be mocking, or why he would want to, because Remus was as perfect at this as he was at everything else...

And now he was using fingers to— "Ahh-a," Severus gasped, arching.

"Is that a good 'ahh-a'?" Remus murmured against his skin.

"Stop and I'll kill you."

Remus laughed again and kissed the area he could reach. Severus didn't really want to slide back into banter at this point, so he was glad that Remus left words behind and continued with touches and explorations, narrowed around a purpose that Severus was surprised to find he wanted very badly, despite never having offered it before. There had been no one he would have trusted, before this. No one else, like this.

But Remus could be trusted; not only with hearts, but to do exactly right. He moved neither too slowly nor too quickly, at a pace of gentleness that must have taken iron control to maintain, and yet somehow not too gentle, with that purpose and desire behind it. It was all very... Remus.

And Severus had always had a sense about what combinations of factors would produce which results. It didn't take him long to discover that while Remus appeared to naturally take control in bed, he did not want passivity; when Severus scraped at his skin with his nails or nipped with his teeth, a bit of Remus' characteristic poise unraveled. Severus liked it. He knew not to push it, but the sight of Remus coming undone in his arms was as irresistible as the man himself. He grazed his nails through Remus' hair, guiding him back into a kiss, and the moment of completion was as full and sweet as sunlight in the dark of winter.

Remus felt completely boneless and utterly at peace. His body clung to the sheets wherever they met, and he could feel the dampness in his hair, across his bare chest, gathered in the small of his back. The illuminated animals of Teddy's sea-creature lamp were still swimming across the walls, trailing motes of light across the bed as they circled.

"Lancelot wrote me a letter," he said drowsily.

Severus turned his head toward him, tickling Remus' outflung arm with his hair. "How can you be so charming in general and so sodding wretched at pillow talk?" he asked. In the dim, spicy intimacy of the room, his voice had an almost decadent quality to it, one that made Remus' recently satiated arousal stir sleepily. He wanted always to wake up and fall asleep with that voice in his ear.

Remus' chest shook with his laugh. "Sorry."

"I hope we'll be able to find other things to talk about eventually," Severus said, sounding almost bored. "Even if our previous relationships have all been built on absolute morbidity. But I believe one is supposed to progress, eventually."

"You could always tell me jokes," Remus said, highly amused, as his heart ached with the full sweetness of delight, and love.

"On second thought, I think I'd rather be morbid. Go on. Why was the cracked son of a bitch writing you?"

"Well, he wanted to apologize, for one thing." Severus snorted; Remus didn't blame him one bit. "And I think he wanted to explain, outside of the papers. They'll print it differently than how it really is."

"Naturally," Severus muttered.

"Would you like to read it?" Remus asked.

Severus shrugged. Remus figured he wasn't really interested, but for some reason he couldn't let it drop.

"He did try to kill you, after all. In fact..." He wondered if he should tell Severus the truth, and then decided he might as well: Severus was the sort of person who didn't cower from the truth. Well, not truths made of facts; he did sort of shrink in the face of emotion, but emotions could be more frightening than outright danger. "He managed it, for a few minutes."

In the soft light of a passing dolphin, Remus saw Severus blink at the ceiling. Then he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, his eyebrows raised above the eyes Remus had missed while he looked like that other man. They were as black as the sky above the water at night, far out to sea; as fathomless as eternity.

"Are you saying I effectively died?"

"Your heart stopped beating," Remus said quietly. Almost unbidden, his hand lifted to settle on Severus' chest, above his heart. Severus looked down at it but didn't speak. "Draco and I had to use magic to force your body to swallow the bezoar. For a few minutes..."

His voice suspended in the memory and he had to stop. Severus sank back to the mattress beside him, passing his thumbs over Remus' eyebrows, curling his fingers to settle over Remus' cheekbones. He still didn't say anything, but he looked a lot less bothered by the prospect of his own death than Remus felt. Remus supposed this was a comfort. He didn't want Severus to be upset, to know the immediate memory of looking down at someone you would have given your life for, as their life dissipated into nothing more than a weight of remorse and memories in your heart.

That had happened to them both too many times. It had almost happened to them. It had been so close, and at the end he'd been so useless. And it had nearly been the end. If Draco had been a little less practical, or Severus a little less stubborn, or Lancelot a little bit quicker—

All things considered, it was something of a miracle that they had come to this, here, at the end.

"Let it go," Severus said, his fingers carding through Remus' hair. "It's over now."

Remus nodded, telling himself to breathe normally. It was easier, with Severus lying warm beside him. The more days went by, the easier it would be to forget. It always was, even when you hadn't been so phenomenally, miraculously lucky as to have all your prayers answered.

"Shh." Severus kissed his forehead, then his eyelids, then his mouth. "I survived. We all did. Your son is well. Your mother in law will have her treatments and live to see her grandson grow up and break hearts. Draco and Asteria will be disgusting together, Potter will pester me to tell him stories about Lily, and you and I will talk about the weather."

Remus laughed, feeling tears cluster in the corner of his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Severus' shoulders and drew him closer, until they were pressed together again and he could feel the beat of Severus' heart against his skin. Severus was warm; he was alive; he was here, and he was himself.

"That sounds lovely," he whispered.

"Almost revolting," Severus said, his soft voice warm on Remus' face.

Remus said, "Perfect."

The End