Recollection

By Taleya

Chapter Seventeen

Harry made his way up from the kitchens, Ron, Hermione and Neville clustered around him like a little muggle security guard.  He felt stronger, more in balance than he had for a long time. For three years, actually.  He was still a little stunned at how easily his friends had taken to his side.  But then again, that was what friends did – real friends. He’d forgotten what they were like.  And even Severus was willing to act for peace for the sake of their daughter. A false sense of serenity, of a storm weathered and passed was slowly creeping in, an ugly wound finally starting to drain clean, growing confidence getting his feet back underneath him. He could do this. He could. It was easy.  No longer lost, he knew his moves, he knew his goal. Little steps, Hermione had said. Take it one step at a time, and now the steps were coming faster and faster, a rapid succession. He could do this. He really could. It was so easy…

Remus stared into the pensieve, white faced, hands clutching it hard enough to shatter the stone. It was Severus’.  A house elf had brought it to him not long after the potions master had drifted back into sleep – the other man knew him too well.  Knew his questions, knew he would want to know and had made sure that he saw nothing but truth.  He couldn’t believe what he had just seen, but he had to. Pensieve memories didn’t lie. They couldn’t.

And the other things he had seen, other images in Snape’s life. He hadn’t meant to pry, hadn’t meant to abuse the implicit trust the other man had placed in him, but they had slithered across his mind, oily black trails, glimpses of things that made him sick, made him feel dirty, soul-filthy.

He put the stone bowl down carefully on the small table beside the bed, the motion sharply controlled, hand shaking a little with restraint.  Turning back, he laid a careful hand on Severus’ head, stroking a few strands of hair away from the sleeping face. Anger. White hot anger and he knew how dangerous that was.  It blinded you, stopped you from thinking, and now more than ever he needed his mind.

For all their sakes.

Sirius had never run so damn fast in his life.  Some part of his mind was a little astonished at how the aged headmaster had managed to keep pace with him, and another part of him wondered crazily at the ability to think random thoughts at a time like this.  The rest was occupied with running, pushing his feet faster and faster, lungs dragging in air and shoving it back out his mouth as he pelted along the corridor.

To his relief, the only figures in the hall approaching the infirmary were Hagrid and Pomfrey, engaged in a rather animated conversation. Good. That meant Harry wasn’t there yet. It also meant there was a soft-ish surface for the two men to run straight into when they couldn’t stop in time.

Dumbledore made a note to reprimand Filch sometime for over-polishing the stone floors as he made some attempt to straighten his robes, gasping for air. Yes, yes, after the first few hydroplaning episodes it did stop the students from running in the hall, but there were some times when speed was of the necessity.  “Hagrid,” he got out. “Have you seen Mister Potter?”

“Harry?” Hagrid shook his head and set both men easily back on their feet. “Ain’t seen Harry since he were in your office, Headmaster.”  He pulled at his beard for a moment, then shuffled his huge feet. “Professor, Remus is in there with...”

“We know, thank you Hagrid,” Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder. “I think it’s best if we take things from here – oh, by the way, I noticed that Miss Granger and young Longbottom came in by Pegasus….” He was playing on the other man and he knew it.

“A Pegasus!” The half-giant beamed. “Ain’t seen one of them in a fair while. Better make sure the little thing’s all bedded down right,” he said hastily and made his way happily to the stables, content to leave the matter in the hands of the headmaster. After all, Dumbledore always worked a way to make it right.

Poppy was looking from one man to the other with puzzlement in her eyes. “Headmaster?” she ventured. What on earth was going on?

Dumbledore reached out and gently patted her hand. “It appears that dear Severus and Remus have been rather closer than we all thought…”

“Oh my goodness!”

Sirius sagged against the wall. Well, they were here. And Harry wasn’t. The thing about making a mad dash to prevent impending disaster was that you felt a right tit when you got there too early.

And didn’t have a plan.

“Well Albus…what now?” his heart was slowly approaching something resembling a normal rate and his eyes were drawn to the seemingly innocent-looking infirmary door.  “Go in there and warn Remus? Tell him to stop snogging Snape before all hell breaks loose?”

Albus appreciated the sentiment, although the delivery left more than a little to be desired. “I think that might be the best course of action, yes. Oh dear except I think we may be a tad too late – Harry!”  And indeed, there was the infamous Boy Who Lived himself, making his way up the hall.

Harry’s strides shortened, stopped, then sped up again at the sight of the trio outside the infirmary. “Sirius!” He grabbed the other man into an honest bearhug, pounding his back.

“Harry!” Black returned the hug just as enthusiastically, letting other matters take a back seat for a moment. Too long. Too damn long since he’d seen his godson. He looked older, more worn, a look that didn’t suit him and he said so.

Harry winced, then looked at his boots.  Truth be told, this was the meeting he’d been dreading most. Especially given Sirius’ background with Snape, and the rather delightful little bomb he was about to explode on the Animagus’ head. But he’d rather his godfather heard it from him, than anyone else, and he would find out soon enough. “Sirius…I…Severus…”

Sirius saved him the embarrassment. “I know.” He barely stopped himself from saying ‘congratulations’, unsure if the sentiment would be appreciated. Details could wait. Although truth be told he already knew far more about the potions master’s sex life than he really wanted to. And he was quite happily doing a mental tap-dance around the whole fatherhood issue thing.  He would deal with it when he did, it was Harry who needed his time now.

The moment stuttered into silence. There really wasn’t that much more to say. Harry flashed him a brief smile that faded as soon as it came as he took a good look at the little group of Hogwarts staff waiting in the hall. His gaze flicked from one to the other.  Something was wrong here.  The smiles seemed forced, the way they were standing, subtly blocking the way to the – and why was Pomfrey out in the hall?  He didn’t like the odd, tense look on her face.  “Is…is something wrong?”

“NO! no… yes…well…” the jumble of voices faded and Sirius took a breath. He seemed to be steeling himself for unpleasant news and Harry tensed. Beside him, Ron paled and Hermione groped mutely for Neville’s hand.

The animagus stepped forward and gently gripped the Auror’s arm. “Harry,” he said kindly, trying to adopt a fatherly tone. “I think you’d better come with me…”

Something was wrong. Something had happened.  The colour abruptly drained from Harry’s face as Sirius tried to steer him down the corridor, away from the infirmary. “Oh god, it’s Severus, isn’t it? Something’s happened.” He broke free from the restraining arm and bolted for the door as Dumbledore and Pomfrey both tried to grab him. Crazy visions flashed through his head, doom, disaster, god, he wasn’t dead was he? He couldn’t be! He’d never had the chance to make it right…

Remus tensed at the noise, arms reflexively tightening around the sleeping man in his embrace. “No Harry Don’t go in THERE!” if the ruckus outside the door hadn’t woken Severus up, the pile of bodies that crashed through it certainly did. The potions master jerked awake at the noise, leaving the safety of Remus’ arms, a cry breaking from his throat as pain ripped though his healing body from the sharp movement.

The werewolf loosened his grasp, gently, tenderly, soothing the other man almost mindlessly. His eyes drifted over the faces on the floor. Stunned, to say the least. Hermione seemed to be competing with McGonagall and Pomfrey as to which woman’s eyes were about to fall out of their head first. Sirius and Dumbledore had identical ‘ohshit’ looks on their faces. Ron…and was that Neville?  His eyes skittered over, taking them all in, then locked on a certain face, one that had changed a little over the years since he had last seen him, a little thinner, a little more haggard, but one he still knew.

Harry. Potter.

“Oh, shit.” Possibly-Neville said into the silence.

With deliberate motions the werewolf got up from the bed and moved towards the other man.  He heard Severus’ voice, soft and pained behind him. “Remus, no…” but his voice was drowned out by Poppy, who wasn’t half as stupid as people seemed to think she was and had quickly summed up the situation.  And it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Out, get out of here, take this out of here RIGHT NOW.” A flurry of slaps accompanied her words as she chased Remus and the little group out of the infirmary and slammed the door behind them.

Harry stumbled back from the door, away from Lupin, barely aware of hands there to steady him, eyes locked on the other man. He felt the false sense of security erode beneath his feet, dragging what felt like crumbling shreds of his sanity with it.

He wasn’t…he couldn’t have…

No. His face twisted into an odd smile but he knew it didn’t touch his eyes. Lupin and Severus?….no. Snape couldn’t stand the other man, he remembered.  A bare tolerance at best, and poor Remus, he always did care for others.

That was all. That was all. Friends, they’d become friends.  Close friends indeed, but just friends. Right?

Right?

Remus fought to see clearly through the anger inside him, dangerously close to the surface. He forced himself to swallow it, nearly choking on the taste.  The man, the cause of this fury was in the past. Three years in the past. And although the mirror image of that same man stood before him, they weren’t the same.  Years changed a person, he knew that.    He had to be fair.

Harry crept closer to him, ignoring the expressions on the faces around them. Friends, his mind babbled at him. Just friends. They were just friends. Friends. And Severus needed friends, it was good he had friends, very good.

But there was something to the other man’s pose that disturbed his little fantasy. A tenseness to the muscles that shouldn’t have been there. An unreadable look in the golden eyes, a sort of…fury, like a storm begging to be unleashed.
 
He offered a warm smile to the other man. “Thank you Remus. Thank you for taking care of them for me.”

At another time Lupin would have heard the warning. Would have seen the brittle sanity behind that smile. Would have gone with a softer, gentler tread.   But despite his best efforts, emotions were taking over.

“I wasn’t taking care of them for you.” He said coldly.  “I was taking care for them. They’re my family. It’s what you do for people you love. Not run away when things become too hard for you. They’re my family. If not by blood, then by love and it’s a damn site more than you ever gave them.”

The words were accusations and Harry rebelled against the guilt threatening him again. He was still confused, still hurt, but he had his friends behind him now, he had their support, and this time he knew he was right. He was right, dammit! It was his daughter in there, his ex-lover. It was his family in there, not Remus’ and he loved them both. He did!

 “Get out of my way, Lupin.” His voice was steady, controlled.  The other man didn’t move and the control was quickly lost, voice rasing in an almost scream. “Move!”

Hermione put a gentle hand on his arm. “Harry – “

“No!” he shook her off, eyes not moving from the man in front of him. “Get out of my way Remus, I have the right – “

“The ‘right’?” Remus’ voice was cold, harsher than anything Harry could ever remember. The words were sharp, bitten off, as if he was snapping them out of the air. “The right. What right is this? The right of fornication? An accident of genetics? And what else does this ‘right’ entitle you to? The ability to walk away again?” The anger was taking over and he forced it down, trying to stay calm, trying to be rational. “Think carefully, Harry. Think very, very carefully before you go in there. These aren’t dolls you can play with then put away when you get bored. This is a child. This is a man.  These are living, breathing human beings.”

“I know that, don’t you think I know that? Yes I was an arse. A very large horses arse. You want me to crawl, I’ll crawl.”   The words were there but the emotions were wrong, too wrong. Anger, indignation.  They all felt it.

Ron reached out and wrapped a hand around his friends arm, trying to pull him away. Something was wrong, badly wrong, this didn’t feel right. Not at all.

Again, Harry shook the restraint off. “Are you siding with him too, Ron?” he looked around the group, wild-eyed, seeing betrayal in every face. “How can you side with him? Look at him, he’s keeping me away from the people I love!”

 “You don’t love them. What you’re feeling now isn’t love. Don’t attribute a word like that to assuage your conscience.” Impossibly, Remus’ voice dropped another ten degrees. “You don’t feel anything but guilt. Nothing but that same demented sense of duty. You’re not doing it for them, you’re doing it because everyone expects you to. And if that’s all there is to you then they’re better off if you just leave.”

“Why the hell should I leave?” Harry’s face was twisted, ugly. “They’re my family, not yours!”

And all attempts at control flew right out the window.

“Your family.” The tones were ice. He’d learned from Severus. “Do you have ownership papers? Perhaps a little leash?” the sheer ego of the other man infuriated him. “Evidently their feelings on it don’t matter. The world stops for you.” he had centre of attention, uncaring, too lost to even notice the next words out of his mouth. “It never crossed your mind that someone could possibly get over him and find a life of their own. No, they belong to you. Waiting at home for the next time you feel the urge to throw him down and satisfy yourself.”

With an inarticulate scream Harry bolted forwards, and only Neville’s arms around his waist stopped him physically attacking the werewolf. No words left, no arguments, just a desire to hurt him, to stop those words, make him shut up make him SHUT the FUCK UP.

The others stood silent. None of them willing to take sides, it seemed as if both men had completely lost their minds. Horrified fascination held them in place, minor players, just an audience with no clue as to how it would all end.

 “Harry Potter!” the astonished tones belonged to Professor McGonagall, on her way along the corridor and astonished by the vicious display. She looked around the little group with astonishment. “What on earth…” Dumbledore gently clasped her hand and bade her to be quiet.

“Mister Potter here was just proclaiming his ownership of Severus and Severus’ daughter.”  Remus ground it in, too damn mad now to care.

“She’s my daughter,” Harry’s struggles were weaker, tears starting to drip down his face. “She’s mine, she’s mine, I love her, she’s my daughter, not yours, not yours!”

But where the others saw the pleading, not-quite believing tones of a man fighting for sanity, Remus only heard manipulation, domination, the urge to control what Harry so arrogantly assumed were his possessions. The pensieve had been a mistake. He was too damn empathic. He needed time to digest what he’d seen, to work it out, to see for himself.  He never had that time.

“For how long, Harry? How long before she becomes too inconvenient?” he was pushing the line now, close to tipping over. “How long before it just becomes easier to put her away in a little cupboard under the stairs?”

“Remus! The fu-“

“Lupin!

“My goodness!”

“You fucking PRICK!” Ron lunged forward and Neville let loose his grip on Harry to stop the redhead from physically attacking the other man.  Unfortunately that mean that he could no longer stop Harry from doing it and the Auror threw himself across the short distance and at the werewolf.

There was no real co-ordination to his attack, more a helpless ineffectual fury and not a single punch was exchanged before the others got between them again.  To tell the truth, more than one was tempted to just let them at it.  What Remus had said was unforgivable. Completely, utterly unforgivable.

Dumbledore, as always, took charge, finally broken free of his shocked stupor. “Miss Granger, Mister Longbottom, please, take Harry out of here. And Sirius, please get Professor Lupin away from here as well.” The last thing they needed at a time like this was a free for all brawl in the halls of the school.  “Take them away – far away – from each other and keep them there until they’re capable of talking like rational adults.”  From bad to good, to outright worse, he reflected, pulling off his glasses and rubbing wearily at his eyes as the others were dragged away. Oh goodness gracious this was a twisted ball indeed, and he could see no way around it.

McGonagall was beside him, looking despondently after the two groups. “Oh Albus, this is a mess. However are we going to fix it?”

ahh dear sweet Minerva.  He could always trust her to keep her head in a crisis. “Minerva.” He slipped an arm around hers and patted her hand reassuringly.  “There’s nothing much we can do.  They’re all adults, not children any more and they will have to find the answers for themselves.”  True, it wouldn’t have been the first time he had overstepped the supposed “once left the schools no longer my concern” mandate that so many headmasters seem to feel was the case, but in this situation he was honestly at a loss as to what to do.

He cast a look towards the infirmary door, then away. No. Poppy wouldn’t welcome the intrusion. Nor Severus, most likely.  Besides, it seemed that enough people were interfering as it was.  Perhaps the best thing to do was to simply set aside and let them work it out for themselves.

Sirius hauled the werewolf along the corridor to the nearest classroom, shoving him inside and kicking the door shut before letting loose. “What the HELL do you think you’re doing, Remus?”

“What it looks like, Sirius,” Lupin spat back. He was mad, madder than the animagus had ever seen him before, in all their years of friendship. “I’m stopping Potter from making the biggest damn mistake in his life.” He turned his back, slamming his hands down on the sill of a nearby window. He’d lost control. Completely and utterly lost control. He’d shattered what he’d set out to do, he’d blown things out, the words out of his mouth had been the wrong ones and worst of all he was still too damn mad to care.

The tension between them was high, but not blind.  They’d known each other too damn long for that. And Sirius knew there were always, always reasons for whatever Remus did. Objective to a fault, always considering all points of the argument before speaking, he always had a reason.  Except this time he couldn’t see it.  A nasty feeling started in his stomach. Was this purely and solely about Snape? This attack on Harry nothing but ugly, vicious jealousy?  He didn’t want to face it, it didn’t feel right with the Remus Lupin he’d known for so long, but he couldn’t see another possibility.

“And of course it has nothing to do with the fact that you and Snape are bed-hopping.  What is this? Are you protecting your territory? Scaring off the opposition? It’s like it’s coming down to some big apocalyptic battle between you and Harry to see who gets to screw Snape!” He grabbed the other man’s shoulder and turned him roughly around. “Not only does the thought of you two fawning for that man’s affections ‘gross me out’ to use the muggle term, it’s not your choice to make.”

“I know that!” Remus shoved his hand aside.  “It’s not my choice, it’s not Harry’s choice, it’s no-one’s choice but Severus’.”  He wrenched a hand across his face and stared at the floor. “It’s his choice…” he repeated softly. “And whatever he chooses….I’ll go with that. I can’t do otherwise. I can’t…..” He closed his eyes briefly.  “But when I look at Harry, I see something in his eyes….This isn’t a game, Padfoot! These aren’t toys you can play with and throw away!  This isn’t a teenaged boyfriend thing, this isn’t a casual fuck, Severus isn’t like that. He doesn’t leap willy nilly into bed on a random attraction, he loves, he takes so long to trust and when he does, he falls, completely and totally, and if Harry isn’t serious with what he wants, and if he turns and walks away again...god…this isn’t a game…” His voice trailed off, whisper soft, words failing him.

“You think he’s playing games?” Sirius felt a smile touch his lips. It was that simple. “He’s not – he wouldn’t do that! Come on Moony, this is Harry! You know what he’s like - ”

“Yes.” Colourless tones. “This is Harry.  This is a man I taught for one year when he was thirteen. I don’t know him, Padfoot – not really.  Harry isn’t his father. This isn’t James, and you have to stop thinking of him as if he was James’ replacement. James is dead and Harry is just a confused man I don’t even think knows what he wants in life. And I don’t think Harry is doing this out of love. I think it’s guilt, it’s duty, it’s because it’s what’s expected of him, and worse, I don’t think he even realises that.”

“I don’t think Harry is James.” Sirius voice suddenly went cold, humour fleeing from his eyes.  “I think he’s Harry Potter, my godson. And you know what else I think?  Everyone seems so damn intent on protecting poor professor Snape you tell me this Remus – why the hell didn’t he tell Harry? You answer me that. If he was so heartbroken and alone why the fuck didn’t he even tell the father of his child? Why did he leave it for some stupid accidental discovery?  All this talk of protecting and loving his daughter – you tell me why the HELL that involved denying her half of her goddamn family? You tell me that, Remus, because I don’t fucking see the logic in it! Especially after that Death Eater attack – What if he had died, Remus?”

The other man couldn’t meet his eyes, turning away and he followed him, not letting up for a second. “What if he was dead.  Who’s going to take care of this daughter he loves so much?  You? I know you love him, Moony, I know you love them both, I’m not denying you that but a child needs her parents. She needs flesh and blood, to know where she came from. And if Snape knew enough to be screwing Harry, he’d better bloody well have known enough that denying him family was the cruellest thing he could ever have done.”

“What would you do, Sirius? You tell me!” Remus grabbed the other man by the collar, shoving them both against the wall. “You tell me what you would do if the last memory you have of the father of your child is a damn near rape and laughter in your face.” His voice was low, a snarl, words whipping out. “You tell me what you would do if your lover walked out on you, if every owl you sent was returned, unopened, if you never got a word, never a clue, if you never ever fucking got one single reply from someone who said they’d love you forever. You want some answers, well you’re not the only fucking one, Sirius. Get off your goddamn high horse and wake up.”

Sirius shoved back, knocking the other man off him. “Don’t you tell me that. You’re falling into the trap of pitying the self-proclaimed injured party. You weren’t there. You have nothing to go on save what that prat told you, and that is no cause to try and destroy Harry! You of all people know how things get blown out of proportion. You know how stories get embellished, how they get turned to whatever the teller wants to say.  Merlin’s balls Remus, remember that little whore Kochanski in sixth year and how you turning her down for sex became attempted rape that ended up in front of the bloody ministry?  People lie. You know that! And most of all you stupid bastard, you know better than that!”

“PENSIEVES DON’T LIE!”  The words shattered the air between them.

And for that, Sirius had no answer.

“Pensieves don’t lie, Sirius.  They can’t. Those memories are real.  And yes, Severus made mistakes. Harry made mistakes. But at least I’m not so blinded with favouritism that I can’t see that both sides are to blame. But laying blame never fixed anything, Padfoot. You know that. All blame does is hurt. Past actions and emotions shape the present but if you let them start to rule the now…all you’re going to do is destroy yourself.  And that’s exactly what Harry’s doing.”

“How? By loving his daughter? By wanting to be there for her? Remus, you’ve got no reason to your logic!”

“Did you love Harry?” Lupin asked suddenly. “Not as a baby, we all loved him,” a faint smile touched his lips at the memory. “I think he was everyone’s baby boy, not just Lily and James’. Even Albus and Minerva found reasons to pop by… but when you escaped – from Azkaban, when you saw him there, on Privet drive for the first time in over ten years did you love him? Can you honestly say you loved him?”

“It was curiosity, at first.” Sirius admitted. He could have lied but what would be the use? They could always see through each other.  “I just had to see him…to make sure he was all right, to see Lil’ and Jamie’s boy all grown up. And that bloody rat Pettigrew, I had to protect Harry from him.  Like I couldn’t do for James and Lil…” his voice trailed off as realisation set in.  “I didn’t love him. Not at first.  I just had to protect him, because I couldn’t protect his parents. I owed them that…” he could see what the other man was driving at now, but he still didn’t agree. “I grew to love him as Harry because I got to know him as Harry, and I never would have gotten that chance with someone there telling me I didn’t have the RIGHT to know him! You have to give him that chance, Remus!”

“I’m not SAYING he doesn’t have the right to know her!” He was losing his temper again now, sheer frustration at the other mans inability to understand his reasoning. “I’m saying he doesn’t know enough to throw himself pledging undying love into the relationship. He doesn’t feel love, all he feels now is a shitload of guilt and duty and that’s not what they need.”

Sirius didn’t back down. "He's pushed too far, Moony. You shouldn't be doing this  - not now. He needs to get his feet back under him before you start tearing him to pieces."

"And if he gets his feet back on a foundation of lies?  Do you honestly think that would be better for him?" Remus sagged against the window, looking suddenly tired and aged beyond his years. "I know Padfoot, I know, and I curse myself a thousand times over for it, this shouldn't have to be. It shouldn't have happened. But it did, and we're both in the middle of it."

“Look, I know you Moony.  We’ve been friends a long time.” Sirius sagged down to sit on the sill beside the other man, hands hanging loosely between his knees. “And I know, that at the worst time of my life, you were the only one that believed in me.  But I won’t support you in this. I can’t. Harry and Snape, you and Snape whatever wherever, tell the truth that’s something I really don’t want to know about, but this thing with Araminta, what you’re doing to Harry…” his hands made a helpless gesture.  “I know your reasons, and I know why you’re doing this…but I can’t support you in it. I can’t. It’s wrong. Not this way Moony, there has to be another way to do it. ”

“If you have any ideas Padfoot, please, tell me, I can’t see them.” Remus pleaded softly. “  And I’m not asking you to support me. I want you to support Harry. He’s going to need it, so much. Protecting Harry isn't as much an incentive as Severus and Araminta," he admitted flatly. "But it's still a large part. It has to be done. It's not just Severus and Araminta's lives that will be ruined if he's just doing it out of guilt.” He let out a sigh that wilted his entire body. “Even if Severus and I weren’t lovers, I’d probably still say the same damn thing."

Sirius studied him for a long moment. "You're a bastard.” He said finally. “A complete and utter bastard. But at least you’re an honest one.” He gripped the other man’s shoulder, a firm touch that let him know he hadn’t lost one of his few, precious friends. “We’re in this up to our eyeballs again, aren’t we?”

“And a half.” The tension in the room slowly eased. “Merlin, it’s times like this I wish I smoked.”

They’d agreed to disagree. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. They both knew that their friendship relied on them not being carbon copies of each other, that it was their differences that forged the strength of it.

But there was one last thing that was bothering Sirius – and had been since before the confrontation in the infirmary.

 “You knew, didn’t you? About Harry.”  There was a look he’d never seen before in his friends eyes. “You knew. And you didn’t tell me. Remus, why - ”

Lupin held up a placating hand, fingers of the other kneading briefly at the bridge of his nose. “Knew, no. Suspected, yes. Do you remember that…” a smile quirked his lips for a second, then disappeared. “Infamous Quidditch match? Slytherin against….Hufflepuff I think it was.”

Sirius groaned at the memory. “Oh merlin, not that one where Hagrid got that mad idea about muggle hot dogs and made a pile of them out of stoat…” the sight of nearly the entire school body throwing up over the edge of the stands was not one easily forgotten.  Or the taste – he’d eaten four of them himself, slathered with mustard before he’d realised what they were.

“That one.” Remus confirmed. “Which is why I think no one else noticed….”

**

With Remus’ help, Severus settled himself into a bench on the teacher’s stand. Ahh, spring. Season of hay fever, overly frisky students, obscene amounts of stupidity, and, of course, Quidditch.

The other teachers had been leery of allowing him into the stands, but Severus had been firm.  Slytherin was playing, and he had no intention of letting his children down. In the end, they had compromised. Flitwick had overseen levitating the pregnant professor up to the teacher's stand to avoid him having to traverse the stairs, and the staff had settled themselves in a protective huddle around him, charms cast to shield them from any stray bludgers or players.

It was all rather amusing, come to think of it.

Resting a hand on his belly, Snape successfully fended off the pre-match offer of a dubious looking hot-dog from Hagrid. Not even pregnancy-induced changes in taste could make him eat any meat product made by the half-giant.  Likewise, Remus showed little faith in the groundskeeper’s culinary skills.

“I’ll have his,” Sirius was already juggling four of the damned things in his hands.

And he was sitting behind them.

Snape grimaced. He hoped that years as a dog sniffing around garbage cans had gifted the animagus with a cast-iron stomach. He had no desire to end up with a mouthful of vomit in the back of his head.

The sound around them was deafening as the players swooped out onto the field. Hooch released the bludgers and snitch before tossing the quaffle high into the air – and the game was on!

This year, Hufflepuff had actually managed to put together a fairly decent team. Unlike previous years, a complete and total slaughter wasn’t expected, but a tight, exciting match, and the players didn’t let them down.

As soon as the quaffle was in the air, Anthony McPartlin of Hufflepuff had possession.  Ploughing straight through Slytherin lines, he barely shot a glance over his shoulder at the players hot on his heels. Aiming straight for the three golden hoops marking the Hufflepuff goals he weaved past fellow team member Declan Donnelly before driving his broom in a suicide plunge towards the ground.

Just when it seemed he was about to crash, he shifted bringing himself out of the dive, the soles of his boots kissing grass an instant before he wrenched his broom straight up, an arrow flight right up the pole supporting the middle hoop, Slytherin in pursuit.

But he didn’t have the quaffle.

Donnelly did.

Looping almost lazily around the poles in a triple figure eight, the blonde nonchalantly tossed the quaffle through the middle hoop.

“HUFFLEPUFF SCORES!”  The house danced about on the stands as the pair slapped a happy five to each other before diving back into the fray.

Slytherin in possession, and Strabo wasn’t about to give in easily.  A side attack from a Hufflepuff on one side and a speeding bludger on the other hemmed him in, so in true Slytherin style he let his enemies take care of each other, swinging around until he was hanging upside down from his broom, the bludger swooping harmlessly over his feet to pelt the Hufflepuff in the face.  An underhand sling to fifth year Britton was intercepted by McPartlin, who flew cheekily under the upside-down Slytherin captain, shooting him a cheerful two-fingered salute before copping the bristle end of a broom in the ear as Strabo righted himself.

The Quaffle shot off to the side and McBaron of Slytherin swooped in to claim it, executing a loop-de-loop around a bludger and the Hufflepuff Keeper before a straight handed shoot scored a goal for his house.

Then the seekers saw the snitch.

Black and yellow, black and green, the tails of their robes intermingled as they rode closely in tandem. Up, down, a tight right hand turn, staying tight as if glued together the two boys chased the elusive flash of gold. Neither attempted to shove the other off their broom, both of them too focused on the snitch.  For Hufflepuff, it meant the game, and for the first time in years a chance at the cup.  For Slytherin, it was pure pride.  In an eerie parallel of ten years ago, the snitch slammed towards the ground, players in hot pursuit.  Hufflepuff managed to pull up in time out of the suicide plunge.

Slytherin didn’t.

A howl rose up from the green and black stands as their seeker slammed into the ground with an audible crunch, neither broom nor boy stirring from the crumpled heap.  Pomfrey ran onto the ground to retrieve the fallen player, casting a quick levitation spell and holding off any medical treatment until they were both safely off the field.

The Hufflepuff seeker seemed unaware of the loss of his shadow, focused on the gleaming winged ball a bare arms length from his face.  Bracing his hands on the handle of his broom, he pushed himself up, then onto his feet.

It was a move that was quickly becoming known as the Potter Manoeuvre (Or Potter’s Insanity, depending on whom you spoke to) – standing on ones broom as if it were a muggle surfboard, hands outstretched, balanced precariously as you reached for the snitch.

Harry Potter the Hufflepuff seeker was not, wobbling madly on his perch, hands groping clumsily until finally his feet slipped, the broom shot forwards and he landed square on his testicles across the handle.

The entire male population of the school winced as one unit as the student toppled sideways with a thin shriek of pain. Not even the teachers were immune, but something else pulled at Remus’ attention.

He hadn’t seen the boy fall. Hadn’t seen him miss the snitch. Barely heard the crowd’s mass whimper. Hadn’t seen anything really, beyond when the boy had first pushed himself precariously to his feet, Quidditch gauntlets flashing in the sun as he rode the broom. He’d turned to make an off-hand comment to the man beside him and had frozen.

Severus stared at the boy. At the way the wind from the speed of his broom whipped the hair back from his face, the set of the mouth, the hand outstretched and look had crossed his face, pained, undefinable.  He had gone white, whiter than Remus even thought possible, eyes clenching shut and face wrenching away as if from a sight that was terrible, too terrible, too heartbreaking to bear.

“Severus?”

Behind them, a queer look crossed Sirius’ face and he lurched forward, dropping the remains of his barely-eaten fifth hot-dog and clutching his stomach.

“Severus?” Real concern coloured his tone now. Nothing else seemed real around them, the growing noises from the crowd relegated to background noise from another world. “What is it? Is it the baby?” he reached out to lay a palm on the other man’s belly and was astonished by the grip with which Snape clutched at his arm.

“No…Please, get me out of here…”   it was barely whispered, eyes clenched tight and hand gripping at the Werewolf’s forearm fierce enough to snap bone. “Please, Remus…not here…”

He thought he understood. Emotions, pregnancy-driven moodswings.  Intensely private, Severus hated for anyone to see him lose control.

No one seemed to notice as they made their way through the crowded stand, the people around them turning various interesting colours and lurching to lean over the sides to the accompaniment of assorted nauseating sounds.  The few students and staff that hadn’t tried the hot dogs were in an uproar, disgusted shouts filling the air at the co-workers and students that didn’t make it to the edge of the stands in time.

Not that he really saw them. Or heard them. His entire focus was on the man clinging almost desperately to him, white faced and shaking with the effort of holding burning emotions back.  In the confusion no one noticed them leaving, making their way slowly down the stairs, and he wrapped an arm around the other wizard, holding him close, murmuring soft, nonsensical words soothingly. “It’s ok Severus, it’s ok, shh, we’re nearly away from them, nearly safe…” he wasn’t even aware of what he was saying, the words spilling from his lips.

Snape clung to the words like a lifeline, feet feeling blindly for a path, measured breaths dragging in and out at the effort of holding back. Not here, not here, not in front of the others, not here, not here…. It became his mantra, filling his world, screaming at the back of his throat as he lost the battle and the tears began.  Stupid, so stupid! He railed at himself. So sure, so always in control of himself, a stupid, stupid Quidditch match and a chance resemblance, a reminder had sent him stumbling back when he’d sworn to himself it didn’t matter any more.

He was sobbing now, he knew. And it humiliated him beyond belief. He was barely aware of the man next to him, the arms around him, when they made their stumbling way back to the safety of his rooms.

It shouldn’t matter, it shouldn’t HURT!

But it did. Oh it did, again and again, as if he’d just seen the other man walk out, his last words like a brand on his soul. His daughter moved in his belly, reacting to his pain and the motion was like fire. His daughter. Harry’s daughter. Their daughter, the daughter that wasn’t meant to be, that none of this was meant to be and for a brief, blinding instant he hated her. Hated her for what she was, what she reminded him of, the constant reminder spawning inside him. Punishment for his stupidity.

And it horrified him.

He fell to his knees, uncaring, barely aware of the hands on him, the frantic arms wrapping around him, the voice begging in his ear, lips pressing against his face, his hair, rocking him almost desperately. He’d never cried. Hadn’t allowed himself to mourn a love gone wrong. Pining and weeping were for fools and idiots, and he had been both, but life went on. There was no time for wailing, no time for thinking of what might have been and he had locked it away, so far away, never dealt with it and now it was breaking loose, lashing at him.  Magnified by the pregnancy, his emotions ran riot and he was helpless against them.

Never allowing himself to cry, never having time to deal with what he had scorned as the useless emotions, he was completely unprepared for the onslaught. It was breaking him down, tearing him apart, feelings so huge he couldn’t contain them, growing and growing until he wished he would simply die of it, die and be free of them.

“Severus…speak to me! Please!” Remus was beyond worried. He’d seen Snape pissed, disturbingly happy, upset, in tears, but nothing matched this shattering torment. Tears stood out on his own cheeks in sympathy, barely noticed, barely cared for as he cradled the sobbing wizard in his arms, rocking him back and forth. He’d never felt so helpless in his life.  He clung to the other man, tried to be his rock, tried to soothe him, holding him in his arms, rubbing his back, gentle kisses to the twisted face – anything!

What was the cause of this? His mind raced for answers, for reasons, for ways to stop it – if this misery were a physical thing he would have torn it away with his bare hands.  Something to fight, some reason, give him something he could touch, could fight!

And a reason came to him. One that made his face pale. A Quidditch match. A Potter manoeuvre. An unnamed, unknown father.

Remus suspected the truth, but he wouldn't ask.  Nor would he tell - what good would it do? No one knew where he was anyway, whereas Severus was right here in front of him.

But how did you heal a pain like this? How could you?

In the end, he did all he could. Be there for him, whispering soft, loving words, battling the sorrow the best way he could, letting the other man cry himself out, holding him as they rode it out together.

In between the tears the words stuttered out, brief words, useless words, words that made Remus’ gut clench.  Words damning himself for his own stupidity, cursing himself for being so weak – weak! To go through something like this, to know feelings like this took strength, far greater strength than he knew.

And then the apologies. The apologies, endless apologies for wasting his time, for being so weak, again and again, twisting deeper and further in his stomach.  This wasn’t the Severus he knew, proud and unafraid, this was some other creature, struggling like a newborn foal in a wave of long repressed regrets and fears, self-loathing leading the seemingly never-ending charge.

The tears died slowly, taking an eon to abate, leaving Snape staring across the room. “How can you stand me, Remus?” he whispered, staring blank eyed and hollow at his reflection in the mirror.  “How can you stand what I am?”

Remus resumed his rocking. “You’re a man who risked his life again and again to protect the people that scorned him, and asked nothing in return but the right to be himself.  You’re bad tempered, horribly biased towards your children in your house, and one of the bravest and most honest people I know.  You’re a man I’ve come respect, and admire…” and the last was soft, almost whispered. “And a man I’ve come to love very, very much.”

Silence.  Nothing was said for a quiet while, then Severus shifted against him, slowly, almost ponderously turning to look into his face.  Their eyes were bare inches apart, studying each other.

The kiss was soft and slow, learning and gentle. Remus cupped the back of the other man’s neck in his palm, feeling soft, warm skin, whisps of black hair drifting across the back of his hand. It wasn’t greasy at all.

Severus’ hands drifted down from his shoulders to rest at his waist, stroking the sides of his robe, tiny clenching and releasing of the material there. Remus was warm, and loving, gentle, but strong, all the things he’d thought he would be.

They separated slowly and reluctantly and he rested his forehead against the other man’s, moving his head back and forth a little to rub noses.  Remus let his eyes slip closed, content to just hold and be held, sharing the other man’s breath, the feel of him. Severus’ hands still at his waist, playing with his robes, slow circles and abstract patterns.

“We can’t…we can’t have sex…” Snape whispered into his mouth, fingers making odd, worried patterns in the other mans robe. “Poppy says it’s not safe.”

For an instant Remus felt a sudden fury well up inside him. Something like that wasn’t in Severus’ nature, it was taught to him.  He wanted to go out and hurt everyone who had taught the other man that love meant sex, that comfort was paid for with passion, no foundation, no courting, just raw, soulless fucking.  Then it faded, an incredible sadness taking its place.

His eyes drifted open. Tear-streaked and tired, Snape had never looked more beautiful to him. Reaching out, he stroked a finger over the other man’s lips, thrilling at the permission to do even that.  “I don’t want sex, Severus,” he said softly. Instant gratification, jumping into bed and screwing like ferrets after first, stumbling confessions of love, that wasn’t what he wanted.  It was cheap, it was crude, and somehow demeaning to what he felt. “I want you.”

Words failed the usually articulate potions master.  It was all he could do to sit there, a vague, disbelieving look on his face.  Stroking a hand down the pale features, Remus drew him in again, feather light kisses across that proud nose,  those tear stained cheeks.  His mind cast up an odd skerrick of song – dry your tears with love – and he chuckled a little at it, arms weaving under the other man’s robes to gently embrace the body beneath them, feeling hands creep around him in return, hesitantly, like frightened mice.  Snape rested his head against the werewolf’s collarbone, breathing in the scent of him, eyes slipping closed as peace finally drifted across the scarred battlefield of his soul.

And then someone knocked on the door.

“Shit.” He laughed outright at the other man’s curse, the sound muffled and slowly pulled away.  Remus released him, slowly, reluctantly and cupped a hand against his cheek. “I’ll go see who it is,” he whispered, brushing his lips against Snape’s forehead as he climbed off the bed. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” Closing the door behind him, he slipped into the main chamber and answered the now-pounding summons.

It was Sirius.

“Where’s Snape?” the animagus demanded without preamble, striding across the room to stick his head inside the bathroom and peer about in search for the absent Wizard.  “He all right? He didn’t eat any of those hot dog things Hagrid was handing out, did he?” Raising an eyebrow in sheer bewilderment, Remus shook his head. “Good. I didn’t think he had, but Pomfrey sent me down here to make sure.  Stoat! He made the bloody things out of stoat! The game had to be cancelled since half the school threw up on the players, Merlin knows when there’ll be a rematch.  Sinistra chucked up on Trelawney – ha! The old bat didn’t see that coming – Dumbledore’s still fishing chunks from his beard, there’s a line to the infirmary three miles long from panicked students convinced they’re dying of food poisoning – mind you there are a few legitimate cases…” he stopped to take a breath and blinked at the werewolf. “What happened to you? You look like I just walked in on you….oh no…..oh Moony you haven’t…”

Remus poker-faced him.

“Oh sod, you have, haven’t you?”  Sirius sprawled down on the nearest couch.  Truth be told, he wasn’t that surprised.  The sheer amount of time he spent around his old friend had rapidly become the sheer amount of time he’d spent with both Remus and Snape, and despite the blind spot the rest of the staff seemed to have regarding the pair, he’d seen it coming. In fact he was surprised it had taken this long.

The werewolf followed, carefully seating himself next to the animagus. “You’re taking this…different to what I expected,” he ventured. “Given the...ah...history you and Severus had.”

“You mean the time I turned his hair pink or the time he turned me into a gerbil? Remus, I’m not really that surprised.  Even a blind man could see what was going on between you two.  Ask me a year ago and I would have had you committed. Ask me two years ago and I would have kicked your arse around the Quidditch pitch until your brains came back.  But now…” he sighed. Harry wasn’t the only one who’d grown up.

“It’s your life, Moony. Your heart.  I’m glad you’ve got someone, you weren’t meant for being alone. And as for it being Snape…well, I’ve gotten used to him. Don’t mistake me – he’s a NEWT-level prick. He was a prick when we were in school, he’s a prick now, and he’ll be a prick far into the future.  But I’ve kind of gotten used to the sour-faced old bastard. He’s like a pet dog. You know the kind, evil-tempered, foul-smelling, whizzes on the chair legs…” He shrugged for effect. “….but you’re used to him. Same with Snape.”

“I’m pleased you think so highly of me.” The dry tone turned both their heads. Severus had emerged from his bedroom.  He’d washed his face, but his eyes were still red, voice raw from tears. Master of his rooms, lord of spite, and so worn and desolate-looking that Sirius felt an odd sympathy.  He didn’t let it show. Snape wouldn’t thank him for gushing words of concern.  “Speaking of dogs, how is dear Fluffy?”

Remus turned a peculiar colour and had a sudden coughing fit.  Sirius on the other hand, wasn’t taking the bait. “Fluffy? Please, Flitwick’s poodle isn’t my type at all,” he responded evenly. “Far too poofy.  There was this Lahsa Apso on the other hand….”

An odd look crossed Snape’s face, and for an instant, he wasn’t sure whether or not to take the animagus seriously.

But he was too tired to start an argument, soul-weary and wanted nothing more than the glorious oblivion of sleep.  Uncaring of the other two, he turned to go back to his private rooms and stumbled a little.  To his astonishment, there were two pairs of hands there to aid him, not just one, two bodies supporting him, two voices talking idly to him as their owners helped him into a nightshirt and to his bed.

Seated on the side, he peered up at the other two men, looking little more to Sirius than an overtired child desperately in need of a nap. “Go to sleep, Snapey-boy,” he ruffled the other man’s hair mischievously, unable to stop the laugh at the pitiful version of a baleful glare shot his way.

“Sod off, Black.” The animagus knew how much he’d loathed that nickname as a child. He arched gingerly over onto his side, hating that brief moment between controlled movement and sheer force of gravity before he met the mattress. He felt groggy, out of focus, and to tell the truth his snipe at Black had been the last vague fumbling of a mind descending into fog.  His bed was soft, welcoming….and so very, very lonely.  Slowly he shifted until his back was to the other two, a stubborn insistence on keeping whatever remained of his pride intact, preventing them from seeing his face. Curled up on his side, he pressed his head deep into the pillow, his hand drifting to its habitual rest on his swollen belly to comfort himself.

The voices behind him rose a little, then faded.  He felt a brush of air against the back of his neck as the sheets were lifted, then a warm body was slipping underneath them, pressing up against his back, gentle arms wrapping around him.

He raised his head groggily, eyes struggling to stay open. “Remus..?"

“shhh…” a hand stroked gently down his chest, resting on his stomach and entwining with his fingers. “Sleep, Severus. I promise I won’t leave you alone…”

He relaxed into the warmth of the embrace, feeling safe for the first time in what seemed forever.  He squeezed the fingers entangled with his once, feeling an answering motion and drifted to sleep with the pattern of soft breath against his cheek, the steady heartbeat at his back.

***

“I didn’t know, not for sure.” Remus said slowly. “And then when ‘Minta was born, I nearly knew, but not for sure, I couldn’t for sure.  Not until Hagrid told me.” His eyes closed, words accelerating, tumbling from his mouth. “And in the infirmary…Severus had a house elf bring me his pensieve. I saw….I saw everything. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to taint it with emotions or words so he showed me the memories and I know everything, Sirius. I know how it happened and what happened and I know more than Severus thinks because what he and Harry had…” his voice broke. “There’s no place for me in that! No place at all…what they had Sirius, god, it was fire and passion and something like that doesn’t just die!” He buried his face in his hands as his fears finally ripped free.  “God Sirius, oh god, he’s going to go back to Harry, I know it. He’s going to go back to him….and there’s no place for me…All I can do is make it right, all I can do is try and make it for the right reasons, make it real again…..oh god Sirius, what am I going to do without him?”

Reaching out, Sirius rested a helpless hand on the other man’s shoulder.  Then pulled him into his arms.  Yes, Snape was still a prick. But Remus was his best friend.

Guilt prickled at him. And what about Harry?  Merlin’s beard, arse and balls, this was one hell of a mess. He honestly couldn’t see a resolution, either way someone he loved was going to hurt. And badly. All he could do was be there for them, his friend and godson, no matter which way the dice rolled. One problem at a time, just take it one problem at a time, and maybe that way he could keep his sanity intact, without feeling like he was betraying one half of his life for the other.

“If he’s yours, you can’t lose him, Moony.” He whispered, slowly rocking the man in his arms. “And if you can – he never was.” Poor words of comfort, but the only ones he could really offer.

He just wished he knew it would be all right.
 

Chapter Eighteen

All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
Last modified: November 12, 2010