Letters

by Pluto / pluto @ umbrellastudios.com

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Rating: PG-13
Fandom and Pairings: HP RL/SS
Status: Complete
Date: 5/10/02
Archive: ask for permission
Author's website: http:www.umich.edu/~lizcheng/
Disclaimers: These characters don't even remotely belong to me, but to JKR and co! The original concept of this fic doesn't even belong to me, it's based on a fic by Dee.

Notes: This is a sequel to Dee's fic, "Enough," but can probably be read standalone as well. Enough is archived at: http:www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=718422 This takes place between PoA and GoF.

Thank you to Dee for writing "Enough" and letting me write a sequel, to Cymraes and Tammy Lee for the incredikickass betas, and Janette for rooting me on even though she had not read "Enough" yet.

All feedback wanted and welcome, including constructive criticism and corrections!

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He had thought that the words would have been difficult, if not impossible. It seemed he was right as he sat rigidly at his desk, quill in hand, ink staining the inside of his middle finger.

Severus Snape picked up the letter that had arrived by owl-post at breakfast. Opening it was something he had avoided for as long as his nature would allow; but in the end, old spite had won out over dread. He tore open the seal certain he would find something unpleasant, accusing words beneath the veil of friendliness.

But it was nothing of the sort, and now that he thought about it, he should have known better: Remus Lupin never had to resort to the petty games that Severus found himself playing again and again.

Dear Severus,

I am well, as I am sure you were wondering.

I hope that things have been fine at Hogwarts. Would say they are much improved now that you are not making Wolfsbane potion, but I received your package the other day, so I know better. You hate to hear it, of course, but thank you.

There is not much to tell-- got chased out of a village the other day, that ought to be worth a smile. Been getting to know the English countryside rather well, lately. Also been thinking of France, or Romania... Have you ever visited Provence? Lately, I've the itch to see it-- I've never been. But my French was always rather pathetic...

Severus could almost picture Lupin's insufferable smile at that moment: slightly self-mocking, disarming, reaching even those sad eyes. The thought made him set the letter down, and for a moment his fingers twitched, longing to just throw it into the fire; instead he forced them to pick up the quill.

He considered the blank parchment laid out before him.

Lupin, he wrote, but that was all. There was nothing after it.

He considered crossing out the name and writing Remus, but he could not bring himself to make such a sloppy correction. Nor could he bring himself to throw away the parchment, so he just stared at the offending name and wrote nothing.

But he could not accept merely sitting there and staring, so he forced himself to put pen to paper, willing words to come when there was nothing to say.

The children are beasts, as usual, came out of his quill without him thinking. Harry Potter is the worst of all.

His mouth twitched. He certainly couldn't send the letter as it was, the insufferable Potter being Lupin's former prize student and all. But his fingers paid this fact no mind, and continued writing. Dumbledore is a fool. Without pause he crossed out fool and replaced it with old fool.

He couldn't help but smile then, just a touch, and his head felt oddly light. He wondered if Lupin had put some spelled powder or some such on the letter, but thought he would have noticed such a thing. Once loosed, his quill would not stop, and he found himself scratching out increasingly foolish -- but honest -- things.

McGonagall has been hovering around like the old bat that she is, waiting to deduct points from Slytherin. Trelawney is still predicting that I'll be eaten by some horrible monster-- as if she could predict her way out of a paper bag. And Black has hopefully been --

He stopped. Found by the Dementors had nearly come out of his quill, but he could not bring himself to finish, even if Lupin would never see the letter. His lip curled, though he was unaware of it. With broad strokes that might have wavered ever so slightly as they ended, he struck out Black's name entirely.

His hand hovered over the parchment; an ink blot splashed to the page like a tear, but he paid it no mind. His stroke was unsteady when he wrote next: I can't do this. He crossed that out too; if possible, he obliterated it with more ferociousness than before. I want to--

He stopped again. With an abrupt motion, he snatched the parchment from his desk and threw it into the fire. The edges caught immediately, darkening inward; a patch just above the two crossed out lines caught as well, and he watched the words burn away with a touch of regret.

Angrily he forced the emotion away, pushing back his sleeves and seizing his quill once more. In strong handwriting, more defiant than he felt, he wrote:

Lupin,

I am afraid that I simply cannot continue to correspond with you. Things will be quite busy this summer, what with Dumbledore planning to host the Triwizard Tournament this coming semester. Do not continue to send owls, as I will be unable to respond.

S. Snape.

Setting down his quill, he regretted the letter immediately; but instead of discarding it he swept his robes around him and crossed the room to Lupin's owl. The parchment slipped from his fingers before he could tie it on, and he stood staring dumbly for a moment at it as it lay by his feet. Then he bent to retrieve it, rising to fasten it to the owl's leg, and shooed the shabby brown bird out the window.

In a few powerful wing beats the owl was off and he found the empty sky staring back at him. His insides felt oddly empty as he turned back to his office. To push the feeling out of his thoughts, he straightened out his desk: wiped the quill clean and set it to one side, stacked the parchment and stowed it in a drawer.

Eventually the only thing out of place was Lupin's letter, and he found it hard to pick up, even to throw it away. But his fingers and his neat tendencies swept it up, and he could not escape the scrawling handwriting on it, or the slight smell of something outdoorsy that lingered on the paper. He had pressed it to his face and inhaled before he heard the door open, so that he did not have time to hide it

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" he snapped, before he saw that it was the Headmaster. He could not decide if this was the worst person who could have interrupted him, or the best. Albus Dumbledore was the one person at the school who would have figured out Snape's secret for himself. He had a way of just knowing that made Snape feel watched and paranoid. As if he didn't feel those things enough already, as if there was any place he could hide from those that might watch him.

"I am sorry to intrude, Severus," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling, "Merely about for an evening walk. I did not see you at dinner tonight."

The Headmaster did not specifically look at the letter, but Snape knew his attentions were on it, nonetheless. He folded the letter with a quick flick of his fingers and set it on his desk. "I had other things to attend to." He volunteered no other information, even though he knew he would have to speak if Dumbledore pressed him further.

But the Headmaster merely nodded, and for a moment his expression was contemplative, sending irritation burning through Snape. "You know, you do not always have to be alone, Severus."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Snape snapped, before he could hold his tongue. And in truth he would have said it anyway, Dumbledore or no, he thought.

Dumbledore was unmoved. "You know very well what I mean, Severus."

"Just because I do not choose to mingle with the rest of the faculty does not mean I am alone, Headmaster."

Albus Dumbledore was looking at the letter on his desk, then, and looking up at him, smiling. But he said nothing about it, and then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Snape lashed out once, knocking over the neat pile on his desk, but the action was futile. He did not feel relieved or better. Brusquely he gestured with his wand, muttering, "Tergeo," and the spilled pens and books straightened themselves.

"I am not alone," he repeated, even though there was no one to hear him. He swept up the letter, his robes swirling around him, and flicked his hand as if to throw it into the fire; but the parchment never left his fingers, and in the end, he tucked it in to his sleeve and swept out of the room.

* * *

He kept the letter there for first half of the summer break, and it remained well-hidden. He did not let himself read it again. Having the letter with him became habit, fetched out before he changed for bed, tucked in before he stepped out his rooms. When he was most annoyed, he would take it out in the privacy of his office, unfold it, turn it about in his fingers. Sometimes he even thought about writing another reply; but Remus Lupin had honored his request, and no owls had come since. Snape had made another batch of Wolfsbane potion, as Lupin was surely running low, but he included a note making it quite clear that it was Dumbledore's wish and not his own.

Lupin had not even sent a customary thank you, and Snape was surprised to find himself worrying for the safety of the werewolf; but the owl did return to the Owlery, without the package, so it must have been received.

As the summer wore on, however, he eventually found himself in his rooms, in a chair, reading the letter from Remus.

Only, he slowly realized, it was not the same letter.

I hope you don't mind, the letter said, about the third paragraph down, but at least I haven't sent any more owls.

The writing was slowly appearing, and Snape could imagine Lupin's hand hovering above the parchment, scratching out the thin, looping words. Will be in Hogsmeade on business-- Dumbledore-- and I was hoping perhaps--

And then the words paused, as if Lupin was hesitant to say what he wanted to say. Snape let out a long breath he did not know he had been holding; his hands were unsteady and he wanted to put the letter away once more, but as always, he could not force himself to do so.

Perhaps we might meet up... Send an owl if you think it's alright. RJL.

Snape sat perfectly still in his chair for a long, uncomfortable moment, then lurched to his feet stiffly. See Lupin again? Some part of him wanted it too badly for words; but another part of him remembered the unyielding lips beneath his, remembered Lupin stepping back to break the foolish kiss he'd dared to give the werewolf. He had suffered enough humiliation at the hands of the Marauders; and now that Black was back, who was to say he hadn't put Lupin up to another prank?

What spell had he been under when he had agreed that perhaps- just maybe, somehow - Lupin and himself could be friends? Especially after exposing his throat like that, thrusting himself out for the monster to tear him to shreds. He had gambled his trust before, hadn't he?

And what had it earned him? A place in Hogwarts, hiding behind Dumbledore's power, trembling from the mention of his former fellow Death Eaters as if he were a squib or Mudblood.

Snape crumpled Lupin's letter in his fist, and hurled it into the fire. I could always use another friend, Lupin had said, but Snape snapped aloud, "I don't need your friendship."

Holding his anger before him like a torch, he forced himself to watch the letter burn; and then, turning sharply on his heel, he stalked away.

And so it was with great surprise that he walked into his office two weeks later, and found Lupin sitting in his favorite chair, thumbing through his treasured copy of Peruvian Poisons and Potions.

"Lupin," he said, and he could not help sounding angry.

Lupin set the book down, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. There were a few more lines on his face, a few more grey hairs, since Snape had seen him last. And that had only been-- what-- a few months ago?

"Dumbledore let me in," Lupin was saying, getting to his feet, extending his hand to Snape. He remembered the gesture, the gesture they had parted with, the one he still regretted. Still, however reluctantly, he clasped the outstretched fingers, shook hands.

He let their fingers stay locked together a little too long, feeling the calluses covering the palm, wondering if the wear endured as a wolf stayed with the man during the rest of the moon's cycle. Remembering the scrawling script that covered the pages of the letter he had cherished, and burned.

"Apparently no one at Hogwarts has respect for one's private space any more." He made the disapproval evident on his face, let a sneer curl his lip.

"You never knocked either," Lupin replied, but his words were tossed off casually, without malice. He was still smiling. Snape narrowed his eyes.

"What exactly do you want, Lupin? Surely one letter doesn't make us friends for life."

Lupin shrugged. "Maybe a handshake and several boxes of Wolfsbane potion do?"

"If that were true," Snape said shortly, "I should have friends over all of Europe."

Lupin's grin widened. "Why Severus, you make Wolfsbane potion for so many people?"

"You know what I meant." Snape's mouth tightened.

"Of course," Lupin said, and he laughed, but he did not sound happy. "I just thought-- well. I've run into Sirius again, and we were talking, and it was nice."

"You came to tell me about that murderer?" Even to his own ears, Snape's voice sounded tight, full of repressed fury. He could feel his short nails digging into his palm, though he couldn't remember making a fist.

Lupin's cheeks had flushed, and he held up both hands, ducking his head. "No, no... I mean, it just reminded me. That I was sorry you decided not to write. That I really did want to get to know you. I meant it, Severus. And since I was in the area, I--"

"I'm not interested in being your friend, Remus."

He said the words and he meant them, and Lupin was quiet. But not for the reason he'd thought, not because his sharp tongue had cut the werewolf down. "'Remus,'" Lupin said finally, "Well, that's something."

The werewolf smiled, and Snape realized his error. "I didn't mean anything by that--"

"Of course not, Severus." The smile was still there, generous, mocking in that it was so utterly not mocking. "It was good to see you again. I'm glad I was able to stop by."

Remus-- Lupin-- was leaving then, opening the door, stepping into the doorway. Snape felt his guts wrench, and muttering, he grabbed a hold of Lupin's elbow, and said, "Wait."

"Yes?" Lupin quirked an eyebrow. He seemed almost surprised.

Snape's mouth opened, but for once, no words came out, cruel or kind.

And then Lupin's hand was over his, and Lupin was smiling, goddammit, always smiling. "It's nothing," Snape breathed, his entire body stiff, neck to knees.

He fled because it was the only thing his mind could truly comprehend at that moment, other than that urge, that horrible, repulsive urge that had first taken him on that night before Lupin's departure. He retreated behind his desk, sat down in his chair as if a man in shock.

"Severus?"

He could not look up, paralyzed in his chair. But then the warm breath washed over his cheek, and he had to look, and Remus was leaning over him. He was still then, still as stone, and Remus was leaning in to--

Remus was leaning in and kissing him, and he met the kiss with a sort of awkward, utter stillness; the sort possessed only by a man who has forbidden himself something he wants very, very badly and finds that finally, it is his.

"Goodbye, Severus."

The words inspired him to motion, and he was suddenly gripping handfuls of Lupin's robes, and pulling him in, pressing their faces so hard together that he swore his lips would be bruised and swollen. When he finally let go, he was gasping, and so was Remus; and fiercely he said, "But I still owe you a letter...."

Remus's mouth was back on him, tracing the line of the pulse at his throat, the lightest touch of lips resting just beneath his ear. Remus was kissing him there, one kiss, light as a feather, and then he was pulling away, his hands on Snape's shoulders, looking him in the eye.

"Then I'll have to go quickly," Remus said with a smile, "So that I'll receive your letter sooner."

"Let me write it now," he countered breathlessly, and his fingers seized a quill.

"Severus..." Lupin caught his wrist. Ink spilled from the tip of the pen, slid over Snape's palm, traced the contact of Remus's skin on his own. "I really do have to go...."

Their eyes met, and Snape saw for the second time the slight sadness in his eyes, the regret, and it dawned on him. "You... You ran into Black again. And... of course." He wrenched away from Remus, hurling the quill to the desktop, stiffening his back into a straight rod. "I was right. The last time. What was this, a joke? I'm sure you and Black will have a nice laugh over it." His mouth was dry, his head spinning, sick with anger.

"No, Severus," Lupin's voice was so damnably reasonable, it only sharpened Snape's anger.

"I should have known better-- 'Friends!'" he spat. "Friends with the best friend - or worse - of a murderer--!"

He was so blinded by rage that he did not see Lupin take out his wand, and so it was too late when he heard, "Petrificus Totalus!"

And then he was falling over, his body immobile. He waited for the crack of his skull against the desk or the floor, laughing bitterly at himself for ever trusting -- the werewolf.

But Lupin's arms caught him before either could happen; Lupin eased him into his chair, and arranged him as comfortably as he could tell. "I am sorry," he said, bending down slightly so that he was eye-to-eye with Snape. "I do have to go, and it is because of Sirius. But it's not... what you think, Severus. He and I, we have a lot of catching up to do. As friends. That's all. A lot to straighten out."

Snape did not keep the disbelief and hate out of his eyes. If he could not speak it, he would will Remus to feel it. Lupin only shook his head, and looked pained. "I don't know how to make you believe me." His words were subdued. "But I am really interested in getting to know you, Severus. And not just because I want to be your friend."

Snape wanted to blink, to scream, to spit in Lupin's face for those words, but he could only sit there and glare at the werewolf.

Lupin was not unaware of his anger, flinching under it, looking away. He searched the room, then, as if searching for the right thing to say at the same time. His eyes swept across Snape's desk, landed on the abandoned quill, the feather slightly crumpled. He picked it up and turned it about in his fingers, smoothing the hairs out with one hand; and then he looked at Snape.

A smile spread over Lupin's face, genuine, warm and mischievous.

Then Remus's hands were warm on Snape's chest, pulling up his robes until his bare stomach showed. Snape would have recoiled if he could, but he could only sit there, perfectly still, frozen under the spell.

Remus was between his knees then, and Snape wanted to shiver.

It began as a point of coolness on his stomach, just under his ribcage. And then if he were free to move, he might have let out a burst of laughter: it was a light scratching, smooth and slightly trembling and looping, and he would have known it even if he hadn't seen the letter. Lupin was writing something, and it was impossibly frustrating that he could not look down and see exactly what he was writing. But he could no more bend his neck to look than he could squirm, and so he merely sat there, seething with frustration, waiting for the feeling to stop.

The easy scratch of the quill on his belly quickly became maddening, though not only for his inability to see what was being written. The ink was cool on his skin as it dried, and the stroke of the words strangely sensuous. A moan shuddered through him, though he could not move a muscle to properly release it.

Lupin finished with a flourish around his belly button, and Snape could feel the werewolf's hand slide appreciatively over the hardness straining at his trousers before he put the quill away. Then Remus was face to face with him, and kissing him once. Snape regretted fiercely that this time he was the one who was unresponsive-- not out of any desire of his own-- before he remembered that Lupin had all but spit in his face and sided with Black after all.

No, not just sided. Sleeping with. In love with, maybe. Giving everything that he, Snape, had desired, to that murderous bastard....

But Remus kept on kissing him, and he found it hard to hold that Black was getting more than he was. He ached to kiss that rough mouth back, to let his tongue meet the one running over his lip, to cling to Lupin and not let go, to write his own mark on Remus's neck and mouth and belly....

Finally Lupin broke away, pressing his face to Snape's ear. He lightly caught the curve of it in his teeth, and then whispered, "Don't forget to write back." He stood up half-way, met Snape's look with one that seemed infinitely less regretful. "Finite Incantatum!"

Snape stood up out of the chair as quickly as he could, reaching after Lupin, but he was not fast enough, and the desk got in his way. He stumbled and cursed. Remus was gone. He could probably have run after him, he couldn't have gone far; but such a thing did not seem worth his dignity. And besides...

He conjured up a mirror from his rooms with a minor translocation spell, and pulled up his robes in front of it. Another spell and a tap of his wand reversed the image so that he could read what was written.

Dear Severus,
Stop being so stubborn, and write me.
(You are terribly cute when you are angry.)
Love,
RJL

Snape snorted, running his hand over the ink, smearing the still-wet edge on the loop of the J. "Well, if you put it that way," he muttered, sitting at his desk.

Somehow, it was easier to find words, this time.