A Matter of Trust

Written for my Remus.

Severus Snape did not do trust. In his experience, trust only led to betrayal. And betrayal was a word he was too familiar with. It formed part of his shadow. He played the trust game, though. He let others believe that they knew him, and his motives, and his thoughts because - well - life was easier that way. He hated Harry Potter. He hated Gryffindor. He hated Neville Longbottom. He hated teaching. He was a cruel, sadistic bastard with no family, no connections, and no friends. He wanted Harry Potter dead, apparently, too.

Fine. Let them think that.

He was walking the Hogwarts corridors, late at night. It was Halloween. Sleep had never been kind to him on Halloween night. His arm burned with the reminder of the Dark Lord's fall - and perhaps his imminent return - and he had received much bad news that night. Lily had died - and she had been like a sister to him. They had parted on bad terms, of course. But she had never deserved to die. A child, left an orphan. Severus felt something similar to pity for Harry Potter and the upbringing he had received through no fault of his own. Of course, as far as his Death-Eater counterparts were concerned, Severus hated Harry because he was the reason for the Dark Lord's downfall.

Let them think that, too.

He hesitated in his aimless journey, seeing a light on at the end at the end of the corridor. It could not be a student. Because it was the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office. And the Defence teacher was Remus Lupin. And he was, apparently, a hated enemy of Severus.

Fine, let them think that as well.

He was going to walk straight past. He promised himself that, for days afterward. He should have walked straight past. But he couldn't. Something stopped him. He hesitated by the open door, unsure of his own motives. He leaned against the doorframe, listening silently.

Maybe it was because they both lost something on Halloween, 1981. And Remus Lupin lost more than Severus. He pushed the door back, just slightly, well aware he was disturbing privacy. "Lupin?"

Lupin was sat in an armchair, staring at the fire. One hand was propping his chin up, elbow bent. His eyes were unfocused, shoulder slightly slumped, legs crossed. Severus was struck with the very sitting position - because it was something he adopted on a regular basis. He knocked to announce his presence, but Remus did not move. Severus stepped in further, concerned now. He should have left. Why didn't he leave? He should have left.

He crossed to Lupin's side, reaching out to touch his arm. Still, Remus did not stir, or look up from the fire. Severus kept his fingers there for as long as he could, before almost drawing back.

Almost.

"Stay."

The whisper was hoarse, and weak. Severus knelt by the chair, not used to being reassuring - and not used to being concerned - but there was something between them. Some silent understanding. Some link.

A link from their past, perhaps? Perhaps their present. Something they had in common.

He rested his cold hand on top of Remus', and the younger man latched on immediately, linking their fingers and clenching them tight, knuckles almost white. He could feel the hand shaking, and he did not draw away.

"Do you trust anyone, Severus?"

Severus stayed silent. He thought it was most likely a rhetorical question.

"I trusted, once. He killed my best friends."

"I know."

"No one has ever been able to tell me why."

Severus did not know the answer to this, either. He simply moved his hand so it could stay within Remus'.

"You lost everything, that night. How do you cope?"

"By pretending."

"Does the hurt fade?"

Severus nodded, because he did not want to lie - and because he thought it was the truth. "In time. You need to let it out, though."

"I can't. How can I do that if there is no trust?"

"Because you can learn to trust again."

"Have you?"

"…Not yet. But I am willing to learn."

Remus shook his head. "I am not. Why should I?"

"Because it helps." He hesitated. "I'm sorry, Remus."

Remus looked at him, brown eyes clouded and hidden. "What?

"Has anybody said that to you, and meant it? I am sorry that your trust was betrayed."

Remus stared at him for a long moment. "Thank you."

Severus nodded. "And…if you were looking to…talk…I do not do much with my evenings…"

Remus half smiled at this. "I'll think about it."

Severus stood. "You should sleep."

"I cannot."

"Neither can I."

Remus did not let go of his hand immediately. "So stay?"

Severus nodded. "I'd like that."

That night, something fragile was formed. A bond. A bond formed in silence, and the flickering of the flames, and the comfort of another's breathing on the sofa.

And the next morning, at breakfast, Remus Lupin's blank mask was back in place. And when Severus seated himself three chairs down, he did not glance toward the werewolf.

But when the meal time was finished, and the werewolf stood, his eyes met Severus'.

And there was the smallest, faintest, tiniest smile, which Severus almost returned.

He would help Remus Lupin to trust once more. Because if he could achieve that, then perhaps finally, he would find his own redemption.

And maybe something more, besides.

Maybe a friendship.