Author's note: This story is available in its uncensored form out of general circulation, in that other section of the library. Be sure to bring a note from your professor.

The werewolf lurched slowly forward, his yellow eyes locked on his prey. He was hungry, and he had been chasing a stag through the Forbidden Forest when the smell of man had overtaken him. It had been strong and lush and impossible to resist; it had coursed through his veins, crazing him with desire. He had tracked his unwitting prey here, to this clearing, where the man stood frozen, not five feet away.

The werewolf lifted his long snout and inhaled deeply the intoxicating scent. He could almost hear the sweet swish of blood through the man's body. Surprisingly little fear. Resignation. Defiance. Pride. The man held the werewolf's eyes as if daring him to make the first move. That would be his last mistake.

Severus Snape did not allow a muscle to twitch. He schooled his blinks to come slow and deliberate, his heartrate- which he knew the wolf could sense- to gentle. He concentrated on lowering his breath to his diaphragm. Not a trace of fear must he betray, despite the terror that clattered his arteries. Five feet away now. He had known he was being tracked for some time, and had thought he might be able to make it to Hagrid's hut. He had fought the dreadful desire to run, knowing it would be the signal to his stalker to pounce. He had forced himself to move purposefully, to stop and listen, to make the creature- whatever it was- wonder, at least. Hesitate. Reconsider. And in some part of his brain that he had shoved back under, he had known what creature it was that had caught his scent. He had known all his life that this moment would come to take its measure of him. And now that it was here, he felt a surge of pleasure that he could face it, that the terror and the panic had not mastered him, that the intervening years since he had last stared into that dripping maw had altered him, and not all for the worse.

Only one chance would he be granted, to reach with careful fingers for his wand and bodybind the creature before it could spring. The powerful muscles of its haunches revealed that indeed it would be able to cover the distance in less time than it would take him to cast the spell. Nevertheless, he was unwilling to abandon the chance. Despite its bitterness, life handed him every now and then a drop of sweet, and he would not relinquish it without a fight. He raised his hand, painfully slowly, to brush the inside of his robe where his wand rested. He felt the comforting hard length of it against his chest as he breathed in and out. The wolf growled. He could feel the low tremor of that growl pulse in the earth beneath him. The lips curled back from the ragged fangs in a hideous grimace. And now his hand was on the wand, in another second he would have it out.

The wolf saw the man's miscalculation before he did, and he sprang. His last sight before his eyes slipped shut for the kill was the widening of the man's black eyes -- and then he felt his jaws close around fur, the soft yielding flesh he had expected was gone, and he yelped in surprise and anger. Something was on top of him, and he was rolling over and over, he was under attack, and his rage knew no bounds.

Snape's knees threatened to buckle under him. He had not even seen the other creature hurtle out of the shadows right at the throat of the werewolf, knocking him over with the force of his leap. He fought the instinct to flee, and whipped out his wand. The wolf and the other creature were a tangle of fur and saliva now, and flecks of blood spattered him when the werewolf shook his jowls. The other creature was renewing his attack now, aiming for the haunches, and as he sprang though a patch of moonlight Snape clearly saw the shape of the large black dog and his breath caught.

He aimed his wand at the wolf, concentrating on the stream of his spell. But the wolf and the dog were moving too fast for his aim to be true, and he held off. If he misfired, the dog would be at the mercy of the wolf for a few agonising seconds before he could correct himself and recast, and a few seconds would be all the werewolf would need to finish his prostrtate opponent. He dare not interfere until he was sure, and he dare not wait much longer- the dog was having the worst of it.

The wolf's larger, more powerful form countered the lean dog's quick lunges, but the dog could not evade those crushing jaws forever. With a swipe of his forepaw, the dog went flying and landed with a sickening crack. The wolf had him pinned. The dog was a bloody mess of jutting bone and fur, beyond even lifting his head to face the wolf as he leaped through the air at him, and the dog smelled his death and saw it in the yellowed fangs that descended on him-

"Petrificus Totalus."

The wolf fell to the earth with a heavy thud. Snape toed the creature out of the way and bent over the dog, whose breath whistled and bubbled out the gaping wound in his throat. With infinite care, he lifted the dog in his arms and began his slow walk back toward the castle.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Drink this."

Sirius Black attempted to focus his eyes, but saw only hazy gray shapes. His head fell back on the pillow. An arm reached around and lifted his head, pouring something liquid and thick down his throat. It felt warm as it pushed through him. He was back asleep before the hand could put him gently back on the pillow.

Snape wiped the goblet and set it on the table, watching his patient carefully for a few minutes. He took out his watch and monitored respiration rate, then felt for the pulse. He frowned slightly and scribbled some notes on a scrap of parchment on the bedside table, then ran his hands through his hair. He sighed. There was no delaying it any longer.

When he came into his office, Lupin was already seated on the chair by the window, slumped over. He leaped to his feet as Snape entered.

"Any change?"

Snape shook his head.

"Is that good?"

"No, it isn't." He poured himself a glass of water but did not offer one to Lupin.

"Has he been awake at all?"

"He roused just a few minutes ago, I think. I was able to get him to drink rather than injecting him. He swallowed but went right back under."

Lupin began to pace. "It's been thirty-six hours, Snape. We've got to get him to St. Mungo's. We've got to try something else."

Snape's lip curled at the "we," but he refused to dignify it. "What Black needs, no one at St. Mungo's can give him. I am tired of explaining this to you. What sort of potions do you think I'm giving him? No mediwizard who values his license would touch the stuff. All St. Mungo's would do is lock him in a room until the next full moon with a bowl of water and a crust of bread. He wouldn't survive a night of it. Face it, Lupin, I'm his best chance."

The werewolf buried his head in his hands. "I know," came the muffled voice. "I'm sorry. I feel so useless."

"That's because you are. There's nothing you can do here besides bother me. If there's any change I'll let you know at once."

Lupin nodded. He was the very picture of despair and sleeplessness, a sight to inspire pity in any but the man before him. Snape felt nothing, only a physical disgust at his presence and a carefully tamped rage.

"Now I want to ask you some questions. What the hell happened?"

Lupin's eyes widened. "What do you mean? I don't bloody remember, I was-"

"With the Wolfsbane, you idiot. I brewed it exactly as I have for the past three years. I watched you drink it. And yet obviously, it failed to work. I have to know why if I am to fix it."

He shook his head and sat back on the narrow chair, hugging his arms. "I don't know. I just don't know. Nothing was different. I had no idea I was about to transform until it was too late. Thank God I was outside- when I think of what could have happened-"

"Stop your sniveling. It's not likely to help Black now. I need you to think very hard about anything you were doing, anything you might have touched or eaten or been exposed to in the 48 hours previous to drinking the Wolfsbane. I need a clear picture of all the variables before I can see what went wrong."

"All right. I'll get to work on that at once." He stood up as though happy to have a purpose, and strode out the door. Snape shut his eyes a moment when he was gone, relieved as always when an encounter with Lupin was over. His hatred of the man stung like bile in the back of his throat. It was all he could do not to strangle him, the mangy half-wit.

He collapsed on the narrow sofa in front of the fireplace and fell into fitful sleep. He knew no more until he felt a gentle hand shaking his shoulder and awoke to the tickling of a long white beard against his cheek.

"Severus? I'm sorry to wake you. I brought you some food. How long has it been since you've eaten?"

Snape ran a hand over his face and waved the food away. "I couldn't touch it, Albus. It smells revolting." He stumbled up and over to the bed, repeating his monitoring of the previous hour. "I've got to change his dressings. Do you want to help?"

"Of course." Dumbledore watched as Snape slowly unwound the long gauzey strips from Black's leg and side. He caught his breath when the bandage pulled away from the bloody pulp that was, or had been, Sirius Black's leg. He began cutting fresh bandages as Snape poured healing elixir into the raw wounds, muttering spells as he worked. When they were done, Dumbledore stood watching the sleeping man, a frown creasing his face.

"He's not healing, is he." It was not a question.

Snape shook his head. "Not as he should be, no. It's to be expected with a werewolf wound, I know. But it's worrisome. Those wounds show no response to any healing spell or elixir I've tried. But that isn't my chief concern."

"No. It wouldn't be. What do you think is happening?"

Snape sat back down and rubbed the back of his neck. "The poison has entered the bone. That's what's keeping those wounds from healing. The poison will kill him faster than the septicemia. If I could have kept him in his Animagus form longer, I might have been better able to counteract the poison's effect. But it was taking larger and larger amounts of the sedative to keep him from changing. It was just getting too dangerous. The truth is, I have no idea how the poison from a werewolf's bite affects an Animagus. And I don't think anyone else does, either."

"No, of course not. You're doing everything that can be done for him, Severus." Dumbledore rose and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Get some rest, my boy. I will sit with him for a while. Lie down again and sleep."

Snape shook his head. "No, I'm fine."

Dumbledore regarded him skeptically. "You will let me know what I can do."

"Of course."

He waited until the old wizard was halfway out the door before he mumbled, "I think it's my fault."

Dumbldedore stopped and said nothing for a while. "Why do you think that?" he asked at last.

"The mugwort," he said in a hoarse voice. "I always buy mugwort from Kringle's in Diagon Alley. Always. For twenty years. But last week I was in Hogsmeade, and Smoag had a special on, and I knew I was running low, so I thought- if I could avoid having to go to London, when I knew I was likely to be summoned soon- oh hell, I don't know what I was thinking. I know better than to change suppliers, and I should have checked every leaf, but I had projects coming due for both the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fourth years, and it was just mugwort, for God's sake, and I-"

Dumbledore stilled him with a hand on his shoulder. "You did nothing wrong, Severus. You can't know that it was the mugwort. It could have been anything. It could have nothing to do with the potion. I have every confidence you will get to the bottom of whatever happened. I have every confidence- in you." He left the younger man staring into the fire, adrift in thought.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Can I see him?"

"No, Mr. Potter, you may not. He is not even conscious. I won't have you falling into hysterics and blowing your nose on my bedlinens to no purpose. I will let you know the minute there is any change."

"Please, Professor Snape-" Harry put on his most pleading expression.

"Mr. Potter, how long have we had the pleasure of each other's acquaintance?"

"Um. . . seven years. Sir."

"And in all that time, have you ever known me to yield to persuasion of any sort?"

"Um. No, sir. I suppose not."

"Precisely." He sighed and frowned. Why could not Albus have done something with the boy? He was ill-equipped to offer any comfort. The plain fact was, Black was likely to die, and the sooner the boy dealt with it, the better. "Mr. Potter," he called to Harry's retreating back.

"Yes, sir?"

"Come by my rooms at seven tonight and you may see him." He turned and swept away before he had to endure the boy's tearful gratitude. Time for Potter to see what was so apparent to him: Sirius Black was a dead man.

Day five dawned clear and cold. Cold as Sirius Black's limbs. Snape ran an assessing hand over them, pressing gently. Cold as death. There was no stopping the poison now. Goddamn it to hell.

"Such language, Snape. I'm shocked."

The cracked voice coming from the direction of the pillowcase almost made him jump in the air. For a moment he was simply speechless at the sight of the clear gray eyes staring back at him, the small smile on the haggard face. He tried to erase his shocked expression.

"Finally decide to wake up, did you, Black? About time." He cleared the bedside table to mask his confusion and ponder what this could mean.

"Where am I?"

"In my rooms."

"Why?"

Snape ignored his question and lifted Black's wrist to feel the pulse. Strong and steady. Interesting. "Why what?"

"Why am I here?"

Snape glanced at him. "You were injured. I have been treating you."

"How?"

"With a combination of healing elixirs and potions I have been brewing especially for your-"

"No, I mean, how was I injured?"

Snape paused in his tidying. "You do not remember?"

"No." Black stared out the window, squinting at the weak light.

"You were attacked by a werewolf."

"A werewolf? Do you mean-"

"Yes, it was Lupin." He kept his voice neutral. "Although in all fairness I must point out you attacked him first."

"Is he all right?" Black's fist pulled weakly at the blanket and he appeared to be trying unsuccessfully to rise.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Lie back down. Lupin is fine. You fought with a werewolf, not a Labrador. I doubt he has a scratch on him."

"Oh. Well. That's- a relief, I guess."

"Drink this." Snape handed him a steaming goblet, helping him to sit up to down it. Afterward Black lay staring at the ceiling so long Snape thought he had drifted off again, but when he glanced over the wide gray eyes were unblinking.

"Why?"

"Hmm? Why what?"

"Why did I attack Remus?"

"You were trying to protect me."

Black made a small hacking noise that might have been a laugh. "Tell me another."

Snape rose with a wry smile and felt his limbs again while pretending to arrange the blankets. "How are you feeling?"

"Weak. Tired. I suspect you've got me too drugged up to feel any pain. Stop groping me surreptitiously. How far advanced is the poison?"

Snape straightened. "Pretty far. However, it's been five days. I would have expected the poison to have advanced even further."

"Will I die?"

"I don't know."

Black seemed satisfied with this answer, and rolled over to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"So he's awake?"

"Yes, for brief periods, but they are lengthening. He is lucid and calm. His wounds are beginning to show signs of healing, albeit slowly. The poison, however, continues to spread."

"Have you found any potion that slows it?"

"It is impossible to gauge what effect, if any, the treatment is having on him. We simply have no way of knowing." He paused and considered his next words. "He has asked for you."

Lupin turned his haunted face to the window. "I- I can't face him. Not yet."

Coward, thought Snape.

"I know what that makes me," he responded as though the word had been spoken. "Believe me, I know. It's just- not yet."

"Very well. Best not to wait too long, though."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On day eight Black sat up for the first time, although he collapsed immediately afterward. It was hard to tell if it was the poison or the potion that was making him dizzy. He seemed uninterested in what was going on in the outside world, content to listen while Snape read aloud from potions journals and 19th century novels. He was polite when Harry and Dumbledore visited, but he made little conversation and tired quickly.

On day eleven Snape helped him to stand, and the next day he was able to make it to the sofa. He was unable to put any weight on his wounded leg, which worried Snape. On day thirteen he declared he could not endure another sponge bath administered by a blushing house elf, and insisted that Snape help him to the bathroom. Where he would have stayed until day fourteen if Snape had not, with much grumbling, pulled him out of the tub and thrown him back in the bed wet and dripping.

Day fifteen was a triumph- he made two circuits of the bedroom using the silver topped cane Snape had dug out of his wardrobe.

"You know, Snape," he said with a wicked gleam, "this looks suspiciously like Lucius Malfoy's, if you ask me."

"It was my grandfather's," Snape replied through gritted teeth.

Sirius lowered himself to the sofa and closed his eyes. "How about some more of that thing you were reading the other day?"

"Which one?"

"The one with the governess."

"This?" Snape inquired, holding up Bronte.

"No, no. The ghost story."

"Ah." He gave a slight smile and picked up the slender volume of Henry James from under the sofa. "Where were we?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sirius stretched luxuriously in the bed, watching the clouds drift across the face of the moon. He wondered if Snape had put the bed under the window so he could lie here and do just this. He glanced over at Snape's long form draped across the uncomfortable sofa. He felt a twinge of guilt at the way Snape had contorted his body to cling to the narrow board of the sofa, his legs spilling over the edge. The man couldn't have had a good night's sleep in two weeks. He pushed himself up and limped the few feet to the sofa, shaking Snape roughly awake.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"Get up. You're taking the bed."

"Not a chance. That leg of yours could never manage the sofa."

"All right then, we're both taking the bed. Get up." He yanked the blankets off Snape and stumbled back to the bed. He shifted his weight wrong at the last moment, however, and his bad leg crumpled beneath him. He would have hit the flagstone hard had Snape not caught him and flung him onto the bed.

"Honestly, Black. You're a menace." He crawled over him and collapsed without another word.

Sirius stared out the window at the moon and suddenly remembered what it was he had been not thinking about for two weeks. "Snape." No answer. He tried a little louder. "Snape."

"What could you possibly want?"

"How many more days to the moon?"

Snape was quiet for a long while. "Twelve," he answered finally.

"Any idea what's going to happen?"

"None."

They were silent again, watching the moon.

"Snape. I need you to do something for me."

"You mean besides turning my home over to you and tending to your every need for sixteen days? "

"Yes, besides that."

Snape gave a long-suffering sigh. "What is it, Black."

"If I am a werewolf, kill me."

This time he was sure Snape wasn't going to answer. Only after a long while did he prop himself on his elbow and peer at Black, who met his eyes.

"Please."

"Is that really what you want?"

"Yes."

"Lupin did not choose to die."

"He was nine, for Christ's sake. He's lived with it his whole life. I will never learn to, and I refuse to try. Will you do it?"

"If that is really what you want."

"Thank you."

He watched the clouds gather over the face of the moon and listened to Snape's even breathing. "You know that I don't mean with a machete or something like that."

"Oh for God's sake. Go to sleep."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sirius blinked at the brightness of the morning light, so unusual for winter. He pulled the blankets over his head and burrowed closer to the warmth next to him. Just in time to discover that the warmth was Snape, who was likely going to decapitate him. He was too tired to care, and let himself drift off again. When he awoke, he was firmly pressed against Snape's backside, his arms draped around the prostrate potions master. More importantly, there was a sizable erection nestling right against Snape's back, and unless the man were dead or unconscious he could not fail to notice.

Best to hope for the latter. He tried to gently disengage his arms and retreat to his side of the bed, only to discover that the heavy weight on top of them was another pair of arms. There was no way to disentangle without waking Snape, and then he was a dead man. Except. . . .

Snape wasn't really asleep. His breathing was far too shallow, and he was holding himself unnaturally still. One thing Black had learned over the last sixteen days was that Snape was at all times a violent sleeper. So. It was just possible he was awake. Why then was he not scuttling to the other side of the bed as fast as his hairy legs could take him?

Well, two could play at that. He made incoherent sleepy noises and pressed closer. He felt Snape's breath hitch at the closer contact. God, this felt good. He burrowed his nose in Snape's neck, watching the gooseflesh rise where his breath warmed the skin. He lazily stretched his arms and casually eased one hand lower, where it just brushed the tip of Snape's own erection. Caught you.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Snape's voice could have curdled cream at fifty feet.

"I-" Hastily Sirius beat back the covers and leaped out of bed, as gracefully as he could on one leg, with an erection poking its insistent way out his pyjama bottoms. He lurched across the room to the bathroom at record speed, where he slammed the door behind him and stood, gripping the sink, shaking. Fucking hell. Fucking fucking hell. What an idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He turned on the tap and splashed water on his face. So far, so good. Now he just had to work on a plan to emerge from the bathroom with grace and aplomb. And he was going to have to stop standing here because his leg was starting to throb like a motherfucker.

Outside the bathroom, Snape was pacing, chewing his lip. He paused in front of the bathroom door.

"Black? Are you in there?"

"Yeah, just a minute. I'm-" A gigantic thud, followed by a stream of profanity. Snape pushed the door open to find Black sprawled on the bathroom floor, his leg bent underneath him and his face white with pain.

"What on earth did you do?" He pulled Black's arm around his shoulder and slowly heaved him up. Together they struggled to the bed. Instead of hurling him on it, this time Snape eased him down. Black fumbled for the brown vial on the bed side table. Snape sat perched on the edge of the bed, watching him. Slowly Black's face relaxed as the pain receded.

"My leg's never going to be right, is it." His tone was flat.

"Probably not, no."

Snape looked at his hands folded in his lap. "Black."

"Mm."

"I panicked."

Sirius's eyes fluttered open. "Well of course you did, you bloody great idiot. I'd like to know who wouldn't, facing down a ravenous werewolf."

"No, that is not what I meant. I mean, just now, before, when you-" He could not continue.

"Oh."

Snape gathered his courage but kept his eyes on his hands. "If you were ever to- to make another attempt. . .I promise I should not react so- clumsily."

"You've never been clumsy in your life."

"In this I am. I have no- experience in such matters."

Black sat up. "At all? Or with a man?"

Snape swallowed. "The latter."

"You've never kissed a man before?"

"No." Snape's voice had gone somewhat hoarse.

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

Sirius hesitated. "Do you want to- with me?"

Snape raised his eyes. "God, yes." His voice had dropped a timbre to a pitch that thrummed in Sirius's groin.

He licked his lips. "Then do."

Snape leaned forward slightly and met Sirius's lips. The kiss was slow and hesitant at first. He snaked his hand up to twine in Sirius's hair and pulled him closer. The kiss began to skate out of control as their tongues slid together. Snape moaned. Sirius pulled back and looked at him.

"God, do that again."

He plunged in again, fiercer, hungrier. He unleashed his hands to roam over Snape's back, his arms, his chest. Snape matched him tongue thrust for thrust, mapping his mouth.

"Show me what to do." Snape's mouth was an inch from his ear and sent shudders down his spine. He growled and pushed Snape back on the bed, straddling him. Snape pulled him down for another lip crushing kiss, arching up into Sirius's groin. Their pace became frantic. Their breathing rasped in the silent room.

Sirius pushed away with an effort and sat at the head of the bed, panting. "Snape. Tell me now what you want to do before I go too far."

"I don't know. I don't care. Anything." Snape lay tousled and heavy-lidded on his bed, eyes dark with desire.

"You asked for it."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"So." Sirius was propped on his elbow, trailing a finger down Snape's bare sweat-slicked chest. "You're a screamer."

"I am no such thing."

"Oh, I beg to differ."

Snape cocked an eyebrow. "What the hell did you do to me?"

"Ah, wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes, I would."

Snape lifted him into his arms and pulled the covers up around them. Somehow they had ended up horizontal on the bed, but neither of them bothered to move.

He was floating off, wrapped in and around and over Snape when the unthinkable happened. His eyes flew open and he stumbled off the bed, diving for the bedpan beneath, just making it in time to empty the meagre contents of his stomach into it with a sickening heave. He was crimson with shame, and was trying to string words together when the retching hit him. It doubled him over, twisting him like a rag. Endlessly he heaved and spat and hacked as the poison began to pour out of him, and Snape was wiping his mouth and his forehead and dribbling water into his mouth before the next wave would hit him. Hours it seemed he huddled there on the floor, weeping at the pain of it, beyond shame, helpless as the retching seized him and the foul purplish venom spilled from him.

When it was over he was a puddle on the floor, broken and trembling. Snape wrapped him in a quilt and carried him to the fire. He didn't want to think about how much weight he must have lost over the last sixteen days that Snape could carry him. His head fell back against Snape's shoulder despite his best efforts to hold it up. Tears leaked from his eyes.

"This is a bit too Bronte for me," he whispered through his torn throat.

Snape gave a low chuckle. "I won't tell if you don't, Heathcliff."

He thought Snape would set him on the sofa, but instead he eased them both on to the thick hearthrug, cradling him in his arms. The contact was nice, and he nestled into it.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"For what?"

"For destroying the mood back there."

"I forgive you. Now shut up."

The strong arms gripped him as he began the slide into welcome sleep. He thought of the moon; he would be glad to greet it tonight without fear. Snape's voice hummed in his ear.

"Does this mean I don't get to kill you?"

"Better luck next time. I'd say you almost did."

"Oh, I was just getting started. You are really going to have to develop some stamina, Black."

"Fuck you. Severus."

Snape's silent laugh rocked him gently. He reached a hand to stroke the dark hair, sleek as an otter. "Sirius," he whispered to the fire.