Whatever's Left

By KJ Fontana

AU – Severus Snape, exhausted and emotionally battered after losing an old friend in the final battle with Voldemort, moves in with the most unlikely of people. Will he let grief, depression, illness and self-loathing consume him, or will he allow Remus Lupin's help? Will Severus be able to give something in return? Plenty of h/c. No slash. Snape OOC.

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, not mine, yadda yadda yadda.

Author's Notes: Be Kind, Please Rewind (just kidding!) The plot of this story is so overdone you may just roll your eyes, however…. this is my first fan fiction, so paLEASE drop a quick review my way when you're through. If people like this story then I will gladly finish it.


Prologue

Every day at 3:00 the light bulb turned off inside Severus Snape's head, and like a programmed robot he retreated to his own room down the narrow hallway of the home he shared with Remus Lupin. Every day at 3:00 he locked the bedroom door with a special warded key, and once he was sure that nobody could get in, the ex-potions master of Hogwarts would sit down on the edge of his bed and quietly cry.

Water would leak from his eyes and trail down pale cheeks, sometimes dripping from his chin to upturned palms resting feebly in his lap, sometimes getting lost in a shadow of black hair. His thin body would shudder weakly as he began sobbing. At this point he often buried his face in his hands or a nearby pillow so that Remus wouldn't hear him and come running.

When all the tears were almost spent and the sobs reduced to small hiccups, Severus would gingerly crawl up the dark bedspread and lie belly down, his arms drawn in protectively like a young napping child. He always faced the nightstand to his left so he could see her picture before drifting off to sleep. Her photograph he kept in a pewter frame ornate with simple Celtic knots, the only visible personal item in the whole room.

She was staring out a window, dark eyes lost in thought as if caught up in a vivid daydream, this somber woman in her mid-forties looking so strangely peaceful. Although the close angle obscured most of her lower half, it was still obvious she was wearing the dark robes of an Auror. Obsidian beads hung from her neck and got lost under the folds of her shirt, where you could make out the faint contours of a cross if you looked hard enough. Her fedora cast strange shadows.

But appearances often lie. In reality this was a photograph of an Auror watching criminal activity from a stakeout point. It was a Sunday afternoon. Evidence had to be collected before a bust could be made. Photos were taken. Knives hidden under her robe, just in case. A wand clenched in each hand, an obsidian cross hanging from her neck to ward off evil creatures of the night.

Severus knew all of this but loved the picture anyway, because he imagined the pretense, a woman lost in dreams near a window, was what Katie would have been had Tom Riddle not gone completely nutters. He imagined she would have loved to walk along the seaside collecting pretty shells. She would have wanted to have a husband, some children. Maybe even a nice garden. A nice life.

She would be alive right now. Not a casualty. Not dead.

Alive.


Every afternoon at 2:59 Remus Lupin took an apple from the fruit basket and settled into his favorite chair near the wall of books in the living room. At 3 'o clock sharp his housemate never failed to go to his room for a nap, and Remus took the opportunity to be alone with himself for awhile. He would open up the latest book and pull out a bookmark that nobody knew about, a small square of blue cloth about the size of a handkerchief.

He would hold and rub it between his fingers, or sometimes lay it out and smooth the wrinkles until it was perfectly flat. Remus read bits of his book, absently fidgeting with the cloth the whole time, often getting lost in memories that by now were far too old to be dwelling on.

He thought of a woman with long dark hair, aged and mature but growing in confidence the older she got. What a far cry from the girl he used to know back in school, the wallflower who could neither read nor write nor stand up for herself properly. As a grown woman she was never still, always moving, always giving orders and investigating claims with the intensity of someone who probably never slept.

His memories of her were brief and distant. They were painfully impersonal. When Remus was a Hogwarts teacher he would sometimes see her roaming the castle, an Auror on business, a shadow in the hallway. He shrank from speaking with her out of apathy, never approaching her or allowing himself to come within 20 feet. They were not friends and never had been. Was there a point in starting now? All his life he kept this belief, blissfully unaware that they were in fact linked, that for 27 years he was watched over by someone he barely even knew.

He found out too late who she was. The truth came out as she lay dying on the battlefield, and for a long while afterwards all he could feel for himself was pity that his angel, his benefactor, was taken away before he ever got the chance to know her.

This torn piece of her blue robe was all he had now.

It was the closest he'd ever been.