Disclaimer: All characters and settings of Harry Potter are the property of J.K. Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made.
A/N: Written for Snupin Santa 2008.

Part 1/2

From outside, it was impossible to make out anything that happened within the ancient stone circle. Even inside it, the pale starlight did not allow the eye of those gathered here in this night of the new moon to see their companions as anything but hooded shadows, made equal by the darkness and the powerful magic that concealed their identities from each other.

Even so, they hid in the shadows of the huge monoliths, which were mossy with age and looming over them like silent guards. Only one among them seemed fearless, standing in the middle of the circle of humans and stones. When nobody new had appeared for a while, he raised his wand and, with a murmured incantation, completely sealed the circle against the outside world. The hushed murmurs around him quieted down almost immediately, all eyes turning towards him expectantly. There was an atmosphere of anxious anticipation, humming in the air not unlike the magic that protected them from curious eyes.

He did not speak for long before the meeting ended again, each participant Apparating away hastily after their leader had lifted the magic that had enclosed them. No more than half an hour after the first person had arrived, the stone circle once again lay empty and silent.

.-.-.

Draco Malfoy was bored out of his mind. It was three in the afternoon, and he could think of nothing to do. It was still two hours until he could start on dinner – more like three if he was realistic about it. He'd finished all the necessary housework around noon, had read a book of which he was sure that he'd read it at least twice already during the last eighteen months, and now found himself at a loss, as every day around this time. He might mop the floors – he hadn't done that in three days, so it wouldn't be completely useless. Not like the week when he had cleaned all windows every day out of sheer desperation.

He put the book back on the shelf and listlessly wandered into the kitchen to get the mop and cleaning agent from the cupboard. It was ridiculous, he thought some minutes later, having finished about half of the kitchen floor, that he of all people should volunteer to do work which a year and a half ago he had never consciously thought about. And if he had, he would have been indignant at the suggestion of him doing any of it. The Malfoys had house-elves for such tasks, after all.

Now it seemed that he had turned into some odd kind of house-elf, and he was sure that Spinner's End had never looked this spick and span before. Certainly not when Severus had been living here alone – when Draco had first moved in, the dust bunnies seemed to have taken on a life of their own – and not when Severus's mother had still been alive, either.

He knew a lot about Eileen by now; more than he cared to know, and surely more than Severus would want him to know. It was a safe assumption, considering that Severus had never talked about her, except for once mentioning that she had died over twenty years ago.

Severus would probably do some very unpleasant things to him if he were to ever find out, but Draco had no intention of letting him know. It was one thing to live in Severus's house, to cook for him, clean for him – and even wash his underwear in the antediluvian monstrosity that had qualified as a Muggle washing machine in the sixties, once he had subdued the thing and discovered how to use it. It was another thing entirely to admit that he had read the diaries of Severus's mother.

It wasn't as though he had intended to do it. But half a year ago, he had finished with the admittedly extensive amount of books in Severus possession, except for the volumes about the most dark and dangerous spells and potions, which had been hexed so that nobody could read them without the aid of a wand. The wooden chest in the attic had been under no such protection, however, and once Draco had realised that the dust-covered notebooks inside contained the private thoughts of Eileen Snape, he had been too curious to lay them aside.

The lecture had been extremely educational, teaching him one thing above all: until the Dark Lord had executed them, Draco had been blessed with the ideal parents.

Gritting his teeth, Draco moved from the kitchen to the tiny corridor, swinging the mop so violently that he almost knocked over the hat stand in the corner next to the front door. He would not think of his parents. Not today. There would be enough of that at the next full moon, which was too close again already. It was absurd: on the one hand, time crept by incredibly slowly, driving him mad with boredom, while on the other hand, the time between the full moons never seemed to be long enough.

For the next half hour, Draco determinedly focussed on nothing but his mopping, until the floors of the small house were so clean that one could have eaten from them without any problems. Having finished with the floors, Draco decided to scrub the shabby little bathroom into a state as close to shininess as possible, after which it was finally late enough to start cooking. He didn't like to admit it, but at this point of the day, he was looking forward to Severus coming home from his duties at the Dark Lord's side, even if there usually would be little talking, and Severus would most likely be in a foul mood.

Draco hadn't been wrong about that last point, and around seven in the evening, he was watching a surly-looking Severus shovel food into himself without so much as an appreciative word for Draco's cooking. Not that he wasn't used to it, but sometimes, he still thought that considering the fact that he hadn't even been able to make a cup of tea when he had moved in, he'd learnt exceedingly well by now.

In the end, Severus laid aside the fork and knife, staring down at his empty plate with an expression he'd had reserved for Draco's most pathetic cooking attempts in the very beginning of their cohabitation.

"We're getting Lupin," he announced abruptly.

"Lupin, here? But why?"

Severus looked up at him with an irritated frown. "Because it's the Dark Lord's order, why else? Or wait. Actually, he didn't just tell me that I was to take Lupin with me after the next full moon. No, we sat down together and had tea and biscuits while he explained his reasoning to me in detail."

Draco said nothing, but simply got up and started collecting the dishes. As he put them into the basin, Severus spoke again, this time much softer than before.

"He's gone insane, that's the reason."

"The Dark Lord? I know that." It would have been suicide to utter this sentiment anywhere outside, but the house was warded so heavily that not even their Lord and Master could have entered, or listened in on them in any way, without setting off an alarm first.

"Nonsense! I was talking about Lupin."

Draco turned around to Severus, who suddenly looked much less annoyed and much more tired than he had only a few minutes ago.

"It seems that half a year of being used as an executioner has finally driven him insane. He's still useful for killing when he's a wolf, but the rest of the time…" Severus's hand clenched around his cup of tea.

"The Dark Lord informed me that his prison guards have other things to do than taking care of a drooling madman, but that I have someone at my disposal who is not, actually, of any use to him as of now. Someone who should be grateful that he is still alive despite his parents' attempted betrayal."

Draco wanted to say something, but Severus cut him off with a shake of the head.

"Don't even think of it. Those were his exact words, and you know very well what that means."

Without another word, Draco started filling the basin with water and washing the dishes. It meant that finally, after a year and a half of letting him rot here, the Dark Lord was reminding him that it would have been more than befitting to kill him alongside his traitorous parents – something he had not explicitly mentioned when sending him here. Back then, he had merely ordered him to take a few things, move in with Severus so that he would be under "proper supervision", and to not move out of he house even one step. It was only fitting, he had added, that Severus should take care of Draco, since he seemed to feel some inexplicable kind of responsibility for the boy, even taking the disposal of Dumbledore upon himself when it had been a task clearly given to Draco, not him. Maybe he would succeed where Draco's parents had obviously failed.

Of course, had he known about Severus what Draco knew by now, he would have thought differently about it.

.-.-.

The week until the night of the full moon went by far too quickly, and as always when he walked down the stairs to the cellar of Malfoy Manor, which the Dark Lord had seized after its owners had passed away, Draco felt anything but prepared.

In the beginning, he had foolishly hoped that after a while, he might be spared watching the monthly executions. The first few times, he didn't remember how he'd gotten through them, or how they'd gotten home, only that he'd been still screaming and his clothes had been smeared with vomit as Severus had dragged him into the bathroom at Spinner's End.

By now, he'd learnt to control himself better, but that didn't make it any less horrible. It wouldn't be so bad if they used the Killing Curse. Even hanging or beheading would be a relief. But the Dark Lord had had a better idea, an idea that was both, gruesome and brilliant.

Clenching his fists by his sides, Draco forced himself to look straight ahead. He knew better than thinking that he could close his eyes and merely listen. It was a requirement that everyone in the Dark Lord's service watch the executions, and they had all learnt – some from very personal and painful experience – that he would know if anyone tried getting around it.

Of course, there were those few who did not mind, who even seemed to enjoy watching a screaming victim being torn to shreds by a werewolf. But most, as far as Draco knew, watched with a kind of terror akin to his own, well aware of the fact that they could be on the other side of the thick iron bars if they dared to make a wrong move. Any doubt of that had been vanished for good when the Malfoys had been thrown to the beasts in the cellar of their own house.

It was a woman this time. Small, plump, and with mouse-brown hair, she bore no resemblance to Narcissa Malfoy, but that didn't matter. As soon as the werewolf attacked his shrieking victim, she turned into his mother before Draco's eyes. He didn't dare look away, but he'd started shaking, his fingernails digging bloody half-moons into his palms. As always, it was only Severus's hand lying unobtrusively on his back that prevented him from screaming, and when it was finally over, he wouldn't have made it home and to bed without help. He'd be ashamed of it tomorrow, but as long as it lasted, he was merely grateful. These were the only times that Severus let on that he actually cared at all.

The next day, Draco wandered around the house in a state of exhausted confusion. He was vaguely aware that something was supposed to happen today, but couldn't quite remember what, precisely. Whenever he tried to concentrate, his thoughts soon slipped away to what seemed to be more pressing matters, like scrubbing all surfaces and, once again, the floors of the house.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco realised that it was absolutely unnecessary, but whenever it surfaced, that notion was swept away by the remembrance of puddles of blood on a stone floor, seen too often by now to ever completely forget.

It was early afternoon when Severus came home. At first, Draco didn't hear him, being too immersed in his cleaning. There was a reddish-brown stain on the carpet in the living room that wouldn't go away, no matter how much he scrubbed at it. Severus had probably even spoken to him to get his attention, but only when a hand settled on his shoulder and the floor cloth was taken away from him did he realise that he wasn't alone any more.

"I've got Lupin with me," Severus said flatly, pointing behind him at the couch.

Draco stared in confusion for some moments before remembering what he'd been told the evening before. Slowly, he got up from his knees and turned around.

.-.-.

"He needs another blanket. He's cold."

Draco looked up from his novel – one he'd only read once before – to see Severus completely immersed in his own Potions book. On the couch, Lupin sat silent and motionless, but when he touched the man, Draco could feel him shiver slightly.

It was strange, he thought, spreading a second, thicker blanket over him, how Severus sometimes simply knew certain things. He never seemed to pay attention to Lupin, hardly ever looked at or spoke about him – and yet, from time to time, he'd point out something that Draco had overlooked. Not in a manner that indicated any concern, but then, he never quite showed that he felt concerned for Draco either.

Having tucked the blanket firmly around Lupin, Draco sat back, but didn't take up his book again. When Severus had brought Lupin four months ago, Draco wasn't sure he would have recognised his former teacher if he hadn't known who he was. While the Lupin he had known from school seven years ago had looked tired and careworn, he'd still looked very much alive. This man, though, didn't look alive, and he didn't behave like it either.

He had not quite known what to expect when Severus had told him that Lupin had gone insane, but had been relieved to find out that it was a quiet kind of insanity. Sometimes, he would rock, or mutter incomprehensibly under his breath, but most of the time, Lupin was merely curled into a corner of the couch, staring ahead with glassy eyes and not appearing to take in anything that was happening around him.

Draco was torn out of his musings by Severus announcing that he would go to bed. It was 11:30pm already, and it would be for the best if he and Lupin were to go to sleep as well.

In the beginning, he'd felt resentful about being burdened with the task of taking care of the man, but he had soon realised that it was pleasant to have someone around, even if that someone didn't talk to you, or even heard what you told him. The last fact was, actually, a good thing. Draco would have felt it to be silly to keep a diary – and far too dangerous as well, considering others could find and read it – and it was out of the question to talk with Severus about certain things. He knew by now that Severus wasn't as indifferent as he pretended to be, but that didn't change the fact that it would be too awkward, too difficult. Talking to Lupin wasn't difficult at all.

True, he thought as he prepared Lupin for sleep, there were the more annoying aspects to deal with, which wasn't made easier by the fact that he had to do everything the Muggle way – but then, he'd gotten used to a life without the ability to perform magic since the Dark Lord had snapped his wand. This merely needed some getting used to as well.

"Getting used to it." It didn't seem such a bad motto in the end, especially when you had no other choice.

.-.-.

"I have good news for our cause. Harry Potter is still alive."

Hushed murmurs broke out in the group of hooded shapes once again assembled in the ancient stone circle under the cold light of the fading stars. Each voice was exactly alike, forced into conformity by the protective magic.

"He was injured gravely in his last attack on us, but did not die as many assumed," their leader went on. "My source of information has it that he has been in a deep coma ever since. But there are signs that he will recover soon. And as long as he is alive, even like this, there is still hope for us. You must remember that. Our situation is less desperate than it seemed, and we have to be grateful. And please," he added, silencing the still ongoing whispers around him with a wave of his hand, "please remember to not talk about this with anyone! I know I have told you so countless times, but it is vital. Just one wrong word to the wrong person, and we all might be doomed. You all know how our Lord punishes those who conspire against him. Even if you're certain that the person standing next to you right now is your wife, or your son, don't speak to them once you have left this place. Our lives depend on it."

.-.-.

Since the Dark Lord had established his reign over Scotland and large parts of Northern England almost three years ago for good, Severus had always disliked the nights of the full moon.

He had never belonged to those who liked the thought of killing another human being, and too many deaths that the Dark Lord deemed necessary would have been a waste of life in his own eyes even if he had truly been loyal to his alleged master.

Still, he had to admit that it was an ingenious idea: using werewolves for executions – most of them sworn-in allies like Fenrir Greyback – was killing two birds with one stone. On the one hand, the prospect of being arrested and mauled by a werewolf was keeping the public in constant terror. Especially the Muggles, who had never conceived of such creatures existing outside of horror stories, were terrified, and after some initial and useless revolts, which had ended in public executions, most didn't dare to misbehave even in the most insignificant fashion any more. On the other hand, granting the werewolves regular kills was providing the Dark Lord with a willing and ever-ready army that, even in human form, was ruthless and much stronger than any human enemy, be they Muggles or Wizards.

Severus had schooled himself to not betray his disagreement with the executions which he and every other Death Eater were forced to attend, although Draco's extreme discomfort was adding to his disdain of the procedure. Now that Lupin was a part of it all, however, his aversion had taken on a new level.

He knew that it was useless to try and lie to himself: he'd always felt inexplicably attracted to Lupin. When he had noticed it first, shortly before leaving school as a young man, he'd been angry with himself. Falling for Lupin, of all people, was one of the stupidest things he could possibly have done. Lupin was anything but an appropriate choice, and Severus had already made a commitment to the Dark Lord – they were on different sides entirely, and there was no way to do anything about it.

He had told himself to forget it, and it had worked well throughout the war and his first years of teaching. Then Lupin had returned to Hogwarts. It might have worked, then – maybe. If only Severus had known how to behave, how to approach him in any different way than with hostility. And if Black hadn't turned up and ruined everything. Later, during their work for the Order, there had been no time for such frivolities. And now...

He'd been grateful when he'd heard that Lupin had managed to make his way out of the area occupied by the Dark Lord before the borders to the southern part of the land had been closed by magic. When it had become clear that he had been captured in the failed attack on the Dark Lord that had been led by Potter half a year ago, he'd been shocked, but had known that there was nothing that he could do.

At first, he hadn't even thought of the full implications. Only when, during the first night of the full moon after Lupin's capture, he'd seen him wait in one of the execution cells, he had realised what this meant: the other man was not merely a normal captive, but one that could be used – and punished – in a special manner.

When it seemed that Lupin's mind had finally broken under this particularly malicious kind of torture, Severus had been almost relieved. And while having Lupin home with him and having to see him like this every day wasn't anywhere near easy, at least it ensured that he was properly taken care of. Severus had thought that he would be able to get used to the situation. He always managed to do so, in the end.

Then, he'd found out the truth.

.-.-.

Draco was awoken by the sound of someone yelling. The walls of the old, run down house were thin, the wallpapers and even plaster flaking off in some places. If one didn't make too much noise, one usually could hear what was spoken in the next room if the other person didn't whisper.

"...finally losing my patience!" Severus snapped in the room next to Draco's. It was the bedroom that had once belonged to his parents, while Draco inhabited Severus's old room. Since these were the only two rooms on the first floor, Lupin usually slept on the couch in the living room downstairs. After the nights of the full moon, though, Severus would choose the couch himself and make him sleep in his bed, which was more comfortable.

Draco sighed and pulled the blanket over his head. He had no idea what use Severus thought it would be to yell at Lupin. It wasn't as though he could hear him, or even answer.

"...know very well what you are doing! Do you honestly believe I'm as naïve as everyone else?"

Severus was sounding furious, Draco thought, regretfully bidding farewell to the idea of another hour of sleep. Instead, he got up and padded over to the corner of the room, where, behind a strange-looking painting that showed what seemed to be an old, ruined mill, there was a hole in the wall. It wasn't big; just large enough so that he could see some small part of the other room.

Severus was standing with his back turned to Draco, facing his own bed, on which Draco could make out Lupin's limp form. Severus's posture was tense, fists clenched tightly.

"I've let this go on for quite long enough," he went on now. "I thought that you'd get tired of this charade by yourself, but apparently you're more stubborn than I realised."

Draco didn't have the slightest idea what Severus was talking about. For a moment, he feared that the man was finally snapping as well. The pressure of being a spy in the Dark Lord's ranks for years might have gotten too much in the end. And he had noticed Severus's mood darkening continuously over the last few weeks.

"Are you really this dense, Lupin?" With two steps, Severus was by Lupin's side, seizing him by he shoulders and shaking him. "Have you forgotten that I can perform Legilimency? I know you're faking! I know you're not insane!"

By now, he was yelling at such a volume that Draco would have heard him from downstairs as well.

"Fuck, Lupin, talk to me!"

.-.-.

Nothing.

Severus stared at the impassive face in front of him in helpless frustration. He'd tried talking to him sensibly first. When it hadn't helped, he'd tried to stay calm, but hadn't succeeded. Yelling, however, hadn't made any difference either. There simply was no getting to Lupin. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn that the other man had truly lost his mind.

He was ready to give up, then, ready to leave him be. If he wanted to rot inside his own self-pity, let him. But instead of turning away, and without intending to, Severus found himself trying a last, desperate means.

Lupin's lips were soft and cool against his own, and for some seconds, the man stayed still under his kiss. Suddenly, though, and before he knew what was happening, he was lying on his back on the bed, his hands pinned over his head by Lupin, who was staring down at him with a wild, hungry expression. His eyes weren't any clearer than they had been before, but this was a different madness, one that Severus recognised almost immediately.

"Lupin? Can you hear me?" he tried, but got no answer. Instead, the other man crushed his lips against Severus's once more with a feral growl, grinding his body against the one lying beneath him.

Severus knew better than to resist. This wasn't Lupin kissing him; it was what had still remained of the wolf after a night of untamed rage and killing. He hadn't aimed at this, but he'd read about it – that sometimes, strong triggers such as sexual contact could provoke such a reaction so soon after the transformation back to human. The best thing to do would be to comply with everything that would happen, for although he was in a human body again, the wolf was still much stronger than Severus. If he wanted to, he could easily kill him with his bare hands.

Forcing himself to relax, Severus opened his lips to Lupin's searching tongue. It was hot in his mouth, and not at all unpleasant, and within seconds, he found himself reciprocating. He'd been dreaming of this in the past, when they'd been teaching together, and later working together for the Order of the Phoenix.

The kiss ended as abruptly as it had started, Lupin lifting himself from Severus with a dissatisfied frown. He ran his fingers over Severus's chest, the thick, black robes preventing him from touching the skin. Obviously displeased, he growled again, but before Severus could make a move to undress, he was already ripping at the robes. Within seconds, the fabric gave in, large tears appearing, buttons falling to the bed and the floor beside them.

Severus was naked in no time, followed by Lupin, who gave no more thought to his own nightshirt than he had to Severus's clothing. Not sure what to expect, Severus kept still under Lupin's touch as the other man started sniffing him from head to toe. It was alien, seeing him behave like a wild animal rather than a human, but also weirdly arousing. By the time Lupin turned his attention from Severus's armpits to his groin, he was fully hard already and did not care at all any more about the other's mental state.

Lupin took some deep breaths, his face tantalisingly close to Severus's cock. For a moment, Severus was seized by the terrifying idea that Lupin might decide to maim him after all – and then there was a warm, wet sensation that made him whimper involuntarily. It was repeated, and Severus realised that Lupin was licking him, licking his balls in slow, non-too gentle motions that were just on the border between pleasurable and painful.

After a while, Lupin worked his way upward, and had he been in bed with a full human, Severus would have snapped at him to finally suck him instead of torturing him with those insane, teasing licks. As it was, he did his best to keep silent, although he couldn't help an occasional sigh or whimper. He hadn't been touched like this in far too long.

When the other man moved away from his groin, Severus was unable to hold back a groan of frustration – which quickly turned into something else entirely, though. For now Lupin began to lick and bite him all over – gently first, but soon in a more heated manner as he once again started rubbing their lower bodies together. Severus could feel that Lupin was just as hard as him, and after only a short while of this, he couldn't care about being careful any more. Instead of clutching the sheets beside him, his hands were suddenly clinging to Lupin, and he was kissing and nipping at the other man's skin in turn. Lupin, too, was now making sounds of pleasure, growls and grunts that only added to Severus's arousal, Lupin's hot breath ghosting over his nipples, neck, and then his ear, making him shiver.

"Hell, Lupin, will you just do it!"

Severus didn't know if he had actually been understood, but there was an answering growl, then a sharp pain as Lupin bit down hard on his shoulder – and another, worse pain as he was entered without any preparation. Severus had expected this, but it still overwhelmed him, and for a few seconds, he froze against Lupin, desperately clawing at the other man's back.

Thankfully, Lupin seemed to understand, and he didn't move immediately. For a short while, they both lay still, flushed bodies pressed against each other. It was an oddly calm and gentle feeling, and Severus wouldn't have minded if it had lasted. But now Lupin started thrusting, and although he was slower and more careful than Severus would have thought, it still hurt, and he tried thinking about other things: Lupin's warm, hairy skin on his own, his lips and tongue gliding over Severus's neck and shoulders, his arms holding Severus close.

Slowly, bit by bit, the pain abated, and then it was only a fading memory between touches and kisses and the rocking of their bodies, and when they both came within instants of each other, it was almost entirely forgotten.

Severus was panting heavily, Lupin lying limply half next to and half on top of him. A minute passed, then another one, and just when Severus decided to move, he noticed that the other man was shaking. He'd been expecting anything: that Lupin would get angry, that he might try to escape into his faked insanity again – but not this. Not crying.

It was awkward; both of them were sweaty and naked, Severus's come sticky between their bellies. But Severus's arms were still around Lupin, and so he simply tightened his hold again, waiting. The tears were warm on his skin, Lupin's face pressed tightly against Severus's shoulder, and he stayed like that long after the last tears had dried.

"Why, Severus?" He sounded tired and miserable when he finally spoke, his voice no more than a dull murmur. "Why couldn't you just leave me be?"

Slowly, Severus let go and slipped away from under Lupin, sitting up on the bed next to him. Any feelings of intimacy he might have had were gone all of a sudden.

"Because it's pathetic," he replied coldly. "It's pathetic how you try to hide just because you can't stand –"

"I can't stand what?" Now Lupin had sat up as well, wiping at his eyes with a trembling hand. "The killing? The fact that I keep murdering innocents and can't do anything about it?"

"No." Severus shook his head. "That, I understand perfectly. What I don't understand is how you can simply wallow in self-pity while you could do something useful instead. Do you think I'm happy about what I have to do? What he does with the potions I have to brew for him? But you don't see me sitting around and trying to wish it all away. And don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about – you know I'm not on his side; Draco and I spoke about it often enough in your presence."

Lupin sighed, lowering his gaze to the sheets.

"You do know what happens to werewolves once they start killing, don't you? With each time, each murder..."

He shuddered, then pulled the blanket over his naked body. Had Severus honestly thought about how powerful and strong Lupin looked only minutes ago? Now, he only looked frail, and frighteningly old.

"I'm scared. Scared that I'll end up like Greyback, like the others. You know I'm not completely turned yet, but now it will happen, no matter whether or not I want it. I didn't want to notice, to have to feel it. I might even have succeeded, if only you –"

"You're a coward!"

Severus got up from the bed and stiffly walked over to the window, which was hexed so that nobody could look inside. Something warm was running down his leg. He supposed that it must be blood – he was hurting terribly – but he didn't look. He knew what Lupin was talking about; he could even understand him. But it didn't change his sudden loathing.

"You want the Dark Lord to be defeated, and you can just muster enough courage to attack and maybe die. But as soon as it gets truly difficult, as soon as it looks like you might actually suffer, or even have to let them taint you, you're nothing but a bloody coward."

"I don't –" Lupin started, but Severus cut him off with an angry turn of the head.

"Don't you think it would have been easier for me to just walk away from this? I could have stayed with Potter and proven my loyalty to him. I didn't have to stay here and watch all of this, and even pretend to help! I didn't have to kill Dumbledore when he asked me to! But it was necessary."

He turned to the dark, wooden wardrobe and opened it, getting out a nightshirt for himself.

"That's the difference between us, Lupin. I can do what's necessary. And until you learn that, you will be completely useless."

When Severus looked back at Lupin, the other man seemed to have slumped even more. He was looking sick and miserable, and for a second, Severus wished he hadn't been so harsh, that he had been able to show not only his anger, but also the sympathy that was lurking underneath. But the moment passed, and he turned away again.

"I'm going to shower, and then I'll sleep on the couch. You should sleep as well. If you need anything, Draco should be up soon."

There was no answer, and he left the room without looking back.

.-.-.

It was in the early afternoon when Remus entered the small kitchen. Severus had apparently gone out; he hadn't come back to his room, nor had he been in the living room, where only a rumpled blanket on the couch reminded of him having been there.

Draco was doing the dishes, his back turned to the door. He didn't seem to have noticed him yet, or maybe he simply chose to ignore him. Remus stopped closely behind the door, not quite knowing what to do or say. Finally, when it was clear that Draco wouldn't make any move to acknowledge his presence, he took heart.

"Draco, I'm very sorry –"

"Don't," he was cut off, the younger man's hands stilling in the dishwater.

"But –"

"No! I don't want to hear it. I don't blame you," he went on more softly. "I tried to be angry when Severus told me – about how you made me play your nurse for nothing, but I couldn't, not really. I couldn't even kill one person. If I were in your place...I don't know what I'd do. Maybe I would have tried the same."

Draco took the dishtowel, starting to dry his hands with slow, deliberate motions.

"Going mad doesn't seem to be such a bad idea sometimes." Finally, he turned to Remus, who was surprised to see how pale the young man was. Draco was wearing a confused expression now, rubbing his forehead absently. "I...I need to mop the floors now."

He went to the cupboard to get the mop, but Remus stepped into his path.

"You only did that yesterday."

"Let me..." Draco looked even more confused now, making a move to get around Remus. "I have to clean up. It's all terribly messy." He was sounding nervous, almost anxious.

"Draco." Remus put his hand on the younger man's shoulder to stop him. "Draco, look at the floor. It's perfectly clean." He was speaking softly, taking another step closer. "Please, look."

There was silence for a few moments, Draco staring down at the spotless black and white tiling of the kitchen floor. Then, without a sound, he crumbled. It wasn't dramatic – he simply seemed to shrink into himself before Remus's eyes, and suddenly, he was acutely aware that Draco was only twenty yet. He looked very young and vulnerable, and for a second, Remus was convinced that he was bound to break down in front of him.

But he did not; he merely stayed still for a while, Remus's hand on his shoulder. Then, taking some deep, controlled breaths, he straightened himself.

"I'm going to make us some tea."

"You don't have to –" Remus started, but then thought better about it. "All right."

Slowly, he took his hand away, instead sitting down at the kitchen table, waiting.

They drank their first few sips of hot tea in a silence of which Remus couldn't quite figure out if it was embarrassed or companionable.

"Just...don't tell Severus, will you. About what I told you when I thought you were...about my parents."

"I won't."

"Good. It's not that I don't trust him, just...it would be too awkward." Draco smiled weakly. "It's awkward with you too. I never thought you'd actually hear it, I just wanted to tell it."

"If you ever want to talk about it..."

"No. I don't even want to think about it. It's over."

It was anything but over, and they all knew it. Even Severus must have noticed.

"Severus should have talked to you, at the very least, instead of just leaving you to yourself here every day."

"You're doing him injustice, you know." Draco poured himself another cup of tea. "He's got enough to do without trying to psychoanalyse me. The Dark Lord keeps him occupied almost all day long. He trusts him and tells him more about his plans than most others. I don't envy him. He's brewed potions for purposes you don't want to imagine. I don't know much, just what he mentions by the way every now and then, but it's enough to prevent me from asking more. And the executions..." There was a pause as he tried to collect himself, his hands tightening around his cup. "He pretends that he doesn't care, but I'm not blind. He hates them, too. Especially since you are here."

Remus looked up from his near-empty cup in surprise, but didn't say anything.

"Severus is...tired. He's had to keep up pretences for over three years, ever since he killed Dumbledore for me. I didn't even know killing tore apart your soul – I read it in one of his books. He never told me. So..." Draco looked up as well, holding Remus's gaze. "I think he's done quite enough for me. You don't have a right to be too hard on him."

There was another silence before Draco spoke again.

"So...what does this mean for you? Severus only said something about 'fully turning' and it wasn't any of my business to ask him."

Remus hesitated; he didn't want to talk about it. Even earlier, with Severus, it had been almost too much. But he owed Draco some kind of explanation, if nothing else.

"It means that I'm finally turning into a full werewolf. I wasn't before, not completely."

Draco looked confused. "But how...I mean, you do change every full moon? What more is there?"

"A lot more." Remus sighed. "I wish it was only about one night a month. It hurts, and it's horrible without the Wolfsbane, but you can live with it. I managed to for over thirty years."

His mouth felt too dry to go on, but he didn't refill his empty cup.

"Werewolves aren't called Dark Creatures for nothing. You turn into a beast once a month, but you're still human the rest of the time; you're still yourself. Until you start killing." The thought of killing alone evoked feelings in him he would rather forget, had tried to forget when he'd pretended madness. "For a werewolf, it's addictive. Once you have started, you don't want to stop. You want to do it again, and again. You'll like it."

"Do you like it?" Draco blurted out incredulously. Moments later, he flushed bright red, looking down at his hands. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't..."

"I...I'm starting to," Remus whispered after a while. The words felt like shards of glass on his tongue. "I'm starting to like it, and I'm almost looking forward to the next full moon. I still hate it too, and I feel guilty, but not for long any more. It's different for everyone, but give me a few more months, a year at the very most...and I won't be the man you got to know at school, or the man I still am now. I'll be truly a Dark Creature, I'll be evil, and I won't care."

Remus reached for the teapot, but dropped it, hot tea running over his hands and legs. He hissed with pain, but didn't move.

"I wish I'd gone insane. I wish I'd died in the attack. I wish I weren't too cowardly to take my life."

Draco's answer consisted in getting a cloth and mopping up the tea. There was nothing to say.