Archive: Sure, just ask me first
Disclaimers: I don't own them. I'm just borrowing them and I promise to put them back. This is written for fun, not profit and suing me would be pointless.

Notes: Angst alert. Remus fans might want my head after this...

Chapter 2

I stare at his still form. He does not occupy much space on the bed, thin and wasted, halfway gone already. I listen attentively as he breathes in and out. In and out. Alive. But for how much longer?

They hadn't told me anything. I knew that he's frail. The illness clawing its way in his blood has not been kind to him. But this? All of a sudden Severus' mother hen attitude had made perfect, painful sense. So did the entire nights Severus would spend in his laboratory stirring and sighing and chucking the contents of his cauldron away and starting over. Sometimes the process would repeat itself more than ten times in one night. And most times I would bring him a glass of water or a cup of coffee like a fucking house elf. Or I'd wake up and he'd be crouched over me with a frown, the frown that seems permanently etched on his face and he'd tell me to go and snore in bed next to Remus instead of his floor. Were his eyes trying to tell me that I'd been barking up the wrong tree? That I should never hope for my feelings to be returned? I loved Remus. I love him. But Severus is my drug.

In retrospect I realise that Severus probably did not want me to witness his despair. It wasn't just that he didn't want Remus to be alone in that big bed.

Couldn't Severus understand that his great sacrifice left me cold? I had no great desire to have Remus all to myself the hours he worked. He had pestered Minerva for a time turner but she had her orders from Dumbledore I presume and wouldn't budge. The Headmaster knew that Severus would emerge from his laboratory old and grey should Minerva make the mistake of giving it to him.

I think Minerva also knew. They kept me in the dark, all of them. Or maybe they really thought I'd figured it out for myself.

Seeing Severus work all these long hours I'd made a nasty comment about him wanting to receive a Paracelsus. Earlier on when I was vying for Remus' exclusive affections I'd said something similar about him whoring himself to Snape because Snape had promised to cure him.

Nasty memories that bring a sting to my eyes now. Severus tried, there is no doubt. Remus became weaker and weaker and Severus would confer with Madam Pomfrey and come up with tonics and whatnot and sometimes they'd work. Other times Remus would grit his teeth and take the pain and appear as perky as he could. He'd certainly fool me but I'm not so sure about Snape.

I had been nodding off in my usual corner when I heard him curse loudly. He overturned his cauldron and I got up just in time to avoid the boiling purple liquid that was coming my way.

I approached him cautiously. I had never seen him lose his temper like that before. Not when it came to his work, at least. He seemed surprised to see me there. He angrily wiped the tears of rage from his face but they were soon replaced.

"Get out!" he croaked.

"Severus, you're just tired. Just… let it rest for tonight."

He shook his head violently. "There is no time."

I asked for an explanation. And finally I was given one. I was incredulous. Surely that 40 to 50 years life expectancy had to be put down to the fact that so many of them would be hunted down and killed at a young age. That the years since the wolfsbane had been developed had not been enough to observe what age werewolves might reach when they get to die of natural causes.

I voiced my doubts and Severus laughed mirthlessly. There was no doubt about it. Remus had at best a year and a half. They'd already visited the most specialised mediwizard facilities, St. Sebastian when we were playing Durmstrang and St Martin when we were playing Beauxbatons so I'd been away when they'd gotten back ashen-faced from both. St. Sebastian had given Remus 8 months to a year. St. Martin had been a little more generous in its prediction.

He told me all that in a dispassionate tone. Here are the facts, I've already accepted them, you should too. I wanted to hit him. I screamed that they had no right. Even if that was what Remus wanted. At some point there were no more words from me, only harsh sobs. I slammed Severus against the wall. Hard. He didn't make a sound but I saw the bruises the following night. I let go of his shoulders and collapsed in front of his feet. He leaned and stroke my hair while I cried like a baby. When I had quieted down a little he asked me whether I wanted a sleeping draught. I declined and he picked me up, dusted me off and sent me to bed so he could get back to his work, the condescending prick.

Up until it got very bad I pretended to Remus that I knew nothing. It was what he wanted. Severus said it was because he loved me too much and had wanted to spare me. Meaning what? That he loved Severus less and therefore shared what was happening to him? The truth remained that Severus could help him whereas I couldn't. Did he want me to be the insouciant lover while Severus faced his fears, his pain, his frustration? I never said all that to Remus. I was angry that I'd been made out to be the inconsiderate jerk through no fault of my own but I didn't want to waste the little time Remus had left in accusations and complaints.

The night after Severus dropped his little blast on me I saw him slip from under Remus' arms, his body still warm from making love. Still hoping and fighting with a Gryffindorish optimism, our Slytherin. I did not follow him, for once. I also did not sleep a wink until he came back a few hours before dawn, tired and beaten. He kissed Remus' forehead then spooned against him, careful not to wake him up. Remus mumbled in his sleep. For a totally insane moment I wanted to be the one with the fatal disease just to have Severus hold me like that.

I caressed the brown hair, more grey than brown now. My jealousy shamed me. I reached lower and found Severus' hand, resting against Remy's chest, rising and falling gently with each breath. I leaned and kissed the marble cold fingers one by one.

"Go back to sleep, Black," he rasped. "You wouldn't want to nod off on your broom mid-flight again. Old bones don't mend that well."

Typical Severus. In a way of course it was concern from my wellbeing that he was expressing.

I fell back heavily against my pillow. I told myself I wouldn't sleep just to spite him. But when Remus' clock started mewling at 7:00 the next morning I realised I'd been too tired to manage it.

Remus had continued teaching until it got very bad. He told me later that he decided to stop when he realised his students were staring at him as though they were expecting him to drop dead at any moment. His cheekbones bit into my chest as I cradled his emaciated body. He broke in tears about what was happening to him for the first time in front of me then.

Two months ago the school threw a sort of retirement party for him. A sad affair, reminiscent of a funeral. Faculty and students were all there while Remus opened his presents and was showered by hundreds of "get-well" cards, some drawn by clumsy first year fingers, others more elaborate.

Severus' presence was commented on. Older students were perpetuating that idiotic rumour about Severus going after the DAtDA position. Others were simply staring with unabashed curiosity. According to the rumour-mill Snape and Lupin hated each other. It was a misconception that they had enjoyed sustaining, performing for the students' benefit whenever they were observed.

About Remus and myself I suspect that most students knew. Those who were old enough to fathom two blokes going at it with each other, that is. Not that it stopped the lusty gazes directed my way from impressionable teens of both sexes. Which I tactfully ignored and continue to ignore, of course. And not only because the omniscient Dumbledore would have me fixed.

Soon enough Severus took off to the safety of his Dungeon. I stared apologetically at Remus silently asking him whether I should go after Snape. He drew me near for a tête à tête that created a respectful vacuum around us.

"It's alright. It's just Severus being Severus. You know he can't stand crowds."

I said something about him not even saying goodbye but as Remus pointed out, it wasn't like he wasn't going to see him that night. To the students and most members of the faculty it had looked as though the nasty Potions Master would not be bothered with his colleague's farewell party any longer. And it seemed that Snape preferred it that way.

"Two to six more months according to St. Sebastian," Remus said sadly.

An icy hand gripped my heart. Remus looked resigned.

He read my mind. "I've accepted it," he said softly. "He won't. I know he spends entire nights in his lab trying to find a cure."

"How do you know?" I asked with trepidation.

He blinked slowly. "Some nights I wake up and he's gone. Most of the time you're gone too."

Almost an accusation. I had nothing to say.

He smiled. "You love him, don't you?"

A simple statement. I tried to deny it but the words would not come out. I felt compelled to apologise but could not think of a way to do it without sounding like a complete prat. I simply stared at my half-drank butterbeer.

"I'm not upset," he murmured. "On the contrary, it's quite a relief."

Oh no, he won't, I thought.

But he did. He asked me to take care of Severus after he'd be gone. As if Severus would let me anywhere near him… He's already shut me out.

When they admitted at St Sebastian's that there wasn't much else they could do for him there, Remus asked to die at home. His rooms at Hogwarts was what he meant, of course. Brittle, wheezing, sleeping between us while we remained awake listening for his next breath. Too tired to join us sometimes he'd ask us to make love and he'd simply watch us. It sounds so crude when I write it down. It wasn't. I would hold that long, wiry body and play it like an instrument. I memorised every inch of Severus' body, every moan, every sigh. Quite often Remus' grey head stealing a kiss would deprive me of the sight of Severus' face flushed and relaxed under me right after I'd brought him to orgasm. Remus would misinterpret my expression and give me a kiss as well. He could not understand that just for a few seconds I did not want to be reminded of the fact that Severus loved him and only him. How heartless I sound. Remus at death's door and all I could think of was my petty jealousy. My insane jealousy. How can you cheat on someone when all three parties involved are sharing the same bed?

Remus is in the medical ward now. In a coma so it doesn't matter that we're not sleeping next to him anymore. Severus no longer tries for a miracle potion. I suppose he too has given up. He comes and sits by Remus' side taking precautions that no one besides me, Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore will see him. The few students who are also allowed to visit have never seen him here. Except for Harry. He walked in once to find Severus resting his forehead against Remus' limp hand. His eyes shone. Had he just realised? Or simply confirmed his suspicions? He slipped out quietly and to my knowledge did not share his discovery with anybody. He didn't even ask me any questions.

Remus, I don't think I'll manage to do what you want me to do. I cannot reach Severus. He sleeps in his Dungeon now. At least, he says he does. It doesn't look like it to me. If you could see the bags under his eyes…

This is not an easy task, Remy. It's not that I don't try. Believe me, I do. The other night I stood outside his door and begged him for at least an hour to let me in. Well, alright, I didn't exactly beg. I tried to reason with him. I pounded on the door, I kicked it, I called him every name in the book. Nothing worked. Dumbledore found me curled on the cold stone - it would have been unthinkable for Snape to have a welcome mat, I know - my head resting against my hind legs. Reduced to that for Snape. Albus scratched me between the ears and patted my head affectionately. He should have taken me to be put to sleep.

Snape let Dumbledore in but not me. I was good enough to fuck in the night but he will not share his pain. The only times I see him now are at your bedside. I almost hate you, Remy. For leaving him. For leaving me. For making me love him. For making me lose him. For being so fucking innocent, the martyr in all of this. I cannot see what I'm writing anymore. It's better that way because I don't mean it. I don't mean any of it.