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Chapter 8

"So, have you decided what you're going to do for you vacation?"

"I'll be making presents for everyone here and then I'll dress as Father Christmas and deliver them."

Dumbledore smiled despite himself. "I wish you wouldn't scorn Christmas so much, Severus."

"Their only redeeming quality is that most of the students will go home."

Albus knew that that was the only thing that helped Severus stomach Christmas back to the time he was a student. He said as much to the other man.

The Potions Master gave out a snort. "I'm essentially the same person."

The new skin on Severus' face was a little tender and rather pink but as Pomfrey had reassured him it would soon get its usual sallow hue. Severus had demanded that only Pomfrey and Dumbledore be allowed in his room until that happened.

Next to his bed there was a low stack of get-well cards. Most of them were rather formal from the other members of staff but there was also a huge one from the Patil family that had come along with an enormous potted plant that Snape had banished from his room the moment he saw it. There were also a couple of cards from his students. The initials HP signed one in which the annoying little brat urged him to stop putting his body between him and danger, his debt to the Potter family had been repaid thrice over and that he should think about putting on the Sorting Hat again and see if it wouldn't put him in Gryffindor. Severus had been too stunned by the brat's cheek to mutter a simple Incendio and had tossed the offending card along with the others. The only other student's card read a simple "Get well soon". It was unsigned but Severus knew well Longbottom's untidy scrawl. He'd been oddly touched, a fact he would have liked to attribute to that infernal Tranquillus variant but he'd been on Sommeil by then.

"Seriously now, have you given any thought in what you're going to do during your holiday?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "For the last time, I'm not going to Snape Manor."

Albus laughed. "I was thinking of something else."

"Like what?"

"Your research."

Severus looked up, his hands gripping the bedsheet tightly. "My… research?" he repeated.

"On a lycanthropy cure… perhaps cure is stretching it a bit… Of a way to slow down werewolf metabolism."

"There's little point in that now, is there?"

Albus peered at Snape over his spectacles in that infuriatingly benign way of his. Snape met the gaze levelly. "There are others who would benefit," Albus said.

A snort came from the other man. "What am I? The patron saint of werewolves? My motives were… personal. You know that."

"You would be certain to receive a Paracelsus."

"And join the ranks of Jigger and the other glory seeking quacks? No, thank you."

"How about relinquishing your study to someone else?"

Disbelief flooded the black eyes. "You must be joking! First of all, there is no research, Albus! Just… desperate fumbling…"

It was Dumbledore's turn to snort in disbelief. "Where is that proud Severus I used to know? Fumbling? Nothing you've produced has ever been "fumbling". You possess a gift, an analytical mind unlike any I've ever encountered. You would have made wonders in Ravenclaw."

Severus chuckled. "Funny, the Hat had said the same thing when I was sorted."

"And what did you say?"

"I begged it to put me in Slytherin. Wouldn't want to disappoint father even though you had taken me away from him."

"I should have done something sooner," Dumbledore murmured.

"You should have made Dementor feed out of the brilliant young Grindelwald sympathiser instead of letting him back to his laboratory," Snape said in a matter of fact tone.

Dumbledore was quiet.

"I know you were at the Council then. I've known for quite some time. If you could, would you do anything differently?"

Dumbledore shook his head.

The younger man gave out a sigh. "I can't stay in bed anymore. I'm not an invalid."

"You would consider my suggestion then?" the Headmaster said hopefully, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief that Snape had decided to get out of that little detour to the past.

Severus brought his hands to his face rubbing tiredly at his forehead. "I can't bear to look at my notes," he whispered behind the cover of his fingers more to himself than to Albus.

The old man stroked his former student's bent head. "I understand that it is too soon," he said softly, "but I need your help."

Three magic words that his Slytherin would always respond to, risk his life, his sanity, lie, betray, kill. There were times when the power he had over Severus overwhelmed the old wizard. Snape removed his hands from his face. Dumbledore met the sharp black eyes giving the younger man a warm smile that was not answered.

"It has to do with a student…" Albus began.

"A werewolf student?"

"Yes. He was bitten during the war and hasn't come back to the school. Remus had talked to him to try to convince him."

Severus gave a start remembering a mysterious trip that Remus had refused to discuss. He'd just left on his own. Black hadn't known where he was either and Severus had gotten for a moment the fearful notion of a sick animal going off to die on its own. Black had been his usual oblivious self, misreading Severus' anxiety and accusing him of having had a fight with Remus that had made their lover take off.

Albus squeezed Severus' hand, seeing the memories in his pained expression. "Remus did not succeed in convincing the boy right away and then… Well, when he died, you can imagine what a blow that was. The boy's parents say that he's lost his will to live."

"Who is this student?"

"If you're not going to help him, I believe it would be best to protect his privacy."

Said without a hint of reproach however Albus saw the guilt in Severus' eyes just as he had expected.

"Touché," the younger man said bitterly. He took a deep breath. "Supposing I wanted to help the boy, you do realise that I can't do it alone. I'd need to keep his system free of anything else, even wolfsbane."

"You'd need someone to protect you from an attack. Perhaps an Animagus…"

Snape groaned. "Subtle as a ton of bricks."

"Severus, as much as you loathe to admit it, Sirius and you worked well together during the war. Furthermore, you've both been close to a werewolf and could help…" Albus' voice trailed off. "You must help him, Severus. Regardless of whether you can save his life or delay his death, you must convince him to return to Hogwarts."

"I believe I've made my position clear on having a werewolf at Hogwarts," Snape said harshly.

"Who better to convince the boy to come back than you, then? You and Sirius are the only ones who can do it."

"Where Remus failed? I honestly don't see it."

"You'll give him hope, Severus."

"I'll simply experiment on him. You'll need Black for the encouragement. Have you talked to him by the way?"

"He's not the one I'm counting on having a hard time persuading."

After the first two days I'd stopped asking Pomfrey whether he'd like to see me. I simply passed by for two more days. The last day she told me the only person he allowed in was Dumbledore.

"Let me see him, please," I whispered."

"Don't take it personally, Sirius. He's sensitive about how he looks still."

Her reassuring smile grated on my nerves. Abruptly I transformed, battled my sudden urge to piss on her leg, gave out a low growl that made her take a step back and bolted out of the Infirmary.

Padfoot's life is not complicated. He runs and hunts and howls at the moon. He goes back to his rooms, muzzle still dripping blood, fur matted and dirty. Harry did not deserve that sight so I wouldn't let him in before making myself presentable.

I'd left my door unlocked, unwilling to transform even for the few seconds it would have taken me to let Harry in. He crinkled his nose at the wet dog smell. I wagged my tail feebly. Concern clouded his eyes. He probably believes what they say about Animagi having gotten stuck in their animal form forever after remaining transformed for inordinate amounts of time. He forgets the days, months, years, I spent as a dog in Azkaban to no apparent ill effects.

I hate to cause this sadness in Harry's eyes. Did he hear my howls yesterday night? They were cathartic even though my throat hurts today.

"I came to see my godfather, not Snuffles."

I couldn't oblige him. I love him but I couldn't.

Harry shook his head and left. He would not pressure me. Shame rose in my chest. I could never be what Harry needed. I never gave him anything that mattered.

I transformed for Dumbledore, the old man would have none of this silliness. I thought I was hearing things when he told me that Severus had agreed to go on a mission with me. It has been a while since we've had a mission together. I remember him during the war. Efficient, resourceful and courageous enough to put several Gryffindors to shame. Qualities I'd grudgingly recognised even then though at the time I'd had no idea I'd one day be howling over his rejection. No idea that his hair is fine and soft, his pale skin silky, his thin lips so sweet.

He didn't give himself to me completely until after I'd finally been told of Remus' illness. He'd take me in, is mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, his legs holding me tight. He'd twine around me like devil's snare and show me rather than tell me what he wanted. Faster and harder and there. So intense there were times I'd feel my heart pounding so hard in my chest it seemed about to escape it. So hard that quite often there'd be droplets of blood on the sheets afterwards. I'd tried to avoid that. I had absolutely no desire to hurt him even when that was what he wanted. He had never hurt me in bed, controlled and tender, preparing me with his fingers and his mouth until I would beg him wordlessly to take me, shamelessly backing against him, grunting and whimpering.

I had not expected this consideration, those sensual assaults of his. When we were at school together I'd deemed him too ugly and stiff to deserve a partner he hadn't paid or forced. I think I'd even told him as much on several occasions. Catching Remus giving the slimy Slytherin I hated a taste of the pleasures we'd discovered together had been a shock unlike any I'd ever had in my then short life. It had been impossible to understand why Remus had been on his knees in front of Snape without having been forced or blackmailed or bewitched.

There's a nice story to tell Harry! Remus smelt me and turned to my direction imperceptibly, his mouth still fastened on Severus' prick. I left as quickly as I could as though I'd been the one at fault, tears running down my face. Burning rage had dried the tears by the time James found me. I hadn't been able to tell him much besides that Snape had done something. "As always," James must have thought and told me to ignore the greasy git.

The timing had been awful. Had all this happened long before the full moon I think my anger would have cooled down by then. Instead what I did was pass Severus a slip of paper with instructions on how to get past the Whomping Willow to see the lovely surprise waiting for him. Copying Remus' handwriting had been no problem, it's not as if Remus ever wrote a Transfiguration essay in his life just like I never wrote a Defence against the Dark Arts essay.

It was a clever little note, short and suggestive written on a parchment charmed to burn up a few minutes after being unfolded. Peter delivered it. Remus had confided in him and used him as a messenger before so Snape wouldn't suspect anything. The little rat had shown no qualms about helping me out with my prank, his beady eyes shining maliciously. He hadn't let his part be known afterwards when Remus had started being with him all the time, avoiding me and being just barely civil to James who had refused to shun me.

Near the end of our studies at Hogwarts we managed to recapture a semblance of what our friendship had been. A few nights Remus had even let me in his bed. He'd been lonely and miserable and gay werewolves can't be choosers.

The memories have left a bitter taste in my mouth. Just going over what happened in my mind hurts too much to even consider sometime telling Harry what I did.

It's better to dream of the future, of any future I'm fooling myself into believing I could have with Snape. For the next few weeks he'll have no choice but to be with me. In my little fantasy world he's already under me, his long limbs wrapped around me. I'm whispering sweet nothings in his ear as I take him in a languid, perfect pace. My fist is a poor substitute for his tight heat as I stroke myself, trying to keep the slow pace, trying to hold on to his image. Unconsciously I pick up speed, lying in this bed that we never shared I've brought up his memory so clearly I can smell him. Perhaps I've spent too much time as a dog since this is exactly the memory that takes me to the edge. I arch into my fist and find my release. In my mind, so does he. His features are strained, his mouth half open. Black eyes close for just a second then snap open again, staring hard at me. I savoured those few times when he'd let me take him face to face. When he wouldn't shake me off him right away but would bear my weight still joined as our heartbeats would slowly get back to normal.