In a Handshake

by Ohnann (ohnann(at)kittymail.com)

A few minutes before the teachers were supposed to gather in the great Hall to witness the sorting of the new students, Dumbledore escorted Snape and Lupin through several deserted corridors. Half way through an especially long one, he stopped abruptly. There were no doors in sight, no windows, not even a painting.

Dumbledore placed his hands at the small of his back, not clearing his throat until the other men had come to a halt. "If I remember correctly, there were one or two... minor disagreements between you two when you attended Hogwarts yourselves. I am aware of the obvious fact that you are grown now, and that all that is forgotten... But, just as a formality, I would like you to shake hands."

"Shake hands?" Snape echoed, his eyes narrowing. "Now? Here?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, to all three questions. Otherwise either one of us could be late for dinner."

Snape didn't move. He stood rooted to the spot, dumbfounded.

Lupin felt compelled to do something. So, without pondering further, he turned to Snape, and extended his right hand. After all, it was just a simple handshake.

Snape fixed the outstretched hand with a degrading stare, but soon enough, he brought his bony equivalent up, grabbing hold of Remus's fingers.
Lupin's hand was very cold, and Severus would have let go immediately, if Dumbledore hadn't been right beside him, smiling encouragingly.

Unable to stop his mind from wandering, Severus tried to view Lupin as he would appear to a student. A pale man, with dark circles, full of wondrous nuances, beneath the eyes. Light-brown hair, which had turned grey too quickly. That was all the students would see, Severus realised. It was a bit different to him, though. Granted; he, too, saw the haggard man at first, but soon the picture of a werewolf on its hind legs appeared, drowning Lupin in its clarity and vividness.

To Severus, Lupin looked even more wolfish this time around. It was in the eyes, he guessed. Unpredictability. Malevolence. Perhaps the beast grew in rate with its maturing host. Dumbledore had summoned the entire faculty during the summer, and told them to think of Lupin as a man who occasionally became a werewolf. Severus had, along with his colleagues, assured the headmaster that he would. It proved to be harder than he first thought, though; harder than he could remember. No matter how hard he tried, he could, at best, view Lupin as a werewolf, which on occasion walked through the corridors of Hogwarts as a man. Though most of the time, he just saw Lupin as a werewolf; nothing more, nothing less. Just a werewolf. And a heinous one, at that.

There was a Muggle saying that he had taken to his heart long ago: don't judge the dog by its coat. Severus couldn't have said it better himself. He wouldn't take anyone for anything at fist sight. Wouldn't judge the dog by its coat, the bird by its feathers, or the werewolf by its snout.

Somewhere beneath the calm, trustworthy, slightly tarnished surface, Snape knew there was a shaggy brute, ready to lash out at him and stain his robes with drool, moments before it would bury the long, sharp teeth in his flesh... mercilessly, not even halting for bone...

No, Severus would be very cautious. Who knew what could happen if Lupin became agitated? When he and Lupin had been in school together, there had been other people – full-fledged witches and wizards – who would be able to stop the wolf, had him thrown out before he could even howl... But when they both were teachers, he couldn't count on the luxury of having someone to back him up.


The two men avoided each others' gazes with skill, both staring over the other man's shoulder at the dull walls of grey stone which made up the long corridor. Neither Snape nor Lupin moved; it was apparent that both were unwilling to touch the other, yet neither wanted to end the clasp of hands too quick: that would be considered impolite.

Snape's hand was sticky to the touch, still it was not sweaty. Remus stared at a strand of greasy hair, which stuck to Snape's forehead, and suddenly remembered that the Potion's teacher had ran that hand through his hair mere seconds ago. Needing something else besides Snape's hygiene – or lack thereof – to think about, Remus turned inward, reflecting on himself and the unusual situation he currently was stuck in.

Since the fall of Voldemort, Remus had struggled along, not knowing where to place his trust and his hopes – so he had turned to himself, reverted back into the self-reliant little wallflower he'd been when he had received his letter of acceptance from Hogwarts. When Sirius had turned out to be capable of such evil, Remus hadn't been able to trust anyone except Dumbledore, and he'd definitely not had the strength to gamble with friendship or love and lose. A polite conversation was about as far as he could go, and that applied to all; old schoolmates, colleagues, and former Death Eaters alike.

But he could trust Dumbledore, like he'd always been able to, he knew that... even if he himself had defied the headmaster's trust countless of times during his years at Hogwarts. Remus had always found it hard to look directly into Dumbledore's patient eyes; but it had been extra hard ever since he'd begun to sneak out at night, as a werewolf. The worst part was that he'd always been under the impression that the headmaster already knew, and just waited for Remus to give in and tell him.

There was no need to think of defied trust, Remus decided, and involuntarily started to think about Snape instead. It was discomforting, downright painful, for Remus to remind himself that Severus was one of the few who knew his secret – and had done so for many years. But Snape had never once, what Remus knew of, revealed his condition to anyone else. Remus was certain he could thank Dumbledore for that too, though.

But now, Snape was a grown man and he could shout Remus's secret out during lunch, if he felt like it. Remus's only comfort was the fact that Dumbledore was still there, and that Snape looked up to him, with an apparent mixture of trepidation and respect. No matter how hard he claimed the opposite, Snape had been a Death Eater at a point in his life, and he hadn't always functioned as a spy for the good side. Remus felt sick at the thought of how many like-minded Snape could have told about his lycanthropy during some nightly raid in pursuit of good wizards and witches.

Remus loathed the Dark Mark which, through its empty promises and bonds of shallow friendship, had lured too many people in its overpriced trap. He detested all it stood for, all it had caused, all the lives it had ruined. The only thing he loathed more than the Mark itself was the people who freely had accepted it, decorated their skin with it, lived under the sinister influence of it. The people who completely had destroyed their own lives as well as others', for an imprecise cause they weren't allowed to learn too much about, for a possibility of a few minutes of limited fame. Most of them hoped in vain; but still clung on to that shred of something positive, refusing to see that they were being used, brainwashed...

But Snape had turned away from all that, something that had caused Remus many a sleepless night. He didn't know what to think about Snape, and he was certain Snape felt the same way about him – he could see the suspicious glances he threw around, not being able to meet Remus's gaze for more than a few seconds. The reaction was mutual, since Snape's piercing black eyes efficiently brought Remus back to a time where there had been a glistening Prefect mark pinned to his robes, when he'd never doubted who to trust, when there always was a supporting friend close at hand. Back then, he'd almost been able to forget how serious it actually was that Snape knew of his liaison with the moon, in favour of the stale enjoyment he found in seeing the Slytherin's cautiousness, the hint of fear in his eyes.

That thought always forced Remus to remember how he and his friends had treated Snape, how Sirius had exhibited a callous quality that apparently would take over in the future, how Snape had given back... And then, mercilessly, Remus was forced to think about how Snape and Sirius once had been on the same side – the wrong side – together. He had to try to soothe the pain of realizing that Snape, the one person he'd had a justified reason for mistrusting during his life, could return from a place which one of his best friends couldn't leave.

The thought of a masked Sirius conjuring up a Dark Mark high above the residue of a house tortured Remus, and he wondered why Sirius hadn't broken free, when Snape had managed to.



Lupin remembered how Sirius and James had treated Snape, while he had been a voiceless observer, and he tried a small smile, as if that would make up for those years in school. It was shallow, weak, and only brought a nearly unnoticeable change to his tired features.

Snape must have noticed it, though, because he winced, and squeezed Remus's hand momentarily. The old well-known fear fled over Snape's grim features; residing in the depths of his eyes for a second. Remus quickly wiped the smile off his face, not knowing how to interpret Snape's reaction.

When Lupin smiled, Snape's first reaction was to take a step backwards, and he nearly did, but changed his mind and had to grab a tighter hold of Lupin's hand not to complete the action. Snape always felt uncomfortable when Lupin smiled. He could remember experiencing that distinctive feeling ever since the sixth grade, secretly fearing that the other boy would show him his teeth – and he would discover a set of fangs instead. Lupin knew how to bring about a trustworthy facade, but Snape couldn't trust it, no matter how much he wanted to. A werewolf was a dark creature, and that was not something Snape would be able to forget.

The men let go of each other, after only a few tense seconds, both practically overcome with thoughts and memories.

Dumbledore had watched the two closely during the short moment they touched; a patient, friendly smile on his face. He seemed pleased with the smooth outcome. "I think it's about time to head back to the Great Hall," he said simply, and began to walk back in the same direction they had come from.

As he hurried after Dumbledore, a dull pain in the back of his head, Lupin discovered that a part of him had begun to nurture a certain unexplainable acceptance towards Snape; there were some stains that never would come off, and that was it. Lupin glanced at Snape, who scampered past him, and he hoped, against hope, that Snape would come to realise that the same applied to him and his wolf.
Fin