Chapter III:

Remus stood on the banks of the lake, his eyes cast out across the water, although he did not really see the scene. Upon waking, a mere half hour earlier, he was met with the instant desire to be outside, and feel natural light upon his skin. After one night, he already felt the impenetrable claustrophobia of the dungeons pressing upon his chest, smothering him. He assumed that he would, after a period, grow accustomed to his new rooms, but at the same time was conscious that that was only one of many things to which he must adjust.

Out towards the middle of the lake, the surface suddenly broke, snagging Remus' attention. It was the giant squid, no doubt, or some other fantastic creature rising from the depths to briefly greet the day before disappearing from sight. Remus felt a surge of envy at not being able to do the same.

Sighing, he jammed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Along the bank, a pair of ducks had their bills to the mud, sifting out worms and other grubs for their morning meal. Remus' stomach growled. With the dire need to escape into the fresh morning air as much as he did upon waking, he was yet to breakfast and it was that – his hunger - that dragged him back across the lawns a few minutes later.

Trudging forwards, his head down and his mind lost in thought, he didn't notice Minerva McGonagall until he nearly bumped into her upon the steps ascending to the castle.

"You're up early."

Remus started and looked up, pausing half-way between steps. The professor was dressed in light, summer robes quite unlike those she wore during the school year, although her hair was still pulled back tightly and pinned perfectly into place.

"Yes," said Remus. "I wanted to get some fresh air. I trust you are well."

McGonagall squinted in the bright morning sun as she cast a long, serious look over Remus. "Never mind how I am," she said with a dismissive gesture. "How are you?"

"I'm-" For a second, Remus' automatic response caught on his tongue. "I'm fine. Thank you."

McGonagall peered sceptically over her glasses at him. A Head of House always knew when one of her own was being liberal with the truth, even if they had not been a pupil for nearly two decades now.

"Well, um," Remus blundered, squirming slightly. "Let's say I'm doing a lot better than Severus anyway."

McGonagall nodded, apparently satisfied. "Breakfast with me?"

"Of course."

Remus allowed himself to be ushered into the Great Hall, the smell of freshly-brewed coffee and sweet pastries greeting his nostrils pleasantly. For the duration of the summer holidays, the House tables and benches had been pushed to the side and replaced with much smaller ones for the use of remaining staff and guests. McGonagall nodded Remus in the direction of a table to the far end of the hall.

"Continental style today," she said, sitting down and helping herself to a croissant and jam. Absently, Remus picked an apple from the central bowl. "Not exactly my usual cup of tea, but one can never truly fault the food here, don't you agree?"

Remus nodded, picking up a knife to slice his fruit, cutting through the shinny skin and into flesh. He wrestled to bring his mind to order. "The best food I've ever tasted," he said gentle, his eyes to his plate.

They ate in silence for a few minutes and Remus found he could not keep his mind from wandering. A heavy unease had settled within him unlike any he would have ever expected to have experience within these castle walls. Even three years ago, when he arrived to take position among the faculty with the needless anxiety of Sirius' escape hanging over him, he had not felt such a sensation. For all his soul ached under each of the burdens placed upon him then, he kept his spirits up in some manner or other.

He had a focus.

Now, his expected role and duty had naturally been outlined to him by the headmaster, but he failed to warm to it.

"I want you to take care of him, Remus - for his sake, and for the sake of your child."

Remus' ears may have been deaf for all these words stirred in him. Perhaps the phrase "your child" was supposed to appeal to his emotions, to his paternal instincts. But wherever they happened to lie, they were smothered by his rational judgment. Doubt after doubt turned over in his head concerning what he was being asked to do, rapidly and repeatedly forming the same conclusion:

Such an endeavour would be futile.

Remus glanced around the Hall, chewing steadily on his breakfast. Why am I here? he pondered. By the one person he was supposed to be here for, he was not plainly wanted and therefore he was surely wasting his time -- time that could be much better spent performing duties for the Order.

McGonagall cleared her throat softly. "Knut for them."

"Pardon?" Remus looked up and across the table at McGonagall, who smiled at him.

"For your thoughts," she explained. "You seem preoccupied. I don't think I need to ask why."

Remus flushed, embarrassed by the evidence his distraction. "I am awful company."

"I'll forgive you." McGonagall smiled again - a kind, careful smile probably reserved for distressed students. "I dare say I would be pretty dreadful company too, if I were in your situation."

"Do you have children?" Remus asking abruptly, the word tumbling from his mouth before properly formed in his brain. He cheeks burned even more intensely.

McGonagall shook her head. "No – but I have a House full of adolescents. My vocation is teaching, not motherhood."

"I have always wanted to be a father," Remus admitted, a hint of wistfulness creeping into his voice. "But I never thought--"

"You never thought it would be with Severus."

"I never thought I'd find someone who would what want to carry my child," Remus amended. He sighed despondently. "I still haven't. He's furious with me for getting him –- well, you know."

"Perhaps you should remind him that it takes two to tango," McGonagall said, sipping her tea, a slight grin twisting on her lips.

"I don't think that would go down very well. That night was – we were - Oh God." Remus buried his head in his hands. He couldn't believe he was discussing 'that night' with his ex-head of House. "It should never have happened."

Remus felt a new wave of self-directed fury threatening to engulf him. How could he have been so careless – so totally out of control – to get drunk beyond all reasonable sense, have unprotected sex with a man who loathed him, and impregnate him in the process? For all the amity he tried muster around Severus, for all the sense he tried to speak, he couldn't bring himself to not hate the situation he found himself in. Where was the joy in fatherhood when the other parent despised the idea so violently?

McGonagall reached out and patted his arm soothingly. "I wish there was something I could do to ease your suffering, Remus," she said, earnestly. "And I wish I had never seen that out coot's damned prediction."

"That's very kind if you, Minerva." Remus lifted his head from his hands and managed a half-hearted smile. "But I expect the 'old coot' would have made her prediction had you been there or not. As for my suffering... I'm fine. Really, I am. Severus, however..."

"Just a little annoyed?"

"And as sick as a dog. In fact—" Remus scraped back, making to stand. "I should probably be getting back. He'll most likely kill me for doing so, but so will Albus if I do not."

"He really is making you live together, then. That's quite absurd, even for Albus."

Remus shrugged. "It will certainly be interesting." He rose, brushing crumbs from his robes. "Thank you for your company, Minerva, and for your ear."

"Any time, Remus," McGonagall assured, grabbing his wrist as he made to leave. "And just to put your mind at ease, Remus: anyone who wouldn't want you as the father of their child must need their head examining."

Remus nodded curtly. For all the compassion in McGonagall's words, he could not find them reassuring. He could not doubt Severus' sanity, nor could he counter his cries of injustice. If their positions had been reversed -- well, Remus was not sure how wonderfully he'd be taking the turn of events, either.

Trailing down the stairs into the dank depths of the dungeons, Remus shivered as the damp, chill air smacked his face. He despised the place; it was dark and it was hostile. Every brick seemed to be whispering to him that he wasn't welcome there.

Yet he had to make himself at home there for the next nine months.

Remus pushed his way through Severus' wards with a few uttered passwords, taking a deep breath before slipping quietly into the Potions master's living room.

The man in question sat by the unlit fire, his long, thin body curled up in an armchair as he glared darkly at the floor. The sight caught the breath tightly in Remus' chest as it clashed violently with his mental scheme of things. The Severus Snape he knew was not supposed to look this weak, still huddled up in his nightshirt as morning drew to a close, swathed up in a shocking vulnerability. Remus clutched the doorframe tightly as he fought to compose himself.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

Severus didn't look up. "Like I want to get you castrated," he said. His voice sounded strained and sore. "For God's sake, don't ask such insipid question. My head hurts and I haven't the energy for an argument."

"I didn't want to argue, Severus."

Severus lifted his chin, lank strands of hair falling away to reveal a face that was eerily pasty and pale. "Shame," he said, his eyes narrowing dangerously within dark rings of shadow. "I can think of nothing that would give me greater pleasure. How unfortunate it is then, that I can barely gather the strength to drag myself off to vomit somewhere other than on my living room floor. Be assured that anything else is quite out of the question."

"Severus, I--"

"Either come in or leave, Lupin. I would prefer the latter, but either way, please desist lurking in the doorway. You're letting in a draft." Severus' chin slumped back to his chest. Remus lingered where he was for a moment longer, transfixed and terrified.

"Is there any thing I can do to—"

"No," Severus snapped. He curled tighter and deeper into the arm chair, his eyes closing for a second. "For the love of God, just stay away from me."

Remus let go of the doorframe finally, feeling exposed and vulnerable without it resting reassuringly against his palm. He folded his arms up in his robes, frowning "Do you wish for me to spend the next nine months in my rooms?" he said, taking a cautious step forward.

"Do you really need to ask?"

"Do you really have an answer?" Remus toyed with the idea of taking the chair across the coffee table from Severus, but remained standing. For this angle, Severus looked even paler, almost grey. "Damn it, Severus – talk to me!"

"I have nothing to say that you wish to hear."

"I hold no expectation that you would." Remus voice was soft -- a timid whisper. He loathed himself for it. "Tell me what to do."

"You sound desperate, Lupin." Severus lifted his head for his knees. The faintest trace of a smirk crept across his features. "How are you feeling? Guilty? Afraid? I am not sure I dare imagine what thoughts are going though you piteous brain."

Remus frown deepened. "Have you ever been capable of conversing with someone without accusations and insults?"

"Lupin, I do not wish to be conversing with you at all."

"We need to talk, Severus. I may not like this situation anymore than you do, but ignoring it won't make it disappear."

"Which situation would that be?" Severus sighed. "Unwanted pregnancy or forced co-habitation?"

Remus shrugged. "Both. Either," he said. Perhaps he really was desperate. He certainly felt something of a similar ilk. It squirmed unpleasantly in his stomach. "Why are you being so obstinate?"

Severus unfolded his limbs and uncurled his body, pulling himself erect in his chair. He meet Remus eye steadily. "Self-preservation, Lupin," he said, darkly. "I believe you, of all people, understand the notion."

Remus bit the tip of his tongue to hold back a retort. "I think we all are," he replied. "But I'm not sure that is was this is about."

"Really."

Severus held Remus gaze a moment longer before standing, slowly and shakily. He rested the tips of his fingers against the chair of the arm for a moment, as if attempting to catch his balance without being noticed doing so. "I have things I need to be doing today, Lupin. Reports, research, preparation for the coming term... I really don't have time for this now."

"This isn't my fault, Severus."

Severus turned, his faded grey nightshirt swishing languidly around his ankles and over his bony feet. "I don't care," he muttered, barely loud enough for Remus to catch. "I really don't care."

With that, Severus drew away from the fireside and towards his bedchambers. He turned once, by his door, his lips falling partially asunder as if he was about to speak. No words came. He slipped from the room with an aggrieved sigh, leaving Remus staring into the space he had just vacated.

Remus felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to scream out his frustrations. Stumbling towards the sofa, he flopped down into it in a fit of despondence. He dared not wonder how au fait with Severus' bitter temper he would have to become; he already thought he knew it well enough. Drawing a cushion to his chest for comfort, he glanced around Severus' living room. Bookcases lined the walls, breaking only a couple of glass-fronted cabinets displaying objects and artefacts that made Remus shiver. Each shelve was chaotic, books crammed randomly into any available space and spilling onto piles on the floor where there was none. Journals littered the coffee-table, and an array of mugs and glasses in desperate need of washing. There were no objets d'art. No plants.

Remus grimaced. This was certainly not the kind of place he had any desire to call home. It was hostile and disarrayed, the complete opposite of any home had he ever tried to foster. Rather uncharitably, he believed it suited Severus perfectly.

Severus sat on the end of his bed, a quill and letter paper balanced on his knee. With his fingertips, he massaged his aching forehead while his thumb brushed against two days worth of stubble on his cheek. Still feeling ill despite the potion he had managed to ingest, he had dressed himself in only shirt and trousers, rather begrudgingly. He immediately wished to be back in his nightshirt.

Taking a deep breath, he collected himself and returned his thoughts to the matter at hand. Leaning forward, he dipped the tip of his quill in the bottle of ink that sat on the floor by his feet.

Avery, he wrote, struggling to keep his script legible.

I will regrettably be unable to attend your dinner party this evening. Matters have arisen at Hogwarts that I am unable to excuse myself from without suspicion. I am sure you understand how important it is for me to keep myself in Dumbledore's favour and trust. I will be in touch again as soon is it safe for me to do so.

Please send my regards to Mrs Malfoy and her son.

Sincerely,

S. Snape.

Severus threw his quill down as a wave of nausea washed over him, too icy to be morning sickness. Death Eater 'dinner parties' always ended predictable, the entertainment always the same. He couldn't say he wasn't glad to excuse himself.

Yet he still felt in two minds. I had taken months to worm his way back into the inner circles of the Death Easters, even with the backing of Lucius Malfoy. It had taken months further to gain enough parity among their ranks to be allowed to attend full meetings. He still was not permitted to approach the Dark Lord, other than to prostrate before him. Almost every piece of information he had passed to the Order, not matter what its significance, had been second-hand. Both he and Dumbledore knew that his usefulness as a spy was turbulent; both knew it would take time and chance to reach fruition.

Now, however, Severus struggled to raise enough spirit to expect such a thing. A pregnant spy with his main informant in prison was one rather down on his luck.

There was much he needed to discuss with the headmaster.

Standing, Severus folded the letter neatly and placed it in his pocket. He'd take it to his owl later. With one hand, he rubbed absently at his stomach. His sides ached from vomiting and his throat was raw; he prayed that each day wouldn't be like this and the last from now on. He wasn't sure he'd survive such torture. How did women do it?

He snorted, remembering something his mother had once said.

"You gave me such hell while I was carrying you, Severus – always a typical Snape."

Perhaps it was genetic, then. By God, that was a terrible notion. With a sigh he moved from the bed, snatching up a bottle of water from the chest-of-drawers as he moved slowly and silently towards his bedchamber door. It stood ajar, just enough from him to peek out into the living room but not be seen. He took a sip of the water as his eyes, narrowing, trained on Lupin. The werewolf was sitting deeply in his sofa, his head tipped back and his hands gathered in his lap. Severus was grateful he couldn't make out his face. He wasn't sure he sure could muster the energy to be angry at those amiable features.

"'Be civil,'" he growled to himself. "Pah."

The headmaster asked for miracles. He stepped back from the door and closed it gently. Draining the last of his water, he let the bottle drop to the floor. The drink had done nothing to ease with pain in his head or throat and it refreshed him only enough to feel a little less disgusting than before.

Frowning darkly, he failed to keep his mind from returning to Lupin. The man who had moved into his chambers was a puzzle. He was startlingly out of kilter with anything Severus had come to expect. He always thought he had Lupin figured out; there surely was little more to him. Mild-mannered, thoughtful, polite... sometimes Lupin made Severus want to scream. Yet what was it he had glimpsed in those soft brown eyes? That was anguish if he wasn't very much mistaken, or some other manner of pain or discomfort.

His vindictive convictions wavered for a moment, in battle with unwelcome sensibilities. He felt smothered under the weight of his unyielding stubbornness. It didn't do much to help his nausea.

A/N: Once again, many thanks for Sparkler for the beta'ing, support and enthusiasm. Without her, you'd be reading about Death Easters.

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Edit: Chapter replaced to to fix a couple of errors and to try out a horizontal rule.