Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling's books/characters, but my story.

Spoilers: 3rd book and beyond, I suppose?

Rating: PG. Very PG

Pairings: Pre-slash Remus/Severus

Genre: General. I really didn't know how to categorize this, but this will have to do unless there's another suggestion.

Summary: Two boys that have nothing better to do than stare at their shoes. Okay, and poke at their laces... but that's all, I swear. ;) Just a short little something.

I was longing for home more than I cared to admit. Being at school does that to me, sometimes. You think I would be used to sharing a room with three other boys well into my sixth year at Hogwarts, but when it comes down to it, I'm really not. As much time as I share with my friends I need equal time alone. Time to just be. I know I'm not truly myself when I'm around my friends. No matter how much they share with me and I share with them there's still a part of myself that is reserved for myself. It's that way with everyone, I think. No matter how much you reveal about yourself there's always more. There's always more…

And it's so grand when things are revealed. I'm not speaking of a feast of revelation, but rather a taste here and a taste there. Isn't that how one enjoys food rather than stuffing themselves silly until they can't bear the sight of food anymore? That's how it should be with getting to know people, I think.

After six years of knowing my closest friends, it makes me smile when I learn something new about them. (It's a cliché to say that you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but really, isn't that a great description?) I might catch something subtle in every day conversation or it might be in something they do that seems completely out of character for them when really, it isn't. I often wonder if they catch on to the same things about me. I hope that they do, since I sometimes have a difficult time revealing myself. Okay, maybe more than sometimes… but what I'm really trying to say is that they don't know who I am when I am alone. They don't know who I am when I'm in the comforts of my own home. People put on different faces in different situations. I can be comfortable at school, especially in my own dorm, but can I be as comfortable as I am at home? Doesn't that show? Doesn't it show that I'm different when I'm in a classroom? Doesn't it show when…

"Do I act different when I'm around you?" It was a bold question, but it had to be answered.

"What do you mean, different?" I caught him off guard. We were deep in thought, both of us. Deep in thought, staring down at our shoes, picking our laces with our wands. The both of us.

"I mean, when I'm around you… do I act differently as opposed to when I'm around….???"

"Whom?" He asked abruptly.

"Well, when I'm around my other friends?"

"Not by much. Well, there is a subtlety."

"Where does the subtlety lie?" I wanted to look up at his face. I knew he was searching my expression for something. I watched him from the corner of my eye.

"You seem a lot more… yourself." He was no longer looking at me, as if he couldn't say it to me straight on.

"How do you know what my self is?"

"What were you thinking of to be asking such ridiculous questions?" He asked. I know he didn't find it very ridiculous. If he would have found it ridiculous he would have laughed and ridiculed my conversation… well, ridiculed it even further.

"I was just thinking that I wanted to be home."

"All of this out of wanting to be home? You would really rather be home?"

"Yes. Well, yes and no. I'm alone at home, but sometimes I think that it's better."

"Being alone is always better." The boy frowned. He almost said it like he meant it. "Although, if you were to go home this place would be even more insufferable, if that is humanly possible."

"Are you saying you don't want me to go home?"

Pause.
Pause.
Don't look. Don't look.

"All I'm saying is that you can do what you want. Obviously I have no say over what you do in your life. What you do is entirely up to you. I refuse to have such an influence in your life that you go by what I say… unlike some of your other friends." They did have a lot of influence. He was right. Sometimes it was hard to see that he was right most of the time. He was not like a sixteen year-old. I don't think he was ever younger than thirty in his entire life. I wanted to poke at his soul and ask it how old it was. In fact, I just wanted to poke him to lighten the mood a bit. I was too busy poking at my shoelaces, however, and I didn't think that he would appreciate that. But, what the hell… With my wand, I poked him in the shoulder. "Hey!" He brought his hand up to cover it as if it really hurt him.

"You were becoming entirely too serious."

"And you weren't? Do I act different around you? Meh. Meh. Meh." He mocked.

"I just wanted to know. I mean, don't you think that people act differently around different people? Take yourself as an example. You act completely different around me than you do… say… James."

"Potter?! Poor example. Of course I'm going to act differently around him than I do you. He's an imbecile and you're…"

I'm?

"You're…"

"I'm..?"

"You're you." I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. I tried to hide my face away, but he caught me. He caught me, red-faced and all. Before I turned my face away from him, I caught a glimpse of a smile… no, a smirk creeping up on his lips… and it made me blush even more. I looked away from him for a while, until I knew the blush had faded.

"And I've never seen anyone turn as red as you had just then. What are you blushing about? I said nothing remarkably embarrassing. You're you. Remus Lupin. You." He touched my shoulder on his last "you", adding emphasis. He held his hand there, and I didn't know whether to look at his hand or at his face or at my shoes or at the distance.

Yes, I was me, but it was the way he said it. You. As if I was someone important. You. As if I was above all others. You. As if I was something sacred.

But I looked at him, "And you're Severus Snape." And his name remained in my mind for a very long time.