Fanfiction based in the world of Harry Potter, created by JKR. Her characters are hers. Original characters are mine. No pecuniary rewards. Please see first chapter for full disclaimers and description.

The Werewolf lore in here is mostly of my own compilings of years of playing AD&D, watching many werewolf movies, and reading many books and fanfics on the creatures, as well as input and discussion on the topic on my RPG, as I play Remus there. Please consider it 'artistic license'.

Thank you to my Beta, Elaine!

Chapter 33: New Concepts

There was no time to waste worrying about what he might find beyond that door. Every second was precious.

He wasn't even aware of the hour.

He had fallen asleep before his fire—the nearly empty grate in his dungeons that cast limited light into his own personal darkness. It would not have been lit at all if not for the House Elves who had been told to keep it lit enough for floo communication. He sat there for hours, deep in contemplation and soul-searching over the choices he had made in his life. He had come to no comforting conclusions. Even the self-defensive assurance that he had made the best choices he could at the time, (except the worst choice of all), brought no comfort.

Now all thoughts of self had to be pushed firmly and completely aside, at least as much as possible. No easy task for the consummate Slytherin.

The missive had been urgent, and he had no time to spare for his own discomfort in the face of the news he was about to impart to the woman he had already hurt so much.

Telling himself all this did not make it any easier to see the sight he saw when he burst through her wards and flung the door open. Part of his consciousness made a mental note to chide her later for not changing the wards since their separation, but this was not the time.

They hadn't even had the decency to move to the bedroom! She was asleep on that ridiculous cot transfigured out of her chair, and the filthy cowboy was lying next to her, arms around her, her head cradled on his shoulder, honey-brown hair spilling in a shimmery cascade around them.

Granted, she appeared to be fully dressed in her lounge robes, under the thick blankets. The cowboy was still in his revolting attire, complete with shiny belt-buckle, and lying on top of the coverlet. Neither of these facts registered with Snape or soothed the raging fury that suddenly threatened to consume him.

Both of them sat up quickly, blinking painfully at the lights that had flared to life when Severus waved his wand. His expression betrayed nothing. Not the pain of jealousy, nor the deeper pain of compassion.

"Lupin. You must come at once. To St. Mungo's. There has been an injury."

Concealing his own emotions was something at which he was very, very adept. Being tactful or cautious of someone else's was NOT. He could see the panic rising in her wide, shocked eyes and the pallor of her face, even as she sought to disentangle herself from the blankets and put on shoes.

"Katrina?" she asked hoarsely, still sleep-befuddled and unable to think logically who might have been injured at this hour, her brain scrambling to wake up, to grasp at known facts and piece them together. Date. Time. Dylan here—having comforted her as she wept after yet another nightmare—because everyone else was gone. Why? Where were the others? Oh, yes, there had been a raid.

"Remus?" she asked again when he was silent, a definite edge of panic in her voice now. A muscle twitched in Severus's jaw, and he nodded his head once, very slightly.

The pained sound that she made, the agonized whimper of protest pierced him. "He lives. I know nothing else. Albus said you must come at once. Your father has already summoned your mother. Come!"

The cowboy had donned his boots during the brief exchange and made to follow them as Severus nearly ran her to the floo in the Hospital wing—the only one in the building connected to St. Mungo's. Severus sneered at him angrily.

"I do not recall saying your presence was needed, Howard," he said sharply.

"I'm thinkin' that if her brother's hurt, she'll be wantin' the support of friends," he said calmly. He was enough taller than both Rowena and Severus that his long strides had no difficulty keeping up with the frantic pace.

Unconsciously Severus's hand tightened possessively on her arm. "She will have all the support she needs."

"I reckon that the support of an ex-beau who has never got on too good with her brother ain't the kind o'support she's needin' just now," Dylan said, clearly undeterred.

"Stop your bickering! Both of you!" Rowena cried, all but running in her hurry to get to the floo. Poppy was already standing at the door of the hospital wing, wringing her hands anxiously and waving them in to hurry them on.

Rowena ran to the fire, grabbed a handful of the floo powder Poppy had set out, threw it in with a loud, "St. Mungo's!" and was gone.

Dylan regarded Severus coolly. "I'm thinkin' this ain't the time for us to have it out. I'm goin', because that's what friends do. You can do what ya want."

He too was gone in a flash of bright flames. Severus stood there a moment, painfully aware of Pomfrey standing in the doorway behind him. He could imagine the disapproving look on her face without having to turn and see it.

'That's what friends do.'

As surely as Severus had never had a lover, or even thought to take a lover before Rowena, he had also never truly had many friends. Even the very few he did have seemed to be only people to whom he had some sort of obligatory tie. Albus, whom he respected but to whom he owed a great debt which could never be repaid. Minerva, a colleague and rival in many ways, but someone with whom he felt some level of 'friendship'. Lucius, who had helped him in his hour of need, but only because it suited his purpose, and who now must be counted as an enemy. Who else? No one.

He could not be her husband. He could not be her lover. Hell, he even botched the job when he tried to be her protector. Maybe, he could try to be her friend.

'That's what friends do.'

"St Mungos," he said clearly as he tossed the handful of floo powder into the flames, following in quickly after.

The entrance floo to the hospital was a small alcove off the main reception desk. Several floo brushes stood on small tables for people to dust off the soot before entering into the 'main' hospital. They were there merely as a courteous formality. Wards at the archway into the reception area did this magically much more efficiently—most people didn't stop to make use of the complimentary brushes. The hospital could hardly have patrons spreading soot all over the building, so the wards did the work in an instant.

Consciously calming his own emotions so as to be a better comfort to hers—if she even wanted or needed his comfort—he straightened his shoulders and made his way into the lobby.

She, Becky, and the cowboy were standing in a corner; the two women looking pale and frightened, clinging to each other. He strode toward them confidently. Rowena didn't look at him, the cowboy only nodded. Becky, however, turned to him with a look of desperation, needing someone who could 'take charge' when she felt so panicky.

"Severus! Do you know what happened?" she asked in very, very hushed tones. "John said not to ask at the desk, he'd meet us here, but I've been waiting for almost ten minutes already."

Because of the nature of the activity of the evening—at last there was at least an acting Minister who allowed the Aurors to do their job properly—it was important not to allow the 'general public' to know those injured were being treated here. Nothing about the raid must leak to the press. Not the least because some of the Death Eaters involved would not hesitate to try and sneak into the hospital and finish the job.

Severus, however, had been treated here several times under similar circumstances in the last war. Unless the layout of the hospital had changed completely, he could guide them most of the way there.

"I know. We must not speak here. Come with me." But instead of leading them imperiously down the hall, struggling to keep up, he took Becky Lupin by the arm—gently—and walked quickly but at a comfortable pace, down a hallway that had been invisible until they stood directly before it. Becky was weeping, trembling, barely able to walk. Behind him, he could hear that Rowena was in a similar state, no doubt leaning heavily on her cowboy for 'support'. The thought rankled, but he allowed it to stab at him with a masochistic relish. It was no less than he deserved. When Becky stumbled, nearly faint from worry, Severus moved his arm around her to help keep her to her feet, and took her hand with his other so that she could lean more heavily upon him. Was not helping her mother one way to offer and demonstrate friendship?

In a very short time, the bustle of doctors and patients diminished so that the long white corridor seemed almost deserted. There weren't even portraits along these walls. How he knew where he was going was anyone's guess, but he guided them unerringly. At some point he decided they were 'deep enough' inside this apparently high-security area, and he began to speak. This, too, was gentle, at least for Severus.

"Remus was transformed last night, as you know. He was part of the raid on the facility being used to attempt to create werewolves. His group went to attack the werewolves; to keep them busy so the other group could rescue and free those intended to be infected.

"He was attacked by three other werewolves. I do not know the extent of the injuries. Only that he lives, and that you were to be brought here immediately."

Silence fell heavily around them, interrupted only by the pained sobs of the mother he was aiding down the corridor, and the sister he could hear behind him. They knew the implications.

Werewolves were in fact very hard to kill or even injure in most circumstances. The body, both the human and lycanthrope form had amazing regenerative capacity. The human form could become weak and sickly because of the increased metabolism and the simple physical stress of the transformations, but it was rarely genuinely ill, and proper nutrition could eliminate many of the inconveniences to the human. In the human form it was possible for a werewolf to become ill enough to die, but it was virtually unheard of. Most wounds healed quickly with a minimal of scarring.

Not that the werewolf did not have weaknesses. Aconite was poison to it, and silver could cause terrible pain and blistering burns that would not regenerate—at all. But the worst, in this case for Remus at least, was that werewolves did not naturally regenerate from wounds inflicted by werewolves—self inflicted or otherwise.

Three werewolves against one—it was very likely that the Lupin women were being summoned to the deathbed to say their good-byes. All of them in the solemn little group knew this, the knowledge weighing heavily about them.

"John!" Becky Lupin had been crying against Severus's side as she walked, her feet moving automatically, trusting him to lead her. She happened to look up and see her husband rushing toward them. He was ashen gray, his eyes blood-shot, all the smile lines of his face now deep and heavy in fatigue and strain. She ran to him and he wrapped his arms around her like a drowning man holding to a life-preserver.

"He's stabilized for now, Becky," he said in a harsh voice. "You can come see him."

The words 'for now' hung heavily in the air.

The sparse room was so white from floor to ceiling that it was hard to differentiate the corners of the cube where walls met. This was because it was enchanted to be completely 'sterile' for the safely of the patient within. The brightness might have been cheering, if not for the bloody streaks of cloth being collected and scurried into bags by orderlies clearly still cleaning up after the efforts of the healers. Remus Lupin lay still as death on the equally white bed, wrapped in equally white bandages that already had small crimson stains oozing through.

He breathed, but he gave no sign of awareness of his visitors. Severus and Dylan would have waited in the corridor, but John waved them inside as the orderlies left. Dumbledore was also there, as was Tonks, sitting in a white chair near the head of the bed, tears pouring silently down her stunned and glassy-eyed face.

Remus's tawny brown hair was clean and had been brushed, to lie like a shaggy mane against his pillow and framing his ashen face. The bandages started at his throat and then were lost in the collar of his hospital robes. His arms, where they lay atop the coverlet, were also swathed in bandages so that he looked almost like a mummy, except that his strong hands were free and seemed to suffer only minor injuries, his fingernails torn and bloodied.

The thing was, he looked okay. Severely injured, yes, but resting comfortably, breathing easily and seemed in no immediate danger. Rowena could not understand why John and Albus looked so grave and Tonks wept as though he was already dead.

"He's going to recover, isn't he?" she asked in a small, frightened voice. "What happened?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "We don't know if he will recover, Rowena. His injuries have been tended, of course, and he has been given a blood-replenisher. The wounds will have to be treated and healed gradually—they will not heal on their own. He is at grave risk for infection—hence this sterile room, but that is not the worst he faces.

"Peter Pettigrew was at the conflict last night. Remus was still fighting, even with all his injuries, after the Aurors had managed to confine the other werewolves. He went after Peter, lunged for him. Peter reached out his hand… did you know that Voldemort has given him a magical hand? It appears to be made of some manner of silver alloy. The hand penetrated Remus's chest as he lunged—but an Auror stunned Peter from behind so that he was not able to complete his attack.

"Unfortunately, there is very extensive internal damage to his heart and lungs even with the incomplete attack. So far that damage has been resistant to all the healing magic and potions the healers currently know. He is magically sedated, so as not to tax his limited capacity—any exertion now would kill him instantly. Essentially it is a magic-induced coma, one in which he must stay until something can be found to heal those injuries. They can continue to treat him and heal the other injuries while he's in the coma and while they struggle to find something to counteract the silver-burns. But…"

He sighed heavily. John Lupin clutched Becky closer to him and sobbed unashamedly into her hair.

"If the damage is not healed before his next transformation, his heart will not be able to take the stress of the change and… he will die," Dumbledore finished at last, his own words choked with emotion.

"NO!" Rowena sobbed, shaking her head in denial. Only 29 days between full moons, less than 28 days now… to find a rapid cure for severe silver burns to a werewolf. Very little research had been done on helping werewolves heal from injuries in general—most of the wizarding community believed the only good werewolf was a dead werewolf after all. Rowena stared helplessly at the deathly still face of her brother and felt the grief threatening to overwhelm her.

She had contented herself with being angry with him, not speaking to him for years on end, rebuffing his every attempt at reconciliation. But the truth in her heart was she always loved him, always missed him. In spite of her treatment of him, she always knew that he was there. She always knew that if she ever needed him, for anything, all she had to do was call, and he would be there, strong and sure and protecting her as he had done when they were children.

He was always there.

The thought of losing him now, just when she was finally overcoming all of that strife—strife she knew she had caused as much as he, was too horrible. She turned blindly and buried her face against the firm, strong chest of the man standing right behind her and sobbed brokenly. He wrapped her gently in his arms and held her while she wept. He had known to be there, had moved silently up behind her as Albus had spoken, and she had known when she turned in her blind grief that he would be there. Not Dylan, but Severus.

The severed Bond that had left her with the constant nagging pain of emptiness seemed not to be wholly destroyed after all, though it was a mere shadow of its former existence. A painful shadow. Yet THAT pain eased slightly, for her at least, as he comforted her in her fear and this new pain. He must have felt something still as well, because he had known to be there.

He hadn't thought being her 'friend' would leave him feeling so needed and yet so utterly helpless. Her brother lay dying, yet for the moment she needed nothing more from him than a safe place to pour her grief and fear.

Perhaps he could learn to manage the 'friend' role in time.

Severus was not a man to sit idle when a problem faced him. He had no doubt that John Lupin had every Healer in St. Mungo's working on finding a cure for the silver burns to Remus. However, Severus had access to information that no decent wizard would know. This was not the Dark Lord's first attempt to gain control of werewolves. They were 'dark creatures'. He wanted them to be at His beck and call. In his own darker days, Severus had observed werewolves being chained and tortured in their human and lycanthropic forms. He had even conducted experiments himself.

The memory sickened him.

The knowledge gained, however could perhaps now be put to good use. Another page, perhaps for Albus's white box, if it worked, if he could find a cure.

The weeks that passed were a blur. Voldemort abandoned all pretense of secrecy now that Fudge was gone and his werewolves had been caught. He broke into Azkaban by sheer brute force using the Giants and Dementors, freeing not only his own Death Eaters, but every criminal within to increase general havoc. The fortress itself was diminished to rubble. This was actually some relief to Severus in a twisted way—it was one less reason that the Dark Lord might have to be interested in Rowena. He had not needed to slip through her wards in order to physically attack the prison.

Tiny signs of early spring were showing themselves outdoors, but Severus and the Lupins were oblivious. Severus did not tell any of them what he was working on. He did not want to inspire their hope, feel their disappointment orMerlin forbid!engage their gratitude.

Somehow—and Severus suspected liberal usage of a Time Turner—Rowena continued to teach her classes and also kept a nearly constant vigil at Remus's bedside, in concert with her parents and Tonks.

With Fudge gone, Rowena was free to make use of friends and contacts she had made over the years at the Ministry. Obtaining a Time Turner from a friend in a time of crisis was never a difficult task if one had the right friends.

Severus had a chance to truly observe the Lupin family more than he ever had before. Each grieved, yet each provided comfort to the others while clearly receiving comfort in return. Somehow, even in their combined fear and sadness, they were stronger. To those who have had the benefit of fairly normal life experiences, this should seem obvious. To Severus, who had not, it was a wholly new concept.

Before, he had always assumed "loved ones", even once he allowed himself to think of Rowena and Katrina in that regard, as being something that weakened one. To have people that one cared about that deeply was to become vulnerable. They could be used as tools to manipulate and control. Everything in his life had been about either BEING manipulated or learning to DO the manipulating.

Even after he learned the lesson that the feeling of that very powerful emotion (that he could not force himself to name, even to himself) was not a weak thing, he couldn't quite rid himself of the idea that it could cause weakness. Because he always kept his own emotions so tightly controlled, hidden and protected, he believed them to be a finite thing. One has a certain amount of any given emotion from which to draw, and when it is gone, it is gone. "Losing" or "giving away" of emotions, especially of the gentler variety that already caused vulnerability surely then must cause weakness.

What he witnessed as he observed the Lupin family coping with their impending tragedy was in direct contradiction to everything he believed. The phenomenon was not confined to the Lupins. They reached out to Tonks at once, as though she were already a part of that strange pool of strength that they seemed to alternately pour into and draw from according to their own ability and need at the time. Tonks blended into this seamlessly, gratefully, and her addition did not seem to weaken it, but add still more strength.

They even made overtures to reach out to Severus, as though he, too, might be needing comfort! Becky Lupin was beyond kind to him when he came to visit. He came occasionally to retrieve skin and blood samples that he needed from Remus (obtained by surreptitiously magically raiding the trash of the recently changed bandages). Yet Becky Lupin never failed to inquire after his health, offer him tea or any variety of consumable confections which their friends from the Order had sent, and even chat briefly about Katrina.

It was extraordinary. It was incomprehensible.

Rowena had asked for—and been granted—the week before the full moon off. Molly tended to Katrina, and though the child asked after 'Uncle Remus', Rowena had only allowed her to visit a few times very briefly. She wanted Katrina to remember him as healthy and strong, not weak and sick, wrapped in bandages. All of the wounds had healed except for the great, gaping hole just left of center in his chest. Pettigrew's aim could not have been better. The wound stayed anatomically in the same place even after the transformation, even allowing for the difference of shape and positioning.

It was a great oozing, bleeding sore. A magical barrier had been applied over this gaping maw, both to keep out infection and to maintain the vacuum necessary for the diaphragm to do its work, so that the lungs could continue to rise and fall. The barrier was thin and transparent, so that the heart could clearly be seen beating through it, lungs visible as they filled and emptied. Bandages were unhelpful and unnecessary because of the magical barrier, but it was kept covered anyway just because it was so horrible to see.

Severus Snape did not have 'friends' in the Ministry, but he did not need them to obtain a Time Turner. 'Acquaintances' in Knockturn Alley could serve as well. He was no less fatigued than any of the others who had tried valiantly to meet their needed duties and still attend Remus. He merely concealed his activities and fatigue better than most. He had had years of practice at it, after all.

Remus. When had 'Lupin' become Remus even in his own thoughts?

Two days before the full moon, he strode briskly down the white passages of the hospital, tension clenching his gut even as he maintained his impassive mask. There was no time to test it properly beforehand, and no time to repair errors if his memory had failed him or his judgement been incorrect. There was one chance and one chance only.

They were all there when he arrived. The Lupins and Tonks, all looking gaunt and wan, clearly spreading themselves too thin and yet still that strange aura of giving and receiving comfort.

He addressed himself to the father.

"Mr. Lupin, a word, please," he said very formally. John looked up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed holding Remus's hand. He stood silently and followed Severus into the hall.

"John, please, Severus. I haven't the strength for the formalities just now," he said with a gentle smile that was sad and yet still very reminiscent of his son's. "What can I do for you?"

"I believe I may have a solution to the Silver Poisoning," he said without preamble. He held up his hand at the nearly astonished look of hope and joy that instantly brightened the older man's face. "I do not wish to excite your anticipation. I have had no time to test it. It will either work, or it will hasten his demise, there is no in-between and no second chance. I can offer you no guarantees, only suppositions."

John nodded, yet hope was written in every line of his face. "I understand. What must we do? How was this accomplished? Do it now—we've got so little time left already!"

"Mr. Lupin… John… Do you have a Potions Master here that you trust? It might be best if I were not the one to administer this. Your son and I have never been… on the best of terms. Your daughter and I… have parted ways. Miss Tonks… is not particularly comfortable with me on the best of days. I think perhaps that I ought not to be involved. I can only offer you my word, for what it is worth, that I have done what I can. If it does not work, I am prepared to face any charges you might wish to level."

"Severus! Don't be ridiculous! So you've had your differences with the kids. That has nothing to do with this now… this is life and death. I'm sure you've done the best you can. Surely you know what should be done better than trying to hastily teach someone else? Please. Come and tell me what we need to do."

Briefly Severus thought to refuse, and even had a moment to wish he had sent it anonymously so that he could receive neither credit nor blame for the outcome—but he knew it would not have been considered at all if he had done that. It was perhaps a vain thought, but he knew without doubt that live or die, the solutions he held in his pocket were Remus's only hope. Besides, he did not trust anyone but himself to take responsibility for the application of the potions, in spite of his suggestion just now that someone else do it.

He nodded, and followed John back inside. He stopped and sealed the door against any other person's entrance while John told 'the girls' what Severus intended to do. Severus then approached the bed. Tonks was looking at him warily, but Rebecca and Rowena's faces were so alight with hope and even faith in him that he could hardly bear it. If he failed… the thought was too painful to contemplate, yet a very real possibility.

"I had to seal the door. If it is learned that I was the one to find the cure for this…" He stopped. Tonks was an Auror, and the others were in the Order. They all knew enough of his role to know how much danger he would be in if Voldemort learned that Severus had been the one to save the man Peter had tried so hard to kill!

"If this works, I would appreciate it very much that the results not go beyond this room. If it fails, he will be gone quickly. I have no way to be certain of the effects. There was no time to test it properly."

"Severus… it's okay. Just… do it."

The soft plea came from Rowena, all the more painful to see her still shining faith in him after all that had passed between them. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and nodded. Tonks had a death grip upon her chair.

"John. We will need to work together," Severus said, suddenly business-like, as though instructing a particularly gifted student in the process of a fiendishly difficult potion. "The first solution will consume the silver residue within the wound causing it to evaporate and also a sort of cauterization—there will be a great deal of smoke and steam—the odor will not be pleasant. The second solution must follow immediately upon the heels of the first, recreating a natural membrane to seal the thoracic cavity so he can continue to breathe. I will need to apply these myself—using the sealing solution before the silver is completely dissolved would be disastrous—all the silver must leave his system.

"I need you to slowly peel back the magical, artificial membrane currently keeping him alive—but we have to work in close succession so that we maintain the seal."

"I can slow his heart rate and breathing as well," John said, nodding his understanding, "It will give us a little more time to work and not make the thoracic seal quite so emergent."

"Excellent."

Severus then withdrew two phials from his robes, each with a very small, precision pour-spout. John positioned himself with his wand at the ready on the left side of Remus's bed, Severus on the right. John did the spell that slowed his breathing even further and nodded his readiness.

"Very well. Begin."

The solution did indeed smoke and steam, sizzle and hiss, great plumes of billowing blue-gray smoke pouring into the room. The odor was sickening-sweet like sugar burning on a stove and burning flesh. Rowena went to the foot of the bed and waved her wand with a ventilation charm she had often used in the research lab to remove noxious fumes.

Time seemed to be very erratic, first at a complete standstill then moving in slow, jerky leaps. For a long time the women observing could hardly tell the men had moved, slowly starting at one edge of the wound and working gradually, carefully, slowly across. Surely the potions would run out long before the wound was fully treated? Apparently, though, like many things in the wizarding world, the outer size of the container did not accurately portray the volume contained within.

It was nearly an hour to completion, but at last the old barrier had been peeled away and John discarded it in the trash. All eyes in the room remained upon Remus. The last of the smoke was sucked away and Rowena canceled the ventilation charm.

Remus breathed.

"How will we know if it worked?" asked Tonks, weakly.

"He will begin to regenerate naturally—naturally for a lycanthrope, that is, as though it were a normal wound," said Severus, his voice tight and strained. "Or he will die. Soon."

Tonks and the Lupins moved closer to the bed, John clearly trying to decide if the wound needed bandaging now that the original barrier had been removed. He settled for laying sterile gauze over it lightly, but did not tape it down so he could periodically check beneath it.

The waiting seemed interminable. Every moment that he breathed was another moment of hope. He certainly did not seem to be visibly weakening.

After nearly another hour, John stood up to peer under the bandage he had laid over the wound. The dressing was truly unnecessary, but it was almost as though none of them wanted to stand there and watch to see if the wound would begin to close, as though they might 'jinx' the result. Every breath was held and all eyes were upon him as John stood. His eyes widened as he lifted the bandage, and his face paled.

Becky gasped a sob and buried her face in her hands. Tonks clenched her fists in her lap. Rowena couldn't stand it and had to see for herself, tears streaming silently down her face.

Her huge brown eyes instantly flew to Severus's—of all of them he alone had betrayed no outward reaction to John's LACK of definitive reaction—Rowena's tears flowed more quickly and he felt the stab of disappointment for his failure.

Until she spoke.

"It's healing. The wound is closing!" she managed to gasp between tears of relief and laughter.

Everyone, even Severus, bounded to their feet to see for themselves. It was true. It was still an enormous wound. It would take days to heal fully even with his enhanced regenerative capability. But already the sinew and muscle and bone had closed enough over the crater that the heart was no longer clearly visible. John began a series of diagnostic charms with small sounds of joyous relief at the completion of each one.

"It's all healing. Everything. His lungs, his heart. We should keep him sedated through his transformation so he doesn't tax himself. Sweet Circe, he's going to be okay!"

There was a great deal of hugging, laughing and crying between the women. John slid back into the chair nearest the bed and seemed to go limp with exhausted relief. Severus allowed himself a very, very slight smile to himself in satisfaction of the success, and silently moved to the door to leave. Rowena's hand on his arm stopped him, and before he knew what she was doing, she had stood on tip-toe and thrown her arms about his neck, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you, Severus! Thank you so much!" she breathed against his cheek.

It was the sweetest torment he had ever endured. His body remembered every touch, the feel of her contours against him. His arms wound about her of their own accord, his head leaned against hers, unconsciously breathing in the scent of her hair. The ache in his chest that he had caused when he ruptured their bond actually eased somewhat, though it served to remind him painfully of all that had occurred between them. He could not bear the bittersweet remembrance very long.

He released her quickly and stepped away, trying not to show his discomposure. She was beaming at him, radiantly, even through her tears.

He could have refused her thanks. At another time, he might have done so without thought. He knew a million excuses that he used whenever anyone tried to express gratitude to him. 'Just doing my part to help the Order' or 'Acting under Albus's orders,' or even something snarky like, "I didn't wish to waste the opportunity to conduct an experiment on a werewolf again…"

Somehow, he didn't think that a 'friend' would try and diminish what had occurred here with those sorts of rebuttals. Instead he gave her a slight nod.

"You're welcome."

In a swish of black robes, he was gone. The memory of her radiant smile followed him all the way back to his dungeons.

Somehow it seemed that coming to terms with the concept of 'friendship' was not going to be any easier than his utterly botched attempts to understand "lover" or "spouse". It was not a comforting thought, but he was determined not to fail in this.

If he was truly so emotionally 'broken' that he could not even manage a normal, human friendship, then for him at least, Voldemort had already won, regardless of the outcome of the war.