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.

Thank you to my Beta, Elaine!

Chapter 34: New Beginnings

It was several days before Rowena returned to the castle, but reports of Remus' rapid recovery reached the Headmaster on a regular basis, and he passed those on to the Order Members. The problem now was, of course, that when Voldemort found out that Remus had not died, Severus would once again be suspect.

Severus brushed aside this concern as nothing. Albus decided the boy had suffered his additional punishments long enough and stopped making him oversee the Gryffindor Detentions, which was a blessed relief. With the Weasley Twins gone from school it was true there weren't so many as there once had been, but still enough to be troublesome.

The most pressing issue facing him at this point was to decide what to do with his most recent 'epiphany'. He wanted to find himself capable of friendship. He wanted to prove to himself that he wasn't truly a broken man. How to go about it?

At first, he wanted to seek HER friendship, to attempt to truly earn the gift that he tossed aside when it was freely given. It did not take him long to see the folly in that idea. He had divorced her and severed their bond because association with him was a danger to her. That reality was unchanged. It would be a cruelty now for both of them if he were to try and build a friendship on the crumbled remains of their brief courtship and marriage and once again place her in danger, making the sacrifice pointless.

Besides, now that he no longer had it, he realized how precious a thing her friendship and affection was. He wanted to start small, choose a 'target' that was not so meaningful so that if he failed, the consequences would not be severe.

"Severus! What on earth are you doing here? Is something wrong? Is it Rowena?"

Remus started in surprise. He was sitting in a chair before the fire, wrapped in a thick blanket and reading. He had been so close to the fire for warmth that Snape had almost tumbled onto his lap when he stepped out of the floo. It was a Friday night, and term was in session. Remus could imagine no reason why the Potions Professor would be entering 12 Grimmauld Place just now unless there was an Order Emergency of some sort.

"Nothing is wrong, Lupin. I wished to get out of the castle for a time without being subject to the spying eyes of the Dark Lord. You have objections to my presence here?" he asked haughtily, raking the werewolf's appearance with his piercing gaze.

"No, no. Not at all. I'm just surprised to see you. Would you like some tea?" He made as though to disentangle himself from the blanket to rise from the chair when Snape raised a long-fingered hand to stay him.

"You are barely a week out of the hospital; I did not come here to treat you as a house elf. If I desire tea, I will get it myself. Are you well?"

Remus looked gob smacked. Was Snape actually inquiring after his health? He felt that seeing as how Snape had saved his life, it would be churlish not to answer, no matter what their arguments had been in the past. "I'm great, Severus, honestly. My chest still hurts a little if I sneeze unexpectedly, but even that gets better every day. The transformation was the worst I've ever had, but I lived through it, which is more than I'd have done without your help. Thank you."

Now it was Severus's turn to regard the other man in surprise, though he conveyed the emotion only in a slight lift of the brow. He took great pride in his skill at Potions, but due to his duplicitous life he rarely was acknowledged for his accomplishments. He was still, first and foremost, the consummate Slytherin. Try as he might to suppress it, he still longed for the recognition and accolades that must be denied to him. That Remus would thank him was not surprising. The annoyingly calm werewolf always thanked him for the Wolfsbane potion every dose, every month. What was different now was that he recognized Lupin's sincerity in the gratitude.

Again it required great restraint, but instead of saying something suitably cutting… "We have no time for the Headmaster to be grieving the loss of his remaining pet canine…" he merely nodded slightly. "You're welcome. Chess?"

"What!"

"I inquired as to whether you would like to engage in an intellectually stimulating diversionary activity. I do not believe I have suddenly begun speaking in tongues," he answered with a touch of asperity. Was Lupin deliberately trying to make his first attempts at 'friendship' as difficult as possible?

"Severus… I'm not going to attack you… but I am reaching for my wand," Remus said in the calm, soothing voice one might direct toward a madman from whom one was trying to escape. One hand held up in front of him in a placating gesture, the other moving slowly and carefully for the wand in his breast pocket.

"Lupin, don't be ridiculous. What ails you? Have you gone mad? You've only been in solitary confinement in this miserable excuse for habitation for a week. Black was far less rational than you to begin with, and he managed to cling to some vestige of sanity for months."

Old habits die hard, and Snape's own wand was in his hand in a lightning fast movement of his wrist, though he did not bring it to bear on the werewolf. "I will not allow you to hex me, no matter how justified the action might be."

Remus eyed Snape's wand carefully, but his own was now in his hand, and this he DID aim squarely at Snape's chest, though the look on his face was rather apologetic. He was in no way certain which of them would come out the winner if they were to actually duel, but he was fairly certain that his sister would murder the survivor, making the point moot.

"I want you to either allow me to cast a 'Finite Incantatem' at you, or leave this house at once. I do not wish to fight with you, but…"

"But you believe me to be under the influence of an Imperious? Don't be an idiot, Lupin! Do you think I could have maintained my teaching position this long if I couldn't ignore that particular curse? Suit yourself—but if any other incantation passes your lips, you will not get a second chance at another, do I make myself clear?"

Remus almost DIDN'T cast the Finite, simply because he figured if Snape agreed to it, then he must not really be under the Imperious. But then, in circular reasoning, he figured that Snape would know him to be a trusting sort, and a controlled Snape might think that agreeing to the counter-spell might fool Remus into not casting it.

He cast it.

Snape did not move, or flinch, or so much as blink, but Remus could SENSE the rigidity of the other man's every muscle. He could only vaguely imagine what it must have cost Snape—who was truly more paranoid and cautious than even Moody—to stand still and submit to such a thing.

"I'm sorry. It was rude of me to think such a thing when all you were doing was… was…" he couldn't finish his sentence. He wasn't exactly sure WHAT Snape was doing here, even still.

"Was trying to be amicable? Yes, well. Considering my carefully honed reputation, you may be forgiven, Lupin. I am not known for my gestures of philanthropy. If we are through with the greeting rituals? Perhaps a game of chess?"

Remus nodded and waved his wand to summon and set up his rather battered old chess set on the low table near his chair. Snape pulled over another old and dusty armchair and seated himself. Remus held one pawn of each color in his closed fists and held them out to Snape, who indicated the left hand with a nod of his head—white. Snape would move first.

Why was he not surprised?

"I don't think I really understand why you're here? What do you want, Snape? If you want information about my sister, I haven't seen her since I got out of the hospital. Dumbledore thinks it's best for as few people as possible to see me."

"This has nothing to do with your sister," Snape said too quickly.

"I don't believe you."

"Suit yourself. Your move."

They played in silence for a long time. They were well-matched in skill and Remus enjoyed the diversion. He had become quite depressed the last few days, even with Tonks visiting frequently. The house was morose at best. He felt more sorry than ever that Sirius spent his last months free of Azkaban yet imprisoned in here. Memories of the too-brief time he had shared here with his deceased friend haunted him, making him melancholy most of the time.

When Severus and Remus did speak, they began with mundane things such as Albus's obsession with sweets and Remus's own obsession with chocolate. Slowly, the conversation worked its way to more serious matters, such as Harry's obvious determination to isolate himself from as much of humanity as possible.

"It is completely aberrant," Snape said. "Boys his age ought to have friends. He ought to be an annoying miscreant. Kissing girls and skiving off classes. I would consider it a great boon if he would skive off one of my classes. I would have dual enjoyment. First, of the class without him in it, and then again when I had the very great pleasure of assigning him a detention.

"He has not been in detention all term. Aberrant, I say."

Remus leaned back from the chessboard. He was going to lose, and now that he realized that, he was in no hurry to do it. "Why does it matter to you, Snape? You loathe him."

"I despise the special treatment he is given by every individual in the magical world. Only the fact that he is somewhat downtrodden in his Muggle home has prevented total arrogance. However, the purpose of all of this—the Muggle relations, the special treatment, my own efforts to counter-balance the adulation of all of the rest of the wizarding world single-handedly—will all come to naught if the eejit kills himself. Depressed adolescents are not known for their rational decisions. I do not believe him suicidal at present—but it is a risk.

"He barely drew out of his own misery long enough to comfort Granger at the death of her father and illness of her mother. Total disregard for a friend's distress in the face of one's own is a Slytherin trait, not a Gryffindor one."

"It's a human trait, Severus," Remus corrected softly, regarding the other man thoughtfully. "Some hurts run too deep to be easily overcome. Why does it bother you? What is this really about? I remember you in school—you never worry at a problem like this unless there is an underlying reason. What are you studying now? Adolescent grieving processes? I dare say you'll get more opportunities for research than you'd like before this is all over."

"Friendship, if you must know," said Severus, seizing on the 'excuse' to discuss what he really was 'researching'. "Apparently my own definition of the term is… distorted. I suppose considering my past that is to be expected. It seems to me to be a precarious endeavor, "friendship". Granger has stood by Potter for all these years, even when he turned against her years ago over that bloody broomstick. When her parents were attacked, he seemed to sink further into himself—yet he did manage to try and comfort her. That was the only non-selfish thing he managed at that time, mind. It struck me as curious, and so I've been… studying."

Remus flopped back in his chair and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. His health really was much better, but he still ached terribly if he became the slightest bit chilled.

"You want me to explain the mysteries of friendship to you? You've lived 37 years without understanding something so basic?"

"I do not need to be reminded of my own character deficits, Lupin," Severus said dangerously. "I assure you I know them all intimately."

"I wasn't trying to be insulting, Severus. I'm sorry. I just… don't know where to begin. You've met my family. Even when Rowena and I were badly at odds, we loved each other. My parents loved and protected me. They sheltered me in spite of what I am. No matter how miserable or sad or lonely my life has become, I've always had that foundation to fall back on. I know that I am loved, no matter what, just as I am.

"My friends, well, they're just an extension of that foundation. I mean, I've been hurt by friends, sure. I was so angry at Sirius when he sent you to the Shack that night—when he betrayed my secret and almost turned me into a murderer, that it tainted the flavor of our friendship for the rest of our lives. But the friendship was still there. Friends understand that we are all "only human". We'll make mistakes—sometimes really big ones—but that doesn't mean we aren't friends."

Both men stared at the fire in silence for long minutes. Remus could tell by the furrow in Snape's brow that he had not adequately explained anything.

"It is bad form to use a word which one is attempting to define within the body of its own definition," Snape said at last. "In defining friendship, you describe how 'friends' behave, without defining the term. Malfoy pays people for the sort of loyalty and 'forgiveness' you describe. I see nothing elevating or virtuous in that."

"Severus… maybe Albus would be a better person to talk to? I can't define it from your perspective because I've never been without. Friendship is just another form of love. Platonic love, but no less deep or abiding than a person might have for their spouse or family members.

"Have you ever in your life had anyone who loved you, no matter what, just as you are? Besides my sister, that is. She doesn't count, because you already stopped believing in love or friendship long before you got together. That's why you broke off with her, isn't it? Because you don't know how to love her—or accept her love for you."

Snape leaned forward, moved a piece on the board, "Check mate," he said through tightly clenched teeth. Lupin's words had given him much to think about, but had also come much too close to home. He suddenly felt very exposed, vulnerable. He did not like the sensation, especially with someone who was normally merely an 'ally' at best, and often an adversary.

He stood in a fluid swish of his black robes. "I broke off with your sister for reasons of my own which are none of your business. I have been here long enough. Good evening."

"Severus, wait," Remus stood and ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words to explain what ought not to have needed explanation. "Look, I didn't mean to pry. Thanks for the game of chess. If you want to find your answers, try and think about what I said. Try and remember what it felt like to be loved for no reason at all. Not because you deserved it, or because you earned it, or because you commanded it, or any other reason at all. Loved, just because. If you can recapture that feeling, the concepts of friendship should come more easily to you.

"From what I've seen in the years I've known you, you've always done things for external motivators. Factors like other people's expectations, or as a means to an end, to pay back a debt or to put someone in debt to you. Love—real love—can't be manipulated in the giving or receiving like that. It just is. Friendship, because it's a manifestation of love, is the same way."

"Understood. I will research."

"You do that," Remus grinned. "And if you get bored, I'm always here. I guess it's my turn to be under house arrest for a while. I'll let you beat me at chess again."

Snape scoffed, knowing full well that Lupin had not 'let' him win. The man's game had grown weak. He gave one very small nod of his head and stepped into the floo in a flash of green flames.

He paced his quarters long into the night. What had Rowena said not so long ago, that she was afraid that they were "losing" Potter? Because Potter was sinking into despair not unlike that which Severus himself had done all those years ago.

He had a better foundation than Potter had, because he had had a mother who had loved him, she had insisted. Severus had brushed off the words at the time. Thoughts of his mother were tainted by violent, consuming rage, even now, all these years later. Rage at her for never removing them from the untenable situation. Rage at his father for killing her. Rage at himself for being unable to prevent it. Rage at the foolish desire for vengeance that drove him to the Dark Lord all those years ago.

Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage.

He stopped short in his pacing, and forced himself again to prod the feelings surrounding his mother. He could find every flavor of anger there in those feelings. White hot anger. Icy cold anger. Feral rage that was almost bloodlust. Ire. Indignation. Fury. Delve as he might he found only the broad spectrum of anger, all of it painful. Yet even the pain was comforting, like a lumpy old mattress upon which one has slept for years; physically uncomfortable for a myriad of reasons, yet comforting in its familiarity.

Better the enemy one knows…

It took several days of this very focused self-examination before he finally realized what he should have known all along. His anger had always been a defense mechanism. He had learned to control his anger as a very, very small child. His father's beatings were much worse if Severus tried in any way to fight back or defend himself or his mother. Anger could be controlled. Anger could be used.

He was using his own anger to prevent himself having to look more deeply at any other emotions. Astonishingly, he now recognized how odd it was that he never once grieved "normally" after her death. For years, particularly right after the first war, Albus had made him play the role of 'counselor' to his Slytherins, the ones who had lost family in the war. He had stacks of books on the "normal stages of grief" and had done a passing job at helping "his" Slytherins through those stages when necessary.

Now he realized that Albus's intent had been to try and help Severus along the same vein. For Twenty-one years, Severus Snape had been 'stuck' on 'anger'.

His first thought was amusement. How very mundane, Snape. You are emotionally broken because you have not overcome a childhood trauma. Bravo. You win the prize for the most pathetic and obtuse. Even Potter is unlikely to top that one—then again; he is unlikely to see the age of 37, so that is no compliment to him.

When he ceased to be amused by self-flagellation, he dug through old books and read.

The ten-day Easter Holiday would start in a few days. It had taken him quite some time to come to a conclusion at last, but now that he had, it was time for action. He had been to only two Death Eater meetings in all of February and March.

Finding the targets becoming more protected and the attacks more resisted, the Dark Lord had gone abroad for a brief time in pursuit of recruitment. Or, at least, that was what Severus was given to believe. It seemed to be at least partially true, as Draco was sulking that his parents were in France and not expected back any time soon, so he had to stay at Hogwarts for the Holiday. Even the rat had not been detected lurking about.

Severus didn't like it—it surely meant that there were major plans in progress—plans from which he would be excluded as still not wholly trusted. But for a time, at least, they could breathe a little easier for a small reprieve.

The corridors were dark and empty when he yet again found himself knocking at the door to her quarters. She answered quickly with a polite look of inquiry. There was still an air of frailty about her that was new since the severing of their bond, but her color had improved, and there was the determined fire in her eyes that heartened him. She would recover then, and he could cease to worry about her health. She was better off this way at any rate.

"Did you need something, Professor?" she asked with cool politeness when he made no effort to move or speak.

The question was followed by a critical look as she seemed to be appraising him. He didn't know whether she was concerned for his health or at last realizing what an ugly git he really was. It was not a comfortable feeling to stand there under her piercing gaze, though he did not translate this into any empathy for his students in a similar situation.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked finally, when he seemed at a loss for words. Her tone suggested complete ambivalence to his answer.

Of course he would refuse the invitation. The whole point of the horrible ordeal of the severing of the bond was to distance her from himself for her own safety. That could hardly be accomplished if he accepted invitations into her quarters at odd hours of the evening.

"Tea then? Or Brandy?" she asked as she stepped to her kitchenette after shutting the door behind him. When had he actually moved to step inside? What in Merlin's name was he thinking?

A short while ago these had been 'their' quarters, for a very brief time, yet now he felt a stranger within them. How had he managed to make such a bloody mess of everything? Everything, where she was concerned, became more difficult and confusing, rather than less.

When he sat in 'his' familiar chair, his body at least seemed to feel at 'home', even if he could not reconcile his heart or mind to the concept. He waved his wand at her fire to increase the heat and flames—she was too thin and pale, he did not wish her to become chilled. He shook his head and waved away the invitation absently, trying to clarify his own thoughts. It did not help that she was regarding him rather quizzically, when he did not know why he was here himself.

She tucked her feet under herself as she sat on the sofa, a teacup in her hands, and looked at him silently. The changes were marked. She used to strive to make conversation with him. Or to make it easy for him not to participate in trivialities if he did not wish it. She accepted his silences as she accepted everything else about him, and made it easy to feel… what? Loved? Understood? He had felt comfortable at the very least. It was a feeling he had not recognized at the time, but now that it was gone he greatly missed it.

Clearly she intended to present to him 'neutral ground'. Whether she still loved him after all that had occurred or not, she was not going to reveal either way. He silently applauded the strengthening of her Occlumency enough that she was indeed a mystery. Whatever was to exist between them now, be it polite acquaintance of colleagues or genuine friendship, she was leaving the decision and control entirely up to him. Moreover, she did not seem disposed to make any effort to make things easier for him, in any sense.

Just when he had determined that he wanted to maintain a friendship with her, that very thing was suddenly so much harder to attain.

Rowena, for her part, watched him over the rim of her cup, torn with indecision. The sight of him standing in her doorway had set her heart to racing, as it always had. Every beat was painful, the reminder of the broken Bond and his total rejection of her, for whatever reason. That part of her that shared Remus's 'Gryffindor' spirit was all that was keeping her going at this point. She had become so numb of late; it was difficult for her to define any feelings, or to feel anything with any strength.

If he wanted her, in any role in his life, HE was going to have to fight for it.

"I am going home during the Easter Holiday. I will not be spending Saturday with Katrina—she already knows," he said at last into the silence that felt like a leaden blanket.

"Home?" This at least had drawn surprise from her. He had lived at Hogwarts ever since he left his father's house at the age of 11—or with the Malfoys. This was his 'home'.

"I wish to visit my mother's grave."

Her eyes widened further as her surprise deepened. They never spoke of his parents after the night when he showed her the image of his father, except the one time she mentioned his mother to him in regards to trying to help Harry Potter—which had made him very angry. She had always felt that there was some very deep 'unfinished business' there, but didn't know how to help him face it.

"Severus," she said with a shake of her head. That distant part of her that seemed to belong to a former life wanted to cry out in compassion for him; wanted to offer to go with him, to support him in this journey. The person that she had become, however, found it to be too much effort to consider. She did manage to give him her opinion on the matter; the self that had loved him once would not be wholly silenced. "I don't think you should make that sort of trip alone. It's likely to be very emotional. You ought to take someone with you."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. Surely she knew him well enough to know he would not want anyone to see him in his 'weakness'? "No. I thank you for your concern, but I wish to do this alone."

Now it was her turn to quirk a brow in return. "Then why are you telling me? I don't see that it's any concern of mine." Her tone cooled as she felt afresh the force of his rejection. Pain, then, in all its variations, seemed to be the one thing she could still feel.

"So that you would know why I was gone," he said, looking at her quizzically. "I did not wish you to…"

"To worry?" she interrupted; a snap to her voice as her own long-suppressed anger began to surface. "You made it clear I don't have any right to worry over you anymore."

"That does not necessarily mean the behavior will stop. I am trying, Rowena, to not cause you further distress." His tone became more gentle, almost placating, as hers became more acidic, dripping with sarcasm.

"Further distress? Oh, don't worry, Professor. I can imagine nothing you could do that would cause me further distress. Thanks so much for your concern. I don't need it. I don't understand why you even care what I think NOW, after everything you've done."

He flinched at this, and stood. His rigidly straight posture belied the control he was trying to exert over his own emotions.

"I have no right to ask you to believe me, Rowena. I can only say that I did what I thought was for the best. I ought never to have married…"

"If you think you are going to improve things by telling me you regret having been married to me, you can stop now. It will not make anything better."

His fists clenched at his sides. When he turned to look at her, his face was as anguished as she had ever seen, his inner turmoil painted across the normally stoic visage. His voice was harsh and ragged. "Rowena… it was selfish. Impulsive. I had no thought for your safety… or perhaps thought I could keep you safe regardless. I failed. Do you have any idea what it did to me to torture you before the Dark Lord?"

If he had thought to placate her by baring his own pain in the matter, he was wrong.

"Do you have any idea what it did to me to go through that? I knew what to expect, you warned me, I was prepared to do whatever it took to 'prove' whatever point it was we had to prove. I was prepared to 'pass' the 'test'. How do you suppose it felt to go through all that and still have you reject me?

"And now—all these weeks, you act so normally. You come to meals, "Good morning Lupin". You bring the student papers, "Good Evening, Lupin." You inquire after Katrina. Always cool and polite as you please. Normal. Like nothing ever happened. Like we've never been anything more or less than colleagues. You saved Remus's life with that potion; you were so nice to my family… I thought you wanted to try and work things out. Clearly I was wrong.

"You, my dear ex-husband, 'pulled a Remus'. You pushed me away to assuage your own fear and guilt without any care or regard to my feelings. Fine. Please stop trying to do me any favors now. You made it clear you don't want anything to do with me. If you want to do something for me, you could start by just leaving me alone.

"Have a lovely holiday."

In silence, he stared at her as she vented her spleen at him, each word like salt in a wound which he, himself, had inflicted. He took it all, listened to every word as some small penance for all that he had done to her, to them. He would not attempt to dissuade her from her belief that he didn't 'want' her, though nothing was further from the truth.

He could not undo what he had done. He could only move forward and try and learn from his mistakes. He did not 'hope' for some better future. Hope was too painful. Maybe his mother's grave would hold some answers to the twisted, tortuous life he had lived… and how to stop making such enormous mistakes.

He bowed. "Accepted. I will endeavor not to disturb you further. Good evening, Lupin".

She did not see him again before he left the castle for his trip.

A/N: Oh, poor Severus! My delightful Beta, Elaine, already has the next two chapters in hand. As you might imagine, the homecoming bit is going to be intense. As always, reviews are like chocolate--you can never have enough.